The party huddled at their usual corner table in the Rusty Tankard, the inn's common room.

  Even though it was midday, it was dimly lit by flickering lanterns and the glow of a dying hearth.

  After the last incident, the inn was restored by what appeared to be specialists in fortress construction. Triple-thick stone walls. Small, narrow shutters through which attackers can be struck with arrows from bows and crossbows. Iron-reinforced columns supported the ceiling, and thick, heavy doors that could withstand a battering ram completed the picture.

  The tavern had survived bar fights, smugglers, tax collectors, and even the occasional monster hunter celebration.

  Divine miracles, however, were still a relatively new category of disaster.

  So, above the bar, the innkeeper had installed a small wooden sign reading:

  “NO DIVINE INTERVENTIONS ALLOWED INSIDE THE PREMISES.”

  Someone had scratched smaller letters beneath it:

  Unless absolutely necessary.

  The innkeeper, a stocky man with a perpetually gloomy expression, insisted it was a joke.

  No one believed him.

  Gorzod nursed a tankard of ale, staring into the foam like it held answers.

  Thrain sat with arms crossed, beard twitching in irritation.

  Erian fidgeted with a spoon, while Liora lounged against the wall, her eyes half-closed in her perpetual state of minimum effort.

  Thrain grumbled first, "The church took nearly half of the bounty for 'collateral repairs.'"

  He hit the table with an empty mug, and continued: "As if a dwarf doesn't know the cost of stonework. We cleared the wyvern nest, and they bill us for what?

  The entire mountain? They are as greedy as goblins in a gold mine. Or worse - bankers."

  Gorzod grunted agreement. "Aye. If you hadn’t sold the wyvern parts, we wouldn’t be able to afford this fine ale.

  We'd have to drink holy water. Next time, let the beasts eat 'em."

  Erian sighed. "But at least we helped people..."

  The dwarf sighed: “Helping for free will turn us into beggars.”

  Before the mage could respond, the door creaked open, and the entire common room went still.

  Fanática entered the inn - in her simple grey nun robes, white coif framing her face, and no armor or maul in sight.

  She smiled radiantly, her halo dimmed, just a soft golden nimbus that lit nearby shadows.

  Patrons froze mid-bite or sip.

  Pair of merchant whispered quietly behind their hands.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A man near the hearth quietly stood up, left some coins on the table, and quickly slipped out the doors.

  Another patron pulled his chair a little farther away from the party’s corner.

  The innkeeper, turned pale and crossed himself, muttering, “May the Goddess protect us.”

  His daughter - a girl Erian's age with freckles and a quick laugh, paused with a tray of mugs - eyes wide in a mix of awe and dread.

  Faná joined the table, oblivious. "My dear companions! What a lovely evening."

  She grabbed the back of an empty chair from the table next to her and looked questioningly at the two men sitting there. They cringed, but one of them nodded.

  With a beaming smile, Fana grabbed the empty chair and pulled it up to the table.

  Gorzod leaned back, smirking. "So, what's the next catastrophe, lass? Gonna bless the river and turn it into a landmark visible from miles away? Or smite a cloud for looking too stormy?"

  Faná pouted, crossing her arms. "Oh, you tease! It's just people's hearts that lack faith, that's all. Or else they would certainly appreciate the Goddess's miracles."

  The innkeeper's daughter brought the ale ordered by the party's two alcoholics and carefully set the mugs down.

  Then, she immediately trotted over to the next table.

  Erian straightened, puffing his chest a bit, finally gathered his courage and stammered, "Miracles are powerful, sure... but mages have strong spells too!"

  He said it louder than necessary, glancing at the innkeeper's daughter. "Like... fireballs! Or illusions! Really impressive stuff!"

  She didn't hear it, busy laughing at another customer's joke.

  Erian slumped back, deflated.

  Before anyone could laugh at him, the door burst open again.

  The guild courier - a man with hawk-like eyes in a dusty cloak - looked around the room, spotted the group, and approached them.

  "Delivery for Lady Faná and her companions." He thrust a sealed envelope forward on the table, wax embossed with what appeared to be a noble crest.

  He bowed quickly and left.

  The table went silent. Interest spiked.

  Faná opened it carefully, read once, then laid it flat for all to see. Her smile beamed like sunlight. "My good deeds have been recognized! See? An invitation to a noble charity banquet - for the storm relief. How wonderful!"

  Less than a month ago, summer storms hit the southeastern provinces. These were no ordinary storms, but days filled with black clouds and howling winds that destroyed fields and tore roofs off houses. Entire villages lost their crops overnight. Refugees were already heading for larger cities, filling temples, barns, and the first miserable rows of shacks, which soon became new slums.

  Liora said in a tired voice. "No good deeds..."

  Gorzod snatched the letter, squinting. "House Faraway. Never heard of 'em."

  Thrain stroked his beard. "Nobles don't invite the likes of us without reason. This smells like a trap."

  Erian grinned. "It could be good! Recognition for Faná!"

  Faná clasped her hands. "Yes! Perhaps I can share the Goddess's word with the mighty. This is Her will!"

  The innkeeper hovered nearby, whispering to his daughter. Every eye in the room drifted toward their table, and the room's murmurs grew.

  Liora rubbed her temples.

  “They have no idea what they just invited.”

  (End of Intermission: The Invitation - Start of Part 2: The Greater Sins Crusade)