rolled 5, 3, 3 = 11
The sky is gray when you return, dark clouds telling of a storm on the horizon. It is fitting, you think, for the weather to reflect your feelings so. Ceril listens, as always, attentive and pleasant, as you tell her you would like your 'spoils' given to the other troops, since you have no need of them. You ask of the list of the sanctioned, and what conditions must be met to gain a place on it. She tells you, sweetly, of the process for entry, the rigorous examination of past deeds, the spells of truth that let all be known. Hretmar would be put to court by a jury of his peers, human and deity alike. He would need to prove his worth, as it were, to the nation of Perin. And, given his origins, it is not likely that he would be seen in a good light. You ask for the option anyway, and Ceril replies that she will have all the information you need within a month.
You enter the cathedral alone, hanging your armor and weapons on their racks, sinking into bed as the light of day slowly fades, body and mind exhausted. Hretmar whispers to you as you drift away, assuring you that he needs no glory or recognition, for his path is one of service, and he deserves no monuments or temples to the things he has done. You give him a thin smile with the last of your strength, thanking him for all. His face recedes into the depths, wishing you sweet dreams.