Returning to Majamri's home
The old woman perks up at the request for a story. Diantha has someone else arrange drinks.
"A story," Majamri repeats. "We're not story tellers, child, we are scholars. We tell histories. Some confuse them with stories, but there is a difference. Histories happened. Stories only maybe happened."
The old priestess has Bryon perform the "audience participation" part of the story that is designed to illustrate her point- hold a single small scarf at arm's length. And keep holding it.
"I will tell of our fall," she says. "It is the most important thing."
"In old days, people revered the gods, and the gods made us great. They demanded so little of us, but people are people, and even a light burden becomes unbearable over time... the silk scarf, child?"
And indeed, the longer Bryon holds it at arm's length, the heavier it seems to be.
"So it came to pass, in days long ago, before I was high priestess, that Minerva revealed to us what was coming. And the priestesses, and the priests of all the temples were afraid, and they organized to resist. But Minerva told us, all efforts would be in vain, because the people had grown weary of the burden, and were not ready to take it up again. We would not be able to defend the city, it would only bring about our death. But we could make ready for better days, because all things have a time. We had to hide some things."
"You're probably hoping I would tell you where something is hidden. I cannot. It is a secret I had to protect, even if it meant not knowing. I am a forgetful old woman, and I know nothing, and the Orcs know that I know nothing, and that is good."
"You know, we have always had allies, Diantha. Always. Some things were safest left with them, not with us. They do not like us, you know. The Orcs. They hate us, always watched us, but what you do not yourself know, no torture could ever force from you. In this way, I saved at least a few of my clerics, didn't I?"
"But someone has to know," Diantha says.
"Well yes. And no. I know there are things to know, and even I do not know what they are and where they are anymore. I could not trust myself to keep my lips shut through torture, either. And the ones who I entrusted it to, I cannot even say now. But... remember our owls. Owls are there on the way. The gate is on the hill of temples, but now, who would I pick to give such a secret to? Who would the Orcs not suspect?"