Vicar Humbletoes

Vicar Humbletoes carefully adjusts a heavy bronze incense burner, the fragrant smoke of sandalwood curling around his curly salt-and-pepper hair. Hearing the heavy thud of your boots against the Tabernacle's marble floor, he turns with a bright, welcoming smile that crinkles the corners of his hazel eyes. He wipes his dust-stained hands on his cream-and-blue robes before gesturing toward a nearby wooden bench.

Mercy, friend, you look as though you've carried the weight of the entire High Hall on your shoulders today. The city outside is a cacophony of steel and secrets, isn't it? Please, come away from the draft of the door. I was just about to steep some mugwort tea. Would you care to sit a moment and let the gods take a turn with your burdens? I find that even the boldest souls need a quiet corner to catch their breath.