Meetup: Temple District Open Day

===> Tenebrae : Diemma <===> 9/22/2016, 3:23:39 PM <===

Mikilos exits the Temple of Tarien, absently patting his assorted pockets and pouches. When dealing with Tarrinites, it's best to double check for pranks. Not that it helps. Mildly certain he's not missing anything, and nothing extra has been added, the magus peers around in idle distraction... which to be fair is how he usually looks.

And then, not far away within the disrict, one large Aesir stands. The man, covered in dark-grey plates of mithril has propped his massive sword down against the ground, point-first, with his hands set onto the pommel of the hilt.

Jokul stands there, in silence. Thoughtfully, so. Staring on to the imposing sight of the Angorite temple, but without the apparent immediate intent to actually make way towards the building.

He stares, quietly. Thinks.

It is a strange thing indeed, but the nun Diemma is stepping out of the Angorite temple, basket in hand. She is talking idly with a giantborn warrior in heavy armour, who is at least two feet taller and one feet broader than she; the giantborn's arm is bandaged tightly, and there are several cuts and bruises to her face, as if she'd done several rounds with a Dranei platoon. Which of course she may well have done. Diemma pat the giantborn on the shoulder, and steps down from the temple entrance.

Kerbasi by reverse, steps out from the Althean grounds. He carries a basket, and has half of it stuffed into his face, as he is all-but pitched outwards by the not-so-gentle-Hearthguards.

After all, who wants DEATH hanging around?

The working-priest tumbles onto the steps, a muffin between his teeth. He munches, ambling down the rest of the way, apparently unconcerned. Or used to such things.

Mikilos apparently wants Death around. Or at least her local representive. "Kerbasi! Hoy! How goes it?" The tall elf waves a greeting, making his way across the plaza towards the Mourner.

Diemma steps over to Jokul, and stands respectfully to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Is everything already, Jokul?" She places the basket down on the ground, and waves goodbye to her giantborn companion, who disappears back into the temple complex.

"Oh! Heh. Startled me, there. I was...well, I was on route, and got a mite hungry," says the Mourner. Kerbasi gestures to the overly-laden basket over his forearm. His fingers are long and thin, though olive-cast in the manner of the phurai dae. "How can I be of service, t'day?" he asks. The young, whipcord priest had just emerged, or been pushed from, the Althean steps. He is now talking with Mikilos.

Yelrona walks out of Tarien's temple with two taller human women and a Lucht of indeterminate gender, all laughing uproriously, and chats idly with them for a moment before peeling off to come greet Diemma and the others. "Good morning! Isn't it a lovely day?" She raises her arms to the sky and spins a little in her enthusiasm, far out of proportion perhaps to the pleasures of the day itself, which is admittedly nice enough for the season. A strong gust of wind blows through the District, sending her silks and her hair (in its customary braid) flapping like flags, and she laughs at that as well as she joins the group. "Good morning, Diemma, Mikilos, Jokul..." she pauses at the new face and nods, "...Mourner. A pleasure to see you all! What are you doing on this fine morning?"

Many martial types often shoved into the frontlines of combat are often said to be very jumpy-- and to hold the danger on them of being startled easily into reacting badly.

Jokul, however, does not even initially react to Diemma's shoulder reaching for his mithril-covered shoulder -- there's some measure of safety in this district that the Warehouse District doesn't provide, afterall. Or the battlefield or the wilds, for that matter. So it's because of that, that the Aesir Warrior slowly turns his eyes down to the elderly woman instead of... doing anything more drastic, and regards her in silence for a few seconds before his eyes move on towars the temple again.

"Just thinking," he declares in a low murmur. "...Just thinking."

Mikilos smiles, and makes a vauge waving motion. "Nothing in particular. Just thought I'd say hello." He nods politely to the others, turning focus to Yelrona. "Oh, some of the Tarienites asked me to come over from some consultation. Sadly, turning the temple into a giant spider, or even just looking like it, would be far more effort than it's worth."

Yelrona laughs. "Er... I'm afraid that might have been my doing," she sheepishly admits to Mikilos. "I'd been inspecting the Artificer's Hall, and mentioned to one of the Luckbringers that whatever happened to it had certainly attracted new visitors, and perhaps it would.. you know... fill pews during services."

"Heh. I was on m'way to file some paperwork. Apparently getting into some areas of th' mines requires a signature or two," the Mourner replies to Yelrona. Then pauses. "You wouldn't happen t'know anything of a tattered cloak that showed up in my office this mornin? It had a happy face stitched into th' corners," he says, before he can process what Mikilos had said.

"Spiders?" he says. For comfort, he takes a bite of the muffin. There are crumbs on his robes, today.

Something within the conversation going on between the two Sil and the Priest Of Death over there catches Jokul's attention briefly, enough so at least that he's brought peering over his shoulder towards them, briefly, before his eyes move towards the Temple again.

"Say, Healer," he murmurs down to the way of Diemma, without really looking at her directly. "What brings people to gods?" He asks, of all things.

Yelrona guilelessly turns to the Mourner. "Cloak? With a happy face, you say? No idea. But what a charming gesture!"

Mikilos chuckles, and waves vaugely to Yelrona. "Mayhaps, but I don't think you were the only one with the idea." He blinks in idle curiousity of talk of a cloak, and curiousity of a more serious kind with talk of gods.

"...eh," the Mourner says. His look turns to confusion, and he looks down at the muffin. There are small, black speckles in the sugary, bready goodness, and he glances over towards the Althean Temple.

SUSPICIOUSLY.

Stepping into the temple district, a cloaked figure walks her way over towards the Temple of Serriel purposefully and places a few coins in a donation box.....then does the same at the Temple of Althea.

She does not acknowledge anyone else until that is done.

The cloaked figure then turns towards the group, and musical laughter can be heard as the person steps in that direction. "Selling muffins again, Mourner?" A familiar voice say to Kerbasi.

Yelrona perks up and turns to Kerbasi. "Well, if you're selling the muffin... hm. Well, perhaps I can offer you something in trade." She reaches into her pack and pulls out a thin, tattered cloak which she's fairly certain hadn't been there to begin with. She's getting used to that. She unrolls the wrinkled tattered musty thing and offers it to the Mourner, no longer trying to appear serious. "Perhaps I can offer you a cloak in exchange?"

"They had a few extra. I'm always this side of hungry, you know," Kerbasi says, guileless in his own way. The whippet of a man adjusts his geeklike lenses, and ... "And who do I have th'honor of addressin?" he asks. He palms the poppy seed muffin.

Then looks to Yelrona. "I already took a bite from it, I'm afraid. I couldn't charge y--"

And then the cloak comes out. "--I will charge y'two coppers."

Yelrona laughs. "If I add a second cloak does the price go to four?"

Mikilos quirks a brow, eyeing the cloak. "....I'm quite sure I'm missing something here..."

Yelrona turns to Mikilos with a mischievous grin and sits down abruptly, leaning her back against his leg. "Perhaps Mourner Kerbasi should enlighten us as to the state of his holy quest, then?" Perhaps oddly, that part doesn't seem like she's joking at all... she is, if not quite reverential, certainly sincere in her interest.

Diemma removes her hand from the shoulder of the Aesiri sellsword, and looks at him, side-on, with a thoughtful gaze. "That depends on the person, Jokul. Some people are brought by custom and tradition. Some people are brought by force. And some people are brought by the need to change. Some yet are brought by other reasons." She reaches into her basket and retrieves two hard ginger biscuits, offering one to Jokul. "Would you like to hear how I came to Althea, Jokul?"

"It is what Acleese will charge m' for the cleanin'," the young priest says with humor. He refers to the officious, afraid-of-everything arvek nar that lives in the Temple's basement. ...the arvek had fled, retiring from the Blar army to take on a comforting life of writing letters to dead people and their relatives, and sorting priests' calendars.

"Though, he was a mite upset t'find I'd started looking int' things, without filin' the appropriate paperwork. I'm usually better about that." Then, to Mikilos, "Th' Cloak of Saint Rarvin, Mikilos. I may've told you about it?" he says, then looks unsure. He glances towards Diemma and Jokul, then back.

"I'm one of the few faces you rarely see, Mourner, but a voice you enjoy hearing. I mean you no harm, nor did I ever." The cloaked figure says as she slides back the hood of her cloak to reveal Arisha. "Arisha, Hunter of the Dead." And she purposefully holds out her right hand to Kerbasi. "It's good to see you again, Mourner." She then looks over to Yelrona, Diemma, Jokul and Mikilos. "Someone playing magical tricks for you?"

Mikilos frowns mildly, and shrugs to Kerbasi. "I'm fairly sure do did, but I was working on a magical cloak at the time, and my mental notes are scrambeled." He blinks innocently at Arisha. "Not I. My magic lacks subtlety."

Jokul's head tips to the side and downwards again, to peer over the figure of Diemma thoughtfully over her words and offer. A few seconds pass without motion, and then one hand leaves the pommel of his oversized sword to reach down for one of the offered biscuits. "Please do," he murmurs then, in urging of the Nun, before he pops the biscuit into his mouth. Whole.

"I've a lead on th' final relic of Saint Rarvin. We found tha gloves...simple, workman's things. They may have told us somethin of his final battle." Kerbasi produces another muffin. He smiles, and offers it to Arisha. "It's good t'see you again."

"Althea the Merciful." Diemma says, by way of introduction, or by force of habit. "The Hands of Ithildin send manuus to work in poor rural communities such as that where I grew up, dozens of years hence. We would worship Angoron, as it happens --- he is a god of childbirth as much as competition. My mother passed away when my second sister was born, and the Angorite clerics had nothing to say on this. 'It is the way', they would say. 'Some pass, some do not.' These words have never left me, Jokul. At that moment, I felt there had to be a way to change things. To change this 'way' of which the Angorites spoke. And so, to the healers I came, and too, to Althea."

Yelrona is listening to both tales, though paying more attention to Diemma's, which is new to her. Anyone paying attention to her might notice a complicated collection of emotions flash across her face, of which the predominant one is anger.

Mikilos also listens with divided attention, but it's to Kerbasi he nods. "...and the Shovel? Or am I mixing up saints?"

Jokul seems to be making the effort of chewing through the biscuit take longer than necessary out of deliberation, while he listens to Diemma's tale, there. It's only once she's finished speaking, that he swallows the confectionary down. "I see," he says then, and falls into silence for a moment longer.

"I've been saying that I follow Angoron," he quietly murmurs. "But tell you the truth, I have mostly been saying that because, back when I was growing up in Stormgarde, everyone else around me would. When I was young, it only seemed natural for me, too." HE glances down to the nun, briefly. "...Truly, I don't really feel any kind of tie to this particular god, now. Maybe not even back then, really."

Arisha says, "Mothers give a part of themselves for the child to be born. So if the child dies, a part of the mother dies with them. Some mothers, wanting so badly for their child to survive, give their lives for the child to survive." She sounds rather mournful at this point, but she looks to Yelrona. "Calm. Some have their beliefs.""

"Heh. Th'shovel is doin well. I've been prayin to the Gray Lady that its story be unlocked. It is stronger than since we'd first uncovered it, certainly," the young priest says. "But, I suspect th' cloak looks like the shovel did. Somethin' a working man would own." He steps back, turning his attention to Diemma's ongoing tale.

Mikilos nods. "Gold and jewels seldom make for good tools." Though the gems on his brow and very very fine material of his Robe may be an exception to the rule.

"They don't deserve to die for them," Rona whispers. It's unclear whether she's replying to Arisha or talking to herself. Then she shakes herself like a wet dog and looks at the cloak in her hand. "So, this isn't it, then?" she asks innocently, and returns it to her pack, with a small chuckle of appreciation at Tarien's assistance in this extended joke.

Kerbasi clances over at the query. He lifts a hand to rub, reflexively, at the back of his neck--"Ah...no, heh. But I'll trade you a piece of toast for it. It's...is that another smiley face on th' corner?" he asks, before looking towards Diemma, Jokul. He lowers his hand and smiles warmly, and then looks back to Mikilos and Yelrona. "Perhaps we ought t'walk towards the fountain?" he suggests, to give the two privacy.

The old midwife nods at Arisha. "That is true. And others give themselves for it, too, in other ways." Diemma smiles, half-closing her eyes for a few moments. "Jokul, no-one can tell you who to revere but yourself. This I am sure you know. If you decide to remain with your god, then that must be the right thing for you. If you change, then so be it; it can be hard to break traditions, as was the case for myself and the town which I left, but finding your own faith does not mean abandoning that of your home. I, too, still pay my respects to Angoron, but in different ways. A weekly clinic, for his faithful flock." Here she smiles.

Mikilos nods, and takes a step as Kerbasi indicates, but hesitates, and speaks to Jokul. "Gods are usually wise. If they do not fit you, then you do not fit them. They have seen a thousand come and go. They will understand if there is one more." The elf sighs, hand absently moving to his necklace.

Arisha says, "No one knows that lesson better than myself, Lady." Arisha says softly. "One should not follow someone they do not believe in. If your heart is elsewhere, most of the gods will understand. Only the most insecure will tell you to worship them, or else." She then sighs. "but do not let overconfidence be your guide when you wish to show your god your faith."

She then looks to Mikilos....and tilts her head. "Animus?""

Mikilos nods. "Still."

Yelrona nods her enthusiastic agreement with Diemma and Mikilos as she rolls lightly back to her feet. "Absolutely. We walk our own paths ultimately, which is why I am not a Seer myself." She approaches Diemma and clasps her hand in hers. "You do important work," she adds, dropping a small semiprecious stone surreptitiously into the Hearthguard's palm. "May you always find the resources to continue it," she murmurs before turning to folllow Mikilos and Kerbasi.

"So somehow, whatever I do will be the right thing regardless, huh..." Mutters Jokul, and wrinkles his nose ever-so-slightly there in deep thought. His eyes stay locked on the temple for a moment longer, and then he peers over his way towards Mikilos, one brow arching slightly.

Mikilos nods thoughtfully, reaching up into the air and plucking at Reality, as if gathering wisps of spiderweb. "Suppose the important thing to remember is that you aren't alone." The magus makes a twisting motion, and casually sets a cloak over Yelrona's shoulders, the material simple but fine, and the colors brightly Tarien orange and green.

GAME: Mikilos casts Minor Creation. Caster Level: 10 DC: 22

Yelrona grins brightly at the cloak, which she affixes to her leathers as it blows in the wind with her silks. "How lovely!" she replies with a curtsey. "Both the gift and the sentiment. Thank you."

Mikilos smiles and murmurs softly. "Should last until sunset."

Yelrona nods, unsurprised... she's familiar with the spell. She enjoys the gift just the same.

A few tens of meters away, a harried-looking arvek woman with a baby in a sling against her chest is shouting instructions to two small boys running pell-mell through the District, in a manner any mother of children or child of a mother would no doubt recognize even if the language is unknown. A fourth child, younger than the other two, holds one of her hands. The other holds a large bag, fragrant with groceries.

Arisha smiles at Mikilos and Yelrona before looking to Jokul. "Most of the time, the right thing has it's own reward." She says watching the Arvek woman and her children.

Not too far from the arvek woman and her family, two gnomes are cheerfully riding what appears to be a cross between a tandem bicycle and a see-saw, as pedestrians get hastily out of their way.

Kerbasi fetches one of the muffins, again. He looks over, and smiles. "Heh. Faith is a simple thing. ...it's the acts that are harder. If I can be of service in any way, let me know. Hunter," he says then to Arisha, and smiles around before heading up, towards the mountain walls. He steps aside from the children and their bicycle, with an, "Excuse. Pardon m'."

A powerfully built Arvek male is riding a powerfully built warhorse into the district, moving at a stately pace. He is wearing what seems to be the uniform of an army officer. His face is bright red, morphing to orange around his smallish nose. Above his right eye, it looks as though he had been splattered with electric blue paint. A well-made falchion hangs at his side.

GAME: Yelrona rolls perception: (3)+10: 13
GAME: Heinrich rolls perception: (9)+1: 10

Yelrona continues to admire her new cloak, unaware of the impending minidoom.

Mikilos blinks, and perks up, listening to... something. With a sigh, the elf tsks mildly. "Please excuse me. Minor problem at the shop." A word and a gesture, and Mikilos is gone. No puff of smoke, no zap of power, just... gone. Wizards.

"No, Jokul," comes Diemma's firm response. There is a hardness to her voice which is at odds with her calm demeanour. "You will not just do the right thing. You will do the right thing." There is a subtle difference in emphasis, but it apparently makes all the difference. "This is not to say that the right god will not come to you without looking. Or that in remaining with your current god that you will do the wrong thing. It is just to say that faith is a journey, not a destination."

In retrospect, it seems inevitable. The two arvek boys have been tossing a stuffed ball back and forth, and one makes a long toss that the other runs to catch... cutting off the gnomes in their bicycle-see-saw thing. The gnomes swerve frantically, and the topheavy vehicle loses balance, almost hitting the arvek woman, who drops her groceries. Eggs, milk, bread and produce spill out on the path, and she releases the little girl who was holding her hand, who delightedly toddles over towards Heinrich's horse. "Horsey!"

A large cat emerges from nowhere in particular and begins lapping up spilled milk.

Yelrona turns at the noise and sighs. The woman stares at her ruined groceries, then glares at the gnomes in their overturned... thing. "Why don't ye watch where yer goin', ya damn menaces!!"

Heinrich pulls up on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt. He dismounts, says, "Hi, there young lady. This is Blitzen. Will you watch him for me while I help your mommy?" to the arvek girl in a friendly voice. He then calls over to the boys and says with the voice of authority, "Boys, help your mother clean up, while I teach these gnomes some manners." Finally, he jogs over to the gnomes and their contraption of a bike. 'Whoa, there friends. I jnow that you wouldn't destroy a mother's groceries then leave without making it right. WOULD YOU?' <goblin-talk>

GAME: Heinrich rolls intimidate+4: (12)+6+4: 22

Yelrona approaches the chaos and helps the gnomes get their contraption upright. "For what it's worth," she says to Heinrich, "the boys weren't exactly paying attention to where they were going, either." The gnomes look back and forth between them, uncomprehending. <goblin-talk>

Arisha chuckles a bit and shakes her head. However, she does walk her way over towards the Arvek family and bows her head a little to the mother. "Sorry I couldn't help, ma'am." She says as she looks to the groceries. "What did you have?" It's obvious she doesn't understand goblin-talk.

The woman, who has been glaring at the gnomes, seems mollified that they are being seen to by someone in authority and looks appreciatively at Arisha. "Ach. Dinner, is all," she sighs as she regards the spilled groceries. "Which YOU two'll not be having any of tonight!" she continues, regarding her sheepish-looking boys.

"....Just how is it that somehow that sounds both complicated and simple at the same time?" Jokul wonders aloud of Diemma, eyes narrowing briefly over the words she has given him this time around. "...And for that matter. What if it ends up not being about faith at all?" Whatever the heck that is supposed to mean.

The commotion with the groceries anad the horse and such draw his attention briefly, too, and he lets out an exasperated sigh, though apparently elects not to go shuffle in between everyone else already attending to it.

Between being in the kerfuffle and having a tall, muscular, armed hobgoblin catch them up and address them so commandingly, the gnomes cower a little, and seem to think the better of disclaiming guilt in the matter of the ruined groceries. One says, "Uh, of course... sir." He gulps. "We'll make it right." The other fusses about the bike.

Arisha says, "How about you get some more groceries. Your children really should not miss any meals." She then hands the Arvek a few coins. "Go...get some more.""

Heinrich watches as the one gnome stands up and brushes himself off, then approaches the woman and sheepishly apologizes to her, glancing back over his shoulder to Heinrich. He gives the woman a couple coins, too. Only then does Heinrich nod and returns to his horse. To the girl, he says, "Thank you, dear one. Blitzen seems to like you. Perhaps you will grow up to be a great horse trainer."

The woman looks uncertainly at the mul', at the gnome, at the money, at her groceries, at the gathering crowd, at the cat, at the other gnome, and scowls. "Well. Thanky', ma'am. I appreciate your kindness. And you too," she adds to the gnome. It seems rather forced, but genuine enough just the same. She grabs the younger boy by the wrist, glares the older into cowed submission, and warily approaches the horse to retrieve her daughter, thanking Heinrich as well, rather more comfortably. "Come along then. Back to the market," she sighs as she trudges off the way she came, family in tow.

Yelrona reaches up to pat the horse on the head. "Blitzen, eh? Nice to meet you," she continues, clearly addressing the horse, who shows no signs whatsoever of understanding her. "I'm Yelrona. You seem like a very nice horse. Perhaps I have something for you?" she says, reaching into her pack and pulling out an apple. Which turns out to be made of wax. Blitzen sniffs it and looks at her reproachfully. She shrugs and puts it back. "Sorry. Sometimes that works better," she explains apologetically.

Arisha smirks a little. "At least they realize kindness can come from anyone." She says as she starts towards the east,a nd up the mountain....

Heinrich cocks his head toward Yelrona, regarding her with his bright yellow eyes. In a distinctly Alexandrian accent, he says, "Hello. I'm Heinrich, but folks usually call me Hank."

Yelrona nods. "Nice to meet you, Hank. Folks usually call me Hey You!, but it's Rona to my friends. That's a nice horse you have."

Heinrich cracks a toothy smile that is perhaps a little unsettling to non-goblinoids. He merely says, "Thanks."

Yelrona doesn't appear especially unsettled, either by the grin or Hank's arvek heritage. She does, however, regard the mark over his eye curiously. "Would it be horribly rude of me to ask how you got that mark?" she asks, horribly rudely.

Heinrich says, "Oh, this? It's just a birthmark. Some say that a blue mark on the face is a sign of divine favor. I don't know." He shrugs. "So, Rona, you seem quite at home here for a Sildanyar. Have you lived long in the City?"

Yelrona nods at the answer, as though confirming a theory. She shakes her head at the question. "Not long at all... I just arrived from the Mythwood this summer. But I'm finding this is a city that's easy to get comfortable with. You?"

Heinrich takes a deep breath, almost a sigh. He says, "Alexandria has been my home since mother and I fled Bludgun. My late father had been an officer in the cavalry, but regarded Serriel with greater favor than the imperial regime did. In fact, they took such a dim view of his... opinions, that he was arrested and executed for them. This was about the time that Blar established its independence. Alexandria welcomed us as politcal refugees, and has been good to us ever since. Now, I'm looking to throw in my lot with the adventurers for which this city is so famous."

Yelrona nods solemly. "Ah. Yes. Bludgun. I'm... sorry about your father." She is silent for a moment before continuing. "And, yes, there certainly is no shortage of adventurers here! Why, among my friends alone, I..." she stops, looks around, as though realizing for the first time that everyone else has left, and she's now chatting up a cavalryman alone on a city street. She shrugs. If she had a reputation to protect, she'd worry about it. "Well. I assure you, I do have friends, and am not a pathetically lonely cat lady who --" she is interrupted by the stray cat who, having finished licking up the unexpected windfall of milk, is feeling exceptionately affectionate. She sighs and picks up the animal, stroking its fur gently as she stands there. "Never mind. Er. So, you've been to the Guild, I assume?"

Heinrich nods. "I have. (beat) It looks like you've made a new friend, there."

Yelrona smiles. "Eh. He probably is just hoping for more milk."

Heinrich looks up at the sky. "This whole month it's been downright cold, and right on the heels of an intense summer. Today's actually pleasant, for a change. A nice day to be out and about. I've seen a lot of shoppers in the market, and traffic by the shipyards. Me? I was actually going to drop in at the temple of Serriel here for a bit. Then I thought I might head up to the festival grounds for some jousting practice. It gives me both a chance to face an opponent, and to borrow a lance. I'm actually saving my coppers up to buy a very special lance--one made of adamantium."

Yelrona nods. "It is a glorious day, it's true. I can't complain about the cold quite so soon after this summer, but I can certainly enjoy the respite from it. And it has definitely increased the flow of coin to street performers and temple donations!" she adds with a pleased grin. "So, you followed in your father's devotions, then?"

Heinrich smiles. "Sure. To do otherwise would dishonor his memory. Was... er, is your father a Tarienite like you?"

Yelrona meets Hank's eyes sharply at his correction, wondering if the man is aware of her situation with respect to her father. After her interview in the Tribune, many did, though this has not turned up as many leads as she'd hoped it would. "No. My parents were, ARE, Elunites. My mother is the Chief Seer back home, in fact, though this sounds a lot more impressive if you don't know how small a town Yles Namvadin actually is. I... ah," she laughs, "I came to Tarien by a rather more circumlocuitous route."

Heinrich silently mouths the word "cir-cum-lo-cu-it-ous to himself, before saying, "Well, I just didnt want to assume that he had passed. Your people are very long-lived, after all. Anyway, your conversion seems like a story worth hearing... perhaps over an ale?"

Yelrona nods. "I'd be delighted to share an ale with you, and the story both, though of the two I suspect the ale will be the more interesting. Shall we?"

Yelrona is sitting cross-legged on the public square, trading knock-knock jokes with a couple of other lay Tarienites. They seem to be doing so competitively, though the rules are unclear.

Kiroth comes out of the temple of Daeus and he's finished buckling down his armor. He shifts his shield and checks to make sure his sword is clear. He looks around the Plaza before he heads down the steps.

There is a great deal of activity in the Temple District today. Many of the temples are opening their doors, letting the curious ask the dedicated any questions that they might like about faith, religion and the gods. There are representatives from all races and all faiths: A lucht siuil cleric of Tarien talks furtively to a llyranesi inquisitor of Eluna, whilst a giantborn cleric leads a booming chorus of gobbers in a rendition of Angoron's most rousing battle hymn. At the centre of the district, by the fountain, a group of people are discussing their faith openly with others. Manus Diemma, venerable cleric of Althea, is in this latter camp, perched on the lip of the fountain talking to a storm dwarf about Gilead.

Niara comes out of the temple of Tarien. She was here to give offerings, which while she isn't all that devout, she does worship on a regular basis. She glances around and had to ask what was going on and has decided to stick around for a bit. She does spy a few faces that are familiar so she does glance towards Diemma and gives a small wave not really wanting to interupt her conversation.

Nicolai emerges from behind the temple of Tarien. As he walks he brushes off his pants legs and combs straw out of his hair with his fingers. By the time he gets to the edge of the gathering he's looking downright presentable. "Greetings from the laughing one!" he booms. After a moment he adds, "And Tarien too!"

Yelrona breaks off from the group she was with and joins Niara. She doesn't know the woman, but has seen her during services from time to time, and this seems like as good a time as any to introduce herself. "Good afternoon! I've seen you around but haven't had the chance to introduce myself... I'm Yelrona." She waves to Nicolai as he appears.

Kiroth moves down to join the others, "Good afternoon, I am Sunblade Kiroth." He says with an easy smile as he inclines his head to the others, "If you have any questions for me about Daeus' faith pleas feel free to ask."

Verna descends the moutnain road into the temple square, rather surefooted despite the steep path and large tome hovering open before her. To say nothing of volumous feet- and all else-hiding robes and cloak. A possible pathfinder proxy hovers slightly above and behind her left shoulder in the form of a coppery spheroid. Once she reaches level ground, Verna moves across the square and towards the general gathering of those presumably seeking or espousing faith of one bent or another.

Niara turns and looks to Yelrona. She pushes her hood back further showing her dark skin and silver hair. "I am Niara." she offers. Her voice has a lilt of the Jade Islands to it. "I often keep to myself, people don't always prefer to be in my presence." the mul'niessa says.

Nicolai turns his head slowly until he's looking at Niara. "Ah, well...thanks for sharing!" After an akward pause he hurries on. "I do have a question about Daeusites." He turns to Kiroth. "Whatever happened with the Dragons of Dragonier? The good ones, I mean. The living ones," he amends a moment later. "Does anyone know?

Verna's hood lifts from her tome... or, rather, the tome is lowered, closed, and stowed within her robes. "Heth slew most, and the rest scattered to the winds. One dragon and knight recently made their presence known: they are the sole known survivors of that legacy."

Yelrona nods to Niara. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. My own people aren't very good about that, most of the time." She shrugs, unsure of what else to say. "You're welcome to sit with me anytime, though."

Vasya walks her way in from the forest. She doesn't seem too put off by the city at the moment, thankfully. However, noticing the small group, Vasya walks her way towards them quietly. "hello there."

Kiroth nods politely to Verna, "What Verna says is the truth. I got to see the dragon and knight with my own eyes when they were here. There is still hope."

"All are welcome, in Alexandria," Diemma states, simply. "All faiths, all races, all peoples. It is a city of peace in a turbulent world." She thinks on Verna and Kiroth's comment. "This was many years ago, was it not?"

Nicolai nods quickly. "Sure, sure...I have heard of that one. I meant the rest! If anyone would know, I always assumed..." he trails off with a slight gesture towards Kiroth. Then he falls silent. For a moment. Looking around at new arrivals he nods pleasantly. "Hello...greeting...Nicolai, follower of Coyote."

Niara nods to Yelrona, "I will keep that in mind," she says and shakes her head, "Sad thing is never really knew too many of my own people, I was raised by others for most of my life." she shakes her head a bit again and nods, "It is where I found Tarien."

Kiroth ahs, "Well I don't know about the others. I have not seen any in my travels although lately I have been helping more here at the temple and haven't had a chance to adventure out although I would like to."

Yelrona says, "Oh?" to Niara, curiously. "Were those who raised you followers of the Singer?"

Niara laughs a little, "Not exactly. Most of them followed The Great Whale, but there was one, and it was he that kept me from my heart turning dark." she smiles a shrugs a bit, "It is a long story really, a tale of piracy, and more." she giggles.

"The Great Whale? The Singer?" Diemma, despite her years of religious study, is lost here. "Of which gods do you speak? Their names are not known to me."

GAME: Yelrona rolls knowledge/religion: (19)+4: 23

Yelrona smiles, dropping to the ground in a crosslegged posture. "My apologies, Diemma. The Singer is how Tarien is often known among the sildanyari. The Great Whale is, I believe, how the Islanders honor Rada?

Vasya says, "They might be talking about Rada, lord of the sea and....." She then looks to Yelrona. "What this lady here says. If you don't mind me interjecting.""

Yelrona shakes her head. "Not at all! We are all here to share with each other."

Ranik is walking casually along in a completely white outfit, carrying an ermine on one arm and a white staff in the other. Seeing the crowd, he approaches. With a nod he says tonobody in particular, Good afternoon, folks. Something going on here?"

Niara turns and smiles a bit and nods her head, "Yes, I grew up amongst Pirates, and most of them honor Rada, it would only make sense as they would want to have the respect of the seas." smiles and hasn't sat down, she does prefer to stand and does keep moving at least a little bit.

"I am intrigued," Diemma says. "In how the faiths vary from place to place. Sunblade Kiroth, are there any different practises here to those in your homeland?"

"Pirates? How ... free-spirited." Verna looks to the question concerning the current activities whilst her floating copper companion scans over those gathered, in general. "This is a gathering of theological discussion, exposition and investigation."

Ranik arches an eyebrow, "Well, I suppose this is a fitting place for it."

Yelrona nods to Niara, prompting. "It was much the same with me. The town I was raised in was mostly Elunite, but events guided me on a different path. How did you come to hear Coyote's laughter?"

Nicolai whispers to Ranik, "We are talking about religion...after a fashion." His whispering is about the volume of a normal person's regular speaking voice.

"'Hear Coyote's laughter'." Diemma repeats, clapping her hands. "What a lovely turn of phrase. In the Hands, we say, 'to feel Althea's hand', but it is a little different."

Kiroth hmms, "Well Alexandria is my homeland so whatever customs you find here are the ones that I'm used to. I have observed other cultures though, what we call the gods, it may be by different names, but are the same."

Niara shrugs a bit, "I felt something in me for a while, never fully set well with all the raiding and such. Called to defend travellers, and protect those traveling. Sometimes to deflate egos, puncture them with my blade." she giggles, "Too many people take things too seriously and it keeps them from living life to the fullest."

Yelrona smiles. "The first Luckbringer I ever met used to talk about divine revelation as "feeling the boot of the Bard King", she shares, with a gesture that makes clear a kick to the ass is what was meant.

Ranik smiles at Nicolai and says, "Thanks. I find that Eluna has a pretty diverse following, actually. She seems to have Her hands in a lot of different pots: The moon, Magic, Dreams, Maidens, Hunting, Sildanyari, Practical jokes, night-lights... It's a long list."

Diemma mutters to Yelrona, "Spare... providing... puncture... blade causes... aside... the..."

You whisper "Spare a thought to she providing the puncture repair kit, please. Your blade causes damage aside from the obvious." to Yelrona.

A lucht siuil pipes up, in a friendly tone, "Eluna, the Maiden to Althea's Mother, is a wonderful goddess. Her blessing shines on everybody. It is our duty to protect her from Caracoroth, the Werewolf."

Verna's hood swivels towards Niara. "As well, it could be said that many are too concerned with a full life to make preparations for afterwards. One constant which all face equally, regardless of bloodline, status, nationality, nor faith."

Yelrona shrugs pleasantly in response to Verna. "One might also say that a life properly lived to the fullest is the best preparation possible for..." she pauses, looks briefly sad, continues "...one's inevitable death."

Ranik looks over at the SWORD and the one carrying it. His ermine chitters at him, but he ignores the furry animal and just observes.

Vasya says, "One as young as you, shouldn't have to worry about your death quite yet." She says to Yelrona. "and hopetully you won't have to worry about it for a very long time." She says before looking towards Jokul. "Greetings, Jokul.""

Yelrona takes a deep breath and replies to Vasya in a controlled voice. "One can worry about deaths other than one's own, I've found."

"My own would be the transition requiring the least amount of effort for myself," Verna notes. "Not to mention the least quantity of paperwork. My concerns are for the dead, not the deaths. The deceased deserve proper respect for their remains, and require proper judgement for their souls."

Ranik says, "I figure death is a dance partner for most adventurers. Especially right now over in Rune. I hear the Irregulars are facing some unusually intense struggles, but live or die, they're valiant efforts won't soon be forgotten.

Vasya tilts her head at Yelrona. "And in protecting others from death.....when do you live yor own life, Yelrona. One thing you cannot stop, is death. So rather than trying to prevent death everywhere you go, try to give people a good life. Or, even better, a moment in their lives where their spirit shines. Where they have one moment that they will never ever forget. That moment that is so powerful, that it carries through elven generations."

She then gestures to a flower. "Like the flowers here. Too much sun, and they burn up, but too little sun and they starve. You have to find the right balance."

Nicolai gives Jokul a casual kind of nod. Or tries to anyway, it mostly comes across as a nervous head bob. Even as he shifts a white fur pelt that he wears to conceal the shortsword Nicolai himself carries.

"Young or old, those who regularly put themselves on the frontlines of any given battle - like the people with the Guild - may have reason to worry of death," Jokul points out when he takes the effort to step closer to the group, seemingly in direct response to Vasya. "But... perhaps most of us who do that work voluntarily still don't, on the other hand. Easy to come to terms with it even. Afterall--" His free arm spreads out to the side. "What's wrong with dying as you have lived?"

Yelrona nods. "The situation in Rune is dire," she agrees with Ranik, "and in protecting Dran's potential victims some of us do find worthwhile moments in life. Well, I assume so, in any case," she adds, with a light laugh. "I'm not really the sort to go risking my life in such endeavors." She catches Jokul's eye sternly.

Kiroth listens as the others speak of death. "That is true that death is a constant companion on any adventure, thankfully there are those that can help to fend off death." He nods, "It is, after this I was going to head there myself to help."

Niara cocks her head to the side, "It was nice talking to you all, I should be making my way." she offers and gives a bit of a bow and then pulls the hood of her cloak up and turns to drift off into the crowd and go.

The old woman of Althea sits back a little on the lip of the fountain, letting the theological discussion around her wash over her like a comforter. It is moments like this that she has learnt to thrive upon; her fellow manuus have similar seminars within the chapter house, but this multi-faith response is much more interesting, and enlightening. Not only on faith, and culture, and religion, but also on outlook and career. The discussion on the proper response to death is highly relevant, considering both her age and occupation. Perhaps no more so than any other warrior, but relevant nonetheless.

Ranik says, "When I think about my own post-mortem fate, rarely do I give much thought to my mortal remains. Instead I imagine myself playing in the Blessed Realms forever more with friends and family. All I want for my body is that it be neither shamed, eaten, nor animated."

Yelrona blinks. "Wait. Not eaten? Are you sure? I could have sworn you said -- no, never mind. I just, um, need to change some paperwork."

Vasya says, "no matter what happens....your body will give back to the world. Even if it means giving nutrients to a treant nearby.""

Ranik laughs at Yelrona, then says, "That's not what I mean. Treants or trees don't bother me. It's werebeasts, humans, or other monsters that I don't want to feed with my own flesh."

"You did plenty well enough when you *did*," Jokul points out to Yelrona, and steps just behind her to let him bump his fist against the back of the Sil's shoulder, lightly. "And you came out mostly fine through it too. Still-- it's fine to not wish to risk your life either. There are plenty of us who are more than willing to... and have no qualms about the prospect of dying, either. I wouldn't mind going out in battle, tell the truth."

Yelrona rolls her eyes at Jokul's comment about her involvement and does her best to pretend he never said it. "It hardly seems fair, though," she mutters. Then, with the air of someone asking a question long suppressed, she asks the Vardamites "All right, here's a question for the Grey Lady. Why so unequal with her gifts? If death is such a great thing, why are we sil denied it? And if, as seems more likely, it's life that's the true gift... why are the mortal races denied so much of it?"

Ranik chuckles. "That sounds like something one of my schoolmasters would have asked."

"You sil are not denied death," Diemma points out, casually. "I have seen many sil and sila die, child. As much as old age as through injury, illness or disease."

Vasya says, "You do seem to have a lot of questions for the faithful." She says to Yelrona. "Maybe you've had a question of faith before as well?""

Ranik looks directly at Vasya and says, "You've opened the floodgates now. Brace yourself." He then winks at Yelrona.

Vasya smiles to Ranik. "Indeed. I have have been through this before. So, I ask the same questions I've asked myself."

Yelrona smiles. "I have a lot of questions for everyone. Normally I don't ask them, but, well, this seemed like the place for them. As for my faith? I question it daily. Twice-daily on Kordays."

Ranik says, "Anyway, fascinating as this has been, I was on my way actually into the temple. See you all later." He waves, then enters the Temple of Eluna.

Kiroth smiles, "There is nothing wrong with questioning your faith or others. That is how you learn, although you have to be ready for the answers they might not be what you want to hear."

"Plenty people who do that sort of thing," Jokul notes off on the side in regards to the matter of questioning faith, and his eyes flick off to the side. "More than I thought, anyway."

Yelrona nods to Kiroth and Jokul. "Well, that was rather the point of this little colloquium, no? Had we convened at the Ox-Strength we'd no doubt be discussing the finer points of a different sort of spirit altogether. What abuot you, Jokul... do you count yourself among the faithful?"

A griffon in mithral chain barding comes walking along bearing a rider, also clad in mithral chain. The rider, whom some may remember typically wears a variety of weapons on his body, seems to only be armed with a dagger strapped to his thigh and a quiver slung onto his back. His other usual armaments are instead carried upon his winged mount today. For a wild elf, he does have the unusual feature of some kind of eyeglasses on, though. He says as he joins the throng of conversing adventurers, "Good afternoon, everybody."

Ga'Elian asks, "So, why the crowd? Something going on here?"

Yelrona nods. "A colloquium on faith," she explains. "You're Elunite, if I recall correctly, yes?"

Verna is faced with a minor distraction of her hovering coppery companion deciding that it was not completed with the tome she was reading. It flits about to attempt to filch through her robes to retrieve it, which she must fend off. She turns towards Yelrona once confident that her robes will remain unmolested. "My Mistress does not celebrate death, nor life. Rather, she judges the content and circumstances of both as a whole. All souls pass through Her Hall, and from there to the Elysia or Purgatories of their respective faiths, as judged. Our role is to ensure that all arrive at Her Hall with all appropriate formalities and ceremony, as dictated by the decedent's or family's faith and wishes."

"Me?" Jokul asks with a slight frown twisting his features briefly towards Yelrona, and then his eyes shift over to stare off into the distance again. "Who knows?" He says, in a dull tone. "Who knows anymore, anyway. Maybe at some point, or maybe not even then. Maybe now, maybe not."

Yelrona frowns, and sits closer to Jokul. "You seem troubled... would you like to speak of it?"

Ga'Elian nods. "Well, primarily. That is, Eluna, or 'Niessa' as my tribe know Her is kinda the patroness of Sildanyari generally, or at least the Llyranesinand Sylvanori, anyway. So yeah, I consider Her my goddess. But I have been greatly blessed with the touch of Mahal the Hunter, called Gilead around here, and follow His ways, too. Then even more recently, my focus on daemon hunting has led me more and more to align with the faith of Eli, called Daeus by humans. His name is part of my own, in fact.

Vasya says, "More speaking around about how religion affects us personally it seems." She then turns. "As for me, I was on my way into the temple of Gilead anyways." She says waving..."

"Who knows?" Jokul repeats to Yelrona now, with a slow, small shake of his head made. "I sure as hell don't. I'm just not entirely sure about-- myself, I guess. Of how people get directed to any one specific god. ..And for that matter, how *I* am *supposed* to."

Yelrona nods. "Many don't," she admits. "And that's perfectly all right. I'll tell you what someone told me once, though... the gods speak to us through what we most value, what we hold most dear. In your case," she smiled, "I would probably start by looking into one of the warriors' patrons."

Kiroth smiles, "No one looks to just one god, even myself as a Sunblade. The Shining Knight is my patron deity, but I still look to the good and neutral gods."

Ga'Elian looks at Jokul and says, "I don't figure everyone needs to. Most of the folks I see through the Ygdrassil Union worship both Mahal AND Dana. Loads of people follow all the gods, or at least different ones on different occasions. Even with Niessa, Mahal, and Eli taking most of my devotions, I still seek to Vaire for help with my singing, or Angoron for battlle prowess, for example."

"I've been saying I'm with Angoron before," Jokul notes, and rolls his shoulders around slowly, eyes still set off into the distance rather than anyone else who is actually there speaking to him. "But I'm finding it hard to... well, find him in my battles. Or Kor, for that matter."

"What's that supposed to say about me?"

Ga'Elian shrugs, "Perhaps neither is the right path for you, or perhaps you are still discovering where your path truly lies, or maybe the quest of discovery is currently more important for you than any one faith. One need not know in whom to put ones faith in order to be a faithful person. Perhaps your faith is too dynamic to settle onto a single path."

As the group reduces from one, then another going their separate ways, Ga'Elian extends his arm toward Jokul, and says, "Well, in any case, I'd not worry about it over much. You're good at what you do, even legendary, and what's more important, honorable too. Farewell friend, and may you always strike your mark. I think I'll be heading back underground now."