Scales to Ward the Winter

Log Info

• Title: Scales to Ward the Winter
• Emitter: Verna
• Characters: Verna, Aryia
• Place: Vardama's Temple
• Time: December 27th, 2021
• Summary: The Temple of Vardama never dulls in its work, even in the snow, and doubly so after the restriction has been lifted from the temples. Verna is clearing out the offerings left at the base of the steps as Aryia arrives, trudging through the snow. They head inside, Verna putting the offerings away, and Aryia hands over a gift. It's not for Yule, but it's still one of appreciation. A scarf that depicts a set of scales emblazoned upon it. They head deeper into the temple, checking out the Vaults, as well as a talking painting that surprises Aryia to no end. Aryia gets a few ideas and schemes for later, and heads on out after Verna ensures a warm travel back down the mountain.

The temple in the mountain may not be entirely co-located with its peers (it stands somewhat above Angoron's whose is, not surprisingly, also built into the Redridge), yet it was subject to the same restricted access as the others. Until most recently.

As a benefit, those seeking final preparations and/or organizing said preparations can now do so more formally and properly. Less beneficial, if in the short term, was the relocation of the collected deceased to a higher elevation along a narrow path. For a time, such may well have resembled and excessively lengthy funerary procession.

Now, however, that task is completed. Visitors return, and new offerings are left upon the basalt steps. Verna is currently upon said steps collecting said offerings, placing each respectfully within a large chest that hovers upon a floating discus of force.

Where was this damn place?

As much as a scarred shadow elf wanted to bust down the doors of the Temple of Eluna, she had some other errands to run. So she had to ask around.

A lot.

In the sideways snow.

So now she finally found it.

Up the mountain road.

In the sideways snow.

The longing of rapidly closing distances was growing with each passing day.

A bundled up elf in a green buckle jacket and a large green scarf shuffles through the snow, coming up to the steps of the mountainside temple. She stops before it, craning her head back to take in the place before settling her attention of the Mourner working.

Torch-bright eyes blink behind the bundled up scarf. Hey, she knew that Mourner. She shuffles closer, taking her time going up the steps to approach.

While visiting may have resumed, given the cold, wind (carrying snow), location, and even purpose of the temple, that is not to say that visitors are currently present in any number. In fact, the green-clad mul is one of the few at the moment.

Verna looks up and over as the movement catches her notice. "Good day to you, Aryia... in as much as the season and weather allow."

Aryia trudges closer, her getting a few more steps up before hazarding a wave with a gloved hand. "Hello," the hand gestures. "Good to see you. I... did not know the temple was this far up. I can see why you like your flying cauldron now."

She looks turns some to inspect the whiteout landscape before glancing to the floating chest and to the inner shelter of the temples. "You busy? I can come back later." <Handspeech>

Verna places a small bundle of flowers into the chest and closes the container before turning back and shaking her hood somewhat. Hands free and no further offerings remaining, she gestures, "I am not so busy as to ignore conversation, much less a friend. The cauldron does make the venture to and fro far easier, though the original intent was for the long journeys afar for one task or another. Saddles chafe, and carriages bump and rattle. How might I aid you?"

Easier it was to speak with hands when the wind was growing to howling and the snow whisks away heat. The mute's shoulders shake, as if she chuckled, though such a sound was muffled by more than just her scarf. "Nothing, I just have something for you is all. Can I come in? It's fucking cold." <Handspeech>

Verna starts slightly before gesturing to the entrance proper. While also making a note to offer that first in the future, perhaps, weather depending. She waits for Aryia and escorts her inside with the chest of offerings floating behind them.

Once the heavy doors are closed, the foyer is comfortable from the number of braziers, though the gray stone about them appears (and likely feels) cold.

The chest is settled into a corner and Verna doffs her hood before re-addressing her guest."Welcome to The Harpist's Hall on this realm. One of, more correctly. What brings you?"

Aryia slips inside happily, her shuddering and unraveling her scarf to bring some much needed heat in from the braziers. Though, her eyes wonder around, looking at the basalt columns that grab her attention. Her brows pinch, the mute stepping forward and reaching a hand out. Gloved fingers brush against the multitude of engravings, a soft sigh leaving her as she takes in everything.

Bright eyes flick from the column to Verna's movements, her smiling lightly as an ear flicks from picking up the low chanting that echoes from deeper within. She holds up a finger, opens up her jacket, and digs around for a moment.

'ah' she silently says, pulling out a paper wrapped package and offering it to Verna.

Verna's head tilts slightly at the offering. While Aryia did mention that she had something for her, it may have been interpreted more metaphorically. She does accept the package offered, attention shifting to it with one hand holding whilst the other attempts to unwrap it. It could be an offering for the temple, an ancient tome in need of aid deciphering, perhaps a new clue into the full-blood's history? Admittedly, her parents' presence would likely make most other forms of records rather obsolete...

It could be many things. An offering to the temple? Maybe, but the mul wasn't that religious. So it couldn't be that.

A tome to decipher? Maybe, the mute had a penchant for finding odd languages, so maybe she found something for Verna to go through? Perhaps it was a lost scroll? Or maybe-

Oh.

The package unwraps to reveal a grey and basalt colored piece of warm cloth. Unraveling it would show a it is about five feet in length, with each end depicting one end of a grey pan from a set of scales on it set atop a basalt background.

There's a note atop it that reads:

"Thanks. -Aryia"

Verna reads the note as it is on top, which only increases her curiosity. The length of cloth is then unravelled and examined. The embroidery on the ends are certained noted, and there is a flicker of ... concern(?) or perturbation on her face.

Only for a moment, however, as epiphany and understanding can subsequently be noted within her eyes and features. There is even a growing curl of a sm-no. Not quite. Perhaps it would be inappropriate here.

"I thank -you-, Aryia," Verna notes as she dips her head: both in gratitude and respect as well as to make draping the scarf/stole behind her neck and down her front. Not surprisingly, she adjusts the ends to make them lie evenly.

Hands freed anew, she signs, "I am most grateful, though you need not have done so." Now her lips purse, even frown, as a thought comes to mind. "Yule. I did not consider this..."

Aryia is tapping the tips of her fingers together, watching Verna's expression to see if she liked her gift. Oh, there it is, a smi- wait, no. It's not, but now she's putting on the scarf?

She smiles though at seeing it added to Verna's usually simple attire. It being worn was enough in her eyes. "You're welcome!"

She blinks, then rubs her neck. "... it wasn't for Yule. But, I supposed the timings lined up." <Handspeech>

Verna is now the one to blink in return, which only deepens her not-enitrely-a-frown pursed lips. There is some uncertaintly in her signing. "Apologies. I presumed..." A pause. "Whatever the reason, I thank you, though I am rather unprepared as I did not bring a gift to offer in exchange. As is the custom, as I recall." It is highly likely that such customs are more studied than practiced, whether for Mourners, in general, or Verna, specifically.

Aryia snickers silently. "It's for the same reason I gave Seldan one. Though, now that you mention it, I /should/ make you a gift for Yule. There's time. And I have your measurements..."

She trails off, tapping her chin.

Dangerous information to have, a mul'neissa seamstress with all the details on hand.

She returns to the signs, her shaking her head and smiling. "It's okay. This is... sort of my first Yule. I gave a lot of scarves out the other day in the Fernwood. The kids seemed to like them." <Handspeech>

Verna ahs aloud, if softly, and nods. She does recall the gift to Seldan... as well as some other mildly concerning comments by others. Still, the consternation covering her countenance collapses and her expression returns to her norm. "I understand. As your first Yule, I believe it required that you are included in the festivities." Verna is always considering and in thought, and now is no different. As Aryia noted, there is still time.

"The children could make great use of them in remaining warm and healthy over the season. That is quite generous of you." She makes no comment concerning the potentially dangerous information.

Aryia shrugs, smirking faintly, but it goes away. "It was just leftover fabric, no big deal. Would go to waste if I didn't do something with it. And I got plenty of the festivities the other day. Might linger around for more, if there is any more of them in the coming weeks."

She looks around, either contemplating the dangerous intel, or something else. Then, "So what is this Vault I keep hearing you talk about?" she asks, looking down slightly towards the shorter half-mul with a raised brow. <Handspeech>

Verna acknowledges with a nod. "Even so, the effort and though involved were generous." Her expression lightens or brightens with the inquiry, and she gestures invitingly to one of the side corridors with one hand before more precisly adding, "My lodgings are this way, please."

She then proceeds to lead Aryia down said corridor, where all is rather symmetrical and similar in its simplicity: torches spaced just near enough to offer adequate lighting (for those requiring such); rooms typically on opposing sides of the corridor, with those of open door appearing identical or nearly so in passing.

At least one ninety-degree turn it taken down a crossing corridor that appears no different than the first. She then comes to a stop at an open door to gesture once more. "My vault." Her home is cozy, one could say. There is room enough for a simple cot along the side wall, a small desk with stool, a chest below some shelves, and ... that is about it.

Aryia blinks, her raising her brows and following after.

The mute swivels her head from side to side, a constant state of mild surprise on her features from how utilitarian everything felt in here. It explained so much about Verna, even just the halls themselves told her much.

And then they come to Verna's sleeping arrangements. Glowing gaze swings from the bed, to the desk, the shelves and the chest. They wander to the walls, the ceiling, the floor, then eventually to it's owner. "... honestly? I was expecting even smaller," she giggles, a breathy sound. "It looks nice. Are they all the same like this? Or can you personalize it some." <Handspeech>

"There is an allowance for personal items," Verna notes before gesturing to the chest. "Reading materials and other small items are per the Mourner's choice, though expected to be stored neatly when not in use, of course. The vaults are similar, if perhaps not identical in every detail. They are of similar dimension to many of the vaults in the crypts, below, without the stone diais." After a pause, she adds, "Most of the living find them uncomfortable to rest upon."

Aryia rubs her chin, glancing to the walls near the door that might be hidden from a passing glance. "I wonder if you could tack a piece of canvas on the wall..." she idly ponders before shaking her head, shuddering. "No, I've slept on slabs of rock. Not fun."

Her attention shifts to the rest of the hall, then where they came from. "... honestly, this place isn't so bad. I kind of like the simpleness of it, mostly. Though, the humming might get to me after a while." <Handspeech>

Verna's head tilts to the side somewhat. "The hymns? I always found them rather soothing. They are not nearly so ... boisterous as others, though I am also quite accustomed to them, of course."

At mention of the canvas, Verna's eye ... twitches briefly and she steps for the bed. "Wall hangings are premitted," she notes aloud as she reaches beneath the cot to retrieve a framed portrait. "Within limits of taste and propriety. This item's status for either is ... dubious..."

The framed picture is of Herkes Birne, and is even signed and numbered. As well, upon watching the figure within for more than a moment, one gets the impression that the expression, or direction of the eyes, change subtlely...

This portrait is of a famous detective who lived nearly several hundred years ago! An Arvek who, admittedly, stood rather on the portly side, he was known for his astute observations, neatness, wit, and near perfect record when it came to solving mysteries! A small, well maintained, and up-turned mustache, with his well-maintained ushanka and scarf which seem to be a source of pride as the finishing touch to his look. Besides what appears to be a few lip-smudges (such librarians!), the painting looks in excellent condition, partly due to the whispered comments that may be heard any time there is too much dust about, a bit of paint out of the way, a tilt to the frame, and other such imperfections.

The character in the portrait appears to move of its own will. The gaze alternates between piercing and thoughtful, with advice sometimes given upon any room it is placed within, or the clothing of a person nearby. It may comment about the proper amount of starch for a collar, or the general neatness of a room, at least until it is placed into order. The painting is not /incorrect/; it may just take a certain mindset to appreciate it.

Aryia shrugs lightly and nods. "Yes. Though, maybe I'd get used to it if I was here all the time. Kind of like the idle background noise of the Fernwood." Aryia must really tolerate, even dare say, be slightly more warm to Vardama than the others to consider such blasphemy for the non believer.

Though, her attention shifts to the... huh? "... what the fuck is that?" she asks with a scowl. "And why do you have it?" She can't take her eyes off it, the painting was so out of the blue for her. <Handspeech>

There is a light yet annoyed clearing of throat, not unlike the impatient mating call of the wild, annoyed Karen. "I say, how dare y-!" the sounds are muffled as Verna promptly RE-covers the painting with the oilcloth. Entirely for its own protection, for certain.

"It was ... a gift, some time past. Perhaps in jest. Later, it was enchanted. Again, perhaps as an attempt at humor. Herkes is rather astute, well-informed, and ... quite irritating, more often than not." She tucks away the painting back into its 'protected location' and gestures,

"It would be impolite to simply pass it on to another, thus it remains here. I have no need of another painting at present; even one that is more quiet."

Aryia's expression is a wonderful mix of surprised, bewildered, and perplexed. So much so that she utters in her hissing tone, "Wh-t th- f-fuck..!?"

She coughs lightly, rubbing at her throat and watching the painting being put away. "Some gift that is. Your cause to keep some other soul from... enjoying its presence is a noble one." She snickers silently. "A want is different from a need. Though, I understand." <Handspeech>

"They are not the same, certainly," Verna concurs before admitting, "however, my wants are little more than needs. That may have changed somewhat as of late, but I do not require embelished lodgings." She pauses in signing to gesture lightly about. "My vault is primarily for sleep, dressing, and minor studies; none of those demand opulence."

Aryia bobs her head, but it was too late. The mute's gaze was already wandering on the walls and mentally going through things she knew of Verna. She blinks, smirks lightly, then rocks on her feet. "Very well," she signs playfully. A scheming mul'neissa is afoot. "I should get out of your hair, I got a long trek down the road, and I can't leap into the temple of Anagorn like I was hoping to anymore. It was good to see you." <Handspeech>

Verna may or may not be concerned of Aryia's potential scheming. She is well aware of the stereotype, afterall. Muls are presumed to always be scheming. "It is good to see you, and you are no inconvenience. You are always welcome to visit as you choose." After a beat, she adds a caveat, "So long as your visit is not of a professional nature."

There is a brief flash of almost-smile at that, despite the somber implication. "May your travel be swift and comfortable." It is perhaps not her usual farewell, though more applicable to the current situation and season. Further, she follows it with a brief gesture and incantation, before reaching to the full-blood and impart some aid to making that wish possible.

GAME: Verna casts Endure Elements. Caster Level: 18 DC: 18

Aryia offers a parting hug, though it's intercepted by an incantation. She blinks, and her smirk evens out to a warm smile. "Thank you," she motions slowly, before picking up the pace. "I will be sure my visits out weigh anything serious just to offset the mood of this place." She sticks her tongue out at that one, slides in a hug, and heads on out the way she came. A hand raises and swishes about, denoting a goodbye. Though, she can't help but tap the wall along the way, each one flashing a pale moonlight from their point of contact.

She turns the corner, and tbe flashes get dimmer, dimmer, dimmer, until only the hymns remain. <Handspeech>

-End Scene-