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A new use for the Temple of Marr

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Tylum	A new use for the Temple of Marr	Lead	[-]
Posts: 370 (11/09/11 4:01 AM) Ridol's Apprentice Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	Tags : None In the busy streets of Freeport, a rather nondescript young man heads north toward the Temple of Marr. His pace is neither hurried nor indolent--a casual stride just shy of "businesslike" that he's developed. Tylum manages to maintain a reasonably good peripheral awareness of the people around him, but his mind is charged with a hopeful new idea. It makes sense...it should work, shouldn't it? He turns down the street that leads to the temple. In minutes, he walks through the gates and down the path through the awe-inspiring green that surrounds the towering edifice. He cannot help but stare; he's been here before a couple of times, but never on his own business. As he ascends the front steps, he second guesses himself. Is this really the best idea? Sure. Sure it is. This is the Temple of Marr; if anywhere would be a sympathetic safe-haven, this should be it. Right? And suddenly, he is standing alone in a vaulted marble foyer. He looks around. There are acolytes, lay people, a couple of clergy, all looking like they know what they're doing and why they're here. Tylum grips the letter he's brought with him, his palms and fingers leaving damp indentations on the paper. Picking an acolyte at random, Tylum asks to speak with a priest. The youth asks him which priest he's looking for, and Tylum freezes, racking his brain for a name. Uh... While he stands there looking bewildered, the acolyte patiently asks if he's wanting to speak to someone from the Brother's or the Sister's Order. That he can answer. I, uh, think I need to talk to a priest of Erollisi. Please. The acolyte smiles. "Well, that will narrow it down, at least. Come with me, and I'll see if someone's available." Tylum nods and follows the young man through a large side chamber and out onto one of the stone porches of the temple. Two men and a woman in robes and armor stand conversing. Tylum and the acolyte wait at a respectful but visible distance for a minute or two, but it seems that their presence is not noticed. With a quick, apologetic nod to Tylum, the acolyte steps closer and interrupts. "Please pardon my interruption, but there is a young man who wishes to speak with a priest...?" The acolyte looks to the oldest of the three--a robed human man of advancing years, faded brown hair mixed well with grey, and sharp blue eyes. The older gentleman looks over to Tylum, then nods to the acolyte, excuses himself from the priest and lady knight with whom he had been talking, and crosses the porch to greet Tylum with a smile. "Good morning, my son. How can I be of service?" Tylum smiles a bit nervously at the man's gentle voice. His own voice remains hushed, but he manages to keep it steady as he replies. Mornin' sir. I just needed to ask somethin'. Uh. It's about, uh, me an' my fiancee. The older man smiles and nods. "A matter of love, then, my son?" Tylum shakes his head, then hesitates and shrugs. Well, uh, not exactly, but kinda. See, I gotta be here in Freeport to work, but I kinda move around a lot, an' I can't have letters delivered to me regular. An'...an' our, uh, relationship is kinda secret, sorta, for now. An' well, we jus' kinda need somewhere to help with that, somewhere she can send a letter sometimes so I can get it... He sounds like an idiot. Again. This priest... Tylum looks at him and sees the skeptical expression that screams, "I'm not buying it." His words falter, and the letter in his hands wrinkles from his sudden, clinging grip. The priest folds his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at him before interjecting. "Young man, while I can appreciate your desire, this is not a post office. You'd be better off with Marsheart's Chords, don't you think? The bards there run the mail regularly." Tylum tries to nod, but his hopeless expression invalidates the gesture. Yeah, I know, sir, but...but that jus' won't work for what I'm needin'. The priest hesitates. Something about the boy's sincerity... "Come with me." His tone brooks no argument, and the pair of them walk back into the temple. The priest leads Tylum up a couple of flights of stairs, through several rooms and hallways, and into a spacious office. The priest sits down, not behind the desk, but in one of two large, comfortable chairs to the side. He motions Tylum to the other seat. "Now, why don't you tell me what your situation is. In confidence, of course, since you seem somewhat concerned about that." Tylum hesitates only for a moment. The demeanor of this man--so confidently persuasive and sincere--as well as his need for the priest's cooperation suddenly find him speaking more plainly than he'd imagined he would when he had played out this scene in his mind. All right. See, I'm kinda in a job that...well, it's kinda dangerous sometimes. An' my fiancee's kinda far away, in the Karanas, an' she worries about me, but I can't have a real address for her to send a letter to, an' I don't need my name bein' known. I don't really trust Marsheart's Chords, an' I don't have the greatest past with them, so I was hopin' that maybe the Temple would be okay for me to use for an address so she can send me some letters sometimes. He pauses for breath in the midst of his rush of words. An' I promise, there's nothin' bad about this. It's jus' letters, jus' the normal kind, an' nothin' that'd be a problem for the temple, I'm sure of it. I jus' need a drop and pickup point an' a place that she can send to, since she can't be usin' my name or any address around here, y'know? He trails off hopefully. The priest sits silently for a moment, considering Tylum's words. The temple has occasionally served as go-between when necessary in such affairs, as when the lovers' parents are unwilling to consider the match for their own petty reasons, or when one of the lovers is often traveling. Indeed, the temple often worked with the League of Antonican Bards in such affairs. In all likelihood, this young man is being melodramatic about all the degree of danger and need, but what isn't a bit melodramatic when two young lovers are separated? Regardless, the young fellow has come here and asked the help of the Queen's clergy in fostering his love, and he can find no good grounds to refuse what amounts to a very simple request. "You need us only to receive and hold letters for you? Or need we arrange delivery as well?" Tylum shakes his head. No, I can probly get somebody... The priest interjects. "It wouldn't be much difficulty at all. We regularly have traveling priests, bards, and couriers coming through. I only wished to know if you wanted the temple to arrange the entire process." A bit surprised and relieved at the offer, Tylum considers and speaks. Well...that'd be good, but I'll come an' get anything she sends me, myself. I don't want anyone lookin' for me. That wouldn't be good. The priest regards Tylum with a sobering expression. The young man seems exceptionally serious and frank. Maybe he was in some dangerous line of work... He shrugs internally. The boy's line of work was not his affair; he'd been asked to consult and assist in a matter of love, not profession. That's what matters. The priest nods. "Very well. And may I have your name, my son?" Tylum pauses. He doesn't want to say "Mutyl" lest word get out that Mutyl is receiving letters at the Temple of Marr. Should he offer another pseudonym? Or just... Tylum. The name slips out. In that moment, he meets the priest's blue eyes with the leaf-green of his own, curious and wary at the surprised expression that has taken them but holding the gaze steadily, entreating him to keep this as much in confidence as all else that has been said. The intensity of his expression draws a nod from the priest, who clears his throat and resumes his pleasantly thoughtful demeanor. "Have your betrothed write her letter to you within two envelopes--the outside one should bear only my name, and the inside one, however she wishes to indicate that the letter is for you. When the letter is delivered to the temple, it will come straight to me, but when I open it, I will see who it's for and hold it for you." The priest grins a bit. "Of course, I have no way of notifying you that a letter has arrived, so I suppose you might wish to start visiting the temple regularly...perhaps begin attending services." He waves a hand with a chuckle. "I jest...at least partly. We're quite willing to help whether you're a member of the Church of the Twins or not. I suppose you're probably not. That's all right. Do you have any other questions...any other information we might need? Of course all that we've said here will remain confidential." Tylum shakes his head and gets to his feet. The priest stands as well and holds out his hand. For a moment, Tylum is puzzled, then realizes that the observant cleric has noticed the letter he's been wringing in his hands. Tylum hands it over. Thank you, sir. The priest nods again. "My name is Plur Etinu. Have..." He glances at the envelope for the name. "...Thalisa address her letters to you under my name, as I said." The man glances again, in a double take, at the envelope, but refrains from further questioning. This is growing ever more interesting. Tylum, however, only nods again and smiles. Thanks again, sir. This is great. Thanks so much. With that, Plur escorts Tylum to the door, and the young man walks back down the long hallways and stairs to let himself out of the Temple of Marr and return to the seedy Freeport underground. His step and his heart are lighter than they have been in some time. Last Edited By: Tylum 11/09/11 10:20 AM. Edited 1 time.
Tylum		#1	[-]
Posts: 371 (11/09/11 11:39 AM) Ridol's Apprentice Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	When Tylum has left, Plur returns to his office, staring at the letter in his hands. What were the odds... Well, pretty good, actually, if he really thought about it. The aging priest taps the envelope on the counter absently and feels the slide of weight inside it. Frowning, he feels the outline of the round shapes and determines that they're coins, though of what make and denomination he can't tell. A smile touches his lips. Tylum's a good boy, it would seem. Tylum. He sighs, his brow knit. Of all people, though...Tylum. At first, when the young man had told him his name, he'd been startled but uncertain, but the address to Thalisa Antares of the Sigils' Sanctum had confirmed his suspicions. It was indeed that Tylum. Which put him in a slightly awkward position. He has no doubt that trying to conceal this subterfuge from his old friend will be useless and damaging; when Keats found out about it...which he surely would--he's the leader of that organization, he's often at the Temple, he's deeply involved with the Antares family, and then there's that history with Tylum... Yes, when--not if--he found out, it could really mar his relationship with the bard. Plur frowns, torn in his loyalties. He's been friends with Keats since his childhood in addition to his being Keats's personal confessor throughout his adult life. Why did he say yes? Why didn't he ask someone else to do this? Because he'd still have known it was going on. And while Plur was obligated to confidentiality, he was a terrible liar, and Keats has known him too long and too well not to notice. He's going to have to talk to him about this. Plur allows himself a slight, hopeful smile. Maybe talking to Keats about this would be a good thing--the Queen did sometimes place people in the right positions to be of assistance to one another and to foster Truth and Love. In telling the truth to Keats, he may be able to help repair this breach, and how worthwhile that would be! He may be able to enlist Keats himself in this endeavor...Plur's hopeful smile gains a determined edge. He may indeed be in a unique decision to coopt the dominant bard's assistance.
Keats Lovesonnet	Days later...	#2	[-]
Posts: 11663 (11/09/11 2:21 PM) High Sigil Defender of Love Sigil of the Silver Tongue Order of the Wayfarers Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	The morning services at the Temple conclude, and Keats lingers in the seating area, talking with a group of acquaintances about trivialities. He hadn't been on the worship roster today, instead attending solely as a church member rather than a musician. Marus and Felicity had led the worship today, their well-known duet bringing a familiar and comfortable feel to the songs of praise. A priest of Mithaniel had given a fine message, and now plans for lunch were being discussed. The small knot of people with whom Keats finds himself make their way slowly toward the main doors. From the height vantage of the temple, they can already see blankets beginning to dot the lawn as farming families who've come in from the Commonlands prepare their meal before they undertake the trek back to their homes. Just as the group has nearly settled on a place to eat, a hand on Keats's shoulder draws his attention. He turns, and there stands Plur. Plur! Hey, I was wondering where you were. The bard grins broadly and shakes Plur's hand, offering the quick hug of warm greeting between brothers in the church. Plur smiles in return, then apologizes to the group and Keats as one, but requests Keats's presence with him, as they have something to discuss. The half elf raises his eyebrows but acquiesces with a nod and his own apology to the group. They accept in good grace and depart while Keats follows Plur back into the nave and out through the east transept, Plur having first intercepted a novice to request two meals from the kitchen to be delivered to his study. When the youth disappears to the kitchens, Plur leads Keats up the stairs to the room in which he and Tylum had sat a few days before. They sit down, and Keats waits patiently for Plur to speak first. The priest, however, takes a moment to gather his thoughts, looking contemplatively at the bard long enough for Keats to grow a bit uncomfortable. Just as he is about to break the silence, Plur speaks, carefully phrasing his opening lines. "I asked you to come up here because I've found myself in need of your help." Keats cocks his head curiously. Plur has very rarely "needed" anything from him. On the contrary, it's almost always the other way around--he can't begin to count the times that he's come to Plur for the uninvolved listening ear and sage advice that the priest can offer. Plur's always been there. Keats nods willingly. Sure, of course. What can I do for you, my friend? Plur smiles slightly. "I'm afraid this may seem a bit beneath you--" Keats almost interrupts with a scoff at Plur's deference, but the priest shakes his head and continues. "It's really something of a courier's job, but it involves the Sigils, and so of course you seemed the obvious choice." Interested, Keats leans forward a bit, listening. Before Plur goes on, however, they are interrupted by the novice arriving with two covered dishes; the midday meal had already been prepared before the services were over, and so they pause to set up their frugal but appetizing repast on the small table between them. The novice disappears with a bow, Plur delivers the prayer of thanksgiving, and they begin to eat. After a moment, Keats's friend continues. "Now, Keats, you know that you and I go back a long way. I'm your confessor. I have your best interests at heart, and the few favors I've asked of you have--at least--been easy and light...and more often for a greater purpose." He pauses and waits for Keats's response. The bard nods, brow furrowed. This sounds more serious than he had anticipated. I know, Plur, and of course I'll be glad to help in any way I can. But now you've got me really curious. What's so important, and how are my Sigils involved? Another quick smile from the priest that disappears as swiftly as it came. "I need you to play the courier for some exchanges of letters between an individual here in Freeport and the Antares family." Keats blinks, a bit surprised. Then a look of some suspicion emerges. Plur pauses only for a second, then continues. "Specifically, Thalisa Antares." He stops, then, and looks directly into the bard's eyes, unflinching and unapologetic. Keats takes a drink from his glass, then slowly sets it down. And this person who's writing to Thalisa? He asks but already knows. That's clear enough to Plur, who does not release the bard's gaze as he answers. "Tylum. Your former apprentice." I knew it. Keats closes his eyes and sighs. The old resentment flares in him, urging him to refuse out of hand, to accuse Plur of...of what? Betrayal? How? But how can he do this? He's tried to forget the circumstances of Tylum's dismissal; he knows he's being irrational, but that's what irrational means, isn't it? Unreasoning. While he tries to formulate an objection, Plur forges ahead. "I know you don't like the boy. We can't like everyone, Keats, I know this, but this has gone beyond dislike. It's becoming harmful, not to him but to you. I've listened to you for years about this lad, and I've tried to empathize, to understand. I do understand your feelings of betrayal, but you need to put this behind you..." At this, Keats exhales explosively and strikes the table, causing the dishes to rattle as he raises his voice. No! I mean, I know, but...I can't do this, Plur. I'm sorry. The answer is no. The bard shakes his head and regards the priest defiantly. I've put up with enough as it is. I'm being patient. I'm not downing him to Thalisa, and I'm even trying to be supportive about this ridiculous wedding--which is going to be a disaster, let me tell you--but enough is enough. I know it doesn't seem like you're asking that much of me, but you are this time. No... He would have gone on, but Plur sets down his own cup and interrupts him. His blue eyes, always tranquil, are hard now, and his voice, while not loud, carries the strength of steel. "I wasn't asking." Startled, Keats misses a beat in his tirade, and in the silence, Plur continues inexorably. "As a priest of Erollisi Marr, I am requiring the reasonable services of the most suitable laity for an operation in the furtherance of the Queen's mission in Norrath. You are known to all parties, trustworthy, and honorable. You are often traveling between the necessary destinations, so that your movements will not arouse any suspicion. You are a bard, a profession known for their use as couriers; the fact that you retrieve and deliver letters will not be seen as unusual. And you are a devout follower of the Sister-Twin. You know Her creed and Her purpose, as well as your place and role in it." Plur has risen from his chair as he has spoken and now moves to place himself directly in front of Keats, who remains seated, stunned at Plur's authoritative argument. The Queen's priest does not take his eyes from those of the bard before him. "You are a member of this congregation, and you have accepted me as your personal confessor. As your spiritual authority, I require you to aid Tylum and Thalisa in establishing their love. Unless you have some legitimate objection that does not revolve around your own selfishness and resentment." With that, Plur cocks a pejorative eyebrow at the bard staring up at him. Inside, Plur winces at the stricken, shocked expression on his old friend's face, but he lets none of his empathy show here. Instead, he waits staunchly for the inevitable answer. And it comes. After long seconds of astonished silence, Keats drops his gaze and reluctantly shakes his head in response to Plur's pointed "question" regarding his objections. Instantly, Plur relaxes and steps back, picking up Tylum's letter from his desk and handing it to Keats, who takes it but does not look at him. Plur then resumes his seat near the humbled bard, and this time his voice is his own again, softer and kinder. "It's for them, yes, Keats, but it's for you as well. Consider it a penance of sorts. I believe it will help you." There are no words in response, but Keats nods--again, reluctantly, but at least he has acquiesced. Plur can only imagine how hard this is for his friend--to aid the person he has spent months...no, years, now...hating--but he has the inner peace of having followed the Sister's will. He reaches out and puts a hand on Keats's shoulder, prompting his friend to look at him once more. "Thank you, Keats." The bard returns his gaze only for a moment before looking away again. He nods again but takes another drink instead of speaking. Wisely, Plur neither presses him for a response nor changes the subject. Instead, he picks up his fork and begins to eat, letting his friend think in the silence that slowly loses its tension. After a few seconds, Keats begins to eat as well. They finish their meal in silence, but when they are done, Keats looks Plur in the eye once more, and his humiliation at the chastisement has settled and dissipated. He is not quite ready to smile at his friend, but Plur offers one anyway and is not offended when it is not returned. There is no hate in the bard's eyes; that is enough. Together, they rise to depart the study, and Plur rests a guiding hand on Keats's back as they walk to the door. "May the Twins keep you, and especially the Sister. You are a faithful servant; none of us has achieved perfection, but we all strive toward it, one faltering step at a time." That prompts a half smile from the Silver Tongue. Striving for perfection...how many times has he, himself, offered his fellow Sigils that same reassurance? He nods again and steps out. I know. Thanks, Plur. With that, Keats turns away and heads down the hallway, letter in hand. When he disappears around a corner, Plur heaves a huge sigh of relief, steps back inside the room, and closes the door. In the new silence of the room, Plur kneels before the chair he had sat in for each conversation and begins to pray--in thanks for his Queen's gentle guidance, for the safety of the young lovers whose lives he has suddenly become involved in, and most fervently--as he has done for many years and on so many occasions--for his childhood friend. Last Edited By: Keats Lovesonnet 11/09/11 2:23 PM. Edited 1 times.
Keats Lovesonnet		#3	[-]
Posts: 11665 (11/09/11 4:27 PM) High Sigil Defender of Love Sigil of the Silver Tongue Order of the Wayfarers Reply Quote More My Recent Posts	The bard does not stop to speak with anyone else as he leaves the Temple. He does, however, stop off at Tassel's for a much-needed drink. Or two. The letter weighs far more heavily than its true weight in his bag. Despite his reluctance to take part in this endeavor and the far more pleasant prospect of whiling away the afternoon with Shania's newest batch of mead, Keats pulls himself away before sunset to get back to the Sanctum--mostly because he knows, though he'll hardly admit it to himself, that if he's here much longer, he won't make it home tonight. He'll be lucky to make it to the inn next door. With a sigh, he pays his tab and walks out, pulling a strange-looking mechanism from a pouch in his bag. He rarely chooses to use teleportation magic, but tonight he wants to get back as swiftly as possible to get this letter out of his hands. Plus he's already spent a couple of hours longer at Tassel's than he'd originally intended. And, he remembers, he's expected at Starlene's tonight for dinner as well. Without further delay, he activates the device which will transport him to his little house in the Sanctum...