Nature of Faith

Log Info

• Title: Nature of Faith

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Seldan

• Place: Temple of Eluna

What happened just the other day is not lost on Cor'lana. That is why she walks into the Temple of Eluna with Pothy on her shoulder, holding a bouquet of flowers that is, for once, not intended for a different temple that requires a more difficult climb. The flowers speak of praise and gratitude for those who know how to glean such meanings from the choice of flowers and colors, and she leaves them in an area where offerings to the goddess are accepted.

She lingers for a moment by the great pool of water in Eluna's temple, looking to Pothy. "We both owe Her, Pothy," she murmurs quietly to the white raven. Her hands find the bird's headfeathers, and he murmurs a few noises that sound for all the world like he's agreeing with her. It was not all that long ago that Cor'lana had come here in search of answers for her own crisis of faith, and... she is now back again as someone with praise of Ni'essa on her lips. So is how life goes.

As he so often is, Seldan is already here, the armor traded in for simple shirt and trousers, over an open-front, sleeveless robe clasped at his chest. He sits cross-legged on a meditation mat, his head bowed and eyes closed, entirely silent. He does not seem aware of Cor'lana's or Pothy's presence, just at the moment, and wears a look of serene focus.

It doesn't take long for Cor'lana to spot Seldan, and when she does, a smile spreads across her face. Seldan's words about him having ended up there that day resonated within her, and so the sorceress takes a step forward...

But then she hesitates. After all, he is meditating. It would be rude to interrupt him in something as important as a religious practice. Surely she can come back later--

Pothy has other ideas.

He takes flight from her shoulder and lands on a meditation mat next to Seldan's, and he sits down, too, tucking his talons into his body and making several long bird-blinks. He is meditating, too!

Just the sight of Pothy trying to copy Seldan makes Cor'lana crack. A small giggle escapes her, musical almost in its short and melodic way that she unfortunately doesn't stifle--and can't. Such is her nature.

Indeed, Seldan at least pretends to be unaware of Pothy's humor, but the giggle in a familiar voice does pierce his consciousness. He looks up and around. Spots Pothy first, and he levels a bemused, nonplussed stare at the white raven attempting to copy him. "My lady, your bird mocks me," he replies gently, with no hint of anger or even reproach in the even words. "Still are he, and you, welcome within these halls." He lets out a breath, and pushes himself to his feet, turning to search out the source of the giggle. "Her light upon your path. How might I be of service?" The ever-present reserve, present by default and seldom bending, is very much in place.

"And Her light upon yours, Seldan," Cor'lana says softly. "Pothy does not mean to mock. He occasionally tries--as best as he can, considering his form--to do things that he sees people who he respects doing. Unfortunately, whether he is being respectful or not is not up for him to decide--Pothy, off the mat."

Pothy's eyes blink open, and he quickly takes flight and lands on Cor'lana's shoulder, shaking out his feathers. Normally, he might protest, but it appears being in Seldan's temple has mollified him a little.

"I came here to give my praise to the Sky-singer," Cor'lana says gently. "For while it is Vaire who has the principle of my faith--what happened the other day felt like the two goddesses working in concert, with Vaire reassuring me and Ni'essa seeing us into victory."

"No offense has been taken, my lady." An easy, boyish smile curves Seldan's lips. "Indeed have I been doing the same, for seldom it is that She thus shows Her face, and such a gift is worthy indeed of praise - and of reflection." He steps off of his own mat and picks it up, moving to place it on a stack at the far side of one of the pillars, then returns to the pair. It is not far - not more than a few steps. "We are fortunate, for indeed did both smile upon you that night. Still - if you would tell it, I would hear the tale of why such a being would seek your familiar."

There's a small sadness that comes to Cor'lana's face when Seldan's inquiry comes to light. "You deserve to know," she says, "on account of having come to my aid and Pothy's aid. If we can find a private place to speak on it, then we will."

She gestures in the direction of the library, where Seldan has taken her a time before in search of a quiet and private place to discuss things. "Shall we?" she asks.

Just as the pair are about to enter the library a young man trots up, his shaggy brown hair falling half into his eyes. He's slender and has the look of a runner; his clothing that of a common man. "Pardon!" He says somewhat enthusiastically and bows his head to Seldan and Cor'lana in equal measure. "I have a message."

Here he looks at Cor'lana. "Are you Cor'lana?" He flashes his teeth a little in a small grin. Like he maybe knows something that they don't.

Seldan is about to assent to the suggestion that they retire to the library when the kid runs in, but the message is not for him. His eyebrows lift towards his hairline, but he keeps his peace, allowing the lady to handle her business discreetly.

Cor'lana looks mildly concerned as she looks at the young man, but eventually, she nods. "I am," she responds. "What is the message?"

"Oh no," Pothy quietly murmurs in a mimic of Cor'lana's own voice. The last time she was receiving messages via messenger, they were love notes and flowers.

The boy grins suddenly, looking somewhat eager. "The real Temptress of Alexandria. No one is going to believe me!" He seems enthused and he then seems to realize the situation and has the grace to scrub a hand through his short hair. "Sorry. Message! It's a bit weird but here it goes. 'I have a proposition for you, the world as we know it is coming to an end, but perhaps the shape of that end need not be what it might. If you would listen to me, meet me in the dream by Eluna's pool. Dace."

He grins at her. "That's it!"

Cor'lana stares at the young man for a long moment, like she's contemplating something nasty. But... They're in a Temple. And Seldan is right there. So she clears her throat, nods, and says, simply, "Message received. Thank you."

She fishes a coin from her pocket and pays the young man for his troubles before turning to Seldan. "I am grateful every day that I live that my husband is as gracious and as understanding as he is about that... moniker," she grumbles. "Please. Let us discuss important matters elsewhere."

If she had a modicum of thought to devote to that moniker, it would be that going off with Seldan into a private room likely would do her no favors in regards to the nickname, but such is life. She walks with Seldan into the library.

While the pair converse, Seldan watches in silence, his eyes narrowing a little at first, and then more still. Only when the message is delivered does Seldan speak up. "Your message is delivered. Take yourself from this place, and return not here." Ice and steel are laced through the words, and he does not look at Cor'lana. He waits for the boy to leave before turning to follow.

The boy gives Seldan an odd look - as well he might, before flashing the paladin a wicked-looking grin and shrugging. He leaves at a casual pace, waving to various clerics and offering greetings to the passing parishioners as he goes. Eventually however, he is gone.

Cor'lana finds a quiet and private place in the library, sighing as she takes a seat in a chair. "I will focus on the matter of that message later," she says. "What is more pressing is what was upon us the other day."

Pothy hops off her shoulder and into her lap, tucking in his talons again as he sits down and forms a Pothy-loaf in Cor'lana's lap. She smooths down his feathers and sighs. "This is the result of... my actions, and a decision Pothy made. A deal was struck, and Pothy, of his own will, volunteered to take my place and stay in the Court of the Queen of Air and Darkness for a century. In that time... he made a friend. A friend who he fell in love with, and she, apparently, returned his affections. The Queen forced her to marry someone else, and... I believe she died, and all blame her death on Pothy."

Pothy shivers even as Cor'lana recounts the story, her violet eyes dark. "There is a Lord Folendel that has challenged Pothy to a duel to the death. This is a man skilled in blade and in magic, using his abilities to shut down magically skilled combatants. Pothy is allowed to choose a champion. But with how the flow of time differs from that of the mortal plane and in Quelynos, and the fact I have enemies who I deal with at every turn--I have not been able to find someone that I can think of asking. This is a burden that I cannot put lightly onto someone. It ought to be mine to bear, in truth--but if I go, then I will die, and my husband will not permit such."

Her eyes are low as she looks down at Pothy. "Death is a thing I fear I am far too familiar with as of late," she confesses, "in brushes and in near-measures. I wonder how soon I will find myself in Vardama's Halls, one way or another."

Once Seldan has seated himself, he listens in silence to Cor'lana's explanation, in full, holding to himself whatever thoughts remain in his mind concerning the messenger. He is once more that same steady, even presence that he usually is, blue-eyed gaze holding the pair of them before him as he considers the words offered.

He seems to consider a few words, looking for a moment as if he will speak, then not doing so. When he does speak, in the end, the words are quiet. "It needs a coward to challenge a mortal bird to a duel to the death. Easily does one challenge a duel that one knows one cannot lose. Many things had I expected of that individual, and of her followers, but cowardice was not among them."

Another moment of silence ensues. "You seek a champion, to defend your familiar from this one.'

Cor'lana continues to stroke Pothy's feathers. "He is an old bird, but I think if one was to drive a blade through him--he could pass on, yes," she replies. "And because of what he is--a being of magic--there is really no... getting him back. Not like myself or another person. Not in any way that I know of."

A tear lands on her hand as her head hangs low enough for the tears that now flow freely from her eyes to fall down. "I should seek a champion. I do not want to lose Pothy. He is a little brother to me. He was my only friend and companion in a time where I had none. And yet it is a task I cannot burden anyone with. To do so is to pull them into this tempest I am in the middle of. To do so to anyone I would call a friend is to be unlike a friend in every measure of the word. I have a few I could call on. But I fear: what of the outcome in which Pothy's champion is the victor? What would then follow after that for the champion and then for myself and Pothy?"

She shakes her head. "I knew what I was getting into. Grandfather had told me over and over again not to get involved with the Courts. Yet one does not realize the full measure of despair until one is wading in it."

"Among our kind, does Pothy's champion find themselves the victor, the matter is considered settled, and revenge against the champion, or the accused, is unlawful. Is this so among that kind? For though they will circumvent and prevaricate around such rules as much as they may, they are bound by the rules they set, and may not deviate." Seldan remains eerily still.

Cor'lana looks back up at Seldan, wiping the tears from her eyes, trying to collect herself in front of him. "I can imagine those who are sufficiently angry enough with Pothy may challenge him themselves, or find other ways to torment him--or the champion who bests Folendel in combat. I do not know for certain. I was told there is one who keeps reminding individuals of the Court of the loss, and they are my true enemy, but I do not know yet who they are. I... believe I might know who, but that is speculation."

She strokes Pothy. "I have been told, on reliable word, that a skilled swordsman armed with cold iron and experience in baiting an opponent given to rage will win over Lord Folendel. His temper is his greatest downfall, and it makes him less skilled in combat."

Seldan's eyes lower, his hands in his lap, and he is silent for some minutes. "This risk can I not venture, myself," he begins carefully, "for too many other burdens do I now bear. Still do I have something that may aid you. If you will forgive me, I must retrieve it from my cell. I shall return presently."

He does not wait for an answer, but instead turns and strides from the library, and from the sounds outside, bursts into a run once clear of the library. A few minutes later, he returns, with a longsword wrapped in silk. This, he carries carefully in two hands, and lays it down on the table between them. "It is not enchanted, but it is forged of cold iron," he explains. "I have no more need of such a thing, for I possess better, and yet is this a most serviceable weapon in its own right."

"I would not have asked you to bear this, Seldan," Cor'lana says with an ache in her voice. "Even if you volunteered to be this champion, I would have said no. There are far too many people who see you and decide to dump all of the world's wantings onto you. You do not deserve this on top of everything else, and I would be a poor friend to bring this onto you."

But she carefully, carefully inspects the sword, and it is a tell-tale thing that she winces as she touches the hilt. It is not a painful thing. It is something that feels uncomfortable in her hands. "But if you would allow me to purchase this from you--I would be grateful." She does not assume he is giving it to her for free.

At this, a small modicum of Seldan's smile returns, and it bears the stamp of gratitude in its curve, although perhaps a gratitude not given voice. The weapon is definitely cold iron, and it is well-made and well-cared for. "That shall I do, and for but the cost to craft the weapon itself, no more," he offers in low tones. "It is as I have said. I purchased it long ago, to another end, and no more need have I for such a thing. Still might it serve you in the defense of your familiar and friend, and it will take enchantments, though the materials required to first induce it to take an enchantment are costly," he warns. "Such a skill do I not have."

Cor'lana reaches immediately into her bag and produces the required amount of gold. "I will find someone who can enchant it and bring it to bear in defense of Pothy," she replies. "There is no expense that I will spare when it comes to my brother. For now--I think this is sufficient."

She looks at Seldan with her own measure of gratitude. "Thank you. I know there is so much on your mind and that there are never enough people in this city or even in this world to express it--but thank you. Just speaking with you on this helps. This is a burden I have carried mostly on my own until now. Telamon has shouldered it with me, as a spouse should, but he is no swordsman. We are left to find someone who can."

The coin is accepted, and Seldan sits back, once it has been safely tucked away in the pouch at his side. "There may yet be others willing and able to raise the blade. I do no business with Mithralla, but he exists as an option, do you choose to seek that route. He is more than capable." He sits back a little, allowing Cor'lana to take the blade. "It is never so much that I may not aid another, my lady, especially in so simple a thing, and indeed, in such does it please me to be of aid. I think your familiar worthy of defending, especially against such cowardice, and though I may not take that mantle myself, I can offer to those who will."

Cor'lana carefully holds the blade and navigates it within its sheath into her bag, sighing in relief once she is no longer holding the hilt of the weapon itself. "I would do no business with Mithralla myself," she replies, "but I cannot afford to be particular in this instance."

She smiles lightly at Seldan. "I am grateful that there are people in the world such as you, Seldan. It was Pothy who once told me that the gods have a way of putting together the people that we need--and I believe this, and the day before, to be an instance of such."

"Even so," Seldan murmurs, lowering his eyes to stare at the now-empty table and turning - just a little bit impassive. "For I had miscalculated a teleport. I had intended that I appear near the city walls. I erred in my sigils, I fear, and thus was -" He pauses, searching for a word.

"Waylaid," Cor'lana offers gently, still with a small smile. "And yet you were there for a reason beyond error. Hence why I visited this temple at all today, and here you are again. The gods have been kind on two occasions, it would seem."

She shifts Pothy back onto her shoulder as she pushes her chair into the table, politely. "I still do not understand why. I do not feel I am deserving of their aid and intervention. Yet that is not for me to decide, and that is for Vaire to know, and that is for Ni'essa to know. I have to be content with not knowing and not understanding."

She offers Seldan a wider smile. "That is the nature of faith in some respects, is it not?"

Seldan inclines his head, but warmly. "Even so. We need not understand all that is, for much of it is beyond our ken, and many more things are not yet set in stone." He, too, rises, and echoes her movement with the chair. "Not idly or for small matters does She show herself, my lady. Indeed, but once before have I seen such a thing. Take heart in that."

With that, he gestures with a hand that she should precede him to the exit.