Unfaithful of Taara
Log Info
- Title: Unfaithful of Taara
- Emitter: Seldan
- Characters: Seldan, Cryosanthia, Svarshan, Aya
- Place: A10: Temple District
- Time: Monday, March 02, 2020, 1:57 PM
- Summary: Seldan is working out, outside the Temple, when Svarshan and Cryosanthia swing by on Swiftclaws to speak to him. As they do, Aya appears. Cryo recognizes her from the Colosseum, but Svarshan does from some earlier encounter, and does not tolerate her presence. Cryo, uncertain how she should react, adopts the wariness of the two warriors, which sets off her Swiftclaw. She struggles with it, and withdraws. Seldan and Aya
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* 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.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Seldan 5'11" 187 Lb Human Male Red-blonde Eldanar man wearing Eluna's colors and symbol. Cryosanthia 6'7" 245 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos. Svarshan 6'4" 307 Lb Sith'makar Male Demons: Another name for spicy BBQ Aya 4'7" 105 Lb Shadow Elf Female Mul'niessa. Braided hair. Simple clothing. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--
The Temple District is bustling today, under blue skies and bright sun that is finally warm instead of wan and cold. Cloaks and warm coats and scarves have been exchanged for lighter wraps and shawls, or as in Seldan's case, heavy steel armor with Eluna's crescent and sphere emblazoned on the breastplate. He seems to have eschewed the usual robe, and ginger hair is drenched with sweat. All of him is covered in the dust of the Festival Grounds, but he seems well-pleased, and has settled down by the fountain and set his helm aside, and is now toying idly with a simple cantrip, conjuring a crudely-made stick about a foot long to play with in one hand.
There is a loud clattering of claws on flagstones as two sith-makar ride in on swiftclaws. Sleek and fast, the beasts live up to their name, gliding in like hunters and threading around the passers-by. The pair pull up in front of the Temple of Daeus and come to a stop. The smaller of the two riders, a white-scale sith, seems less skilled but still confident in the saddle. She slides off, standing and holding the reins.
"So, Svarshan, do we tie them up, or let them go and they find their way home?" She idly wonders how safe they are to leave around unattended horses.
Srassha leeaaaaans just slightly, to catch that last ray of sunshine. Oh, sure, technically the sunshine is /everywhere/, bright as it is, today--
--but is it the /perfect/ ray? Is it the one that most shows off her lovely, lovely scales?
Svarshan looks down at her, and for a moment after the White One's question, can find no words. For a moment, it's just: "..." or for variety, maybe, "... ..." Eventually, "...Perhaps a ssunny sspot," he says, sounding like he's given up. But it's a fond giving-up. Tolerance for an old friend's foibles. As they near the courtyard, he thumps his tail and inclines the muzzle, at the sight of familiar faces. "Peasse to your nessts!"
Seldan hadn't looked up from his idle toying until the swiftclaws came through the middle of the square, sending acolytes and priests alike scattering to make room for the occasionally bitey creatures and their riders. The _clack-clack_ of talons on stone, though, is distinctive, and he dismisses the construct between his fingers by tossing it into the air and making an arcane gesture of dismissal, much to the delight of the child watching him from halfway across the plaza under the watchful eye of his mum. He, too, laughs brightly, and raises a hand in greeting to the sith-makar, his recognition of both clear. "And on yours," he calls.
From his left hip, an irascible old man's voice pops up. "Are you quite done playing? We could use a polishing." "Okay, a sunny spot sounds good. Srassha is a nice name. Do you know what mine is called?" The white-scale sith-makar says, finding a warm spot. She rubs the snout of her swiftclaw, handing over a piece of jerky she was holding back.
"Seldan! Peace on your Scabbard! Hello Kanian! I can pol... I can take care of that, if Seldan wants me to!" Cryo waves across the distance.
Aya descends the path from the mountain ridge; the sun is too high for the lee to be in shadow, though not low enough west that the bright rays are not directly in her face, at least. Warmth isn't a terrible thing, but blinding light in the eyes would make travel uncomfortable, at best.
Svarshan gets a thoughtful look, though if one were quick, which a speaker might be, one might catch the touch of Tarien's own mischief in it. "The hunterss did not. Ssay?" he asks. Svarshan stops his own swift with a pressure on the reins--a light pulling back of the mecate, and pressure on the saddle leathers. Srassha stops and yet--
--yet. The great head turns to the side. Looks to Cryosanthia and her swiftclaw. Past them then, towards the courtyard.
Half-step to the left.
Slightly sunnier spot. Perfect.
Her rider's muzzle moves. No words emerge as he looks downwards at his mount. No words, just a moving of the muzzle, a not-quiet placement of the jaw that offer a distracted thump in returned-returned greeting to Seldan's reply. He then looks up at the footsteps--and it's as though the Sun itself had died. "Faithful of Taara," he says, regret in his voice.
"Were you this vain in life, Kanian?" A gruff male tone with a definite sound of the khazad to it chimes in. Seldan, on the other hand, simply sighs lightly and stands, wandering over in that direction so as to avoid shouting. "For all your glee at tasting demon blood, I would not have thought you so fastidious," he tells the sword with a half a smile. "No, Cryosanthia, it is well enough. They can be ... demanding at times, and testy when at peace for too long. It has been quiet, of late." He inclines his head to Aya as well. "Good day to you," he says carefully.
"This one forgot to ask." Cryo admits, feeding her mount the rest of her jerky as an apology. She follows along as Srassha picks herself a sunny spot.
The white-sith laughs as Seldan castigates his sword. She's in the process at waving at whomever he is greeting as well, when she spots her.
She freezes mid-wave, and her swiftclaw is pulled to a stop as the reins run out. Cryo's pupils widen, then the stillness passes. "Peace on your Nest, Aya."
Aya notes the prevalence of scale and claw even as she dips her chin in return to Seldan. "Good day to you," Her pan of head continues to the somewhat familiar sibilance of Svarshan, "and you, Brightscale. Crysosanthia. Peace on your nests" A corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile. "It's been some time," she notes, looking to Svarshan,"I believe that 'unfaithful of Taara' would be more accurate, were you to ask the The Tyrant or his stooges, and possibly a great number of my past acquaintances."
"Usually they ssay," the warrior replies, with humor, and then looks towards Aya again. Thoughtful and yet...sorrow crosses Svarshan's features. "You words were never truthful before, Taaran. Why would they change, now?"
"Many an associate of Maugrim might claim such of any Taaran. One recalls your words of the intelligence of otherss, and the ease at which you might. Manipulate them," he adds. He lowers the reins to settle the creature, and presses a thumb into the muscles of her neck. Begins to make occasional, soothing circles. For her or him, mayhap.
Seldan's sword hasn't subsided yet, despite the immediate turn of conversation. "Proper care of your weapons and armor is of paramount importance!" the irascible old man chimes back in, followed by a female's voice, a lower tone and somewhat younger. "He's right, Seldan. What would your father say, if he knew? You are quite dirty, if you must know, and so are we. I do not doubt that you stink as well." For those sensitive of nose, she is not wrong, although it is the smell of sweat, a thing considered mild by adventuring standards. "A cleaning would do us and you both good."
Seldan's alabaster skin flushes at that rejoinder, and he looks down, but holds up a hand. "Just a moment, Tisa." He focuses on Aya and Svarshan, suddenly low and serious. Srassha gets an appreciative look, but it is a brief one, and he opts not to interfere.
"She is known to you?" Cryosanthia looks between Seldan and Svarshan. She is uncertain, and looking for cues. She advances, carefully. Her swiftclaw senses her anxiety, becomes ready to attack, which distracts the white-scale more as she now has to calm it. A hand on the neck, stroking circles the way Svarshan is, telling the beast 'it's all right' when she's uncertain that it is.
"You're here to speak with Seldan?" She asks eventually. "We had only social interests. We can withdraw if you need privacy."
Cryo stops walking forward, and tucks the reins of her swiftclaw under an arm. Holding up her hands, she makes a few gestures and her gloves glow. Seldan is washed with a magic cleaning as she makes slow circles in his direction. It's not a polishing, but perhaps that will satisfy his sword.
A white brow lifts. "My words have always been my words, Brightscale. You, and all others, may take them as each wishes." Aya notes. "That is a part of freedom, of which I'm quite keen. Whether you wish to believe so or not."
"One is well aware of. Your arguments as Taara as an icon of empowerement and. Freedom. ...and thosse of how sslavery enriches my people. And our children." Anger touches the warrior's words, finally. An undertone of it. Though sorrow, too. He looks towards Cryosanthia then, though keeps Aya in view. Because well, warrior!
A thump of the tail, and no words for a while after. "One hopes for better choisses," he says eventually, to Aya, because what COULD one say? What CAN one? The words hang there. Awkward, awkward the worst way.
And at length, "One sshould go, sspeaker. ...warrior," he says, with a dip of his muzzle towards each.
Seldan tenses, just as Cryosanthia does, although he does nod to her a silent thanks for the magical "bath". He does not take his eyes from the pair, looking back and forth between them. "Peace upon your nest, Darshan," he nods to the Sunblade, quietly taking half a step forward. The movement places him halfway between Aya and Cryosanthia, but he says no more of it, save, "Is what he says true?"
Aya's eyes narrow at Svarshan. "Those were not my words of your people..." she pauses, inhaling a breath and releasing it, "... but as I said, I do not command how you receive them. As you have said, you do not believe my words, regardless."
"If you prefer deed over word, Brightscale," Aya notes, "I was cast in the same Pits alongside scale, oruch, human, and every other enslaved. I freed myself, as others did."
"I stood there," a hand gestures to the north, "in defense of your sacred grounds, your young. Is that one of those choices I should have made better, Brightscale?"
Cryo is getting all the wrong cues. As Svarshan turns to leave, she hurredly looks over the back of her swiftclaw. What is she to do with her ride? Should she leave as well? This one isn't Safe? Her beast is certainly picking up the rider's uncertainty. Her attention is now directed to calming it down.
Finally she says, "This one must put her swiftclaw away. This is what you were trying to tell me earlier? I will think about it, but must go now." The white-scale sith is fighting too much, and having a viscious riding beast amplify her reactions isn't helping. She leads it away, following Svarshan.
The eyes narrow. "Everyone fightss to ssave their own hide, Taaran. ...but," he says, amending it. Grudgingly. "One will think on it. Thesse words." It's...it's the best he can do, that says. And it is a step. It is. He lifts the reins and looks towards Seldan a moment, directly. Thumps his tail, warmly.
"Whatever one owed," he says to the man roughly. "Repaid." He looks towards the speaker, then. "Wherever you go, one will follow. Warrior-caste protects."
Seldan looks startled at Svarshan's words, eyebrows going up, but it is very, very clear from his bearing and posture that those few, rough words meant something to him. Meant quite a bit, in fact. His gaze lingers on the pair, just briefly, before he turns his attention back to Aya. "What lies between you and Darshan?" he asks, simply.
Aya watches the Sith depart a moment before turning her attention to Seldan. "Mul'niessa and the Charnese have enslaved his people for centuries, along with many others. He does not trust either. As one of those enslaved, ...recruited to serve the Tyrant, I trust no one. Therefor, we agree to disagree."
Seldan wears the look of one thinking hard, his shoulders still tense. "I see." More thought. "It is not an easy thing, to be judged by appearances alone. Perhaps it runs deeper than that, but it is not my place to pry." He does not sound entirely convinced.
"It may well be more. Bias colors words towards what is expected," Aya admits, "for any party involved. I do not feel beholden to ingratiate myself with him, though I'd prefer not to expect claws at my throat for a chance meeting in the streets."
"I think that you need expect no such thing." Seldan shakes his head. "I do not think him the first to raise a weapon, against any save perhaps demons. Do you raise a hand to him, that will change, I think, for they do not lightly forget what has come before." He looks in the direction of the Temple, where the pair went. "Why would he believe you in favor of enslaving the sith-makar?"
"I once complimented examples of Sith; those who survived grew stronger," Aya notes, "as we all did. The alternative was to lie down and die. I should note, for context, that this was amidst a conversation much the same as we just held. Judgements were already made."
Seldan listens without comment, still thinking hard. "One must be cautious in communicating with the sith, I have found," he says finally, "for their contexts and what lies unspoken is vastly different from that of human lands." Now clean, his hair seems to be working its way out of the headband that confines it. "You then escaped Charn."
Aya nods. "I was sent here, along with others, during a conflict with the khazad beneath the Redridge. My captores and the ensuing chaos provided an opportunity, and I made use of it."
Seldan closes his eyes, his head lowering, and there lies in the complex mix of emotions in his face a war with himself. He draws a deep breath and looks back up, and while the complex mix of emotions remains, the gaze is steady. "I pray that you will permit me this question, but I must ask. Whom then, among the gods, do you serve? If you serve any?"
"As the Brightscale was quick to presume and declare," Aya rolls one shoulder, "I credit much of my empowerment to the Mistress of Freedom... though only as a ...lay person. I am no priestess nor zealot."
"I see." With those two words, Seldan's polite openness turns cool, although no less polite, and the sunlight flashes off of the crescent and sphere of Eluna, hanging on a steel chain around his neck, as he shifts. "You will understand if I disagree with your choice. I must return to the Temple, however. I bid you good day." He turns back to the fountain long enough to retrieve his abandoned helmet, and strides towards the Temple of Eluna with the helm under one arm.
