View source for 99 Problems (But Llyranost Isn't One)

A day without rain is a welcome one in Alexandria as of late. While much of the bustling activity in the temple district has subsided at the moment, it is never wholly empty nor entirely at rest. The comparatively drab form of a Mourner departs the steps of Eluna's temple, though perhaps her business is not entirely professional as her hood is doffed. A rare state for Verna, though it may be simply to enjoy the sun's light while it remains.

Verna is not the only one soaking up the sun in Alexandria today. Laughter reigns around the fountain in the temple district, and everyone seems to be somehow just a little less hurried and a little less worried. The water sparkles in the sun, reflecting the sparkles from the Temple of Daeus that overlooks it. 

Amid the be-robed crowds in the square is a head of ginger-blonde hair that has gotten long and a little shaggy in the intervening months, but is nonetheless clean, its owner rested and walking openly in the bright sunshine. A plain silver band holds the ginger-blonde mane off of Seldan's face, and he is simply dressed, in his usual unbleached linen shirt and a new-looking pair of soft doeskin trousers tucked into new-looking brown boots, overlaid with the blue and silver open-front robe that has become his trademark. He does wear Reunion at his hip.

At his side, a nasal, elderly female voice is talking, although its source is not readily obvious. "Seldan, are you sure you should be walking openly around here? You don't know if they've gotten here, or what they'll do." 

"Let them," he answers in that light, even, steady tone that speaks of his complete confidence. "I shall stand before their judgment. I fear it not, for I do not respect they who give it."

Verna sets off across the square, a scroll produced from her robes for perusal as she moves rather than tome. Her lips move in light utterances (mutterances?) likely to herself and she pays only enough mind to those in her immediate vicinity so as to avoid any uncomfortable collisions. That is, until the nasal voice pierces across the intervening space. Well, rather, a step later when its arrival is finally parsed.

The mourner's head turns even as her steps halt as if she had collided with someone or something. Eyes blink as they search, and even then they might pass him thrice before full recognition focus her attention with a blink. Now her steps resume Seldan-wards, nearing before she inquires aloud, "Seldan? Silverguard? Is that truly you?"

"But they might just kill you, Seldan," the nasally voice persists, and Seldan shakes his head, with a very small smile, a rueful and long-suffering thing. "I think that unlikely. They wish their honor restored, and silently killing me will serve them naught." 

His attention is drawn, though, by the voice in the square, a familiar and welcome one. He stops short, hand on the blade at his hip as if to forestall, and turns in Verna's direction. "Even so, Mourner. It has been a long journey, but it is well to see you."

Verna comes to a halt within ready conversational distance, perhaps even arm's reach. "As it is to see you..." she then takes several moments to look him up at down. Perhaps to determine whether is, in fact, both well and Seldan. She then frowns. "If you intend to become wholly immune to detection, communication, and location in the future, I recommend that you leave some channel of contact open. I attempted to contact you on innumerable occasions."

"I would ask your forgiveness for that, Mourner, but my silence was necessary for my safety and the safety of the city, and the magic I carried was not lightly pierced. The tale is a complex one," Seldan answers, spreading a hand in apology. "If you attempted to contact me, then that means you must have news."

"Snacks! Snaaaaacks!" 

That's a voice that Seldan has heard before, although not in the Temple District. In fact, it comes from the Temple of Eluna, where the woman known to Seldan as "Ravenstongue" and to Verna as "Cor'lana" happens to also step out of the temple's doors, looking a little soul-weary for a moment before her violet eyes catch up to her headstrong familiar... 

And her lips press together as she watches Pothy soar toward Verna and Seldan. "Pothy! Pothy, no, don't bother--" 

There's another moment as she just stops in her words, looking at that mop of ginger-blonde hair, and that sword. Her eyes narrow, and she catches up to Pothy /right/ as he lands on the ground next to Verna and Seldan, cutting short another demand for snacks as the noise almost leaves Pothy's beak. "Nice to meet you again, Seldan--I have an ''awful'' lot of questions to ask you," she says, cheerfully.

Verna lifts a hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose, even as she gives a slight nod. "Yes, of course. I did not expect that you would do so lightly." An inhale and subsequent exhale before she looks up to him anew. "Indeed, I have news, and in excess. First and foremost, you and Serene must seek absolution from the temple immediately if you have not already done so."

Well. It seems that Seldan was missed. He listens intently to Verna, his brows furrowing. "Is something amiss? Explain." The crowd celebrating a sunny and beautiful day swirls around him, but he is entirely focused on what the Mourner has to say. 

That is, until the giant white raven lands literally next to him. He fixes the bird with a puzzled look, but the woman following him has his attention further still. "Questions? My lady, I do not doubt that many would say the same, and yet would I hear yours. I shall endeavor to answer, as best I may." The words are accompanied by a polite, Myrrish-style bow.

Verna is aware of Ravenstongue (and Pothy, of course; he is impossible to ignore), but she completes her thought to Seldan, first. "Eclavdran." She scowls. "All who were present at his end may have taken a portion of his memories, if not his soul, within themselves." A hand snaps up with a warning finger. "Do NOT dwell your thoughts upon him or the matter, lest his own recollection might rise. His perspective can be ... overwhelming. Atone with the Seers, and his last lingering presence shall be purged."

She then turns to Ravenstongue and dips her head, hand lowering. "It is good to see you again as well. I trust that the renewed wards are functioning as expected?" She adds, likely for Pothy's benefit, "I do not possess snacks."

Cor'lana, or Ravenstongue, smiles politely at Seldan. "Yeah, I'd call it amiss, alright. First off, hello--I don't think we ever really got formally introduced to each other, but we attended Resurrectionist meetings and that party at the beginning of the year together. Call me Cor'lana Lupecyll, please--or Lana, or Raven, or Ravenstongue, but Pothy's still Pothy." 

"Snacks," Pothy says, like he's fulfilling his bit as a mascot character. She scoops him onto her shoulder, where the white raven looks a little miffed that he's been prevented from accosting Seldan more directly for foodstuffs. 

That smile of Cor'lana's maintains itself as she puts a hand on her hips and says, "It looks like I moved into your old house, which has... invited an unfortunate houseguest. A fiend, it appears, wearing the guise of a mul'niessa woman with ruby-red eyes. She was looking for you and insisted I was hiding you in the house--and when we let her go looking through the house, she tried to strangle my fiance and get us both to swear pacts to her that we wouldn't reveal her existence in the city to anyone." That smile wilts, of course, as she discusses the topic of her fiance's throttling. "Verna had to come and renew the wards on the place--and so far, Mourner, I'm glad to report they're working as intended, and Telamon is enjoying the free exchange of ideas with Pothy in our home."

"I am - familiar with the problem," Seldan tells Verna first, his polite smile fading into a quiet, sober reserve. "Does seeking absolution from the Seers remove such from my memories, then I shall do so as soon as may be, and shall inform Serene to do the same, when next I see her. My thanks for the information, although in truth were we in a place where such absolution could not have been sought, even did we learn of it. No harm has been done in the delay, although I shall seek to set things aright as soon as may be." 

Then, he turns to Ravenstongue, listening gravely. "Even so. You have found the wards. Yes, the wards were fine work indeed, and were a wedding gift from the Mourner." A brief, polite smile to Verna quickly fades. By the time Ravenstongue is done explaining, a black scowl twists his features. "Eclavdran's minion. It can only be so, and it is in my mind that it is Aya, for only one enslaved to Eclavdran would know to seek me there." An edge creeps into his tone, but it is directed at neither woman, and he looks positively thunderous. "He may be no more, but his minions do not rest. Very well. Does she return, you may call upon me, and I shall answer." The edge in the light voice promises dire things.

"Aya? Well, I know Aya, and she's been... Separated? Freed? from the demon that was possessing her body, I think?" Cor'lana looks a little confused as she looks between Seldan and Verna. "I think the Mourner can explain a little more effectively--I ended up having to deal with a number of, well... personal issues, over the past few months." 

She sighs a little as she looks back at the Temple of Eluna. "There's been issues with werewolves, too. People have been turning into them, and... Telamon, my fiance, has been dealing with the matter a little more closely. Once again, personal issues have prevented me from dealing with it as closely as I'd like." 

"Excuses, excuses," Pothy says, mimicking a rather disappointed-sounding schoolteacher. This earns him a glare from Cor'lana.

"A minion of his, indeed, or so I have every reason to believe," Verna affirms Seldan's statement and then does the same with Cor'lana's, gesturing to the other woman with a gloved hand. "I believe that she is also correct, Seldan, though my information is from her sister, Aryia. She knows the whole of the matter, or far more than I. I only encountered the fiend once, in perhaps the same guise as Cor'lana did."

Mention of the lycanthropes causes the gesturing hand to clench before it is lowered. "Caracoroth's forces are on the move, Silverguard. There have been no less than four incidents within the city, itself. They seek to grow their numbers, as many are infected rather than slain. I believe that they seek to free Him from his prison, and they search for the tools to do so. Eluna, Herself, is also a target."

Dirk has arrived.

That - is dire news indeed, and Seldan looks between the two women, listening carefully with that same grave-but-steady countenance. "I see. They are then two separate beings. Aya may be freed from the Tempter, but she has much yet to answer for, and still shall I seek her. The matter of the fiend is separate, and my words shall hold. Not idly were those wards placed, my lady," he tells Ravenstongue. "As you have come to learn, and it grieves me that that is so. I would ask your forgiveness for that. I had not thought that his minions would persist, with him destroyed." His eyes lower. 

He lets the crowds swirl around him, considering the last bit of news. "Caracoroth moves, then," he growls quietly. "Doubtless this has been planned for some time, and they chose to strike while Serene and myself were both away. I shall seek counsel of the Seers, and learn what I may, for I must seek them in any event." 

He falls silent, then, troubled. "I shall aid as I may ... but another task yet holds me, a task that only I and those who travel with me possess the means to undertake. A man that, if not stopped, shall conquer all, and shall doubtless join forces with the minions of the Hound."

Cor'lana's face turns to a much more sympathetic and sad smile as she looks at Seldan. "You didn't know--you couldn't have possibly known--that she'd try to hurt me. I'm just grateful it happened to Telamon and I and not someone completely without means of defense..." 

She shivers a little. "Never mind. Don't imagine that--it's... terrifying. But I would like to invite you over, Seldan, if only to discuss the matters of that particular foe--although, I have to warn you. We've... made a lot of changes since you last lived in the house."

"To include expansion of the wards," Verna reiterates firmly, perhaps to assuage concerns of a repeat incident. She then attempts to offer similar to Seldan. "If it is of any consolation, Seldan, I leave on the morrow with others to secure an important aspect of matters from Caracoroth's forces and glean further information. I cannot share details at this time, given spreading of the affliction without the afflicted's knowledge. There is no easy means to determine who might be a lycanthrope, knowingly or not. Perhaps after our return, the Seers will be ever better able to arm you and others."

Dirk comes trundling down the way with a song in his heart and a spring in his step. No matter how dreadful and terrifying things are becoming, the burly old snowbeard refuses to lose his good humor and spirit. That means the dark ones have won--while he might be a bit of a black sheep among the khazad, he's still every bit as stubborn and bull-headed as his mountain-dwelling kin. Seeing folks he recognizes, he sends a friendly wave over his head. "Oy, Seldan! Oy, Verna! All right?" he calls, turning his steps in their direction.

Judging by the lowered eyes and guilty demeanor that Seldan displays, it is too late to not imagine the situation that Ravenstongue describes - at least for him. He remains silent for some moments, only listening to the other two. 

"I see," he says finally, with more than a touch of regret. "I shall not pry, for I fear I must leave the matter in your capable hands. If I may offer you wisdom, you need but find me, so long as I remain within the walls. I do not make my home within the city, but do you find yourself in need, leave word with the Seers, and I shall seek you." He seems to have a comfort level with Verna, somehow. 

Ravenstongue is something of a different matter, from the way his quiet reserve returns when he turns to her. "I shall be at your disposal. I commend to you the seeking of a blacksmith from the Market District, for the wards were not the sole means of security. We had a trifle made, a thick triangle of iron, whose edge could be shoved beneath the door. A mundane, and yet effective, means of securing a door that defeated all magic save the destruction of the door itself. As for the changes to the house, such does not trouble me. It is no longer ours, and I do not doubt that your way of life is different." 

He turns his gaze away, towards the newcomer, but there's something in his shoulders that says that he does not say all that is on his mind. A tension, perhaps, although his greeting is polite enough. "I am well, and it seems that you are as well," he half-bows to Dirk.

"All right?" Pothy calls out, mimicking Dirk's voice in an almost exact manner down to the pitch. 

This catches Cor'lana's attention, of course, as her violet eyes flicker between Dirk and Pothy for a moment. "You really like imitating dwarven voices, don't you?" she asks of Pothy. "First it was Randolf, but at least he found it funny. Not everyone will, birdbrain." 

She looks back to Seldan and nods deeply. "I think I might have to seek out that blacksmith," she says. "I will have to be careful with such a thing, though--there are entities in my house not of a fiendish nature I ''do'' want around." 

There's a twinkle in Cor'lana's eyes as she says as much, somehow enhanced by the dying light of the sun. "It'd be rude, after all, to not let family in when they want to come over. I ought to head home, however, speaking of which--otherwise my fiance might worry. He's had a lot of reason to do so as of late."

"I ever welcome your counsel and wisdom, Seldan, and would not hesitate to seek such," Verna assures before dipping her head to Cor'lana with understanding in her eyes and the briefest flicker of smile. "It is best not to add cause to worry, of course... yet some shall worry all the same, regardless." Last, yet not least, her head turns to acknowledge Dirk. "I am well as can be expected, yes. I presume you are likewise?"

Dirk looks over at Pothy, his shaggy white brows arching as the raven mimicks him almost to perfection. "Har! What a clever lad -you- are!" he booms cheerfully. He looks up at RT, tipping his tricorne with a broad smile. "Dirk Stormgrip, marm. How d'ye do?" His introduction given, he looks back to Seldan and Verna with a nod. "Aye, I'm quite well! I've nae seen a werewolf in -days-, so that's a good thing, I'll warrant! An' me furs an' leathers have been sellin' well, so that's always good!"

"That is well," Seldan replies to Dirk politely, although most of his attention is on Ravenstongue. "The wedge need not be of metal, does that not please you. I shall remain within the city for a few days, does it please you to seek me. In the meant time, I then bid you fair evening." 

He turns back to Dirk and Verna. "It seems that there is a good bit more to this issue."

"Dirk Stormgrip? Nice to meet you, although I'm sorry it's a meeting so brief," Cor'lana says with a smile. "Please, call me Cor'lana Lupecyll. The bird's Pothy." 

The white raven preens his feather's from atop Cor'lana's shoulder... until he stops mid-preen. He looks out into the distance, and he tilts his head, curiously, curiously... 

"Snacks!" he declares, and he takes flight from Cor'lana's shoulder. 

"Yes, Pothy, snacks--but we have snacks /at home/," Cor'lana calls after him. She sighs and shakes her head. "Goodnight to all of you!" 

And so the violet-eyed half-sil walks off briskly after the white raven. Some things don't change even as time passes.

Verna's scowl has reappeared, despite Dirk noting that he is well. She takes a moment to once more rub at the tension about her brow with gloved fingers. "It could be said that there are too many issues, or that they overlap one another to preclude any measure of respite!" Her tone hardens to an edge at the last, though it is noted. A pause for inhalation, exhalation, and refocus. "Yes, there is likely more." Verna's hand lowers before she seeks clarification from Seldan, "To which issue, in particular, do you refer?"

Dirk waves at RT as she and Pothy take their leave, before turning his attention back to Verna and Seldan. He blinks a bit, taking note of the tension in the two tallfolk. "Er..." He clasps his hands behind his back, scuffing the toe of his boot against the cobblestones. "Should... should I be leavin' ye both be? I dinnae want tae be any bother..."

At least, a tiny ghost of a quirk of a smile tugs at Seldan's lips. "You are no bother, master. I have been away on journeys for some time, and Verna speaks of the news of the city. No more." Again, he bows politely.

Verna lifts up a hand, unclenched, in placation to Dirk. A long, heavy, sigh is exiled. "No, you are no bother. The fault is mine. I am weary, there are many matters of concern, and I prepare to depart. My apologies."

Dirk glances between the two, and nods his head. "Aye, there's been a lot o' terrible goin' on," he says. "Caracoroth has been kickin' up a hell of a ruckus. But... the sun still rises in the east every day. The sky is still above us an' the earth still beneath. The trees are still green an' fresh in the springtime. So things haven't gotten ''so'' desperate yet, have they?" He considers. "Unless they have an' I'm just an' ignorant chuff who dinnae ken any better. That's certainly a possibility."

"So Verna speaks of to me. I shall aid you as I may, although other matters continue to hold my attention." Seldan's answer is polite. "But, I fear that I should also be away, for I shall aid none, do I not speak with the Seers first. Her light upon your paths, if you will forgive me."

Verna bids Seldan farewell before returning her attention to Dirk. "Indeed, all is not so dire. Merely draining, in my personal experiences as of late. My apologies once more, Dirk. I should tend to my preparations and, with all good fortunate, find some rest. We might speak further upon my return."

Dirk nods his head as Seldan takes his leave, then nods again to Verna. He lifts his tricorne in farewell. "Well then, I'll bid ye fair journey an' safe roads," he says. "I hope the Green Lady watches out fer ye. Take good care, Missus Verna."

[[Category:Logs]]