This isn't where Raafi went to sleep. He'd set his bedroll up on a comfy patch of moss under a tree, and now - he still has the bedroll, at least, and his pack, but the tree and moss are nowhere to be seen, replaced by a strange metal room with still, stuffy air and an implausibly clear night sky out the window.
"Hello?" he calls, getting to his feet.
"Around a hundred fifty," he nods. "We make a real effort to make sure that everyone who hears the call can be trained."
"Paladins, actually - well, it's more complicated than that, but primarily paladins - of Adnauk, the river god. He fills a similar role to Pelor, here, but he's less interested in community and more interested in the harvest."
"No, but it's not surprising that one as important as this does. Our estimate is around a thousand gods, all told."
"I suppose they might not all cooperate with an attempt at a precise census."
"They really wouldn't. Even ignoring the secretive ones - could you imagine Garl Glittergold?" Raafi asks the prince, who chuckles. "Incorrigible trickster, I could just see him challenging himself to see how many times he could get onto the list."
"About a thousand, then, that's probably close enough to be getting on with."
"I'd expect it to be for most purposes, at least. I can probably find you an expert if you need a more precise number for something."
"I will hunt up such an expert should I ever plan to invite them all to a dinner party but for the present moment no."
"We have three commonly worshiped here, aside from the Shining One - Adnauk I've already mentioned, and there's also Chahu, goddess of the sands, and Shonles, god of the winds - good, lawful, and chaotic, respectively."
A trio of, presumably, scions, comes out while he's speaking - an older woman and two men in their late twenties in teal and white outfits with handaxes tucked into the belts; the mens' handaxes are ordinary steel, but the woman's has an unusual pearlescent sheen to it. The three of them pause to bow to the prince, waiting for him to nod before continuing on their way.
Cam nods to them but has no wish to delay them. Is he now to be presented?
He is; prince Maziar leads the way in. The throne room is long, magically lit, and lined with panels of carved wood and stained glass depicting scenes from the country's history, both military and peaceful; bronze-armored guards with spears stand at attention between the panels. A thick green carpet leads up the center of the room to a platform containing the throne, a bulky object carved out of a single piece of mottled translucent green stone and polished to a shine. The man sitting on it looks somewhat older and substantially less cheerful than prince Maziar, and watches them approach with a poorly-concealed air of exhaustion; the younger man standing to the right of the throne seems a little more interested in the group.
Prince Maziar stops a few feet short of the steps and bows. "Your Majesty King Nawfal al-Kaprela al-Kamar, Prince Faadil, may I present Cam, master conjurer and aspiring cleric of abundance. Gentlemen, may I present His Majesty King Nawfal al-Kaprela al-Kamar and His Highness Prince Faadil al-Kaprela al-Kamar."
"Welcome," says the king.
"Your Majesty, Cam would like to avoid seeing our citizens suffer any more shortages; to that end he's filled three of our warehouses with food to be distributed in the city and brought to outlying families, with plans for more - I believe he'll be able to fill every storehouse in the city tomorrow."
The other prince's eyes go wide, and the king perks up a bit, too, gesturing vaguely toward Cam with the lower end of his scepter as he does. "We appreciate that. What might you ask in return?"
Prince Maziar waits a beat, then replies. "Cam himself asks nothing, but his kingdom is facing the potential of a war in the coming years; I propose that we pledge aid to them in it."
The king considers this.
Seems imprecise but if that's how Maziar wants to describe it Cam won't object. His tail gives a swish.
"A reasonable request," he acknowledges after a minute, with another scepter-gesture. "But we shouldn't promise something we may not be able to provide; I'm afraid we haven't seen the extent of the drought's effects yet. We will pledge that we will provide aid to the degree that we are able without harming our citizenry, with the understanding that this may mean no aid at all." He nods acknowledgingly to Maziar and Cam, and gives Raafi a querying look.
"I can cast a truth spell about that if you'd like," Raafi explains quietly. "I trust him, though."
Raafi relays this to the king with a nod, and the king returns his attention to the prince. "Prince Maziar, see to it that Cam is comfortable and has everything that he needs; inform us if you need to disrupt the military or any services of the throne."
"Yes, your majesty."
"Do you have any questions for us?"
The king nods, "you may go," and the prince leads them out.
"He's not doing well, is he," Raafi comments, once they're out of the throne room.
"Understandably. I was expecting this to cheer him up a bit more than it did, though. Maybe once we start seeing results."
"Druid Suhail - or Reedbearer Amaani, but I expect her to be busy. We might be able to catch him before dinner."
"I suppose I didn't introduce Reedbearer Amaani; we spoke to her at the scions' lodge. Druid Suhail is much less involved in things - if we can avoid telling him anything that would be safest, but I'm not sure what you need to ask him."
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