Gentle Summons

Mikilos makes his way from the back rooms, tucking notes into his pouch with a sigh. Reaching the more populated areas of the temple, the elf takes a moment to step to the side and stretch before peering around in idly curiousity.

"One heard, sser." The hunter-caste stands to the side, a basket under an arm. Despite the tall size, the reptilian's language is quiet. Here--the Hearth burns merrily, warmly. Its warmth is cast over the central hall, and the scented wrethes smell of fresh herbs, the air of butter and baked goods. The Hearthguard next to him reaches in, pulling herbs and leaves from the basket.

So, Olek doesn't really fit in with the paladins of Althea. Technically he's not really a Sentinel, though it's not for lack of effort or devotion. He doesn't even object when they try and reduce his public exposure, though he does rub people the wrong way. Still, the Altheans are monuments of patience. He puts that to the test, sometimes. Like now. "I tell you, I ought to just go and work with the bloody explorers and gain some experience in the fray." Nono, they tell him, training here, out of sight and out of mind is better.

Mikilos perks an ear, glancing towards the scruffy dwarf with mild intrest. "You're not wrong, working for the Guild of Explorers can bring a wealth of new experiences. Espically if you aren't already familiar with wadeing through sewers. But even if you are, they'll find some sort of new experience. Now, it should be noted that not everyone survives these new experiences, but managements does try to minimize such things. Employees being ripped apart and eaten is bad for recruitment."

There is a blue-scaled sith-makar hurrying out of the depths of the temple of Althea, his hood pulled back out of respect of the temple to show his long black horns arching over his head. There's a stack of scrolls in the place of his usual staff, and as he hurries out of the inner sanctum he slows considerably to make way for traffic. Zeke picks his way through the various individuals with care, particularly given his lack of his staff, dodging around people and groups of such with the ease of someone long used to doing so.

Olek hrmphs to Mikilos and claims, "I'm tough enough for any sewers you care to name, friend. I've never been killed yet, and I'm twice as tough as people half my size." Wait, did he say that the right way around? "Anyhow, if they're not gonna let me be a Sentinel, then they can't very well give me orders, can they?"

"We'll have the holly, soon. And the evergreens!" The Hearthguard skillfully twists the bits of herbs into one of the hanging wreaths. Bits of mint here, there. It brings a bright, earthy flavor to the air around it.

"Sser," Chay agrees. He looks over to the sight of a familiar face, and offers a flick of the tail. "Is there holly every year, sser?"

"Every year that we may manage," comes the cheerful reply. The two of them are working on the hanging wreaths--wreaths woven by the staff, and which hang from above, or float as the case may be when some of the more mischievous Elunans visit the Mother's grounds.

Mikilos grins. "To be fair, it's not the sewers that eat people, it's the things IN them. But certainly they can give you orders. They can give ME orders if they happen to feel like it. No promises those orders will be followed, of course, but they can give them. Polite requests, on the other hand, are a little more likely to be entertained."

Zeke rounds to a stop finally, and quite belatedly spotting Chay. In fact the blue-scaled sith had nearly walked right past his kin without ever seeing him at all. He allows some people to pass him by and turns so that he can greet Chay formally. "Peasssce on your nesssst kin." He offers this with his accent even thicker than it usually is and shifts from foot to foot. His green eyes flicker down to the many scrolls he holds and then after shifting through them pulls one free to offer it to Chay. "It has been too long."

Olek wrinkles his brow at the mention of polite requests. "What're those?" he asks. They're what we give you, that you find so objectionable, he's told. He huffs. "Well, they are. Who'd want to do half that stuff you do?" he asks. Other than all the Althean Paladins?

"Pease to you," Chay responds to Zeke. He takes the scroll passed to him, and looks to it--though he has to shift the basket, of course. He moves the basket from one arm to the other, that the Althean might keep plucking away--picking leaves and weaving them.

The air is quite thick with it. "It is good to sshare words, again."

Mikilos shrugs. "Everything has a cost. Sometimes it's coin, sometimes it's action, sometimes it's maintaining a certain level of social decorum. It's up to you if the cost is worth it or not."

"Aaaanyhow," Olek continues to Mikilos, "I -do- follow the actually /important/ tenets." Which is agreed with, reluctantly. As far as social decorum goes, he grumbles, "And you can bugger social decorum with a big stick." Which is pretty central to this longstanding ... issue.

The scroll is a... summons of sorts. A polite but hard to refuse request for Chay's presence. "Thissss one hasss been busssy running errandsss for thossse that just reached our city. The Hunter-cassste hasss need of handsss to aid it, it sssseems." He manages a little wag of his tail which indicates that he doesn't seem to mind the work, but it /has/ been clearly keeping him busy. He looks... thinner than the last time Chay got a good look at him.

Chay raises the parchment to his muzzle, inhales. "...hunter-caste," he says, absently. Then looks to Zeke. There are only so many things it could be about, couldn't it? "This one... ...how have your journeys been, shaman?" he asks of the other. To ask directly of another's health, among the scaled--might imply the other was weak.

A shaman might break these rules, but a hunter? Chay's tail flicks however, giving him away. He glances over to the softskins, debating. Then, back.

Mikilos glances to the sith with mild curiosity, but keeps his focus to his own conversation, nodding to Olek with a smile. "In most cases, I agree. But social graces do have their moments of proper use."

Olek seems to disagree with that, but he merely grumbles rather than commenting further. "Anyhow," he says, "I think I ought to help out more in the city. There's only so much I can do here."

Zeke's tail gives another little wag, and he seems to relax minutely. "Thissss one hasss been very busy, the plague..." Here he trails off and his eyes darken slightly. "Fewer and fewer die to it every day kin, and thissss issss good. But now there issss ssstrangenesss and..." He is about to say more when Chay's eyes flicker toward Mikilos and the man at his side whom is unfamiliar to Zeke. His mouth clicks shut and his tail flicks slightly to the side and he offers a polite nod to them. "Peasssce on your nessstss."

"Strangeness, kin?" Chay asks, his voice hollow. The tail flickers, and stills. He looks to the two softskins then, and when there is a lull in conversation: "Pardon this one, ssers--but what is the news among the taverns, ssers? Regarding the latest news of the plague, ssers?"

Mikilos bows politely in return to Zeke. "Peace unto your nest. I've encountered at least one sub-strain of the plague, maybe two. In Silvermoon it caused those infected to change in appearance, becoming wolf-like and monstrous, though still retaining their minds. The ooze coughed up also proved resistant to being destroyed with soapy water. As for the taverns, I'm not sure. I've been busy with enough other projects I don't know how the latest rumors have run."

Olek grumbles, and says, "I haven't had a chance to face plague monsters or anything else, myself, so I can't say." he glowers at his temple superior, who ignores it. That's what he gets for bucking the party line.

The blue-scaled sith seems to consider for a long moment and then quietly adds to the conversation. "Thisss, that Mikilossss ssspeakssss off, isss sssomething of the ssstrangenessss we have sssseen." Distress makes his accent thicker, and his concern is as clear as his depth of thought here. "People who have had the plague a long time are... changing." His teeth bare briefly and he shakes his head, watching the others as he speaks as if to be certain that they won't be spreading his words beyond this group of them.

"Changing, ssers? ...vampires kin, bear rumors of turning into wolves and bats, ssers. If it was crafted by the pale women who holds such sway, and powers of persuasion, ssers. ..." the hunter suggests. And looks to Olek, and to the priest. And lets his look slide on by. Don't get involved, the old training whispers. Chay forces himself to look again however, before looking back to Mikilos and Zeke.

Mikilos sighs, and nods, considering. "Silvermoon was recently infected, relatively speaking. This may be something that's been present in the Plague all along, and we're only now seeing it here, while the strain in Silvermoon worked faster. Or maybe the strain is spreading, moving from infected to infected, the older, weaker strain being replaced. Too many unknowns."

Olek is kept indoors and away from people. He makes a bad impression, generally. "I'd help, if I could," he complains. "I just don't know nothing about the situation." He does listen as Mikilos explains, though there's not much he could do to help in any event. He's more of a defender.

"Changing..." Zeke stands very still, his expression somewhat distant as he shifts his claw so that he can make vague counting gestures with it while he holds his scrolls in place. "Ssshadowsss that are not where they ssshould be. Eyesss changing color; iris, pupil, seclara. Hair changing nature. Type. Sssskin too. Each persssson it doesss ssssomething new to. Thisss one man, he could glow in the dark yesss?" Zeke shakes his head and blinks back to reality.

The sith-makar hunter's lids flicker. Chay blinks at the horrific description, and looks to the earth to recover.

"...one saw ssimilar among the creatures of the forest, ssers. A blending together of creatures which sshould not be, ssers. Perhaps different respond differently, ssers. But...perhaps a vampire may craft different sorts of sservants, ssers?"

Mikilos nods to Zeke. "Teeth, changing to become pointed and wolf-like... somewhat more obvious in elves. Though glowing in the dark is new." He nods to Chay, and shrugs. "Affects different people differently, seems likely to impact animals differently as well. Though no real way to test any of it... no ethical way, at least."

"Thissss one hasss been thinking." Zeke is looking at Mikilos now, cautiously but with real consideration in his gaze. "Perhapssss one sssshould sseek to be captured by thiss vampire. With alliesss to track where one goessss and perhapsss even what isss happening." He coughs quietly. "Thisss one would do /anything/ to see the end of this plague and what it issss doing to people; it sssseemssss a sssmall thing."

"The sildanyari smell of the forest, sser," Chay says. He focuses on Mililos for a moment, as a Hound might. But Zeke's words draw the Hound to a different scent--the head whips around and he stares at Zeke.

The tail lashes, at its tip. But he says...not a word. Not a word.

Mikilos looks to Zeke and shakes his head. "I appreciate the offer. It's not a bad plan. But those captured are shielded from divination and scrying, with powerful magics, likely the same that shield the Tower itself. And those taken also have their memories wiped away, in addition to being Marked with the Snowflake Scar. It gains us too little, and gives up too much." he considers a few moments. "Not that we have any real way to enact such a plan. Kol Demontry shows up on his own schedule, and seems to have been quiet of late." He smiles faintly. "I think I made him mad on our last meeting."

Green eyes flicker to Chay. Away. Zeke knows what he is saying and what it means, but to him watching all this suffering has been worse even than things long faded to memory. Even so Mikilos' words cause a slim shudder to run down his spine, and he clutches at his scrolls. "The hunter-cassste isss here. Together there mussst be sssomething we can do. We have been reacting to each thing, taking it as it comessss. Thisss one thinksss it isss time that we did ssssomething on our own."

Olek has a whispered discussion with his temple superior, and he clearly does not care for what's being said. "I'll go along this time," he says, stalking off without a farewell. "But mark my words, I will do what's right whether you like it or not." And with that, he stomps back into the cloisters.

Chay looks away, and to the wall. The Althean's still puttering away, and taking bits and pieces from his basket. Chay sets the basket down. Steps away. "This one intends to go to hunter-caste. Perhaps, kin, you may go. And one may take your questions to them, magus," to Mikilos.

He thumps his tail as the other engages in discussion--but, one does not notice such discussion. He pretends to inspect the basket handle a while longer.

Mikilos nods to Zeke. "I agree, at some point we'll need to shift to the offensive. But we're not ready yet. Far too much we don't know. But we are learning. We will be ready, and we will take the fight to the Mistress. With a bit of luck, the next time I meet Kol will be the last time anyone meets him. Ever."

"Thissss one wissshesss the dragonfather'sss blesssssing when you meet him again then." Zeke nods abruptly and looks over at Chay. "Thisss one ssshould go with kin. Thisss one isss sstill running errandsss for the hunter-cassste. You ssshould ssspeak with them alsssso. They could ussse your wissssdom and ssseeek to aid usss in ending the plague." Zeke nods low to Mikilos.

-End