"From the mainland, you said?" The man sounds surprised to hear this but backs away and opens the door wider for you to enter, Soelan's obvious iconography providing instant recognition and acceptance.
"Please, then, come in. I'm Father Hamen and this is my humble church," he leads you inward to a small antechamber with a thick, if faded, rug covering the wooden floors. To your right an open archway leads into this building's small chapel and directly ahead of you a staircase leads upwards towards what you presume is the priest's personal quarters. The priest's face is flushed slightly red as he sweeps his arm about to indicate the small space.
"Eleanor! Some tea for our guests!" the priest shouts up the staircase before turning to regard you once again.
"As to local happenstance? I can't say much. Other than the fact that yesterday's service was scarcely attended, and I didn't notice anyone from Solea there..." he seems concerned about this oddity but not overly so. "I'm afraid I get most of my news secondhand from my parishioners. The year's been poor for crops, but most will make it through the winter fine considering last year's plenty. Supposedly Sotavento is in uproar over something but I never heard what, just that they were barring the gates at night and double-checking all travelers into and out of the city. And that's the interesting stuff, most of what I hear is who married who and what crops are expected to sell well next year. I can't imagine that's very interesting to any of you."
You see movement on the staircase and a thin young girl descends the stairs, no older than perhaps seventeen, carrying a tray with chipped crockery and a steaming teapot. Despite the rather ungainly load her steps are swift and sure and she alights to the floor with an assuredness of long practice; perhaps she is used to serving the churchgoers. "Tea, anyone?" she asks and proffers the tray.
"Ah, this is Eleanor, my ward," Hamen offers as the girl serves tea to those who wish it.