Sidetracked Into Help

The climb to the Temple of Vardama, to be quite honest, sucks sometimes. After his conversation with Telamon and Cor'lana, Dolan had set out at once on his appointed task, but his search had taken him up the winding mountain road to the Temple of Vardama. Armored and armed with longsword and crossbow over his back, a quiver of bolts at his hip, he finally reaches the basalt stone outer reaches of the Temple.

He doesn't see anyone, on a cursory glance around, and thus takes a moment, leaning against a rock just outside the gates and rubbing gingerly with his right hand the opposite shoulder and the muscles around it. His lone flesh and blood eye closes as he basks in the moment of repose.

Just inside the antechamber, one can hear the rhythmic whisper of bristle on stone. Dressed in a simple, charcoal-colored cassock, a tanned, ash-blond woman emerges, sweeping the great open doorway to the Temple of Death.

...Also she appears to be singing, very quietly. And sometimes, skipping a bit in time with the broom. Such a display of light-heartedness seems very much at odds with the typical Vardaman, to say nothing the the purpose of the Temple itself.

It's the singing that first prompts Dolan to open his flesh-and-blood eye, and look over, his hand unconsciously dropping to his side. That's different, his brain notes, and he straightens up, peering around to see the source of the sound. A couple of steps closer, and he looks the woman up and down, curiously, his whole head moving with the motion. The face he presents is entirely harlequin - half mobile with chocolate brown eyes, the other half a mask of acid scars surrounding three deep furrows, and a topaz gem set in a steel-and-bronze ring amod the furrows, a thing wholly expressionless.

"Brightest of days," he offers finally, with a quirk of a lopsided grin. "Didn't expect to find someone happy here."

"o/~ I ast about ghosts 'n spirits! I ast 'im if he ever got spooked! I ast 'im if he ever got haunted by souls, but he reckons that he buries them too~!"

How is it that a song about a man whose entire *job* is burying bodies can be so... peppy?

At the greeting, she spins on the toes of one well-worn boot, and lifts a hand in greeting. "Brightest of days!" she echoes, leaning on the staff of the broom, then looking to the sky. "Or near enough to make it a good one, all the same."

Looking back down, the woman flashes a gentle, bright smile to the Daeusite. "Even we who serve death can find joy in our calling," she chuckles. "And sometimes, even the grieving need to know that there can still be a sun behind the clouds, don't you think?"

"Never thought of it that way," Dolan replies, canting his head to study the woman with great interest. "It's damned true, though. There is always one. That fact has kept me sane a couple of times." He doesn't explain, instead brightening that quirk of a grin. "I guess some days you'd have to find joy in the little things, yeah? All that sorrow can eat at a man. Or a woman," he adds quickly. "Most Vardamen I've met wouldn't be caught dead smiling. They think it ruins their image, I s'pose."

The chocolate-brown eye is bright with interest as he regards the woman. "I get the impression you do this a lot."

"I've found it somewhat necessary, yes. But it does make an onerous task all the easier," the woman allows. Leaning the broom against her shoulder, she approaches, extending a black-gloved hand. "Silmeria Longmire, Speaker for the Dead. It's truly a pleasure to meet you, ser...?"

Dimpling, the blond tilts her head to one side as she awaits her answer.

"Corona Dolan Donnelly." Dolan immediately straightens and reaches to take the offered hand, shaking firmly with the grip of a swordsman. "Likewise, Silmeria. I'll bet it does make it easier. It's the little things that make putting up with all the -" He stops short, and abruptly looks embarrassed. "All the nonsense that Alexandria throws at us worth it. This city is one crazy place, I'll tell you."

When the formalities are over, he allows her hand to drop first. "Speaker for the Dead. Dunno as I've heard that title." The statement is left to hang open, inviting her to explain.

"Oh, I can't but agree with you there," Silmeria chuckles, gesturing toward the Temple. "But that was a long climb; how about some tea and cookies while you sit? Our archives aren't perhaps the most riveting reading, but the stacks themselves are quite pretty. And plenty of places to get out of the open, if you prefer. Come..."

Leading the Corona inside, the Temple is as grand, and grim, and full of chanted dirges from who knows where... And also just as many harried-looking young acolytes as in any other major Temple. One of these is flagged down, and Silmeria murmurs. "Have the pantry send Silmeria's tea service to the stacks, if you please? And you can have a cookie for yourself, if you like."

The acolyte is off with the speed of a young person promised a treat, and Silmeria chuckles in his wake, gesturing for Dolan to follow her down the maze-like corridors and hallways, hewn from the living white-speckled black rock.. "The Speakers, yes... I imagine every Temple has its orders and sects, specializing in one facet or another of your god's belief, yes? The Speakers for the Dead are... pretty much that, exactly. For whatever individual reason, we all believe that there is no more sacred means of service, than to ensure the dead rest quietly. No unfinished business, no loneliness or desperation, nothing that might generate the barest wisp of shade or revenant. Ordinarily, it's a small task, but... It's one we perform with our whole heart."

"Yeah." The harried rush of acolytes is nothing new to Dolan, and he unhesitatingly trails her inside. "Tea and cookies would be welcome, that's really nice of you." His errand for the moment forgotten, he trails the friendly speaker through the maze of corridors. "I've only been here a few times," he remarks, looking keenly around him. It is perhaps a curious quirk that he turns his whole head to look at things.

When Silmeria explains the purpose of the Speakers, he shakes his head. "That ain't a small task, Silmeria, and it ain't a joke. Don't sell yourself short. It's entirely too easy for something to not go to the Halls like it's supposed to." The lopsided grin he wears has faded. "And all nine Hells can break loose when something powerful doesn't go when it's supposed to." Something in his tone speaks from experience. "How do you stop it, though? Make sure it dies in peace?"

"Precisely," Silmeria says, grinning. "And when I call it a small task, I don't mean 'worthless.' Simply, oh... like sweeping a floor. If you do it properly, it's difficult to notice, but if you let it lie, all *sorts* of horrible things can move in."

Finally, she comes to a set of double-doors, than opens onto a grand library space; with elegantly-carved columns supporting a ceiling at least three stories above the floor. What of the stonework isn't carved in decorative patterns -- for whatever reason, tomato plants and skulls are among the recurring motifs -- is polished to a mirror shine, and gleaming under the faintly blue-white mage lights. Tucked out of the way among the stacks on the ground floor, a reading nook has been furnished with a tablecloth, a silver tea set, and a plate piled *high* with glazed cookies.

Cookies in the shape of skulls and bones, no less.

"As to the how... that's most of it, yes. Six days out of every seven, I'm usually running about the city. Executing wills, sitting deathwatch, that sort of thing. We may all die alone, in the end... But I find it does the greatest good, to hold their hand as they take the final step."

Dolan is only half-listening, looking around as he is at the incongruity of tomato plants and skulls as a motif for a Vardamen library. What a strange place, but - interesting. Life amid death.

When they reach the table, though, his expression changes yet again. He is nothing if not a lover of sweets, and so the sight of the pile of cookies is a welcome one. His eager look, though fades when he sees what the cookies are. He pulls with one hand the crossbow from his back, and the weapon belt from his waist, setting them down clear of the table. Interestingly, he does almost all of the work with his right hand, using the left only to guide and to steady. "Huh. I s'pose it's true what Papa says," he muses thoughtfully. "At days' end, we're all made of bones. Unless you're a worm. You make these yourself, or does the Temple serve this?"

From the look on the Speaker's face, she had been waiting to see Dolan's reaction to the cookies, and at the first she struggles to hold in her laughter. "There's a baker, down on Pollock Lane. I sat with his wife when she passed, and made sure her relations got exactly what she felt they deserved. He tithes these to the Temple, every week, in her honor. She had a wicked sense of humor in life, too."

Settling at the seat across from the Corona, she begins to pour the tea; wine-colored, fragrant and soothing, the steam curls up to fill the senses, and invites one to settle, relax, and be at peace. "I noticed you looking at the tomatoes," she says after a moment. "If I had to guess, I'd say the artisan that carved those was Cerenzan. Did you know that for the longest time in Myrddion, tomatoes were considered poison? It turns out they're sort of the 'white sheep' of the family of plants that produces nightshade, and it was believed to be just as deadly. So... May I ask, Corona, what brought you to our Temple in the first place? Most don't make the climb unless they have need... Which was probably among the reasons for the climb in the first place, really."

"S'posing she did," Dolan seats himself, having divested, and takes a cookie shaped like a bone, examining it up and down. "Mama used to say you are what you eat. Literally true," he chuckles, taking a bite out of one of the cookies, eyes widening in delight. "These are quite good," he says around a mouthful, leaning cautiously into the back of the chair. "Anyway - I was actually looking for Mourner Verna. She's a friend of mine, and I've got some news for her. She wasn't home, and the news won't keep." He sets the cookie remains down next to the teacup. "Thanks for the reminder." He's gone serious again. "Yeah, it makes sense. I don't come up this far unless I have to, though it's good for me."

At the name of Mourner Verna, Silmeria perks up, eyes widening a bit behind her spectacles. Then, she seems to play back the statement, and leans back in her chair with a quiet sigh. "...Ah. A message. Okay, that's... well, the last time I had to go looking for her... well. I would be *delighted* to pass it along, Corona, if it's not too sensitive. And believe me, making the walk gets *much* easier with practice."

For herself, she takes up an iced-sugar skull cookie, and delicately bites a chunk out of the top of the head. "Also, if you'd indulge me? I'd love to hear more about your order, Dolan, and how you came to serve in the first place."

"Oh, you know Verna? I s'pose you would, a lot of people do." Dolan takes a careful sip of the tea, inquiring at first and them with more appreciation. "It's - a bit sensitive?" He cradles the teacup in both hands, then sets it against the joint of his left shoulder, letting the warmth sit there. "Depends on how much you know about the werewolf pack that's been trying to infiltrate the city. We got one of them to spill on what they're up to."

At the question of his order, he quirks one of those self-deprecating grins again. "We do a lot of things," he explains. "The Coronae are about keeping corruption out of the ranks of the faithful. Fiends and other creatures would love nothing better than to subvert the church that keeps pulling their tails. Me - I focus on demons, devils, and their cults. Finding them and rooting them out. I got involved with the werewolf stuff, yeah, but - come to find out they're being driven by the schemes of a demon."

"I was here, when the Temple was attacked," Silmeria says, turning her teacup in her hands. "I was one of the interrogators, for the one we'd captured-- the one we'd almost managed to save, the poor man. And... I was the one who brought Mourner Verna back, when she was kidnapped. Specifically... it was my bullet that pierced her heart." This last, she admits with the face of one who still feels badly about it, no matter how speedy the resurrection. "...So while I wouldn't say I'm *deeply* involved, I definitely have a stake in seeing them put down."

As Dolan explains his order's business, the Speaker smiles, nodding in understanding. "As the corona comes out when darkness obscures the sun, yes. Quite poetic, and informative if one thinks about it. So... It's not simply the Nightmare's minions doing as they do, but better? That's... ..... ...Hm." Her brow furrows, as she brings her tea to her lips in thought. "...I can't actually say if that's better or worse. Probably worse."

"It's worse." There's no doubt in Dolan's words, but he's mostly intent. "Ah, so you've tangled with these bastards before. Wait - I think I remember that, and you. It's been a while, because I was there when she was resurrected after that." He narrows his flesh-and-blood eye at her, in the way of one trying to place a face. "Sorry, Silmeria, a lot of shit's happened since then." He sets down the teacup and picks up the remains of his cookie, finishing it off avidly. "So, we got someone to spill on the werewolves' leader and what they want, and who's funding them. Problem is, it's a fiend funding 'em, because they want to seize what the werewolves have summoned - specifically, an aspect of the Nightmare. Plus, their minions are harassing both my family and my intended's family, and my intended's mother is consorting with 'em."

"Merciful Lady," Silmeria says, tilting her head. "You really do burn bright when the darkness comes, don't you?" The plate of cookies is nudged ever-so-subtly toward Dolan, a silent invitation to eat his fill. "And no apologies necessary -- I forgot your name too, after all, a mistake I don't believe either of us will be like to repeat." This last, said with a small smile. "So. That... seems convoluted and insane enough a plan to have truly dire consequences should it succeed. And I *have* learned a few tricks for standing against fiends, so... I hope you'll call on me, should you have need of a field-sweeper?"

"Imagine a fiend powerful enough to command both demons and devils, with control of an aspect of the Nightmare, a wolf the size of a mountain. Yeah, I'd say the consequences are damned dire." Dolan seems quite inclined to eat his fill, but now regards the woman before him with great interest. "We'll need all the help we can get, once we flush these -" Again, he stops, looking embarrassed. "Sorry, my mouth gets ahead of me sometimes. Once we flush these fiends out of hiding. I've got a friend working on that, and I'm about to go after some of their funding. It's -" He lets out a sigh. "I'll be sure to let you know, yeah?"

At the apology, the Speaker chuckles. "Corona Dolan, I've dated a bard who was literally a sailor, I can assure you there's nothing you could say that I've not heard before, and louder."

Her smile fades a bit, as she considers the goal of this scheme. "...Dire indeed, yes. Well, do feel free to consider me a friend in arms. And occasional supplier of tea and cookies, I'm *always* happy to see a friend more than once."

Falling silent for a bit, Silmeria pauses to consider something. "...I know what I'm about to ask is deeply personal... But I am curious; why the service? Why Daeus, specifically?"

Dolan fairly lights up with affection as he speaks. "You should hear Andie." It's quite obvious that the man is smitten, just from those few words and the crook of a smile. "Her mouth'll take paint off a barn wall, but usually whatever she's cursing at deserves it." He reaches out for another cookie, and takes a bite out of the head of a sugar skull, chewing - probably to give himself time to think.

"Well, I was the second kid," he explains to start with. "I wasn't going to inherit the farm. That was Joffrey, and he's well suited to it. I can kill anything, especially if it's green and in the ground." That crook of a smile turns self-deprecating, but the mobile half of his face is frank and open, holding nothing back. "So I wanted to do something else. I went to school in Myrddion for a while - that's where I met Andie, and where I got started with a Corona's training. I really wanted to help the little guy, yeah? There's a lot of assholes out there. So that's what we did."

He sighs, and the hand holding the cookie drops into his lap, his gaze taking on the look of the thousand yard stare. "It's ... Andie and I got separated for a bit. I got caught sniffing around a demon cult and I was trying to lead them away from her, yeah?" He swallows hard. "Anyway. I damn near got sacrificed. Only reason I'm on this side of the grass is that a group of adventurers found me and broke in during the ceremony. The demon took out this." He gestures to where his right eye is replaced by that topaz gem in a ring, and stops, shuddering.

"I understand," Silmeria says, and there's just... something in the crushing sincerity of her voice, that lends the weight of certainty to her words. She *does* understand, and it's likely she's heard dozens of similar stories. But her smile stays, and she seems to know well enough to give Dolan time to find his way back from the past without pushing.

"I imagine that you joined the Explorers to give a bit of that back, and more forward? A good adventurer, so often, has changed lives for the better, just by being who they are."

"Yeah. Something like that." It takes Dolan a minute to pull himself out. It does. "I wanted to give that back. Help someone else. I didn't want to see anyone else suffer at the hands of a creature like that. That was where I found out that this shit plays for keeps, and there are bigger, badder things out there. If I can help stop even some of it-" It's clear the man is struggling now, but he draws in a deep breath, and exhales hard. "Shit. I'm sorry. Don't mean to dump on you. Anyway, yeah, that's about it. I do what I can to see that these fuckers ruin as few lives as possible."

"Corona Dolan," Silmeria says, her voice gentle and encouraging -- not unlike a big sister helping a younger brother up from a fall -- "You never need to apologize for being hurt like that, not to me. Not to a friend. Especially not one who's had to have these kinds of conversations with the families of people who weren't as tenacious as you, for all that they tried."

Sitting back, she pours Dolan a fresh cup of tea, then one for herself, and considers. "Your Andie, is she in the service as well? Or, a different Order?"

Silence is all that comes from the other side of the table for a moment, whole Dolan takes, and chews on, another bite of the sugar skull. He sets it down, then, and takes the tea in both hands, taking a deep sniff of it. This, somehow, seems to help steady him. "Thanks." It's heartfelt. "A lot of people don't handle that so well. I - can get lost, sometimes. I try not to. It scares people as ain't know me so well." He leaves it at that, for the moment.

"Andie's a Sunguard," he accepts the change in topic readily. "She's - learned a lot, I think. So've I. We're to be wed in the summer."

"*Congratulations,*" is the answer across the table, the Speaker clearly delighted to hear that. "Truly, and I hope yours is a long and happy life together."

Setting her cup down, she clasps her hands on the tabletop. "I suppose I should at least be fair, if only so you're not forced to do all the talking," she says with a quiet chuckle. "It was out of gratitude, that I entered the service. I was young, when we lost my mother to plague. My father -- bless him, truly -- was a fair hand with clockwork and gunsmithery, but not... particularly suited to life without her. The Vardaman priest who visited tried his best to help... oh, how he tried. And it helped *me,* but, not Father. For six years, he withdrew from the world, until it was simply too much effort for him to beat his heart. And certainly, I could have taken over his shop, but... I needed to do more. You know, that feeling where the logical just isn't *enough?* And the Mourner, oh, he was such a dear friend to me over the years. So, I tithed the shop to Vardama, took my vows, and started my training. I don't think I've set foot in Isobar since I was an acolyte myself, now I think about it."

"I have no doubt it will be. Thanks." Dolan's still lit up like a noble's party with sheer affection and joy as he speaks of Andelena.

That joy fades, though, as he listens to Silmeria's story. "It's about giving back, ain't it?" he asks, gentle in his turn, picking up his own cookie again. "Giving back to the people, to the deities who made a difference in your life. I'm sorry to hear about your parents, but - yeah. Doing what's logical ain't always enough. Sometimes, you've got to do what's right."

"And giving forward, so more people can know the kindness that changed your very being," Silmeria says, nodding slowly. "You get stronger, so you can protect the people like you were. Or, avenge them. Because nobody deserves to hurt like we did." The Speaker's voice is serene, her face still gentle and kind, but there's steel in her voice.

"That's why I joined the Speakers for the Dead. Because there are plenty of martial orders among the sworn of Vardama, but the Speakers? We trade in promises, to secure peace. And there is no other faithful alive that I know of, that will go to the lengths we do to fulfill our promises. Because the dead *must* reast peacefully."

"Because nobody deserves what these creatures do to the innocent," Dolan adds, nodding, some of Silmeria's steel reflected in his own voice. "You seek peace for the dead. I seek justice for the living. Pretty similar, in some ways, you ask me. Trading in promises. Setting things right. Not just taking out the bastards causing it, but making people's lives a little better along the way."

"Hear hear," Silmeria says, raising her teacup in salute. "To making lives better. And our own, if there's time." This last, said with a chuckle intended to wring any sourness away from the words. "Speaking of, have you set a date? Or, are plans simply proceeding?"

Dolan sets down the cookie, picks up and raises his teacup in salute in response, his grin crooked. "There's time, Silmeria. You make time for what's important, yeah?" He takes a long pull of his tea, then sets the cup down again. "Andie's having trouble with the celestial parts of the rites," he explains. "We think sometime in Aestry, when it stops raining so much. I'm still recovering from - things that happened." There's a topic, from the sudden heaviness in his tone. "We wanted to wait until she got the language right, and I was as healed as I'm going to get. I think we're about there."

It's different, from this side. The look that Silmeria gives to Dolan, an obvious echo of Dolan examining a plaintiff's testimony and soaking in all the little, unsaid things.

How similar, their training must have been.

"...Dolan," she says after a few beats. "I want to make you an offer. You don't have to answer now, and in fact you don't even have to answer at all. But... Think about it, is all. Part of my job, as I said, is grief-counseling. That's given me no few skills, for helping people in pain. So... if you need to talk to someone about what you're going through, and you don't want to burden the people you care about? Come here, and there'll be tea, cookies, and someone who understands, and *knows.*"

Startled, Dolan blinks. It's weird to watch only one eye blink in what is obviously not intended as a wink. It's an automatic reflex, sure, but he takes a moment to process that. His lips twitch in an attempt at a smile that falls flat. "Lot of people think they're ready for that, and they ain't," he answers in a low, serious tone, after surveying her for a minute or more in silence. "You ever dealt with someone who's been tortured?" he asks finally.

"I have," Silmeria says, her voice just above a whisper. "I have held the hands of torture victims too far gone to save, Dolan, and heard their stories. And everyone -- *everyone* -- who passes into my care, leaves this world my friend."

Six days a week, all over the city, sitting deathwatch. Spending time with the dying, knowing when she leaves a house, she'll have lost a friend.

And this is the measure of her gratitute to the Lady of Death.

Dolan's quiet gaze stays on Silmeria, for a long moment. "I ain't quite that bad. It was pretty close, but I had a damn good healer. I'm - mostly okay. I can still fight. Guess that's what's important, yeah?" His lips twitch, just a little. "You've got a rough job, Silmeria. Don't envy you. I'm sure you've got quite a lot of stories."

"I do," the blond agrees, bobbing her head. "But I do it for love. Love of Her, and love of the people so terrified to meet Her. But that's not what's important; what's important is, you're healed enough to keep seeking a life with your Andie. You have something to fight *for,* and something to *survive* the fight for."

"Yeah. The question right now is how long I'm going to be able to fight." The words slip out, despite Dolan's best efforts. "We're still figuring that out. I'm sure as sunrise going to fight as long as I can." He's set down both tea and cookies, and unconsciously rubs at the muscles of his left arm, below the breastplate and just below the shoulder joint. "Some days are better than others."

"Better to be old than not," Silmeria points out, gently. "But I have a feeling you'll be able to fight as long as you need to. As long as you ask *Him* to help you. And that when youre done, He'll be glad to see you teach the next generation of Corona."

"Oh, He does, Silmeria. He does. Every damned day. He gives me what I need to help other people, too. Guess you could say I've taken up helping other people in my shoes, yeah? Too damned many of 'em. Because this is the kind of shit demons - and vampires - and other evil creatures - do to people. A lot of people don't get it, where these people are after a demon or a devil or something evil gets through with them. Even if they're physically healed. That's the easy part. There's some stuff as ain't go away so easy."

"Some things never truly go away," the blond says, nodding slowly. "Sometimes we can't heal someone completely. But we can teach them how to keep the pain from swallowing them, until it's scarred over and recedes enough to just... be part of the noise of being alive."

That one is a tough one. "Yeah. I - can use it, though. Sometimes it helps me shake it off. Focus. Push away the ghosts. Because it's here, and I'm here, and the ghosts aren't. I know that sounds weird." Dolan reaches for the rest of his cookie again, and finishes it off almost savagely.

At this, Silmeria lifts a shoulder. "If it's weird but it works," she says, tipping her teacup at him, "then it's not weird."

"S'pose I ought to ask," Dolan says after a moment, crunching the last of the cookie and taking a sip from his tea. "If I'm going to call on you for help tackling these werewolves, and the fiends when they show up. What's your fighting style, if you have to fight? You work more with spells or weapons?"

"Bit of both," Silmeria says after a moment's thought. "Most of my magics are tactical, rather than war-magery. But I've done some cross-training with the Mourners, and... well, if your fiends like to call in hordes of fodder from the Hells, that's where I *know* I'll always be useful."

Dolan listens, cataloguing the information. "Tactical magic is damned useful," he agrees. "War magery does a lot of collateral damage, from what I've seen. You ever faced a foe you can't see? V likes to use shadow demons. We might be fighting blind. I'm used to it, I had Master Zein train me to fight totally blind. Sure you guessed, but without the gem, I'm blind on my right. In an anti-magic field, it won't work."

"I don't like to," Silmeria admits, "waving guns about in the dark is a good way to lose a friend. I've not had the training for a proper blind-fight, but, if it's too dangerous to go on the attack, I can find other ways to be useful. If naught else, anything that'll try to take advantage of the dark will find me... less than helpless. Another trick I've learned; I don't just have to call down Her light to empower *myself.*"

"Banishing darkness is useful, if you can do that." Dolan eyes the plate of cookies, dunking this one in his tea and leaving it there. "So's anything that gives us an advantage. Not everything they've got is a shadow, though. Prepare for silver, and for both demons and devils. Cold iron works against demons but not devils, and it ain't always easy to tell which if you haven't studied. Aligning your weapon works either way. You say you wield firearms?" Now that's interesting. "Got a friend who does the same."

"I consider it something of an act of worship," Silmeria admits, cheeks flushing. "Perhaps one day if you ask, I'll give you the speech, but I promise it makes sense. Anyway, yes. Pistol and shield, because it's just *silly* not to have the spare protection if you can have it. Silver I have, aligning weapons is fairly simple, and Mori, well. He enforces his own innate order on things he shoots. Just, if I talk to my gun, don't be surprised if it talks back."

Rather than surprise or confusion, Dolan merely throws his head back. "Oh no. Yours talks too? Andie's longsword is like that. It's like having two mothers-in-law. One's a crazy, demon-loving bitch, and the other is a sword." Still chuckling, he retrieves his cookie from the tea and bites down into the softened cookie. "Mmmmph," he says around it, swallows the bite, and nods down at the cookie. "That's good."

"So, I'm a swordsman," he explains. "It's part of my training, it's His weapon. I prefer the greatsword for a lot of things, unless it's about His justice, or my shoulder won't stay put enough for me to wield it. I won't carry it if it won't hold, yeah?"

"I've always been convinced that a good backup is worth more than a month's training with your favorite," Silmeria says, nodding sharply. "I keep meaning to find a better version of my Lady's preferred blade, but the one I still have to this day will suffice. But... yes, my gun talks. I'm still not sure *why,* because he certainly doesn't use my father's voice. But, he does speak, and he's very interesting in ensuring my Lady's will be done."

"I haven't any idea, either," Dolan shrugs expressively, popping the rest of the cookie in his mouth and following it with tea. "These are excellent, but I'd better stop, or I'll go to seed," he observes with a bark of a laugh. "I just know that some weapons do. I'm no mage, and I couldn't tell you why. It argue with you like Andie's does with her?"

"I imagine it would, should I be forced to choose between shooting a lich in the face and saving a life. But, our purposes have been in alignment for long enough that I consider him a friend. Also it's very helpful for investigations, when your companion has perfect recall when asked." Silmeria chuckles. "The acolytes'll be pleased to hear that too, Dolan; they'll benefit from your willpower."

"They're also children. I ate anything I wanted as an acolyte," Dolan points out, grinning in a way that even touches, tugs at, the acid scars on the right side of his face. "Perfect recall. You don't have to take notes. That's damned useful." He finishes the tea, and sets the cup down. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, Silmeria, and-" He hesitates. " I won't forget what you said." That's serious. "If I need to talk, I'll keep that in mind. I talk to Zeke, but the lizards think so differently, they don't always get it, yeah?"

"It truly has been a pleasure to meet you, Dolan. I'll let Mourner Verna know you need to speak with her, should I see her first." Slipping out of her chair, she extends a hand. "Whether you need to talk or no, you'll always be welcome, even if you just want tea and a chat."

Dolan similarly rises from his chair, and takes the hand, shaking it. "That goes for you too. If it ever gets to be too much. If you just need someone who's not in the Harpist's service to vent at, look me up, yeah? I've got two working ears and a working brain. Everybody needs to talk sometimes. I'll try to find her, but if you see her first, tell her I'm looking for her?"

Once the shake is complete, he re-arms and slings the crossbow back over his back.

"Should I have the need, I'll be sure to seek you out," Silmeria says, bobbing her head. "Or don't be surprised if I make a social call on my way back from my rounds! If I'm to be honest, that's when I'm most likely to want to talk to a living friend anyway, so..." Shrugging, the Speaker watches Dolan re-arm with all the amusement of someone who doesn't have to do the same, *just this moment.*

"You're always welcome," Dolan answers easily, finishing the last buckle. "Be pleased to have you, although I won't have cookies quite like those." Once done, he straightens up. "I'm afraid I'll need your guidance to get out," he starts, glancing at the pile of cookies one last time but turning away.

"Right this way," Silmeria says, and leads the Corona through the warren of Vardama's temple, humming an upbeat tune when idle chatter takes its breather.