RP: The Coming of the Bindroot!

Tariday, Firetide 28 - mid-afternoon

Summary: Yelrona encounters the Gardens District and some of its erstwhile residents, learns more about both the demon infestation and some weeds plaguing Alexandros, and finds a potential clue toward finding her father.

==

Amid all the bustle of the Lower City, its Gardens District provides a peaceful respite. The warmth of Althea holds sway here, and though Daeus receives the occasional nod, this is clearly Her domain. She shares it with Dana, in the verdant green of this area. Vines and trees, remain green no matter the season and numerous flowers bloom along the park's walkways. Faerie-light lanterns hang from branches and along hedgerows. The city hospital, for which the park was originally built, is nearby.

Though mostly under the hospital's care, the Gardens are mostly maintained in the Althean tradition, much of the work is provided by volunteers. One such volunteer is Manus Diemma, who tends to the lush flowerbeds in a hessian smock, covering the traditonal blue robes of a cleric of Althea. Today she is weeding, wielding a sharp hoe to cut through the easiest, and leaving the tougher low-lying weeds for later. After all, she's in no hurry.

Yelrona has been exploring the city, and delighted by the Gardens, which remind her a little of home. She tries, mostly unsuccesfully, not to stare at the unusually tall old woman. It's not her height that attracts attention, although to be sure Diemma is taller than most any woman 'rona has ever met... rather, it's her age. "Good afternoon, lady... may I be of assistance?" she offers, feeling a little sheepish about it. It's not like she actually wants to do any gardening, but having been born and raised in a Llyranesi settlement, 'rona is not accustomed to the visible signs of advanced age, and though she's becoming more accustomed to it in Alexandros she is still inclined to treat it as some sort of advanced illness, requiring immediate medical attention... or at least, as in this case, an offer of assistance.

Huffing and puffing, the aged cleric turns to take a look at the sila; as she does so, Diemma wipes her brow in the warm sunlight. "The summer is lovely," she says, as if answering. "But as each plant grows, so too does each weed." She smiles warmly. "Would you? The tough weeds on the ground resist this old thing---" she brandishes the hoe. "---and need younger muscles than mine."

Yelrona nods... she did offer, after all, and it's not like she has anything better to do this moment. While no gardener, she knows enough to know weeds must be dug out at the roots lest they regrow even stronger, so she picks out a handheld spade and crouches gracefully near the herb-garden. "Weeds have to be tough... the ones that aren't don't last long enough to be called weeds," she observes as she deftly carves out the root structure of a thorny plant. It's the sort of thing her mother would have said, except her mother would have meant something deep and metaphorical by it, and she's just nattering on about weeds.

The cleric gives the sila another broad smile, although focussed on the weeding, she might not notice. "Very wise," Diemma says. "And certainly true. You might say that it was true of people too --- without strong roots, we can weaken." She issues a long sigh, and wipes her brow once more. "You are a long way from home, dawn's child. What brings you to Alexandria?"

Yelrona laughs. Apparently, matronly temple women speak their own coded language. She'd often suspected as much, listening to the priestesses talk back home, trading empty-sounding aphorisms back and forth endlessly rather than actually stick to the point! She wonders whether she inadvertently communicated something in the process, and is now expected to attack the ramparts at midnight, or something of the sort. Also, she wonders if she ought to be wearing a hat, as apparently the sun is getting to her. "Aching feet," she confides with a laugh, then adds more seriously "Looking for my father. You wouldn't happen to have met a elven man of my coloration named Avourel in the last couple of decades, would you?" She carves out another weed... though she's not familiar with this task, it's clear that she's _very_ good with her hands.

Diemma is glad of the question, for it allows her to pause in her work. "Oh," she says, looking at the uprooted weed. "That's toadflax, dawn's child. It looks like a weed now, but it flowers beautifully later in the season. Still..." She thinks for a few moments. "Avourel, you say? I am more familiar with the females of Alexandria, but given time, I may remember. The llyranesi are uncommon enough now, and were more so twenty years ago."

Yelrona nods. "I know. And, to be honest, I don't know that he's in Alexandros to begin with. Still, I have to start somewhere." She frowns, unsure how much she wants to share with this stranger... on the other hand, everyone in this city is a stranger, and she seems kindly enough. "Meira Avourel," she confirms, though it's unlikely he'd use his clan name outside of their settlement. "From Yles Namvadin, in the Mythwood. I'm Yelrona, by the way," she adds with a nod of greeting, "and I'm sorry abuot the toadflax. I'll be more careful." She looks the plant in her hand over carefully before discarding it.

Diemma says, "Oh, not everyone is a fan of toadflax. If I were so fussy, I shouldn't hand out my work to others." She smiles at Yelrona. "I am Diemma, and I am Alexandrian all the way through. Tell me, was your father a warrior?"

Yelrona shakes her head, then stops mid-gesture. "He knew which end of a sword to stick in an enemy. And there were things for which he would fight. If that makes a warrior, then I suppose he was. But he fought with more... finesse... than most who claim the title." She half-pulls a rapier out of her scabbard, a masterwork blade, elegantly balanced. "This was his, once, though he hadn't used it in decades."

Shierra is patrolling the streets, looking for victims....er....lost souls to save, and tunefully singing one of the Daeusite Hymns. She has a fine, clear, ringing voice, as warm and sonorous as a great bronze bell. "...Unfurl the banners; look at the sky! Never before has such glory been seen....!" Her velvety, luscious mezzo-soprano tones caress the words gently. Upon noticing the two impromptu gardeners going about their tasks, Shierra ambles over to them, placing her hands upon her hips. "Hail and well met, fellow citizens of our fair and beautiful city!" She smiles triumphantly.

Diemma gets back to cutting through the leggier weeds with the hoe, before she is interrupted by the Sunguard. "Well met, Sunguard. Such wonderful singing; it makes me want to raise my own voice in song." She turns back to Yelrona. "I ask because my order maintains records of those hospitalised by war. If you like, I can check."

Yelrona resheaths her scabbard, then turns around and smiles at the approaching woman. "Well met!" she responds agreeably. "All tasks are easier with accompaniment like that. Sunguard," she echoes Diemma with a nod, remembering some of her Temple lessons. "One of Daeus' followers, yes? My mother always spoke well of your order," she adds. "Admittedly," she continues with a rueful grin, "she also often suggested that I would be farmed out to your care if I didn't attend to my studies." To Diemma, Rona adds "I would very much appreciate that. It's unlikely he'd be in the front lines of an official battle, but... not unlikely that he would need care, nevertheless."

A quiet piece of greenery, right in the middle of the lower city. Some may find it soothing and serene, others might find it impeding travel between warehouses and traders moving goods from the aforementioned warehouses. Aya is not necessarily such a merchant, though she does often travel between the same districts. Her opinion of the gardens is possibly undecided; there are times when peace is welcome and others when expediency are preferred. Whether Aya was expecting or desiring it, however, what bit of quiet she felt is broken by calls, greetings, and song. Her steps slow only slightly, though her course alters; primarily to take advantage of what shade she can from the garden's trees as she nears the bright and boisterous group.

Shierra pretends to be embarrassed by Diemma's compliment, covering her face with her gauntleted hands. "Oh, dear, you're far too kind. I don't know what to say! Thank you for your kind, well-chosen words; I shall remember them forever. Be thou blessed in His glory. You are, perhaps, one of Althea's children? That makes us allies." She bows dramatically, making an elegant leg. "Shierra at your service. Don't be afraid to request my help in any way I might assist. 'Tis my ordained duty to shelter and aid those in need." She swoops down on Yelrona, next. "Indeed, I am one of Daeus's most honorable chosen. Your mother appears to have been a most astute individual, Daeus bless her! Just for that, my services are at your beck and call, should you see fit to make use of them. I shall be the steely bulwark that protects your soul from evil," Shierra declares grandly, gesticulating with an armored fist. One would think she was preparing the two women to sally forth unto the breach once more, as it were.

The elderly hearthguard smiles warmly to Shierra, too. "Allies, indeed, Sunguard Shierra. I am Diemma, of the Hands of Ithildin." She takes a few steps onwards, cutting through a few smaller weeds, before she notices a few tendrils of bindweed wrapping around a butterfly bush, its white trumpet flowers brazen against the pale wood. "Oh, dear," she murmurs. "That's a blow." She looks once more to Yelrona. "Come by the Temple of Althea tomorrow morning, Yelrona, and ask for Manus Diemma. Once my lecture is complete, I shall take you to the archives."

Yelrona regards the new arrivals for a long moment. The quieter of the two is a Mul'niessa a few inches taller than 'rona herself, white-haired with blue-gray skin. The more boistrous is a jovial dark-skinned human Sunguard. Both seem agreeable enough companions... she has never shared her mother's condemnation of their Dark cousins, common though it was. Or, well, not since getting to know Kalniss and his family.

She attempts to seem grateful for Shierra's offer, rather than puzzled... with reasonable success. "Er... that's very kind of you." To Diemma, she nods with more sincere gratitude. "I will, indeed," she replies with a smile, then introduces herself to the new arrivals. "Yelrona, late of Yles Namvadin in the Mythwood."

"Protecting souls is a noble quest," Aya compliments who may be loudest, "but possibly a difficult one, here and now, with all the demons about." At Yelrona's greeting, she dips her head in a light nod to acknowledge. "Welcome to Alexandria." Combined with her prior statement, and the lifting of one mouth-corner, the greeting carries some wit.

Yelrona nods grimly at the reference to demons, her ordinary cheerful demeanor dimmed briefly, though her lips quirk at Aya's humor. "Yes, I've heard about that. Apparently they're possessing innocent people and killing their hosts when exorcised." She shakes her head sadly. "Well, at least a lot of people seem focused on finding the source. Hopefully that will resolve itself soon," she adds with a shudder.

Shierra spreads wide her arms. "Think nothing of it, friend! It pleases me to be the instrument by which our glorious God Daeus imparts His will," she assures Yelrona, seemingly not noticing the other woman's struggle not to laugh. She bears down on Aya next. "Welcome, fair child of the City. I am Shierra, and my strength is yours if you wish it; by your command I shall fight to my last breath and the last drop of blood in my veins, if it pleases you." She presses her palms together piously. "Truly we live in dsrk and disturbing times, that we must sweat and groan and cry under the awful lash of the evil made manifest in our lands. Let us pray that we shall be delivered from it."

"I heard tell of that, myself," Aya speaks to Yelrona first, though her eyes, and rising brows, remain on the gregarious and spread Shierra, "but I speak of more recent events. The fiends seem to be walking the streets as we speak." Now, she must address Shierra. "That is very kind of you. What combat are you best with? What are you weakest?"

Diemma returns from a temporary daydream. "Yes," she says, to nobody in particular, and with a hint of a joke. "You must all watch out for the demons. The Altheans are busy enough, and the Hands are receiving their overspill, in the midst of a baby boom. If you could do your best to /avoid/ being injured, it would be greatly appreciated." She chuckles very softly. "Now, I understand the Vardamites are relatively free of work." Raising an aged hand, she points to a nearby potting shed. "I must go and, erm, sharpen this hoe. Bindweed blunts it somewhat." With that, she heads off in the direction of the shed, disappearing within.

Yelrona raises an eyebrow at the rapidly receding cleric's back, skeptical of the woman's true reasons for leaving. "My apologies," she says to the other two, "but I must be leaving as well. It has been a pleasure meeting you both." By the time she extricates herself, Diemma is no longer visible, and she heads in the direction of her departure curiously.