Ruins of Timberport
the priests of the glass room
Sehanine hides her face, and Melora’s fury breaks against the town; mother told you not to play with Gregor after dinner, to come straight home, but his dog just had puppies! You didn’t think the gods would punish all of everyone. Miserably, you walk home wet and cold, unable to tell the difference between your tears and the rain. But with your head hanging down, every stretch of mud looks the same, and suddenly you’re lost. “Go inside. Climb high. Make sure you can see the street. Don’t fall asleep.” Maybe if you’re good now, everything will be okay and you’ll never leave home again. The thunder keeps you awake, but the lightning is worse than no light at all, and you shiver a little more each time it shows you more of a scene you don’t recognize. Forever later, you hear a man calling your name, and you shout back, but your tiny voice is lost in the rain; running all around the building, you finally see him, and he finally sees you.
He can’t carry you and his lantern at the same time, so you have to walk back, but he seems to know the way. In an exhausted haze, you don’t notice his lantern guttering, just that the mister keeps walking faster and faster. You break into a run to keep up, and he stops. And looks at you and the lantern and the sky. “Mister,” you ask, “isn’t it awfully dark? Can you see?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long, cold second, looking at something you can’t see. “I want you to remember something. Could you do that for me?” You nod, confused, as he reaches under his cloak and pulls out a wooden disk. “I want you to remember that we carry the light inside us,” he says, and the disk shines warm and golden in his hand. “Come talk to us when you’re a man.” Then, abruptly, he smiles. “Until then, do what your mom tells you. She’s a wise woman. It will keep you out of trouble.”
“The Glass Room” refers to the curious Imperial habit of topping their buildings with empty glass boxes. It’s unclear how common the habit actually was – even Imperial glass is not as strong as steel-laced rock – but the priests of the glass room hold the remaining sites holy. They are, of course, worshippers of Pelor, although townsfolk generally do not use the name, or even know it. They do know that the priests brew a truly fine pale ale.
As the only male-aspect diety, Pelor attracts a lot of hen-pecked husbands. The matrons tolerate the cult for its occasional miracles and apparent harmlessness. If their men want to climb a bunch of stairs and whine at each other, well, good for them. At least then we don’t have to listen to it.
The humans of Timberport, unlike those in traditional settings, do not by default worship Pelor. PCs who do should have some good reason for so doing, as in the vignette above. The priests of the glass room generally do not train monks; they tend towards clerics, avengers, and paladins, in that order.
Unlike the Embassy of the Queen of Cities, the priests maintain only a single, short (five-storey) building. Only adult male worshippers know the layout of the upper stories; access is tightly restricted to protect the sole glass room remaining in town. It’s obvious from the outside, however, that the priests have expended considerable efforts on harvesting Imperial glass and windowsills, because the upper floor’s eastern face has been entirely glassed in, as have a few windows to the west. The ground floor is almost wholly given over to an emphatically secular medical service. Although the priests supply the bulk of the physicians, the wear of time has led everyone concerned to entirely avoid moral, ethical, or religious discussion; as a result, the medical service is one of the few thoroughly professional organizations in Timberport. Because the its hard-won athiesm, the service is the destination of choice of sick or wounded rangers and guardsmen.