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Social: A Blessing for Samantha

Page history last edited by rgs 14 years, 4 months ago

A few too many faith-based RPs in a row, I know. :) In this story, a group of hunters, soldiers, inventors gather outside of Rawsone's house and ask for protection for her daughter. Ylva had to head out early, sadly!

 

 

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Light Woods *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 The trees are increasing in number and density, moss covered rocks can be seen along the way, offering places to rest and camp for the night. The scent of pine blends with the deep rich scent of the earth and paths break off the main road trailing in several directions.

  Further off into the forest, it seems like night has fallen. Only it stays this way all day and night. Old trees crowd together, making it seem almost impossible to pass through.. Darting in between the trees, animals can be seen, dark furred creatures gliding in and out of the trees as travelers move on.

 OOC: At this point you are about a days travel from the city. Going further into the Deep Forest brings you to two days away from the city.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

 Darshan A layman of the Daeusite faith 0s 7m

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= Exits -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Road to Sendor <RTS> Deep Forest <NW> Druid Grove <DG>

Eldwyn Road <S>  

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

<Meet> You offer to meet Ylva.

<Meet> You offer to meet Gauvain.

Gauvain has arrived.

<Meet> Gauvain joins you.

Ylva has arrived.

<Meet> Ylva joins you.

It's Tariday, Quintoos 03 21:18:53 1006. The full moon is up. The tide is high and slack.

The sky is grey-black, without moon or star. It's hard for human eyes to see anything in the deep shadows round about, without a light. The wind is chilly.

Sprawling farmfields comprise most of "Liberton." The home-away-from-home for the Blarese refugees, it's traditionally housed by Hobgoblins, and a single human family. Its sprawling farm fields are well-organized, with right angles, straight rows, plucked rocks that stand in perfect pyramids. Farm houses, the start of places like a smithy, a tavern, are also present. The one building Darshan indicates, though, is a single, small house. Not the largest one at all. Its thatched roof and plain walls are sturdy, but just that. A season's dried fruit hangs from the porch corner, and a number of dogs lie about. They look up as the party heads forward, and begin bellowing, heading the way of the small group, their tails up and wagging.

It's not long before the large wagtails leap on the group. Dog feet, dog paws dig into clothes and churn up mud. They howl and yap like they hadn't seen anyone for years. And behind...

"Git offa dem, you mutts! Git, git!" The yeller's a strong, orange-skinned woman with a thick-handled pot. She runs from the house after the dogpack, and the pot splashes water wildly as she gestures with it. "Git offa dem, mutts! Now go!"

"Your hurmmm...wife sent you the gifts?" Darshan asks. He's got his hands up, out, to fend off the wagtails, the tongueslobbers. The huge, warm bodies shove up against one and all. Their tails move like windmills.

"Git!"

Gauvain nods to Darshan and holds up a bag for the other knight. He raises an eyebrow to the other man and says "So. You didn't tell me she was kidding." he says with a dark voice.

Ylva is following along, seeming happy to be out here in the less urban environs, but at the same time hesitant and cautious about this expedition she barely understands. The appearance of the dogs brings a smile to her face, and she almost seems disappointed when they are called off.

A tail flicker, and Darshan looks towards the house. A glance away. "She is your wife," he says, solemnly. Gentle amusement touches it, an almost-smile. And then--it's an outright one. He grins at Gauvain and starts to make his way through the piles of mutts and towards the house. "...do you think she'll make it?" he asks the man. He nods to Ylva, and--the hobgoblin with the pot brandishes it. She's reached the edge of the pack, now, but--the dogs ignore her for a while. They all but jump all over the wild elf. No, they /do/ jump. Two, three of them vie for position before they're finally called away.

<Meet> You offer to meet Jareth.

Jareth has arrived.

<Meet> Jareth joins you.

Gauvain shrugs an armored shoulder. "That I don't know." he states. He looks to the dogs and lets a slight laugh escape his lips. "Well. Dogs are nice." He looks back to Darshan, "She is really putting an effort into the Inn. She wants it to succed." he shrugs again. "Shje's probolly there and lost track of time again."

The dogs elicit a laugh from Ylva. She's pleased to meet them. And then they're off. "Um, I don't know much about things. I, uh, I've heard of Inns, I think. They are like houses where people can pay money to stay at, right?"

Having experience what can only be described as a crisis of faith over the last few months, Jareth has made a point of accepting an invitation to come along on this blessing for a family's home, in the name of Althea. Despite the fact that he does owe, and has given many thanks to Althea's priesthood for the healing they've performed for him on many an occasion, the young warrior has become more and more intrigued with the doctrine of the Goddess' consort, Daeus.

Agril has arrived.

"Rhouf." A large head butts into Ylva's leg. Four legs, muddy. All slobber. The creature's fifty pounds if it's an ounce, and prances back and forth in half-steps in the mud-churn. The rest of the pack sk'daddles. That a word? They sk'daddle towards the huffing hobgoblin, and churn around /her/. There are ten, twenty of the things, all large farm hounds.

Grin. Darshan looks away again, and stops near the house. The small farmhouse. Well-kept, with a large porch out front, a hobgoblin rests there. She looks to be, at the moment, the only inhabitant, and eyes them warily as they approach.

"They are," he replies warmly. "They're hrmmm...communal homes? His wife works in one," he says, nodding to Gauvain for Ylva's benefit. Indicating him, in other words. Pauses. "I spoke with the Mothers about how to humrrm, do this," Darshan says, pauses again. He looks rueful, and runs a hand down his frill. "I'm not a priest. I hit things," he says, looking to Gauvain, Jareth, directly. "They said the most important thing...huhrrm...wasn't the words, or the ceremony itself. It was in the people there, and what they felt about it," pause, wry. "In other words, you need to be willing to protect a kid. That's what we're aiming to do."

Gauvain looks to nYlva with a riased eyebrow, "You're not form around civilization are you?" he asks with a light quizical grin. He listens to Darshan and nods. "The Priests at the Temple told me as much alst night." He shrugs and keeps on moving next to Darshan, "I think we'll be fine. And by extent the child will be fine."

Ylva shakes her head. "For the longest time, I did not know civilisation existed. I lived with Sindri, my master, in a forest in the Vast. There were no other people." She sets a hand on the large dog's fuzzy head and scratches.

Myrana has arrived.

<Meet> Myrana joins Gauvain.

Jareth maintains a respectful distance from the ceremony's preparations. Upon being more closely inspected by one of the present hounds, he offers the dog a slight grin as he lets it sniff his hand and begins to pet it on its head for a moment before the animal runs off to resume its random patrol. Looking at Darshan, he comments, "I appreciate the opportunity to see this. I'm not quite sure why I even came. I've always made offerings to the altars of Angoron, but that's mainly because the dogma of her church appealed to my brash nature."

"You? Brash? Never." Gauvain says with a grin to Jareth. He offers the fellow warrior a clap on the back and nods to Darhsan. "What he said. Just hold to true to it. Be willing to protect a child. If you can do that, you'll do fine."

"Althea's protection and community," Darshan says, after a time. Grins, "There's no saying that hurmmm, she can't be brash. In fact, I hope she will be. This--Samantha needs help," he says simply. He looks at Ylva as he says it, then nods towards the house. "Let's go in a circle and surround it. That seems right. ...Gauvain, if you have the presents for Althea your wife made...let's get those. It huhrrm, seems appropriate to get the goddess' attention before we start asking Her for favors."

Ylva remains quiet and just follows instructions.

Myrana walks alongside Gauvain. A basket is in her arms, covered with an altar cloth. "Here you are," she says, and from it withdraws a beautifully sewn linen doll. Little black horn buttons make the eyes, and silver thread hangs in woven dreadlocks for its hair. It wears a blue and white dress, and in its simple hands a glass staff is held, sewn into place by a tiny hole through which thread has been run. It smells as though its been stuffed with dry lavender rather than wool stuffing.

The old hobgoblin woman on the front porch looks up as they near. And tenses briefly as they move around the house. She--appears to know what's going on, though, because she puts down the bundle from her lap, and begins to make her way down the porch steps. Her steps are solid, used to be, but they also creak with the sounds of old, well-used joints. She has a few years in her.

"Myrana," Darshan grins. He thumps his tail against the ground in hello. "It huhrmm..." he's looking at a doll. He's a thing of scale and claws, and he's looking at a delicate, beautiful, hand-made little doll. "It huhrmmm...it looks nice," he says to her. That was okay, right? He pauses, takes a breath. "Let's start the prayer, then. ...hold what you mrm, want in your minds and thoughts. If we concentrate--She will hear."

Holding up his hands in mock-surrender, Jareth nods as he laughs a bit, "I know. It's hard to believe. However, with the fallout from the war, and with...I don't know what...but, I find myself in a position where my outlook is not as clearly defined to me as it used to be. I'd always felt that the greatest came about when not compromising oneself. I can't say that I feel that way anymore."

Gauvain grins and nods and gets into place. He closes hsi eyes for a momemnt to steady his thoughts and then lets out a slow breath. He focuses on his duty as a protector and extends it to the child.

Myrana nods, then folds her hands around the fragrant doll. Letting her eyes close, she bows her head and lets out a slow, quiet breath. Her thumbs smooth over the dress of the little doll, like a medicine-man at his worry-stone. Thoughts of cleansing peace fill her mind, and she concentrates on them,

"That's good to hear," Darshan looks at Jareth a second time, and then closes his eyes a while. The paladin quiets, slowing his breath, his breathing before looking up again, and moving towards a place near the--corner of the house. "Whenever everyone is ready," he says, solemn. He winks at Myrana as he finds his own place. "Maybe Gauvain could lead us in prayer?" Prayer. He totally puts the other paladin on the spot.

Snapping hsi head toward Darshan, Gauvain gives the other Paladin a not pleasant look before clearing his throat and saying lightly, "Brohter. I'm not really all that ready to lead a prayer. Besides I would hate to dishonor an elder in the Order by usurping such a presitgious position." He bows mockingly toward Darshan. "Please. Show us how one so learned such as you should perform so holy an act."

Myrana opens one dark blue eye, sneaking a peek at Darshan. A smile tugs furtively at her lips.

The hobgoblin woman's found a place. She stands near the porch. Her eyes fix forward--she mutters as Gauvain begins speaking. Straightens her old, farmworn shirt. Darshan, for his part--sneezes. Laughter, maybe, before looking back towards the house. He's quiet, very quiet, then. "Give me a moment to think on it," he says. Falls quiet again.

Agril is here, of course. Just *late*. He makes his way on towards Darshan, pausing. Hesitant. He's simply moving in quietly to the side.

  May the light of Althea surround you,

  May the light of Althea enfold you,

  May the power of Daeus protect you

  And the presence of the Mother watch over you

  Whereever you are, the gods will be

Darshan pauses. "I've hurrrmm...heard those words a few times," he says, glances downward, briefly. Looks up again. "The priestesses speak them sometimes, in their ceremonies, so one supposes they will do here." Pause again. "Althea, Mother, none of us are priests. We...we are soldiers, warriors, huhrrm, inventors," a nod towards Myrana. "But we have come here today to ask Your help."

"You are our Mother, and there is a child in this house. She is plagued by the Dark Beast, and He chases her where her mother can't protect her. Please look on..." he clears his throat again. Glares at Gauvain.

Totally glares at him. "Please look on this family with compassion. We offer you a gift, hrmmm, made by this woman's hands." And here, he nods to Myrana, and the doll she holds. He doesn't notice Agril. Not at all. He stands near Rawsone's home with the rest of them, and the older hobgoblin lady. A few dogs move about in the yard: big ones, with wagging tails, and flopping ears. They're mutts more than anything. Big, farm hounds.

Gauvain smiles to Darshan and remains silent going back to concentrating on being a protector.

Jareth exercises some restraint in not laughing at Gauvain's ever so skillful ducking of being put on the spot. Nonetheless, he stands and moves closer to the prayer circle, listening to the overtures made towards Althea.

Myrana steps forward, holding the doll. She licks her lips and looks up toward the clouds as Darshan has done. "Ah-- Great Mother," she says, and her reverential voice is a little uncertain. Not used to praying out loud. "No mother would wish such a thing on her daughter. It is a horror beyond nightmare-- though I am childless now, my heart goes out to the girl and her mother. In such a world, a woman fears to bring new life. Would you not show her your face in love?"

Darshan clears his throat, and looks back towards the house. He would glare, but--he smiles instead. It creeps into place, and the paladin lowers his chin. Closes his eyes, and--reflects. What does it mean to be a protector? A servant of the gods? The sith'makar's tail twitches, winds and unwinds as he stands there with the rest of them. As Myrana speaks, he lowers his head again.

---------------------- At a glance around Light Woods ----------------------

Myrana 4m 5'2" 114lbs Lb  

  A short young woman with soot on her face  

Agril 20m 5'7" 142 Lb  

  A young human in priestly vestments  

Jareth 1m 6'2" 197 Lb  

  Tall young man with a strong build, wearing a chain shirt.  

Ylva 52m 5'5" 125 Lb  

  Black hair, hazel eyes and a look of primal savagery.  

Gauvain 5m 6'2" 213 Lb  

  A tall brown haired armored man.  

Darshan 0s 6'4" 274 Lb Sith'makar Male  

  A layman of the Daeusite faith  

==============================================================================

Agril is, of course, here. Still. Intent. Watching. Myrana's words seem to touch him, actually, and his spine seems to stiffen a little. As if the words struck him a little more deeply than he'd anticipated.

Ylva has disconnected.

Opening his eyes with a watchful look on the surrounding area, Gauvain smiles toward Myrana and squeezes her hand lightly. But he remains silent and focuses on the job at hand.

Blushing quite brightly after that, Myrana kneels down without letting entirely go of Gauvain's hand, and places the doll and a mirror upon the first step of the porch. That done she steps back, looking as if she might like to sink into the ground herself for praying out loud like that. If she'd wanted to be a bard, she would have studied!

Eventually, Darshan looks up again. He looks directly at Myrana as he speaks. "Althea, accept our gifts with compassion, and look upon this family with your favor. We draw the symbol of the crystal staff, the starburst of you and your husband." Pause, pause. "We offer you the huhrrrm, doll made by the hands of this woman, and the silver of this mirror, and ask this in--" he pauses, and looks around. Counts the number of heads belonging to Daeusites, Arngorians, and changes it to: "--in His name." Pause, pause. And solemn, awkwardly: "Thank you."

 

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