The temple of the goddess of wealth is a sleek, simple building, standing about twenty meters high. Made of smooth, cool blue stone, the temple can only be described as businesslike. Above the gate, the name of Pecunia and the image of the goddess have been carved into the stone, the carvings filled up with gold dust. Templar guards stand watch before the gate, dressed in the finest armour and armed with the finest weaponry money can buy. Around the temple, many merchants have set up their stall, hoping to do business in the divine radiance of the patroness of material gain.
In front of you and to your left you see the Bank
Taking up almost more space than the place of worship itself, the bank is just about the central location of the temple of Pecunia. As the inventors of the banking system, Pecunian clerics have specialized in this branch. Merchants and the like stand in line before two marble desks, where clerks cribble away in ledgers filled with often meaningless numbers. The room is down to earth, simple in design, providing places for people to sit while waiting or to stand in line for a loan or deposit.
In front of you and to your right you see the Post Office
The post has long been associated with Pecunia. In times past, the postal system was brought, the faithful say, to the world by Pecunia herself, and the followers see it as their divine duty to maintain this moter of the economy. For a price, on can drop letters and small packages here, which the Pecunians will deliver, usually within a week to a month in time, depending on size and distance.
Directly in front of you is the Donation Box
This box, which should simply have been called enormous chest, sits near the exit of the temple, a priest attending it at all times. Various slots permit the deposit of valuables, even large gems, but the donation box is most strongly warded against theft: more than one thief has left the temple with one less hand to go about his roguish ways.
Merchants are seen here donating money at regular intervals, securing favors and good luck in obtaining profit.
Beyond that is the Altar
Made of pure, solid gold, this large altar sits in the middle of the main hall of worship. Here, the walls are adorned with scenes of important events of Pecunian myth, much like leaded windows, only here, the coloured glass has been substituted by gold, silver, and a variety of valuable gems. When the candles are lit, this whole room gains a glow, with all the light reflected from precious metals filling the room. It is in this glow that religious services are often conducted, with the faithful kneeling before the altar, and a priest of the faith leading it all.
Immediately to your left or right are the Meeting Corners
The corners of the temple, out of even elves earshot from everyone else, serve as places where one can speak with a priest privately. Masters of material gain, the priests of Pecunia are often sought out by businessmen and merchants for their expertise. Led to these corners, they are always given the very best of business advice... for a price. Often, a priest will request both a donation to the faith, and current information on the most recent events in the world of business.
There are several priest and guards standing about, any may be able to assist you.
Coming through the Portal was a sight that might even surprise the most jaded and experienced guardsman or passerby. He stands at barely more than half the height of a normal man. His head is overly large for the rest of his body and his legs are stunted and bandy. His facial features are brutish and unsightly as he has a large, flattened nose, oversized ears and a mouthful of yellowed and crooked teeth. He has one crystal blue eye and one dark brown one, giving him an intense, mismatched gaze peering out from under an oversized, bulging brow.
If there is any physical indication of the type of man he might have been, in it's in his hands. Both are strong and lean, like a painter or artist's hands. His long, slender fingers give him the ability to write and play music, and are without a doubt his finest characteristic. A splotchy and blemished complexion, nearly impervious to sunburn, peeks out from his shaggy, ill cut mop of midnight black hair. He is dressed in a myriad of colors and textures. Patched and mismatched bits of cloth serve for both tunic and cloak. Slung over one shoulder, on a ragged leather strap, is a well broken in lute, broken strings jutting out here and there. On the other shoulder, a worn and well traveled satchel containing nearly all his earthly goods and possessions.
His real name is one of his greatest secrets, but back home on the streets of Roque D'Ancourt he is known as Motley.
Coupled with his ugliness, was his equally as revolting reaction to traveling through the portal. The ugly little creature gagged and retched as his mismatched eyes scanned the room wildly for a receptacle to deposit the contents of his stomach into. Once he had finally exhausted his earlier meal in no less than four separate heaves, he did his best to compose his unsettled stomach and make himself presentable to whomever official was in charge of the portal's arrivals. With a handkerchief, he wiped his mouth and brow and deposited it back into a pocket before approaching one of the guards.
"Good tide to you sir! I am the Motley! Could I please trouble you for some assistance?"