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[h2][color=FF6C5C][i][b]Marita Bärbel[/b][/i][/color][/h2][i][b][color=FF6C5C]Human, Cleric, Level 3[/color][/b][/i]
[color=FF6C5C][i][b]HP:[/b][/i][/color] 18/18	[color=FF6C5C][i][b]Armor Class:[/b][/i][/color] 12	[color=FF6C5C][i][b]Conditions:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=FF6C5C][i][b]Location:[/b][/i][/color] The Infamous Pear
[color=FF6C5C][i][b]Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=FF6C5C][i][b]Bonus Action:[/b][/i][/color] N/A
[color=FF6C5C][i][b]Reaction:[/b][/i][/color] N/A 
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Marita woke up early, before the sun had risen as was customary for her. She was sharing a room so she set about her morning ritual as quietly as possible to avoid rousing her sleeping roommate(s). The cot was about as luxurious and comfortable as she had anticipated, and while she would vastly prefer a proper mattress she managed to sleep through the night which was about as good as she could ask for. Her first course of action upon properly waking up was her morning prayer. Nothing of note came to mind that she had not already discussed the night before, so she kept it short and to the point, mostly the standard rituals and prayers she gave every morning.

With her predawn worship out of the way, Marita went into her things and got dressed. For the morning, instead of the armor she had worn in the tavern and on the road, she opted to instead dress purely in her clerical vestments. Chainmail was rather quick to don if she needed to, and if she needed to talk to townsfolk and such, the lack of armor would make her less threatening. Truth be told, had she managed to arrive in Darenby earlier, she doubted that she would have worn the mail to the initial tavern meeting. Although the others were indeed adventuring types it still didn't do well for first impressions to walk around everywhere like one expected a fight.

Now clothed, Marita produced a small bronze mirror from her pack as well as her cosmetics and began the long process of carefully painting her face in a near dark environment. She did this every day, so she was quite accustomed to the working conditions, suboptimal as they were. It would be nice to work with proper lighting, but if she did, there would be significant time loss on all her other duties of the day, sacrifices had to be made somewhere. Today more than most days, Marita worked carefully. After seeing Victoria she couldn't help but feel a competitive streak flare up in her to try to do better.

By the time she finished, the sun had started to peek above the horizon, bringing in enough light for the last step in her civilized morning ritual: studying her holy book. Contrasting most things she owned, the text was a small, ratty thing. It was well worn and looked to be close to falling apart. She would need to get it rebound soon, but she couldn't bring herself to do it just yet. She had read through it many dozen times already, but the thing about a well written divine text was that the more you read it, the more you came to understand new meanings beneath the words. She found that to be the true distinction between a cult and a religion. In a cult, there was merely the surface wisdom; spiritual platitudes that sounded convincing yet ended up hollow once separated from the silver tongue that spat them. Even the most minor god worth their salt was able to provide more wisdom than man would be able to understand in a lifetime. So despite having had already memorized the text cover to cover, she didn't find her study time boring or dull in the slightest.

After about an hour had passed, Marita couldn't help but notice a smell coming from downstairs. The smell of food. Food that she hadn't eaten in nearly a day's time. She suddenly became aware of how empty her stomach felt and how bitter the inside of her mouth tasted. Carefully, the cleric closed her book, gathered her things and made her way out of the room, still trying to avoid waking any who had yet to rouse from slumber or were not woken by the clamor from below.

Unsurprisingly she was the first one in the common room. The sight of the exorbitant portions would have a lesser woman in Marita's position dive in and start gorging, but she had the self control to set her base needs to the side. For now. She gave Guido a cordial nod and Good Morning to his greeting, but then he produced a note, neatly folded. 

Oh no.

Marita has to stop herself from groaning loudly and sat at the table rubbing her temples. Could a single thing in this mission go right? Perhaps instead of an omen of doom, Victoria was actually an omen of misfortune, making anything that could go wrong do. Well, there was nothing she could do about it right now, so she might as well eat in peace while she could. Everything at the table looked delicious, and it would be very easy to bite off more than she could chew, so she chose to start off relatively light: scrambled eggs and some bacon. Sausages, bread and baked apples threatened to be too heavy and the last thing she wanted was to feel bogged down by her gut for the next four hours.