To Dream in Black and White
A balmy wind stirs through the groves and trees in the square, carrying with it the scent of jade blossoms, and orchids, and fresh jacaranda blooms. The full moon illuminates all like a second sun, except the light provided seems to luxuriate in providing less illumination and instead serves to soften the otherwise familiar curves and angles of architecture. Under this light, with its wavering shadows and the odd cloud passing by, those who gather do so for that very liminality over which the Dreaming Goddess would seem to preside.
One such adherent is Asphodel, cloaked in a simple robe of white. Her hair is loose, and the Llyanesi woman appears to lack any and all adornment one might expect. Instead, a simple belt of silver moons in different phases rests around her waist. She is leaving the Temple of Eluna, a prayer rug held without much thought close to her person.
It is a beautiful night, and Asphodel glows under the moonlight of her goddess-- as do many others contemplating their dreams and visions by the fountain. Not so fast to approach, she hangs back, eyes half-closed as though the dreaming world were one squinted gaze away.
The temple grounds, and specifically those of the The Moon, is not solely occupied by adherents despite the hour. Aya emerges from a smaller adjacent structure for those in treatment by the healers. The contrast of moonlight and shadow may be more conspicuous upon her person as the the darkness seems to cling to her flesh whilst the white of her hair and attire reflect the light. Even without, mul'niessa are not the most common visitors to Niessa's domain.
She doesn't seek to leave the grounds proper, however, instead moving towards the pool and circle at their center. Her attention is less on that, though, than the full moon shining through it.
As if she cannot help herself, Asphodel is drawn to the mul'niessa like a moth to flame. Her approach is hesitant. There is, between them, far more than just physical distance, and yet... And yet there is a yearning evident in the way Asphodel bites the corner of her lip, flipping through the possibilities in her mind.
In a city of strangers, bad blood is still blood, and blood is thicker than even the water of the Fountain. And if the contrast between the two weren't enough...
And so it is that Asphodel makes her presence known only by entering the periphery of Aya's space, where protocol and etiquette can be counted upon for either dismissal or intrigue. She follows Aya's glance towards the moon, but comes no futher... yet.
Aya's focus lowers from the moon in the sky to the one reflected in the pool. She regards, and possibly contemplates, in silence for several moments before breaking the latter. "I am here as a visitor, and not to somehow defile the pool, the grounds, nor your goddess, if that is your concern." Her tone is flat and matter-of-fact, without any empasis, and she only pans head and eyes towards the other sildanyari in white after speaking.
GAME: Asphodel rolls charisma: (14)+3: 17
"But it *does* look refreshing, doesn't it? On these nights all I want to do is stick my feet in cool water," Asphodel says, glancing sidelong at Aya with the faintest ghost of a smile, as if even the Gods might hear. "And I feel as though if my dreams are not exactly my own, we should be forgiven a minor transgression," She adds in a soft tone. "Nor am I the keeper of sanctity, but a person very far from home.
"Besides," Asphodel adds, the mantle of Llyranesi arrogance summoned as if by actual magic, "Who am I to say it wouldn't be a good omen?" And she smiles, tentatively.
One snowy brow lifts slightly, tugging the corner of the lips below it upwards a hint as well. "Ah. I would not do so, myself; I have offended Her enough. Neither would I stop you from a dip in the pool," which she now looks back to, "but I wouldn't recommend it. There are more comfortable, and less sacred, baths near enough. I presumed you a priestess, wary of me. It seems I was mistaken."
"That just makes the transgression all the more tempting," Asphodel says, the corner of her own lip turning up as well. "I..." And here, the pause, while searching for the right words. "I am not going to condescend by pretending I understand. But I understand," She finishes, code-switching between the spoken and Unspoken. "I make a better sacrificial victim than priestess anyway, if recent events are proof."
Setting the prayer rug on the ground, Asphodel steps back into a true curtsey, and lowers her head to show respect before rising again. "Asphodel," She says by way of greeting, as she picks her rug from the ground.
"That just makes the transgression all the more tempting," Asphodel says, the corner of her own lip turning up as well. "I..." And here, the pause, while searching for the right words. "I am not going to condescend by pretending I understand. But I understand," She finishes, code-switching between the spoken and Unspoken. "I make a better sacrificial victim than priestess anyway, if recent events are proof."
Setting the prayer rug on the ground, Asphodel steps back into a true curtsey, and lowers her head to show respect before rising again. "Asphodel," She says by way of greeting, as she picks her rug from the ground.
The other brow lifts at the initial comment, then he first joins it after the latter. "I would say that you proved a poor choice as sacrifice, given that you are still among the living." Her chin dips at the introduction. "I am known as Aya," she returns, "and you likely understand far more than I. In the context of this," she gestures a hand vaguely about to the grounds and pool, "at least."
Seldan has arrived.
"Well I kept telling them I wasn't a virgin," Asphodel begins, flipping a hand as if this were an argument she had been over again and again. "So much for fertility or grain festivals. As for all this," she surveys the square, "Eluna is my goddess, but anyone claiming to understand Her is lying to you. She is mystery and dream; such things were never meant to be understood as a whole, or so I believe." A pause. "And maybe that's why I would have been a poor priestess, too.
"I guess we Llyranesi really aren't good for much other than long-winded politics," She says, genuine laughter at her own self-deprecation stifled behind a palm lest it disturb the peace of the square.
The two elven women standing a bit apart from one another are like Queens on a chessboard-- Aya with her glorious mane of alabaster, in cloth of black; and Asphodel, in cloth of white with her hair so dark it may disappear into the space between the stars. The Mul'Niessa and the Llyranesi, making what must be to any outsider appear as small talk.
Telamon has arrived.
Eluna's temple grounds is the site of other activities and discussions, in other places, and Seldan makes his way across it, striding purposefully from the mighty plaza outside. A human male in service to Eluna is unusual enough, and yet here this one most unmistakably is, the crescent-and-sphere around his neck hanging over carefully fitted plate armor that is metal, and yet with a curious moonlit sheen to it that is quiescent beneath the morning light. Dressed and kitted for war, he is, and yet on seeing the pair of women in the grounds, he stops short, straightening to his full height, the expression in spring-fair skin suddenly becoming as completely motionless as an alabaster pillar.
From the longsword at his left hip, an elderly female voice pipes up. It is a nasally and yet kindly sound. "Seldan, this is Her house. Nobody's hunting you here. You know the Seers said they wouldn't allow it."
The full moon shines down, but the stars are always there. Watchful as always. From the direction of the Temple of Daeus comes a dapper-looking half-elf, his platinum hair almost aglow in the moonlight, his dark eyes sparkling. Nighttime, for him, holds few if any fears. Telamon adjusts his light cloak, a deep blue trimmed in silver thread, before walking out into the area proper, his black boots tapping a cheerful beat on the flagstones. Clad in his preferred outfit -- a ruffled white silk shirt over dark trousers, with his haversack slung at his hip -- he cuts a rakish figure, more like a noble dandy than a sorcerer. Catching sight of Seldan, though, his pace slows, and the expression on the other man's face makes his brow furrow as he follows his gaze.
The Llyranasi's comments provokes a sound not heared for some time, and perhaps never in these grounds: Aya looses a brief snort of a laugh. "Those may be preferable to mul'niessan politics.. and I doubt any fiend nor cult truly cares one whit about anyone's sexual prowess..." An ear twitches at the shrill voice. A familiar one.
"You would be wise to curtail any other blasphemous notions," she notes softly to Asphodel as her head and eyes turn towards the voice, the latter scanning. Upon spying Seldan, she dips her head to him with "The prodigal Silverguard returns. Good eve, Seldan."
Asphodel's gaze hones it directly on Aya's, and she gives a near-imperceptible nod before turning to see just who has arrived.
Her belt of silver moons chimes softly in a breeze that carries the scent of her perfume, and one brow above a beauty mark arches at whoever would interrupt conversation between this particular duo. This close to the Temple of Eluna, the dreamspun Llyranesi glows under the full moon.
"The Sword speaks wisdom," Asphodel says, and unlike said sword, her tones are the trained, the courtly, the strangled-to-sound-pleasant of the Llyranesi Court. Her glance moves from Sword to Human without a blink. "Asphodel Lady Carrough," she says by means of introduction, and not awaiting a response:
"I have already spoken with Eluna this evening. Is there some other pressing matter you were sent to inform?" She asks polietly.
Still, the ginger-blonde man remains as still and impassive as one of those pillars for a long moment, surveying the pair. His eyes lock on Aya on her remark about blasphemous notions. "I would not have expected advice about blasphemy in this place to fall from your lips, Mistress Aya," he tells her stiffly, in a light voice accented with the distinct lilt of the Myrrish gently born.
He bows, then, politely, to the both of them, but has not moved an inch, nor does he do so now. "Her light upon your path, my lady," he greets Asphodel, quietly and cautiously. "I offer you no challenge."
Meanwhile, the sword at his hip seems to have more to say. "You don't believe me, do you," the grandmotherly voice sighs.
"I probably wouldn't, either, Fallia." This voice is also female, younger, and low for a woman.
The next voice to speak up from the sword is a cultured voice, male, older and deeper. "Seldan, did you not say _let them come if they will, and take you if they can?_ The tone is not ungentle. "I don't think that one's going to even try, if we're honest. I'd worry more about the demon."
Telamon frowns deeply, his brows coming together, particularly as Seldan's blade seems to be remonstrating with the man. He sighs, inwardly, but then puts on an open, friendly expression, and strides forward to casually place himself at a third point between Seldan and the two elf-women. "Well, well, Seldan Padaryn," the half-sil drawls with a wry grin. "It's good to see you again, though I distinctly remember that your arrival is usually because there are problems to be solved." He pauses, and his expression becomes slightly more serious. "I owe you thanks, by the way. For being there when my wife was approached by those fiends."
He turns his gaze to Aya and Asphodel, his stare measuring, reflecting the moon and stars in that gaze. "Aya. I hope Daechir is recovering." His tone is one of sympathy, gentleness and understanding. His eyes move to Asphodel next. "You, though... hmm. You seem vaguely familiar, though I don't think we've formally met."
GAME: Asphodel rolls spellcraft+2: (13)+8+2: 23
"Nor did I ever expect that I would place my my care, nor that of my ... lover into Her trust, Seldan," Aya admits with a bit of frown at the pause in term, following it with a light roll of shoulder to recover. "Yet here we are. A great many things have changed, have they not?"
She then dips her head to Telamon, hints of her frown lingering. "He does, but it is a difficult process." Her eyes return to Seldan. "I doubt you fear anything, yet if you worry, Reunion speaks true. None would dare accost you here. If any were foolish enough to, you would simply have all the more of us at your side."
Raising her left hand as if feeling for something-- her long, deft fingers seeming to pluck either invisible strings or some weft in a pattern-- Asphodel begins to sing. It is quiet, in LLyranesi, music carried on the wind from underneath a hill.
Something about harps, and sisters, and bones; a swan song, a reveal. Tragedy, come too soon. It is over almost immediately, but for a moment silver moonlight flashes like water in the dark pools of Asphodel's eyes. And she sets her hand down.
"Everyone dreams," She tells Seldan. "But this is the waking world, and anyone in my company will be treated with the base dignity and decorum accorded to all. If ancestors are to be respected, bear in mind that I am old enough to remember a world before your grandparents. Those who cannot muster the decency... have the pleasure of leaving my company with the fondest of fairwells." Her smile is small, and includes a respectful nod to the sword.
"I seem to remember a certain glib, handsome, dashing dandy whose wit and will were second to none," She tells Telamon, her demeanor entirely displaced with the seamless grace of a courtier. Her smile is quite large now. "In fact, I seem to remember that he gave me the name of a tailor..."
Seldan's eyes narrow at the tale, and then again at both of them, but at length, he bows. "Let us pray that we are not given cause to learn the truth of your words, Mistress Aya." Another significant look at Asphodel, but this one is - speculative. Thoughtful, even. He seems to decide something, then, and instead turns to Telamon. "Master Lupecyll-Atlon, her light upon your path also. Indeed had I intended to speak with you on the matter, although I trust that she is recovering. I would understand more of that incident, and what yet draws demons of that power to your door, and yet did she make her wishes clear on the matter of my presence. I shall not disturb her peace. Are those yet the same demons, or those allied, that once sought me at that place? For it seemed clear that they knew something of me."
His starry eyes glitter for a moment, but it's clear the hard thoughts are not for those present. "I don't know," he admits, with a touch of anger. "I won't deny Lana and I have been tracking mud all over the plots of dark forces and generally making a mess of their efforts. But this feels almost personal." Telamon deliberately cracks his knuckles in a way that suggests someone's going to pay for such deeds. "I'd planned on replacing that door anyways, but I really hate having the issue forced. Sir Seldan... let me assure you her anguish was from an... unrelated issue. It was not directed at you, or to be honest anyone present. I think in a few days time, we will not object to seeing you again."
His eyebrows rise at Asphodel, and this time his expression lightens considerably. "Wait. Wait. Llyranost, and I thought Father was going to put a minder on me because he kept getting inquiries about my availability. We'd already had that issue in Dran. And -- now I remember! Lady Carrough!" He laughs suddenly, and makes a deep bow. "It's been a few years, milady, and many things have changed, but it is good to see you again."
As though snapping an invisible fan open, and as if wearing a courtly gown different from her current robe, Asphodel extends a hand as if to dance and steps back into the sort of curtsey one sees at balls and affairs of state. Rising, she presses her hands together and smiles. "I had hoped," She says, sotto voce, "But I hadn't had time to find you yet, Lord Lupecyll-Atlon. And I believe I met your wife just yesterday. She is absolutely stunning..." A smile, a devilish grin, creeps up one side. "Be sure to give her my best. We had quite the time." Soft laughter follows. "Would you believe I found work with a certain tailor?" She asks of Telamon, circling the point in that infuriating manner elves are wont to do. "He's really quite something. I may even have my own loom soon." All of this, seemingly unrelated, but her hands remain pressed together in a sign of absolute gratitude, and her smile lights up her eyes with no magical effect needed. "In fact, you are very much someone I also need to speak with. And I suspect your wife may have filled you in.
"I fear that unless matters are resolved for those people I met on the road, I will call for a High Tea."
Aya lifts a brow at Asphodel's comment, as well a brief sidelong glance at the Llyranesi. She does not know of her, and only just enough of Telamon to follow the reference. Unfortunately, she knows far more on the other topic.
"There are far too many fiends walking about in the guise of others," she frowns. "Soon enough, though, there will be one less. I hope that more will cease to be shortly after. It is good to hear that she is well, Telamon."
"Such is the reward of the fight against the darkness, Master Lupecyll-Atlon. Measure your success by the strength of they that despise you, and you shall see the fruits of your labors." Seldan's smile is very, very small, but it fades again as Telamon turns his attention to Asphodel. So, instead, he turns to Aya. "You are yet plagued? I see - and they that plague you extend their efforts to others. It is in my mind that they may have found a new master, or perhaps they yet act on their own."
The sword, for the moment, has gone quiet.
Telamon lifts an eyebrow. "So Jovani took my advice after all. He is a good man, and kind, though he has a firm work ethic. Make no mistake, Lady Carrough, he will teach you things you did not expect." He smiles happily. "I hope you find happiness and good fortune here in Alexandria. It is a chaotic and sometimes dangerous place -- but it is fertile ground for those who seek their own fortunes."
His expression tightens a bit. "We could do without the fiends and the devil-cultists, though. But as Sir Seldan notes, being despised by the despicable is a badge of honor in the long run." Suddenly, Tel chuckles. "I suddenly understand why the Iron Hells seem to loathe Tarienites as much as any other devotee of the gods of light. Imagine not only having your plans foiled but they go out of their way to make you look ridiculous..."
"I do not believe Master Jovani takes anyone's advice," Asphodel says, her tone dry enough to spark a wildfire. "I have seen him correct proper lords and ladies without care, and oh!" She laughs again. "They fall in line like children! That's half the joy of my job. And so far, he is very pleased with my work." A pause. "Well, he hasn't torn my fabric apart like others." She shrugs as if to say, to each their own measure?
"I was almost sacrificed by those cultists, and again, I bear no ill will towards them. They were feeding bodies to pigs." Her jaw tightens, and her teeth clench, but... she forces herself to let it go. "When I find the landed gentry who let their charges starve, you tell Cor'lana that I have an invite for a Proper High Tea."
"From what I have heard tell, they are in league in some way, Seldan," Aya shares, frown lessened to a simmer. "I would see them all gone, but I must address my own, first. It is my doing, and my responsibility."
She is silent for a time to not intrude on the other pair's discussion of tailors, cults, and tea. Only after does she note to Telamon, "I would gladly forego the praise of their hatred in exchange for their troubling us no longer."
"For those in the service of the Light, there is no end to the disgust of those who oppose us." Again, Seldan wears a very small, cautious smile inside the impassive frame. He makes no mention of the High Tea, and he, too, had held his peace for much of that discussion. "There is now such assuming my guise, and that of Mal, as well. Strong enough that they be no idle opponent, and yet, harassing Master Lupecyll-Atlon and his lady. I would learn more, with an eye to making an end of them, as you say."
Telamon snorts. "I will -happily- settle their hash, as the farmers say, if they wish to play. Sadly, they seem to prefer hiding and striking from shadows. Fair enough. We will not be Myrrish lionhounds, but khazadi rat-terriers, dragging them out into the light."
He offers a deep bow to Asphodel, Aya, and Seldan. "But alas, I must return home. My wife awaits, and I for one am not so foolish as to ignore her call. But I look forward to your tale, Lady Carrough." His eyes shift to Seldan, and he nods firmly. "We will need to talk as well, Sir Seldan. Soon, I think. But until then, walk in her light." And with that, the half-elf is striding away, whistling softly.
Asphodel shivers in the darkness, despite the warmth of the night. "It was lovely to see you again," She tells Telamon, returning the bow. "Aya, Seldan? I can see we have much in common with regards to wanting to strike out against..." Her eyes scan the area, for words always travel in dreams. "Those who would disrupt High Tea," she says. And to Aya, "If it pleases you to do so, I would very much enjoy a chat over hard liquor. We have a whole conversation to pick up before the men arrived." But... she does wink at Seldan.
"I would not further disrupt your conversation, my lady." Seldan's expression closes down again at the wink, but there's a hint of confusion written in it, before it does. "I should be about my business, and thus shall I leave you to your meeting. Her light upon your path." With that, he bows, and turns, redirecting his steps in a different direction that leads away from them both, again with that purposeful stride.
"Her light upon your path, Seldan," Aya offers a return to the farewell, adding, "as it seems to always be." She then turns to Asphodel. "I would not mind some conversation, and would welcome the drink. After I tend to someone. I didn't intend to leave him for long."
Seldan has left.