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Wren's Nest Tavern
(Main Room)
Walk, You Lazy Imps by Deagol (Crossing, Zoluren: 208 Arhat 363)The tapping of boots and light clanking of chain mail can be heard entering the tavern. Baresh looks up to see a tall Human clothed in dark chain approach the bar. The figure reaches the bar, and sits, resting his hand on the smooth countertop. Baresh suddenly notices a ring on the man's finger, glimmering in the pale light. It bears the crest of the Cleric's Guild. "Ah, anythin' to drink tonight, noble Cleric?" The man looked at him, "Whiskey please, Baresh. The name's Deagol...how'd you learn my guild?" "I saw your ring, " Baresh responded, filling a snifter with whiskey from a cask. "It's funny, one of my patrons, also a Cleric, was in here a few days ago, complainin' about you folks." Deagol glanced at Baresh, raising an eyebrow. "Oh?" "Aye. She mentioned that some Clerics recently refused to beacon a dead body, so that a Moon Mage could travel from Shard, " Baresh paused for a moment. "She was very disappointed in you folks. Seemed to think it wrong of a Cleric not to give help." "Well let me tell you something, Baresh," Deagol answered in a low voice. "Clerics do not exist to help Mages travel from place to place. They do not exist to bless people's weapons, or protect their memories, or even bring them back from the dead. Clerics do not exist to serve the eleven races." Baresh could see a fierce fire burning brightly in the Cleric's eyes. "Clerics exist to serve the gods. We praise and worship and help the Thirteen, not Barbarians or Empaths or Moon Mages. We DO NOT serve the peoples of Elanthia. If this lass was truly a Cleric, she'd know that. She doesn't belong in our guild." Deagol grunts and stands. Reaching into his pocket he tosses a few coins on the counter, in thanks for the drink. Moving swiftly, he gathers his robe about him, and stalks from the tavern. |
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