<span class="mu-s">Current Status</span>
You are a 5th level Life Domain Cleric. You have 29/46 HP, and enough magic to cast 4/4 first-level, 1/3 second-level, and 0/2 third-level spells. You are currently concentrating on Flaming Sphere (
https://pastebin.com/chuTtwgW) which has 8 turns remaining. Your Armor Class is 12, and you don't have any active conditions. You can track this information as it changes under "Character/Quest Info" below.
...
You hear shouting from outside, and footsteps getting closer. It must be The Abbot.
"Give it here," you urge the creature. "Quickly."
The mongrel cowers away, but you can sense its fear - these creatures fear you after seeing you destroy the grotesque flesh golem that was guarding them. You have a moment to turn that fear to your advantage.
As soon as you are close enough, you snatch the idol from the creature's hands. The heavy statuette depicts a saintly-looking woman in robes. On the robes are a symbol of the sun. An idol of the Morninglord, or one of his devotees.
<span class="mu-i">Used Light cantrip. (
https://5e.tools/spells.html#light_phb)</span>
You hold the idol high so the starving mongrel creatures can see it. With a simple word, the statue glows with a brilliant yellow-orange, bathing the chamber in a convincing imitation of sunlight, causing the mongrelfolk to gasp.
Your plan is simple. There is no way the creatures in this room enjoy being kept here - they're obviously kept in line by fear - but they are clearly obsessed with the holy stature of this cursed monastery, and they wouldn't trust just anybody. In their eyes, starved and kept in darkness, after you killed the monster that holds them in these cells, your faith rivals that of the Abbot.
"Don't eat me," you shout. "I'm going to let you out, but the Abbot is coming! As long as I stay alive, you are protected by divine guidance! Your deeds have been recognized by your God!"
After a moment of silence, you add, "Also, you are entitled to the food in the kitchen!" An animalistic hollering erupts, deafening, like screeching monkeys. You think they got the message. Just in that moment, the door swings open, and the Abbot enters - alone. His eyes are ablaze with fury, and he clutches a shortsword in one of his hands. Even though he appears no more than a man in brown robes, his presence is like a storm, and the room falls silent.
(cont.)
