Everyone was sore this morning.
I woke at daybreak. It is a habit from the Order that I won’t be rid of, ever. Morning meditation was productive, despite the grunts and groans and popping joints of the others as they came to.
A particularly unaffected fighter, named Lunk, continued snoring comfortably as if nothing happened last night. When he finally stirred, he was in the best shape of the lot. The flashy, troublemaking fighter, Dusty, was in the best spirits. From the very moment his eyes opened, he was talking, jawing on about his heroics the night before and recounting his deeds as if anyone cared. The Dwarf was probably the closest one to killing him. Word has that Dwarfs hate mornings.
Before it came up, the question of food was answered; a house-servant came to our room and led us down to a modest mess hall. We talked as we ate; flat introductions, indirect suggestion of our professions. Talk meant to set others at ease. Nothing about last night. It was civil and polite, if tense, over bread and hard cheese and surprisingly cold and clean water. I know they wouldn’t recognize my name, but I am put out that no eyes widened at the name of my Order.
To be expected, Dusty said too much, and too loudly, and with a familiarity that was grating. I don’t know that he stopped yammering since waking up, actually, now that I think back. If he was drunk last night, he might still have been at breakfast. Still, with food in them (such as it was), the rest of the group took him in stride. This meal was a good chance for me to observe the others.
The shadowy fellow interested me the most. He said the least. Only two things, in fact. His name – Alex. And his profession – Embalmer. Curious that a cleric would specialize in funerary pursuits. I will have to mark this for later consideration. He watched the others of the group with a curious intensity, as they speak to one another. They don’t notice it.
Breakfast was finished when a Guildsman came and drew me away from the others.
He said Gavin knew I was a doctor, and my services were required. I was led out into the street and over to a different building tucked away down a tight alley. We slipped inside, up some stairs, to a room at the back. Inside was a sick man, feverish and infected, lightly wounded and guarded by others also marked as Guildsmen. They seemed restless, anxious. Healing kits and salves were at hand; it was short work for me to assess his condition, treat his wounds and apply spells, and give instruction for further care. When I left, I would say that the mood of the Guildsmen present had improved.
Back to the Guild House, my escort delivered me to our sleeping hall. It was empty. Left alone, I waited. I stayed until the tedium was unbearable.
I decided to go looking. Might be they were in some other part of the Guild House. I was just leaving this room when I was intercepted by a Guild officer and turned back. The others, I was told, had been sent on assignment. As an Initiate, I was not permitted access to other areas of the House. She said the group’s task was an easy one, and they would return shortly.
I have made this entry as I wait. The room is much too warm. Light and heat come in through the open window shutters. The walls are wood, broad beams overhead, a dark fireplace at the far wall, rows of straw-covered cots and crude foot-lockers. The Guild insignia and banners adorn the walls, along with parchments detailing the Guild’s rules. I will write of these another time. The room provides only the most basic comforts. I hope we are not to lodge here for long.
Looking forward, I will take this to be our group, then. The loud one, Dusty. Alex the Embalmer. Lunk, the fighter. The cleric who cast Burning Hands last night, called Pulp for short. Bob the monk; or, rather, BOB – his full name is Bion Orlon Byak. A keen-eyed Elf, a scout named Xel’Xaran. The Dwarf, Calum Ironside. A shy fighter named Reece, and some nature of spellcaster named Spiritz. I have to write all these down for future reference; it would not do well to forget names if I am to be responsible for their continued good health.
Journal of Dr. Marcus Grant
Healing Cleric of Pelor, Order of St-Jude Academy (Silabrek)
4th Day in Callia, territory of Ælim.