[Voss's Thread] Temple of the Gods

[Clarion Voss]

Timestamp: Season of Fall, 40th 509 AV

Entering the holy ground, Voss carried his body through the doors like a leaf blown accidentally where it shouldn`t be. The elder gentleman gripped his robes using the calloused palm of the left hand, making his way through the concourse of pews with the squint of speculative blue eyes. His breath tasted like tobacco and apple brandy mixed with mint. A gentle radiance followed his mannerisms, cloaked in a distinct yet regal crassness. There was a great deal running through his mind but his feet kept walking, searching for a space between duty and empathy.. for he wanted none. Isn't that what drew people to places like this? A listening ear or directive tongue. Surely wasn't the comfortable seats.

His temper reached the front row and his patience searched for a priest. There were questions that even libraries and summoned monstrosities could not answer. There were doors to the soul that all the magic in the world could not unlock alone. The gods wore at the man's thoughts. Glimpses of Syna's realm warmed his belly like the brandy. Golden light, and a feeling of belonging.
All he felt now was the cold echoes of past lives.. a kaleidoscope of fates interwoven like fingers. Memories that could and would not be contained to rationality nor logic. Emotion without the structure of plot. It was eating at his work, consuming his present state of mind. He needed some insight , a way of controlling the passion of regression; so he turned here.. A church. The image of Qalaya came to bear.

[Gossamer]

Glav noted the moment the man walked through the doorway. Man? No... one of Syna's fallen children. He took a breath, glanced upwards and through his favorite stained glass window towards the castle that had not been designed to house a city, but rather to shelter the last remnant of a dead gods power. Sorrow filled him for a moment, unexpectedly, for Glav had known Sylir and missed him sometimes in ways that only one such as he truly could. That an Ethaefal walked into the double wooden doorways and down the long isle didn't much surprise him.

Dressed simply in a robe with the hood back, belted with a length of leather that hung well down to his knees, Glav approached where the Ethaefal walked, near the front row. It was there the aging man smiled at the visitor, bowed his head, and spoke softly. "Can I help you Sir?" He said, gesturing to the sitting room off to the side of the main temple. "There's a warm seat by the fire, if you've wandered in for a word or two. There is a nice cinnamon coffee warming as well." He admitted, gesturing that the man could follow him if he liked, for a more private place and an intimate setting where they wouldn't be interrupted.