[Temple] Facilitating the Change

[Ankou]

Timestamp: Early Spring, Era XIV PF, Under Milo the Regent.

Ankou watched the stain glass windows with a kind of bitter intent, dwelling on his sins. "Ioannes, Carmelya, Diana, Aslan, I have shamed and forgotten you. I have acted in ways you would abhor, more fitting the dark gods then the gods of order and peace! Will there be any forgiveness for one such as me? I fear wholly that I am ever tainted, ever corrupted, unable to be free... to be big! I fall from grim ally to grim ally, and now, standing on my own feet, I see things as they are meant to be, perhaps!"

He stood, and flew into the air, spiraling around the temple. And now he spoke a little louder, to any priest that may take the time to listen: "Hear me, guardians of this place! I have much to atone for, and little time to do it, if it is within your power or reason: Grant me an audience with a paladin, so I may plead my case and be granted entry into this sacred order. Worry not, I've practised my magics, and dabbled in weapons too, yes, how little they serve me!"

Staring down with misty eyes, he wondered if this would bring anything, or merely more ruin, more temptation, more damnation.

[Nimh]

There were others present in the open-spaced temple, but these were but a small handful of individuals numbering no more than four. Two stood in idle chatter in a corner while the other two had postured themselves before the deities to whom they were pledged. None were remarkable, garbed plainly in either loose robes of white, their hair and limbs unadorned with finery--priests--save for one, a young woman garbed in a blue surcoat trimmed in silver thread and decorated across its front with a silver, five-pointed star. She had knelt before the window of Aslan, head bent slightly, eyes closed in prayer. As the fae's voice carried through the hall--the grand, arched ceilings casting a boom of a voice despite his size--all their faces turned in his direction, surprised and perhaps one or two of them marginally annoyed to have the quiet of the temple broken in such a manner. But the three in their white robes looked towards the lone woman as she straightened, still on her knees, and stared up at the small fae.

"Fae." Her voice echoed against the beams in the ceiling and the shuffle of her feet against the cold floor as she stood seemed sharp in contrast with the low murmurs of the priests shuffling together...watching, curious. "Come down and speak with me on a more level plane. You have made your point and disturbed the peace. I am a paladin--your audience is granted."

She straightened the surcoat across her muscled frame. She was not a young woman, but not old either, rather somewhere in the middle, her hair a dark brown and cropped at her chin, shot through with faint strands of silver. She had a strict air around her, as if she did not expect to be argued with...still she smiled faintly, slightly amused that such a small creature could produce such a loud noise.

[Ankou]

"Forgive me, Paladin, it was a moment of religious fervor, this place has that effect..." Ankou trailed off, not seeing the use of lying. He fluttered down. "My name is Ankou. I'm a faerie of Lauryl. I'm here, not to learn, but to heal. All I wish any more is the warmth of humanity to flow from my hands. And yet, I am not a healer..."

Here he paused, his eyes boring into Aslan's with a hesitate determination. "I am a warrior. I was born into the wrong race, I am fury and gentle rage. Rarely do I get an opportunity to use this for the betterment of the people." He disliked talking even this much about his past.

Yet, no doubt he would be interviewed extensively on the subject, how ill to his favor.

What else could he say, at this juncture?

[Nimh]

The paladin listened quietly, with the patience of a woman schooled to eras of devotion--it wasn't that she didn't have impatience or irritation, simply that she knew best how to hide it. "A warrior?" she repeated, but no amused smile slid over her mouth even though her tone suggested she found it rather hard to believe that this small, winged creature in front of her was the stuff of blood and steel.

"So you, a warrior, have come to heal among the paladins? What have you done to merit such a need? I take it that you wish your soul some cleansing--far as I can tell, you are not wounded." Of course, he was a fair deal smaller than herself and of the details of his body she could not tell, save that he moved with an ease and had shouted without hinderance where a wounded person might not have been capable.

She cast a look around at her at the faces of the priests who now stared openly, very curious, about the meeting between faerie and paladin. "Come with me, Ankou, and tell me what has led you to seek us out for healing."

So she led him from the great temple, down a series of narrow, stone halls until she reached a room that functioned as sitting room. It branched off into a separate chamber, the door barred to entrance, and she gestured for him to...well...settle where he pleased. There were two low couches flanking a small table, their furnishing simple rather than ornate. "I am Alyana Elvere, Paladin of Natura, as I've mentioned already. And you, Ankou? You are a warrior. A warrior in search of healing. What leads you to this path?"

[Ankou]

Ankou took a seat, his quiet eyes watchful and slightly disturbed by this iron grey woman before him. If this was a paladin he'd be the stuff of steel in no time. "Do not misunderstand me, Lady Paladin Elvere, it is not I that needs the healing, but rather, it is I that wishes to heal others."

He was uncomfortable, but pressed on. "Indeed though my soul does require cleansing, I shall do it. The dryad said that I must bring proof of an era of good deeds, and so I shall. For every life my hands have taken a hundred I will save, for every misdeed I shall pay back twenty."

There was some kind of cold, grim determination in his eyes, a self-hating grimace of rage. Of course, it was all an act, but he'd never admit that.

Not even to himself.

[Nimh]

"Ah. I see," she responded simply as he corrected her mis-understanding.

She sat silent a moment, turning this over in her head...until he murmurd word of the dryad and her lips slipped into an amused smile. "You have met H'annaeryth, then. Dhwae's pet soldier." Her laugh was dry, but entertained; she did not dislike the dryad for she had no cause to love her, but neither did she hate her either. "She has an odd way of making her requests. I must wonder at what you asked of her to bid you do this..." But she trailed off, a quizzical brow arched as if in suggestion that she would indeed wish to hear the tale, but at the same time, demurring in the asking of it.

But she had an idea of it, twisting together some of his words to form a faint picture of what he was. "There is much to attone for if it is lives you took. Do you seek to join our order, then and prove that you have turned a new leaf? I could take you on as my squire, teach you our ways, help you in this path you seek, if that is your wish. If not..." She shrugged. "I can easily give you over to the priests. Surely they will allow you free run of their clinics, to heal as you wish."

[Ankou]

Ankou was all patience! How strange that he adapted to his role as Redeemed Sufferer so quickly, when in fact he was a stranger to patience. Fatally so! Yet he listened with self-appreciating glee at his own victory, his kind of moral triumph. Good over evil. Down with Jorel and all he stands for and up Aslan!

"If it is within your will I would be your apprentice, Master Elvere. And serve you as I did my dark masters in the old days." He delicately skipped over her implied question on his transformation.

"What is your will then? I have some skill in the blade." He tapped the wooden weapon at his side. "And have been unbound and promoted once in the noble art of Thaumaturgy, for which my race is known for its talents. And as far as my skills, that is all. I would like to begin doing good deeds as soon as possible, you understand."

[Nimh]

Alyana smiled faintly as his listed abilities. Blade-work and thaumaturgy were all part and parcel of what was needed to become a paladin. Should he truly wish that path, he had done much to progress himself along it. "I'd try your mettle with a blade, if I could, to see where you stand with its use, but we are...challenged somewhat in height." To put it kindly enough. "There is a faerie that studies under another Paladin. A squire. Perhaps the pair of you can cross blades to at least allow me to get some glimpse of what you have yet to learn."

She rose and started towards the door, pausing as she opened it slightly. "It is typical that we teach our students to also ride the horse, but...that does not seem likely in this instance. So...sword and thaumaturgy. We'll try your hand at both. Once I get an idea as to your sword work, however, we can give you some good deed to do, as you seem eager for it."

She led him then down the hall and out to the back of the temple where a large, open space sat between the raising cliffs of the mountain and the stone-worked temple. A majority of this space had been converted into a training ground, circles and other such marks painted into the interlacing stones that cobbled the courtyard. Squires and paladins alike labored in the yard that brightening, the shuffle of feet and labored grunts accompanying the music of wooden and steel blades in play combat.

The faerie that she had mentioned was seated off to the side of the pits a top a rack of wooden swords, looking interested...and yet bored, restless. As Alyana approached him, he shifted around and fluttered off his perch with a respectful gesture of greeting. "Morale! How good to see you," she greeted the faerie. "I see Gerd is hard at work... And you - I have a squire here with whom you could spar, if you are accepting of it."

Morale the faerie, a slip of a youth with a shock of orange-red hair and bright yellow wings, looked Ankou over with something of a frown...unsure of what to think of this stranger. "Gladly, Master Evere!" He had his small training sword out in a moment--clearly wary, but bored enough and being without a partner often enough to wish to spar without question.

[Ankou]

Ankou disdained the use of practice weapons, for the most part, they were mockeries, jokes. A sword was a weapon. Its use was to kill. There was no other alternative, no other point.

And yet, the sword he drew out of the sheath at his side was wooden, it had not an ounce of sharpened steel about it anywhere, Ankou was forced to use what he disdained, this was the way of paladins, filth and muck. Cleaning things up, or pretending to.

But he mustn't think like that!

Gripping his practice sword tightly, he reached the practice area with a nervous ghost following him. He raised the katana of wood and bid Morale attack him. And when the faerie charged, he would thrust forward, pushing his own weapon into the youth's sensitive gut.

[Nimh]

Morale was an exciteable youth and, given the opportunity, he wasted little time in flittering forward, his practice sword held with confidence, if not precisely experience, in his small hands. It was in the air that he determined the best place possible for his attack, for wasn't that where most faeries were at ease? He held the weapon over his head with an over-exaggerated war cry--the boy had probably listened to one too many hero-tales and thought this action heroic in some form of another.

Too bad it left his stomach open.

Ankou's wooden sword thrust forward against his stomach. It didn't have the same force and tear as steel, but it jarred the youth backwards with a startled, and very pained, yelped. Morale practically doubled over the sword as it jabbed him, such was the pain, and he gasped as the air threatened to heave away from his lungs. But he was all too aware that his enemy was in front of him and not hot with the embarrassment caused by such a quick, harsh blow. One hand grasping his pained belly, he tried to straighten and when that failed he wailed at Ankou wildly with the practice sword, no skill shown there, just wild weaving.

[Ankou]

He moved forward, taking the blows with a masochistic apathy and grabbing his opponent's sword. Damn. He thought, as he raised his own blade to strike the coup de grace. He stopped himself before savagely bringing the blade down on the young man's head, before savagely crippling him and himself being paralyzed by the nature of this place.

DAMN! He internally roared as he pushed Morale away, grabbing his own blade in both hands and breaking it in half with a savage roar. This would never do, this would never ever do.

These holy little prayerslaves would never be able to show him anything, he'd wasted his time here.

He fled.