THE REDWOOD GATES
OOC: Welcome to the Abbey. Be so kind and post your arrival here unless anything else has been arranged with the mods.
IC: The Abbey is a place of peace and imperturbation. It has been here ages and nothing of the outside-occurrences seems to affect this holy place much. Here resides monks and other gentle commoners.
Upon the short climb to the top of the hill among the concluding trees a scent of strong brew floats on a breeze. It is the earliest sign that the travel is quickly coming to an end. The arrival is shortly impending and there it is - the Redwood Gates. The proud Redwood Gates is situated at the top of a treeless hill. Tall walls surround the lazy town - though what malignant creature would attack or harm a place like this. The inhabitants would not harm anything could it be prevented, and their goal is to simply gain more understanding of all things and live in peace with rest of Tazlure.
A momentous gate made of finely preserved Redwood is placed here. Intricate carvings decorate its surface, all inter-connected by a delicate tracery of silvery enameled vine. A great carving in the middle is surely an ancient symbol representing Mother Earth; only a handful of citizens know the meaning of it. Set in fancy cabinets on either side of the great gate are two pull-ropes.
The Redwood Gates concludes the Abbey Road. In a distant age many men and women travelled here - through the forest and plains - to seek knowledge and restoration. The town can still provide these things, there are simply not the same amount of people coming here.
A small metal plaque is carved into the surface of the Redwood Gates. It reads, "Greetings to all of the Mother's children. Pull the cord to gain access to the Abbey." The welcoming-phrase is repeated in twelve different languages underneath the common greeting.
Entrance-thread: The Redwood Gates
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Guest
As he watched the gates swing smoothly shut, Cecil briefly wondered about the hidden machinery attached to the lever. It hadn't occurred to him before, how such an old man could open the large redwood gates. <i>Maybe the Abbey has other devices like that</i>, he thought, and promised to himself that he'd go do some exploring after he gotten settled in. He felt less nervous now, having something to do always soothed Cecil's agitation.
It simplified the world, really, if only for moments. No need to worry about anything except finding this Balor fellow, getting some work, getting his things put away. And hopefully getting some food, his stomach growled, adding its two banner. He looked at the brother, nodding a thank you and waving a good bye, then turned and walked towards all the human activity, in the direction of the building that had been pointed out.
As he walked, it occurred to him that the old man hadn't even mentioned anything about studying the healing arts, just gardening. Cecil thought, <i>well, perhaps you have to work up to the actual healing. I'm sure gardening is full of interesting things. Aside from dirt and bugs, plants and pains.</i> But then he grinned, remembering that this place did happen to have a brewery as well, and thinking that perhaps there would be plenty of things to keep him occupied after all!
It simplified the world, really, if only for moments. No need to worry about anything except finding this Balor fellow, getting some work, getting his things put away. And hopefully getting some food, his stomach growled, adding its two banner. He looked at the brother, nodding a thank you and waving a good bye, then turned and walked towards all the human activity, in the direction of the building that had been pointed out.
As he walked, it occurred to him that the old man hadn't even mentioned anything about studying the healing arts, just gardening. Cecil thought, <i>well, perhaps you have to work up to the actual healing. I'm sure gardening is full of interesting things. Aside from dirt and bugs, plants and pains.</i> But then he grinned, remembering that this place did happen to have a brewery as well, and thinking that perhaps there would be plenty of things to keep him occupied after all!
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Guest
ooc: Here it is, my first time posting IC. Please be gentle. 
Timestamp: Mid tradetide 26 Samheen, Yahren 1224.
When Latharn finally saw the stout walls and impressive gate of Dort Abbey after trudging along the abbey road for most of the day, his first action was to stop and lower himself wearily onto a rock. He was young, active, and used to long treks through rolling terrain; he ought not have felt as drained and fatigued as he did. Earlier, the young aspirant had imagined that he would respond to the first sight of his soon-to-be home with a thrilling mixture of apprehension and excitement, that he would be awed and inspired at the prospect of this holy place of worship and learning, yet he felt no such thing. Homesickness, seasickness, and a gnawing dread had combined to sap his strength; far from being elated at arriving at his destination at last, Latharn felt merely a dull mixture of relief and...deflation.
The young Achadhiel was not sure why he was disappointed, as he did not really know what he had expected. Perhaps he had thought that the monastery would greet him with an outer face as warm and inviting as the interior of the hall he had seen repeatedly in his visions, the visions with which his Goddess had summoned him to this cool, strange land. From here, Dort Abbey looked more like a fortification heaped onto the terrain to impress people, than it did an expression of reverence for the Mother, of harmony with the surrounding earth, of a love for and desire to understand nature.
A brisk autumnal gust cut short the youth's reverie, as if scolding him to get on with it. The wind bit at his face and eyes and ruffled his strange, new Dortenese clothes - heavy, dull, constrictive things that chafed him in places that a nice Kislovan dhoti would never have done. With a sigh, Latharn willed himself to stand up, and reluctantly he set out across that last short stretch of treeless, windswept hillside.
A few hundred paces later he stood before the abbey's great entrance. Close up, the gate's warm redwood sheen, along with the now-unmistakeable scent of the abbey's famous ale freshly-brewed, offered some trace of cheer and welcome to the half-elf's senses at last. He paid little attention to the details of the gate's fine workmanship, and noted only half-consciously the welcoming plaque, with its instructions to pull the cord. Sighing once more, Latharn pulled on it, not knowing what was to happen next.
Timestamp: Mid tradetide 26 Samheen, Yahren 1224.
When Latharn finally saw the stout walls and impressive gate of Dort Abbey after trudging along the abbey road for most of the day, his first action was to stop and lower himself wearily onto a rock. He was young, active, and used to long treks through rolling terrain; he ought not have felt as drained and fatigued as he did. Earlier, the young aspirant had imagined that he would respond to the first sight of his soon-to-be home with a thrilling mixture of apprehension and excitement, that he would be awed and inspired at the prospect of this holy place of worship and learning, yet he felt no such thing. Homesickness, seasickness, and a gnawing dread had combined to sap his strength; far from being elated at arriving at his destination at last, Latharn felt merely a dull mixture of relief and...deflation.
The young Achadhiel was not sure why he was disappointed, as he did not really know what he had expected. Perhaps he had thought that the monastery would greet him with an outer face as warm and inviting as the interior of the hall he had seen repeatedly in his visions, the visions with which his Goddess had summoned him to this cool, strange land. From here, Dort Abbey looked more like a fortification heaped onto the terrain to impress people, than it did an expression of reverence for the Mother, of harmony with the surrounding earth, of a love for and desire to understand nature.
A brisk autumnal gust cut short the youth's reverie, as if scolding him to get on with it. The wind bit at his face and eyes and ruffled his strange, new Dortenese clothes - heavy, dull, constrictive things that chafed him in places that a nice Kislovan dhoti would never have done. With a sigh, Latharn willed himself to stand up, and reluctantly he set out across that last short stretch of treeless, windswept hillside.
A few hundred paces later he stood before the abbey's great entrance. Close up, the gate's warm redwood sheen, along with the now-unmistakeable scent of the abbey's famous ale freshly-brewed, offered some trace of cheer and welcome to the half-elf's senses at last. He paid little attention to the details of the gate's fine workmanship, and noted only half-consciously the welcoming plaque, with its instructions to pull the cord. Sighing once more, Latharn pulled on it, not knowing what was to happen next.
Last edited by Guest on Mon Jan 16, 2006 3:19 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Guest
Latharn did not have long to wait. Two burns passed before the gate swung open. Standing in the path beyond was a robed monk. The robe was similar to the ones the achadhiel had dreamt of, only fancier: a rich chocolat brown with a few hits of gold traced at the cuffs and threaded through the sash. The monk was human, but the cowl of the robe was pulled forward to conceal his facial features.
"Welcome!"
The voice was a strong baritone and spoke the greeting in flawless adhiel.
"What brings you to the Abbey this fine Samheen day?"
"Welcome!"
The voice was a strong baritone and spoke the greeting in flawless adhiel.
"What brings you to the Abbey this fine Samheen day?"
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Guest
Latharn felt an odd tingle of foreboding -even of recognition- when the gates opened to reveal the creature behind them. This had to be one of the abbey's monks; the robes, apart from being a bit more sumptuous than he had expected, were unmistakably like those Latharn had seen in his dreams. The realization that those visions had been authentic, and that he had answered a true calling in travelling here, seeped into his tired mind.
"Seodhiu ta eabh" he responded to the monk's greeting, before he even realized that these were the first words of adhiel he had exchanged with anybody since he had left Kislovan six days before. The sound of of elvish speech so well-spoken made Latharn feel at once nostalgiac and self-conscious. Although the monk's voice and frame suggested he was probably human, his cowl concealed his face, and his accent was hard to place. Latharn hoped he was human, or achadiel like himself, because his own accent in adhiel was, well...rustic; more educated or noble elves were not always positively impressed when they recognized it.
An awkward pause followed Latharn's response to the monk's greeting before he realized that he had been asked a question, one that, amazingly, he was completely unprepared to answer. "Wh-what brings me here?" he stammered uneasily. "I...I came here to become a priest. I had a calling." The young achadiel stopped and cleared his throat nervously; then, not thinking his answer adequate, he unwisely attempted to elaborate: " A, you know, um, a dream. Vision. Vocation. Thing. There was this hall of oak dressed in robes just like you -the monks, I mean, not the hall. Not exactly like you, your robes are richer. Than the ones in the hall, I mean. On the monks in the vision. My vison." Realizing how stupid he sounded, the youth cut his babbling short and lowered his eyes in embarassment. His cheeks felt warm in spite of the cool fall air. Somewhat desparately, he fumbled inside his cloak to retrieve a scrollcase. "I have a letter about me for the Abbot from Father Fingal. He's a priest," he added lamely. "From Caliboirne. I-I'm from Cailboirne, too."
This was not going well. All those visions, Latharn thought bitterly, and not once had the Mother gotten around to telling him what to say once he got here. He dared not look up at the monk as he fumbled to open the scrollcase, nearly spilling the parchments inside and scattering them to the winds. Somehow, he managed to produce a letter, sealed and tied with a ribbon of brightly-colored string, from the clutter of treated hides rolled up in the case without a major mishap. Perhaps the Mother did provide, after all.
Latharn offered the letter mutely to the chocolate-robed monk as if begging the stranger to relieve him of a terrible burden. One blessing he could count was that the monk's cowl kept Latharn from seeing the look on his face.
"Seodhiu ta eabh" he responded to the monk's greeting, before he even realized that these were the first words of adhiel he had exchanged with anybody since he had left Kislovan six days before. The sound of of elvish speech so well-spoken made Latharn feel at once nostalgiac and self-conscious. Although the monk's voice and frame suggested he was probably human, his cowl concealed his face, and his accent was hard to place. Latharn hoped he was human, or achadiel like himself, because his own accent in adhiel was, well...rustic; more educated or noble elves were not always positively impressed when they recognized it.
An awkward pause followed Latharn's response to the monk's greeting before he realized that he had been asked a question, one that, amazingly, he was completely unprepared to answer. "Wh-what brings me here?" he stammered uneasily. "I...I came here to become a priest. I had a calling." The young achadiel stopped and cleared his throat nervously; then, not thinking his answer adequate, he unwisely attempted to elaborate: " A, you know, um, a dream. Vision. Vocation. Thing. There was this hall of oak dressed in robes just like you -the monks, I mean, not the hall. Not exactly like you, your robes are richer. Than the ones in the hall, I mean. On the monks in the vision. My vison." Realizing how stupid he sounded, the youth cut his babbling short and lowered his eyes in embarassment. His cheeks felt warm in spite of the cool fall air. Somewhat desparately, he fumbled inside his cloak to retrieve a scrollcase. "I have a letter about me for the Abbot from Father Fingal. He's a priest," he added lamely. "From Caliboirne. I-I'm from Cailboirne, too."
This was not going well. All those visions, Latharn thought bitterly, and not once had the Mother gotten around to telling him what to say once he got here. He dared not look up at the monk as he fumbled to open the scrollcase, nearly spilling the parchments inside and scattering them to the winds. Somehow, he managed to produce a letter, sealed and tied with a ribbon of brightly-colored string, from the clutter of treated hides rolled up in the case without a major mishap. Perhaps the Mother did provide, after all.
Latharn offered the letter mutely to the chocolate-robed monk as if begging the stranger to relieve him of a terrible burden. One blessing he could count was that the monk's cowl kept Latharn from seeing the look on his face.
Last edited by Guest on Tue Jan 17, 2006 3:40 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Guest
The monk pulled his cowl back, to reveal that he was indeed human. And fairly young - at least younger than any of the monks from Latham's dreams. His long black hair was pulled back in a braid and tied with a blue ribbon that matched the color of his eyes. There was a reassuring smile on the monk's face as he addressed the newcomer.
"Do not be worried, friend. Such stories were once common at these gates. And it is a good sign for someone to be called here now. All the way from Caliboirneabh
... you must have had quite a journey."
He reached forward to take the letter and touched his other hand to the achadhiel's in a welcoming gesture. With the touch came a renewed feeling of life. The monk's energy cleared away the aches of travel. Or at least it seemed to do so.
"You seem a bit troubled. Please follow me and I'll see what we can do to set you at ease. My name is Pietro, by the way."
Beyond the gates, the Abbey grounds opened up to reveal several ancient buildings - each of which seemed decorated with the themes of nature. The oldest had incorporated various living and dead tree species in the designs. There was a large open courtyard near an Ivy-covered complex of buildings were several wagons were being loaded by men dressed in the simple garb of the poorer city folk of Dort. Apparently, the Abbey was transacting some business with the wealthier port city.
Patches of grass and cultivated and uncultivated garden took up the spaces where light filtered in through the branches of the many trees. Most of those walking about seemed to have some purpose, and most were dressed in robes: some of brown, some of green or white. And all save the workers near the Ivy-covered building seemed to be of advanced age. Graying or bald heads were all around, with only the occasional young man or woman scattered about.
Pietro led Latham to a the largest of the buildings. The Hall of Oak. If the pilgrim had not had dreams to compare, the decoration of the place, nestled between a pair of ancient oaks, would have been a clue. Inside the walls, floors and ceilings were all covered in polished wood. The doors were carved in a manner similar to the Abbey gates, with old runes mixed in among the twisting branches and vines of the carvings. Up some stairs and down a hallway, the pair went, past a series of large circular windows. Most of the other monks were too busy to notice the newcomer. Those that did reacted rather in the extreme, openly staring at the achadhiel visitor and the rather noble looking Pietro.
Pietro paid them no mind. Leading his charge deeper into the building until they came to a large locked door. The young monk opened it with a key from his pouch and led Latham into a sitting room furnished with a desk and large comfortable chairs. An open door to one side revealed an adjoining bedroom.
"Please," he said, indicating a large bowl of fruit on the desk, "Help yourself. We'll have some more substantial food in a few burns. Do you want to relax for a bit, or is it urgent that you see the Abbot immediately?"
"Do not be worried, friend. Such stories were once common at these gates. And it is a good sign for someone to be called here now. All the way from Caliboirneabh
... you must have had quite a journey."
He reached forward to take the letter and touched his other hand to the achadhiel's in a welcoming gesture. With the touch came a renewed feeling of life. The monk's energy cleared away the aches of travel. Or at least it seemed to do so.
"You seem a bit troubled. Please follow me and I'll see what we can do to set you at ease. My name is Pietro, by the way."
Beyond the gates, the Abbey grounds opened up to reveal several ancient buildings - each of which seemed decorated with the themes of nature. The oldest had incorporated various living and dead tree species in the designs. There was a large open courtyard near an Ivy-covered complex of buildings were several wagons were being loaded by men dressed in the simple garb of the poorer city folk of Dort. Apparently, the Abbey was transacting some business with the wealthier port city.
Patches of grass and cultivated and uncultivated garden took up the spaces where light filtered in through the branches of the many trees. Most of those walking about seemed to have some purpose, and most were dressed in robes: some of brown, some of green or white. And all save the workers near the Ivy-covered building seemed to be of advanced age. Graying or bald heads were all around, with only the occasional young man or woman scattered about.
Pietro led Latham to a the largest of the buildings. The Hall of Oak. If the pilgrim had not had dreams to compare, the decoration of the place, nestled between a pair of ancient oaks, would have been a clue. Inside the walls, floors and ceilings were all covered in polished wood. The doors were carved in a manner similar to the Abbey gates, with old runes mixed in among the twisting branches and vines of the carvings. Up some stairs and down a hallway, the pair went, past a series of large circular windows. Most of the other monks were too busy to notice the newcomer. Those that did reacted rather in the extreme, openly staring at the achadhiel visitor and the rather noble looking Pietro.
Pietro paid them no mind. Leading his charge deeper into the building until they came to a large locked door. The young monk opened it with a key from his pouch and led Latham into a sitting room furnished with a desk and large comfortable chairs. An open door to one side revealed an adjoining bedroom.
"Please," he said, indicating a large bowl of fruit on the desk, "Help yourself. We'll have some more substantial food in a few burns. Do you want to relax for a bit, or is it urgent that you see the Abbot immediately?"
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Guest
The revelation of the strange monk's young face, its friendly expression, the reassuring, understanding words, the wholesome, cleansing energy that seemed to flow from the touch of his host's hand: all this did much to transform Latharn's mood. He was more than just relieved by Pietro's response to him; he was moved. It would be wrong to say that all his fear, self-consciousness, and weariness simply melted away, for they remained yet in the young aspirant's spirit; but for now they yielded their grip on it to a newly-infused sense of tranquility, assurance, and acceptance.
Latharn managed a wan smile at this. "Indeed, Brother Pietro," he confirmed, "I had never been at sea before, and it didn't set well with me. The sailing was smooth out of Kislovan, but the seas got heavier as we neared Dort. For the last two days I rarely stirred from my berth. At least I didn't get sick, but I felt queasy and tired almost the whole time, and ate little. But the Mother brought me safely here at last."
Dort Abbey was a large, busy, complicated place; there was too much that was new here to take in in a single tour. Not wanting to delay his host, nor to ruin his newly positive mood by trying to figure out everything at once, the young Achadhiel confined himself to forming general impressions and getting an overall feel for the compound's layout.
The monks, dressed in robes just like he had seen in his visions, were largely busy with chores, and he wondered what sort of labors he would end up doing around the Abbey himself. Those who stopped to stare at him did not bother him that much at the moment; he was staring at them, too, trying to get some idea of what sort of people he would be living and working with. He was disappointed to see that few of the monks were his age; that would only make his fitting in here that much harder, he thought.
But even this flood of impressions was overwhelmed by what Latharn experienced when he entered the Hall of Oak, and particularly the corridor lined with the large, round windows. He paused for a moment upon entering it, and sucked in a sharp breath when he recognized it. This was exactly the room he had seen again and again in his dreams, and for a moment he half-expected to see the figure of the Matron herself standing there just as she had in those dreams, inviting him to sit at her feet while she read to him.
But there was no Matron here now, only more busy monks; Pietro, the youth reminded himself, was probably busy as well, so he ought to move along. There would be plenty of time to let everything soak in later. Latharn released his intaken breath slowly, trying to relax and to remind himself that this was no longer some sort of dim apprehension of the future; he was here, now, for real, at last. This was to be his home.
Latharn seated himself gratefully at the desk with the bowl of fruit on it. He thought a moment on Pietro's question. "Urgent?" he asked, somewhat surprised by the suggestion that he would have urgent business with an important man who had no idea who he was: "No, sir, not at all. I can certainly await the Abbot's convenience, and I wouldn't mind refreshing myself a bit before meeting him."
He looked appreciatively at the fruit in front of him. Although he had not eaten in a while, his stomach remained unsteady from his recent sea voyage, and he hesitated to eat anything too rich or heavy just yet. Some fruit was just what he needed. He took a few moments to mutter some words of thanks to his Goddess, then picked up a large pear and took a bite from it, taking a moment to savor its mild but satisfying taste before speaking to Pietro again. "Was this fruit grown here?" he asked. "It is quite good. Pears don't grow well on Kislovan, and they tend to come out either mushy or dry and sandy. This one," he brandished the pear he had just tasted, "is quite good."
All the way from Caliboirneabh...you must have had quite a journey.
Latharn managed a wan smile at this. "Indeed, Brother Pietro," he confirmed, "I had never been at sea before, and it didn't set well with me. The sailing was smooth out of Kislovan, but the seas got heavier as we neared Dort. For the last two days I rarely stirred from my berth. At least I didn't get sick, but I felt queasy and tired almost the whole time, and ate little. But the Mother brought me safely here at last."
Dort Abbey was a large, busy, complicated place; there was too much that was new here to take in in a single tour. Not wanting to delay his host, nor to ruin his newly positive mood by trying to figure out everything at once, the young Achadhiel confined himself to forming general impressions and getting an overall feel for the compound's layout.
The monks, dressed in robes just like he had seen in his visions, were largely busy with chores, and he wondered what sort of labors he would end up doing around the Abbey himself. Those who stopped to stare at him did not bother him that much at the moment; he was staring at them, too, trying to get some idea of what sort of people he would be living and working with. He was disappointed to see that few of the monks were his age; that would only make his fitting in here that much harder, he thought.
But even this flood of impressions was overwhelmed by what Latharn experienced when he entered the Hall of Oak, and particularly the corridor lined with the large, round windows. He paused for a moment upon entering it, and sucked in a sharp breath when he recognized it. This was exactly the room he had seen again and again in his dreams, and for a moment he half-expected to see the figure of the Matron herself standing there just as she had in those dreams, inviting him to sit at her feet while she read to him.
But there was no Matron here now, only more busy monks; Pietro, the youth reminded himself, was probably busy as well, so he ought to move along. There would be plenty of time to let everything soak in later. Latharn released his intaken breath slowly, trying to relax and to remind himself that this was no longer some sort of dim apprehension of the future; he was here, now, for real, at last. This was to be his home.
Latharn seated himself gratefully at the desk with the bowl of fruit on it. He thought a moment on Pietro's question. "Urgent?" he asked, somewhat surprised by the suggestion that he would have urgent business with an important man who had no idea who he was: "No, sir, not at all. I can certainly await the Abbot's convenience, and I wouldn't mind refreshing myself a bit before meeting him."
He looked appreciatively at the fruit in front of him. Although he had not eaten in a while, his stomach remained unsteady from his recent sea voyage, and he hesitated to eat anything too rich or heavy just yet. Some fruit was just what he needed. He took a few moments to mutter some words of thanks to his Goddess, then picked up a large pear and took a bite from it, taking a moment to savor its mild but satisfying taste before speaking to Pietro again. "Was this fruit grown here?" he asked. "It is quite good. Pears don't grow well on Kislovan, and they tend to come out either mushy or dry and sandy. This one," he brandished the pear he had just tasted, "is quite good."
Last edited by Guest on Mon Jan 23, 2006 2:24 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Guest
The monk listened to Latharn's tale of woe with a knowing grimace. His own journey to the Abbey had been such a "bumpy" one. Fortunately he now had access to the Portal mechanism, praise Mother.
Pietro chuckled.
"Usually those who have made such a long journey have done so at great urgency. We don't get many applicants from Kislovan, nor of adhiel lineage. I'm afraid folk will find your presence here something of a curiosity."
"The fruit. Some here, and some from the orchards to the north and west, those tended by the farmers and folk of Ash-Rigg. The Mother has been kind to our humble isle this year. Many suspect it is in preparation for a harsh winter. Or, for something much harsher that is coming."
He lowered his voice a bit and drew nearer to the achadhiel.
"Not all of the dreams visited upon us of late have been filled with vocations and simple callings. Some of the more sensitive brothers have taken to guarding themselves in sleep. You'll learn about that at the Hall of Thorns - where you'll stay for your first few days until we place you at one of the other halls."
"Now, I'll leave you to yourself to relax for a bit while I communicate your presence to the Abbot. Please make yourself at home in my quarters. I thought it my be more peaceful than throwing you into the over-curious lunch crowd downstairs."
With minimal searching, Latharn would find that everything he could need to make himself comfortable and to clean off the road's dust was somewhere within easy reach in the chambers. It was quiet here, but a small window to one side let in a bit of the commotion from down in the courtyard.
About a half mark later, the young monk reappeared.
"I hope you have found things to your liking Brother Latharn. We'll have an audience with the good father in about another half mark. In the meantime, perhaps you could acquaint me with the nature of your previous studies and the interests you wish to pursue here at the Abbey?"
Pietro chuckled.
"Usually those who have made such a long journey have done so at great urgency. We don't get many applicants from Kislovan, nor of adhiel lineage. I'm afraid folk will find your presence here something of a curiosity."
"The fruit. Some here, and some from the orchards to the north and west, those tended by the farmers and folk of Ash-Rigg. The Mother has been kind to our humble isle this year. Many suspect it is in preparation for a harsh winter. Or, for something much harsher that is coming."
He lowered his voice a bit and drew nearer to the achadhiel.
"Not all of the dreams visited upon us of late have been filled with vocations and simple callings. Some of the more sensitive brothers have taken to guarding themselves in sleep. You'll learn about that at the Hall of Thorns - where you'll stay for your first few days until we place you at one of the other halls."
"Now, I'll leave you to yourself to relax for a bit while I communicate your presence to the Abbot. Please make yourself at home in my quarters. I thought it my be more peaceful than throwing you into the over-curious lunch crowd downstairs."
With minimal searching, Latharn would find that everything he could need to make himself comfortable and to clean off the road's dust was somewhere within easy reach in the chambers. It was quiet here, but a small window to one side let in a bit of the commotion from down in the courtyard.
About a half mark later, the young monk reappeared.
"I hope you have found things to your liking Brother Latharn. We'll have an audience with the good father in about another half mark. In the meantime, perhaps you could acquaint me with the nature of your previous studies and the interests you wish to pursue here at the Abbey?"
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Guest
Latharn listened to Pietro's discussion of the fruit harvest on Dort Island with real rather than just feigned interest. His father had raised him to appreciate the importance of understanding one's natural surroundings, of knowing what grew where, of understanding the cycles of sun and rain and how it affected everything from the behavior of animals in the forest to the price of linen in town. His calling to serve the Mother had only strengthened his interest, and he had made a point of studying herbal lore, not just to learn how to turn plants into healing for people, but for its own sake, to understand the herbs themselves, how they grew, what they did in their environment when there weren't sick humanoids around seeking relief for their ills.
What Pietro said next, in a hushed and even apprehensive tone, was more ominous, and raised many questions in the young half-elf's mind, though he had little time to ask them. Even as he was still pondering what the Brother had just said about the ominous dreams, and about monks being frightened to sleep in their own cells without "protection" (how did one protect oneself from one's own dreams? he wondered), Pietro quickly changed the subject to more mundane and relaxing matters.
He nodded to the monk once the latter had finished talking. "You honor me with your hospitality," he said with proper politeness, "and I thank you for your help."
Once alone, Latharn ate one more piece of fruit, then rose and looked about for a suitable place to shake the dust off of his cloak and straighten out his travel clothes. They were but recently-purchased -his not having had any clothes appropriate to the climate and culture here until his arrival on Dort- and were thus in good condition, and still reasonably clean. Rummaging through his own satchel, he pulled out his comb and straightened out his wind-touseled hair into what he hoped would look more presentable to an abbot. Neither being vain, nor yet knowing what aspects of apperance those in the Abbey valued, he did not trouble himself more with his looks for the moment. He spent most of the interval waiting, letting his light but nourishing fare settle in his stomach, and looked idly about Pietro's quarters, less to find out about his host than to see what he might learn about what his own future residence here in the abbey might hold.
Latharn rose when the door opened again, and nodded at Pietro when he recognized him. "Thank you, Brother Pietro," he answered quietly, as he usually did. "I want for nothing thanks to your grace and hospitality." He listened to the rest of what Pietro said, and thought for a few minutes before answering. "I have studied only a little before coming here," he began slowly, "and some of it was relevant to the sect of K'tan and might not apply to how the monks here worship the Mother. My master was Fingal, a priest in the city of Caliboirne, whose letter I gave you for the abbot.
"I know a little of herbal lore, though only of the herbs that grow in my part of Kislovan. Obviously, I want to learn more about the flora and fauna of this island. I have studied the basics of healing, and would like to learn more about that as well." At this point he hesitated, knowing that there was more, and that it might be important, but not quite certain how what he had to say might be taken. When in doubt, his father had always taught him, speak the truth plainly. With a sigh, he brought himself to do this.
"I also have an interest in demonology and dark lore, mainly because I regard such things as the only things one should regard as an enemy here on Tazlure. One might make other enemies, and sometimes reconcile with them later, but the Darkness will always be a foe of the Mother and everything dear to Her. I only know a little bit about them, but what I know troubles me, and makes me wish I knew more, and had better means to meet their ills should I encounter them."
The achadhiel paused a moment to look at Brother Pietro to see how he was taking these words, then he bent down to search his satchel for a book, the text on demonology that Fingal had given him before he left. He found it after a moment and handed it to Pietro, hoping that it would finish explaining whatever his host needed explaining, then moved on to another subject.
"For the rest, I enjoy swimming and running. I know how to use a shortbow, but have no great skill in it." Having run out of obvious things to say, he stopped talking. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, Brother Pietro?"
What Pietro said next, in a hushed and even apprehensive tone, was more ominous, and raised many questions in the young half-elf's mind, though he had little time to ask them. Even as he was still pondering what the Brother had just said about the ominous dreams, and about monks being frightened to sleep in their own cells without "protection" (how did one protect oneself from one's own dreams? he wondered), Pietro quickly changed the subject to more mundane and relaxing matters.
He nodded to the monk once the latter had finished talking. "You honor me with your hospitality," he said with proper politeness, "and I thank you for your help."
Once alone, Latharn ate one more piece of fruit, then rose and looked about for a suitable place to shake the dust off of his cloak and straighten out his travel clothes. They were but recently-purchased -his not having had any clothes appropriate to the climate and culture here until his arrival on Dort- and were thus in good condition, and still reasonably clean. Rummaging through his own satchel, he pulled out his comb and straightened out his wind-touseled hair into what he hoped would look more presentable to an abbot. Neither being vain, nor yet knowing what aspects of apperance those in the Abbey valued, he did not trouble himself more with his looks for the moment. He spent most of the interval waiting, letting his light but nourishing fare settle in his stomach, and looked idly about Pietro's quarters, less to find out about his host than to see what he might learn about what his own future residence here in the abbey might hold.
Latharn rose when the door opened again, and nodded at Pietro when he recognized him. "Thank you, Brother Pietro," he answered quietly, as he usually did. "I want for nothing thanks to your grace and hospitality." He listened to the rest of what Pietro said, and thought for a few minutes before answering. "I have studied only a little before coming here," he began slowly, "and some of it was relevant to the sect of K'tan and might not apply to how the monks here worship the Mother. My master was Fingal, a priest in the city of Caliboirne, whose letter I gave you for the abbot.
"I know a little of herbal lore, though only of the herbs that grow in my part of Kislovan. Obviously, I want to learn more about the flora and fauna of this island. I have studied the basics of healing, and would like to learn more about that as well." At this point he hesitated, knowing that there was more, and that it might be important, but not quite certain how what he had to say might be taken. When in doubt, his father had always taught him, speak the truth plainly. With a sigh, he brought himself to do this.
"I also have an interest in demonology and dark lore, mainly because I regard such things as the only things one should regard as an enemy here on Tazlure. One might make other enemies, and sometimes reconcile with them later, but the Darkness will always be a foe of the Mother and everything dear to Her. I only know a little bit about them, but what I know troubles me, and makes me wish I knew more, and had better means to meet their ills should I encounter them."
The achadhiel paused a moment to look at Brother Pietro to see how he was taking these words, then he bent down to search his satchel for a book, the text on demonology that Fingal had given him before he left. He found it after a moment and handed it to Pietro, hoping that it would finish explaining whatever his host needed explaining, then moved on to another subject.
"For the rest, I enjoy swimming and running. I know how to use a shortbow, but have no great skill in it." Having run out of obvious things to say, he stopped talking. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, Brother Pietro?"
Last edited by Guest on Sun Jan 29, 2006 11:17 pm, edited 2 times in total.
