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Post by rosallora on Mar 1, 2019 23:49:55 GMT -8
She's surprised to find when she turns to glance again that he's taken off his helmet. He seems... well. Her excitement apparently wasn't contagious. Golden-looking hair pressed flat from the helmet, skin slightly dirti- wait, no, it was the shadow of a beard. He looked in need of a long rest and a hot meal - both of which, she's sure, could be found here. An abbey was a town's heart! There the faith was renewed, the fire stoked, the peace returned. It glowed through the mist with its candles inside, the bell not gleaming, sure, but it was there! It was solid as ever, and it warmed her heart simply to see it. Who rung it? An Abbess? A priest? All at once, questions poured into her, ones she was so eager to have answered. A new abbey. Perhaps a new home, if they were wanting for someone to clean and keep it. But it was so presumptuous of her to assume that they needed help! After all, it was gorgeous, stem to stern, she couldn't ask for something more exciting.
The crusader passes her without comment and she picks up her pace again, not wanting to seem too stunned by the sight. They reach the stone steps, then the ascent. The door is before them, and she is nearly vibrating with happiness. The strangeness of the mist is all but forgotten. She is Home, after all. Where the Light burns, so does her heart.
"...I suspect this is where we will part ways," she says, "we are likely here for different purposes." She must go to see the Abbess. She offers her hand to him. "Thank you, Ser Roland, for your company. ...It was nice, speaking with you." It was, truly. Even if she felt acutely now that his heart ached (how soul must as well, Traitor, branded into him, into his flesh in some way that he carved himself) it was good, it was right, to know. A vestal carries the burdens of the heart. And when she prayed, they would be released, and her shoulders would be ready to carry other ones anew.
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 2, 2019 21:57:11 GMT -8
"Huh?" Roland stood ready to push his way inside, only to perk his head to the side to face her. The man's face was clearly shocked, or at least panicked, as she began to address him once more. His helmet no longer there to conceal his humanity. It was almost as if he were at a loss for words, trying to concoct a proper response to her declarations. "Oh uhm, yes. I believe we've our own business to attend to." Roland looked awkwardly at the hand offered out to him, and back at his peer. He reached out, with his movement rather titchy or sporadic, to shake her hand. Almost unwillingly, or at best with great hesitation. "It's... It's been a pleasure sister, Toustain?"
His words remained stoic but it was clear by his face that he was just conflicted about speaking out. Almost expecting some kind of divine retribution if he were to speak out of turn. "I'll be taking my leave to the Penance Chamber, if you've need of me. Stay safe sister." With this, he pushed open the doorway of the abbey. Holding it still so that she may pass through. A simple gesture, but at least he was still able to hold up to the ideals of the typical crusader.
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Post by rosallora on Mar 2, 2019 22:03:54 GMT -8
His handshake isn't the firmest, but it'll do. It's almost funny to her, a crusader having such a weak handshake. She can't remember the last time someone actually shook her hand instead of just gently clasping it in the first place. "Toustain," she confirms, though it's soft. She slides into the church ahead of him thanks to his assistance, the scent of incense and wood hitting her nose. Home again. She turns as he goes to his penance hall, and watches as he strides away.
"Stay safe... Light keep you."
And with that, she continues into the stained glass cathedral, searching for a way to put herself to work.
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Post by black379 on Mar 8, 2019 0:23:07 GMT -8
Talea gifted obeisance to the brisk evening breeze, bowing her head in gratitude for a night devoid of tribulation. Ever subtle were her motions that the air instead seemed to part in their wake, rather than two silent strangers traveling amidst its veils. She could find no further words rolling on her tongue to quell the mortal's reservation, for her mind lingered on the spirits watching beyond. Miserable..? Dolorous coinage he used, like a bird with broken wings, doomed to forsake its chosen skies. Perhaps.. the souls truly did lament? Perhaps their voices did sing miserable? She repaid his words with silence, while vacant eyes searched the empty streets. A path lay before him, weary though his spirit weighed on his mind. How far would he follow? The arcane woman, Florence, sheltered a brief distance beyond, and Talea knew not whether to welcome or resent their conversation's end. He taught her much, yet she understood so little of this foreign emotion. Affection.. Love.. Would she ever grasp its meaning? As her gaze drifted to the pale lines of her palms, she queried her own purpose. Could love be devotion, or had she branded emptiness eternal on her heart. The questions lingered on her lips, daring her to inquire of him. To learn. Yet the one voice that answered, that spoke louder than her own, was Fear.
In a roundabout fashion the pair passed through side streets to arrive at the hovel without any tails or prying eyes. Adeney felt it was unusually clandestine, much as though he were sneaking in the sewer tunnels or infested groves claimed by the foul creatures beneath and surrounding the hamlet. But now he had to be just as careful in the supposed safety of the city.
The last of the trek was silent. Adeney wasn't sure if he had said something, perhaps his mention of Silvant, to upset the woman, or if Talea was usually so quiet. He was glad, even for her soundless presence. Still anxiety gnawed at the doctor. He wondered if she, with her ethereal insight, could know him better than he knew himself. She might see that he was confused, or trying too hard to hide his regret with reparation. But Adeney couldn't ask her to search his soul, fearing she would find what he tried to bury.
"We're here." He finally spoke up, almost startling himself after the quiet. Another quick look around, to be sure no one saw them, and the doctor headed inside the small shack. His eyes scanned the dim-lit basement for the girl, hoping she had not been cooped up too long.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 8, 2019 22:31:43 GMT -8
"Hello."
It was not Audrey's voice that spoke out of the dark, but Florence's monotonous voice. She was fortunate enough to have stopped just a foot shy in front of Adeney, scarcely avoiding walking square into him. Draped over her arm was a red, silk cloak-- presumably red, of course, given her curse-given inability to see the particular shade.
Audrey sat with her back against the wall and her arms wrapped about her knees. Despite the darkness of the cellar, her eyes still shone in the dark as though they were miniature, twin moons.
"I have examined the girl. She is well, and her wounds are healing. With the proper equipment, she may even be able to walk again." Florence, evidently, had not yet seen Talea,
"I must hurry, however, and attend Lekalis's and Tilly's wedding. It would be unkind to be late."
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Post by EtherealNoire on Mar 10, 2019 11:35:46 GMT -8
Talea paid neither Menders regard as she slipped amidst their crowded bodies into the hold beyond. Though cramped conditions persisted, she moved with the likeness of air, unhindered by the high occupancy. And the silence welcomed her. It beckoned her forth towards the figure curled within its smothered folds. Despondent eyes glinted in the darkness, weary. Talea's own gaze alighted on the creature, on the bird with tattered wings. Torn from the skies, the spirit that lurked within this mortal shell was nay a soul she could adjure.
"For naught do ailments sway her soma when wounds persist upon her soul."
Her sight traveled across the woman's huddled form, reading blemish and impressions like the seafarers read the stars. How many moons would traverse the skies before the light-dwellers accepted fate?
Drifting once more to Adeney's side, Talea faced the female Mender, this 'Florence', and hollow cavities of bone watched from above, ethereal as Talea's own vacant gaze.
"If thou wish to mend her essence, then thou must mend the wounds of her spirit. Else condemn a creature in the form of mortals, and a mortal in the realm beyond."
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Post by black379 on Mar 10, 2019 22:25:10 GMT -8
"Oh. You are here." Was Adeney's greeting to Florence. He raised his hand stiffly even as Talea ushered past both of them. His mouth opened and his eyes moved from the bird mask, to the skull crown, then back.
"I found someone to help us..." The doctor floundered, realizing he didn't have an exact explanation for her usefulness. He motioned toward Talea, drifting toward the remnant of Audrey, as if her merit was plain. Hopefully Florence knew more than he on the matter of souls and spirits, and would decipher the woman's cryptic omens.
"To be precise, she found me. She had a... sense." Adeney squinted, his brows furrowing. For a moment he cast an eye to the crumpled girl against the wall. He was sure that whatever force devised her death made a mistake, and the three of them were to correct it.
"Her name is Talea."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 12, 2019 0:06:06 GMT -8
Florence stared and squinted at Talea as though she were trying to read a tiny font in a too-dim room. She was a veritable enigma to Florence, who was trying to decipher, all at once, who this strange woman was, why Adeney had brought her, what she was saying, why the woman-- Talea-- wore a skull on her head, whether the thing was preserved correctly to as to not become an unfortunate vector for disease.
"Doctor Mercier, your friend does not make sense." She looked to Adeney, "And I am very late for a wedding I am expected to attend. You may join me at the event, if you wish, with your friend. We may speak more afterwards, as I have also come across intriguing information as well."
Already she presumed to take a step to leave. Lateness to something so grand was poor planning.
"Come with me. We must hurry."
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Post by EtherealNoire on Mar 12, 2019 13:02:59 GMT -8
Wayward and adrift in her thoughts, the bitter storm of this 'Florence' frustrated Talea. She withdrew from the Mender's sharpened tongue and metallic leer as though the woman's presence were a in nettle in her path.
Instead, Talea's longing for silence summoned her once more into Twilight's glimmer, away from the turmoil, where her upward gaze flattered the stars.
The cosmos, blushing, streaked frenetic answers across the skies.
But the Mender departed then, her brisk steps impatient against the compact earth; compact as her demands they follow. It disturbed the heaven's exchange, and Talea's thoughts traveled to Adeney, his visage, his voice, questioning his intentions to oblige.
Even while he deliberated, she drifted forward to join him, her head cocked to the side in humble curiosity. She would accompany him, she decided, long after the dusk bleeds into morn.
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Post by black379 on Mar 12, 2019 22:06:12 GMT -8
He panicked a little as Florence took her leave in haste. Adeney was eager to see and talk to Audrey and he was hard pressed to leave her there alone. He cast the girl another mournful, even apologetic, glance then left with the woman doctor. Silently he scolded himself. He was supposed to be with her, look after her. His oversight cost her life to begin with.
Yet Adeney needed to explain himself, and Talea, to Florence. He was certain they needed her help, and it wouldn't do for them to chafe with each other. So he departed as quickly as he arrived, to escort the strange women to a wedding. Tilly and Lekalis were Florence's focus after all, and in possible danger. An assassination during a marriage might sound overt, but that only made it suspiciously more unexpected.
"I don't understand much of what she says," Adeney admitted. "But until a few days ago, I was sure souls and spirits were... hocus pocus. Talea... speaks with them?" He motioned to the skull-topped woman, and looked at her expectantly to confirm what he was saying.
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Post by EtherealNoire on Mar 13, 2019 12:30:05 GMT -8
Shaman, oracle, names bestowed upon my walk, yet reveal nay more than the moon's light dost of its true purpose."
Talea whispered while her eyes roamed the firmaments. Like forgotten planets, they reflected the cosmos in their depths, bejeweled with a million stars.
"Guiding from the gates of life to nether, quell I thus the departed in their laments and severed ties. Misfortune persists and the spirit of two, torn from skies and earth, stain the soma stowed within thy dark abode."
Though the Mender's shadows winged them far from the dismal shanty, Talea raised pallid fingers towards whence they came. Her mind lingered on the girl's huddled form, and as her gaze flickered between Adeney and the Mender's retreating back, she longed to project the tattered vision her own sight had discerned within the darkness.
A somber air lingered about her, weighing on her dipped shoulders and hanging as a broken frown from her lips.
"Their anguish is eternal."
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Mar 13, 2019 17:42:53 GMT -8
Nasuada was supposed to go to the Abbey, to prepare herself to read the texts of old, discover what the Alchemist Elorit had in his possession. Unlocking secrets she could easily keep to herself and lie to the man about, to gain herself the knowledge needed to become a true occultist. Not this half breed of light and dark, though creating a sort of grey magic using both of them crossed her mind. An idea for another time.
But her plans changed when she heard talk, heard the movement of people with joy only found on the rarest occasions in this accursed place.
Her heart quickened, and the woman grew nervous, out of all the things to expect she did not anticipate the one thing she despised more than her own follies. A wedding. A ritual signifying the bonds of two lovers, something she utterly abhorred to the highest degree. As painful memories she had suppressed rose again, they made her rush towards the Sanitarium instead. Wanting no part in the Abbey where the ceremony would surely take place, and not in the streets where she would have to bear witness to the torture of love that was not her own.
////Flashback to when Nasuada was 18 years old.////
She stood in her room, staring outside to where there were tables, and chairs, people dressed up and having fun, a wedding like the one happening now. Her skin was dark, but her eyes were a vibrant goldish brown, hair an ashy brown, and her voice, full of life and vibrant hues of rangeful pitches. She was holding the cloth above her heart and breast, trembling softly as she watched the activities she could not join into.
“Why. Why must I be locked away every time, every time there’s a wedding I cannot leave my room, I cannot make loud noises, I cannot do anything but watch in agony!” She groaned to herself, knowing full well the answer, she sat down, burying her hands in her face as she began to sob. A bastard child, a sinner of a mother, a father who disowned her the moment he found she was not of his blood. Left here, in this church of reckoning, to fix those forsaken who had no choice, though, she and one other were the last, once they found recompense they would be free but for Tris this would never be cured as long as she stayed the bastard child of a black heretic.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 13, 2019 22:45:49 GMT -8
What Talea spoke of that was not beyond Florence's more sublunary-minded comprehension was more beyond her care. She had no obligation to soothe the anguish of any such spirits, which had no bearing on the task at hand. The dead were simply dead, but the living still had life to burn, and thus she devoted to maintaining that flame. "I wish that you would speak plainly." Florence stated, walking along down a sidestreet and up another, until the House loomed into view. "Do you speak of the girl? She was a successful trial, and we must continue to monitor her to understand the risks of a transition such as hers. We must not interfere with her experience, or our efforts would have been wasted and we will have learned nothing on what to expect for our three living patients." A small smile, unseen behind the mask, grew on her expression. "It is time for us to move forward and begin taking our next steps. After we attend the wedding, I will share what I learned what I must do. I hope that you, Doctor Mercier, will find it as fascinating as I." Presuming to scootscoot alooong to the Misc Buildings |
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Mar 14, 2019 9:10:17 GMT -8
////Nasuada’s Flashback////
She heard a knock on her door, a deep voice belonging to no other than the other person still entrapped in this hell. He was tall, with a short boyish hairstyle with his blond hair, blue eyes, wearing the armor of a knight when he was on duty, while off he wore loose and comfy clothing. He was also not allowed to attend weddings, any of them couldn’t unless it was their own, however he had something she craved, she desired more than possibly him himself. Freedom.
He was recompensed, he could leave whenever he wanted, but he needed to become a knight here, he had to becom a protector of a much more joyous heaven of a place than her version of hell. Because of this, this freedom, she could not love him, she could not talk to him unless spoken to, she was a servant now even to him, even if he was only 2 years above her. Any blight against him would surely destroy his freedom, so she tried her hardest to avoid who her heart favored. It tore her apart every day, and now, at her weakest, she had no hope of hiding it.
“Tris? Open the door, we must talk. It’s urgent.” He spoke, his voice filled with a sort of sorrow unbeknownst to her.
She wiped her eyes and collected herself as much as she could, opening it with apphrension. There he stood, a knight in shining armor, a look of pain and sorrow in his face that made her heart jump as felt the need to comfort him.
“The Head Nun...She has asked me to tell you. That. That. Since you will never recompense, that once you reach the age of 20, you will be forced out, exiled from this land in its entirely. You will have to find a new home. And if you ever show your face again, I will have to detach your head from your body. Personally. That is all.” He finished, tears welling in his eyes from the fact a woman despite her heritage he had cared for, would soon never be seen, and if she was, he will have to make her pay the price.
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Post by azmoham on Mar 17, 2019 14:37:09 GMT -8
Squinting in the pale light of late afternoon, the man leaned against the base of the statue as he examined each of the main buildings clustered about the square. Nearest to him was what appeared to be a rather old but well-maintained wagon, figuring it to be some manner of traveling salesman or some-such, he ignored it for the moment and shifted his attention elsewhere. He could spot a smithy, though no smoke rose from its chimney, a tall building with a red roof and banners bearing daggers on them beside which sat a weapons rack, leading the man to believe it was some sort of armory or perhaps an arena? Either way, not very useful at the moment, he looked now to the grand tower of the abbey and rubbed his chin in thought, that could work as lodgings for a night or two should he have no other options, better than sleeping in the mud like a beggar at any rate. But he’d much rather have the ‘luxury’ of a bed, he spied the other great spire which jutted prominently forth, a building of heavy stone and small windows, one for which he could not determine its exact use, and made a note to look inside at some further time.
At last his eyes landed on what could only be a tavern given the sign out front.
“Not much is it, but, better than a pew or the dirt…”
He shrugged, adjusting the tricorne on his head and setting out a brisk pace for the bar. The wagon he’d arrived on was still parked close by and he tipped his hat to the driver as he made his way towards the front door, the coachman cackling in response.
“Bit of a boor, that one.”
He muttered before opening the door to the alehouse and stepping inside.
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