Open [Temple of All Gods] To Speak with Gods

[Sydelle Faraway]

90th of Summer, 514AV
16th Bell

Sydelle eyed the Temple warily from the street; its size alone was enough to make her rethink entering. Growing up, worshiping with her family, religion had not seemed an intimidating prospect. It was comfortable, as though the gods were personal friends, welcomed into their home. Dressed in whatever you wore in from the fields, even. This place was intimidating.

Self-consciously, Sydelle tucked her wrap even tighter around her slim frame. The wrap, really more of a giant scarf, was the finest piece of clothing she owned, and - silly or not - Syd had thought that the imposing Temple of All Gods demanded a more respectful appearance than her usual. It had been dyed a golden yellow, with dozens of tiny bells, and just pulling the crisp linen around her had felt like adding a layer of bravery.

She felt almost brave enough.

Still, natural curiosity gave her a boost and, with a deep breath, Sydelle lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and entered the Temple with what she imagined was just the right combination of respect and confidence.

Mere steps into the entryway, Sydelle stopped, awestruck by the beauty and scale of the Temple. Though completely enclosed, soaring stained glass windows flooded the rooms with light, throwing rainbows of color across the floor. Almost without realizing it, Sydelle found herself in front of one of the massive windows. Face bathed in the reflected green and gold, Syd studied every detail; it was a field, ripe and readied for harvest. Bala's season of plenty laid out in marvelous colored glass and shining light.

Syd smiled; surely it was more than luck that had drawn her to this image first. It was Bala she had come to worship, after all, and Sivah. It was the season's end, and time to thank the God for the passing season and seek Bala's blessing for the coming one.

[Sydelle Faraway]

A few chimes spent in silent reflection at the window of Bala found Sydelle much more at ease. The temple now registered as a place to worship, rather than a fancy structure meant to intimidate. Though Syd still felt a bit out of place, her nerves had lessened enough that she felt comfortable walking through the temple, inspecting the other panes and stealing glances at the few other penitents making use of the space.

Worship was a personal thing, Syd reflected thoughtfully. Her mother had preferred a small altar decorated with tokens for each of the four seasonal gods; during their prevalent seasons, Ebelle would give appropriate offerings and spend time every few days giving thanks or asking blessings. The preferred style in the Temple of All Gods seemed to be benches.

Lots of benches.

Moving just inside the main chamber, Syd ran a finger over the scrollwork of the nearest one. It was beautiful; highly polished wood, carved with religious depictions. Though it had been carved in high relief, it was kept so meticulously clean that not a speck of dust marred the depths of the design. On impulse, Syd slid onto the bench and bowed her head as she'd noticed the other visitors doing.

'Sivah, accept this offering of thanks for a season well-filled with joy and celebration; my first days in the city have been filled with new discoveries and excitement. Thank you for your influence.'

It was a far cry from her mother's prayers, but Ebelle had felt truly connected to each of the seasonal Gods and Goddesses. Sydelle, herself, had managed to achieve that connection only with Bala. But she continued to offer homage to the others, out of habit and the hope that she would gain the same comfort from her worship as her mother did.

[Baelin Holt]

Baelin couldn’t tell you how many people he passed, whether he bumped into anyone, or if the path cleared before him. Urgency carried him and his haste made it impossible to know who he may or may not have hindered in his blind rush. But none of that mattered. The people, the knights, the wealthy and the beggars, not a one of them mattered. He was going to lose control. He could feel it in every fiber of him; his rage was only escalating and it was becoming challenging not to lash out and hit whatever or whoever may be close. It had talked to him. Its heavily shadowed eyes and airless lungs actually approached him. One of those things. Calm down, he chided himself, trying to slow his steps and instead only managing to increase speed. With his pace and long legs he imagined that if Ros had tried to keep up with him the short man would have to be running. As it was, Ros hadn’t tried to stop him. Baelin was jealous of how clever the Isur was. He always seemed to know what to do, and was quite right that letting Baelin leave his Ironworks after a Nuit had approached the half-Dhani about repairing a broken helm was the best course of action. Now, more than usual, Baelin needed guidance of the Goddess of Death. Back home her presence could be felt everywhere, but the city of Syliras was no island of the dead. The Temple of All Gods would have to do, but it was a far cry from the Chapel of Black Rock. Baelin truly missed the tall, jet-black statues he had grown up paying homage to. But when he sat in a pew of the Temple of All Gods and closed his eyes he could almost feel Dira’s presence again. Baelin hadn’t realized he had arrived at the temple until he landed a touch too hard in one of the pews and fell to his knees on the hard ground. Fervently he recited the sermons of Bastia he could remember, begging for calm and guidance, his sibilant voice low and silent unless you were to stand right next to him. His eyes firmly closed, Baelin felt the familiar discomfort of kneeling at a pew begin to relax him. As if a gentle hand was caressing him, he allowed himself to relax in the slight but undeniable presence of his Goddess. With his control returning, Baelin allowed himself to open his eyes and slowly rise from his knees, sliding back into his seat. As the blood pounding in his ears began to truly abate, Baelin took in his surroundings and found himself sitting alarmingly close to a dark-haired and angular woman. His eyebrows shot up underneath his thick, shaggy hair and he tried to surreptitiously scoot away from her. Baelin’s personal space necessitated rivers between himself and others. That sort of isolation was hard to come by in Syliras, but that certainly wouldn’t stop Baelin from trying.

[Sydelle Faraway]

Eyes closed, Syd began her missive to Bala. Just her presence in the Temple brought her closer to the Goddess of Autumn, and she felt an immediate, warm sense of calm. Imperceptibly, her shoulders relaxed and Syd felt a small smile stretch across her face.

'Bala, of the Harvest, your season nears and the fields lay ri--'

Suddenly her calm was shattered and her prayer silenced by the appearance of a very large, apparently agitated man. His arrival had been almost violent in its haste, and Sydelle watched him warily. He seemed not to have noticed her, as he took to his knees, unkempt head bent in communion with whatever God or Goddess held sway over him. Interestedly, she watched as the stranger visibly relaxed; the tension left her own body, as well, as she realized he no longer held the same aggressive energy that had propelled him onto the bench next to her.

Just as she was prepared to resume her own prayers, the man sat up and appeared to notice her for the first time. Shaggy eyebrows rose in... Surprise? Alarm? Well. She'd been here first, after all. Spine stiffening a bit in response, she offered the man a small smile and nodded politely. What was accepted in this situation? Did strangers just greet each other like passersby on the street? Clearly he was no longer praying, and she knew her own prayer had been interrupted, so...

In a voice lowered out of respect for the other supplicants, Sydelle offered an uncertain greeting: "Hello...?"

Let him ignore her, if he wished. His strange behavior suggested maybe that would be a good thing. Still, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of compassion for someone who had so desperately needed peace at the hands of something larger than himself. Whether he chose to speak with her or not, she hoped he'd found what he needed in prayer.

[Baelin Holt]

The woman seemed to stiffen at his less than amicable greeting, and Baelin had to accept that as fair. He imagined a scrawny stranger glaring at her would be less than pleasant, never mind one who looked like a brawler. A common mistake people tended to make, one that he imagined she was making now and one which often worked in his favor. Few often started fights with the brutishly built man, but if they dared they would find him sloppy and untrained. She seemed to grapple with her thoughts for a moment. But the moment was short. Too short for Baelin to take the opportunity to flee, and before he had managed to scoot far enough to excuse himself she offered a greeting. One word, offered rather innocently and uncertainly, but shyke if Baelin knew how to respond. Should he glare? Growl? Or, maybe, he should say something back? The thought didn’t sit well with him and Baelin grimaced despite himself. Words were tricky things, often coming with prolonged and awkward hisses. He could just leave; abandon the stranger to whatever she had come here for without a word. But Ros had been trying to explain to him how important his “people skills” were for business... Slowly, testing the letters with a shift of the tongue before actually saying them, Baelin grunted, “Hi.” With a thrill of pleasure he realized he said it normally. No hiss. A perfectly human pronunciation. Boldness swelling, he gestured quickly around them at the religious symbols throughout the temple and added, his voice low in respect of the quiet atmosphere, “Who are you here for?” His second sentence hadn’t quite come out as flawlessly as his first and the bit of sibilance that always seemed to afflict him creeped in. He winced and looked away, sure that he had made a mistake.

[Sydelle Faraway]

At the stranger's returned greeting, albeit a less than enthusiastic one, Syd lifted one eyebrow in surprise; she'd been fairly certain her lackluster 'hello' would be ignored. Had, in fact, almost counted on it and gone right back to praying.

But she had to admit, now that he wasn't a study in angry piety, Sydelle found herself wondering anew what had driven him here in such a state. Not that it would be proper to just ask the man outright, but if the conversation happened to turn that way... Well, she wouldn't mind having her curiosity sated.

Syd made a study of the man's face, watching expressions shift faster than she could make sense of: a frown with a grunt, then seeming pride? Pleasure? That fled as quickly as it arrived. Curious. But before she could puzzle out the visible cues, Sydelle was distracted by his words. His hushed question had sounded just a little off. Not accented, precisely, but not pronounced the way she was used to hearing the words. Chalking it up to the barely audible tone he'd used, and her own surprise at being acknowledged, Syd answered in kind.

"I'm here for myself, actually," a quiet laugh accompanied the words. "I doubt very much that Bala or Sivah pay a bit of attention to my words. Its important to me to be here, just the same. And you? You seemed very... Eager in your worship?

Though she recognized that this might best be called 'prying' - which she had already decided not to do - Syd could hardly see how to withdraw the question. The best she could hope for was that the man would accept it as no more than polite conversation, and not be offended at her lack of tact. As an afterthought, she offered another small smile, this one slightly less strained than the first had been.

[Baelin Holt]

Baelin studied the wood grain of the pew in front of them as she spoke, chewing on his bottom lip while he considered how to answer her. The idea of escape was certainly the most tempting avenue. He considered what he knew of Bala and Sivah. Admittedly very little. Dira, Tanroa, and Kihala had always taken precedence at home and Baelin had never paid much mind to the others. Negligent of him, he had to admit. After another moment’s pause, he decided to say as much. Keeping his gaze fixed on the wood grain, he admitted, “I know very little of Bala or Ssivah...” Considering the rest of her comment, the smith let out a huff and inclined his head in agreement. He well understood the need to be in the Goddesses’ presence while being quite aware that it will not garner him any favoritism. He cast his gaze up, his sharp, slit pupils tracking the front of the temple, and imagined how Dira’s statue would look standing there. Magnificent, he was sure. Almost inaudibly, he added, “But I know what you mean...about needing to be here. I know it well.” Surely that was social enough. Ros could be proud of him, he shared quite a bit. Her last question was invasive, and likely would be off-putting if she did know the answer. These Sylirans were so understanding of Nuits. It infuriated him. But she did ask, and shyke if he was getting sick of keeping it bottled up. Hard and quick, he turned his gaze back to her, the dark green of his iris softening the sharp slant of his pupiles. “I’m here for Dira,” his features twisted in a nasty grimace as he explained, “they let corpsses roam free here.” He watched her, eyes not budging from the odd green of her own, waiting for her response. Would it be fear? Revulsion? Distrust? Infuriatingly few understood the embodiment of fairness that Dira represented. Baelin sat straighter and threw his shoulders back, daring the stranger to insult his Goddess.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Yet another rant from the man that the squirrel currently loathed to call hi mentor and patron. They always sent him over the edge of frustration. But this one, more than anything. The squirrel had spent five years - five damn years! - training and preparing himself for the knights. The fact that he'd immediately been dismissed as a squire was insulting enough to this effort.. but the fact that the crimson Akalak continued to lecture him, over and over, on the knighthood passed a line in the sand. "The Knights are a religious order," he'd ranted at the smaller squirrel from atop his mountain of a destrier, practically down his nose in the mind's eye of the squirrel, "and yet you know nothing of the Gods that we hold dear. If you are ever to become a knight, you must take it upon yourself to become aware of their existence. You must know what it is that we, as Syliran Knights, stand for in our beliefs." It was at that moment that the squirrel had fled, on the back of his diminutive Sykanis riding-dog Xarex, in an effort to escape the voice that nagged at the back of his head - the one that repeated, over and over, that he should have known better.

He'd not intended to end up at the entrance to the Temple of All Gods, but he wasn't going to be one to question fate either. He couldn't if he tried - Lhex was just a name to him, and little more. Well.. it's a better place to start than any. As much as he hated listening to his patron knight pointing and exploiting his weaknesses and lack of preparation, he knew better than to actively avoid his advice if he ever wanted to prove himself worthy of a knighthood. The building was not unfamiliar - he'd passed it several times previously on his explorations around the city. But while the outside seemed little, the inside was far from it. Even the stairs were rather daunting.. although perhaps it was their height, more than their actual appearance.

At first, when he entered, he could see little at all - since most of it was blocked by the wooden pews... but as he stepped farther into the building, statues slowly faded into view.. and the Pycon found that he could do little more than stand there, and glance from one statue to the next. He knew none of their names - none of their followings. There was only one he was even remotely interested in, above all of that.. but he couldn't see him anywhere. So, he did what he could and turned to the nearest available pair, that seemed more in conversation than in prayer between themselves. "Excuse me." Well, not likely he was interrupting anything, anyway. "Can you direct me to Harameus?"

[Sydelle Faraway]

There it was again, in his answer; that odd pronunciation. The drawn out 'ss' that was almost sibilant. Charitably, tactfully, Sydelle tried not be distracted by the unusual accent. The conversation - was it a conversation? - was awkward enough already.

The man spoke so low as to be almost impossible to hear, and she found herself leaning in slightly to catch his agreement. In a voice only slightly louder than his had been, she clarified, "Sivah is the God of Summer, Bala the Goddess of Autumn."

She was wondering whether she should continue, or if the conversation were over, when he suddenly turned to face her; strange green eyes locked with her own and she started in surprise. The man's face was twisted, his attitude aggressive once more, as he proclaimed his worship and Syd sat back in unconscious reaction to the change.

'Dira. The Goddess of Death? Corpses? Surely I heard him wrong...' Though Syd knew people worshiped Dira, she also knew some people worshiped Gods like Rhysol, as well - she'd just never met any face to face. That she knew of. From all that she'd learned, which was decidedly little, if she was honest, Dira was not evil. Though, from her own experience in tarot, drawing the card that symbolized her was rarely a welcome occurrence.

More importantly, at least right now, Syd could almost see the challenge radiating from this stranger. Perversely, and because she was immediately curious about the kind of person who would choose to worship the Goddess of Death so strongly, Syd simply nodded and offered another question instead of the judgment that he so clearly expected.

"I'm sorry - 'let corpses roam free'? What do you mean?" It had been an odd thing for him to say, and Syd hoped that further discussion might put him at ease once more, or at least not agitate him further. She had more questions.

Instead of answers, however, another question arose - this time not from Sydelle's lips. Somewhat reluctantly, she turned toward the speaker, "No, I'm afraid I -- Oh." Finding only blank space where she'd expected a newcomer to be standing, Syd's voice trailed off. Her gaze shifted, resting at last on an unlikely sight: a small clay squirrel stood expectantly, clearly waiting for a response.

"I'm afraid I don't know which statue Harameus is," the words were uttered with mild regret. Sydelle had seen a few Pycons throughout Syliras - even riding small dogs! - but never had an opportunity to talk with one. Not having given it much thought, she didn't know what she would ask - but questions came easily to her, and she was sure she could have come up with some.

[Baelin Holt]

Baelin waited for her scorn, fully expecting the brief experiment into conversing with strangers to end right there. But it never happened. She seemed to pull away at first, but then nothing. Baelin’s brow once again rose into his unruly hair, and he pulled back a little himself in surprise as she came back with a question rather unrelated to his proclamation to Dira. No indictment or scorn or, the most unacceptable, mistaking Dira’s noble work for the villainy of the God of Evil.

Baelin’s shoulders started to lower and the tension eased out of his spine. He relaxed more so than he would have expected and a small smile came unbidden to the smith. It had been so long since he had been able to truly discuss his Goddess. He hadn’t realized it would be something he was sacrificing when he left home, and the absence was a palpable thing.

He leaned forward then, his excitement loosening his unwillingness to let his afflicted voice be heard, and prepared to tell her exactly why it was so blasphemous for the Nuit to be accepted here. Why it was so very wrong and why he couldn’t understand how an order as noble as the Knights could lay back and simply accept it. Maybe she would listen, rather than just holding up a hand and telling him customers are customers, regardless of race. But they don’t truly understand. The Nuit are not a race, they are souls biding their time in corpses.

But another voice jolted him out of his near blunder. He sat back quickly to better let her talk to whoever interrupted them. Baelin imagined she would be infinitely better at guiding someone else than he ever could. He turned towards the speaker, figuring he could at least try to be polite, and was surprised to find a very small clay squirrel. Pycon, he thought in bewilderment. The smith had never actually talked to one before, if what he was doing now could actually count as talking to one. He was still enough of a novice that he didn’t even know if Pycons used armor, nevermind knowing anything about making it.

Additionally, Baelin hadn’t a clue who Harameus was. At least he had heard of Bala before...something about harvesting. A quick intake of breath giving him away, he realized he had completely missed the dark-haired stranger's answer to his inquiry about Bala and Sivah. He was sure she said something, but he was so wound up in his own bitter thoughts that it was completely missed. Foolish and selfish, he thought, chastising himself.

When the stranger answered the Pycon with an apology, Baelin turned to her sharply. Did she not know who Harameus was either? She seemed so knowledgeable and wise. Certainly more level-headed than he was. He nibbled on his lip, wondering if he should ask. ”Who’s...” he started, then stopped. Should he prove to them that he’s a fool? He chewed on his lip again and held his tongue, deciding that speaking and proving himself to be a fool would likely be worse than staying silent and perhaps hinting that he might be.

OOCIf finishing the question makes things better for Archailist let me know, I can easily edit.