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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 7044628" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 3</p><p></p><p>Quellan was in a hurry. Normally he tried not to rush. For one thing, it was undignified, especially when he was dressed in the plain wool robe that was the common attire at the monastery. For another, it tended to startle people when they saw him approaching quickly.</p><p></p><p>He imagined that he could feel the ground shaking under his feet, though the stones of the monastery were each the size of a cart. He was wearing soft slippers that made a slapping sound as he hurried—not quite running, that would be unacceptable—through the familiar halls.</p><p></p><p>As he came to the intersection next to the Chamber of Contemplation he ran into Sister Delia. Not literally, of course—the old woman might not have survived that—but even so she looked up at him with an expression that was stern and obviously critical of his haste.</p><p></p><p>“Is there a fire in the rectory, Brother Emberlane?” she asked.</p><p></p><p>“No… no, of course not, Sister,” Quellan said. His voice was deep and a bit guttural, no matter how he tried to work on his annunciation. It was difficult to speak clearly when one had tusks the size of a thumb jutting from one’s jaw, or a splayed nose the size of a tea saucer that whistled whenever he breathed heavily.</p><p></p><p>He liked Sister Delia. She was one of the few people at the monastery who never looked at him differently because of his mixed origins. She could be equally stern toward everyone, and was not intimidated by a half-orc that loomed over her like a giant and could crush her with a single swipe of his mottled arm.</p><p></p><p>“So what brings you running into the Halls of Meditation? Has the Master of Books received a new volume? No, that would draw an entire stampede of you Hosrenites…”</p><p></p><p>Quellan’s hand reflexively sought out the wooden icon that hung from a long throng almost to his belly. The thick disk was carved with the representation of an open book on the front, the symbol of his service to Hosrenu, god of knowledge. Delia wore a similar icon around her neck, but hers bore the blazing sun of Sorevas. It was one of the little games at the monastery that the adherents of the various faiths teased each other, but Quellan knew well enough how unusual it was to have a sacred place where the followers of different faiths could collaborate and cohabitate in an atmosphere of relative tolerance. That such a place could thrive in a town as isolated was Crosspath was a testament to the will of Abbess Laurine, who had been leader here throughout the reign of nearly a dozen Arreshian kings. Just the fact of the monastery’s existence had probably saved his life, Quellan thought.</p><p></p><p>Delia was still looking up at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to her comment. “Ah, no, Sister,” he stammered. “I was looking for Brother Stonefist. I have… I’m on an important errand for the Abbess.”</p><p></p><p>Delia quirked an eyebrow impressively. “I see,” she said. “I believe that you will find Brother Stonefist meditating in the Rock Garden.”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Sister,” Quellan said. He could feel Delia’s eyes on his back as he continued on his way, and he managed to keep a measured stride until he’d rounded the next bend in the hall. Then he resumed his brisk pace.</p><p></p><p>The Rock Garden was squeezed into the narrow space between the back of the Greater Hall and the stone wall that ringed the monastery complex. This late in the day the sun had already dropped beyond the wall, though the upper part of the hall was still ablaze in light that sparkled golden on the narrow windows of the solarium.</p><p></p><p>True to its name, the space was mostly bare stone, punctuated by a few sparse patches of plants that didn’t need much in the way of direct light to prosper. But the Rock Garden was anything but dull. Quellan found its sparseness refreshing. Every stone felt like it had been painstakingly situated in its proper place. The paths that wound through the area offered changing vistas that stimulated thought and offered privacy in a place that often felt crowded, at least to him.</p><p></p><p>He didn’t have to go searching for Kosk. The dwarf was kneeling in the gravel near the entrance to the garden. He was bent forward so that he appeared to be staring intently at the ground directly in front of him.</p><p></p><p>“Is that a new form of meditation?” Quellan asked.</p><p></p><p>The dwarf did not respond at first. The position he was in had to be terribly uncomfortable, but Quellan had given up trying to comprehend the various rituals of physical discipline and denial practiced by the monastery’s small cadre of monks.</p><p></p><p>“I am practicing envy,” Kosk finally said.</p><p></p><p>Quellan walked over to join him, but the dwarf made a gesture for him to remain back a step. Curious now, the half-orc sat down, heedless of the gravel that poked him through the coarse fabric of his robe.</p><p></p><p>He could see now that the object of the dwarf’s fascination was a tiny black beetle, barely the size of Quellan’s thumbnail. It was moving slowly across the gravel pathway, weaving around larger bits of rock while apparently unaware of the scrutiny being paid to its progress.</p><p></p><p>“What are we envious of?” Quellan asked. “The simplicity of its life?”</p><p></p><p>“Focus,” Kosk said. “To this creature, this yard is like a vast desert. The bits of gravel are like boulders, these pebbles mountains. There are two vast creatures watching that could crush the life from it with a casual step, yet it continues on the way to its destination.”</p><p></p><p>“That bush over there?”</p><p></p><p>“It doesn’t matter.” Kosk abruptly rose up. He stood in an odd manner, placing his hands palm-down on the ground and then levering his body up until his entire weight was balanced on his hands. Then he bent his elbows until his bare chin was nearly touching the gravel before he thrust up and with a grunt flipped up onto his feet. Quellan was strong, a gift of his bloodline, but he knew that his friend carried a lot of power in his compact form. The dwarf was not a young man, and his body and face bore the marks of an interesting life. He’d arrived at the monastery only shortly after Quellan, almost five years past now. Kosk never spoke about his past, and Quellan had never thought to pry. The dwarf was unlike anyone else at the monastery, certainly all of the other monks, and perhaps that more than anything else had made the half-orc want to make him his friend.</p><p></p><p>The dwarf was watching him with a look that was growing increasingly impatient. Quellan stood in a more conventional manner, brushing off the bits of gravel that clung to his robe. “I have news.”</p><p></p><p>“I can see. I haven’t seen you this excited since the Librarian got that fifth volume of <em>The Histories of the Northern Civilizations</em> in last month.”</p><p></p><p>“This is actual news. A mission. From the Abbess. There’s this wizard in the town, she has a job, the Abbess owes her a favor, she—the wizard—she needs this artifact that’s…”</p><p></p><p>“When do we leave?” Kosk interrupted.</p><p></p><p>“Leave? Ah, we’re supposed to meet with the wizard tomorrow morning.”</p><p></p><p>“All right then.” He started to turn away.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t you want to hear more about the mission?”</p><p></p><p>“I reckon you’ll tell me on the way.” The dwarf flexed his thick fingers. “I’ve been out here meditating for a bloody hour. Right now, I need to break something.”</p><p></p><p>Leaving the cleric to look after him in surprise, Kosk trudged back across the yard and went inside.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 7044628, member: 143"] Chapter 3 Quellan was in a hurry. Normally he tried not to rush. For one thing, it was undignified, especially when he was dressed in the plain wool robe that was the common attire at the monastery. For another, it tended to startle people when they saw him approaching quickly. He imagined that he could feel the ground shaking under his feet, though the stones of the monastery were each the size of a cart. He was wearing soft slippers that made a slapping sound as he hurried—not quite running, that would be unacceptable—through the familiar halls. As he came to the intersection next to the Chamber of Contemplation he ran into Sister Delia. Not literally, of course—the old woman might not have survived that—but even so she looked up at him with an expression that was stern and obviously critical of his haste. “Is there a fire in the rectory, Brother Emberlane?” she asked. “No… no, of course not, Sister,” Quellan said. His voice was deep and a bit guttural, no matter how he tried to work on his annunciation. It was difficult to speak clearly when one had tusks the size of a thumb jutting from one’s jaw, or a splayed nose the size of a tea saucer that whistled whenever he breathed heavily. He liked Sister Delia. She was one of the few people at the monastery who never looked at him differently because of his mixed origins. She could be equally stern toward everyone, and was not intimidated by a half-orc that loomed over her like a giant and could crush her with a single swipe of his mottled arm. “So what brings you running into the Halls of Meditation? Has the Master of Books received a new volume? No, that would draw an entire stampede of you Hosrenites…” Quellan’s hand reflexively sought out the wooden icon that hung from a long throng almost to his belly. The thick disk was carved with the representation of an open book on the front, the symbol of his service to Hosrenu, god of knowledge. Delia wore a similar icon around her neck, but hers bore the blazing sun of Sorevas. It was one of the little games at the monastery that the adherents of the various faiths teased each other, but Quellan knew well enough how unusual it was to have a sacred place where the followers of different faiths could collaborate and cohabitate in an atmosphere of relative tolerance. That such a place could thrive in a town as isolated was Crosspath was a testament to the will of Abbess Laurine, who had been leader here throughout the reign of nearly a dozen Arreshian kings. Just the fact of the monastery’s existence had probably saved his life, Quellan thought. Delia was still looking up at him, and he realized he hadn’t responded to her comment. “Ah, no, Sister,” he stammered. “I was looking for Brother Stonefist. I have… I’m on an important errand for the Abbess.” Delia quirked an eyebrow impressively. “I see,” she said. “I believe that you will find Brother Stonefist meditating in the Rock Garden.” “Thank you, Sister,” Quellan said. He could feel Delia’s eyes on his back as he continued on his way, and he managed to keep a measured stride until he’d rounded the next bend in the hall. Then he resumed his brisk pace. The Rock Garden was squeezed into the narrow space between the back of the Greater Hall and the stone wall that ringed the monastery complex. This late in the day the sun had already dropped beyond the wall, though the upper part of the hall was still ablaze in light that sparkled golden on the narrow windows of the solarium. True to its name, the space was mostly bare stone, punctuated by a few sparse patches of plants that didn’t need much in the way of direct light to prosper. But the Rock Garden was anything but dull. Quellan found its sparseness refreshing. Every stone felt like it had been painstakingly situated in its proper place. The paths that wound through the area offered changing vistas that stimulated thought and offered privacy in a place that often felt crowded, at least to him. He didn’t have to go searching for Kosk. The dwarf was kneeling in the gravel near the entrance to the garden. He was bent forward so that he appeared to be staring intently at the ground directly in front of him. “Is that a new form of meditation?” Quellan asked. The dwarf did not respond at first. The position he was in had to be terribly uncomfortable, but Quellan had given up trying to comprehend the various rituals of physical discipline and denial practiced by the monastery’s small cadre of monks. “I am practicing envy,” Kosk finally said. Quellan walked over to join him, but the dwarf made a gesture for him to remain back a step. Curious now, the half-orc sat down, heedless of the gravel that poked him through the coarse fabric of his robe. He could see now that the object of the dwarf’s fascination was a tiny black beetle, barely the size of Quellan’s thumbnail. It was moving slowly across the gravel pathway, weaving around larger bits of rock while apparently unaware of the scrutiny being paid to its progress. “What are we envious of?” Quellan asked. “The simplicity of its life?” “Focus,” Kosk said. “To this creature, this yard is like a vast desert. The bits of gravel are like boulders, these pebbles mountains. There are two vast creatures watching that could crush the life from it with a casual step, yet it continues on the way to its destination.” “That bush over there?” “It doesn’t matter.” Kosk abruptly rose up. He stood in an odd manner, placing his hands palm-down on the ground and then levering his body up until his entire weight was balanced on his hands. Then he bent his elbows until his bare chin was nearly touching the gravel before he thrust up and with a grunt flipped up onto his feet. Quellan was strong, a gift of his bloodline, but he knew that his friend carried a lot of power in his compact form. The dwarf was not a young man, and his body and face bore the marks of an interesting life. He’d arrived at the monastery only shortly after Quellan, almost five years past now. Kosk never spoke about his past, and Quellan had never thought to pry. The dwarf was unlike anyone else at the monastery, certainly all of the other monks, and perhaps that more than anything else had made the half-orc want to make him his friend. The dwarf was watching him with a look that was growing increasingly impatient. Quellan stood in a more conventional manner, brushing off the bits of gravel that clung to his robe. “I have news.” “I can see. I haven’t seen you this excited since the Librarian got that fifth volume of [i]The Histories of the Northern Civilizations[/i] in last month.” “This is actual news. A mission. From the Abbess. There’s this wizard in the town, she has a job, the Abbess owes her a favor, she—the wizard—she needs this artifact that’s…” “When do we leave?” Kosk interrupted. “Leave? Ah, we’re supposed to meet with the wizard tomorrow morning.” “All right then.” He started to turn away. “Don’t you want to hear more about the mission?” “I reckon you’ll tell me on the way.” The dwarf flexed his thick fingers. “I’ve been out here meditating for a bloody hour. Right now, I need to break something.” Leaving the cleric to look after him in surprise, Kosk trudged back across the yard and went inside. [/QUOTE]
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