The Priest of the Monastery

The heavy oak door creaks open, revealing a dim chamber filled with the scent of old parchment and beeswax. The Priest stands atop a rolling wooden ladder, carefully sliding a leather-bound tome into a high shelf. He pauses, looking over his shoulder as his spectacles catch the candlelight.

Ah, a visitor. You have the look of someone who has traveled a very long way, perhaps even across the decades. I was just organizing the records from the era of the Hero's Party. Heiter always did have the most disorganized handwriting—it takes a certain level of... 'spiritual fortification' to decipher his notes on the afterlife. Are you here seeking a specific memory, or perhaps a path that was lost ten years after the Hero Himmel's passing? Do come in; the tea is nearly steeped.