The Black Shingle Fiasco

[wkwkwkwk1]

Andras turns around and leans back against the table, placing her hands strategically near her weapons, and speaks to the whole room in her softest voice, "For what we have done? Oh, of course, what we have done. Do you mean when we took the fight to the demons, doing the job of twenty good soldiers, risking our lives, ambush after ambush, to rescue civilians? Or do you mean when we crossed the entire city in search of an invaluable artifact, protecting a valued gnome scholar, and, returning to the walls, we single-handedly stopped a slaughter of your comrades-in-arms?"

She turns to the rest of the soldiers, "There's got to be some of you in here! Anyone remember that day at the walls? When we saved your asses? I hope you do."

"Or do you perchance mean the time when we were recently asked, by none other than the High Priest of Pelor, to murder in cold blood our dear Captain Parker?" she points at Parker, slowly and deliberately rising from her stool to look down at the offending gnome, raising her voice even further. "Do you now realize the ignorance and insolence of your words? The reason behind the actions of your former comrades? Who do you want watching your back in battle? Those who sought the death of your leader, those who committed treason with nary a second thought? Or those who refused such an abhorrent idea, and nearly died for it?"

She returns to her seat and goes back to sipping the rest of her ale. "Weigh your words, gnome, and think before you talk. No hard feelings."

[YossarianLives]

Andras' speech is followed by a resounding silence. One soldier starts to clap, but stops almost immediately looking sheepish. A few others nod approvingly at the mention of your defense of the wall, but others just scowl and return to their food. The mustachioed gnome goes red in the face and storms off without another word. The babble of conversation returns.

After breakfast, you ask around about the wounded officer, Lieutenant Sayth, who's strike force was ambushed by demons while on a mission commissioned by Captain Parker. Only she and a handful of cavalrymen survived the attack. It takes some time, but eventually a preoccupied civil cleric directs you to an infirmary a short walk from the barracks.

Do you wish to visit the Lieutenant or the Jesadian Temple? It is likely that the priests there would want to question you.

[Marlowe]

Avita, her breakfast finished, rises and says clearly; "A strange city, where having wickedness visited upon one is seen to make one wicked." And leaves the barracks with a slow, unhurried tread, her eyes scanning over the backs and faces of the rank and file of guardsmen.

As they approach the infirmary; she pulls the others into a huddle and speaks, initially clearly and loudly. "The lieutenant is a wounded officer, and we are but rented thugs. It is quite plausible she'll simply refuse to see us. That would be fair.

"If she does, then we are very polite and appreciative. We are here to ask about fighting Demons. About this Cult-of-Wheel business, about this Knight-Errant chappy. We might, if she is forthcoming, be so bold as to ask about the op where she got wounded."

And then her voice goes quiet. "We do not tell her we've seen her report until we've heard her side of that story. Then we start asking if she's aware her report wound up in the hands of those who used it as an excuse to set murderers on the Captain. Then, we start asking if she has any idea how it got there. We don't mention Olidar. We don't mention the Sunnyboys. We see if she fills in the blanks herself.

"Is that a plan?"

[wkwkwkwk1]

"Fair enough. Before word gets to her, now that the cat is out of the box, meowing murder, and the box has been torn to pieces by its fellow cats. We do that."

[YossarianLives]

When you arrive at the infirmary - which looks to be the re-purposed villa of an affluent citizen - you knock on the door and wait. The weather is unusually warm for the season, and the smell of fresh rain is pervasive. A handful of passersby look at you curiously, but none stop. Perhaps a minute later, the door is opened by a young nurse. She is reluctant at first, but upon hearing your purpose welcomes you in with a broad smile, requesting only that you wipe the mud from your boots before entering.

Strolling through the infirmary, escorted by the nurse, the place proves to be relatively pleasant. Most military hospitals are places of blood and pain - due to the prevalence of healing magic in Senra, this facility has been reserved for those with serious but not life-threatening injuries or those suffering from magic afflictions. The few soldiers you spot limping across the courtyard or tucked into beds look comfortable and happy, considering the circumstances. Lieutenant Sayth herself is bunked in a private room on the second floor. The nurse loiters outside the door while you enter, firmly suggesting that you be gentle to the patient.

The room itself is well-furnished, though simple. Before the war broke out, you suspect it was used as a walk-in closet. There is a small dresser, a table and two chairs with a jug of water, and a glass window at gnomish head-height. The woman who must be the Lieutenant is bundled into a bed beneath a mound of creamy white blankets. A human in her mid to late twenties, Sayth appears frail and waif-like despite a multitude of battle-scars and well-developed muscles. Eyes bleary, she sits up partway, then collapses again. "...Who are you?"

[Bartmanhomer]

When you arrive at the infirmary - which looks to be the re-purposed villa of an affluent citizen - you knock on the door and wait. The weather is unusually warm for the season, and the smell of fresh rain is pervasive. A handful of passersby look at you curiously, but none stop. Perhaps a minute later, the door is opened by a young nurse. She is reluctant at first, but upon hearing your purpose welcomes you in with a broad smile, requesting only that you wipe the mud from your boots before entering.

Strolling through the infirmary, escorted by the nurse, the place proves to be relatively pleasant. Most military hospitals are places of blood and pain - due to the prevalence of healing magic in Senra, this facility has been reserved for those with serious but not life-threatening injuries or those suffering from magic afflictions. The few soldiers you spot limping across the courtyard or tucked into beds look comfortable and happy, considering the circumstances. Lieutenant Sayth herself is bunked in a private room on the second floor. The nurse loiters outside the door while you enter, firmly suggesting that you be gentle to the patient.

The room itself is well-furnished, though simple. Before the war broke out, you suspect it was used as a walk-in closet. There is a small dresser, a table and two chairs with a jug of water, and a glass window at gnomish head-height. The woman who must be the Lieutenant is bundled into a bed beneath a mound of creamy white blankets. A human in her mid to late twenties, Sayth appears frail and waif-like despite a multitude of battle-scars and well-developed muscles. Eyes bleary, she sits up partway, then collapses again. "...Who are you?"

"My name is Eric Spade."

[Marlowe]

Avita has been keeping a straight, solemn face. And she feels something twitch. But she steps forward anyway, and gives a short, practiced bow. "Lieutenant. We are civilian volunteers in this battle against the things beyond the barricades. We're sorry for disturbing you. Say the word, and we're gone.

"We've had a few hit-and-run ops against the Wheelers thus far, but tomorrow we face serious battle. And we've come in hope of council and advice. Because, if you don't mind me saying so," she lets a bit of timbre into her voice. "We've had enough of not being told a single damn thing; and we thought a chat with one such as you might give us some pointers. Who the enemy are; how they fight. Who this "Knight Errant" guy is, what's this "the wheel turns" rubbish. Anything you might know."

[YossarianLives]

The Lieutenant subsides back into her bed, frowning. "I heard about the assault. I wish you luck, though I can't say I'm envious." She coughs weakly. "I'll be happy to answer as many of your questions as I can. It's the best I can do, in this state." Another cough. "I can't speak for your experience, but if you've never engaged the demons in all-out war... You can expect very large numbers. I don't doubt that you'll encounter the bastards that did this to me - some kind of crossbreed between human, lizard and wasp. Never seen anything like it before. Hideous, strong, fast, and more intelligent than most of the fiends I've fought. Most are foot-slogging sword-bearers, but a few are armed with some kind of polearm. One of them managed to prick me, and now I'm here, wasting away. The clerics can't seem to find anything to restore me..." She has a small coughing fit. "The hybrids, as we've been calling them, or the chief foot soldiers of the Wheelers, as you've so aptly named them. I'm no expert, but they seem to be the devotees of a pagan "god" of war, or something similar. I believe the wheel is this god's insignia. In any case, they seem to be the leaders of the invasion, or at least the largest participant. I wish I could tell you more." She shifts in bed, moving her pillow to a more agreeable position. "I haven't heard of any "Knight Errant," though... I didn't realize the demons even had a ruling class. They seem to only respect strength."

She coughs again. "If you're looking to bring the demons pain and get out of there alive, you'll have to be cautious. Always make sure you have an easy escape route. Many of them are bigger and stronger than any of our soldiers, so try to utilize missiles whenever possible. Magic, if you can." She nods at Sarim. "Though your friend looks like a heavyweight. He might be able to handle them." Cough. "Most demons - especially the Wheelies - are obsessed with violence, to the exclusion of rational thought. If you're clever, you might be able to bait them into unfavourable circumstances. They're a diverse lot so this doesn't hold true for everyone, but it's always a good idea to equip yourselves with cold iron weaponry. Some of the nastier fiends are repulsed by the stuff. It slices right through their flesh." She pauses, almost coughs, but holds back. "As far as general advice goes, that's about all I can give. Just remember, for all their sorcery and unnatural strength, they can be outmaneuvered like any opponent."

[Marlowe]

Avita's eyes flicker to Andras, then to Sarim. "Cursed reach weapons. Lovely. You two best find yourself some cold iron glaives or somesuch before tomorrow..." she says. Then she turns back to the Lieutenant, trying to look as much the brave-but-scared ingenue as possible. "Can you tell us something about the battle where you got wounded? We've heard some scary things. And straight answers are a bit thin on the ground."

[Kushina43]

"Cold iron glaives, got it. Though I really prefer me axe when possible." Sarim sort-of mutters in response. "And yeah, Lieutenant, we'll be careful when we can. But we've seen tha' nothin' stands up to me axe so far. I ain't fully convinced how scary these things are supposed t' be jus' yet, but they're certainly nothin' I've seen before..." He shrugs a bit, the unsure where he was going with that but fine letting it out.

[YossarianLives]

Sayth shakes with a hollow laugh. "Your bravery is commendable. I can count on one hand the number of folk I know who'd be willing to give up the safety of civilian life to help contain this mess." She coughs. "About the battle? There were 100 of us, mostly infantry. A dozen crossbowmen, half that number in mounted scouts. All good soldiers. We were trying to secure the old armoury, near the College. There was supposed to be a large stock of magical weaponry that had been left behind, it was our job to retrieve it. The first part of the mission went well - we killed a few stray demons without suffering casualties, and had almost reached our destination without encountering serious resistance. The scouts had fanned out in pairs of two. Just as they returned to report, I heard a scream - then we were surrounded. Ranks of those crossbreeds poured out of houses, alleys, the sewers. I still don't know how they sneaked up on us. I tried to rally the troops into a circle, with the crossbows at the centre, but it was too late. The demons had us outnumbered five to one, the troops were panicking. A few tried to cut their way, but the demons had formed a net around us. The ones in the front had great big shields, with archers shooting over the top. We didn't have enough shields to protect ourselves. I ordered a charge, but I knew there wasn't much chance of success. Then they brought out the polearms. Me and my bannerman killed four of the buggers, but one jabbed me. It wasn't a mortal wound, but everything went dark. I couldn't stand up, no matter how hard I tried..." She coughs violently. "When I woke up, I was sitting on the back of one of the scouts' mounts. Apparently they had managed to flee, though I can't imagine how. Not that I'm ungrateful."

[Marlowe]

Avita bows her head, and gives it a slow, sad shake. When she raises it again and speaks her voice has dropped its plaintive tone. "Not throwing around any accusations then." she says.

"Lieutenant, it might surprise you that we've read your report on the op. It might surprise you that your report, or something that proports to be a copy of it-found its way into the hands of a powerful organisation outside the Guard's command structure. I hope it surprises you to hear that that organisation is using your report as "evidence"-" A bitter biting of the lip and a rolling of the eyes. "-that a high-ranking officer within the Guard is a Demon in disguise, and is attempting to suborn people to murder that person."

She locks eyes with the gnome. "Yesterday morning they approached us, and we told them no. That this was evil, unlawful, and crazy. This morning we were attacked in the barracks, I can only presume in an attempt to silence us. So this morning we've got three Guardsmen dead, killed by ourselves in self-defense, a fourth in the lock-up, and an officer exposed as a conspirator and fled. And people are blaming us because apparently having people try to murder you is taken as proof in some heads that you're the sort of person that deserves to get murdered. So; Lieutenant, I'd like to ask if you could suggest who might have had access to your report?"

In the silence that follows, something seems to occur to her. "Oh, and where are my manners? Andras Blue-Eyes and Sarim Blackaxe. Myself; Avita Santiago at your service."

[YossarianLives]

Sayth's eyebrows raise higher and higher throughout Avita's speech, a look of astonishment spreading across her face.

"I... Don't know what to say. But let's not bandy about. I gladly gave my report to the Temple of Pelor - I pay my respects to the Magnificent Father - and I'm not ashamed of it, but..." She squirms uncomfortable under the blankets. "I certainly did not intend them to use it for something like that. You must believe me." She hesitates. "It is a pleasure to meet you all."

[Marlowe]

Avita tries hard not to show frustration. Well, that COULD have given us a lead. "I'll be frank to tell you I've tried to keep the Stern Lady up with the play as well, but I'm not an officer in the Guard. But you say you "gladly gave?"" She raises an eyebrow.

"Something about that wording tells me they asked for it. I might be just a sheltered temple girl, and ignorant on how things are done; but I'm not sure if military reports are a standard temple offering. Did they ask for it? And when did you give it to them?"

[YossarianLives]

Lieutenant Sayth seems to realize she has made a mistake. After a moment, she begins speaking in a slow, cautious tone. "A Priestess from the Temple approached me only a few days after I was transferred here. She requested a copy of my report, apparently to gain intel on the demonic forces. I agreed. This war is as much the Pelorite's domain as it is the government of Senra - they have opposed Abyssal invaders for centuries." She coughs. "I doubt my superiors would approve. In fact, I know they wouldn't."

[wkwkwkwk1]

"And they shall not know," Avita reassures. "It is a pleasure to meet you, too. Refreshing to see some honesty and straightforwardness for once. I half-expected someone to barge through that door trying to skewer me."

"I... was once devoted to Pelor, too. The way the church worked... it was just way too much for me. One face-heel turn later, I was a mercenary. Didn't take me long to determine that it wasn't my calling. So, I became a drifter. An adventurer. Paying my respects to all gods of good. Following no church. No creed but my own. I... I don't know where I'm going with this, but... well, you have my support and admiration."

[Marlowe]

Avita, the bad cop, isn't done with the whole subject. "As a private citizen, I can write whatever letters I choose and give them to whoever I choose. But--as a city official, it seems to me that the reports you write belong to the city, and that it's part of your responsibilities to only allow them to be seen by people within your heirarchy or those approved by such."

She places her hands together before her chest, flickertips clicking together in turn. "This is compromising. You've allowed city property and intelligence to fall into the hands of those who've used it for criminal activities. Well."

Her hands fly apart, fingers spread, like getting go of a captive bird. "I suggest, if someone approaches you and suggests that you are now bound to say or do something else irregular, it would be for the best to tell them publish and be damned, tell them where to stick it, and frell the torpedos. So to speak. Well, ladies and Gentlemen, I'll speak plainly." She turns to Sarim and Andras. "Don't you think the timing is interesting? All the events--or alleged events--that led to this frustercluck appear to have happened two weeks-to-a-week-and-a-half ago, and yet everything seemed normal up until yesterday morning.

"Something happened. Yesterday morning, night before last. Something happened that changed whatever game is going on and made people start lashing out. Something happened that panicked people. Now, Lieutenant," she turns her head back toward Sayth. "Tell us more about this wound of yours."

[YossarianLives]

Sayth responds to Andras with a smile, an encouraging nod. "Thank you. I'm not sure I could follow in your footsteps, but... perhaps I am the fool."

As Avita begins her tirade, the smile melts from the Lieutenant's face like ice on a summer's day. Eyes downcast, she sits still, clutching the hem of her blanket, coughing weakly. When the subject of her injury is abruptly brought forward, her head shoots up, surprise evident. "My wound? I guess I should start at the beginning. The demon got me good and deep - right in the chest, just missed my heart. I'd be dead, if it wasn't for the clerics. When I got hauled into the infirmary, already on death's door, their spells stopped the bleeding, closed the gash. They discharged me." A cough. "The next day, I came back, blood pouring from the same wound, fresh as the day before. They healed it, but kept me in. The cut split open again overnight, this time worse than before. They keep healing me, but there doesn't seem to be a permanent solution. They've tried spells, surgery, potions, herbs..." Her voice goes flat, her attention straying toward the window. "Apparently, it's only a matter of time for me. My body can't handle the constant trauma. There must be over twenty poor souls with the same condition." She coughs once, twice, four more times, her face going red.

"Of course, the curse has left me vulnerable to sickness, as well. No peace for my final days." She turns back to you, looking over each member of your party, her expression somewhere between curiosity and longing. "At least the staff are kind."

[Marlowe]

Avita's eyes narrow, and she runs a fingertip down her cheek. "I'm no healer. Quite the opposite. I've heard a little of cursed wounds. And from what I've heard; most are more immediately lethal, yet also easier to treat." Her eyes move to the door. Then back again.

"I'll certainly go down on my knee and ask what my temple's been doing about this, and what more they can. It's an unusual magical effect. The sort that should be quite a tale of interest. I won't try to give you false hope" She spreads her arms, palms out. "I don't have a lot of pull over there, but I can at least try to get you some help. And these others too. I thank you very much for telling us about this syndrome because again, it's something that our superiors saw not fit to inform us. Abandoned orchards and exhausted wells." She rasps under her breath.


"Now, it occurs to me, Lieutenant, that I may have just now given you some poor advice." Her head angles back a little.

"By giving them that report, certain people may well feel they have leverage over you. Because of your condition, they may well feel they have leverage over you. And these people have proved to be the sort that have no trouble with suborning murderers to do their bidding and then sending more murderers after the first set of murderers when they won't be good little murderers and murder as requested to cover up that there's murder afoot. Or not. A classic plan. Never works, but classic."

"So. If somebody perhaps asks you to do or say or put in writing anything else...irregular. Perhaps threatening you with revealing where that report came from, perhaps promising more effective healing that somehow mysteriously has not been available so far; do NOT, as I just said, throw it in their faces."

"Temporise. Double-talk. Promise but don't deliver. Then, as soon as they're out of sight, call for help. Grab some paper. Write some letters. Tell all you know to your higher-ups in the guard, any members of the High council you can think of. The temples associated with the law. The Archpaladin. The Saint of the Cudgel. The Stern Lady. Beware the Bright Father's servants, there's knives coming out of that house." She steps to the door, then turns around to face the bed.

"I think I, for one, have disturbed you enough. Does anyone else have questions? Lieutenant, you get to ask things too."

[YossarianLives]

As Avita explains her plan, the Lieutenant begins to nod slowly, then with more confidence. She considers the young necromancer. "You're a shrewd one, Miss Santiago. I will take your advice." She coughs, then forces a weak smile. "Those zealots won't get a straight answer if it kills me. I suppose that's a privilege of the dying - there's not much you can lose. And thank you. Good luck."

[Marlowe]

Avita perks up her head, scans the upper corners of the room as though thinking, and then half-opens the door, and says "Nurse." in the stoic tones of one who knows damned well that she'll be repeating this request every few seconds for the next ten minutes until she eventually earns the attention of some harried individual who most certainly won't be a nurse, but rather one of those assistants who get stuck with the necessary jobs it doesn't actually require a skilled nurse to do. Like answering random requests for attention.

When somebody eventually responds, she'll say; "I'm afraid to say there may well be people in the city who wish the lieutenant ill. If she should receive any more unexpected visitors; especially armed unexpected visitors, it might be best to have somebody listening in or attending on the visit. To watch for mischief. Call for help. That kind of thing. This also applies to us should we return. Can you pass that on to your staff?"

[YossarianLives]

After almost a minute, Avita manages to garner the attention of the same nurse who guided you earlier, just as she leaves another patient's room. Upon hearing Avita's request, she gives you all a strange look, perhaps considering whether you should have had a chaperone in the first place, but promises to pass on your message. The health and safety of their patients is paramount. The nurse hurries off, already deep in conversation with a colleague, leaving you to find your own way out.

[Marlowe]

Assuming that there are no further questions, Avita walks away from the infirmary looking thoughtful. Eventually she raises her head.

"There's a disconnect. Between what the Sunnyboys say they saw and what they say it means. They can produce an inn full of witnesses who claim to have seen our friend chat to a strange, yellow-eyed figure and none of it comes any closer to proving that he's a demon, or working with demons. It's just an indicate that he's up to something. Yet that there IS that disconnection might mean their basic story is true. That they have seen such things. If they were going to make things up, wouldn't they come up with something that supports their interpretation a little better? And our friend doesn't act like an innocent man. He's too incurious about it all. He knows there's something behind it."

"So. If our manservant and our gnomish traitor DID see the things they claim to have seen; why did the temple wait a week, a week and a half, before doing something? This business started yesterday morning with Olidar looking like the Lady of the Fourth got into bed with him and stole all the blankets, and moved on to some hasty and clumsy murder plots. All very sudden. Not what you'd expect from people who'd had over a week to think about this."

She takes out her mirror and checks out her face. It's looking a bit more pale and angular than it was a few days ago. "A wild guess. The Captain is up to something. The Sunnyboys knew it, they kept tabs on it, but it wasn't anything that especially alarmed them until these last couple of days. So what changed?" She carefully puts away the mirror away.

"What's the thing that the Captain and the Priest definitely disagree on? The Zang-hrmph. Handymen. Claw-necks. Whatever. Captain wants them investigated. Priest thinks that's a waste of time. He says. But the Zangers are a danger. The Zangers are freaky. And you don't just get people murdered over a difference in resource allocation.

"SO. My guess, if you ladies and gentleman don't mind me shooting my mouth off: The Pelorites know something about the Zangers. Something they don't want people to find out. Maybe they unleashed them themselves as a counter to the Wheelers. And they have come to fear that the Captain and his mysterious adviser have figured that out or are just about to." She spreads her hands. As a theory goes, it's not one she especially likes. "Anyone got a better idea?"

[Bartmanhomer]

"The only thing that I could think of that these Pelorites aren't what they claim to be. These Pelorites are false. They're part of demonic cult that these false Pelorites are part of a demonic part. Well of course I can't prove it without proof obviously. And these inept assassins that we fought earlier must be part of the demonic cult or other evil faith. I don't know that just my theory."

[Kushina43]

Sarim mulls over the facts and Avita's theory for a minute. "Ehmm... I mean, it's not th' most impossible thing, but somethin' about it doesn't feel right.. Perhaps it's tha' a religious temple makin' demons seems a touch unnatural. I may not like religions much, but usually even th' worst I seen keep the faith enough to not meddle wit' monsters 'n demons." He crosses his arms and sighs in frustration. "Then again, what would I know? Faith ain't me strong suit."

[Marlowe]

Avita faces Sarim and gives a helpless shrug. "First off, up until yesterday we had no idea that the Church of the Bright Father would be the sort to charter cut-rate assassins, secondly we have no proof that the Zang-Harumph are Demonic. Naked children with claws out their necks? The whole violated innocence thing? Seems a bit Fey, to me. Demons don't have rep for being that subtle."

She grounds her heels and sighs. "I have to, I should, report all this to my temple. It would be a bad idea to split up right now. Are you all prepared to follow me?"

[YossarianLives]

Following Avita's lead, you leave the infirmary and head north, to the Temple of Wee Jas. The weather is not pleasant, dark clouds looming above, occasionally belching a spray of cold rain. By the time you reach your destination, your clothes are damp, the pavement slippery. Located in the residential Green District - a haven for artisans, scholars and virtuoso's - the Temple itself resides at the end of a narrow avenue, deserted aside from yourselves and a small gaggle of children sheltering beneath an awning. Made of heavy limestone bricks, it has two storeys, a gabled roof, and no windows. A brass depiction of Wee Jas' grotesque symbol has been affixed above the oak double door. The nearby apartment blocks tower over the Temple, marking it as a construction of the previous century.

As the party enters, the door swinging shut, you find yourselves in a large open room. A ring of pillars surrounds an altar to the Stern Lady, a marble statue depicting an austere woman in flowing robes, her hair done up in an elaborate bun, a flaming skull hanging from a chain around her neck. The craftsmanship is flawless, enough that you could swear it was flesh turned to stone. Rows of tiered stone benches form another ring around the walls. The only light comes from a smattering of candles, mounted on the walls and pillars.

Two acolytes, no older than fourteen, kneel before the altar, eyes closed. Before you can approach them, a woman in the black and red robes of a Jesadian Priest pads out from behind the statue - the same priest Avita had spoken with upon her previous visit. The priest walks closer, regarding you coldly, but says nothing.

[Marlowe]

Avita, as before, walks up the middle of the chamber and goes down on one knee before the image of the goddess. Her back straight, her head looking up at the image. She'll remain there for a full two minutes. Unless something else happens.

At the end of this time, she stands up. And says loudly and clearly without turning her head; "Friends spoke to the traitor last night. Little new. Guard attempted to arrest him later. He escaped. Fled to Pelor's temple. Murder attempt on us this morning. Pelorites. Three dead. Some big discussion between the city and the temple of the sun this evening. Veterans in hospital suffering from unusual recurring wounds."

She turns around on her heel. And bows her head to the priest. "Honoured Aunt." she says. "I'm not here to talk about me."

[YossarianLives]

The priestess does not make eye contact as Avita passes, instead focusing on each member of your party. Andras is particularly scrutinized. When Avita finishes, the priestess turns to face her,
face still blank. She listens, returns Avita's nod, then thinks for a moment. "We have heard there was an attack - but not that you were the target. Come. The Upper Circle-" she grimaces, then addresses Eric, Sarim and Andras. "That is, the senior members of our clergy, would like to hear more of this. You should be present. Will you swear to tell no one - no one - of the meeting?"

[Marlowe]

Avita, hearing her co-operation taken for granted, moves to stand with the party and turns to look up at the Goddess's face. Her back is very straight and her eyes unblinking. Her hands come up to meet before her chest, her fingers clasped.