Charitable Intentions

-=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Temple of Daeus - Courtyard(#2109R) *>--=--=--=--=--=--=-

        The House of Daeus in Alexandria may lack the scale and scope of
The Holy See in the nation of Ecclesia, but it is still a befitting monument 
to the lord of dragons, and god of the sun and all creation. The structure 
itself is a massive domed basilica supported by immense piers and enveloped 
by a multi-storied complex with numerous arcing windows, jutting windowed
arches and four towers that stand tall at the corners of the large complex.
The massive dome centers over the sanctuary of the building but the base
of the structure is actually square and multi-layered and leveled like ornate
boxes stacked atop one another. 

        Artwork and carvings of various celestials and saints adorn the structure
while the sunburst symbol of Daeus; The Solis, is emblazoned upon the smooth
paved ground with a large washing fountain located in the very center of the
courtyard. Maintained gardens and garden paths envelop both sides of the
Courtyard while pathways lead to housing centers and places deeper in the
temple for purposes of further meditation.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

After dawn services drew to a close, Valen Phanuel withdrew to his sparse quarters in order to spend some time in prayer, maybe an hour or two, before resuming his duties. Right now he waits for the Bishop to grant him an audience late in the afternoon in hopes of speaking to him about the Widows and Orphans fund he wishes to create.

Hymns of eternal blessings and peace echo resoundingly through the hallowed halls of the Temple of the Sun Lord, punctuated by a blaze of golden glory that falls molten and heavy into the gardens of the courtyard. The daily benediction of Daues streams forth life, kissing the flora with a special joy that sees blooms bursting out of season, fruit weighing large and fertile on branches. A few petitioners sit, scattered around various benches, some kneeling in supplication and prayer, others simply resting in the holy grounds. Novices in homespun wool robes flit from one to the next, inquiring, comforting, or leading bodies away to their appointed meeting.

The soft whisk of that same homespun wool approaches the tall figure of Valen Phanuel. Barely reaching his mid-chest, the priestess of Daeus, marked by the faintly glowing phylactery hanging from her neck, dips a small curtsy. "Sunblade Phanuel?" Voice low and musical, she peers past thick spectacles, up the significant height to address the Daeusite.

Phanuel has been standing for some time enjoying the beauty of this garden and occasionally dipping his head in prayer, but then the priestess arrives! Always bow at the waist to ladies, or so the Code stipulates! So Valen does, bowing. "His Blessings upon you, Priestess," he replies in his warm, comforting baritone, formally but sincerely.

"As they are on you," Slightly anxious wide eyes narrow to crinkle at the corners, glad to see her guess was correct. Standing inches under five feet even, the priestess' childlike stature is offset but a serenity that marks those of her office. Though obviously not long in her robes herself, her gentle head-dips to the novices ducking to greet her seems a natural thing. Gesturing with ink-stained fingers, she invites the Sunblade to walk with her. "I fear the Bishop has been detained, something about Father Agril peeling more potatoes than our pots can hold," Amusement colors the Xian woman's voice as she brings up one of the Temple's most famous, or perhaps most infamous clergyman. "Thus, he has dispatched me to speak with you." Hefting a woodbound logbook to her hip, she paces slowly in her fur-lined boots, reinforcing the illusion that time bears no hold upon the Sun Lord's domain. "Are we to understand that you wish to contribute to the Sendoran War's relief fund for those laid victim by its ravages?"

The Paladin walks beside the priestess with a quiet economy of motion, the kind possessed only by the very strong. A soft smile comes to his face when Father Agril is mentioned, and he chuckles. "At least it isn't a Celestial lion in the wine cellar this time," he states, some mirth in his own voice. "This is agreeable. Yes, I wish not to hoard earthly coin, but spread it among those who may use it best. I am no spendthrift, and prefer to live simply." He makes sure that no others can hear, and he demurely states, "I am prepared to give over sixty platinum pieces to the fund. I will have enough to tend to my earthly needs, the Temple need not think that I beggar myself in doing so. I will have enough."

Eyes the color of night and seeming as old, slip to the side, the small priestess studying the Sunblade, weighing and assessing. There is no judgement to her scrutiny, merely a serious consideration of his offer. Eventually, a small smile forms, giving away dimples that disappear soon enough. "The Jade Emperor," she begins, invoking one of the many Xian names for Daeus, "There is no coincidence that I believe our Lord's hand hasn't played part to."

To explain, she opens the logbook, revealing it to be a ledger of expenses. Each month, a different name is listed, and beside it, the recording of ten platinum pieces entering the Temple's coffers. Quirking a brow up at the tall eldanar, she continues, "We shall accept but ten, out of your full charity, Sir Knight. It would please the Eternal Judge that you retain the rest, to fund and perfect thine own training, to the furtherance of His precepts."

"His Will be done," Phanuel replies without wavering, a smile slowly but surely coming to his face as he reads through the logbook. He turns back to the priestess and says, "Indeed, it is good to be in the company of charitable folk. My heart is lightened by this, though my purse not so much. I shall do as He wills." Currently Phanuel and a Xian Priestess are walking through the gardens of Daeus' temple compound, the Priestess leading the unhurried stroll as they consult a book. "Are you prepared to recieve the donation here?" Phanuel asks.

"...saaa. Easy, girl." The click of nails along the pathway, and the loud, sudden snort of a great creature. Daeus' servants bear many faces, and span the cultures of Ea. A heavy sith'makar makes his way along, followed by something larger. ...a raptor of some kind, she bears a saddle, blanket, and bosal. It's from them both that the click of nails come, click...click...click, as they make their way slowly down the winding paths, one wanting to go faster, and the other as molassas. At the sight of the Sunguard, the sith pauses, and lifts his chin. "Saaaa. Dragon'sss blessssing. And greeting to you and your children."

"Amen." For a brief moment, the phylactery of the priestess' office flares. Glancing down to it, then back up to the paladin, she smiles. "He approves. I'm authorized to accept your charity." Fishing out an inked quill from Daeus knows where, she profers the instrument to Valen. In the midst of doing so, her attention is drawn to the familiar clicking of nails in the hallway. "Sunblade Darshan," the tiny Xian woman greets the branded Sith'makar with honest pleasure. "May the Jade Emperor's shade find you." Svarshan's raptor is given a fond scratching on one cheek, the small priestness needing to stand on tiptoes to reach the spot. "Who's a pretty princess?" she coos.

To Valen, Kaline extends her ink-stained hand, introducing the two, "Sunblade Phanuel, your elder in the ranks, Sunblade Darshan. Dar, he is whom the Sun Lord has sent, for this month's blessing to the widows and orphans." She looks vastly satisfied, "Our sister Temple shall be pleased." In explanation to Phanuel, she adds, "The Temple of Althea sees to much of the meals. We deal more with matters of land and backpay owed. All donations go to the succor of the needy, however."

Valen definitely notices the click of claws against the stone paths, and while he is certainly not alarmed on what is effectively his own turf he is certainly curious. "Blessings of Father Dragon upon you and your clutch," Phanuel replies to the elder, his voice suddenly filled with decently convcincing hisses and Draconic syllables, though it's plain they come from a human mouth and not a sith-makar's. It seems the young Paladin knows the lingo! He allows the little lady to tend to the raptor and continues to speak to the elder Paladin. "Yes, this is so, done in His name. It is good to meet you at last, Darshan. Have you heard the latest rumors? I intend to look into this strange rhyme which has spread about the city, the one that threatens to undermine faith in our Temple. Have you heard of it?" <draconic>

The raptor preens, lifting her head to the side. Somehow, she tilts it just-so so that the bosal's weave, its bits of silver, gleam and shine. Somehow. /Princess/, that says.

At the more familiar tongue, the sith'makar relaxes, his heavy shoulders easing in a way he may not even have been aware of. "Saa. It is good to ssse you. ...and you are..." the sith's eyes narrow at the other man, thinking a while. And then his jaw works... "Valen Fvan-el," he says, finally. "I have heard of you, that you came from Myrddion. ...Sunguard Kaline," to the priestess. And, he looks back to Valen with a half-smile. "I sspend my time out of the City when I can. I came in today to deliver a hunt to the little oness."

Big eyes blink through thick glasses at the hissing highborn. "Well now, this is lovely." Joining in the Draconic chat, the priestess smacks Darshan in the flanks, her small hand likely barely felt by the mighty 'makar. "Always so formal." she complains. Assuming that the younger Sunblade has signed his name upon the ledger, Kaline brings forth a small pouch from under her heavy winter's cloak. Despite Daeus' blessing, the Jade Islands native still feels the cold more than most. "If you would place the coin here, Sunblade Phanuel..." The pouch is actually a bag of holding, and any coins will slip noiselessly into the unseen depths of it once laid within.

Lifting a finger at Darshan, she aha's, "Thank you for the reminder, Sir Dar. The 'little ones' were nibbling on my 'little ones'," she means novices, "Knobby knees. They're most certainly eager for the hunt to be delivered." Smiling, she glances up from 'makar to highborn. "Perhaps this moon's donor would like to help bring the hunt to them." She adjusts the glasses that have slid down her nose, "Finding help sturdy enough to feed them can be difficult."

The Sunblade slips the ten platinum pieces into the bag of holding without wavering. "I would like that," he tells Kaline. "It will be a good experience, I think." He considers his next words to Darshan and says as they walk, "Well, this rhyme is likely the work of some opportunist looking to sow discord. I plan to conduct an investigation with the Bishop's consent. I will not speak its words upon holy ground, save to say that I believe it merits concern. But, let us go to the task at hand! What have you brought from the wilds?" he asks Svarshan.

"...owlbear," is the sith's thoughtful response. His eyes gleam with a sort of pleasure at the word. "Srassha and her pride brought it. I only threw one sspear." And at the mention of her name, the raptor pauses and lifts her chin. She turns slightly, pretending not to have heard.

But somehow, again, the sunlight strikes her silver, and if a raptor could smile, she would. Princess.

"One," he says to the Sunguard. Meaning he'd only brought the one this time. "Sssomeone told me you were making jerky out of them?" <draconic>

The priestess secures the ties on the pouch, squirreling it away again. Signing her own name in the ledger as witness, she murmurs a few words and the ink flares gold, then fades back to a mundane black. Insurance that there shall be no tampering of the ledger, which also disappears into the folds of her heavy cloak. "The Church of Daeus accepts your offering, Sunblade Phanuel." The formal intonation completely, the small Sungaurd motions the tall man to lower his head for her to place a benediction upon his own sunburst insignia. "May the Jade Emperor watch you and keep you, and His light shine upon you." A warmth suffuses the eldanar, encasing him in a brilliant light. "May thy hands be guided to justice, thy feet always set firm upon the path of virtue."

Her formal duties complete, the little priestess turns on Darshan with a small groan, "Oh, yes. That crazy She-who-hugs-wyverns of *yours*. She gave the kitchens a recipe for owlbear jerky. I... I will get used to the taste." she says, with heavy resignation. For it is unseemly for one of the cloth to complain about meals. Much.

The trio of voices fade, footsteps and clawed feet moving towards the temple stables, subsumed by the resumption of hallowed hymns that pick up once again.