>>5208037Deeper into the well-wrought, carefully-maintained sanctum, you find the familiar halls of your True Faith. You do not meet The Chaplain in the gem-studded star-chamber of glorious ritual, where divine missions are handed down in service to The Grand Design when the stars are right to do so. Instead, you are set to wait in a place-of-confession, where lesser castes of Reptilian may tell of their deeds or misdeeds and be judged in private. There are no chairs, only a stone dais to kneel before, and a stone to rest one’s head upon; it is concave, with a lightly-browned basin in its centre, where eons of blood has been caught and collected, when judgement falls hard upon an agent of the Dark Gods.
Eventually, the Silkscale returns, head bowed low and eyes cast downwards, as you and Alhazred do—as even ROTH does. The Chaplain, called Makss-Ssellu, steps with unhurried gate behind the Silkscale. He has the hallmarks of high, priestly birth: an elegant and curved neck atop his narrow shoulders, a long, narrow face, blue-green eyes, a wattle of bluish skin beneath his proud chin. He is now Herald of Distant Starlight or Secret-Keeper of Deepest Dark, merely an Operational Chaplain of the Grand Design, but his station is high enough to warrant your collective, silent respect, and to grant him the wearing of ceremonial black robes and a cobra-like cowl of silver-laced fabric.
“Who will kneel?” he asks. “Who will tell me of your deeds, and your misdeeds, and face judgement?”
You gulp. You KNOW this is a time of triumph, you know it… But that basin’s staining is fresh, and you also know that your mission has not been unmitigated success, nor have your methods been… Orthodox.
‘Baaah, who even cares ‘bout THAT?’ Irinnile scoffs sacrilegiously. ‘You did great! And, like, what’s he gonna’ do? We’re immune ta’ curb-stompin’ or whatever. Magic weapons only, ‘member?’
The Silkscale reverently hands The Serpent Priest a staff of office—one ending in an obsidian cudgel carved to resemble the rattle of a rattlesnake… And radiating a dark magic to your mystic senses.
‘Oh,’ Irinnile says. ‘Uh, nevermind. Maybe let someone else tell ‘im that bad bits?’
Roth and Alahzred, too, stare at the staff. Alahzred steps back, only slightly… And to his credit, your curmudgeonly senior steps forward.
What do you do?
>Let Roth take the credit, or the blame, recounting the events which have transpired>Step forward yourself, to take your rightful place at the head of this mission… And to tell the whole truth, and be judged>Take your place at the stone of judgement, but tell the most cherry-picked and flattering account possible [specify what you emphasize or leave out, if you have something in mind]>Shove Alhazred forward, throwing your party’s juniormost member to the proverbial wolves, and see how it goes>Write-in 