For Whom There Is Mercy (Shuuda 2)

[Trista]

11 Winter 512. Day 2 of Shuuda

Trista regarded her drawing, making a few last erasures and shadings, making sure that it was as good as it could be.

It was a picture of a young woman with shining hands, which were crossed over her chest. Her hair was long, and she wore a heavy robe. She was human, and her features seemed vaguely Benshira. The thing that Trista had spent the most time on while creating the drawing was the eyes, which looked out at the viewer with a mixture of pain and relief, a kind of joy troweled over a deep and abiding sorrow. Beside her was a pear tree in full fruit.

Trista had not used a model for the drawing; she didn't need one, as the memory was far too powerful. This was Ezebel, the forgotten princess of Eloab, a friend that she had met once in a place between reality and dreams, and who had said something to her that seemed to match the theme of the second day of Shuuda.

"Living forgiven is exquisite. Tell them that. It is a truth more dear than my story."

Tell whom that? Ezebel had never said. And truth be known, Trista was unsure as to whether this picture would be an offering for herself, or in proxy for Ezebel, or for something altogether deeper -- and no idea at all to whom to offer it. But the feeling of that moment with her friend, the brief crossing of shadows before the harsh, cold daylight, remained with the Akvatari. She would bring the picture to Dira's Chapel and leave it there. It seemed altogether fitting.

[Sebastion]

Shim was no artist. He considered magic an art to be sure, but since he had yet to find a residence in which to practice his alchemy in a comfortable and solitary confine, he was out of touch with the procedure. Today was the day he was going to find a job, he was entirely sure of it, but first, this matter of Shuuda. Shuuda, even the sound of the word in his mind made him smile. Was everything in Arumenic so beautiful to roll off the clay tongue? He knew barely anyone in the City, despite having lived there a season, and did not feel comfortable with his inner city relations to make offerings to them. Instead he brought Snowflake to the market and bought an ample amount of clay, more so than he would ever need, and made his way to the temple of Dira.*-2cm for two lbs of clay He ended up munching on some of the delicious substance on the way there, but for the most part the supplies remained intact as he and the dog walked through the front of the temple, small clay eyes drinking in the skulls and jackals standing guard. There are some that accept death as an inevitability of life, others who fear its coming. Shim may not have been too keen on thinking of how short his lifespan was compared to other races, but these skulls of sacrifices did not intimidate him in the least. If it had been made out of hardened Pycons perhaps then his fear may have gotten the best of him, but as it was he gazed around in wonder, examining the ugliness of meat sacs without meat. He found an apt corner in which to leave his offerings, and slid down off of Snowflake's back, taking the large amount of clay with him.