Back at the keep, Jankin takes Fingol and Gar to the area of the palace where the paladins and clerics reside, in a corridor adjoining the chapel lit by everburning torches. A knight in shining armor, full masterwork plate armor in fact, challenges them as they enter the hall. “Halt, who goes there? State your business.” His hand is on the hilt of his longsword as he strides towards them from the other end of the hall.

“Oh bother, I can’t see a thing!” The knight lifts his visor and Gar and Fingol recognize the salt and pepper beard and light brown eyes of Sir Godric from dinner that morning. “Ah, Sir Jankin, with Sir Fingol and Father Gar I see,” he gives them all a hearty smile. “Sorry, but with the visor down in this hall, even with the torches, it’s sometimes hard to make out who’s who. Or maybe I just need a spell to cure my shortsightedness. What brings you all to our humble corner of the palace?”

Jankin responds, “I’m here with Paragon Muire’s permission to show Sir Fingol and Father Gar what’s been keeping the clerics of Heironeous so busy over the last month since our troubles in town with the Heironean mission.”

Godric raises his eyes at this, “I see.”

“Sir Fingol, Father Gar, you no doubt, remember Sir Godric from this morning; though I don’t think you were properly introduced Sir Fingol. Sir Godric is one of the senior paladins assigned to the Palace Guard.”

“Some might say Father Gar wasn’t properly introduced either,” says Sir Godric with a wry smile and a wink at Gar.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” mutters Jankin looking down and rubbing his chin to hide his chagrin.

As Jankin looks down, Gar blushes slightly and bats his eyes at Godric, “If you’re a good boy…”

“Anyway, I do what I can with these stiff aging bones,” Godric shrugs. “Well, be careful, you two and don’t do anything that Sir Jankin doesn’t tell you to do. The wards and guards in there are not to be trifled with. I’d hate for you to be turned into a heap of ashes on my watch.” Godric winks at Gar, “I’d feel pretty bad about that, since I was hoping you’d get a chance to read that book I mentioned and tell me what you think. Anyway, go on ahead, say hello to Lady Sauraa for me.”

“I most certainly will, Sir Godric,” replies Jankin as he leads Gar and Fingol down to the end of the hall to an iron bound green door. As Jankin produces a key and begins opening the door he turns his head and says, “Please do not be startled and frightened. Lady Sauraa is on our side.”

With that Jankin opens the door on what looks like a cross between a chapel and an alchemy lab. There are no large windows here either, but it is lit with everburning torches like the hall outside. Everywhere there are tables with burners and tubing, pots bubbling over low fires, and the sweet and refreshing fragrance of herbs and flowers fills the air, as though it were a spring day in a celestial garden. The far end of the room is a large shrine to Heironeous complete with a life size silver statue of the Archpaladin before which is a large font filled with what is most likely holy water. The shrine portion of the room is inlaid with white blue veined marble and pillars of the same material to set it off from the lab. One of the pillars has a thick gold band wrapped around it. Several clerics are bustling about mixing herbs, chanting, and stirring the pots. A heavy iron door on the right hand wall is the only other exit.

After taking all this in, Fingol and Gar suddenly notice that the golden band is moving, and that in fact it is not a decoration but a large 15’ long snakelike creature with golden scales and a golden frill running from the back of its head to its tail. It winds its head around the pillar to face them and then they see that it is not a snake at all but something else entirely. It has the face of a beautiful golden woman with bright intelligent eyes that burn with an almost hypnotic inner light. “Greetings visitors,” she says in a mellifluent tone that makes all who hear it feel tingly (even Gar).

Jankin steps forward to do the introductions, “Greetings Lady Sauraa daughter of King Sagara of the Gaurdian Naga, I would like you to meet Sir Fingol son of Ragnbjorn and one of the King’s Rangers, and Father Gar, priest of Obad-Hai and emissary of the Great Druidess.”

“A pleasure to meet you good sirs,” Sauraa says with genuine warmth, as she gazes upon Gar and Fingol as though taking in every hair and pore. Her head gently sways from side to side as she smiles upon them. She finally looks to Jankin who had remained silent with his head bowed and hands folded on his belly.

Jankin looks up and says, “Paragon Muire has given permission for me to show Sir Fingol and Father Gar what we have been working on.”

“Really?” Sauraa says coolly but not unkindly.

“Oh, and Sir Godric sends his greetings,” adds Jankin.

“What a dear man,” she says. “Please give him my love when you see him.”

Jankin blushes, “Uh, well, sure…”

Sauraa laughs gently at Jankin’s discomfiture, a sound reminiscent of tiny silver bells. “I don’t mean that literally you know,” she says with a disarming smile.

“Oh, of course, Lady Sauraa. Uh, anyway, about our visit…” Jankin stammers.

“You know the rules Sir Jankin. There are no exceptions, unless Paragon Muire himself says otherwise,” Sauraa says in a firm voice, like a loving mother telling her beloved son it is time for a warm bath.

“Yes, of course, but it is their choice to accept or not,” Jankin responds. He turns to Fingol and Gar. “You are not permitted to go beyond that,” he indicates the iron-bound door, “unless you consent to allow Lady Sauraa to peer into your minds. It is to ensure that no spies or saboteurs see what they should not see. It is your choice. I will certainly think no worse of you if you should refuse.”

“Nor will I, good sirs,” Sauraa adds, “but you cannot pass without being tested.” She continues swaying, smiling, and gazing upon Gar and Fingol, waiting for their answer.

“I consent.” Fingol answers plainly.

Gar bows his head before Lady Saurra, “Greeting to the Naga King’s Daughter! You may read my mind as well.”

Sauraa then begins to chant in a language neither Fingol nor Gar have ever heard before. It is the otherworldly language of the higher realms, with a sound that conveys a tranquility and power seldom if ever known on Oerth. She then gazes deeply into Fingol’s eyes.

Fingol is completely amazed by Sauraa’s appearance. His lack of social graces and the terseness of his response came not from suspicion but awe, like the young recruit shouting “Yes, sir!” to his drill instructor. He is a little upset over the opulence of the room compared to the needs of the town. He grants that there is an appropriate reason for the veneration, but followers of Fharlangh don’t have fancy chapels so it’s a little out of his experience. He hopes that Sauraa will see a genuine eagerness to help the town, although, at this point it’s more of a grim determination than a spiritual calling.

Sauraa smiles at Fingol reassuringly, “Do not judge too harshly Sir Fingol. There is always room for improvement on all our parts. As for my judgment – you may pass.”  She then turns her attention to Gar.

Still in awe of the Naga princess, Gar vaguely recalls a story he once heard about a palace under the sea. Then Godric crosses his mind with Gar gently rubbing the nape of his neck as Gar whispers in his ear, “the Lady Saurra sends her love.” Then the scene in the mission flashes through his mind along with his desire to help all people, without regard to social caste or alignment.

Sauraa smiles again, “My, but you are entertaining, and flattering too.” She winks. She turns her piercing gaze to the Green Man amulet hanging from Gar’s neck. “Nature can be quite unsentimental and ruthless, but it can also be nurturing and full of delights. It is the wild thunderstorm, the havoc of a flash fire; but also a gentle spring rain, the orderly progression of the seasons, and the ever turning cycle of birth and death.” She peers even more deeply into Gar’s eyes. “Which side of nature will you embody in the end? Or will you maintain a harmonious balance of them all? I wonder. But for now, I believe your goals are in line with our own. You may pass.”

While the Naga Princess is psychoanalyzing Gar, he smiles, at least at first. Then he blanches and goes wide eyed as she bore deep into his mind, a relieved half smile comes over his face as she finally, after what seems like an eternity, finds him suitable to her needs.

“Wait here,” Sauraa says, and then she glides over to the iron door. She chants again in the Celestial tongue and after a few moments the latch on the door moves and the door swings open. A blinding light cascades from the room beyond so all who are looking that way are forced to turn away, and shut or cover their eyes. Sauraa speaks again in the Celestial tongue and the light begins to dim, though it is still painfully bright. At the center of it is a powerful looking blue skinned man with long white hair and a noble mien. He responds in the Celestial tongue, and then again dims the light emanating from every pore of his body until it is no more than a shining halo that clearly illuminates all around him. In the room beyond are shelves upon shelves of potions, poultices, and tinctures, and on a pedestal in the center a plain cedar box.

“This is a Quesar,” explains Sauraa. “They were crafted by the angels to guard celestial treasures. The angels gifted them with minds and free will, so they would be free to choose to take up their duties or lead their own lives. I have yet to hear that any have refused to perform a service worthy of their talents. This one’s name is Avarathar.”

Jankin says, “And we are eternally grateful for its service. Now, Sir Fingol, Father Gar, please stay where you are. It would be deadly to you if you tried to enter that room, for there are wards there that would reduce anyone who is not fully devoted to order and righteousness to ash; but you can see well enough from here. Good sirs, this is what I wished to show you; so that you would know that we Heironeans have not been idle. Since the riot that closed the Heironean Mission about a month ago, Paragon Muire has considered how best to reclaim it without violence and how to be better prepared to respond to Westkeep’s almost overwhelming needs – esp. when spring comes with the threat of a resurgence of Filth Fever, Scarlet Ache, and other diseases. Some of us have been training in crowd control tactics. We are, after all knights and soldiers, and that is not what we were ever prepared for. Secondly, the clerics have been preparing poultices and tinctures, and those who are able have been brewing potions that are strong enough to cure most diseases that do not have an arcane or infernal origin. We have hundreds of potions ready. And finally, Paragon Muire has crafted a wand of healing. It is contained in that box.”

Sauraa speaks to Avarathar in the Celestial tongue and he nods and opens the box. Inside is an oaken wand carved in an intricate interlacing pattern. “This wand by itself will heal scores of people,” Sauraa tells them.

“Thank you Lady Sauraa, and of course Avarathar,” says Jankin. The Quesar puts the wand back and closes the box. Lady Sauraa looks to the iron door and it swings shut with a loud clang.

“So you see,” continues Jankin, “we have spent many hundreds of hours altogether in preparations. We had hoped to take back the clinic, find more adequate shelter for those inside, refurbish it and then open it again with better security and enough healing power to take care of all who come to us. Now, however, it seems that it has become inhabited by forces in league with dark powers. Many of those people are probably innocent thralls, but we will now have to account for the presence of, at least, an evil adept or cleric who might resist us or even resort to violence. We must be even more wary and careful.”

“Holy, holy, holy, I’m impressed,” Gar stutters. “But I am still worried about the people in the mission, Sir Jankin. Surely Lady Sauraa can confirm for you that I am devoted to neither Good nor Evil. I can go where others cannot. Please let me help the people of the mission in your noble pursuit.”

“This is beyond anything I might have wished for.” Fingol says dropping to one knee, “Lady Sauraa, I deeply regret anything you might have seen in my mind when I was in ignorance. Why have we been blessed with this secret? And how might we figure into your plans?”

Gar drops to his knee in reverence as well.

“Oh good sirs, please rise,” Sauraa says. “I’m not in charge here. I have no plans – at the moment. I am here at the request of Paragon Muire, as is Avarathar.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, saying in mock humility, “I’m just a trumped up security guard.” She levels her head again and smiles. “Seriously though, you will have to ask Paragon Muire if he needs any help when they reclaim the Heironean mission in town. He, of course, answers to Prince Prospero. They are the ones you should talk to.”

Sir Jankin interjects, “I do believe Prince Prospero has already asked them for help in other matters.” He turns to Sir Fingol, “Still, to answer your question Sir Fingol, both the Prince and the Paragon knew that you and Father Gar have been very concerned about the efforts being made, or not made, to help the people of Westkeep. Since they had already entrusted you both with grave and delicate matters pertaining to the wellbeing of the townsfolk, they saw no harm in letting you know that we are handling these other matters as best we can. Now, I think we had better be going; we don’t want to distract people here from their work. Again, you have our thanks Lady Sauraa.”

“You have my thanks as well, for introducing me to such kind and entertaining gentlemen. I hope to chat with you again sometime.” She nods her head and then glides back to the pillars and coils around the nearest again to resume her contemplations.

Jankin leads Fingol and Gar back through the green door into the hall where Godric is still standing guard. As Gar walks past Godric, they wink at each other. “See you all at supper this evening,” he calls out as Jankin leads them away.

Then Gar turns back, “Oh Sir Godric, I have some time to kill this afternoon. Do you happen to have a copy of that book on you? Or can I pick up a copy in the castle library?” Gar ends with a smirk.

“Oh, get a room,” says Fingol.

Turning his head cockeyed, Gar says, “Ah but Sir Godric is a perfect gentleman, unlike me.” Gar winks at Fingol and Jankin. “Which I do believe is why he wants to give me a little private instruction – to teach me courtly manners and what not.”

Godric interjects, “Well, all kidding aside, let’s not give Sir Fingol the wrong idea. But as it happens, my room is right here. I’m on duty right now, but I can pop in and get the book, just a moment.” Godric heads over to his room and in just a moment is clanking down the hall again with a book in his hand. “Here it is Gar, The Art of Courtly Love by Andreas Capellanus. Enjoy. We can discuss it later.” He beams at everyone as he sends them off.

With a deep bow at the waist, Gar says, “Thank you, Sir Godric. I’ll be ready to chat about it at your pleasure.”

“He’s going to put your garter on his lance!” Fingol says to Gar.

On their way out, Gar says, “I think I’d like to spend a quiet afternoon reading in my room.”

Once there, Gar gets a cup, and has a seat. He rubs his little Green Man and says a prayer to create water to enjoy a long drink of cool water after the warm walk through town to learn about the art of courtly love.

Meanwhile, with the help of a passing squire, Fingol finds the castle library. He finds some maps of the Hool Marshes, but they are obviously outdated and sketchy. Still, they do give him a better overview of the local geography and he is able to make some copies in his travel journal.

Fingol also finds a book on the Draconian language that the lizardfolk speak. He spends some hours trying to memorize a few phrases in the language of the lizardfolk, such as “We come in peace,” “We come with greetings from Prince Prospero, and the authority to negotiate trade agreements,” “Please don’t eat us,” and others that might prove useful in an emergency.

He also finds some books on statecraft and diplomacy and skims through those as well.

Finally, long after the sun has set, the bell rings calling the court to supper in the great hall.