As before, when Anna and then Quioan don masks, the cheer rises up from the crowd, a wave of applause following as the final face is now covered. Quioan has barely stepped back into place before the black-robed man presiding over the room raises his arms, evoking instant stillness across the faithful.
"You have accepted Owbej's embrace, and the Living God accepts you as one of his children. And as with all children, you must now learn your way in the world."
He gestures behind him, and several white robes hastily make way for the figure moving forward. While in general it's hard to tell one member of the faithful from another, you suspect the person striding forth through the parted crowd won't be so difficult to pick out. Besides standing a good head taller than anyone else in the room, with shoulders and girth to match, the filthiness of this one's gray robes and the rusted edges of the iron mask add both to the imposing nature of the figure and its ... uniqueness.
"I present you Tarkan, master of the priests and acolyte trainer," says the bass-voiced man in black.
"His is the hand which will teach you the ways of The Living God. Heed him well and prove your worth, and you will gain your free member status."
The massive Tarkan bows slightly, then jabs his thumb to the doors back out to the vestibule.
"Out," he says. He doesn't wait to see if you'll follow, but stomps off at a brisk pace, forcing you to scramble to keep up.
Once you've left the assembled, who cheer once again before they close the doors behind you, Tarkan escorts you back downstairs, rattling things off quickly as he goes.
"Alright, enough of the soft-shoe and nonsense," he growls.
"You're mine now, weasels, and you do what I tell you or you answer to me. And you don't want to answer to me.
"Rule one: you leave the basement, you have your robes and mask on. Anyone sees ya without 'em, they got my leave to beat ya bloody.
"Rule two: You go where I tell you when I tell you. I catch you somewhere else, I beat ya bloody.
"Rule three: You do what I tell you when I tell you. Decide you get to think for yourself, I beat ya bloody.
"Rule four: Don't ask stupid questions. Stupid questions get ya beat bloody."
The pattern to Tarkan's rules seems straightforward if nothing else.
You've descended through the stairs by the room with the overstuffed furniture, and are back below at this point. Instead of turning right back to the cells, you instead turn left. Several doors flank the long hallway you enter. A simple carpet, stained and worn, runs down the center of the hall. At the west end is the symbol of Owbej, crudely painted on the wall.
Tarkan smashes a fist into the door to his left, opening it with a loud bang.
"Rest up, weasels. You don't wanna be tired and slow when you start tomorrow. Bein' slow gets ya--"
"--Beat bloody?" Thon pipes up; you can hear the amusement in his voice.
Apparently, so can Tarkan. He grabs the half-elf by the front of his robes and lifts him off the ground so that their masks clink together.
"You get one, weasel," he growls.
"Do. Not. Test. Me."
Tarkan throws Thon through the doorway and onto the ground of the barracks, stepping over him to lead you in.
Eight wooden double bunks rest in this room, each outfitted with simple straw mattresses and a thin blanket. An everburning torch rests in a cloth-draped frame hanging from the ceiling above the communal table sitting in the center of the room, flanked by four chairs. Two chests lie open between the bunks, each one loaded up with fresh white robes. Pegs are mounted to the walls above the chests. Tarkan points to them.
"Masks go there. Now get to bed."
The large man steps back over Thon and slams the barracks door behind him. For now, at least, the five newest acolytes of Owbej are alone in the room.
"I don't think he likes me," Thon grumbles as he sits up and pulls off his mask.
| GM: | Map updated. You're now in T8 |
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