Clara the Lance
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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.
EXTRAS: +view
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Kerbasy A young priest, cheerful despite his somber garb. 0s 1d
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Catacombs <D> Dusty Road <O>
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Cinnamon has arrived.
It's Eliday, Rhaltaas 14 20:33:17 1014. The full moon isn't up. The tide is low and slack.
Cold rain falls from a grey-black sky without moon or stars. A raw wind blows from the east.
"Hey, Marlin!" Kerbasy laughs as he squelch-walks in from the rain. The Mourner's robes are plastered to his frame, mixed with mud and dirt and soot. His hair, too, is plastered to his forehead, and he's smiling again. It's like he never stopped. "I took that bath y'wanted!"
"Could use another one!" another Mourner shouts back from further in the Temple. He carries a tray of some kind and has been walking down the hall with it.
For once, the little goblin has bid her bear wait outside. She's not worried about anybody trying to rob her saddlebags because... well... bear. So it's curled on the steps. The little goblin, meanwhile, has taken with her a lit and scented prayer candle of sorts and a small dried offering. Ironically, it is Kerbasy that the goblin girl, Cinnamon, flags down,"Er... Excuse me sir, but I hear tell-" A pause to eyeball Kerbasy's state of 'disrepair', then she shrugs and continues,"... that there was a crafter of good skill to be found among these halls... Also, I was wondering if there was a specific place to make prayers for the 'still-living'. Never hurts in my profession to have the favor of a God when you want a good death, you know?"
Kerbasy grins at Marlin a moment more before turning back around. Surprise flickers over his features before he gives himself a shake. And then he's wearing that Most Pious of Expressions, the Come to Me with Your Troubles, Child.
Totally practices in front of a mirror.
Probably not unlike how an 8-year-old flexes in the bathroom, lifting imaginary weights.
He clears his throat again. "Mourner Kerbasy d'Bahjat, and pleased t'be of service. And all of things, yes." His eyes show a sort of warm humor. "Which would y'like to start with first?"
Cinnamon frowns thoughtfully,"Ah. A pleasure, Mourner d'Bahjat. Sir Cinnamon, Last Scion of the Testgobber clan, Knight of the Purple Rose, Champion of Lord Ildevourn, Slayer of Dragons-" She goes through the usual knightly titles with a slightly annoyed expression on her face (they take a while), before she can actually get to business,"-I'd better put give my offering first. A star could otherwise fall from the sky and kill me at any minute otherwise. I can forsee actual business a lot more certainly than I can my own death." Being born of goblins, and their proclivity towards machines and explosives... We'll she's culturally more comfortable living with the threat of fiery death over her head than some might be. She certainly considers it far less unlikely.
Kerbasy falls quiet for just a moment, before grinning. "Well," he says, and thinks about it again. And, "Well, it sort of depends on if it's a recurring prayer, or something more immediate or temporary. Perhaps you could tell me a little bit about it? If you're comfortable," he hastens to add. "Some prefer t'keep their prayers between themselves and the Lady."
Cinnamon shakes her head a little bit,"I am just praying that when my death comes, I die honorably. Hopefully in the name of a just cause. It is not mercy or painlessness I seek, you understand... I just wish for the strength necessary to die in accordance with the tenets of chivalry, you see? If I cannot be open with a servant of the Lady, before whom all hearts are eventually laid bare, then I might as well ask for nothing and take what I get, as I see it. It will probably be a regular thing, once I know where to find it."
Kerbasy blinks; he's startled. The smile stays in place, though; it's just a part of him, a natural feature. "Heh. Well, that's true enough. It sounds as though this is...it's something you'll be thinkin' on a while. You should carve it into the pillars, Sir Cinnamon of the Testgobbers." He steps back a pace so she can see more easily, and gestures towards the bastalt pillars. "Th' faithful come here and carve their prayers. Then, return and reflect on them, or talk with the Lady. She loves to hear how it goes, I think." His mouth twitches at the end. "I think it's easy to assume she doesn't care. ...I think she does. I think she's just...solemn. Responsible. And if you came in here and talked with her about responsibility and how you're doin', and asked for her help...heh. She'd probably enjoy that." He pauses. "Would you like me t'get you a scratch-quill?"
Cinnamon proffers some coinage for the priviledge, having assumed this is the normal way things are done,"I would appreciate that, friend Mourner. As of late, I've been wondering if perhaps she wouldn't make a more sensible choice for my primary worship. Death is often on the minds of my order, you know. We dream of the day we meet the Lady fervently, you know. It is a joke among my brothers that it is a pity she is married to her work. Regardless, she holds in her hands something we all prize... A good death, and the weighing of all our earthly deeds. This is... an important thing to a knight, you see. In reality, she stands in judgement of our most important work. And that gets one thinking. She and I... we have had many conversations, but I wonder if maybe I should be paying more attention sometimes, you see." She looks around a bit,"Let's see... I'll need some space close to the ground."
Kerbasy listens as they walk and when Cinnamon mentions her requirements, he shifts directions and begins leading them towards a different pillar. "I'm pleased t' hear it. I've heard of th' clan though we've never met. I'm from the Vast, though I've spent most of m'time in Alexandria." He produces a scratch-quill his sleeve, and hands it down to her. It's in the form of a simple, gray quill with a hardened tip designed to scratch into stone. There is no ink supplied or used.
Cinnamon accepts the quill, and leans forward to meticulously begin scratching something. It's kulthian script, or some sort of personal cipher based on it, by the looks of it. She's got a cultured, carefully measured hand,"Aaaah, the Vast. A land of birth such that one must assume all who hail from it must've engaged in great deeds at one time or another... We all dream of great things, I suppose." She continues her careful scratching,"That said, I came to you personally because I have heard you are talented at crafting items that prolong one's chances to accrue glorious deeds before their final meeting with the Lady. That is, enchanted arms and armor."
Kerbasy watches the words take form. He takes a step back, out of habit, of training, as Cinnamon scribes her prayer. And his poor robes drip onto the floor now and again, a reminder of the weather outside, the cold rain. "Heh. We talk about it sometimes. If it's your wish, then I'll be pleased to take your armor, or weapon, to the altar. You're welcome to come too, you know," he adds, almost shyly. Read: someone. Somewhere. Put a robe on an awkward geek.
Cinnamon smiles slightly,"It's still attached to my bear at the moment, but I was looking to have my lance enchanted, you see. I am finding many foes are rather... resistant to my strikes otherwise. Lady Primrose can only do so much, after all." She pauses and adds a line of prayer for her bear as well, then offers the quill back,"Thank you Mourner. It seems... It seems odd to ask you to help me hurry lives along while I'm praying for a 'good death'. Still, when your life combines a diminutive shape with a colossal ambition, it's best to look for help where you can get it."
"Heh. Well. ...if you'd like to, let me know. It's uh...it's nice to have conversations that aren't uh..." he clears his throat, and grins. It makes him look younger than he is, though the expression goes with it. "Heh. What I mean is, I'll be happy to work on it with y'. The Lady's inclined to listen. We'll just need to find the right words." He tucks the quill away.
Cinnamon gestures to the outside,"We'll go along, sure..." She whistles, and almost immediately, there's a thump as a bear begins to lightly trot in her direction. Like it deserves to be here,"This is Lady Primrose, my boon companion..." And then she's pulling down a lance with a shaft made of Ash and holding it up,"Tell me all about the Lady, then. I'd like her blessing on it if possible."
There's some scattering as the bear makes its way in. It's a...BEAR, the whispers go, and different parishioners look that way. Yet, Gilead's Temple is full of hounds, and Kerbasy has his hands in his pockets. He yanks them out, holding his hands out and palm up. "Heh. ...well uh. It's uh. ...it's good to meet you, Miss Primrose." He seems to be focusing on the fact that a Bear. Just made its way into the Temple. Ahem.
Cinnamon reaches up to rub the bear's head. "Lady Primrose, greet the Mourner properly." The bear stands on its hind legs and holds a paw out to the priest,"Sorry. Lady Primrose, my valiant steed. She forgets she's not a delicate goblin lass most of the time. She's not much of a Lady either, but... A knight and her steed are expected to live and die together. She is my best friend, I daresay. She's young yet, but sometimes... Sometimes I swear it's as if she understands me." She leans up and rubs her cheek against the bears flank and the bear rumbles in pleasure. "At least I keep her clean."
Delicate goblin lass. If his ears could twitch, they would. Kerbasy rubs the back of his neck instead, and, "Heh. Well, I suppose she is. I uh...well, it's nice to see you Miss Primrose." Did he already say that? "I reckon she does, to an extent. You reckon she'll want to come to the sessions?" he asks. He looks down at the lance politely, and blinks once.
It's not as big as many lances, of course, but it's certainly still a long weapon by most any reckoning. More close to a long spear for a normal person, at least. But well crafted and with the device of her order etched onto it,"She wants to come anywhere I go, friend Mourner. But she doesn't take it amiss if she has to wait outside. If it's warm, she'll just use it to nap, after all. She likes to sleep, the lazy git." She kids the bear's leg playfully. When you're the size of a rooster, this, of course, means... well... not much. "She's waiting for you to shake her paw."
He blinks again, still dealing with BEAR IN THE TEMPLE ZOMG and then...something changes. Something changes, as he looks at the weapon. He relaxes, focuses on the lance. "I uh, heh. Well, it's quite nice, isn't it. It uh...she's been with you a while, hasn't she?" And he's talking about the weapon, and a grin twists his lips as he does so. And then seems to notice what Cinnamon had said about THE BEAR. And looks at the lance one last time before reaching out his hand. You only live once...
The bear's paw isn't really made to grip another hand, so when the other hand makes contact with her paw, the bear puts the OTHER paw over Kerby's hand and gently wiggles it up and down clumsily. Then she lets go, lolls out a tongue, and stares at Kerbasy meaningfully. Cinnamon surrepititiously puts a fish head in Kerbasy's hand,"Here. She's expecting this. Lay it on your open palm. Makes it easier for her to nip it up." It takes the goblin a moment to get what the priest is asking about though,"Yes. It was a... gift I received on the day I received my spurs from my knight. I was his squire for a goodly while, and his page before that. I pledged to add many great deeds to its story. I call it..." She suddenly blushes,"... Clara."
Kerbasy grins, even though there's a fish-head in his palm. "Heh. Well, it's not unheard for a warrior t'name their weapons. Might be a sight odder if they don't. ...she seems like a solid weapon." He holds the fish-head up to where it can be got, while pushing his own fingers out of the way. It's just a large dog. It's just a...
And like that, the bear has snatched up the fish-head from Kerbasy's palm and then goes to licking and cleaning it like he might somehow be viciously hiding more fish-heads from her in the creases of his palm. At least she drops back to all fours again so she doesn't tower. Cinnamon then clambers on top of the bear at this point,"I prefer to ride her when possible. This city is made with tallfolk distances in mind. Makes it time-consuming and tiring to get around otherwise. But yes, Clara... She's a good companion herself. Eager to serve, has yet to shatter on me. Gotta keep her well oiled and cared for. Had to pay for magic to fix her more than once, but she's worth it. Why get a new one when she's proved herself so many times before?"
"Heh." Kerbasy looks at his palm, and then wipes it vigorously on his soggy robes. It doesn't help much; it just shows that he'd been working before the rain had come down. Mud sticks to his palm as he pulls it away. "Heh. Well, why don't you come by...well, when would you like to start?" Around, those in the temple give them a certain berth, though the scratching of scratch-quill on stone may still be heard.
Cinnamon wrinkles her nose in thought,"I'll come in on the third and fifth days of the week if that's acceptable? And I'll be happy to have Vardama's symbol added to my device should we find my worship proper. A knight's device is as much a conversation as it is anything else. It tells the world who I am and what I am about."