Vardaman Alcolve
Log Info
- Title: Vardaman Alcolve
- Emitter: Mikilos
- Characters: Mikilos, Cryosanthia
- Place: A15: Vardaman Temple
- Time: Monday, January 27, 2020, 2:45 PM
- Summary: Mikilos is at the Vardaman Temple conducting research, while Cryosanthia is there to remember lost companions, and the two meet. Discretely and in Draconic, they discuss how he is trying to find out how to kill an immortal by reviewing the journals and records kept at the temple. Cryo is wary of Mikilos, but manages to hide her fear and offers to see if Svarshan knows a shaman in Mictlan that might speak to a sith-makar.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A15: Vardaman Temple *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The Vardamite temple is a solemn affair. Composed of carved blocks of basalt, it looks as if the whole thing were set into a scooped-out chunk of the mountain. Braziers and torches, despite the presence of more modern conveniences, are the main source of light. The basalt columns and blocks are engraved with prayers for the dead from hundreds of cultures and dozens of races. Some are works of master carvers, still others are little more than the work of desperate or sorrowful petitioners, quick prayers lovingly scratched into an empty space.
An outdoor altar is littered with offerings, as are the steps and even ground surrounding the front of the temple. These offerings are frequently collected or cleaned away by serious-faced Mourners, or Mourner-acolytes, while Serriel's Lancers guard the front doors. As ever, the sound of monks in perpetual chant can be heard as a low background noise as they go about their somber business.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Mikilos 6'8" 180 Lb Dawn Elf Male Tall male dawn elf, rosey blonde and handsome. Cryosanthia 6'7" 245 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, lithe white lizardgirl with tattoos. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Mikilos sighs quietly, and stretches, making his way out of the back rooms. The elf's Grey Robes fit in well enough with the somber surroundings, and he knows his way around the place well enough. But, not a Mourner, he makes sure to keep out of the way of those who are here for the dead, be it priest or mouring family.
Cryosanthia is nearby, and while she is not familiar with the place she has made some effort to mute herself. Her flashy cape is folded up, her hat tucked into it. She is a bright white against the basalt stones, but has found a large one to be small beside. She crouches low. Spread out in front of her are a small collection of scales of various colours. Her head hangs and she has a hand on the stone. Apparently, she's here for the dead.
Mikilos looks around absently searching for someone, and someone he finds. Not who he was looking for, nor, it would seem, the situation hoped. Quietly, the tall elf makes his way over to stand beside Cryosanthia, waiting quietly until she's finished with her prayers... assuming she's praying, of course. He's not an expert on Sith traditions.
"I'm sorry I failed you. I haven't forgotten." The white sith-makar says quietly, finishing her prayers. She removes her hand from the stone, and picks up the scales one at a time. Stacking them, there is the slight sound of them rubbing together, and she squeezes her hand tight around them before slipping them into the pouch she keeps around her neck. It's when she picks up her bundle that she becomes aware there is someone beside her, when she's standing, that the person is Mikilos. She freezes, her breath held, her pupils growing wide. <draconic>
Mikilos clasps his hands and bows politely, murmuring softly. "Peace upon your nest. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." <draconic>
"Peace upon your nest." Cryosanthia whispers, relaxing and taking refuge in the formality. She returns the bow, looks at a spot away from the temple, at Mikilos, back to the distance. She's familiar with sith-makar traditions, but not Alexandrian ones, so her voice is kept low, "It is respectful to converse here?" <draconic>
Mikilos glances around a moment, and nods towards a small alcove off to the side before heading that direction. "Politely, yes, but best to not disturb others if possible. Death is a part of life, and life is to be celebrated, but few come here in a celebratory mood." <draconic>
Cryosanthia hesitates, but fools rush in so she does, following a half step behind Mikilos to the alcove. Her stride is slow and controlled, tail low and swaying minimally, head bowed respectfully. She joins Mikilos in the small alcove. "These things are true. Death has brought you here, or research?" <draconic>
Mikilos relaxes a bit in the alcove, drawing a thin curtain across the door. If offers little by way of real privacy, but an effort is made, and that counts for a lot. The small room is plain and bare, with little more than a bench and a sign of the Scales. It's intended for private conversations. "Research of Death. I thought if anyone knows how an Immortal may die, it would be the Grey Lady. What of yourself? Is everything alright?" <draconic>
Cryosanthia watches the curtain close, nodding at the privacy. Her breathing remains shallow and for the most part she is still and subdued. She has a tight grip on her folded cape, holding it like a tray in front of her. "Everything is unchanged from yester day and the day before. The ones lost were a time ago. Has the Grey Lady given any answers? I had hoped to hear her sing." <draconic>
Mikilos shakes his head. "Nothing so personal. I've worked with the Mourners before, and they've been dealing with the victims of the Plague. The archives have a few old stories, but I didn't find anything firm. One of the priests is looking over some of the private journals for me." It's worht noting th elf is quite fluent in the Language of Dragons, at ease in it's use as he is in TradeSpeak or Elvish. <draconic>
Cryosanthia is unsurprisingly quite fluent in her native tongue. Her tones, her word choice are different from her way of using TradeSpeak, implying more seriousness. The elf's adept skills with the Language of Dragons both unsettles and comforts her. She feels like she could trust him, and that she shouldn't. "This makes sense. I have solicited but received no additional information from those that listen to me or street perform. The records are all written Tradespeak?" <draconic>
Mikilos has that sort of effect on a lot of people. "Most of them. The formal records tend to be, though journals might be in whatever langauges the writer happens to choose. I'm occasionally surprised how many priests write their daily prayers in Celestial." <draconic>
That solicits a barking laugh from the sith-makar, which she cuts short and covers her mouth, glancing worriedly at the curtain. She hisses, "Do they think that makess them closser to the Godss?" Her posture becomes a lot more relaxed as she suppresses a snicker, "That is funny. I would offer to assist, should you have sith writings to review but I suspect there are few and my aid unnecessary." <draconic>
Mikilos grins. "I've long learned not to question the habits of others too closely, be they priests or othrwise. Sith writtings are few, but it never hurts to have a second viewpoint. Wouldn't be the first time I've missed something obvious while searching for the subtle." <draconic>
"It takes time. To Bang. Words. Into Stones." Cryosanthia says, mimicing an elder sith-makar. "Almost. As long. As. Saying them." She inhales deeply, then exhales, "Written records are a rarity for us, our traditions are oral. Oh! Is there a sith-makar priestess here, that knows the true form of Vardaman and might share with me? If not, I can look over the writings you have found." <draconic>
Mikilos smiles again. "I understand, are many cultures that favor oral traditions. Not to my personal tastes, but that's an entirely different matter." He considers. "There might be such a priestess, but if so she is unknown to me. Svarshan BrightBlade, the Demon-Chomper, is the sith with whom I've most spoken of priestly matters." The elf frowns midly. "Not that he speaks much. His battles have been harsh, but his hatchlings bring him joy, and I would leave him to it." <draconic> "He is known to this one. Darshan is a dragon in all but form, and I feel as a hatchling to him." Cryosanthia says, pursing her lips a little in thought. Her nose dips a little, then rises, dips again as she thinks through things. "You converse with him? He trusts you?" <draconic>
Mikilos nods. "Some. We disagree on many matters, but have known each other for years, and fought side by side more than once. I repsect his abilities and wisdom, and think he values my knowledge." <draconic>
Cryosanthia considers this information, nodding slowly, "Disagreements are the test of relationships, if you have endured them and respect remains, that bodes well. I shall ask him. Mictlan may have a priestess. I chose to come here to see how the Grey Lady appears to Alexandrians." <draconic>
Mikilos nods. "I know there are many shaman in Mictlan, but I don't know with whom they speak. It's not a place for me, though I repect it's power." <draconic>
"I can move with wild tail there, I shall see what they will share with me." Cryosanthia says, looking at Mikilos' hands, which appear empty, "There are no writings with you, do you plan to return to the back rooms and wish me? Else I can go to Mictlan." <draconic>
Mikilos shakes his head. "If it's all the same to you, I think your time would be better used in Mictlan. Many of the records contain private information, and so don't leave the records room. And while I trust you would be discrete, it's not my say in whom has access." <draconic>
The white sith-makar bobs her head, holding her bundled cloak like a bag against the front of her kilt. "This one understands, hunt where the mud is deep. I shall see what I can find out. It is nearing night-meal, I should start that way. I should not be too hard to find in a day or two." <draconic>
Mikilos nods. "Have you been to my shop? If I'm not there, my cousin will be able to reach me if anything vital comes to light. It's just up the road from this temple, next to the giant sized sword stuck into the ground." <draconic>
"This one has not been, but I have seen the gaint sword. I shall seek around it." Cryosanthia shakes her head a little, as if she has an itch in her ear, "Clutch-cousin or creche-cousin?" <draconic>
Mikilos nods, and smiles. "We share an ancestor. My great grandfather was also his great-great grandfather via his mother.... I think. Blood kin, though the tie is distant." He frowns mildly. "Though he chose to take the sur-name of our common ancestor, rather than follow the line of his father. There's few of us left born to the name." <draconic>
"Clutch-cousin then! Distant ties are still ties." Cryosanthia says, and notices Mikilos' frown. She makes a short exhale. "My sympathy, that his choice saddens you. Names should not be lost." <draconic>
Mikilos shakes his head and smiles. "No no, you misunderstand. I'm honored by his choice. I'd saddened the Mithralla name has so few left. Myself, my sister, and my aunt, born to the name, though Aunt Mareth took her husband's name when they wed. Mother took Father's name we she wed. Belhan took the name when he came of age, as did clutch-cousin Germaine, though she calls herself wed to the blade. So five who hold the name, only two by birth. And my sister has taken vows of chastity." <draconic>
"This one understands now. This will not be shared with the Crimson Pen. I appreciate the Mithralla bloodline." Cryosanthis says very formally, "Still, do not despair. Things grow everywhere. I should depart, and not distract. Thank you for your... stillness." <draconic>
Mikilos smiles, and nods. "Thank you, though I think the ladies of the Pen know. It's not exactly secret. But yes, be well, and may the Great Dragon watch over your travels." <draconic>
Cryosanthia makes a short curtsey, smiling wide, "And you, may the Great Dragon watch over your travels and guide you. Hunt in the Deep." She coils the curtain open with her tail, allowing her to back and spin away from Mikilos and step forward into the main area. Keeping herself restrained, she moves through the temple with her head bowed.
She pauses and turns her head. There is a breeze blowing across the stones, making a quiet hiss of air. Her posture rises and there is power in her stride as she leaves the Vardaman Temple for Mictlan. <draconic>
