[The Temple of All Gods] Storms and Clear Skies

[Gromhir]

61st of Winter 509 AV

Closed

It seemed to go without saying that life in Syliras was far from what they were used to. It was almost the complete opposite of Mura in many ways. Where Mura was quiet, serene and relaxed, Syliras was a bustling hive of noisy activity. People scurried along the streets during the day, never staying in one place for too long. Always moving, always working. They never stopped in one place to admire the scenery, to appreciate what they had. While people didn’t really bother the pair too much, there were those that noticed the Konti.

Kamalia was a beautiful woman. Her looks gave the tales of the white women substance and it was clearly not lost on the humans. While Gromhir had been with her, he’d caught more than one male staring at her. Most were kind enough to keep their distance and their mouths shut. But not all were like that. Some were just crude; others had just the right amount of alcohol in their system to shout something. But one had gone too far. Mere minutes ago, one had grabbed his bondmate. He had regretted it the moment he did. Despite Kamalia warning him, he’d transformed into his feral form and knocked the man aside.

As they finally reached the open doors of the Temple, Gromhir was still furious and angry. He had been far more irritable since being in the city. The crowds, the people, the emotions, they were getting to him. He had been in cities before. But never for this long and never with a companion he cared for. He was worried for her safety and it was trying the Ivaski’s usually calm temperament. He had not seen the wilds in days but he didn’t want to leave Kamalia alone here yet.

The Kelvic had only ever been in one other temple. That was the one in Mura. Any time he had entered there, it had always calmed him. The storm in his mind was always quieted there no matter how fearsome. But now, nothing changed. As they walked into the temple, it’s ceiling standing high overhead as the sun blazed colourful patterns over the pews and stone through the windows, Gromhir could feel no difference.

The temple was not busy as people were still going about their morning business. But there were people muttered prayers or sitting in silent reveries to their chosen god. Gromhir’s enhanced ears could pick up each breath taken in the temple, the scent of burning candles and incense but none of it served to quiet his mind.

[Kamalia Timandre]

It was said that the citadel of Syliras was the calm amidst the storm, but the konti maiden thought otherwise. Many days had already passed since she and her companions sailed away from their fey homeland, the White Isle, and arrived at this cultural melting pot of humanity. Kamalia had read a great deal about humanfolk and the stunning civilization they had carved out of the Valterrian’s aftermath, but the city of Syliras was not in any way “a stronghold of peace” as her books had described it. Far from it! Everywhere there was a storm, everywhere there was disturbance, and everywhere there was noise. Kamalia struggled to find peace here for days and sooner realized that peace was fragile in a bustling city that reeked with humans. Those strange humans, males and females alike, gawked at her expectantly like she was suddenly going to grow sunflowers on her head or pull rainbows from her nostrils. Once she had envied these restless, ephemeral humans. Her books were rich with the accounts of their determination and their adventures, and the prospect of mingling with them once enticed her like an akvatari song, but now she was beginning to dislike every waking moment she spent in the city of man. Just a few bells ago, one idiot human male dared to grab her by the wrist, and had the gut to call her “white harlot”. Thank Gromhir for his interference, the konti mage could have done something far worse to the hapless knave—with magic, no less. It was mildly disturbing to imagine that this was the humans’ daily fare. Although she took comfort in the reassuring company of her kelvic friend, Kamalia found herself yearning for quietude, hungering for the peace and silence Mura once offered. This she could no longer have, for the White Isle was now but a beautiful dream far away. So the pair searched for a small sanctuary, a little Mura—or perhaps close to it—in the roiling, swirling chaos that was the City of Syliras. Kamalia had read about the fabled Temple of All Gods, too. It was the gift of the Dyres family to those who sought solace and comfort in their faith. Could Avalis also hear her prayers here? The konti seer mused as she gaped at the majesty of the temple—high ceilings, marvelous artistry and stonework and enormous pews made of giant sorrow oak. It was, by far, larger than any cathedral she had visited, much larger than the Opal Temple in Mura. Kamalia pulled the hood of her cloak away from her head, locks of silvery hair shimmered down her lean shoulders. It was quiet inside the temple, but even within its sacred walls, Kamalia found no peace. The violet eyes once vibrant with the love of adventure had lost their light, and Gromhir would feel that the konti-girl felt tired. She was tired of thinking, of dreaming how it felt like to be home once again, of searching for a place she could truly call home in a land so foreign. Kamalia stared absentmindedly at one of the stain glasses; the muted rays casting lacy silhouettes upon her alabaster skin. “I would like to sit down for a moment,” she said resignedly to Gromhir.

[Gromhir]

Gromhir looked around the cathedral. The building was huge; large enough to house several of Mizahar’s largest creatures rather comfortably but why did it feel so small and fragile? It wasn’t until Kamalia spoke to him that he realised how she felt in all this.

Gromhir’s features softened almost instantly. The feral creature that raged inside him was quelled by his need to care for his bondmate. Kamalia could feel an instant change in the Kelvic the moment her violet eyes met his. He never uttered a word; he merely placed a gentle hand around her waist and led her to a nearby pew. His touch was soft, light and caring. It was such a simple confident gesture to led her to a seat but the action alone spoke of how much he cared for his bondmate.

Once she was seated, Gromhir vanished from her side but for a few moments. He returned with a plain, wooden cup of water. Kneeling by her, he held it out in front of her. “My apologies,” He spoke softly and quietly out of respect for the others. “I was angry and didn’t notice your trouble.” He was angry now, but at himself for not realising sooner.

Once she had taken the water, Gromhir spoke again. “I am restless. I will take a look around. Use the bond if you need me, I will come.” True to his word, Gromhir left her side and began to wander around. His gaze fell on each of the stained glass windows. Each one depicted a god of some form but to Gromhir they were just strange images. He knew what they were meant to portray but how did religion work? Why were Gods not touched by nature? These questions seemed to contradict what he knew of the world and it was hard for him to accept that fact.

[Kamalia Timandre]

The konti maiden felt—rather than saw—the instant change in Gromhir’s heart as if it had been a fiercely-burning ember dying abruptly after being plunged into a pail of snow. The suddenness of it finally stole Kamalia’s blank expression, causing her to stare at Gromhir with tired, worried eyes. Her feet felt worn, and her legs quivered in exhaustion, but the male slipped a steadying arm around her waist and everything felt right once again. Kamalia managed a grateful nod and allowed Gromhir to lead her to a nearby pew, slogging along steadily. The moment she seated, Kamalia heaved a sigh of relief and began massaging her aching knees. She had not realized how exhausted she was. Her lips were parched and her skin felt rather dry, for unlike the partly-submerged city of Mura, the stone fortress city of Syliras did not provide the luxury of being perched between land and sea. Laviku’s daughter found herself pining for quietude beneath the waves. Kamalia lifted her eyes when Gromhir offered her a cup of water. The water beckoned her, and she pried it off him with cupped hands, the vessel nestling fitly within her white palms. Kamalia drank in small sips, eyes closed, and the warm liquid somehow soothed the aching unease that swelled within her chest and throat. Kamalia managed another thankful nod and a weak smile in reply to her bondmate’s apology. Apology? What was he apologizing for, anyway? For long moments, the konti girl was content to sit, idly skimming the rim of the wooden cup with a slender finger. It was almost hilarious, Kamalia marveled, that the strange turns of their journey utterly reversed their roles. Not long ago, she had looked to the sea beyond the Konti Isle for adventure, promising Gromhir that she will take care of him. How narrow that ambition seemed now that she could see the wonders of Syliras, walk among the humanfolk, and meet strangers from all the corners of Mizahar. Kamalia mused until her restless kelvic friend announced he was going for a walk around in the temple. With what seemed to be a spark of child-like fascination, his azure eyes fell upon the stained glass windows where golden sunlight filtered through. Understanding came to Kamalia quickly, and after taking out a small harp from her bag, she followed Gromhir, her soft footfalls echoing through the vast cathedral hall. The konti-girl stood beside him, at loss for words to say even as she longed to explain to him how concepts such as nature, faith and religion worked. What were gods? What did she truly know of gods? Her books were rife with ancient feuds and divine rivalries of cataclysmic proportions, of darkened romances and the tragic love story that scorched the face of the world forever. Entire races sprawled from godly unions, and the konti women were among them. When she was only a small child, Kamalia had heard Avalis’ name all her life, but the All-Seeing Mother had never been real to her. Receiving her first mark and visions through divination had changed that, instantly and dramatically. The moment she pleaded for a vision, she called upon Avalis and the goddess had answered. From her earliest years, Kamalia walked alone and she knew it, and then suddenly, she had the ear of a goddess! A silence between Kamalia and Gromhir stretched until the stillness became too great to bear. The konti-girl closed her eyes, envisioning the crescent white isle beyond the gulf of Vaska, the gleaming silver shores and the fey beauty of her ancestral home. She imagined being in the Opal Temple once again, and instinctively, her graceful fingers began strumming the silvery strings of her harp. Perhaps she needed not to say anything. Gromhir only had to read her heart, listen to her song and understand. So Kamalia sang a prayer to all gods and with a song, she tuned out the strident, turbulent storm that raged and thundered around them for days. “By the light of the sun, your word abounds, A miracle is brought to pass — pure water. A teardrop, peace, light, love, music. The fruit of the fields breathes ripeness and freedom. The wind of blessing blows across the world. All is filled with thanksgiving. Storm and bedlam and darkness at last Turn to the light of the sun and joy of a warm day. O gods, thank you for your wondrous works.”

[Gromhir]

Kamalia was not the only one that had read her books. To Gromhir, the stories told were no different than what those of the human’s themselves did. Only, these tales were set in the stars and across the world. Gods held powers far greater than any man could ever wield and that in itself seemed wrong. But all he had read of these creatures, these beings, was conflict. Why would one pray and dote on greater creatures that seemed to do nothing more than fight?

Gromhir had known she was following him but hadn’t really taken note until her white hands began to dance over the strings of the small harp. The tiny instrument produced a sound that filled every corner of the Temple as she sang the song of the Opal Temple, of their White Isle. Gromhir turned to look at his bondmate, wondering why she was disturbing the peace by playing but after a few moments, he began to understand. Gromhir could feel his frustrations begin to melt away as the soft sounds worked their way through his body.

Kontinese was a language as fey and mysterious as the owmen who used it. As Kamalia’s words rang out amongst the temple, Gromhir knew that many, if not all, would not understand the words. Kamalia’s voice brought the attention of every being inside the church. Be they man, woman or child, clergy or congregation, all eyes turned to the white maiden as she sang a song of joy. A song of the Gods and they’re glory.

She had once told him that many things that could not be said in words alone could always be portrayed in music. Emotions that one never knew they possessed could be spoken of like they were old friends. Gromhir was never sure what to think when she told him that but her songs her voice was beautiful. It was true beauty that Gromhir understood. It was more precious than any new sunrise and sweeter than the sound of any the birds. Whether she knew what she doing or not, Kamalia was claming and teaching the Kelvic at the same time. As for that brief moment, the only thing that mattered was Kamalia and her music. Nothing else in the world mattered to him, not the small crowd quietly gathered, not the humans outside these holy walls, just her.

But Gromhir understood. Conflict was rife in any society, especially those who did not belong on this plane of existence. But Gods showed compassion, mercy and kindness. They bestowed their followers with their gifts in return for their devotion. While a God could change Nature’s course and alter its paths, they worked with it, not against it. Gods were as much a part of Nature as he was. Nature would test people’s faith in God by striking the land with blight only to have those devote enough show themselves to help the land.

As the song came to a close, there was a silent appreciation amongst all those present. As those same people returned to their tasks at hand, each one felt blessed to have heard the song, Gromhir included. He knew she did not need to hear the words as she could how thankful he was for her but he spoke them anyway. “Thank you, Kamalia,” he whispered, gesturing to nearby pew, worried for her despite her show of strong and faith. “That was…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence, words escaped him.

[Gossamer]

"Beautiful. A fitting tribute to Sylir and his brethren."

The voice was deeply male and resonated with a peaceful inflection that went beyond that of a normal priest or even a mortal. And while the Konti might have been surrounded with inner turmoil, the temple itself and indeed even the song she just sang was truly infused with peace.

The man stepped forward. He looked older, pushing his late forties even though he had an intensity to his eyes that belied that of a younger man. Human, definitely, though with a strength he wore like an aura. His clothing was plainspun and draped him as only a simple robe could. It was belted with a strong silken rope at his waist, while his feet were shod only in kidskin half-boots. The man looked unpretentious and interested. Interested was a key word, for his whole expression seemed somehow curious as to Kamalia and Gromhirs presence.

"Greetings gentle lady. Are you here on your Call? It's a shame your song fell on a nearly empty temple. When there are services, you'd have decidedly moved most of the patrons to tears." He said quietly in Kontinese, and then glanced at the pale-haired man beside her. "Kelvic? And bonded too. I can see that clearly. And thirsty too, both of you... with a bond that is not quite open enough to hear each others thoughts clearly. I can help you with that though, and with something surely to drink. I have a sitting room a few steps off the main temple if you'd like to join me there. There's refreshing fruit juice, a rarity this time of year." He asked, and then reached forward as if offering Kamalia his hand. Surprisingly, the second one extended to Gromhir.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Light after dark, calm after turmoil, hope after despair. It was a time for change, a time for renewal. The squalls and storms that perturbed her mind slowly receded and the cloud of fears and uncertainties gradually dispersed, cast into the winds by the siren song. For a moment, Kamalia missed the Konti Isle. She missed its silver sands and its gilded sea, and the familiar serenity she had known back then when she could still proudly say that the White Isle was her home. It no longer was. She was no longer part of it—no longer part of the poignant dream that was the Konti Isle, and perhaps no longer part of her people.

The last heartrending glimpses of Mura still clung to her mind like a faulty painting. The slight pang of homesickness, a faint stab of realization that she would never again sing this song in the Opal Temple’s halls pierced her grieving heart.

At last the song ended. Nothing that painful and nostalgic could last forever. Mura was a dream so far away now, and the reality of life returned to her with the force of a dagger’s thrust. Eyes closed still, the wistful girl silently whispered a thankful prayer to Avalis. Did the mother goddess find it in her heart to forgive her? Did she still hear her prayers after all the sins her daughter had committed?

Opening her eyes, she heaved a sigh. She wanted answers too, yet tried as she might, she found none. It troubled the young konti as she realized, suddenly and forcefully, that her faith was all she had now. It was the only thing that made her konti. Yes, perhaps she could join these short-lived, ephemeral humans. Perhaps she could even worship another god, but oh, at the cost of her identity. Her home, her faith and her Sight were what shaped her being. They were her passion and heritage. They flowed through her blood; they shaped her every plan and act. With them, she was konti. Without them, what would she be?

She lifted tired eyes to Gromhir and forced a resigned smile. Perhaps fate was not too unkind, after all. Whatever path the gods would limn for her, Kamalia knew she would not be alone.

And then came a voice, so deep and peaceful, that sounded not quite human. Her seer senses tingled, and Kamalia turned to face the male who spoke in Kontinese. For a while, only stunned silence met his words. The konti maiden wished she could lie and say she was on her Call; she was not. Kamalia was in Syliras out of necessity, not because she wanted to. She had become the most shameful thing a konti feared to become: an exile. An outsider.

A monstrosity.

His words about her arcane bond with Gromhir puzzled her and made her ponder too. Yet there was an energy, a great wisdom, and a peaceful air about the man that enticed Kamalia to take the his offered hand with little hesitation. “Thank you,” the girl nodded weakly.

[Gromhir]

Gromhir was surprised by the voice yet unsurprised at the same time. He knew of the draw of Konti woman and the effect they had upon men. They were mysterious, fey and beautiful creatures. Of course, he had no need to hear that from the sailors on the boat. His time in Syliras had been testament to that fact. But what truly surprised Gromhir was not the way the man had snuck up on them. It was the fact that he had no urge to attack the man as he usually did meeting humans.

There was something in his voice that put Gromhir at ease. It was an effect that he had only ever experienced with the Konti. But his emotions, he could sense the man’s curiosity and the calmness that resided deep in his soul. There was no lust for Kamalia. It was like looking at a still pond in a forest clearing. Just calm and quiet. Much like his clothing, it was unassuming and plain. There was nothing marking it as out of the ordinary. But he was clearly far from that. Gromhir had never seen a human this peaceful nor one that could speak so fluent Kontinese.

He seemed to know so much. Just by merely looking at Gromhir, he had deduced the strength of Kamalia and his bond and the fact that he was indeed a Kelvic. Gromhir found himself in quiet awe of the man who commanded so much respect but asked for none of it. It took a moment before Gromhir remembered his manners. As he stood and gently helped Kamalia to her feet, he politely waved the man’s hand away.

“Thank you, indeed,” Gromhir found he could trust the man and replied in not-as-fluent Kontinese. “Forgive me, I am still not great with manners. I am Gromhir. This is Kamalia Timandre. You are?” Gromhir let the pair lead the way, willing to help Kamalia if she wished it but choosing to follow behind.

[Gossamer]

Glav smiled. "You can call me Glav. I'm the caretaker here, and some would argue a priest, though I prefer the term councilor." He said in regards to Gromhir's question. When Kamalia's hand came in contact with Glav's, she was flooded with an internal peace that seemed to infuse her to the core. At least for the moment, her thoughts of her crime faded and the world simply seemed to liven up. The colors streaming through the stained glass windows became utterly vibrant and breathtaking, their brilliance making Kamalia think she was trapped within a multicolored gemstone. The rays painted her pale skin in a mosaic of color that made her seem unearthly and as sacred as the statuary was that lined the walls of the stone Temple.

Suddenly life didn't seem so hard.

The strong grip guided her down the aisle of pews and into the sitting room at the side of the Temple. Glav seemed regretful that Gromhir hadn't touched him as well, for eh felt peace was always a gift, even if it was a short-lived one. But he didn't say anything as the Kelvic trailed the pair. Some people desperately needed it in moments of utter despair, others were just naturally strong on their own. No one could live forever in the false comfort of peace. It wasn't a state of being designed for any sort of permanence. Instead, it was an island in a sea of flowing waters filled with turmoil and unending hidden currents of conflict. Instead it was a break in the rain, a glimmer of starlight piercing a stormy night, and a cool stream fueling an oasis in the middle of the desert.

He lead them into a sitting room that was encircled by tapestries that depicted the gods. There were three wing-backed chairs before a hearth as well as a serving tray that held a full tea service. He saw Kamalia seated, gestured for Gromhir to take a seat, then began to pour them tea. Glav made tea a ritual, elegantly moving from cup to saucer and preparing the tea black. He passed out the cups, leaving Gromhirs next to his seat on a side table. They would find the brew, if they decided to sample it, perfectly sweetened (or not) to their taste. The room smelled of vanilla and a warm fire already burned in the hearth although the day outside was not exactly cold. Kam's seat was beside Gromhirs, though only a small side table separated their chairs. While lovely looking, the seats of the chairs showed obvious signs of wear as did the knotted rugs used to warm the floor where the hearth's influence ended.

"First, I need you to take each other's hand.... and relax." He said softly, then lifted his voice quietly, projecting it further outward. "Then, please tell me why you stumbled upon the Temple. Everyone is drawn here in a time of need. What is it... exactly... that you both need? Answers? A moments rest? There must be something." he said softly and incredibly gently.

[Kamalia Timandre]

Again loomed the shadowy clouds of doubt and uncertainty over the konti wizard’s heart when her song ended. Estrangement, disorientation, homelessness— emotions so raw and so new to Kamalia she had no name to give them, rose like bile in her throat. But then came the upsurge of peace that stilled and calmed the storms that lay waste on her heart like a torrential barrage. The moment her slender fingers brushed across the stranger’s palm, there was a power, an eldritch energy in his touch that appeased the girl’s aimless soul and clouded heart. Instantly, Glav’s touch rinsed away the crimson stains of her crime. For a moment, those emotions that beleaguered the konti from the day of her exile—fears, insecurities, remorse— seemed so small, so insignificant. What mattered now was this calm that bathed her core. She basked in this offered peace, so near to the memory of the serenity she had once known in the White Isle. The konti maiden’s vacant eyes suddenly came alive and gleamed with curiosity, as she tilted her head to the side. Gromhir would notice the instant change in Kamalia through their arcane bond as well. Muted rays that streamed through the stained glasses slipped past the konti’s alabaster skin, and once again, Kamalia knew a world of peace. She was ensnared in a crystalline cosmos of colours and tranquillity. It was now a world stripped clean of darkness and bereft of chaos and imperfections. For a moment, life did not seem so hard. She knew once again how to dream. The girl had been too busy pondering on the nature of the man that she did not even notice Gromhir introducing her to the caretaker, but his name, when he spoke it, reverberated through her thoughts like a song. Kamalia still felt dazed, but she was drawn in by the mysterious man’s warmth and charm, and she allowed Glav to lead her through the aisle of pews. Thin fingers curled over his hand, borrowing the reassuring strength of his grip and the ephemeral peace that it channelled. Her touch was weak, almost feathery, and she needed this peace now—no matter how short-lived, no matter how fleeting it was. As he saw her seated, the konti responded with a grateful nod and a brittle smile. She leaned against the wing-backed chair and swept her gaze around the relaxing sitting room, her eyes pausing at the elaborately-woven tapestry representing the Seer Goddess, Mother Avalis. Awed and fearful, an unfamiliar moisture gathered in the corner of her eyes, but she forced her tears back. The konti seer had always longed to serve the Oracle Mother. She wanted nothing more now but her acceptance, her divine forgiveness. Now that she had nothing much, save for Gromhir, Aselia and Satu, her greatest fear was her goddess’ rejection. Strangely enough, she still bore the mark of the Seer’s Lily upon her nape, a sign that although the Konti Isle had turned its back on her, Avalis stood still by her grieving daughter. The Seer’s Lily was a symbol of her faith and her standing as a daughter of the goddess. It was Avalis, after all, who limned Kamalia’s path to magehood. For a time Kamalia was content to sit, to sip from the cup of black tea, and to listen as Glav talked. She extended an arm to Gromhir when the counsellor asked them to, and deliberated on what she really wanted. Since being exiled from Mura, Kamalia’s pride as a daughter of Avalis and Laviku was profoundly shaken. She wanted to pour forth her heart completely, to convey all her troubles to this mysterious stranger, but she simply could not. Such restraint was painfully unnatural for Kamalia. “We are looking for peace, and so we found this sanctuary. In peace, I would be able to commune with my Mother Goddess. There is nothing that my heart desires but to hear her voice and know her forgiveness,” she said weakly.