FUNeral
Tenebrae - Friday, April 18, 2014, 7:07 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* A15: Vardamite 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.
One might expect a Vardamen gathering to be solemn. One might. This one could be said to be that, though the halls are brightly lit, the evening flooded with candle light. The light flickers along the bastalt pillers. It illuminates the writing and the prayers of Alexandria's people. Writing, sketched boldly or with a hand shaking with grief--the Temple honors all of them.
...and so does the buffet. Acleese, the bookish arvek nar and rescue from the Sendor War, has overdone himself this time. He stands to the side with hands clasped together and wears the most nervous look anyone has seen upon an arvek's face. He assists with most of the correspondance--letters to families, recording of names, and...apparently, the buffet.
It's sparse, as buffets go. The Temple has hit hard times these last several years. It doesn't mean it's less /filling/. It's just, you know. /Practical./ A few nods to Serriel are here as well--someone's thoughtfully burned the symbol of the Dawn into a few of the wine barrels.
Outside, the sky is still, the air slightly electrified as though just before a storm and rain. Mourner Krevian, one of the elders, is there at the party--only he has his nose in a book, about a half inch from the pages and is mumbling to himself.
Garak walks around, mingling and occasionally asking a question of some of the more interesting looking party-goers. Of course interesting is subjective, and Garak tends to go to people with interesting looking weapons or armor.
Walking around in her Vardamite robes, Namira seems content to mingle a little bit with her fellow Vardamites at the party. Wearing her sword at her hip, but tied to show she's not hostile to anyone as she nibbles at some of the finger foods available. She also looks about to see who else is here she recognizes.
Bennet maintains he's got a specific place in the Great Order of things, as all things come in their time. The Healers deal with those who's time has not yet come. The Mourners concern is with those who's time has past. The Absolution tends to concern himself with those whos time is due, or moseso, past due.
But, such violent actions aren't always required, and in the times between, the graying cowboy does what he can to help around the place. This particular time that involves tending a large stewpot, the contents simmering with a mix of tender potatoes, baby carrots, a few onions, braised meat, and a curious mix of spices that result in a tempting aroma. Some preach the resistance to temptation. Bennet isn't that type of clergy.
Verna enters the hall no different than she often travels. Perhaps she is always dressed for festivities? Her hood is tipped, head bowed in homage to the old, worn tome in hand and the script upon its pages.
"Acleese, did someone bring the uh...oh! Hey there." Kerbasy pauses on his way inside the door to smile to the Serrielite. The young Mourner holds a tray of food--toasted bread, covered in roast tomato slices. Simple, but fresh from the garden...even if it smells somewhat like incense.
Everything does.
A few other acolytes tumble to a halt behind him--and then seeing that the Mourner's paused to talk, begin making their way out. Most of them hold trays of chilled water or light beers, and some are as young as to not remember Sendor or other events. Others show the scars, and one in particular bobs up to Bennet, lifting a beer tray. "H-here, sir!" he says.
Mourner Krevian, the aged one, squints over at Verna, as though checking her progress. He surreptitiously turns another page. Huhmph. He can totally read faster.
...don't mind the coke bottle glasses.
Garak takes a piece of bread and chews it experimentally before nodding. "Delicious," he remarks. Then he turns to survey some of the other Mourners. "Do you have this sort of...ah, ceremony, often?"
Verna pauses and turns her hood towards the aged Mourner who turned the page. "You could have asked..." She flips back the page to complete it, then closes the tome. It is stowed within the volumous layers of her cloak and robe before she greets those gathered, "Hello."
Kicked back against one of the columns, at the moment, is Teppus. The Serrielite is dressed casually and without his armor or weapons, for a change, but he seems oddly pleased to be here. No doubt it's the tasty baked goods that might be available.
Bennet accepts a beer, idly hopeing for something a touch stronger, and finds himself in that most sacred of potluck rituals; the Shareing of Recipes. "'Course the braising is important. Helps seal in the juices, keeps the meat tender. But in the end is the spices that make it all work. Gotta match each one with the other stuff ya put in, and keep balence with each other. Takes practice, but I find a good pinch of simple pepper helps even it all out."
A young girl, white, nearly platinum colored hair to her shoulders. Light blue-grey eyes, wearing a dark green traveling dress with leather enhancements on the chest, arms and neck. She had made her way to the temple, she was not used to traveling on her own. Temples would be best to stop at and learn of things she thought. Her human like pointed ears showed her as a Half-sil. She looked around not sure what she should do. It seemed the temple was having an event of some sort. Talon was so out of place here it seemed
Crow pushes the doors of the temple open cautiously, a hooded cloak pinned at the shoulder covering most of his features. Even with that, it's still not enough to hide his Half-Sil heritage for those who know what to look for, the angular features just a bit too narrow to pass as human, the eyes just a touch wrong. He walks along the walls, carefully avoiding the main crowd, sizing up the situation a bit.
It might even have gone well enough, had something under his cloak not started chittering. A tiny, furry head pops out from under the blue-grey cloth, sniffing at the air with beady eyes. In a split second, the elongated body of a ferret is off and moving toward the platters happily, Crow's eyes going wide. He hiss-whispers, "Sif, no! Come!" running after the tiny creature as best he can, but he's no match for the ferret's agility. He looks up shyly at the gathered crowd, clearing his throat as he mumbles, "Uh, hi. Sorry. He's usually more well-behaved," before moving to catch up to the hungry pet.
"Uh...heh. Not as often as we used to, accordin' to some folk here," Kerbasy says to Garak. "Oh, excuse--yes, they're right here..." he says, adding as someone walks by. He holds out the tray as one of the event-goers takes a snack, then continues talking with Serriel's Vanguard. "Used to, there were...you know, maybe we didn't. Heh. I suppose we throw an event every uh...well, every Passed deserved their own ceremony. Don't think of them as often for ourselves."
"It wouldn't be as fun, then," Mourner Krevian says to Verna. He smiles warmly, then turns back to his book. "Go, go. Shoo. Go meet your friends...I'm too old anyway, you know." He turns another, dusty page.
Near the wall, Acleese continues his nervous vigil. "Do you think I burned the butter?" he asks Teppus at one point. "I'm not familiar with butter. And who is that?" he asks, blinking behind owlish lenses when the newcomers arrive. Two half-sil!
Near Bennet, the acolyte bobs his head, obviously terrified of the Absolution, cowboy though he may be.
Namira made her way towards the table and had gottern herself a piece of lightly spiced bread with tomato on top when she heard the hissed whisper from someone. She turned her head towards the whisper, then looked towards the ground to find a ferret running towards the table. Rather than grab the ferret, she takes one of the pieces of bread and lowers it to the ferret. Her features are obviously that of a Mul'niessa, but she's treating the ferret with kindness. She then looks up towards the following half-sil and she stands up, leaving the bread piece with the ferret. "Greetings, and welcome to the Temple of the Grey harpist."
She was still unaware of what to do. Not sure what kind of event she had just stepped into. It wasn't long before she was overhearing other patrons talking, something about a funeral. Yet the people didn't seem to be overly grief stricken and there was food and drink. Talon felt so confused. She made her way to the refreshing smell she was smelling though, the spiced bread with tomato on top of it, she looked around a moment first to make sure it was alright with her taking one. Picking it up and slowly and gently biting into the piece of bread and tomato. The flavour gushing out all over her tongue. Not something she was used to. That was for sure. Her eyes almost twinkled with the sensation now playing a dance upon her tastebuds.
Garak nods in understanding. Then his nodding slows and he peers at Kerbasy, confused. But Garak lets it go, instead reaching for another piece of bread. "I've heard of some of the...ah, troubles the Grey Lady's temple has had." He tries to sound sympathetic. "If there's some way we can help you, you have but to ask."
Bennet leaves the stew to others, wandering the crowd a bit. No harm likely to be done, stew's hard to screw up once it's cooked. Pausing at an invocation of The Lady, he frowns mildly. "I ain't one to question another's musical tastes, but never did quite understand that bit. Harps seem more for picnics or something. Passing from the mortal coil's more of drums, to my thinking."
"Oh, uh. We've probably met before, but I'm one of th' Mourners. Kerbasy d'Bahjat," Kerbasy says. He hurriedly juggles the tray aside, and holds out his hand to Garak. "We appreciate all you've done for us."
Acleese nods his head a few times, and the gesture might bring to mind the phrase, pencil-necked-geek. The arvek really is more at home among the dusty basement than he had on the war front. After a few more nods and what looks like a gathering of courage, he steps forward.
Apparently, he's going to try and give a speech.
Crow stops short as the Mul'niessa woman bends down toward the ferret, a worried expression flashing over his face, his body tensing a bit as the bread is lowered. Even after she addresses him directly, it still takes a couple of heartbeats for him to start to relax, obviously trying to manage his reactions consciously rather than riding the wave of instinct. Finally, he nods back in greeting, opening his cloak to reveal a small shoulder pack. "Sif," he calls to the creature sternly, giving the ferret a paternal glance. The creature quickly snags the bread and runs up the man's leg, hiding in the pouch once again as the cloak falls down around it. Still, Crow tries to make nice, even though there's eyes on him sooner than anticipated. "Much appreciated," he answers quietly, looking around. "I didn't mean to cause a scene. I know that your rites are usually more... reverent." A note of confusion creeps into his voice. "Where's the ... I mean, whose..." He glances around, looking carefully for... something, clearly a bit confused. Thankfully, someone decides to make a speech before his foot can creep much further into his mouth, Crow's attention moving toward the speechmaker.
Bennet nods to the nervous fellow with the stretched out rat. Socail nicities aren't the gunman's forte. "Ain't one. This is just making nice, ain't for nobody in particular. Though iffen ya care to pay some respects, are a left off to the side there, though the arch. Folks brought in without family or friends to say a word. Do what we can for 'em, but another soul to speak's always welcome." The cowboy falls quiet, turning his focus towards the comming speech.
Namira stands up slowly and looks at Crow evenly, her expression neutral as she seems to either be sizing him up or, for some reason, simply just looking into his eyes....into his soul. She then blinks and......actually smiles. "Welcome to the Temple of Vardama, stranger." She says, but before she can introduce herself, she sees his expression change and she looks behind her towards Acleese and she smiles even wider.
She also looks towards Talon and nods her head. "Wonderful, are they not?" She says somewhat softly, yet cheerily.
Acleese really is...well. He's perhaps the geekiest arvek anyone has met, and standing there is one of the bravest things he may ever do. "Excuse--" his voice breaks off, and he gathers his courage. Tries again. "Excuse me! Uh...Harpist take me. Okay. Uhm, I wanted to thank everyone for attending our social event tonight, and especially our Serrielite brothers and sisters for the help they've given us." He pauses here, and there's some light (given the size of the crowd) but heartfelt applause. "Also, the hard work our Absolutions and Chords have put in, given the latest crisis." More applause.
This is so not Acleese's thing. He gathers up his courage again: "I also wanted to thank each and every one of you. Not everyone may remember, but you took in a lot of us arvek during the Sendor War. Despite everything that had happened here, I mean. You gave us a chance, and that means a lot. Gave me a job. Uhm. Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Also, uhm. Special thanks to Madam Pomfra. Her estate er, supplied the chicken, in honor of services for her husband last month."
And with that, he practically flees the 'stage'.
Garak takes the hand and shakes it politely. "Garak," he introduces himself. Then he glances around at some of the other Verdamites. "I've fought alongside many of your brothers and sisters since I came to Alexandria," he says. "I'd say you've helped others just as much as we've aided..." he trails off as Acleese begins speaking.
Namira claps loudly for Acleese as he flees the stage. Mostly for encouragement for how courageous he was to actually speak in public.
She started looking around more at the food given out. She was only really used to trail rations honestly at this point. Actually well prepared and cooked food was a luxury she wish she could always have. Seeing the Mul'nissa not far off talking to a hooded figure. She never really felt right around them. Yet she was not going to be the one to judge others till she knew them. She heard the man begin his speech, paying close attention to it. Applauding when others did. Not entirely sure what was happening.
Bennet isn't much of one for applause, but he's even less for public speaking. So between the two, he raises his mug of beer in a motion of respect to he who made the effort of a speech.
Crow listens to what the arvak has to say attentively, hoping to glean some understanding of exactly what's going on here. And glean he does. "Ah," he whispers, mostly to himself. "So it's -not- a funeral." But the revelation is short-lived, as he realizes that he's in conversation still. Turning back to the elven woman, he says nervously, "Thanks. Again, I mean." He offers a hand. "Crow." Still, something grabbed his attention earlier. "The 'crisis' that, uh... our friend there mentioned," indicating Acleese. "Would that be the attacks that I heard about? The Defiled Passed?" There's no easy transition into the new subject, just a clean, direct inquiry. Clearly, smalltalk isn't one of his better skills.
"Thank you, Mourner Acleese." Verna offers some encouragement after the fact, even if it appears to be received only by his fleeing backside. Her attention now turns to the others, including the table of food. To facilitate interaction with both, she doffs her hood. Unlike some, she does not attempt to conceal her mixed heritage. Given that a portion is Mul'niessa, concealment would require a great deal of effort.
Taking Crow's hand, the Mul'niessa smiles a new to him. "Namira Aldor of the Lady's Absolution. Yes I fear. We've been having problems with Undead for many years, but only recently has it escalated. There was even a summoning circle in someone's basement, but the walkign dead have increased in number recently, and we're currently trying our best to fight them back." She says before giving a small bow towards Verna and Talon.
Outside, thunder hits as the long promise of rain comes true. The air electrifies a little more, though here and carved into and beneath the Redridge Mountains as the temple is, it's safe enough and the thunder has a muffled sound.
Kerbasy adds his applause to the rest, after a nod towards Garek. "Heh. We definitely appreciate it. If you need some weaponswork done, be sure and come by. ...Absolution," he says then, nodding to Bennet. Kerbasy grins, and it makes him look younger than his years. "You've met Vanguard Garak?" he asks, gesturing from one to the other.
Acleese stands to the side, red-faced and nodding and his ears about to fall off. Some of the audience probably know him--Verna certainly might. He handles correspondance and record-keeping now for the temple. ...and practically hides/lives in the basement.
Inside the temple, the festive candles flicker and illuminate. A few more trays of the simple fare are brought out, laid out by the temple's few acolytes. And of course, the chicken. One of them, a young man with copper curls, nearly trips over Talon in his haste with the trays. He starts apologizing frantically.
When Crow speaks up, Mourner Krevian looks up from his tome. (Krevian really isn't a party-goer. He's been reading his book this whole time). "He means Heth, I think." ...at this, the copper-curled acolyte goes very hushed in his apologies to Talon. "Heth took over all of Dragonier. When you have that much negative energy, some of it's spilled back this way." Pause. Dour, "We don't much care for Heth or Thul, here. Young Absolution knows what she's talking about." Pauses. "Fewer liver spots, though," he adds, and goes back to his book.
She looked around her at first when Namira bowed towards her. Not sure if it was truly intended for her. She didn't know anyone here after all. In the process of looking around her she was nearly collided into by a server, she smiled at him and kept telling him it was alright, after finishing with the server and it was made quite apparent that the bow was directed to her she walked over slightly quicker. She was quite nervous, not used to conversation herself. She bowed a fraction in front of Namira. "Greetings, I am Talon. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." She still had manners imprinted into her from her teacher when she was younger. She also turned to Crow, bowing to him as well.
Bennet frowns darkly. "Would reckon dragon's got enough years to 'em, wouldn't need to carry on with Necromancy. Guess Heth figures diffrent."
Verna has spent a great deal of time in the basements, thus is quite familiar with Acleese. It is primarily due to peers and superiors encouraging her, by unavoidable assignment, that she spends any amount of time outside. "The frequency and volume of bound spirits has increased four-hundred and thirty-three percent in the past three months over the three prior. In many instances, such as was noted, they were drawn intentionally."
Crow nods politely to Talon, the other Half-Sil in the room, though she doesn't seem to have taken as much care to hide that fact as the young man himself has. "A pleasure," he answers in return, finally managing to find his manners, though late in the course of conversation. Turning his attention back to Namira and Mourner Krevian, he states solemnly, "The shells of those who have passed should be allowed repose. Using them in such a... disgusting manner violates the very principles the world functions on." His tone darkens a bit, clearly not a fan of the thought of someone using the dead for their own devices. It's an abomination, and I'd be happy to help with any effort to restore the rightful order of things."
His attention briefly turns toward the speechmaker, wherever he's gotten himself off to. Despite the seriousness of his earlier words, he gives the arvak a gentle, reassuring smile that suggests respect.
Acleese gives Verna a tremuluous smile, and everyone a quick nod before--he flees into the basement. He's too polite an arvek not to make his excuses, but there's no disguising what it is. He's at home among his books and his pile of lettering, and that is where he goes.
When Mourner Verna gives her numbers, Kerbasy breaks off in his conversation with Garek, and makes a choking sound. He makes a grab for one of the trays.
Garak permits himself an indulgent smile as Acleese leaves, then turns back to Kerbasy. "You supply enchanted weapons, then? They must be high demand with war looming and --" he halts as Kerbasy chokes.
Even Talon is flabberghasted at the numbers given. She has learned of the properties of Necromancy, it is not something she cares for. Apart from the magicks that are used to quell the undead and bring them back to their Eternal rest. "That is repulsive, who could disturb the Eternal rest of those that came before and of our loved ones so easily?" Her voice quivered a bit, scared at the thought of someone with no hesitation like that. She would like to smack his across the face with her hand if she ever got a chance. She was wondering why Crow was also trying to hide what he was from others.
Namira nods quietly to Mourner Krevian after he finishes speaking. Thank you for your praise, Mourner." Very respectful, isn't she? She then looks towards Crow again and sighs. "When those that decide to avoid Vardama's gentle embrace, they must face her wrath." SPoken like a true faithful.
Sargon scoots in through a door without drawing much attention to himself, his eyes large as he watches the others in the room, closing in on the buffet to pick at some of the food. "Such a feast..." he says mostly to himself as he lowers the cloth across his face to eat the food.
Kerbasy makes a fist, and hits himself in the chest a few times until it clears. His eyes are tearing behind his glasses and he removes them, wipes at them with a sleeve. "Heh. Lady, that went down the wrong way. I ah...I didn't know the numbers were that bad." He can't even give Garek a distracted nod, or a greeting to Sargon. ...but he does down the drink given to him.
Bennet nods to Namira. "Eventually, things are restored to how they should be. Sometimes take a bit to track it all down." The gunman frowns a bit, and glances around the group. "Nothing formal, but gonna be a couple Hunters over at the FernWood later. If ya care to hear some advice, or got a few tips for laying to rest them who need it, ya'll are welcome to attend."
"There are many reasons to explore the nature of death and the negative plane," Verna expounds in answer to queries. "Most are selfish and blasphemous, others are not. Unfortunately, the former group is much more prevalent." The comment of feast reminds her of the food, and she immediately segues to that. "It does smell quite appetizing..." She moves to the table to briefly peruse and acquire food.
Namira says, "Those who are mentally twisted." She says to Talon, then turning so she talks both to Crow and Talon. I wish nothing more for the departed to rest in peace." She then smiles to Bennet. "Thank you, sir. I must decline though. I should stick with my prayers." She says taking another bite of her bread."
Garak nods as Kerbasy sees to recover from his ordeal, gives the Mourner a pat on the back and then drifts off to mingle more.
Crow shakes his head. "There's so much to be learned from the transition itself. Why someone would twist that knowledge..." He clearly doesn't understand the motivation behind such a thing. Though as people start to settle in for the feast, he follows along, looking at the food curiously, taking a few things and trying them out, with mixed results. In response to Namira, he says, "Twisted minds creating twisted creatures. Twisted magics twisting the land." He gives her a smile. "At least there are those who aren't focused on themselves, and remember the true order of things."
"...most of Dragoneri didn't make it out," Kerbasy says distractedly. The Mourner's usual smile slips away, and he nods to the Vanguard as he heads to mingle. He takes another drink, but finds it empty.
Bennet frowns again, and nods to Kerbasy. "Can't say I care for war. But sooner this one gets going, sooner them souls can be laid to rest."
Sargon loads up a plate with bread and anything else he can grab and the more observant might notice some of the food subtlely making its way into pockets under his robes. Once he;s loaded up he makes his way over to the others, finding Kerbasy first. "Good day." he says in heavily accented trade speak and with a polite nod. "Is such a thing... common?" he searches for the words a bit, indicating the get together.
Teppus has been here ,trtuhfuly. He's leaning against the column still and he gies a nod towards Kerbasy at his statement about Dragonier. "It's true," he murmurs. "Such a loss to civlization,." The Serrielite is grieving over it.
"War? ...heh, yeah." Kerbasy looks at his cup, and then the beautiful, wonderful butter-rolls on one of the buffet tables. Longingly. It takes a touch of effort to bring his focus back to Sargon. "It's as th' Absolution said. I don't think any of us like war, but we're responsible for th' end of it. ...unfortunately, it makes some associate us with it. Really, I think most of us would send th' end of it."
Namira says, "There's a fine line between genius and madman." She says to Crow as she looks towards Kerbasy and smiles a bit before looking towards Crow. "Hopefully we'll get to meet each other again, Crow. However, I'm normally around here, and rarely head into the city because of...." She points to her face. "Thankfully, I carry papers and wear my robes into the city, normally.""
Crow takes a roll off of the table and drops it into his bag, with a happy chitter from the recipient of such a lavish gift. He nods politely to the others, listening to the sound of thunder outside. "Thank you for having me, but I think it's time for me to turn my attention to more familiar things." He gives a polite smile to those gathered, wrapping his cloak a bit more tightly around himself, though as he steps through the doors he lowers his hood, letting the rain wash over his hair as he walks slowly through the storm.
Bennet eyes Namira. "Cause of what? Ya got something in yer teeth?" He's not dence, just opinoniated on racism.
Namira says, "I'm a Mul'niessa, Bennet. I've been stopped quite a few times just because of that fact. even whenI went to train as an Absolution, I was initially stopped....""
Sargon does not keep Kerbasy from the buffet bar long, in fact he mostly listens to others stories while he munches on the pilfered goods from the buffet.
"Suspicion, fear and prejudice related to bloodline or georgraphical origin are common," Verna adds after consuming several morsels of chicken. "That is one reason my visage is often concealed."
Kerbasy gets distracted towards the rolls again. The butter calls the poor Mourner not unlike a siren's song. So it isn't too surprising that he's making his way back fairly soon, his pockets stuffed in a manner not unlike Sargon's. "You meant th' part didn't you?" he asks the fellow, sheepishly. "I just realized that when I--did you know they have lemon jelly?" Simple fare.
Bennet snorts softly. "Stupid's what it is. Plenty of monster's around, no need to assume somone ain't right just cause they look different. Ya'll don't go out, they reckon ya got something ta hide."
Namira says, "I did when I first walked around. That I was a Mul'niessa." She says with a smile. "But, instead of focusing upon the fact that I'm a Mul'niessa, You have given me the confidence to simply say that I am Namira Aldor of the Lady's Absolution, instead of a mul'niessa. Thank you." She says to Bennet and to Kerbasy."
Converation becomes briefly interrupted with a: "Uh--excuse us. Sirs. Ma'am." A few acolytes tumble in from the side hall. They bear plates of brownies. Simple fare, it's said, though--chocolate? "Master Acleese said to tell everyone it's from Master Brownsmith's family. We uh, tended to his son last week."
The acolytes add the warmed, cloth-covered brownies to the end of the buffet table, rounding out the end of the simple feast.
Teppus gives the acolytes a slute. Cheerfully, actually. He seems to be keeping more to himself at the moment, but he's paying attention to the goings-ons, in keeping with the largely somber tone.
Kerbasy stops in his response to Sargon, and, "...heh. Be riiight with you," he says. ...and then goes to stuff his pockets.
Bennet nods, and shrugs, accepting a brownie. "My daddy was a pig farmer. Momma too dumb to leave village where she was born. Who yer ancestors were don't mean shit. IS what ya choose to do with yourself what matters, be it for good or ill."
Namira smiles quietly as she listens to Bennet as she takes a brownie. "Thank you Bennet. this only reinforces my faith in being an Absolution. THank you all." She says before she takes a brownie. "I should go and get to my prayers though. I have........been having conversations with someone during my prayers lately. I do not know what to make of them yet, but I can't detect any ill will from this....being." She says as she munches on the brownie, takes a second one, then heads into another room.
Kerbasy would be jealous of such prayers, but the busy Mourner is busy stuffing his pockets. A few brownies, a few rolls poke out from the sides. It will all be gone by evening.
Garak winds up close to Teppus. "Greetings, brother." He offers. "It's good to see you again."
Bennet quirks a brow at that, but lets it go. Start questioning oddities in this town, and you soon won't have time for anything else.
"Indeed. I hope thinsg have been well enough for you," says Teppus to Garak now that he's been addressed directly. He pauses a moment, then glances toward sNamira. He's keeping an eye on that one.
Garak follows his fellow Serrielite's glance over to Namira. His own expression grows grave.
"Have you given thought to serving in the coming conflict to the north?" Garak asks Teppus. "There is a group of riders preparing to depart in the next week or so, from what I hear."
"Is there?" says Teppus, eyebrows raising. "We'll see what happens. I'm not sure it will actually come to war, but if anyone is going to push for one, I suppose it would be Dran. Too much death already."
Garak nods in agreement. "Best to travel with others of the faith. Or others with ties to Alexandria at least. Too many of those who show interest in war are savages. Mercenaries."