Rolled 3, 4 = 7 (2d6)
>>6330233Satisfied with his negotiations with the Eccentric Mad Maker, Raymnd completes his pilgrimage in Oltartown, originally set on his goal of righting the encroaching heretical ways of the colonies separate from the Lake of Communion. Huddled in a cellar prepared by traveling extensions of House Nelyth's kin, Raymnd the Visionary begins work on his final opus.
The avian shaped helm upon the elderly Knight's head is never more than a foot from the extent of his shaky fingers, delicately shaving thin strips of woven hyphae from a cylindrical loom, stacking the layers, and soaking them in a bath of newborn spores. The pages do not store words, but the implanted expressions and memories of the Vessel; the fleeting emotions and desires of a mind now bereft of youth. Years pass, as men knock upon the chamber door, heeding requests to serve, inquiries on stratagem, invitations to clergical proceedings, each met with little more than a neglectful groan in disinterest and a shooing gesture. His final epoch spent filling pages and pages of Myceliac folds with instructions, policy, and dogma. His finals years; unreachable, as his Elderwood door remains shut for so long its hinge seals to its own frame.
Only with the birth of the next Speaker would the listeners grow brave enough to crack the seal to his chamber, dispatching a furious cloud of rank spores and thrown whispers. The room, now revealed, was filled up to the rafters in stacked books: an interwoven network of mycelium, like wires jutting from a dysfunct machine. The strands glow, flourishing in wet mold as the whispering fog floods outwards to reveal the decrepit husk of its own creator, its armor reduced to a corroded slag that now hold the statue in a final position of prayer.
>Roll for next Vessel 