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Message: <blockquote data-quote="BoldItalic" data-source="post: 6763411" data-attributes="member: 6777052">They made their way to the bar, where a rather overweight barkeeper wearing a chef's hat was putting up a blackboard. His name was Roland Butter."Good evening, Roland," said BoldItalic, "Two flagons of your best ale, please.""There was a halfling in here earlier, asking after you," remarked Roland as he drew the ale from a large oak cask behind the bar. "Didn't give a name. A bit shifty, if you ask me. Not the type we like to encourage in a reputable establishment, if you get my meaning. Caught him trying to steal the shine off a man's boots. Friend of yours, is he?"BoldItalic glanced at Sir Rylnethaz and raised an eyebrow but the elf shook his head. "No-one we know," he said firmly.In a far corner of the room, a group of priests wearing vestments and embroidered hats were clustered around an archpriest, laughing politely at his jokes. The archpriest was shorter but had a booming voice and a taller hat, so there was no mistaking who he was. One of the priests detached himself from the circle and came to the bar. "S-Six f-flagons of ale and a p-peppermint cordial, please," he stuttered, "and the b-blessings of Myrristra be upon thee.""Certainly, your reverence," said Roland as he placed the flagons on a tray, "And would the cordial be for Archpriest Nathanuel?" He was wondering what size cup to use."N-No. It's f-for me," explained the priest, whose name was Brother Clotbert the Pathetic, "Ale gives m-me w-wind.""I might know a spell to fix that," offered BoldItalic. "Simple alchemy, nothing difficult."Clotbert's eyes went round with fright. "N-No! It is f-forbidden to d-dabble in the arcane!" and he flourished a silver chain with some sort of pendant on it, as if to ward off evil spirits. Except he was holding it backwards so if anything, he would have banished himself."Are you travelling far, tomorrow?" enquired Rylnethaz tactfully, to ease the tension of the moment."I-I don't know. W-We're going to the Temple of Myrristra in Ambletown, but n-nobody's told me where Ambletown is. I th-think I'm s-supposed to j-just know. If I ask n-now, I'll j-just look s-stupid.""Have you considered running away?"Clotbert's eyes went even rounder. It wasn't easy because you can't get much more circular than a circle, but he managed it somehow."You could be on secondment. Bringing the word of Myrristra to the ungodly. That would be me and BoldItalic, here. We don't worship her nearly enough. Hardly at all, in fact."Clotbert's lips worked soundlessly for a while, as if one lip was arguing with the other. Then his eyebrows started arguing too. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'inner conflict'. Eventually one side gained the upper eyelid and when he spoke, his voice had completely changed. "Right. When do we leave? My pack's unpstairs. Shall I get it down now? Is that my ale?" He swiftly downed four flagons of ale from his tray, one after the other, and offered the cup of peppermint cordial to a passing wench who giggled and made a saucy remark. "Join you later," said Clotbert over his shoulder, as he followed the wench out of the room."Strange are the ways of the gods," remarked Rylnethaz. "I get the distinct feeling that this was all arranged and we were lured here by Myrristra, just for Clotbert's benefit. We only thought we came here of our own free will.""Let's hope so," replied BoldItalic."You don't feel manipulated?""I don't mind in the least. We came here to recruit some companions and any cleric who gets that kind of personal service from his deity without even asking, is good enough for me.""I see what you mean," agreed Rylnethaz. "Well done, thou good and faithful vizier. But what about the halfling the barman mentioned? Should we try to recruit him too?""Do you still have that dwarven gold piece?""Yes, it's still in my pouch.""If he's any good, it's not there."</blockquote>

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