| abstract
| - Taran grins. "Lady Celeste is not the one that changed Milora's mind," he says. "Master Firelight is; seeing is believing. Reduce this to politics and one can only fail - it is heresy, it is changing the *order* of Fastheld. There is no escaping that." He straightens up. "Retain the human, with awareness of the political ramifications. Aye, it is perhaps radical change - but so was the Amnesty. If one will allow the 'touched to live and to be 'touched, there must be a place for them to seek peace. This place may not *be* for the likes of Milora or Norran, but neither is it for you. That does not mean you could not stand to benefit from their support; do not lightly throw that chance away." "I would think that this place is as much for people who aren't touched to see that those who are have a place," shrugs the ranger, looking back to the pair at the touch to his arm. "To say that this place is for one group, and not for the other, is to reinforce those barriers which have been in place for years. Which Lady Celeste is working to bypass." He shrugs to the Mikin at that. "..working to make it like it was in Crown's Refuge." "... exactly, Vhramis. This place is for /all/ who wish to learn of the Light. Touched, not touched, Holy's Blessed or not... all should feel welcome between those doors. This is not about politics, it is about faith," explains Celeste. Her hand tightening about the ranger's armored forearm slightly, offering him an encouraging smile. "Have we not lived with enough barriers in Fastheld. Truth be told, I'm not sure that even if all these symbols were nothing more than the Light's sunburst would they still approve." The noblewoman takes a deep breath, looking back to the bard. "I will speak calmly with them, and had hoped to already speak to the Duke... but, I have the support of my matriarch and that is all that matters. As I said, this chapel isn't for me, but for Fastheld." Wolfsbane stands with Celeste by the large shadow mark on the floor, the pair speaking. "Still, they're walls long fortified. It's not a fence that needs to be breached, it's a castle, complete with turrets, ramparts, and thick walls." He shrugs slightly and sighs. "..but nothing of worth ever occurs quickly. Well. Usually, at least. I suppose there's exceptions to everything." Appearing from the courtyard amidst the jingling and shifting of his armor is the tall form of Norran, dressed fully in his typical armored regalia as he eyes the chapel warily. In his left hand he carries his claymore, Retribution, by the leather guard above the blade's hilt. He remains absolutely quiet, his face blank and paled as he stares at the mark on the floor and the dragon depicted above. From very close behind Norran comes a wide-eyed Milora, looking somber and rather agitated. Although she is in silk, her silver jewelry catching what it can of the dim light, she has her bow and quiver attached to her back. Her hair is knotted severely, and her posture is rigidly correct. "I'm not trying to fight them. We are but a small chapel, are we not?" Celeste offers a smile towards the ranger, squeezing his arm gently again. "There are those who believe this is worth dying for, Vhramis; I cannot let them down. You could say we have brought a piece of Crown's Refuge within the walls, and it doesn't come in the form of chaos, but love." At the billowing of the red curtains, the noblewoman looks back towards the doorway... and frowns. "There needs to be no use for that sword here, your Grace. I would request that you sheath it immediately," replies Celeste calmly. At the door opening, Vhramis turns about to look to where the two Lomasas enter, blinking at the sight of Norran gripping his claymore over his back. "You're not going to be assaulted," he states in confirmation of Celeste's words, shrugging a bit, before fixing his attention to Milora. He lifts his hand in a wave. "How would I know?" finally speaks Norran, his tone low as the grip on his blade tightens. Slowly, he begins to approach Celeste and Vhramis, the sound of his sabatons falling solidly on the floor easily heard amidst his movement. "I /thought/ I knew a great many things, but this... this... this /sacrilege/ proves I know /nothing/. Nothing at all! This is it! The both of you are more Touched in the head than a pair of marshrats!" exclaims Norran with a quick shake of his head, his expression growing stony as he glares toward Celeste. "You make me drop this blade the day you send me lifeless toward the ground." A gentle smile is cast Vhramis' way, although Milora looks far from comfortable. She places her hands behind her, glancing at the floor and then at the dragon - after a moment, she closes her eyes and sighs. If Milora's expression is gentle when turned on Vhramis, it doubles in delicacy when she looks at Norran - there her expression is murky, made up of many different, faceless emotions. "There are /no/ weapons welcomed within the chapel when held in anger. This is a place of peace and tranquility, there need not be hate darkening its doors." Celeste's own hand slipping away from Vhramis's arm to clasp at her waist. The woman dressed in little more than cotton skirt and blouse, not even the gloves to hide her wearied hands. "Why is this chapel sacrilege, Your Grace? Because, I chose to encompass all of the symbols that we and others have held dear and have become a part of Fastheld? Or is it my intent to offer teaching in the Light to those who have been denied such guidance for so long? Which is the greater sacrilege? Telling a child they are a monster because they were born different?" The noblewoman shakes her head, waving her hand towards the grasped weapons. "Violence is not the answer here, Your Grace. If you have come seeking answers, then I request you ask in them in a rational manner." "You'd do best to remember that you're not in East Leg. This is the Duchess' land," states the ranger mildly to Norran, glancing back to Celeste for a moment, before he sighs and sidesteps to put himself partially in front of her, still allowing her to speak. The Lady's Flight is slid off of his shoulder with an stretch of his arm, clasped firmly and held at ready. The cap of the quiver at his waist is opened, an arrow clasped between fore and middlefinger. "Please, Lady Milora. I don't want to shoot," he says to her in supplication. "I carry my sword everywhere, and I have no intention of striking anyone down. It would be as against Imperial Law just as greatly as it would be to, say, turn away or throw out a Marked Mage from a temple. Which, I may add, it quite /is/ despite the lie you told Milora," coldly responds Norran, continuing to close the distance between himself, Celeste and Vhramis. "You'd do well to hold your bow at rest as I hold my sword, Vhramis. I'd cut it in half before you could even draw back an arrow. I have no intent of using Retribution unless you attack me first. As for the Duchess, I will be going to her immediately after this, and if she could /possibly/ allow this kind of ridiculousness, I will go to the Emperor. I'm aware these are not my lands, for if you tried anything like this in Lomasa territory I'd see you all thrown into Riverhold's cells." Lifting a hand, Milora complacently pulls at the strap which fastens her quiver to her chest and allows it and the bow attached to it to fall to the floor with a clattery thud. She remains rather quiet, restless, unhappy - however, she does offer a very soft number of words: "I have never found any Marked person to be very different from me at all." She looks at Celeste after this, her gaze neutral and mild. "Celeste, my darling, what is this place? What do you mean to accomplish here? Do not be vague with me, please - I am confused and want to understand." "Touched are not welcome to any shrine or temple, by edict of the Church of True Light itself, Your Grace. This is a fact that was not held in the lands beyond the Aegis. This chapel," Celeste stands before an etching of the marked tattoo at the front of the chapel. Vhramis stands slightly before her, bow at the ready. Norran and Milora are making their way towards the front, though Milora seems to have paused where Norran continues to advance to the pair. "This chapel," says the noblewoman after a deep breath, "is to bridge the gap that between those of us who are different and those who are untouched. Holy's blessed, Touched or untouched, they are welcome within these walls to learn of the Light... and to realize they too can reach it's salvation. Are you to stand before me and preach to me of my own order? You, yourself have confessed a lack of belief in the Light once. So why is this sacrilege? You say these things do not occur in the temples and shrines throughout Fastheld, but how many of those you know to be touched believe they are -unsaveable- because of the Mark upon their cheek... and the curse they are borne to." Wolfsbane looks mildly surprised at Norran's comment, before his brow furrows. "Don't test your sword," he sighs, drawing the arrow and setting it to the metallic string. "Take not a step further. Simple as that. Not while you grip that sword in such a manner. Act in the manner your lofty title demands of you, and listen to Lady Celeste while you're her guest. Or, if you can't find any words to speak, let these two talk." "The Church of True Light is no mo-" The young Lomasa abruptly pauses as he notices Vhramis withdraw an arrow to nock it in his bow. Reacting in a near-instant, Norran takes Retribution by the hilt in both his hands and brings the weapon up toward Vhramis' bow in an attempt to disarm him, somehow, swinging in from the side. There aren't many choices for Wolfsbane, really. Sword closing in at him, the arrow is released to clatter to the floor, in favor of gripping the bow on both sides where it curves. He moves away from the swing, the weapon being moved and shoved out to attempt to deflect away the incoming sword. "Why does everyone attack me?" he bemoans, quietly to himself. Milora, standing some distance from the three people in the room's center with a bow and quiver on the ground behind her, clasps her hands nervously in front of her. She flushes, going red and then pale, her eyes wide and her lips parted in a silent cry. Griedan walks into the chapel looking much cleaner than when he'd left earlier in the day. His hair and clothes are a little bit damp yet, meaning that however he's just bathed, it was quite recemt. The big man's eyes go wide when he looks up to see Norran Lomasa swing his sword and Vhramis deflect the blow with his bow. For a couple heartbeats, he stands rooted to the spot, only afterwards seeming to remember the smallish, but still dense hammer held in his hand, now clutched tight by the handle in his meaty fist. "Vhramis," cries out Celeste, darting around the ranger's side... arms crossing. Sea green eyes burning with sheer fire look up at the Lomasa. "How /dare/ you attack those within my walls. As my friend has stated, this isn't East Leg. I will not /only/ tell the Duchess herself, but the Emperor as well. This is not befitting of a Lomasa, and not it's patriarch. How /dare/ you attack those within my care! Where is your heart, Your Grace," she scowls. "Get out, Duke Lomasa, your hatred is not welcome here... nor your violence. The Chruch may be broken, but the Light that shines within these walls, and the people who stand for it, isn't. You did not come here seeking answers, or you would have listened when I requested the blade to be sheath. What fool brings a weapon into a place of sanctuary unless he's already judged it unclean." The noblewoman looks back to the ranger, her voice turning tender once more. "...is... is she alright, Vhramis?" Taran steps into the chapel from the garden, and stops cold at the sight of violence. Well - his body does, at any rate. His voice rings out like a bell - or perhaps a whip-crack. Any noble would know it; it's the exact tone of a displeased tutor, an outraged instructor, the voice ringing from the walls and right into the eardrums, and thence down the spine. "Who draws weapon in a chapel?" it snaps. His blade stopped or not, Norran slowly withdraws his sword away from Vhramis once the arrow falls to the floor. He takes it again in his hand, not even slightly unfazed at Celeste's scolding. "My intent was never to attack you, Vhramis, but you should not have brought your bow to bear while loaded infront of me. I was merely defending myself against a disadvantage, as for you... " trails off Norran, his eyes glaring directly back at Celeste with not even a waver as his weapon returns to his side. "You come here, create a place to worship shadowed things? The Light is my only protector, and it shall see me through this injustice. No Marked Shadow-Touched are turned away from the Light's Chapels, for because they are marked they are loyal Imperial citizens. This does not happen regularly unless it is done against Imperial Law. Your protector drew an arrow against me, while I merely held my sword - in the opposite direction, mind you - and I was completely within my rights as a Duke and a citizen and follower of the Light to defend myself. Consider yourself the righteous one, delude yourself as you continue to stray so far off your path. I came here with no hatred, merely concern, and I depart in sorrow that so many I trusted would so easily turn their backs on me after all I had done for them. You've all forgotten your places. A long time ago, I may have been careless, but I can't afford to be any longer. I take no joy in what I'm doing or what must be done, but I will defend everything I was raised to defend all the way to the Emperor. Your empty threats will not sway me, Baroness. A title is worth nothing unless you're prepared to uphold it, even if no-one likes you for it." This said, Norran shakes his head slowly and carries a stony expression as he turns to stalk his way out of the chapel. Frowning, Milora moves forward, her fingers interlaced with worry - when Taran arrives, she crosses around the edge of the room and moves to take his arm in her hand. Her quiver and bow are left on the ground behind her; her face is white. "Oh, Master Songbird," she says in a low voice, "Please do nothing rash. It is so close to being peaceful, and if you could only wait a moment we could sort this business out like gentle people." She goes quiet during Norran's speech, ghostly pale, and then says with the threat - but only the threat - of tears in her voice, "You should not have been so quick with your bow, Master Wolfsbane. Is the Lady's Flight harmed?" Wolfsbane looks rather mystified at Norran's, and then Milora's words, blinking, before he sighs deeply. "I nocked my arrow. You were coming at me with your sword out of your baldric, despite repeated requests to stand your ground. I didn't draw the string on you, did I? My intent wasn't to attack you, either, yet of the two of us, you took a swing, and quite easily and quickly, as I'm sure we all saw. Which is /exactly/ why you were supposed to put the thing away. An angry man, stomping towards my ward, sputtering indignities, his sword held to his side, as opposed to in it's baldric, able to easily launch an attack. Perhaps you should think on that before blame is put on me." He gestures to Norran with his hand as he looks to Milora, raising an eyebrow at her, as if the words were directed to her also, before he leans to scoop up the dropped arrow, returning it to the quiver. "She's fine. She's seraphite and dragon scale." With the masons' hammer wielded as a de-facto weapon (it would probably hurt to be hit by it, and could still potentially kill someone), Griedan moves forward with intent in his eyes, his bulk interposing itself between Norran and the exit. He falters a bit at the duke's words, but keeps his hand tight upon his tool. He look with uncertainty to Celeste, his expression both worried and determined. Celeste opens her out to speak, anger still darkening her cheeks. She reaches a hand out to place against Vhramis's arm lightly. "Duke Lomasa, this is a Temple to Light. If you had ever spoken with the Syladris and the Lady you would understand what I am trying to do here. What is a symbol without the belief behind it? The sunburst of the Church brings fear even to the Freelanders. Why not adopt all the symbols and show that in the Light... we can all find peace. But you wish to call me names, instead. You've not heard one word I have said, have you, Duke? Instead, it is to draw your blade and find the answers among the rubble." She looks past the Duke to the mason. "Forgive my houseguest, Master Griedan. He seems a bit angered that I have not explained myself to his deaf ears. Taran shakes his head. "Do you see me drawing weapon, my lady?" he asks Milora, and indeed his quarterstaff is at his side, not held at the ready. "I only answer discourtesy and injustice. These drawn weapons, these ill words; these should be answered. Must be, by any who bear a conscience." Looking toward the departing Duke, he says in a tone firm but not commanding, "Only a deluded fool or a wicked soul would worship Shadowed things. That is nothing of what goes on here. And to say the Shadowed are welcome in the Church is to call one who has been welcomed under your roof a liar, your Grace, and to say this place worships Shadow is to call all present corrupted and foul. What has angered you so?" "I've always my sword out of my baldric. Always. Carried by the blade, not at all prepared to attack. The same as your bow was before. But if I let you load it - even a twitch - and you could've fired. I did not strike for you, I struck for your bow. That should be enough to prove my intent. And why should I allow a Baroness to scold me and tell me to put my weapon away, a weapon which I /always/ have in hand and you /all/ know that I do and have never struck anyone with it before, in a chapel bearing foreign and shadowed objects, created in secret? I'll consider this place sacred when the Emperor tells me your actions are in accordance with the Law. Until then, you have no right to command me. None of you," retorts Norran over his shoulder in his defense as his face contorts into a visible grimace. As Grieden moves to block him, Norran can only tilt his head at him somewhat in confusion and speak, "You know not of who you halt or what you are involved in, Freelander. I'd politely advise you allow me to pass." To Taran, all he can do is shrug. "Marked Mages /are/ welcome, the Empire maintains the temples now, not the Church. The Empire I have served for quite a long while." "Did you see that his blade was pointed downwards, harmless?" Milora asks, her voice tender as she gradually but steadily approaches Vhramis and Celeste. "His Grace is not a barbarian. It is disrespectful to his position to assume that he would attack frivolously. You know the Duke, Master Wolfsbane; I know that you understand his affection for his sword and his preference to keep it at his side. That said, it was you who posed the first real threat. By coming here with impatience and indignity at heart, His Grace was at fault - but neither of you did anything to help the situation, and its escalation can not be laid solely at the feet of my patriarch. Any move that he made was defensive, and defensive alone. "Vhramis, had you pierced either of us you would have spilled as much blood on the ... the ... sacredness," she seems to have difficulty taking the word out of her mouth with soft tones, "of this place as the Duke's blade might have drawn. If you are to stand as a figure of Light here, you must place everything before fear and haste. Please understand that it is shocking to observe something like this. Celeste," she says, looking towards the taller blonde, "this is heresy, and it seems to be foolish heresy. Will you tell me your reasons again? I cannot quite understand." Vhramis sighs again, lifting a hand to rub at his face. "Never struck anyone? I remember you striking my friend up on the side of her head with your blade." His eyes drop down to Milora, the ranger staring at her. "And he was acting defensively? Again, you are mistaken. I readied myself to defend, in case he attacked. And he was making a rather offensive motion by continuing to approach the Lady when repeatedly told to stop. Tell me, if I marched at..say your brother while on your land, with my knife held to my side, pointed downward, after being told to stop repeatedly, while all the while muttering angrily and talking of offense to the Light, would you consider that as 'defensive'? Friendly? Seeking to simply talk? And..if you think I'd attempt to harm either of you, then I suggest that you don't know me, either." Sadness creeps into his words and eyes, though his expression is otherwise unchanged as he regards the little Lomasa. "Nope, I guess I dun know. Jus' hired to build stuff." Griedan concedes to Norran. "Dun know who yeh are nor anathin' like that." He does lower the hammer, now though. "Alls I know is yer a guest here like me, aye. And yer not much mindin' yer manners what with swingin' a blade 'round like that." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "But while I'm here, I'm under the Baroness's orders, aye. She says it's okay fer yeh to go, then yeh kin, lest yeh 'tend to swing yer blade at meh too." Again his eyes move past Norran to Celeste. "The white dragon is a symbol of the Light to the Syladris and people of Crown's Refuge. The tattoo," Celeste waves a hand towards the etching on the floor. "Is the very symbol I wore upon my armor by the Church of True Light in teaching the way of the Light. How either is to be seen as -shadow- beasts, only proves that you have taken on these prejudices that we fight against. I requested, not demanded, that the weapon be sheathed in these hallow walls." She casts a disparaging look towards Norran. "And I've /seen/ the Duke in a chapel and know that his affectation to the blade can be culled. No, he did not come here for answers, and that saddens me all the more. I once called him a dear friend, and now... ." The noblewoman takes a deep breath, tears shining in her sea green eyes. "Master Wolfsbane saw a threat, and only wished to allay it... .I would be upset with any who would shed blood here." Another breath, a tear slipping down her cheek. "This is a place for Touched, Blessed, and un touched may come together and learn of the Light... .I am sorry that you cannot see that, my friends." Taran raises his free hand. "My lady, do not weep," he says, a gentle plea. "Your Grace, you need not rage. Can you truly share words with the lady Celeste and believe that she, of all whom you have met, would *worship* the *Shadow*? She acts only with the best of intentions, however those intentions may end - I am sure you have seen that yourself, likely many times. Likewise I hold you honorable, your Grace, and so it must be a misunderstanding that brings this to pass - no true grievance, surely. If the sight of these symbols disturbs you, perhaps a discussion outside, where you may hear what was *intended* without feeling yourself compromised?" The bard bows. "As to the tales of Shadowed being turned away - enforcement of the Emperor's will is at times... fallible, your Grace. Enforced as it must be by fallible men. Speak with master Firelight if you doubt that it happens, and judge then whether you were incompletely informed - or we, deceived." "Repeatedly? You told me /once/, and then reached to load your bow. Stating any different than that is a /lie/, Wolfsbane, and you know it. As for Shardwood, it was with my sabre and she deserved it. Had she been a man, what she had done to me would've warranted a far worse retribution and none would challenge that. Contrary to what all of you /believe/," he continues, his voice calmed somewhat but remaining entirely serious as he turns about to face the others. "This is /not/ Crown's Refuge. This is /Fastheld/. Some are born Freelanders, some are born noble, some are born Touched and some are born not. You cannot bring this drake-worship from Crown's Refuge and expect everyone to just sit by and accept it! Not everyone agrees with your views, despite those you have surrounded yourself with. This is the realm in which we live. If you do not prefer it, Crown's Refuge is to the north. You should go back if you hate our Empire so dearly, an Empire I have loved and served my entire life and shall continue serving until the day I die. There may be injustice, yes, but you cannot resort to this /madness/ and expect nothing to come of it! Continue here if you'd like, but I have made my warnings." He breathes a sigh, managing to offer a faint smile to Taran. "Despite what you've been dragged into Master Taran, I appreciate your sanity. I only wish those two zealots had any mind left to manage such a feat." And, finally, he turns to Greidan. His smile ven manages to curl into a smirk. "I could pass you if I wish, but for Master Taran's sake I will merely ask again: Please, allow my passage. My mood is not particularly light-hearted at the moment." "You were prepared to harm, and His Grace was not," Milora replies, her eyebrows furrowing as an almost pleading look comes to her face. "I did not hear you ask him to hold his step but once, and he halted himself immediately. I did, however, hear him say that he did not intend any harm by his blade. Oh, Vhramis!" she says, a desperately sad half-cry as the expression on his face sinks into her. "I hold you in such high regard! But I have never seen you nock an arrow in my direction... before.." She pauses a moment, clearly upset, pressing her fingertips to her mouth. "Please, please ... . we did not come here to threaten you. We came for answers - but we came confused, and ill prepared for ... this." She glances at the Mark, and at the dragon. "It is so strange. This is beyond anything I have ever witnessed - I have hardly ever known anything except the religion with which I was raised, and the religion which has prevailed in Fastheld for six centuries. All of these things are foreign to me, and I am trying to understand - but it is strange. Please try to see our situation." Directing her attention to Celeste, and smiling weakly: "But isn't that what we already practice? Why call it anything else, when already we are able to assemble and worship together as a common people? The Church has fallen, my darling friend, and with its fall is the rise of kindness - any rejection of a Marked person from a chapel is unlawful, and do not you think that to protest in this way is too reactive? You will frighten the uneducated and anger the pious. Celeste, can not you understand how alien this sort of thing is ... why, it is almost occult? You cannot reasonably expect this to pass without upsetting those to whom it seems so odd. We are not well accustomed to change." At that, Wolfsbane rolls his eyes slightly. "Ah. A picture of reason. Naturally, I failed to tell you three times. At which point, you would have stopped in your tracks, and been as docile as a lamb. You would have naturally slid your sword away, and we'd be drinking tea right now. You can act as innocent as you wish, but the base matter of the fact is, you advanced on us with your sword ready. And..zealot? Go drink piss. Duke or not, you act like a spoiled child, and you have ever since I've known you, back to your obsession with my Lady at Wedgecrest. Throwing fits and tantrums when things don't go according to your way? Go back to your silks and feasts, and wallow in in." He glances down to Milora. "I was as prepared to harm as he was. But, you'll not believe me, of course. So there's no point in me speaking any longer. I'm sorry, Milora. I really am. I hold you dear, but this is ridiculous. I hope you'll see that at some point." The bow is slung over his shoulder and he glances to Taran and Celeste, before dipping his head. "I'm going to go walk. If Norran starts charging about waving his sword around 'defensively', call me, and we can toss insults at each other some more." He grunts and turns to the side in a whirl of brown cloak, striding off towards the side exit. "There now, that's a might bit better, aye." Griedan says, not exactly smiling, but letting his mood lighten a small bit. "Yeh catch more bees with honey than wine, meh dad used to say." He moves to the side to allow Norran passage as he's requested unless instructed otherwise. "It is a symbol, Duke Lomasa... not meant to be worshipped. Just as you would not worship the tattoo or sunburst that heralded the Scourge and priests of Fastheld. And I too have served Light, and Fastheld my /whole/ life... .to the exclusion of even knowing the luxuries that you and even Lady Milora have known. Call me a zealot, but do it for the /right/ reasons. I do /not/ worship the drake but the Light... ..symbols all... and each with a meaning," replies Celeste... .tears continue to slip down her fair cheeks, unbidden. She looks to Milora, "you are wrong, Lady Milora. For every touched that has come to me, has told me that they feel not forsaken by the Church but by the Light itself. Even the Duke has deigned to crack such amusements towards me once, long ago... .and it feels another lifetime now. For those that I have brought here, and who were willing to hear my words... .they come to understand. How long has this amnesty been in place, less than a year and you expect those of the Church to openly accept because the law says they should... .they have fought them in manners you will only know in nightmares. I'm sorry, but that is a fairy tale. My heart is true, and it only knows the Light... .but I cannot allow for those who live in fear and darkness to have no place to turn for guidance." At Vhramis's words, Celeste turns again reaching for his arm. "Please, be careful, Master Wolfsbane. I am truly sorry to have caused you this trouble." "Your Grace, I have never been beyond Fastheld's walls," says Taran quietly. "But I know a generous gesture and a merciful spirit when I see them; the lady Celeste meant and means no harm, no disGrace." He waves a hand at the garden exit. "The plantings are new, but perhaps the gardens will be less abrasive to the spirit?" He looks at Norran, directly but somewhat subdued. "You cause her tears, your Grace. Would the shadow not answer with equal or greater rage? Come - away from these symbols. Discuss the meaning; surely if there are better ways, sane discussion will uncover them. Without shouts, or tears. It is... ignoble to cause a woman's weeping when a few moments of listening might mend so much that was never meant to go awry." Vhramis' words are enough to make Milora's eyes widen - the expression that crosses her face is immediately one that speaks of mortification and hurt. She takes a few steps back from Vhramis, looking at him with disbelief. -- He turns away from her, and then Taran has two crying ladies on his hands. Milora's voice is small and still, but strong and unaffected by the small tears that streak her nose, tracking through her powder. "I wonder whether this is the way to go about it, Celeste. Do you think that to erect your own chapel and to fill it with unnecessary, strange symbols, and then to open it to all who will come and openly preach tolerance of the Shadow, will help the masses to see that they are truly exactly like us? Will it be beneficial to call more attention to their situation? Celeste, you are strong, and you have sacrificed so much to help Fastheld. Why not crusade against those priests who would cast off the marked, and educate them, rather than work against them? They are not evil, Celeste. They are doing what they think is right, and perhaps you could be the person to open their minds." "She has ordered me out of this place, and her defender mocks me unjustly because he cannot defend his ideals and cowardly retreats out of the side. There is no reason for me to remain in this place," Norran answers lowly to Taran, glancing backward at Milora. "Stay if you'd like, Milora. I'll be waiting for you in Silkfield for a day or so when you wish to return to East Leg. Light guard all your souls." With a slight bow of his head to Griedan, Norran continues off outside. Griedan stands aside and watches Norran make to depart, shaking his head in wonder at the man. "Somethin' told me this job was goin' to be lotsah trouble, aye." he says more to himself than anyone else. putting his tool away, he starts to approach Celeste. "Ah, Baroness, the bath is ready out in the stables, if yeh like. I find a hot bath helps to clear meh own mind, and I ken easily build yeh a private one in yer chambers in a few hours, if yer so inclined." Celeste laughs ruefully, only broke ever softly by a sob. "... this chapel... isn't open," she states wryly. She waves towards the vacant room, not even one stick of furniture resides in the hall. Not even the cots and tents of those who have been residing lay about the hallowed room. "This place, is my home," she continues in the soft subdued tones of priests everywhere. "I was not going to open the chapel itself, until I felt the time was ready... until then, it is the private residence of my home." The noblewoman looks back to the exiting Duke, " and he was not ready to listen." She glances towards Milora. "Did you know he came to me once to ask me to help him? That I put my views of the Touched aside in the name of Light and Love, only to have him call me a zealot and a fool, today. Do you think that I have not thought of the consequences and the meanings of these symbols? Each has their place here within the walls, even that." She waves a hand towards the white dragon. "I do not worship the drakes, but a wise friend holds that visage very dear... .and for that, I brought it here. I am sorry that I cannot open the eyes of the Duke, and that he will go and besmirge my name even further..but what I do here is not for me, Lady Milora. It is for those who have lost their faith." "Lady Milora, you attribute to Lady Celeste more power than even the Emperor has," Taran points out gently, as Norran departs. "For if the Emperor himself decrees that the 'touched be granted access to the chapels and shrines, and yet this does not happen as he orders, how can a baroness hope to reform the Church from within? The 'touched are not Shadow incarnate - at least, they do not *have* to be. Many want nothing more than to avoid that fate with all their souls, as well you know, but how can the Church help them when for centuries all its teachings have centered on eradication? Is not a clean break, a new beginning, a reasonable alternative?" To Celeste, he says, "You will need to make clear the meaning of such symbols before people can understand, my lady. You place a drake up high, it is not like the sun. The sun does not speak, does not come down to change the world. Drakes, however, do. You should at least consider the difficulties you will face, and consider how to overcome them rather than simply assuming others will look and immediately understand." "I think," Milora says gently, reaching out to cup Celeste's cheek in her hand if she is permitted, "that you are unwise in doing this. I also think that your heart is in the right place. I can not believe that this is for any good. However ... I do love you like a sister, and I will continue to love and protect you. I will defend you in all that you do that is upstanding and honorable. Will you embrace me, then, like a sister, and agree to have no bad feelings between us?" To Taran, looking unhappy: "You speak as one who has lost all hope. Despite everything, I believe that everyone can understand. I will not give up on the people of Fastheld and segregate those who are enlightened from those who are not - for you know that with little exception, those who will worship here will already understand the plight of the Touched. Whether I am Milora Lomasa the Baroness or Milora Lomasa the Duchess and Matriarch, or -- or Milora Miller, the Freelander - I will continue to encourage the belief that they are ... us." Celeste gives Milora a perplexed look as she touches her cheek. The blonde Mikin uncaring of the tears being shed. "I cannot make the blind see, and there is much to learn here. This is a chapel to enlightenment. I once cared very dearly for the Duke, and have only preached what lies in my heart... that continues here as well, lady Milora. If I can bring the untouched to accept that the Touched are not the darkness, but those who have been cursed... .even the Holy Blessed are cursed in their own right. They both carry the power to hurt, and then are deprived of the salvation that would teach them temperance. Call me names, zealot, fool... the truth remains, this is a Shrine to the Light... in all it's forms." "Everyone can, lady Milora," Taran replies quietly. "Helping them to do so is part of my calling. But as you just saw - with all her good intentions about her, the Duke did not understand. Work is required, and patience, to bridge that gap. And even if this place is the choir hall for the choir Lady Celeste preaches to - just to gather those who do understand in one place, where they can be seen and known and numbered... is a remarkable step. I could not live without hope - but I do not reach for the stars. I will reach for apples; I have a chance of catching those." "Hmm. Celeste, my darling friend, you are no zealot and you are no fool, but you sometimes lack wisdom and patience," Milora suggests gently, running her thumb across the woman's cheek. "Do what you think is right, and things will come together in time. I /know/ that you mean well. I will always speak to your character." To Taran now, again, Milora turns, looking weary and agitated. "I shall not judge. I will understand the positions of every man and woman here - that much is not difficult for me. I can not like it, Master Songbird - Taran. I can not believe that it is the best way, but I can understand it. But please - you are rational. When directing my Lady Celeste, please discourage her from letting the blind remain blind if all they need is a light in the dark. Oh. Poor Celeste." She looks at the woman again, her face full of sympathy. "I will not intrude any longer. I am sorry to have disturbed you, and I am sorry that Norran has disturbed you - but please try to understand him. He has done enough for you to deserve your compassion. Be strong." She moves to leave, bending to retrieve her bow on the way out. "Every new beginning needs someone who is strong enough to make the first step, even if others do not understand. They must have the courage to stand up against the adversity and know in their heart what they are fighting for is worth even dying. Thank you for your concern, my friend... but even those who would seek my guidance have already sought to begin their tests," comments the Mikin with ruefulness. "The Duke is angry because I did not speak of my intentions, or seek guidance. That it was all done under the guise of deception... when that purely is not the case. The only truth that I had hidden was the location of the chapel, and that was because I needed to speak with my matriarch," comments Celeste... again turning to look down at the etching of the Mark in the chapel floor. "Symbols only have power if you believe in the symbol and not the ideal behind. Now is a time for enlightenment; to come out of the darkness that has gripped Fastheld for so long... and if I have to explain that to the Emperor as well, then so be it." Taran leans forward on his staff, smiling a bit sadly, a bit proudly. "Well spoken, my lady," he says. "But... this is not a war. This is ... teaching. You cannot beat understanding into anyone's mind, my lady, no matter how much you may wish to. A mind... unfolds, opens on its own, as it is ready." A gentle sigh escapes Milora's lips, and she slings her quiver over her shoulder again. "If it satisfies you, Celeste," she agrees in appeasement. "When you have slept and are no longer upset, then perhaps you will better understand - and if you to not, then, well, I trust in the minds of those who would advise you," she says, smiling at Taran. "Good bye. I am sorry." She turns and, sighing again, makes her exit. Celeste glances over her shoulder as the noblewoman leaves, making no move to stop or halt her, instead looking towards the bard... offering a wry smile through the tears. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Emperor gave me his blessing as well, Master Taran. There is no war that I seek to fight with any man... only to following my calling to the Light. If someone gets insulted by a pane of glass, what can I do to stop them? No, he came to my home and proceeded to lecture me of how I should decorate and believe, when his very words when he struck out at Lady FLight was that the Church is broken. This is but a simple chapel to Light, and it is my right as owner of this home... to decorate as I see fit." ‘’Griedan manages to manhandle the slab of black marble out into the garden by determination and brute strength. A sheen of sweat shimmers upon his brow and along the large, powerful arms that are intent on working the block of stone to wherever he needs it.’’ Taran sighs, leaning on his staff. "His Grace is very particular about formalities," he says. "And I do believe his understanding of the world goes awry when he is not deferred to. He is far above you, my lady, and that favor or disfavor... *matters*." He seems a bit regretful at having to explain it. "And if you still wish a living, breathing mason next week... I shall have to discuss with him the words you do not speak to a wrathful noble. Just because you are egalitarian, does not mean all of your station are." He sighs. "None of that... none of that went at all well, my lady, none of it." Celeste blinks in surprise. "I never failed to address him by his title, Master Taran. But this is my /home, and that does not give him the right to walk in uninvited and tell me how my household should be run. I have every right to speak to the Emperor about his own lack of decorum." She takes a deep breath, "I requested that the weapon be sheathed... .as is my right. He could have left at any time. So there was no formality that was an oversight on my part. He attacked the man who would protect me, who felt that I, as an unarmed woman, was at risk. How would the emperor feel at hearing such?" "... My lady, a duke may speak his mind... pretty much anywhere," Taran admits with a little smile. "He is in his way as far above you, as you are above me. And - if I *had* a home, I assure you I would have no recourse if a noble decided to walk in and inform me of my poor taste in decor. He is the *lord* of Lomasa, my lady. On his word, lady Milora could be a Freelander. On his *word*, my lady - is this not power, greater authority than yours?" The bard shakes his head, walking over to Celeste - kneeling, on one knee. "My lady, this is not the Wildlands; his Grace may not have been *kind* or *wise* to act as he did - nor courteous - but he was within his *rights*. It would not be for you to deny him, but for the Duchess Rowena an she choose. And only if." "Taran, this chapel has been approved by the Duchess Rowena, so in his own *right* he has insulted my *House* and thereby the Duchess as well," explains Celeste. "Though he has the right to behave as such, does not mean that is is accepted. These are Mikin lands, /not/ East Leg. He can sit up there in his castle, and stay well away from here if he wishes to cast such slights." The noblewoman lowers a hand to the bard's shoulder. "He came spoiling for a fight, Master Taran... and I did show him courtesy. Vhramis's intent was only to defend me should the duke try to strike me down in my own halls." "Sweaty, tired, and streaked with dust, Griedan re-enters the chapel from the door to the gardens, walking straight up to Celeste and standing patiently with his big hands clasped behind him." "And in your name," says Taran quietly, staying where he is kneeling before Celeste, "Freelanders in your service offered him *grave* insult. Were I you, my lady... I would offer a compromise; that you will not take his discourtesy to the Duchess, and he will not hold you or your house responsible for the words and deeds of the Freelanders who defended you. A... beginning-over, if you will." The bard is genuinely worried. "Perhaps he *did* come here seeking trouble, as you say, my lady - but there was no wisdom at all in giving him what he sought. I do not think he was in the *right* - he misunderstood all that he saw, that much is plain. But the matter was handled... very, very badly, my lady, and I hope it does not cost you or Lady Milora overmuch." "You should not worry so, Master Taran," replies Celeste softly. Her hand petting the shoulder's gently. "Duchess Rowena already knows a great deal of the Duke, and I think he should worry more of her tongue than my own." A wry smile returning to the baroness's lips. She glances towards Griedan, "were you able to find the stone you needed, Master Griedan?" "We shall see," Taran sighs, rising to his feet. His free hand offers perhaps an odd gesture, brushing his lips and his doublet over the heart, before very lightly brushing the back of Celeste's hand. "I would not wish this ended before it has had a chance to properly begin, my lady. Not if the shy 'touched are glad enough of the attempt to offer you wines." He smiles briefly, and turns for the garden. "I... should take a look at those plantings, my lady, and get some rest... I bid you good night and light's blessings." Griedan shakes his head at Celeste once the baroness recognizes him. "Some, but not all. For the fountains, yeh will need to find a water source and yeh will need a miner to build yeh a fountain well." He clears his throat. "I did, however, considerin' the evenin' yeh've had, take the liberty of crafting a bathtub of black granite for yer own personal use within yer private quarters. When or if yeh are so inclined to use it, there is water heating for yeh to bathe already."
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)