Temple District Ruminations
Log Info
- Title: Temple District Ruminations
- Emitter: Simony
- Place: Placeholder
- Summary: Aelwyn and Eztli find Simony in the Temple district, where they discuss feelings over recent events and responsibilities involved.
The heavy snow weighs down upon the city, the wind blowing enough to make seeing incredibly hard to see at times. Moving methodically above the snow, Simony leans back and forth to counter the wind, occasionally bumping up against building walls.
She pauses at the fountain, and adjusts the pack upon her back, rubbing at her shoulders.
"Well my old friend.", she says quietly, gazing at the fountain itself. "One of those days when everything seems to press down upon you, bowing your back and shoulders. If you could talk, what stories you could tell. And soon, I shall have a new one to tell. Or my gravestone shall. Barring those two things, hah, perhaps one may find my wandering spirit, hmm? I'd hoped to meet the hatchlings before I left this world."
Surely the answer to life's problems was simply more advertising, right? At least, it was something that could be a possible solution.
That being said, advertising in the temple district seemed like a good idea at the time, but upon actually arriving, the small makari was hard pressed to find anywhere that didn't feel like sacrilege. Eztli carved a wide path behind herself, wings dragging through the snow, and the sorceress finds a spot on a bench near the fountain, where a stack of papers are set down on their lap. "It's a bit cold for you to be out here for no reason, isn't it?" They wonder, seeing someone else near the fountain. "Heya Simony, doing something for the temples?"
The trek in the winter storm was not easy. Fighting against the wind was difficult. The flames were little use, as the warmth was instantly knocked aside the soon it graced the air. Yet, for whatever strange reason or another - Aelwyn persisted.
In fact, he had been doing that quite a lot as of late - making the journey to the Temple of Vardama repeatedly, whilst staying very little in the far comfier sections of the city, like the Ox, or even the TarRaCe. So the ruddy sith-makar is drawn towards the fountain by the sight of familiar faces. Maybe that will give some warmth to the stiff sith-makar.
"Spelldancer," Aelwyn greets, then slowly pauses. "... Canvas. This one is glad to see one walking around." He attempts around the mouthful of cloth repeatedly wrapped around his snout and neck.
The Goblin is quietly contemplative, appearing to not hear either of the speakers, simply swaying slightly in the wind as she struggles to stay in one spot. The fountain is gazed upon at length, her ears perked up a little, as if taking in an answer only she can hear. Simony blinks then, and looks to Eztli and then Aelwyn, her eyes widening, as if just noticing their presence now.
"No. I am making preparations to meet and fight a fiend, hopefully to its death and banishment from our world."
Her eyes flick to Aelwyn, offering a pale smile. "I see you have discovered the magic of scarves. Is it helping keep out the cold?" Her shoulders shrug lightly. "It would be .. remiss of me to hide away from the world, despite a strong desire to do so."
Eztli takes some time to contemplate the answer, only pausing to wave happily to Aelwyn as they arrive. "Something to do with why Aelwyn keeps showing up in the temple districts?" She wonders. "I don't believe he is here accidently so frequently of late."
The sorceress takes another pause, and sighs. "That sounds like a rough job, but a necessary one, but does what you're doing need to involve being out here when it's freezing? Surely there are better places to not hide away, right?
Aelwyn would narrow his eyes, if they weren't so narrowed already from the wind. "This is worse than a sandstorm." He tells them then. Then the draconian slowly wades his way in closer, and lightly puts his hand around Simony's shoulder. "There is no hope in certainty, only acceptance at what is to come." There's a shift under the scarf. "And that fiend shall have plenty to accept."
There's a rough rumble from Aelwyn at Eztli's question. "To a degree." He turns to look down at Simony. "Canvas saved this one's brother." He gestures. "He's resting at the Temple of Vardama." Or being held, either way.
The Dragoon quietly leans over and looks at the stacks of paper Eztli was holding, quietly saying, "Too cold to read, try inside." He suggests. "Like a warm tavern."
The pack drops from her back with a loud clanking sound as it hits the snow.
"Some reinforcement for my armor, and a shield.", the Goblin says. "Had I time, I would commission a cold-iron hammer. But, well. One must fight with what one has, not with what one wishes they had." Simony smiles grimly.
Her eyes go up to Aelwyn as he rests a hand upon her shoulder. "I wield hope as my weapon, and the only certainty in life is death. It will end with the fiend's death, or mine, possibly both."
She inhales and exhales. "Peace has been made."
"Right, you told me about that last time, and promised to talk about it somewhere more pleasant for you. I guess I'm lucky I just really like the cold, and the desert, really. But I did like the cold before too so, I don't know." Eztli shrugs, grabbing the papers and shoving them into a bag. "Not reading, canvasing, and it's really not important. Not at the moment."
Then she pauses, and huffs loudly. "Don't sound so accepting, Simony. You see how Aelwyn keeps coming out here in spite of everything? You've seen how much Aelwyn cares about his brother, if anything happened, you better believe he'd drag you out of wherever you ended up himself, I can almost guarantee it."
Aelwyn rumbles, his tail stiffly moving behind him under the cloak. "Tch. Why has the Temples become such a nexus, this one cannot say." The draconian states, "But this one would rather it were the warmth of the Fire Lodge, or the just the ambient fury of the Colosseum." He bows his head. "We should share the details whence this one's lips move."
The Dragoon's eyes then fall back down onto the goblin. "Hmmh, this one never knew he'd be glad to own a cold iron glaive." Watching a moment longer as the Goblin speaks and then Eztli, the ruddy sith-makar with his scarf over his face, lowers down to look at her eyes. "This one understands it is thy cleric's kind to be so obsessed with death." He holds out his cold hand to touch Simony's chin. "But nobody shall die but that fiend. She has done the beyond miracle - what hope a horned bastard can have?"
The Dragoon then straightens. "Hmmh. That is the least this one owes her." He rumbles at Eztli's words.
"This is a thing I cannot run from or avoid. I have given my word that the fiend would be dealt with by me, or my allies. It is an implied "to the death if need be", the Goblin says with a frown. "One does not lie or give one's word lightly to a servant of one's own deity. So make peace, I have. Death is certain, just not who's."
SImony reaches out to pat Aelwyn's forearm. "I don't doubt Aelwyn's capability. But I do understand the depths of depravity this fiend can and has sunk to. I cannot afford to take this lightly. It's my responsibility and any deaths from this point on attributed to that fiend are my fault."
She sniffs and shakes her head. "I am not afraid of my own death, at least, not more than any other person. I am afraid of others perishing undertaking something that is my responsibility. It hits harder when you think of it that way."
"I'm just saying, that it's something that he would do. And yes, please, talk when we can, I worry you don't talk about your worries enough, Aelwyn." She notes pointedly to the dragoon. A note that is followed by a long silence. "I get it, though. I was so worried about things that I couldn't do or didn't get to do, and things that just fell apart when I was back. It took a long time to move forward, while still accepting what happened. It's never not a concern, but it gets easier, at least."
Aelwyn's eyes flared wide at Simony's words. He holds his head up towards the sky for a moment; letting the flakes of snow flutter against his eyes. Then he slowly exhales, giving Eztli a long look - before he covers his eyes with rapid blinks. "This one does not, she is true. A habit this one is in progress of trying to break."
Lowering his gaze at Simony, his eyes open again, staring at the goblin. The draconian lowers, head to head level. "You do not decide the cost of others. Your only responsibility is to gather as many that can make sure the fiend is _dead_ and _everyone walks away_." The Dragoon quietly hisses. "The fiend is _because of me_. _I_ am responsible for their deaths, including yours." He straightens. "Make your peace, one of Vardama, but this one shan't see one fall that day."
Rumbling low, he then looks back towards Eztli weakly. "... this one feels a mere bottle shan't be enough for our talk, Spelldancer. Perhaps one bar."
The Goblin looks away, "The cost of the ally's services are specific. The fiend will die and be banished from this world. I will expend what I must to see it done. If one of us is to die, it will fall upon me. There is no other outcome acceptable, unless it is that we all live."
Simony crosses her arms, a deep frown on her face.
"It's not anyone's fault." Eztli huffs again, crossing their arms and glancing between the two of them. "It's not. It's the fiend's fault, and they sure as the hells don't deserve to have good folk taking the weight of their actions upon them."
"But it seems there's more to it than just morality in this case, and well, I guess that's how it is. I'm sure between all of you, it will be an unecessary worry. That said, maybe I'll save any excessive drinking for after the fact, in case you need to head out quickly."
Aelwyn gestures with his hand. "The fiend will die." He states. "Not her." He spoke of it with such resolution, that it were as if he was saying that the sky was snowing.
Then Eztli speaks up again and Aelwyn gets snapped out of his determined stupor. "... hmmh, Spelldancer could be right." He looks down at Simony. "But the fiend..." After he began, he abruptly stops, then shakes his head. "The fiend will die." He repeats, instead.
Turning towards Eztli again, his eyes pick up a different sheen. "Who spoke of excessive drinking? This one only spoke that one bar is just." He rumbles, tail making half-hearted attempt at wiggling. Shaking and bowing his head, he then starts to slowly move out of the mound of snow around him. "This one has markets to scour. Perhaps this one shall see the two of you later at the TarRaCe?" Look at Simony. "This one shall serve the pancakes."
SImony's stomach growls at the mention of pancakes, and she snorts. "Perhaps you could do slightly less than excessive drinking and have pancakes, Eztli." She offers another pat to Aelwyn's forearm. "Perhaps I shall come and taste the pancakes.", she offers. "To make sure you're not poisoning anyone, of course." Her grin is toothy, while offering the ruddy-scale Sith a wink.
"Well, depends on the entire bottle of alcohol you're suggesting, Aelwyn. Bottle of ale? Perfectly fine. Entire bottle of aged liquor for one person? Maybe a bit too much." Eztli snorts. "Aelwyn's right on a lot of things here. But I am a bit worried about the quality of his pancakes, so you should probably stop on by yourself. At the very least, it beats being out in the cold here."
"I should find a place to put up these fliers though. There's a rumor I'd like to look into, so I might find some tailoring shops in town, and put them up in the surrounding area. Take care, you too!"
"Now why would this one ever poison anyone?" Aelwyn asks, flicking his tail. And then he raises his hands at the skies. "Tch, for one good night of celebration." The draconian rumbles, before with an amused bow, he starts to wander out deeper into the snow, drudging along.