[Flashback] Insight into the Divine (Arenvel/open)

[Adavi Brevissima]

8th of Winter 511AV

The temple of Viratas, its silent halls draped in gossamer black cloth like a deathly veil. Twisting and twining were the passageways in an erratic maze but, each converging in semblance of living veins unto its heart; the blood pool of Viratas.

Symenestra had a love of dark beauty and their temple was no different. Majestic and cloaked in a darkness that had somehow become so misunderstood yet exactly what it seemed. The temple was a sanctuary for those seeking guidance from their ancestors, but it was also undeniably a tomb on display. The dead enveloped within each silken hallway to bear witness for eternity upon the mortal shadows who walked within.

With respectful curiosity Adavi slowly traced one of the many prayers carved upon the blood pool’s foundation stones. It was strange, these stones, so different than the rest of Kalinor, so old and rough he could feel them scrap along the tip of his finger. Such an unexpected choice to hold that which was sacred above all else. Like their art Symenestra seemingly accepted their darker necessities, weaving its deadly illusions into a new identity, but this, there was no falseness in these stones, no glorification of murder. The heart of Viratas was an authenticity to former struggles, during the times when Symenestra had challenged that which they knew was wrong instead of accepting it in beaten servitude.

With the passing of this blood may it serve the life of another

Adavi continued to delicately trace the blackened stone. It was an old prayer, one of the first commonly taught to children, usually said after a successful hunt, or sometimes even before consuming meat. It was a prayer of thanks and acknowledgement of sacrifice for another’s benefit, but now, as he’d grown older, was there a more sinister meaning hidden within such familiar words?…. Was this…. Had this, been his mother’s last prayer before he’d destroyed her from the inside out? Was she here now, watching like all the others? Was this where his father went to while away the hours instead of caring for his family?

Perhaps. Adavi didn’t know, but that wasn’t what had brought him here. He didn’t need answers for his father’s behavior. He wanted ones far more complicated than that.

Kneeling before the fountain the young man reverently brushed his lips against the chiseled stone before rising; his eyes uncertain as they pondered the bloody waters.

[Arenvel]

A pale-white hand pressed against her silky tomb. Mother's body, well preserved for these long years, appeared to tilt her head up in a pleasant smile, black fingernails entertwined atop her stomach. It was as if she was proud of the monsters she had bore, the monsters that ate her from the inside. The candlelight sent the shadows spinning in a romantic dance into the looming dark. Arenvel brought a fist to his lips. The kiss he planted there grew with the patient prayer he whispered to Viratas. Let her sacrifice be not in vain. Hers had been the first given for him and he would spend his entire life searching for a way to earn it. It was only a short time away. The Harvesters would be sent from Kalinor with the well-wishes of their families. They’d exchange hugs and kisses and tie ribbons to the first born’s arms. No one would say it, but the possibility that this might be the last embrace exchanged between the entirety of the web hung in the air like a plump raincloud full to bursting. Only this sending would be Delyvir’s first, the first time the twins would be separated. Bessany would complete his part in the ceremony by tying her ribbon to his brother, pinning their future hopes to his gentle grasp. Another bright red bow around Delyvir’s capable arms, a memento he would take with him as he fulfilled his duty to the web. So why did Arenvel feel such jealousy? Viratas had been kind to make him the second born, but he longed to take on his brother’s mantle. To fulfill his own wife’s needs, to repay the debt he owed to his mother, to honor his father. And in the darkest corner of his mind, to be the better man for once. ‘Forgive me, lord. Purify the cry of my blood so that it can be holy,’ Arenvel thought as he pressed the tips of his fingers against his mothers silky coffin, ‘let this blood that flows through me, her blood, let it sing her blessings. And take this hateful sin from me.’ He kneeled as he finished the prayer, the stonework labyrinth of the temple of Viratas sending an icy chill in answer through the thin cloth of his clerical vestments. The priestly white robes he wore at each service he performed, soft blues and reds of a long stole hung over the black silk shirt. Each end of the stole decorated with a gold filigree embroidered with prayers and tassels. It seemed appropriate when pleading with his mother for guidance. “Goodbye, mother.” Tears moistened ashen skin as Arenvel blessed himself and took his leave. The cloying smell of scented oils clung in his nostrils. It helped to mask the slowly decaying smell of the ancient dead, but was murder on his nostalgia. The intricate mix of bitter-sweet and death made the trek back through the maze one of deep reflection. It was not uncommon to happen across lost souls in the catacombs who were overwhelmed with the powerful loss of a loved one. All lost loved ones felt wasted to a Symenestra, it was good to remember the sacrifice. It was good to remember the pain. At the entrance, Arenvel found the font of blood surrounded by darkened stones, each one conveying a prayer to Viratas. Convinced that he needed to make an offering, the vested second born approached the holy relic toying with thoughts of repentance. But as he approached he found it occupied, a man kneeling at the waters edge and pressing his lips to the prayer stone. “Is there room enough for two, brother?” Arenvel asked, folding long arms into opposing sleeves.

[Adavi Brevissima]

Adavi started at the strangers words.The boy's attention had been focused inward leaving him unaware of the mans approach.

"Uh, yeah." He murmured embarrassed at being caught during such a personal moment. Brushing a strand of black hair behind his ear Adavi moved to the side allowing the older man full view of the blood pool.

"I don't come here very often,"The young man began to rambled, as if trying to defend himself against some unknown accusation. "But since I'll be leaving soon, I thought, it'd be only right if I-" Adavi silenced himself, his eyes focusing upon the man in front of him.
Arenvel, that was his name. Adavi had heard of him. He was one of the Arnoldii twins. He owned a sewing shop, and the young man remembered going into it once. Arenvel, Adavi recalled, was also the topic of many an odd rumor; whispers about him and his strange fascination with masks, that he could do things, abnormal things, that he could steal your face... but there were rumors about everyone in Kalinor, and Advai had learned to take each with a grain of salt. He sometimes wondered what people said about him, if they said anything at all. He hoped it was something cool, or at least not overly embarrassing.

A number of awkward seconds pasted as Adavi stared somewhere to the left of Arenvel's foot. The boy's mind bouncing between fantasized portrayals and how
to excuse himself without seeming rude. The eyes of the dead left an uncomfortable prickling over his skin and Adavi didn't wish to stay any longer then necessary.

He'd come here for answers, and while some would advise prayer and meditation, the boy longed for conversation with a more tangible entity. Glanced up, Adavi's eyes gazed past the shifting black curtains to the halls within.

There were always a number of priest around, it shouldn't take long to find one, but; the young man gave a contemplative look back towards Arenvel. Perhaps he'd already found his priest, after all, didn't most second sons take up a religious mantel?

"I'm looking for a priest." Adavi asked, his voice remaining soft out of respect, but no longer seeming rushed and awkward. "I have some questions...You're the second son of Arnoldii aren't you. Are you also a priest?

[Arenvel]

Arenvel gave the boy a listless smile and bent at the knee in prayer. It was becoming tougher to tighten the noose at the neck of his dreary emotions, but he did so with respect for the eerie quiet in the hall of the dead. He would provided no honor for his ancestors for continuing on this way. This was no longer the time of mourning, and certainly not in public. The pool of crimson seemed to shift at his presence, a thin sheen of light changing as his reflection neared. Though he heard the pleas of a desperate kinsman at his side, Arenvel Arnoldii was negligent to show it. Instead, long slender arms recoiled from their sling between sleeves, pressing obsidian claws to the cleft of his lips. A gesture to Viratas at the completion of a solemn benediction. He stretched out his left hand over the round pond, mouthing the words of prayer that Adavi had so recently kissed. Upon its completion, Arenvel drew a forefinger against a thick line at the inside of his hand. The razor sharp talon easily separated the supple flesh of his palm like the crest of a ship as it pushed through murky waters. A trickle of his blood sent a rapid ripple through the font, entirely encompassing their reflections in the pool. Drip. Drip. Drip. Pressing a simple cloth into the wound, he clenched his opened hand to clot the blood. Now with the ritual completed Arenvel could address the question properly. He turned to face the boy. He was young, no older than Arenvel when he first took on the mantle as Spiritual Advisor for the Arnoldii web. A grave decision loomed in the boys future, something he surmised was playing at the boys thoughts as he knit skinny brows together in uncertainty. Could this be the reason for the unusual request? Wasn’t it the job of the second born to impart this knowledge on the young? Perhaps the boy’s meditation on the sacrifice of blood had more to do with a future event rather than a spiritual one. “It is kind of you to recognize me,” Arenvel said at last, the hint of a smirk playing at his thin lips as he courteously extended his uninjured hand, “though I confess, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.” Whether or not the boy accepted his hand and offered a name, Arenvel would continue on without much recognition of propriety. In the sheepish days of his youth, the Symenestra had never quite gotten the hang of social expectations, something Bessany was often chastising him for. He was always trailing behind his brother in those days, like the wind would lift Delyvir up and hold Arenvel aside. He finally indulged the boy’s request, gifting his attention with intent to spread the righteous word of their shared lord. “I have performed many rituals for our web, though in truth, I am but a student of Viratas. And saying so, I am not a priest. However, should you voice your questions in the open, let us make them our questions and we can ask them together.”

[Adavi Brevissima]

Adavi watched, his skin prickling as Arenvel continued his private ritual. There was power here, in this solemn place and Adavi could feel it pass over him just as Arenvel's blood rippled the pool's glassy surface. It was a brief but, undeniable contact, a reminder that there were things much older and wiser then himself in the word. A fact Adavi so often forgot, but faced with such a reminder the young man wondered if he should even voice his questions at all. If he, a mortal, and a young one at that, should dare question a god, and the ruling of its servants. The last time he'd followed his prideful nature it'd almost cost him something irreplaceable, was that what he was doing now? Did his questions stem from the thorns of pride? From a desire to create a self important destiny? To be special? Or were they truly questions of a devoted hoping to set a troubled mind at ease? Adavi would like to think so, but in the end he wasn't so sure. Perhaps with Arenvel's help Adavi would be able to uncover the exact nature behind his thoughts, and then his path would be made clear.

Realizing that the older man had finished his ritual Adavi's gaze glided from the silent blood pool to steady upon his elder's face.

"Adavi." He said his had slipping smoothing into Arenvel's before clasping it respectfully in greeting. Unlike the other races Symenestra rarely shake, such a movement is far to jarring and sudden; uncomfortable for the more fragile of their race. Adavi had never experienced such a thing, but his body while obviously Symenestra had always tended towards the bulkier side of their fair people.

"Adavi, Bervissima." The young man added, removing his hand in the same grace as it'd been given.The boy had hesitated in giving his last name, fearing that his family's reputation would discredit his questions before they were even heard. Another flight of fancy, another Brevissima playing with things that he had no business with, a dreamer, a foolish philosopher... Adavi's face tightened in annoyance as these thoughts bubbled up unwanted from their murky cell. He would not be cowed by the whispers of others, his thoughts, his desires were not stupid and stuff of dreams. They were important even if no one else believed so. Others weren't expected to walk through life accepting everything without question, so why should he? Why were his thoughts worth so much less then others of his age, and why were they looked upon with such criticism? Was it simply because of his last name? Or could it possibly be true that he was just as everyone seemed believe, a foolish philosopher?

Adavi could feel his violet rimed gold eyes hardening as they stared into Arenvel's. A challenge radiating from their metallic depths, daring the older man to see past the rumors and behold Adavi for what he truly was. A student hoping to learn, to understand not a miscreant hoping to create strife.

A moment passed in which Arenvel continued his introduction, before Adavi allowed his face to relax, his eyes to soften and lips curve upon the verge of an inviting smile.

Maybe he'd been wrong, maybe in his fear of the older man's dismissal he'd been the one to make inaccurate assumptions. Maybe Arenvel was someone who could help him. Maybe he was just the person Adavi had been looking for. The boy wanted to believe this, wanted to trust the older man with his questions. Adavi wasn't sure if he liked Arenvel but, the man had been honest with him, not trying to hide or make himself out to be more then what he was. Adavi respected that. While the illusions of the Symenestra where to be admired he'd always preferred their more honest aspics.

The boy allowed himself a small smile of gratitude towards Arenvel before asking his question.

"Do you believe that Viratas approves of the use of surrogates?"

Adavi wrestled with his expression while waiting for Arevel's answer, trying to dim the gleam of hopeful curiosity and replace it with the calm respect of maturity.