Polymath (𝓒𝓞𝓜𝓟𝓛𝓔𝓣𝓔)

Cleric (Healer)

"It's time, Keladore."

"Yes, sir?"

"I need you to go to Hoarwell."

"Hoarwell? Tis a miserable place, that."

"It is, but it's where you need to be. Take this pouch, see the Baker, and offer him a gold piece for his Uncle's box and the contents. Inside will be a key and the Baker will know which gate it is for. On the night of the full moon, go to that gate and wait."

"Shall I leave right away, sir? It's still fifteen days till the full moon."

"Yes, leave tomorrow. It's imperative that you be there with the key, that night."

↫↫↫↫↫ ↬↬↬↬↬

Cleric

The White Ox was set in an advantageous position at a crossroad of two major thoroughfares. To the east were the coastal towns, to the west were the rich towns of the plain. Off north past Hoarwell were the downs where cattle and horses were grazed on the fine grass, and to the south was Starfall. Starfall sat nearly in the middle of Tor Astaria and the inn sat midway between the capitol and the northern border.

It was some four hours after sunset and the taproom was full nearly to bursting. It usually was on nights like this, when the rain turned the road into mud, washed the dust off the rough plank siding of the inn and pooled under the wooden porch. Inside it was warm and cozy, albeit a bit smokey, and there was food and drink aplenty to ward off the chill.

The proprietor heard the clatter of hooves outside, and hurried to greet his latest guests. His smile of greeting turned wooden as he recognized the men that entered. Holbin of Hoarwell was not a favorite customer. The captain was an uncouth individual and as disreputable as the Lord himself. Even so, he couldn't be turned away.

"What brings you here this evening, sir?" the owner asked as genially as he could.

"You have a cleric staying here?" Holbin growled.

"A cleric?" The proprietor's mind raced, thinking of the woman upstairs. She was sweet, quiet, delicate and refined. He could not possibly expose her to this course and vulgar man. "What do you need with a cleric?"

"That's not your business," snarled Holbin. "Is there a cleric here or not?"

"Well, now," the proprietor hedged, "as to that ..."

"BALLS!" roared Holbin, reaching out to grab the innkeeper's shirt and hauling the man up on his toes. "Stop hemming and hawing man!" The soldier shook the proprietor roughly. "Is there a damn cleric here?"

"Put the man down, sir," said a mild female voice from the stairway. "Please."

"Huh?" Holbin looked up, astonished, and couldn't help but stare at the woman who stood there. She was fairly tall and a bit plump, and while she wasn't beautiful, she was pretty enough with her curly blonde hair, round, cherubic face and calm gray eyes. He was about to growl at her to mind her own business when he realized that she was dressed in the robes of a cleric.

"I said, please put the man down, sir," she said calmly but firmly. "My presence answers your question, and I'm sure the good Innkeeper was simply trying to avoid waking me from my rest."

"Hhumph," snorted Holbin, but he let go of the innkeeper. "I'm to bring you to Hoarwell."

"Indeed?" The woman regarded him steadily. "And might I ask why, precisely, you expect me to leave my warm, dry room to ride out to Hoarwell Keep in the rain?"