Plaza Muffins
Tenebrae - Thursday, September 22, 2016, 8:34 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A10: Temple District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The air of solemn, heavy divinity in the area is often broken by laughter. The dual presence of the deities Althea and Daeus, man and wife, stand towards the center, with their children and their children's temples positioned around them. The presence of the divine is felt not only by their temples, but also by the actions of their worshipers. The great plaza is as a social center, paved in brilliant, white flagstones and covered in benches and sitting areas. Priests, acolytes, and servicefolk of all stripes roam the plaza, going from one task to the other.
At the front of the temples of Daeus and Althea, at the Plaza's centermost point, rests a great fountain, the cheerful waters reflecting the Sun during the day, and the Moon and Stars at night. The fountain is strategically centered, and is oft a place for wisdom and lesson-giving. It is not uncommon for a priest of some stripe or the other to stand there, surrounded by the curious and faithful, delivering messages of hope or contemplation. At other times, it and the plaza become a landscape of celebration of the holy holidays.
Few vendors are seen in the plaza--the nearby temples provide most food or services. Towards the west, the great Bridge stretches across the river, and towards the east, the Redridge mountains. The plaza rests in the midst of it all, the temples massive and grand on the Alexandrian scale.
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.
Yelrona has arrived.
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."
Arisha has arrived.
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.
GAME: Yelrona rolls bluff: (16)+9: 25
GAME: Kerbasi rolls sense motive: (11)+6: 17
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 glances 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.
Heinrich has arrived.
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.
Kerbasi has left.
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.