Several Miles Below Ground
First Dawn of 13 AL

The lab had seen better days, in that every day of its existence prior to this had seen it left in near perfect repair. However, with its research complete , the Mote- well, suffice to say it had no reason to keep its tiny corner of the catacombs so meticulously clean. The prophecy in its book of triumph had been fulfilled, the mysterious reward claimed- 

And here it was, stomping on the worthless garment with atrophied limbs, the strange tabard the only piece of clothing visible that wasn't tattered and dirt marred. Its lab didn't have any mirrors for it to fix up its appearance with, anyway. Not that it was aware how far its failure to take care of itself had gone. Skin so pale it was almost translucent, limbs that could barely support their own weight, body utterly hairless, and  impossibly gaunt, the Mote could pass for one of the aimless ne'er-dead ¹Motes who have lost all sense of individuality and motive force, aside from occasional violent tendencies. Killing and infusing them is seen as a mercy. that infested the Lush Catacombs. 

And  when a group of adventurers came to investigate the noise, it was all they saw it as. A bolt of lightning loosed from the Theologian's²Theologian's cast spells by mimicking the movements of the dead gods, and by infusing small amounts of divine ash. The God of Weeping Sky provides the basis for this particular spell. yellowed tatter of cloth was enough to put an end to the seemingly-wretched creature, for a time. What followed was a standard procedure, the ashes bundled up in a ceremonial urn, to be infused³Infusion is the process by which motes grow stronger, and the closest thing to a true death in the Tomb. The ashes reinforce the bones, and the bones drastically increase the time needed for the slain more to reform. into the party when they returned to town. Ne'er-dead took decades to reform their bodies, so it was perfectly safe. 

But the Mote was not a Ne'er-dead. And three hours later, the same Theologist found herself awoken, frozen solid⁴Frozen (Status): The next hit you take will always be a critical hit. with a knife pressed weakly against her neck. 

"Now, who just goes and turns someone to a fine powder after breaking into their lab? Most adventurers who make their way down here at least ask me how my research is going.", the Mote fidgets with its offhand, surgical scalpel pressing in closer to the ice cold flesh. "You're not bandits either, they know I don't have anything worth stealing. So... explain yourself? Before I sever your head? Please?"

Rather than a succinct response, the Theologian merely shouted out:
"You can talk!!???" 
A reaction met with much confusion by her assailant. 

"Why would an esteemed researcher such as myself be incapable of speech? Is there something wrong with your eyesight?"

A flash of realization across the holy woman's eyes.

"When's the last time you looked at a reflective surface?"

"...Oh dear. I believe... five years ago? I had to shatter mine as raw material for some curse tome I was tasked with constructing." 

Rousing the Brigand, the Theologian returned to the Mote's side, bearing the closest thing the party had to a mirror, a shining silver shield. Peering into it, the poor scholar recoiled in shock.

"I knew I was degrading a bit from the lack of sun, but-"

"Aye, you look absolutely wretched. If you were nae treasure hunting in this foul place, what were you doing?" the Brigand spoke in deep tones, the rest of their armor caked with soot.  A veteran soldier, this one, bathed in violence. Perhaps literally. 

"Research. Have you a copy of the Books of Triumph⁵A series of tomes recording both historical events and prophecies. The transition from soothsaying to historical record is instant, the moment the prophecy comes true. Some of these prophecies have rewards (such as the T-shirt).?" 

"A beat up one, but it should still work." 

"Page 247. Should have an explanation on what I'm doing down here."

"Master of Status, achieved... oh, shit. That's today. And... Is this you?"

" 'tis. Do you still have the tabard I received as a reward?" 

"Yes, although we were a bit puzzled as to its purpose. Is there some enchantment I was not able to detect?", asked the Theologist, a query met with a derisive laugh. 

"Its useless. But like hell am I giving up my reward for the last ten years of my work. Although, I think with my current state, it would be far too loose to actually wear. Perhaps I'll just pawn it off on the surface myself. Corpses know I need something to eat and some infused ash."

With that, the adventuring pair gave each other a look. For while they had 2/3rds of the quintessential adventuring party (muscle and magic), they lacked a knave, or someone with talent similar to one. Perhaps this Mote would do?

"Ah, I think I may be able to help ye there, scholar. What say you accompany us on our trip to the surface? We can discuss a potentially more permanent arrangement when we arrive.", spoke the Brigand, interrupted by their partner.

"We'll treat you to a day at the columbarium, as payment for our... earlier altercation." shouted the Theologian, before giving her friend a conspiratorial whisper.     

"I want it on our team, too, but if we don't get it some better gear, it'll just be dead weight." 

"I'm not a total fool, you two. You want to recruit me, don't you? Well, I need something to do with my unlife from now on... 

So count me in."