The Hamlet Streets

[rosallora]

She follows the silent crusader and the not-so-silent bounty hunter. "Are these mists common?" She can't help herself with the questions. There's just so much to learn here, so much to see. And perhaps they'd take a few of the back-streets to the pub - that was fine with her. As long as the crusader would lead her true to the Abbey. "I don't think I've ever seen a fog so thick before." She's traveled over lowland and through fen, but even then it wasn't so bad as it was now. Light from nearby streetlamps barely touched the air around it, just suspending the glow into strange orbs that floated in and out of existence.

"Then again, I've heard many strange things about this place. Some stories were absolutely... ridiculous," she says, with a slight laugh, "but everyone likes stories! Everyone loves exaggeration for the sake of a good tale. And I can't say that I wasn't taken in by them." The man at arms had been pleasant - not quite jovial, but well-enough to where she didn't question his mind. Until he started speaking about bipedal fishmen and hogs that coughed bile.

[Vanitypirate]

(Arriving from The Ruins)

It was not uncommon for Tilly to come crawling home from an expedition feeling as though she had a carriage driven over her, but she certainly did not anticipate feeling so after such a minimal excursion. If she still didn't have errands to run, she would have found the closest rock to curl up under and sleep for a season or two.
But there were still moths to return and dresses to wear and a husband-to-be to check in on. Such was life.

"And... we've made it. Capital." She rolled her shoulders, meaning to stretch them and ease the travel-earned ache in her back. "But I've got to run and get these buggers back before the shops close."

She shifted the hat atop her head and nodded, "Bring that lockbox with you to the wedding tomorrow, will you? We'll see if we can crack that thing open."

And then she started making hurried strides to the tailor, summoning up what energy she had left to wave at Courcy,

"See you then! And be well!"

[Boo Ghostie]

"Aye, the mists are a common sight. When the sun does peak through is enough ta' celebrate." Flynn snorted, rather amused by the woman's lack of common Hamlet knowledge. The disbelief of what is almost an everyday sight within their line of work was honestly adorable. The man knew she would soon grow accustomed to it in due time. After all, the duo had been in the same position, with varying levels of disbelief. "Well whether or not you believe those tales, I'd suggest you take heed in what they say. Carry some suspension o' disbelief, you'll be able to adjust much easier."

Their march continued on through the streets. Looking unto the houses that sheltered the typical helpless ilk that have survived countless eldritch incursions. A few guards marched along the streets, nearly armed to the teeth compared to that of the usual countryside townships. Flynn perked over to the guards, giving off a nod as a modicum of respect for their duties. Knowing all too well the risks they undergo. Tilting his head back, he spoke out to Roland in hopes of dispelling his own grievances. "Reminds me of our first time 'ere eh? All green eyed n' the like? 'Ow many of 'em deadites did ya' take out with that strong arm of yours? Netted ya' that fancy fusil ya' like to tote around didn't it?"

Roland glanced over at the firearm that had been strapped securely to his back along his right shoulder. Only responding with a silent shrug, a detail that had been forgotten on his long crusade.

[rosallora]

She wants to laugh, to say that she's far too old to believe in faerie tales. They're pulling her leg, surely. She's new and green and they're having a laugh at her expense.

Only the crusader is as silent as he has always been. And the bounty hunter... nearly solemn.

Bones rising from their graves, animated and armed? Fish folk with bulging yellow eyes, climbing from algae infested shallows to claw and bite? They couldn't be real. They couldn't be. She's cowed by the assertion, trying to take it in stride but ultimately failing. If that truly was the state of this place, cursed and supernatural... would the Light be enough to pierce it, if she was the one directing its rays?

It's no time to lose hope. She walks alongside the two, still weighing the bounty hunter's words. Transition. It had been a change when she left the abbey, when she traveled... she breathes. The Light will guide her. All will be fine. She feels the change in the air, a certain unease. She cannot control how her spirits dampen. But. She must go on.

Buildings slip in and out of the mist - and she does, eventually, hear some voices, and smell a hot meal. Perhaps this was where they were heading?

[Boo Ghostie]

Ah the tavern. A place of merriment and revel within a storm of eldritch horror. Where the food tastes like rough leather and the drinks like piss. It would best suit those who eats to live instead of the opposite, as a good friend said before. Flynn unsung himself from Roland's shoulder so he could saunter out towards the doorway. Only to let out a dejected sigh. "Thank ye for the help Roland... I can take o' me'self from 'ere. If ya need of me I'll be makin' me way to the graveyard. No need ta' lead me there. Jus' want ta' be alone fer' now."

Roland nodded, silently communicating a pang sympathy towards his childhood ally. The crusader turned his way to march to the abbey. Keeping his visor facing forward as to avoid any sense of eye contact with the new Vestal. Hiding his own emotions behind a wall of plate and chainmail. A keen ear would pick up the sound of prayers and verses being muttered under his breath. Almost reverberating through his helmet. But not enough to break the silence of their journey.

[rosallora]

The graveyard...

She can't help the wrinkle that forms in her brow. Everyone has known loss, especially here, where she knows that there are threats in the night - supernatural, or not. But already seeing evidence of it doesn't help her optimism. The lights in the tavern glow, their own little heartbeats, and she lingers a moment before going after the crusader, who's made quick work of starting off without her. One of her feet catches a cobblestone but she recovers herself easily enough, embarrassed more than anything else.

She hears almost a hum from him, the air still besides their footsteps. Soft words. Familiar. She catches the end of one verse and follows it to another, silent, listening. It's a comfort. She pipes up softly, "Light keep him, and whatever soul he's looking after." It isn't out of necessity that she speaks, at very least. The sympathy was real. In this gloomy Hamlet there seemed to be already gloomy people. Strange people. Who knows what kind of care was required, or what manner of wounds fell most commonly. Ailments of the heart?

[Boo Ghostie]

"Verse LIIVI, We serve the Holy Light with our faith and devotion, and with faith there must also sometimes come sacrifice." Roland let out, almost as a response to the prayer that had been recited by his peer. His response, while stern, seemed very hesitant. Almost as if it were forces out of him. "Verse XXXV, and blessed is the mind too small for doubt."

Another sin, whether it be true or falsely misinterpreted as such was added to his list. The need for the lash growing more and more apparent. His march only growing more tense as they continued their way through the Hamlet streets. It would be a somber walk indeed.

[rosallora]

We. It's a refreshing word, a welcome word. Not as if it'd been long since she'd heard the word - people were so eager to congregate into groups, to call themselves "we". But to hear it from a new companion (she doesn't dare friend, it is too early, far too much so! She can't be so bad) is nice. It helps the mist to feel a bit less cool, the dawn to come just a little bit faster.

The first words she's heard from him, and it's Verse. A shared language. The language of those who believed, who carried a torch carefully inside of them. "Verse LIV: Blessed is the soul of humility and warmth, for its flame will spark one that is cold as stone." If this was the way he spoke... she could answer. It had been some time since she'd done this - as a game, funnily enough. But it was hard to have disagreements with the other Sisters when the Verses didn't lend themselves to arguing over who was to prepare dinner.

[Boo Ghostie]

"You know your verses well." Roland let out. A possible compliment? By the tone of his voice it remained rather hesitant and steeled. Quickly secluding back to himself as if he were expecting some form of retribution. Focusing his mind on anticipating his usual regime within the abbey. Flagellation and prayer becoming all but routine at this point. His only hope being whether or not the hall of penance had been cleaned.

"Verse LXI: When all is lost, stand firm. The Flame endures." He mutters to himself, wondering when the weight of his failures would be lifted from his shoulders. Almost yearning to don his clergy's colors once more. Roland felt another pang in his heart, another reminder of his past echoing throughout his thick skull. Subjected to cruel misinterpretations. The crusader let out a sigh once again placing himself back onto his journey for martyrdom, "Verse XVII: Pain now, reward in the afterlife."

[rosallora]

"Thank you," she replies. It seemed he wasn't as untalkative as he had appeared at first. Perhaps having the bounty hunter present sucked all the conversation out of him? As one settles into a role around others, of course. Social situations, the careful balance. Or perhaps it was just that they were comfortable between each other. When you are so comfortable... there is little need to speak.

Or one would think. She always felt the need to fill those gaps.

"Verse LXI: When all is lost, stand firm. The Flame endures..." she echoes. "Verse XXXI: The Flame burns brightest in the darkness; the worthy few shall seek it out." She tries to jigsaw in her head - it is a game, a soft and lighthearted thing to her. He spoke of pain. How could she respond? "Verse LXXII: A people bonded in flame glow against the cruelty of the wide world. Hold firm to the hands of your sisters and brothers, and fear not. Hearts forged in Fire bright will not falter, and the Flame shall spread as wildfire through them." She nods her head, satisfied, stepping over a puddle on the street.

[Boo Ghostie]

"Verse XLI: A Heretic may see the truth and seek redemption. He may be forgiven his past and will be absolved in death. A Traitor can never be forgiven..." Roland trailed off from the whole verse, taking a deep breath before continuing on. Catching on to the vestal's clever usage of the holy verses. Deciding to play along, using this game as an outlet for his own woes. Reminding him of his own humanity, as Flynn often put. Almost putting up a small smirk beneath his armored visor. "A Traitor will never find peace in this world or the next. There is nothing as wretched or as hated in all the world as a Traitor."

At this, the holy man decided to pull upon one of his favored prayers. A lesser known scripture, recited often by those of flagellants and martyrs. One that he often looked to as an act of self reflection. To him, it seemed appropriate to piece with his previous verse. "One unbreakable shield against the coming darkness. One last blade forged in the defiance of fate. Let them be my legacy, to the vows that I've failed. Verse LXII, Hymn of the Penitent."

[rosallora]

She follows his words, their meanings, phrases crafted half from guilt and half from devotion. Light hold him. Traitor, traitor... the verses weren't too kind to those, it was true. But she could feel his stalwart passion in his selection of verse, and in his careful recitation. And it felt as if he knew this game. Perhaps he had played it before?

She thinks. He's given a puzzle for her, and not an easy one to slip around quietly and gently. But the Light... the Light would provide the answer. "Verse IV: And yet you will find those who still have strayed from the calling. Brighten their soul and the Flame will follow. Verse LIII: The forgiven are the tended coals and embers, for they will burn with heat without flame. Though their light is unseen, they will have a place between Light and Shadow." Perhaps it doesn't fit quite right. She clicks her tongue. "Verse IXIV: The man who humbles himself before the Flame will always find himself warmed by its presence."

[Boo Ghostie]

He took a moment to take in the verses recited to him. Now contemplating the truth behind such verses. In his heart he still can feel the pain of the Light's absence. The despair of sin still addled his mind. "Verse XIV: Temptation is to betray the holy light. For one's heart must be pure with the love of divinity." It was here he felt that it would best describe his affront. Roland was a traitor, and the pain of when the Holy Flame died within him still echoed through and through.

"Verse XVII: An open mind is like a fortress, with its gates unbarred and unguarded." Roland responded to his own verse in tune, taking no solace in the words of his peer. "Verse XXIV: The traitor is but ash, void as kindle, and a stain to the kiln." His eyes now fixated on the approaching abbey, as they have nearly reached the top of the hill in which it was perched. Without any more verses he only marched with bitter silence. Now wishing to continue his need to redeem himself, through agony, blood, and hardship. "Verse XX: Only through martyrdom may a heathen find redemption. Verse XXI: Heathens alone fear death."

[rosallora]

As they ascended, it was as if he did the opposite. He delved into the dark further and further, his words reflecting... doom? No, worse. Damnation. She has so many verses at hand, and yet... she doubts that any single one would be a balm to what plagued his soul. The traitor-knight, this crusader. Perhaps time would be the cure? But... no, at the same time, no one could wait around and hope that healing would happen. She wants to reach out to him; her hand twitches at her side as she resists the urge.

"Verse..." A building starts to emerge from the mist, and it nearly takes her breath away. The stained glass, the proud belltower... she can't help the smile that spreads over her face. "The abbey," she says, almost whispered, prayerlike. She picks up her pace, jogging forward, gleeful as the sun presses itself against the clouds. She looks back, beckons, and tries to forget the solemnity of his own condemnation. Perhaps he was just as happy to see it as she was.

[Boo Ghostie]

Roland tilted his head at the sudden excitement exhibited by the Vestal. He merely looked at her, then up at the abbey. Yep, it's an abbey alright. He merely shrugged at her, after his time within the Hamlet the Abbey had become all but mundane to him at this point. Leading on to his initial confusion. A new home loses its charm after one spends a portion of their life within it. He continued walking at his own pace, with his hands reaching up to pluck off his helmet, holding it by his side.

His gaze just as stoic as his armor entailed. From his tired eyes to his stiff upper lip, it was clear that he had been through much. Roland let out a small sigh of relief, as he felt the cool breeze brush against his face. As it had not been uncovered after a long period of time. Simply marching passed her with only a small nod to affirm that he was, at most, aware of her existence. Only wishing to reach the front of the abbey door.