[templeofallgods]Take the leap Fool:Two Endings(kammy)

[Antar]

Noon, 8th of Winter, 511av.

Please ReadThis thread is open to anyone Kamali decides, it's purpose is to ensure Kamalia is trusting enough with the group to travel on a ship with them to Alvadas. With that in mind- hopefully this will be shorter then a mile long

Antar had smiled at the knight he had just met, rolling up the paper with the written word to guarantee the sparring match was set in stone as 'legitimate' as a training exercise. Andresciel seemed a nice enough sort... for a knight, Otherwise, Noth was sure he would have gotten into a quandary with the others if he was ever found out. At least now he would be given the good graces to walk into the temple of the all gods to begin his prayers.

He started by gazing at the wonders of the architecture within the temple, the long rows of pews, and the high arched ceiling of stone. It was said to be a place any gods were worshipped, and such religious tolerance was... different in many a places on the continent. He supposed that many others of any race which was present throughout the whole of Mizahar might come here at any point in time, so he kept his eyes out for anything peculiar which caught his eyes.

Flashes of blue skin were present within the throngs of the noon worshipers. A clear sign an Akalak or two maybe? But overall, the place was quite and orderly, with people taking a circular walk around the sides of the church, looking at the views and the setup of many side altars around the main area. They weren't devoted or engraved to any one god, or goddess, merely clean and elegantly adorned with colored candles as the haze of multicolored glass leant a peaceful aura to the place. It would be good to find a place to meditate here and make his devotions, his devotions to akajia, a prayer to laviku for safe passage, to syna, and moreover to simply sit and ponder the passage of time, which he had been told was Tanroa's realm.

Spying a flash of white hair amidst the crowd, the rogue's thoughts were momentarily distracted as he turned to see a new entrant into the temple. A konti woman to be exact. The black robed man wondered how their race faired here in the city of Syliras, and he could not help that his eyes and hers met for a moment. Curious, he didn't look away like many others would, merely nodding politely before making his way to a pew to sit.

[Kamalia Timandre]

ow long ago has it been since she sought sanctuary from the storm? How long ago has it been since she had sung a prayer in these walls? The turbulent turns of her journey made her lose track of Tanroa’s trickling sands. Too much happened in so little time, for her life moved at a pace few could follow. Not too long ago, when she first entered these very halls, the sorceress was lost, drifting, and seeking peace from the tempests of life, when she could find none in herself. From the howling storms she emerged, and today she returned, changed, wiser, calmer.

And with direction.

She swept her gaze around the sanctuary. The temple itself did not seem affected by the passage of time. The majesty of these halls was reminiscent of the gods, and anyone who sought solace here would marvel at the high ceilings, the stonework, and the artistry on statuaries lining the place of worship. The sun streamed colorful patterns over the sorrow oak pews and the stone floor through the stained glass windows. Kamalia pulled the hood of her brocade cloak away from her head, letting silken silvery-white locks cascade to her waist, shimmering faintly in candlelight. It was also in winter when she and Gromhir had stumbled upon this temple. She could never forget that child-like fascination on his face, when his peaceful eyes fell upon the glass illustrations, each stained glass depicting a god in the Mizaharian pantheon. Realizing how much she missed her bondmate and then-lover, the Konti sorceress quickly pushed these thoughts away, and walked in a whisper of silk and the gentle tinkle of silver jewelry. Her soft footfalls echoed through the vast, nearly-empty temple halls.

She had come here not only to reflect upon the mysteries of the Seer Mother, but also to seek advice from Glav Navik, a man of great wisdom. She was saddened to hear from the new caretaker that Glav had left long ago, and wondered where his destiny had taken him. Kamalia had returned to Syliras with the intention of finding Stitch, to rally allies who sought to sever the strings of Sagallius the Puppeteer from this world— only to find out he, too, had abandoned the Orphanage and was no longer in the fortress city. The friends she sought were not here, and Syliras, which she once considered as her second home, seemed so foreign now. It seemed so alone.

Her eyes locked with a white-haired man who donned black raiment and wore a curious expression. Kamalia answered his polite gesture with a gracious nod and a compassionate smile—a slight curve at the corners of her lips. She took a small harp carved from vianwood from her bag, before moving on towards the emptier side of the temple, hoping not to disturb other patrons in their deep prayers.

She had offered this song in this temple once, so that Avalis may hear her heart and grant her forgiveness. Closing her eyes, Kamalia imagined herself standing before the sea, as the All-Seeing Mother once did, to serenade Laviku. Instinctively, her fingers gracefully strummed the silvery strings of her harp. In a voice siren and ethereal, the Konti songstress sang a thankful prayer to all gods. The filtered rays painted her alabaster skin in a mosaic of color that made her seem unearthly and sacred as her song.

“By the light of the sun, your word abounds,
A miracle is brought to pass — pure water.
A teardrop, peace, light, love, music.
The fruit of the fields breathes ripeness and freedom.
The wind of blessing blows across the world.
All is filled with thanksgiving.
Storm and bedlam and darkness at last
Turn to the light of the sun and joy of a warm day.
O gods, thank you for your wondrous works.”

[Antar]

The dulcimer tones of the musician rang softly within the hallowed halls of the temple, and Antar's keen hearing waivered on every note. It wasn't often that one met a konti, and besides from their races apparrent reputation for finding beauty in all things, he'd have simply contented himself to relax and listen to the voice as it rang softly over the din of the worshippers. The song she sang was beautiful of course, if lilting with the inner struggles to maintain such a performance. A testament to the skills of a woman who had practiced long and hard to train her voice to a semblance of competence. So she was a songstress. An enchanting one at that. It's not that he cared for any particular woman of the konti race, despite his talks with serrif along the road, or idolized the merits of their way of life.

There were many ways of life, peace being just one of them. Who was to say a konti woman's life was better then a twig's of grass or the swimming efforts of a charodae harvesting their kelp farms. No, konti were like many races, destined to be as divergent in their course as any human's. But he had heard that many of the female's were philosophers in their own right.

His mind craved a bit of philosophy now. A guiding mark to help ascertain the reasons why he was here. Agents, supposedly of Alvadas' government had come to their group, asking for their assistance for some unknown quest. They had enough money to pay for passage and one had even void stored his wagon and his cage for his kelvic falcon, Ellise. He wished for a moment he had brought the animal with him, he had heard some konti were gifted healers. Perhaps one could repair her damaged mind or Bob Barton's too?

Seeking information on the isles and perhaps a bit of comfort in a stranger's view of things, the black robed rogue stood and held his assassin beads in his hand like the prayer beads they were meant to fashion. He asked Tanroa silently if his steps were guiding him to a meeting of necessity and wondered what might come of things.

At the last note of the konti woman's song, Antar slid to sit down a short distance away from her, his beads held to his lips as he bowed his head in a prayer. For a moment he stayed that way before speaking, "You play well child of Avalis. Even to one who has only heard rumors of your kind. Perhaps you may forgive the intrusion, my name is Antar, though most call me Anthony upon the road: if you choose to speak your name in return than that shall be as you will it. Forgive the boldness of my intrusion: but I wish to speak to you about two things I view as a necessity. The first question beholds me to approach you now to ask a question of some import for a friend. I have heard the Isle of Mura might help heal those who's minds are ravaged by the wearing of time, or situation. Even magic. Is this true or do you know of anything that might be possible in this regard for my friend's sake honored singer? If your wishes say that I not speak the second question after if you choose to reply or not reply at all; then I shall keep my silence in respect to your wishes."

While he was weary, both physically, and magically from his late bout of training with Andresciel, having left the glade of their sparring match behind to enter the temple, the letter of clemency from his newfound friend in the knight's making, Andresciel, was tucked safely above his breast. He would keep it for a time, in fact all time if he could for when he came to Syliras again to spar with the knights if allowed.

But for his weariness, Antar would not risk looking at the konti woman with auristics, nor would he disturb the privacy of anyone's emotions in such a way within these hallowed walls. If she however did not think the same she might see the aura of a mage, asking her these questions. But that was not his knowledge to know. It was only Antar's knowledge to calmly wait, and judge with his own hearing whether his words stirred the woman to speak to him.

[Kamalia Timandre]

And so she sang, singing away the shadows, singing away her own fears and woes.

And when the song faded into silence, the Konti songstress closed her eyes for a long moment, to listen to the inner serenity in her heart. A voice snatched her from her prayerful reverie, and Kamalia turned to face the human in black robes. Her lips curved into a soft smile when the male complimented her music, nodding graciously in gratitude. “Thank you,” she simply sang.

“None perceived, Master Anthony,” she said, pertaining to his “intrusion”, “and you may call me Kamalia.”

The Konti’s eyes seemed to glimmer curiously when the pale-haired man mentioned his friend, whose mind seemed to have been flayed by magic. She waited until he had finished speaking. The smile did fade then, slowly, as if something had been recalled to her.

“Rak’keli is a deity revered by many of my sisters from the Opal Order. With their goddess-given power, their hands can heal wounds, of the body and of the mind, and to a lesser degree, the taint of Overgiving,” Kamalia’s lips twitched, as if in revulsion, and as if she hated the taste of that vile word rolling on her tongue.

“I am no healer, but I know for sure that the darkest taints of Overgiving cannot easily be cleansed. If the healers of Rak’keli could cure any illness, their hands would have been able to undo the lunacy of any great wizard, and perhaps it could have averted disasters—tragedies that spelled the doom of many and spilled blood in the chiliad,” she said, softly yet firmly, half to herself and with a distant look in her eyes. “Or was it perhaps fate? Was it chance? I cannot know, and I cannot decide. We can only watch, and hope, and pray.”

Kamalia focused on him again and smiled, “Forgive me. You may ask me your second question, if you wish. I have time to spare.”

[Antar]

Antar smiled and nodded politely beneath the darkened cowl as the woman spoke, being sure to keep his face partially hidden from view by the fabric. Such tenets of actions were half ingrained within him as instinct as much as they were a part of his guise of caution. The information on a possible sect of healers, the Opal Order, and the information on rak'keli was useful. Not as useful as if he spent seeming hours tracing down the clues and histories of such a group; but enough to point him later in a right direction.

"Thank you ..." He paused a moment to let himself recall the name of the konti as she had given it to him. "-Kamalia was it? Yes I believe that's what you said, please correct me if I'm wrong. I thank you for what you just said to me, I shall endeavor to pass it along at a later time to my friend. But for now, my second question is a bit of necessity, yet verges upon the philosophical: If one is called to do something, to go somewhere and agrees to do the task if it is impressed upon them enough that it bears some importance. Should it be natural that they feel confused or worried by such things? Or should they simply accept what is ahead, and move on to make the best preparations they can?"

Antar second question was worded a bit differently then the first, it was not a direct question at all. instead it was subjective, a rumination if you would about his current place in events which were soon to unfold. In Alvadas, the government had hired his party to deal with a rogue illusionist, a man who might be just as dangerous, if not more so then a normal mage who was plagued by overgiving. However, this did not mean he'd discuss such a thing in details with any other, but the konti had a proclivity for being wise beyond their years.

Who knew? Perhaps his questions would evoke another reaction or rumination of Kamalia's own? Perhaps there would be nothing but a simple courtesy of exchanged words between them, their own situations mired and enshrouded with subterfuge and deception... perhaps they would merely wax poetic before they began to take a measure of each other in some way. But moreover, his next words might leave a bit of ominous tension in the air as he ended with a strong supposition of his own" How would you prepare yourself for an important task ahead? I know I must soon prepare for mine. Practice of many crafts and martial disciplines will be essential if I wish to survive the coming storms I can predict, though I'm not a soothsayer of any sort, and the ones I won't be able to predict might be even more deadly."

He sighed a moment raising the assassin's beads to his lips as if they were the actual prayer beads their guise was meant to mock. "Tanroa, Akajia, and Morwen preserve me, I ask you forgive my ramblings but I think this place here, this temple brings, out the most somber topics of discussions and perhaps the most interesting of meetings with others to reflect upon things. Don't you think?

[Kamalia Timandre]

A slight smile blossomed upon the Konti’s lips while she listened patiently. The colors of their garments contrasted each other, like night and starlight, amidst stone and painted windows. Kamalia’s cloak was ivory, with elaborate silver embroidery, vines and flowers all along the edges. Her dress was silk and pure white. A gossamer sash of champagne encircled her waist, adorned with floral patterns. When it was her turn to speak, Kamalia regarded him for a moment, before her voice wove melody into silence.

“My Konti sisters leave our homeland when they are “Called”. It is a must for my people, an inherent need to fulfill a task, a Call too great to ignore that we lose the will to live when we are denied to answer it. Some Konti become counselors to lords and merchant princes. Others become the greatest in their chosen profession. There are those who seek love and hearth in distant lands, and there are a few whose Calling is only to sing in the sun, and dance beneath the moonlight,” her song trailed off almost regretfully, and Kamalia’s smile faded again, as if memories unbidden had been recalled to her. “And there are those who simply want everything back to what they once were.”

If Antar looked more closely, the Konti appeared like a maiden not yet eighteen, but the more he looked the more he would think she was older than that. Her violet eyes captured wisdom, a hint of maturity no one could have gotten that young. “Few resist the Call, for it is what must be done. And when we know our Call, we accept it, and chase it faithfully without question. That is simply the way of my people, of my sisters.”

Antar’s second question held more weight than the first. A strange glint crossed her eyes—compassion perhaps? Or was she actually calculating him?—as she regarded him with a mystifying stare. “I, too, brace myself for tempests that are to come,” she began softly with a knowing smile. “I have weathered a few, before, but those are nothing. A shadow falls across the lands, and change is coming. Watch for that moment, and when it comes, embrace it and persevere, for no blade yet wrought can parry loss. The storm will tear away from you all but things that cannot be torn, so that you may see yourself as you really are. It is painful, but you shall be ready to sacrifice what you are for what you must become. That is how you can survive.”

The songstress seemed to be looking inward, examining her own thoughts, eyes distant, and she said almost to herself, “I have lost my home, my friends, and my love to the wind, to do what I must. Is it fate, or is it chance? Only my goddess knows. I can only watch, and hope, and pray. Some seer I am.”

[Antar]

Antar laughed a moment at the konti woman's words, not harshly or mockingly but rather bemusedly. "You know, I do believe there's a reason I met you here today on my way to Alvadas. You do tend to say the oddest things, but I'll let you in on my perspective: when one's lived in the shadows all their life, that stormy trouble on the horizon you noted sounds like just another day."

Antar sighed a moment and posited, "Perhaps, Kamalia you're thinking to hard, just like I am. Simply needing a friend or someone else to say it's time to let yourself go and things will work out on their own. Like the story of an old hanged man, complacent with hanging upside down from a tree... letting the moment determine the next set of events while you watch and wait for an opportunity. In the meantime, going wherever your path takes you. Eventually, you'll find you may meet back up with others who you passed along the way and become stronger for it."

Setting two hands to his knees, Antar physically pushed himself up to stretch, making one final regard to the altars before turning towards the konti woman as his voice came to hold a gentle note, "But I thank you; wise or not, alone around here, or not, your words held a bit of solace to another being."

Holding out one hand as an offer to help her up, the rogue's smile broadened as he shrugged."I'm a bit parched, perhaps you'd like to venture into this hive of a city to seek out some sustenance, my party will be getting worried where I am, and who knows, perhaps you may find someone else to talk to. We're staying at the White Swan Inn for three days till the ship sales, and you're welcome to come along to Alvadas if you're heading that way. Safety in numbers and all. If you'd rather not, and part ways here; I can safely say that I will at least remember the songstrel who played a wondrous melody that could soothe the soul in the halls of the gods this day. I'm guessing to try to say, don't worry about things right now; if you have the ability to help determine another's path with a few kind words then the vision of your own will come with time."

[Kamalia Timandre]

The Konti sorceress smiled, but it was a smile that did not reach her eyes this time. Those mysterious violet eyes were suddenly just plain unreadable. “Steeped in darkness your life may be, there are shadows deeper and darker still, Master Anthony. Darkness that will drink your blood, crack your bone and suck your marrow. Darkness that will sing your screams, exalt in your pain, and gobble your cries. Darkness that will warp every sinew and fiber of your being,” she said calmly, as if she were talking about tea and gowns rather than death, doom and darkness. There seemed to be an uncanny glimmer in her eyes that hinted she saw something beyond him. “Two endings. There are always two endings, Master Anthony. Two outcomes. Two perspectives.”

The Konti tucked the harp into a bag, and then produced a deck of elaborately painted cards. She drew two cards, not taking her eyes off Antar. “The first ending,” she said, holding out the card in front of him. On it was the Tower: a proud Alahean spire on a rocky outcrop being struck by a massive ball of inferno, possibly referring to Ivak’s fiery cataclysm—the Valterrian. “The Tower is the symbol of hubris, the symbol of ambition. It housed prideful men convinced of their rightness. Long have these men sought to touch the firmament. Long have they sought to reach the Ukalas and crown themselves gods. Long have they constructed towers, soaring spires day and night to reach the heavens. These are every tower every man or woman ever built—kingdoms, friendships, trust, love,” she paused and smiled mysteriously, “…power.”

“Perhaps they were not ready. Perhaps the sky was not meant for them. ‘Alahea’ in the Ancient Tongue means ‘let us reach the sky’. They kept on building, until the darkest day of Mizahar struck, when the flames of Ivak consumed the world. The towers fell, consumed by fire, even the stones of them, down to the living rock of earth. Ambitions, dreams, and empires came tumbling down. Weep, if you have a heart, for the loss of them. Weep for what is lost forever. This is your first ending.”

“And the second,” she said placidly, holding out the next card. It was Death. Dira, wielding a glaive in her right hand and a black blade in the other, clad in flowing tunic, graced the card. Two jackals sat on either side of her—Before, who was dark as midnight, and After, who was pristine white. “Death is deliverance. Death is mercy. Death is change. You shall die, in a way, sacrificing your old world, your old self, your old ways. Death humbles, and you will be brought low and stripped to the bones by the storm. Again, the storm will tear away from you all but things that cannot be torn.”

There was sadness in her voice. “Weep for the loss of them. Weep, if you have a heart, but remember that old leaves must wither and take flight from a tree’s branches, leaving them bare, before new leaves can be reborn. Be ready to sacrifice what you are for what you must become. This is your second ending.”

Kamalia shuffled the deck of cards in her hands, fastening it with a strip of violet silk, before slipping it into her bag. “Two endings. Two perspectives. One is rude awakening; the other is embracing change. One is swallowed by darkness; the other accepts and is transformed by it. Which path you would tread now is in your hands,” she said, before taking Antar’s hand to help her up.

“I rarely think hard, Master Anthony,” she said warmly. “When I do, terrible things happen. And like the Hanged Man, I shall absorb and see. Not today, but that time will come." She straightened the folds in her robes.

"Alvadas, you say? Then our paths are intertwined, indeed.” She broke into a musical laughter. “My friends are also staying at the White Swan Inn.”

[Antar]

Before Kamalia would put the cards away and tie them, unknowing to her Antar's hand would slip up and take the next card after brushing her hands with an inquisitive smile and nod as he tried to remember her words; They could have a myriad number of meanings, from being hunted by people from his past, to the trials ahead in Alvadas. But such things weren't really his to ponder, he had too much trouble in the present to really consider more then a week or two ahead.

But no matter.

The card would be palmed and tucked back under his robe; secured there until he was ready.

He would bite his tongue and bide his time until she was ready for him to help her up. When she rose from her seer's trance, he would gently place her arm in his to lead her towards the temple's doors to lead her out into Syliras towards the inn.

The journey there was a peaceful one, well if you could count maneuvering around armored knights and keeping ones head low. He stopped them both before their destination and took a moment before considering his reply. "You know Kamalia, that is an interesting thing. Those cards were fascinating, so fascinating I had to pick one while you explaining about the tower, and the Death card. In sort, I took this one without your knowledge while asking: What am I? But don't worry, you can have that back. What does it mean?"

He would in turn flip the card around to her vision, to see the edifice of the Fool staring at her eyes, and without a further ado would place it in her hand as he let go of her arm. He didn't want anyone out there getting false ideas; he was merely being nice as any gentlemen would... though he hoped Shai had not seen such a thing; she might get the wrong idea about the rogue.

[Kamalia Timandre]

She took the arm the man offered and allowed him to escort her out of the sacred halls. The smile the sorceress bestowed upon him was an enigma—a bare curve of the corners of her lips—when Antar presented the Fool card to her. Whether or not she was pleased or irritated by Antar pilfering the card from the deck, her eyes remained impassive and unreadable, and there was no telling what she thought.

The Fool card portrayed the playful Wyn—the male twin of the god and goddess of lost causes, Kelwyn. He wore motley seamen’s raiment with a red sash, and held a quarterstaff to which a small pack that contained his possessions was attached. He smiled with a youthful exuberance, lost in his thoughts and unaware of the cliff he was likely to fall over.

Suddenly, there was a strange glint in her eyes. “The Fool,” she began, her melodious voice sounded amused, “is the card of infinite possibilities. So passionate is the Fool that he blindly sets out where all else may fear to tread. He embarks on a journey, on an adventure, unafraid of what is to come, undaunted by endings and destiny, and the intricate weaves of fate. Yet along with this audacity comes impetuousness. Following his bliss, enthralled by all of which life has to offer, the Fool is unaware that he is about to step off a precipice, and fall into the ever-dark oblivion.”

For a moment her violet eyes burned into his. “Will the Fool learn to pay attention to where he treads before it is too late? Will he stop looking at the sky and see the abyss that yawn before him? Will he take the leap of faith, and plunge into this new phase of life?”

Her slight smile widened, and her eyes glimmered eerily. “You stand upon a precipice of change. Take the leap of faith, fool. Leap. For it is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

-END-