Marle

It was noon by the time Agamemnon stabled his horse at the siding inside the gate to Tarren's Junction.  Shades and the others were still in Tsar with the newly-resurrected Snooks.  He'd assisted at the ceremony, and though he'd wanted to stay and talk to his returned friend he knew the dwarf would need a little time to reorient himself - they could talk later.  The important thing was he was back, and as near as Agamemnon could tell there were no issues with the return.  So for now his focus was on making up for the time he'd lost in meditation with the elves.  The long ride back had affording him time to decide how best to approach this situation.  It was going to be a very delicate conversation, and he needed to be focused.

That brought him here, to the temple at Tarren's Junction.  In his white feathered cloak and polished mithril breastplate he looked radiant when he swung open the brass-bound door to the complex, drawing many looks from the worshippers and the priests who were in the main prayer room.  It was a calculated move.  He needed to look impressive, and touched by the divine, so as to inspire confidence.  Agamemnon made his way straight to the vestry.  He walked purposefully and deliberately.  An elderly priest, Martoth, made to block his way before recognising the half-orc.

"Father, can you direct me to Marle?  I need to speak with her."

The priest looked surprised, but gave him the directions he needed, and passed him into the vestry.  Agamemnon made his way directly through the courtyard where he knew she would be.  He needed to get this right.

"Marle."

She was seated under a small tree, reading a text, and she started when he called her.  She looked up and squinted to make him out against the luminance of the sun.  He hoped he looked bright and commanding and holy.

"Agamemnon?  I heard you went to the Dales!"

He sat down on a rock near her, smiling in a way he had seen kindly older priests do in other temples.  "I did, but I've come back."

Agamemnon had thought long and hard about this conversation.  Marle was young, not much more than twenty, but her spiritual power was strong, and her heart was pure - he'd learned in the time he spent in this temple convincing the priests to become more active in their combating of the evils of a resurgent Rappan Athuk.  When the Great Downwards had cleared the Hospice - at great personal cost - Marle had felt hope, and had done everything she could to support him in her capacity as a cleric of Sarenrae.  Agamemnon needed her clarity and her vigour, but more than anything he needed the strength of purpose that a follower of the god of compassion and patience and love would bring to his fledgeling order of devout warriors.  Her divine strength would be as valuable as her own pure heart.

But he knew he needed to be careful.  She was young, and she had a place here in Tarren's Junction.  The prospect of joining such a dangerous venture as another Righteous March or even a permanent outpost in the deep darkness of the dungeons underneath Mosswood would be intimidating.  Not everyone was cut out for a life of such risk, such danger.  Agamemnon knew she would be a valuable member of the team he was building, but he needed to make sure she knew that as well.  So he had to be very gentle and delicate in how be broached the subject, to be sure that she would hear him out and truly consider the proposition he was about to put to her.

He smiled at her again.  "Marle, I -"

"I want to come with you!" she blurted out, taking Agamemnon off guard.

"I ... uh, what?"

"You're going back to your castle, aren't you?  I want to go with you.  I can help!  I'm doing nothing here - nothing at all.  They won't let me do anything.  My god isn't important any more, they said, I'm too young, I'm too inexperienced they said, the people here just want peace and tranquility.  I tried to talk to people, to the people of Tarren's, I tried to get them active, but they don't know what I'm talking about, they don't get it.  I know, I know what's down there, I know what happened in the Hospice, your friend, the sorcerer, she died, and it was to save these people, and I don't want to sit here doing nothing while there is so much work to be done to vanquish that darkness in Rappan Athuk.  You've got to take me with you, please, let me help!"

She finally stopped talking and sat staring at Agamemnon, her pale skin flushed red as she sucked in air trying to get her breath back.

"Uh ..."  Agamemnon just looked at her, and started laughing.

Marle's face creased in anger.  "You're not taking me seriously!  I'm serious!  I can help!  Look, I can cast spells, I'm trained in field medicine, and in supporting soldiers, I was even going to join the town guard once but I want to come with you!  You're making a difference, and I want -"

Agamemnon tried to stop laughing.  "Marle, wait, listen," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eyes.  "Marle, you wonderful, beautiful person.  I came here today to ask you to come to Calaelan, to be my chaplain."

She stared at him.  "You ... you did?"

He nodded.  "I need you, Marle."  He clapped her on the shoulder.  "You are exactly the person we need.  Any doubts I may have had about your joining us in our endeavour have been well and truly vanquished by your passion."

"So ... you'll take me?"  Agamemnon had never seen anyone look so delighted.

"I would be honoured if you would agree to come with me.  How soon can you leave?"

"Now!  I mean ... um ... see, I'm already, sort of, packed.  Like ... well, I was going to go to Calaelan to offer my services anyway ..."

Agamemnon stared at Marle and burst out laughing again.