Talking with Strangers

[Laszlo]

Winter 8th, 512 Around fourth bell. In anticipation of Dawn Rest, the streets had nearly emptied. The Lhavitians, who so loved the stars, now retreated before the morning could catch them. The chilled mountain air was coldest at this bell, turning dew to frost, which gradually silvered all of Lhavit's exposed edges and paled the resilient winter gardens still growing in high alcoves. Leth still reigned, casting his gleam over all of it like a father's quiet approval. Zintila's stars looked on, silent spectators they were. The spindly shape of a nighttime Laszlo moved along the narrow bridge that connected the Zintia Peak to the Shinyama. Not being Lhavitian, he felt no obligation to yield to the traditional sleeping patterns of the humans here. Not being mortal, the way time passed around him bore little meaning at all, except to dictate what face he would wear. Even by his standards though, he should have been asleep hours ago. But he wasn't, and that was the way of things for the moment. First, at evening fall, he'd taken a scenic route to deliver Sakana's package to the Twilight tower. Then a visit to the Bharani Library to return some of the books he borrowed. He lingered there awhile, reading parts of other scripts, then later he borrowed another collection of stories about Zintila. The top of the Mhakula Tea House made for a peaceful place to get lost in quaint, old tales, bathing in a pleasant, spiced aroma that rose from inside. The night bore on, and he did intend to return home. He simply didn't. Even when fatigue and mortal hunger gnawed at him, he steeled himself and ignored it. Another, nameless force kept him away from his apartment. Something like apprehension, or fear. Or guilt. He wasn't sure, but it was unpleasant. As his latest method of procrastination, Laszlo found himself in front of the Temple of the Moon. Looking up at the tall, domed structure, shimmering in hues of indigo from the moonlight, Laszlo pulled back his gray, woolen hood. His silvery hair was weighted down by the cloak that draped his shoulders. Though he felt vulnerable without a covering, he felt it would be disrespect to Leth if he entered the temple trying to conceal what he was. Unlike Fia, or much of Lhavit, the God of the Moon would not care what shape he took. The cool, blue light welcomed him into the temple, coloring his form and filling his vision. The illuminated pool at the far end threw dancing, lacey reflections at the ceiling. Laszlo's keen vision picked out at least two other souls inside, possibly Chandra. As a favor to them, he kept his distance, finding a seat near the temple's entrance. Leaning forward on his knees, Laszlo bowed his head.

[Quiarinox]

It was growing late in the morning now. The moon hung low, waxen and faint, in that dark evening sky. The stars flickered with the secrets of the dark and the hurrying rise of the dawn a scant bell or two away. There were not many out at this time, having retreated to warm hearths for the last of the early rest. Lhavitians were night folk and did not lavish well in the twilight between revelry and duty. There were only those whose duty it was to guard holy places, the Shinya, and the alone that haunted the streets at this hour. Quiarinox didn't usually linger long in holy places anymore. She was unfamiliar with temples to gods other than the one that dominated Ravok and so felt entering one was marring that memory. She had found the presence of a temple to Leth, the Moonfather, to be a comforting one. Familiarity soothed her apprehensions and when she found herself before the temple at the late hour, when time hung still on the cusp of another morning rest, she felt at home. She entered. A statuesque daughter of Leth, she was probably one of many Lethborn that entered the Temple. She had to be sure that not many were as tall as she, however. With the leverage of her height and the figure she cut, she could see far and be seen. At night she wore dresses cut to for the length of her body and the many variations of width it possessed. A cloak clasped at her throat lay closed over her chest, the only barrier between her and the chill. In the moonlight, she glittered with the radiance of the moon, but inside the closed walls, her skin was white as polished bone and the blue of her dress was obscenely dark. Her dark gaze scittered the circular room, glancing at a each figure she could identify in the dim. Two people, formless blobs against the glimmer of the pool in the center, didn't hold her attention long. It was the pale man of bleached skin and greyed hair that drew her fleeting gaze. He looked sickly in the light, but whether that wasn't his true appearance due to his condition or not was unknown to her. He had a lissome build, something like frailty holding his bones together. It was not often one saw a Symenestra in public here, and never had she seen one in a holy building. It further surprised her that his head was bowed in prayer. So she approached him, as any curious creature would, and tried to keep the disdain from her voice as she invaded his time and scattered whatever innapropriate prayer he had been offering to her god. She went so far as to sit down, assuming what she felt was a safe enough distance that she wouldn't encroach upon his personal space. She didn't want to touch him, even. "Not often one sees one of your kind here," she began. "I've never heard of a Symenestra praying to Leth. I'd heard you people found more pleasure in blood than thought and preferred your gods over the gods of your prey. Do you think Leth will hear you?" She may have wanted to lace several different tones of threat, insinuation and dislike in her voice, but she held onto a light lilt as though she were discussing the pleasant feeling of the sun on her skin and the colour of the flowers in a meadow. He would be able to see through it though, she knew it. The tone screamed of more. She smiled at him, bright and kind, eyes darkly spiteful of him.

[Laszlo]

His kind. Laszlo quietly lifted his head. Felt his eyebrows lift by a fraction. Even sitting, the Ethaefal was taller than he was. Still, she was lovely in every way his kindred would be. An ageless face, pale flawless skin, pure white hair, and dark, glassy horns. For being such a denouncer of Symenestra, she was nearly as devoid as color as Laszlo was. In other lights she might have shined more brilliantly, but still her starkness commanded a strange sort of beauty. Despite the grace normally attributed to her kind, her bitterly worded greeting was not a friendly one. There was a saccharine sweetness in her tone, but her words dripped with a venom stronger than Laszlo's. It was disquieting to see one of the Fallen so filled with contempt at the mere sight of a Symenestra in prayer. The Synaborn would have thought his kin to think better than to judge a creature by its looks alone. It was easy to forget however that Leth had a darker nature. He softly illuminated Mizahar's nights with his quiet, silvery vigil, but he was by no means tamed. When the world was new, his nature had once been violent. Perhaps the Lethborn shared this duality as well. "Of the Ethaeal I've met," Laszo responded calmly, unperturbed by her insults (he was not truly Symenestra, after all), "Leth's children seem to be the most troubled. I shall add you in my prayers." He could have revealed that he too was Ethaefal, but the Lethborn he had met before were stubborn and difficult to convince. Even if he were honest, she may not have believed him. So, for the moment, he chose to entertain her misconception. "I don't think Leth cares about the shapes of mortals." That kind smile she wore made him incredibly uneasy. Laszlo briefly glanced past the Ethaeal at the temple attendants beyond. It was good to know there would be witnesses if the situation escalated. It probably wouldn't, but he had terrible luck with Lethborn. "You must not have heard much about Symenestra at all, if that's what you think of them. They are fond of Leth. They also believe that there is much more value in blood than spilling it. Viratas is not a god of murder. Quite the opposite."

[Quiarinox]

While she was content to insinuate and threaten, Quiarinox did, in fact, know absolutely nothing about Symenestra, their Harvest, or what their god was like. She hated them for the pallour of their grey skin and the colourless tone of their appearance as a whole. She loathed the way they wrapped themselves in silk and chitin and walked like awkward, graceful, spindly spiders. She especially hated their eyes. Their beautiful, luminous eyes shaded as jewels. One like her could not love something so strange as a Symenestra. "I'm sure Leth would appreciate your prayers, especially if you included me in them." Her tone bit with the knife of condescension, as though his prayers would be less than dirt to her god. An unfair act. "If he does not care for the shapes your kind wear, then where are his children that share your form? Have you ever met one? No. I think he appreciates humanity more than savages. You can ask him, if he ever answers you." She leaned back in her seat, folding her long hands in her lap and lowering her head. She didn't pray, though, but peered at the man out of the corner of her eye slyly. Her voice lowered so the chandra wouldn't overhear her. Even if she herself bashed the thought of Leth appreciating a Symenestra, she knew they would object to that notion. Like him, they believed Leth to not care for forms. "I hear Symenestra kidnap and murder women and children. What kind of a god do your kind worship that allows this to happen? Heathen god indeed. If Leth appreciates anything to do with Symenestra, it is that he would appreciate seeing one put to death for their crimes." She looked away from him finally then, smiling in a self-satisfied way. She didn't consider the Symenestra's feelings and pride in her insults but she expected a verbal lashing. If Leth inspired thought, then he would give a fair share of it to her and this creature here before the sun rose.

[Laszlo]

As this little tête-à-tête was going on, the Chandra continued with their duties near the shimmering pool. The towering Ethaefal had turned heads and brought pleased smiles, but she was left her privacy to pay homage to her paton god. If only that were all she was doing. Laszlo's mouth had tightened in visible annoyance. For a lingering moment, he kept his violet eyes focused ahead. She was unusual, even for a Lethborn, to dictate the will of a god as if he had a perfect understanding of him. Laszlo folded his fingers into his palms, each resting on one knee. This was becoming precarious. Laszlo could not defend the reputation of the Symenestra without thinking of what Fia would think. Nor could he condemn them, fearing that he would sense Duvalyon's disappointment all the way from Kalinor. He carefully began to string together his response, imagining they both were present. "And has Leth ever answered you?" Laszlo turned his head, meeting the Ethaefal's eyes. Though he looked up at the woman, he wore an expression as though he were reproaching a child. "You speak of humans as if you were one of them." Laszlo faced forward again, rolling his eyes mildly. "Your arrogance is as astounding as your logic. You condemn murder one moment and laud it in the next." He shook his head. "If you are threatening my life in this sacred place, I truly question piety as a daughter of Leth."

[Quiarinox]

Her hands tightened invisible annoyance. Did she speak like she was a human? If she did, she could only associate it to having been around them forever. Idly, she picked a loose string from the fabric of her cloak, pulling it free with satisfying ease and flicking it aside. Whether the small action demonstrated some lack of love for this holy place or just something to do with her hands was debatable. It gave her the time to absorb his words and work out a reply to them. She had to restrain her tongue from lashing out at him as was her way of confronting things she didn't appreciate. The Chandra so content to tend a shimmering pool weren't the type of people she wanted to upset. "Leth has not answered me, no. I won't lie. But it isn't to him that I yearn to hear. There are other gods out there, willing to listen to one creature in the dark, but can a stranger blame a child for trying to defend her father from the unpleasant company of a monster?" She didn't look at him as she carefully worded herself. There was a slim smile upon her thin mouth, her dark eyes focused solely upon the pool. She found it odd that the only symbol of Leth's power in Lhavit would be a shallow bowl of water set into a temple. "I only suggest that Leth would be pleased if a Symenestra were to die, not that I would commit the act myself. Do you think it's a crime to kill something that kills women and children? I know many people that would think otherwise, so it intrigues me what a Symenestra thinks on the topic." It was easy to forget that dawn was coming, fast and impatiently, when there was someone strange to harass. His visible annoyance was not disinteresting to her. She wouldn't back down even though she could see the tension in his face and hands and hear it in his voice. There was a petty part of her that relished in causing him distress, for she was vain enough to think she would effect him thoroughly. There wasn't even thought to curse him, yet, or an inclination to even touch him. Taunting and callously mocking him were enough.

[Laszlo]

What a Symenestra thinks on the topic? Laszlo scrutinized his fellow Ethaefal curiously as she stared ahead. He peered into her deep, dark eyes as if he thought he might find what unease lurked there. Leth was not only the god of the moon, but thought, reflection, and change. Although their respective deities were lovers, their pious followers aligned themselves to very different creeds. That the sun and the moon were so closely entwined suggested that some measure of balance could be fostered between their faiths. Regrettably, Laszlo failed to see how that was possible. After all, Leth had been the one to change himself for Syna. "I have the strangest thought," Laszlo muttered, pulling his eyes away and aiming them somewhere less hazardous, "that you don't actually care about what the Symenestra think. I was sitting here in peace. You've come to harass me and nothing else. Lethborn have a penchant for fruitless debates, I've found." The false Symenestra rose, moving with a grace so fluid it looked as if he'd been pulled to his feet by wires. The wool cloak on his shoulders fell around his tall, slender frame and encapsulated it, giving the illusion of bulk where there was none. And he was tall, being an Ethaefal, but Leth's daughter would dwarf him the moment she stood. "I'm not going to argue with you in your father's temple," Laszlo muttered, peppering his words with spite. His irritation was clear to see. "That would be a worse insult than my presence, I would think. If you're actually interested in what I think, and not just in parroting rumors and accusing me of murdering children, you'll find me outside. Otherwise, enjoy my absence. Consider Leth defended." Sunrise would come soon. He would not be the only one between them to change forms. Would she be as tall in her mortal seeming? Perhaps her arrogance would be done away with as well. It was perhaps a little on the side of malevolent that he looked forward to the shock in her eyes once they both changed, but he had a grudge against her and her kin in the shape of a jagged scar on his side. Arrow had been the only Ethaefal of Leth Laszlo had good dealings with. Without another word of departure, the Ethaefal exited the temple and deposited himself back outside. He lingered, a man of his word, leaning himself against the outer wall of the structure and waiting to see if his new acquaintance would join him.

[Quiarinox]

As the Symenestra left, gliding like some sinuous ghoul, she smirked in her shallow victory with the pride and arrogance she felt she deserved. Yes, she would consider Leth defended. It was a positive sign that he admitted it. It showed her she was getting to him. A glance to the Chandra showed they were returning to their silent vigil in the pews closest to the pool, done with tending it for now, and had begun a mumured conversation she had no interest in hearing. They took little notice of the Symenestra's departure. An egalitarian belief seemed to dictate the spidery monster folk could come and go to and from holy places at will. If she had her way, the non-humans and non-Ethaefal would be chased from the city with fire and spears. She sat there for a few long ticks, considering taking the creature up on his offer. If she could convince him to leave the temple with words alone, she felt she could convince him to loathe himself with a more forceful push. Corruption of his ideals and faith, that would open his eyes to his own monstrosity. His Symenestra pride would interfere, she knew this. She rose fluidly, uncoiling herself from her seat and standing straight. She judged the Symenestra for how he stood and walked, but she walked with grace beyond a human's as well, even if it were a different sort of grace than his. She ignored the Chandra as she departed. Perhaps they tried speaking to her, she didn't know. They had their duties to tend, and so did she. Hers were a little more important. Purple hinted at the edges of the predawn horizon but Quiarinox paid no attention. Single-minded in her determination, she paid attention to the lissome figure leaning against the wall of the temple casually. "Well, obviously you've got my attention. So let's hear your thoughts," she said, casually abrasive as she approached him. She might have said more, but dawn struck Lhavit and her form shimmered with the light of Leth, subtle and luminous, and her alabaster skin was replaced with a more healthy pale colour, freckled liberally, with unnecessary grace. Like a star she sparkled and diminished, her height being stripped away along with the beauty of her surreal form with the most impressive display of divine effect. It was ironic, always, that she should change to something as unlikable as a human with such a dazzling effect. She stood there now, unimpressed with dawn's untimely arrival, swimming in her dress which hung low enough now in the front to show the grey lines of her lacun before being pulled up as the cold bit her exposed skin unkindly. She had a tumbling mess of red hair now and a young woman's face, freckled even more liberally than the length of her arm. She was pale beneath the freckles and her youth was evident, although her eyes bore that same callous resentment as they had in the nightlit face. She expected him to still be a Symenestra.

[Elysium]

Lazslo

XP:
Rhetoric +2
Observation +3

Lore:
Lhavit: The Temple of the Moon
How to Observe Leth
Quiarinox, the Odious Ethaefal
Quiarinox's Mortal Seeming

★

Quiarinox

XP:
Observation +2
Rhetoric +4

Lore:
Lhavit: The Temple of the Moon
Lazslo, the Irritable Symenestra
Taunting the Observant

Notes: Just when things were heating up! I would have loved to see the end of this. If you have any concerns, please PM me.

and so, the journey continues...