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This young priest is so amiable compared to others of his race that you can't help but want to give him a few words of encouragement. "An angel told me you're a good boy, Gandarlig. I bet you'll be a great spellcaster one day. Hell, maybe you'll create a new spell or something!"
The kid smiles meekly. "Thank you for your kind words, Champion..." He even calls you by your title! What a nice dwarf.
You notice that most of the humielets in the church are standing up and leaving, including the priests who were observing you from afar. Eventually, the only ones remaining are the seven spellcasting dwarves, Murdock, Gandarlig, Datz and you.
As you try to understand what's the deal with all the people who left, your nostrils are suddenly hit with a delicious smell, throwing you out of balance. The odour of many types of meats combined in a single trail of smoke comes from the Dining Hall, making your stomach and Daitza's growl furiously and causing your mouths to water up...
Murdock kneads his belly. "Boy, I'm starving! Dunno what your plans are, tribals, but it's lunchtime for me. I'll return here at the sixteenth tick, in case ye want to learn any more spells or need anythin' else from me."
"Sixteenth tick?" you and Daitza say in unison, confused about the strange term.
"Oh, right... you tribals measure time differently. To make it short, it simply means ye can find me here again in one hour and a half. M'kay?"
"Got it. Just one last thing before you go..." You want to make a petition that's been on your mind for a while. "Murdock, we would be grateful if you put in a good word for us and help us get the equipment for a successful expedition to the catacombs."
"Yeah!" Daitza says. "You're a respected dwarf, Murdock. The others should listen to you, right?"
The priest remains quiet, giving you a strange look... and suddenly, he grins and breaks out in inexplicable laughter. "Hah hah hah hah! Aaah... 'respected', the gnoll says. Good one. Heh heh... heh..." He shakes his head slowly, lowering his eyes with a smile that doesn't seem genuine at all.
Gandarlig walks up to the cleric and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I respect you, Father Murdock."
"Ye shouldn't, kiddo... ye shouldn't." A defeated, smelly sigh escapes his mouth, making the young dwarf step away fast. Murdock meets your gaze, his eyes lacking vitality. "Look, tribals... given that the fate of the world is in peril and all that, I'll TRY to intercede for ya... but no promises. Don't expect me to get anythin' from the other diggers."
Datz and you exchange looks, after which you nod at the dwarf. "We... understand."
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