Shuttering the thick wooden doors behind them with an audible boom as the goliath made her own place for herself removed from the rest, the priest calmly brushed his palms clean of the wood dust that lined his hands upon his humble robes. He smiled softly, genuinely after a the words of the half orc, realizing that at least some of the stranger members of the entourage understood what he had meant. He kept his voice low and as calm as he could manage, attempting to not be too distracting, as he replied to the elf and the other three with her while walking by.

"Erithar is a generous god, he is indeed not jealous, he allows us in his temple to address those other gods who are alike him, even those whose names I myself don't always know." As he turned to keep walking, the priest added, "So you may do as our orc friend has suggested, if you like of course."

Coming to the altar of the temple, he went about taking the as of yet unburned incense with him into a palm. Each sprig gingerly plucked from the metal vessel for it until none remained. It all went with him as he neared one of the two doors, this time the left, and entered into it; the audible creak filling the chamber slightly. It was not long before he returned with each of the humble, smoking plumes moving with him and being replaced into various holders. It was clear here on the frontier of the mortal world that the overt ceremony of everything was eschewed for practicality and meaning. After all, it only made sense that a fair, just, and good deity did not care how one really went about the process of showing submission and thanks, rather that it was honest. Or perhaps it was, truthfully, sadly, that the priest was far too young a man for his role to understand that the divines were not all so well meaning as history had told - it did, or so the story went, play a significant factor in man quite literally chasing their own gods off the [i]Material Plane[/i].

Once this seeming task was finished, time and again the priest appeared in and out of the only other room within the stone temple's confines. The whirl of smoke tracing around him as he did, the air now filled with the scent of clean, sweet ash, he reappeared until a small stack and bundle of arms, each wrapped in a woolen blanket were replaced. For a priest, a man who was not even allowed normally a weapon - not any more than any other peasant - he did handle an all too familiar unreasonably sized glaive well. Not in the sense that he could wield any of these things, but it seemed rather that now back in his element, his temple, he was much more coordinated and less disoriented than he had been at the prison; he wasn't near the shocked man of the cloth reading that all these figures were his responsibility anymore. A reasonable onlooker would have imagined this was thanks to the serenity and calm of this very simple structure, a believer in his power would rather claim this was the power of their god, and to an outsider, it was fairly evident he was simply making a special effort to not disturb any of them during the first real period of rest outside their cells.

[@Lauder][@BangoSkank]