Candles in the Rain

Log Info

• Title:
• Emitter: Ashes
• Characters: Ashes, Aryia, Verna
• Place: A15: Vardaman Temple
• Time: Sunday, January 09, 2022, 1:29 PM
• Summary: On a dreary day, Ashlee is busy at the Temple of Vardama, conducting mourning rites for those that have passed. Another soul wanders in, Aryia. Her seeking out the hobgoblin as a sort of secondary option of necessity. Her first option, however, does arrive, Verna appearing and guarded by a Silverguard to collect her personal effects from within her vault. Aryia seeks Ashlee's aid in the Grey Halls, looking to get a soul returned that she feels that was wronged and should be given a second chance. Though, she keeps the details sparse, only giving more once Verna departs. Ashlee questions Aryia's conviction to see this through, and it's clear as day this soul means everything to her. Ashes chooses to help in this endeavor.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A15: Vardaman Temple *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The Vardamite temple is a solemn affair. Composed of carved blocks of basalt, it looks as if the whole thing were set into a scooped-out chunk of the mountain. Braziers and torches, despite the presence of more modern conveniences, are the main source of light. The basalt columns and blocks are engraved with prayers for the dead from hundreds of cultures and dozens of races. Some are works of master carvers, still others are little more than the work of desperate or sorrowful petitioners, quick prayers lovingly scratched into an empty space.

An outdoor altar is littered with offerings, as are the steps and even ground surrounding the front of the temple. These offerings are frequently collected or cleaned away by serious-faced Mourners, or Mourner-acolytes, while Serriel's Lancers guard the front doors. As ever, the sound of monks in perpetual chant can be heard as a low background noise as they go about their somber business.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Ashes        5'11"    177 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face.
Aryia        4'8"     110 Lb     Shadow Elf        Woman     A heavily scarred mul with a lost look about her.
Verna        4'5"     98 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Petite humanoid in bulky gray robes and cloak.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

The Vardaman Temple is a somber place at the best of times. The best of times, for a temple to the dead, is when it's chilly, almost freezing and drizzling a fine mist of rain that drains all colour and adds a dreary aspect to the world. There's a dampness that seeps through all covering, a wet sheen on all surfaces, and a clamy aspect to the air. The black basalt stones are streaked with streams, hearkening to one of the names for the Grey Harpest: The Feiu of Tears.

At the outdoor altar, an ashen figure is tending to candles. She's clearly a Mourner from the colour of her garb, and a hobgoblin, from her size, general hairiness and large ears. A parasol is serving as an umbrella, the jaunty skulls and crossed bones unusually bright in the grey day. Hunched, and looking older than she is, she whispers a prayer and lights a candle.

Several are arrayed out in front of her, a few thick ones, and several slender tapers. There is also a book, lying on leather and covered with a waxed sheet, which she consults before each prayer.

At least this time she knew about how to get to this place. So she wasn't as miserable in the cold as she ascended the mountain.

A vaguely familiar scarred mul'neissa wrapped up in a black shawl and a green jacket. She pauses just before the entrance, shuddering a bit at the hobgoblin's attire before steeling herself and approaching. This wasn't her first choice, but it was a better choice.

She's scribbling in a journal as she approaches, coming to a slow and a stop to wait for the candle rites to be finished.

One most familiar with the temple, yet who has been utterly absent for a day or three, now enters. Verna has even deigned to bring a +1, in the form of a Seer. Somewhere between formality and practicality, the Elunan follows behind and to Verna's left. "I need only acquire a few sundries," she notes aside.

"Tobias the Skinner, you are remembered." Ashes says in monotone, touching the taper and lighting a candle. "Feiu of the Tears, remember him, he is mourned."

"June the Seamstress, you are remembered." Another candle is lit. "Feiu of the Tears, remember her. Her children still visit."

"Basille the Apothecary Herbalist, you are remembered. Feiu of the Tears. Remember him."

"Philli the Architect, you are remembered. Feiu of the Tears, remember him."

"Peter the Seige Engineer, your enemies still curse your name, your allies mourn your loss. Feiu of the Tears, Remember him."

The mourner finishes lighting the candles. She remains still, standing there and staring at the candles flickering in the wind. Her lips moving in a slow mumble. Finally she picks up the book, closes it and wraps it in the wax sheet and the leather and slips it into her satchel.

She turns. Ashes has a blank expression, obscured by her skull-face tattoo. Her eyes are glassy, there are streaks beneath them. Tears, or rain. She blinks at Aryia, and Verna and friend.

Aryia herself isn't one to be overly reverent in any sense, but she at least stands silent with her hands clasped together, journal under an arm as Ashlee goes through each of the lost.

The skull tattoo greets her, and it unsettles the mute somewhat. Never really was Aryia and Ashlee alone before, and now she felt double awkward. She's about to raise her journal to show some written words when movement catches her attention.

She flinches slightly. Verna was here. Her compromised first choice. Aryia raises a hand to greet her, as well as Ashlee.

She spends a moment rewriting what she was going to say. She'd have to finesse this a bit.

Verna pauses upon spying the candles and noting the invocations, with a polite, if firm, gesture to her escort to do the same. Once the other Mourner completes and turns, Verna's steps resume further within. "Mourner Ashlee, Aryia," she greets both in turn. Then, in reverse order, she inquires, "What brings you to Vardama's Hall upon Ea?" of Aryia and then informs her peer, "I am temporarily relieved of my duties here. I will not be present overlong."

"Ok." Ashlee says, nodding to the information and the arrivals. She gestures towards an alcove carved into the rock face. It has benches on either side, enough room for a family to sit intimately, and deep enough the rain hasn't penetrated too deep. It allows for a view of the altar, and moderate privacy for contemplation.

And discussion, should that happen.

The Mourner turns and strides towards the alcove and sits all the way in the back. She folds up her parasol and leaves it propped outside, and faces out of it. A shadowy figure in a dark hole in the rock, and a skull the brightest part of her. Ashlee's company is as inviting as it's ever been.

She pats a seat beside her. Slowly. Her skeletally emblazoned hand bright in the darkness.

Aryia blinks at Ashlee's invitation, her rubbing her neck and staring at her feet. It's just skulls.

"Hey. I was looking for her, actually. I... need a hand with something. It deals with the Grey Halls. I'd ask you, but... you know.. " Aryia signs to Verna, her tapping the side of her head. She looks guilty about it.

Resolving herself, she joins in the alcove. The journal is laid out, and it reads:

"Hey. I need your help. I need a Vardama guide for something."

"If you would indulge me a moment?" Verna inquires of her companion before stepping towards the other two. To Aryia, she gestures succinctly, "Understood, and no offense is taken. At this moment, I would advise that my advice be independently verified, regardless." To the other, she offers, "I will not intrude on your duties, nor your aid to Aryia. It is good to see you once more, as circumstances oft conspire against such."

There's a slight fluttering of Ashlee's hair and a second set of eyes appear, golden in the gloom, beside her jaw. An eerie, "WhooOooOooOoo?" warbles, echoing off the stone walls. It's a tiny screech owl, her owl.

Not to be outdone, Chippen crawls out of her hair and across her forehead to become one large, chitinous monobrow. It makes the hobgoblin's features seem even more brutish even though she's simply sitting there.

Ashlee nods once at the book, indicating agreement, then looks at Verna. "It is." She takes in the handsigns, which she clearly doesn't understand, looks between the two, then asks, "What's wrong? What's needed?"

Aryia, this close to Ashlee, is staring at the animals that poke out and chitter from the hobgoblin. She is, to put simply, uncomfortable. "It's okay Verna. I have something for you at a later day."

The mute gives a sigh, scribbles some more, and shows it.

"What do you know of the Grey Halls? I have to go there to get someone's soul. They're... important to me."

"I expect that I shall be available in the future at your leisure," Verna assures Aryia, "as a guest of the Elunans." She does not look to explanations written for Ash, though she can reasonably suspect at least one possible line of inquiry.

"I've been." Ashlee says, staring directly at Aryia. Her owl is too, and presumably her centipede, it's hard to tell where his eyes are and where he's looking. She draws a small silver branch out of her satchel. It has five leaves, one of them darker than the others.

A Mourner would recognize it as foliage of the grey halls, non-mourners might as well. There's something unsettling about it. The ashen Arvec continues in her usual monotone. "Twice."

"You have to deeply care about the person you seek. There's always a challenge. The agents of Vardama, traversing the Gray Halls, or with the soul you seek."

She is silent, thoughtful. Chippen adjusts on her forehead, waving antennae. Her lips purse. "I know a few ways there. Mahuikaa has an artifact. I have an item. I have a relationship with a psychopomp."

She blinks once, stares even more intently at Aryia, her dark eyes locking with the mul'niessa's milky ones. "You have to really care. You have to die. The Feiu of the Tears may keep you."

Aryia nods to Verna, offering her a light smile. "I think you'll like it. Ease you some."

Her attention shifts to Ashes. And she listens.

Her milky gaze firms and sharpens. Jaw setting. She takes the journal and scribbles more, the pen tip etching deep lines that transfer to the next couple of pages. It reads.

"Death will not stop me. She does not deserve this ending. It is unfair. And if have to rip that soul out of the Harper's hands I will. I'm going to need a guide. An Althean will be with us to help. We care. I care. I want my family home."

Verna takes in all of this information before gesturing to Ash whilst looking to Aryia. "In this instance, I believe that you located the most adept and experienced guide. While I have visited Her Hall, neither occasion was entirely of my own volition, nor was my return."

Ashlee looks at the pages, reading, then returning her gaze to Aryia. Her rebuke is mild, monotone, an disinterested sounding caution, "Death comes for us all."

Her hands tighten as she thinks over the request. The grey halls hold no fear for her, and it's her life's goal, or perhaps her after-life's goal to become a guide past the veil, much like she is on this one. She disagrees slightly with her fellow Mourner, "Seer Merek is more powerful. He's died almost every day of the week. He would be better."

Except, Vardama might keep him this time. Ashes bites her lip, she shouldn't have suggested him. "Does the soul you seek feel the same? About you? Departed souls respond to the strongest ties. A lover. Family."

There's a glance towards Verna, perhaps seeking confirmation, support, before she fixes Aryia with her gaze again. "You do die. Formalities may allow you to return, but it's not guaranteed."

Aryia can't help but let her stern visage crack a bit at the mention of Merek. A memory rolls across her mind's eye. This only redoubles her resolve on the matter.

Pen scratches. Slow. Deliberate. Like scripture that was to be cemented into law. She shows it. Smudges of a silvery light mar the page from where her fingers brush it. It dictates:

"She told me that she loves me."

A line break.

"I have the courage now to tell her the same. I have been waiting to tell her for many moons. She feels the same. Else she wouldn't be clinging to those Halls. Formalities be dammed, if the gods want to do something right for fucking once in my life, it'd be fixing this."

The ashen Arvec watches as the mul'niessa scribes her words. She notes the care, the intensity, the inadvertent magic, the sentiment. She recognizes grief, that's her calling. She has words, powerful words, to address this. Words she carefully considers, then discards.

She's found her words of power to be inadequate.

Instead, Ashlee reaches out, gently sets a warm, firm hand with all the bones bright, on Aryia's. She squeezes. Her words, uninflected, unhurried, unconcerned are strangely calming. She sounds as if she's never frightened, never overwhelmed. The tone of voice needed in a crisis, assured that everything will be all right. "The Feiu of the Tears gives me all the power necessary. I'll help."

Still, another look at Verna, "I will need to consult others."

Aryia gives a light nod towards Verna as she departs to get her things, but her gaze swings back towards Ashlee.

Then a boney hand rests over her pen holding one. A tone that is needed in crisis.

Aryia did not consider herself in cris-

Long hours spent writing letters to no one at night. Dresses that gather dust in the wardrobe. A candle so carefully burned to not extinguish its wick.

-she was mourning.

She was not ready to mourn.

A few shaded tears drop against her journal as she squeezes the hand in hers.

"Th-nk y-u," she hisses.

Ashlee is not the Grey Harpist. She's a hobgoblin, and on the young side for her calling. In many ways a monster and from a culture that honours their dead, but hides any grief for them. Yet she is marked by death, in ways implicit and explicit.

The quietude that surrounds her, the intimate incline, the markings and the way her pets crawl on her, all combine into an impression. The company of the Feiu of the Tears would be much like hers, silent, solid and understanding.

"It will be ok," She says now, unhurried and reassuring, holding the hand that squeezes hers. "I'll make preparations."

It will be okay.

Aryia bows her head. A breath In. Another Out. She bobs her head twice, and frees her pen hand once more to scribble down with lighter strokes. Like she was whispering:

"I'll fill you in and answer anything you need to know. Seyardu, the Althean, will be with us to help. She cares too."

A pause. Then:

"Death comes for all. But our time isn't now. Surely Vardama, of all of them, will understand."

She draws a breath, pats the hand once more, and rises to her feet. A glance and a nod towards the temple. Let's go, she seems to say.

Ashlee rises and follows, nodding once. Vardama understands, and has been known to make exceptions. In her case, twice, and through her and the blessings and curses she's been able to provide, held off or hastened welcoming a soul to the grey halls.

This time, Ashes will ask her to let one go. It's a big request, one not undertaken lightly.

"WhooOoooOooOoo?" Her screech owl asks. Owls from Quelynos can't read, and there was no name to read either.

"I have to return the Book of the Dead." Ashlee adds, duty somewhat calling.

Aryia has had to deal with a number of potentially magic birds. One that likes to scream for food. Another a messenger for their patron. So it was perfectly logical for her to think the whoo'ing owl was asking a legitimate question rather than being just that. An owl.

Scribble scribble. Show.

"Don't tell Verna or any of the others that fought the Demon due to some complications. But we're trying to get Aya's soul back."

She nods slightly at Ashlee's comment, her falling in step to follow her. She has to help with all the details, after all.

"Okay." Ashlee says, leading the way into the temple. She brushes her owl. Already he's helping. She's happy. There's a bounce to her step, if one knows to look for it. Her parasol is retrieved and Chippen takes up his place as her choker.

"I was there when he killed Jinks and Elyanna," She adds, after ensuring there is no one to overhear them. It's not a proud moment for her; she was immobilized instantly. This is Vardama's offer for her to redeem herself.

The weight of it settles on her shoulders. The ashen Arvek stands a little taller. Her duty and decision come together in unyielding determination. She can do this. She will do this.

Everything will be ok.

OOC

Regarding the Candles and remembering the dead
<OOC> Aryia says, "also i liked that pose ashes"
<OOC> Ashes says, "Thanks!"
<OOC> Ashes says, "It's significant, tell you later."

Later on
<OOC> Aryia says, "oh, so what was that candle service about with Ashes?"
<OOC> Ashes says, "Well I figure the Varadaman's do a service for everyone that dies and on the anniversary of their death. so they're probably lighting candles all the time. A big candle for 'everyone from years ago' and smaller candles for within the last year, or today"
<OOC> Aryia says, "thats pretty cool"
<OOC> Ashes says, "Name wise, not sure if it makes it better or worse, but rather than come up with NPCs I used relatives of mine that have died recently."
<OOC> Ashes says, "well, within the last 10 years"
<OOC> Aryia says, "that's a nice way to remember them"
<OOC> Ashes nods, "thanks, like they say, put some of yourself in the writing."