The Abbey

[relentless]

Aug 8, 2017 14:45:18 GMT -8 Outisakanobody said:

"Hmm...that garden sounds nice. Shall i meet you there in, say, an hour?" Celeste asks, in slightly higher spirits already.

Libourg smiled back at her, combing away her hair for a moment before giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Sounds splendid! I'll just be in the Abbey, thinking over things and gathering myself. Do stay safe, Celeste."
Libourg said jovially as he backed off, waving her goodbye before spinning around on his feet, and moving toward the exit of the sermon room. Although the area he was in was quiet enough, Libourg thought it'd be best, and worthwhile to sharpen his mentality. After all, he wouldn't be sharpening his sword anytime soon. So he would make his way down the torch lit corridors, built from stern stone, before he entered the Archives with a creaking door.

Cobwebs, daint and thin, hung from the highest shelf of the bookshelves lined with various books ranging from faith from various cultures, scientific recordings, documentry files from famous battles across the globe and sacred scrolls meant for Vestals and Crusaders alike. With such vast knowledge, it was obvious that not a lot of people would visit here since only the educated would be able to read these. He peeks inside, gritting his teeth as his injured arm pushed against the wooden door, until he eventually nudged it open and took a step inside; a loud, audible creak rattled out from the aged wood, creating a pained cringe on his face.

"Good job me.."
Libourg hissed at himself under his breath, unsure whether he would get 'told off' for shattering the silence of this isolated archive.

[Outisakanobody]

Celeste hummed and decided to have a wander around the Abbey while she waited for the time to come for her meeting.

[Vanitypirate]

It was odd, in that moment; all it took were some kind words from a friend to make it so that things, the sights and sensations she'd just experienced, appeared to not be quite as bad. It came as a surprise, each time Tilly appreciated this fact: people were fatally sociable.

"I know I can always come to you."

She gave a toothy smile, in spite of it all, and made her own motherhenning of her friend, herself. She smeared the tears away and brushed her hair back.

"And... know that I'll always be here for you, too; I'm always looking out for you. You're practically family."

[Vanitypirate]

What with the fading sun as it dipped below the Estate's horizon, the abbey's archives were becoming dangerously dark. Thin light cast an ember-like glow along the interior of the room, dotted here, between the bookshelves and well out of the way of any flammables, and there by a candle or two. The ceiling, almost claustrophobically low, was striped with the long, dusky shadows of the shelves and the few, habit-clad clergy who tended to the records and books of the candlelit domain.

However, not all who haunted this archive were there with pious intentions.

In the distant corner of the room was an ashwood desk, only just barely illuminated by the dancing ing light of a single candle, set precariously to the edge of the desk's surface. The occupant of this desk was nigh undetectable in the dim, save for the bone-white, corvine face belonging to that figure swathed in robes. Seemingly at a hunch, it looked upwards and its face loomed into view, the candlelight playing upon the cracks in its leftern eye.

"Hello."

The voice belonged to a woman, Florence, and if she were happy to see Libourg manifest, her monotone simply did not betray it.

[relentless]

Libourg jumped a little as he entered the room, turning about on his feet to be greeted with the bird woman's hunched over posture upon the desk. He backed off into a while out of paranoia, only to knock over a small pile of books.

"Oh sh- sorry about that I err.."
Libourg mumbled as he took another few steps forward, trying to ignore his clumsiness as he approached an adjacent bookshelf, the end of the bookshelf had a sign that read:

'Understanding of Human Morals'
It read, the sign made out of brass and heavily draped in dust as Libourg scoured the various scrolls, books and parchments upon the shelf. Eventually, he would pick out a small book, along with a couple scrolls, two of them made by those of religious upbringing whilst another of a 'non-believers' upbringing. It was wise, at least to Libourg, to broaden his understanding of human behaviour from all sides, be it from the view of religious stories and the intent of the flame, or from that of a scholarly man with solidified evidence and a ink feather.

Walking around the side, he eventually came face to face with the Corvine plague doctor, dressed in her drab, doctorly garments, thankfully rid of the blood she had spilt. Either in self defence or otherwise.

"O-oh, hello Florence."
Libourg says, a tad bit shy, clearly as he fashioned an awkward smile at her, before he tasted his own lips for a moment to wet his lips for the sake of socialising clearly.

"May I? I shan't distract you from your work, Miss Florence, I only wish to brighten my mind briefly."
Libourg asked as he gestured toward a chair alongside, dusty and creaky, though it would hold Libourg in his injured state.

[Outisakanobody]

"Family indeed. I do not know if I remember the last time we were together like this. It seems like it happens less and less..." Grace says, starting out with a small laugh, then getting more gloomy at the end. "I suppose you are spending most of your time with that Blood fellow then. With how eager he was to shoo me away I could be forgiven for thinking he has...feelings for you." she says with a hint of anger and bitterness. "I am sorry. It is insensitive of me to bring up such things when poor Roderick has not even been gone for a fortnight." she apologized hastily.

[Unter]

Francois enters the abbey with Milo following him. He asked the young man his sword back, and made his way to the altar. He knelt, holding the sword in front of the stone altar. He murmured a prayer, and then said "Let us pronounce our woes."
He stared at Milo, and then stared at the stained glass windows of the abbey. "For now and for when you become a worthy knight, I swear I will protect you and teach you all I can." He then looked at Milo
"Repeat after me. I accept this oath and pronounce myself as a squire, I swear to use my sword wisely and follow my instructor. I swear to listen to his teachings and prove myself worthy of the way of the sword. May God watch over me."

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Lekalis/

The Abbey doors were always the hardest part about the place, for him. The trials and memories and  turmoil all were... manageable, as a sort of burning dark in the pit of his stomach. But the immense Doors, what forced him to want to enter the Abbey... That was the hardest part of it all.

To exert such an effort to enter such a place that seemed to bleed bitter memories... Yet, he supposed, for every sour memory, there were twice that in blissful romance. Florence rest here, as some haunting gheist in the guts of the place, as his evermost sooth and respected advisor.

Tilly, too, he'd lain with and sworn his love to just in the shadow of the Abbey... Perhaps, the sweetest memory of all was that. Strange, that her greatest heartbreak had taken place in the bathhouse, selfsame in this Abbey.
Lavinia, he still yet remembered in his heart, of the nights he'd lain with her too. And promised his love for her, though with shamefully less intensity than he had for Tilly. 
Madeline, he'd bedded in the same instance as Lavinia at one point; in that bathhouse. A sour humor made him chuckle in disbelief, running a hand  through his hair as he realized his destination was marked to be that same spot.
His boots verily strode in long motions, to the Bath-house door; though he yet paused before entering, and rested his heels, as he listened in quietly.

//

[rumsztyk]

What in the heavens did he get himself into? Milo had to weigh his options.

He stopped immediately when thinking of warm food and a bed to sleep in.

"I... accept this... oaf? and pro-nouns myself as squire, I-I swear to use my sword wisely a-and follow my instructer. I swear to listen to his t-teachings and prove myself worthy of the way of the sword... May God watch over me."

He could barely stand looking into Francois' eye. After he finished speaking, he stared into the floor.

What did he get himself into...

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly gave a small shrug and looked away, towards the opposite wall and door, and back again with the ghost of a smile on her lips, perhaps a bit somberly.

"He's a sweet lad, honest. He's always been a good one to take with on expeditions." She nodded slowly, eyes flitting to the vestal's stormy ones. Grace didn't have to know everything, she reasoned, at least for the moment, not when emotions ran high, as they did, or with high-risk matters.

Eventually, though, she would come to know what hole Tilly had dug herself into. Everyone would see.

"Roderick... tried to kill him, you know; when I drove him mad. I told him this place was too dangerous for him, that he had to leave, and it made him go mad." She confessed, the first of her crimes laid bare before her. She let her hands sink from the other woman's shoulders. "He broke down Blood's tavern door, all because he happened to be in the way-- I almost got him killed, too, you know? Blood never laid a hand on him. I drove one man mad and killed him, and nearly got the other skewered."

She busied her hands with her coat lapels.

"I... ask that you show him a touch more patience, is all. I think you may be seeing more of him, soon; he's been helping me arrange Roderick's funeral, and all."

[Outisakanobody]

Grace's mouth formed a tight line as she heard the tale of her friend's demise. She had liked and admired Roderick. He was one of the few crusaders she could stomach to be around, and he had always been a good friend to her. "I am...I am sad to see him go...And in such a way..." she drifted off, thoughts marred by grief.

But she quickly took Tilly's hands in her own and held them tight. "Do not go blaming yourself. You wielded no blade against him. He made his own choices and the consequences were his to bear. It may be harsh, but that is the way of this world, and this place. I do not want you to go blaming yourself and driving yourself mad. I will not allow it. Even if I have to chine you up and whip that talk out of you myself." she says, looking very earnestly at Tilly, but then she seemed to rethink her position a bit. "I am sorry...I should not make such threats...But you understand it is only because I do not wish to see you destroy yourself over this...this tragedy. You...may have Blood...but you also have me. No matter my duties here, I will always be your friend, Tilly. You are my l...my last friend...or so it seems..." Grace says, blushing and looking away at the very end.

"I am so emotional. I am sorry, again. This position is very taxing..." she admits as she takes a few deep breaths to get herself together.

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly held their hands, suspended between the two.

"There's nobody else to blame; he'd have been fine if I went about it with more tact." She told her matter-of-factly, though the words still stung to make, as always. So often had she admitted guilt to those few, disbelieving; it was plain to see it was just for the sake of her own feelings.

She gave another shrug of her bony shoulders, and a meager smile as Grace made her threats. Part of her wasn't sure whether she was joking or not.

"There's nothing for it, 'sides to learn from it. Maybe try not to get anyone else killed..." She hummed a tad glumly, looking to Grace. "Promise not to go mad over it, myself; you can count on that."

It was true, she did have much on her plate, especially considering her own background; she presumed there wasn't half as much management involved in her old village, or on the field of war, though both were opposite extremes.
Suffice to say, Tilly did not envy her.

"Do you even enjoy it, being the Head, and all...?" She probed, "You ought to take care of yourself, too, y'know; I told you to make that one of your priorities."

[Outisakanobody]

"I...do not know what I enjoy anymore. A bottle of wine to dull the senses, is about it. And being with you..." Grace says, giving her own helpless shrug. She moved to sit next to Tilly, sagging into the seat and suddenly looking much older and frumpier: her once pristine robes crumpling about her in an unflattering manner. She sighed and rubbed at her face with a large paw, luckily not too covered in blood from before. "Taking care of myself...I suppose I do not have much practice in that." she says quietly from behind her own hand.

[Vanitypirate]

"You have disturbed the books."

The information came at a droning hum from the Crowgazer at her desk. An arm, an off-white with the protective, outer layer of wrapped linens, jerked up from the desk and pointed stiffly at the overturned books the Crusader left in his clumsy wake against the shelves. The other had its fingers wrapped about a quill, delicately, with the dexterity wont to a surgeon's fingers, even despite the greyish gloves that sheathed them. Florence was clearly in the middle of writing her notes, but the activity was far from unusual for her.

Her twin lenses followed and watched as he made his sheepish way over, scroll in hand.

"You must replace the books."

The hand that pointed twitched rigidly, and a touch abruptly, as if to emphasize its pointed nature, at the books on the ground. The motion, however, was more akin to a puppetmaster yanking the cord that maneuvered his puppet, her arm a machination of pulleys and levers.

"This immoral treatment of books is distracting."

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly cocked her head and looked her over sympathetically.

This place was difficult for everyone, it seemed: even those who did not venture into the Dark, themselves. Rather, it was a trying enough task to maintain a bulwark against the pressing fiends, the dangers that the mercenaries tracked into the Hamlet in much the same way one would leave muddy footprints on a clean floor.
Indeed, she had endured equally trying times in the Hamlet as well as in its surrounding dungeons.

"Well... it's never too late to learn, hm?" Tilly proposed, bending some to tend to her ginger hair, snaking her hands across the part to neaten it. She found some soothe in this, although she eyed the seat on the bench, beside Grace, wantingly.

"To start: liquor isn't a hobby." The robber teased affectionately before dropping back down on the bench, close enough to lean her shoulder against the Sister.

"Have you considered crochet? Other folks I've recommended it to have all loved it."