Rising in almost perfect timing with the first bell-ring from his bed, Morr was treated to the sight of his allocated room, granted by the temple.<br/><br/>The passing of the three months had been... somewhat unsettling, made him restless, he supposed. After all, the purpose demanded that goodness be served. But he had not done anything of the like while here, besides sometimes trying to meditate by the bees, always only to be disturbed by nightmares and dire memories.<br/><br/>There was always evil somewhere, somewhere some goodness to be done, some justice to let be sown. The purpose demanded so and he would have to accept. Just staying here did not help.<br/><br/>Sighing, he stood up and walked to the stand where his armor hung, he himself having been granted a habit, but he feared that if he did not wear his armor as often as he could, his aged body would soon become unused to the weight.<br/><br/>After having managed to attach all the plates, ending the familiar morning ritual with putting his helmet onto his scarred head and sheathing his sword, attaching the scabard to his side, Morr made his way to the dining hall for breakfast.