The Song of the Morning Temple RP Thread

[Hidennka]

In the late hours of the night despite the poor weather and mere moments before midnight, a familiar white armored figure enters the temple. Drawing her purple cloak closer around her, stray and tossled hair slicked to her forehead by the rain, the paladin's boots click over the tiles slowly as she approaches a priest - the only one seemingly available at the late hour. With a low voice the two exchange words before the blonde trudges upstairs, a trail of watery footprints left unknowingly in her wake.

Pausing at the mosaicked window depicting the likeness of the Morninglord, Cecilia stares at the image for a long while in silence. At her conclusion of said actions, she moves to knock on a certain door.

[Miasmata]

Soft whispers can be heard echoing among the walls in the Song of the Morning temple in Beregost; an excitement seems to stir the air of the temple and it's clergy equally.

[Hidennka]

Along with what appears to be luggage, an assortment of packages are seen delivered to the temple. In the hours that follow Paladin and Dawnknight are witnessed rummaging through crates, sampling various fruits and admiring artworks in high-spirits. The two seem surprisingly at ease as notes are scribed on parchment and contents are put aside with pleased expressions.

An enthusiastic atmosphere continues grow with the public announcement of the local faire.

[shams]

Quindeel is excited about fair. Is talking with other templars about wondrous things coming. Is talking of not being able to go to stalls. Is talking of keeping guard.

[Hidennka]

Light shawl wrapped around her shoulders, Cecilia sits in her nightwear atop the soft mattress within her designated chambers of the Song of the Morning temple. A range of emotions flicker over her pale features, a number of thoughts and topics flooding her mind following the morning's conversation. A few delicate fingers curl and rub at bloodshot eyes. Don't. . . think on that now. Think on it further, and everything will become unravelled.

Better to focus on something else. Gods only know there is plenty.

The paladin's hand drops into her lap, picking up the a Zhentarim flyer she had picked up the day previously whilst travelling through Soubar. The other, a parchment list collected from within Beregost that morning. Both are slightly crumpled, fingers curling around the bounty list as her eyes return to it.

2 bags. Dead. A low chuckle leaves her lips, the sound devoid of amusement. Her thumb flicks the corner of parchment in troubled thought. Clashing emotions. The same as before, at least. It's been. . . three months now. Blessings to be counted at least, perhaps even curiously so. Unlikely that anyone would waste their time for such a small amount. Amusing still, that they claim I seek Cormyr's aid. But this. . . fifty bags for information concerning Drow? This was new. Her gaze lingering on the parchment for a further few moments, she then allows it to slip through her fingers onto the sheets, raising the other into full field of vision.

And this. A snort leaves the paladin's nostrils as she shakes her head. Even I hold enough common sense to know half this list is questionable. At least names which did not hold proof or correct information were withheld from the previous and purposefully shocking public outing of agents. It served it's purpose, released at said time. What purpose did this serve, other than letting the enemy know your hand should any of this be true? It would be too much, of course, to evolve from such. Cecilia's gaze shifts back to the parchment resting on the sheets, a scowl forming on her lips as she reads over Sani's description.

"Blood mage." she mutters with a sneer in the silence - an expression that was new to her, a reflection of her struggle with bitterness. To think I actually, sceptically, lent my ear to this 'TRUST' group. . . a blood mage, a palemaster. It's almost laughable. Further examples of the taint of the Coast, masquerading.

Two lists. Each equally vile.

Both parchment crumple as her delicate hands curl into fists and she tosses them aside onto the floor. With a huff, the young paladin leans over to blow out the nearby candle, the blanket drawn up close around around her in a small measure of comfort as her mind continues to race in silence.

[Hidennka]

The Paladin of Tyr, indefinite guest of the Song of the Morning Temple, returns to it's halls with weighted steps. After greeting the Dawnknight Eldarian warmly, the man busy with his tasks, Cecilia returns to her chambers and proceeds to lay out three pieces of blank parchment, the tension and uncertainty which was so quick to flare up lately being slowly soothed by location. Uncorking a small canister of black ink, the young woman dips her quill and begins to scribe a series of letters in silence, save for a soft mumble to herself.

"Today's lack of goodly presence was appalling. Words must be shared."

[Hidennka]

A number of books lay strewn over the table within the meeting room, gaps and spaces in the bookshelf behind the blonde woman whom pours through them with furrowed brow. What had started as a single gifted title had fuelled the onset of further reading. The books themselves cover a variety of topics mostly based on the faith of Lathander. Additionally a few tomes focus on theology surrounding the wars between light and darkness whilst others are more light-hearted and contain poetry and song. Whether or not Cecilia understands much of what is written is debatable, however a roll of parchment dotted with notes is never far from reach. In the midst of the clutter sits a small potted flower, still just a bud but seemingly tended to with great care.

[Hidennka]

Returning to the Song of the Morning temple and bringing another few tomes with her from the North, Cecilia returns to the meeting room to continue her reading. After a time, however, the paladin's thoughts turn elsewhere and reflect upon the conversation she'd shared within the temple of Ilmater in the eve previous. Having fished out a small amulet from her satchel, an amulet that belonged to her former mentor - Cecilia stares down at it, brushing a slender thumb over it's cool metal exterior. It had been a mixed conversation, one starting in faith between Liiran, Mystran and Ilmateri but soon shifting to other things and people they had once known. Vexing at times, unbelievably so, and with company she had not entirely expected.

"One cannot possibly be an entirely different person from one moment to the next. He may have hidden what he is, but he could not entirely hide who he is." the bard had said, one whom was so focused on redeeming a pretty snake it would lead to his inevitable end. He spoke of her former mentor, of course, unable to pierce the veils of lies that surrounded the Zhentarim in his own emotional state. "His habits, his unthought actions, you know him better then he may think you do. His nuances, his passions ... those things ... are what you know about him."

No. It had all been lies. And she, unlike those around her, would not be foolish enough to fall into the same trap twice.

Whether it's from the distance travelled, her lack of restful sleep or both and more, the weary Paladin's eyes slowly close, cheek resting gently on the arm that lay sprawled out over the many books. Fingers still curled around the amulet, Cecilia drifts into a restless sleep.

A woman. . . a flower. . . flames. . . hot. . . too hot! . . . It was burning! No!

The blonde lurches upright in her seat, pulled from the nightmare with wide eyes and a sheen of sweat on her brow. Blinking her eyes a few times, Cecilia's gaze shifts in the direction of the unnaturally warm locket in her hand and pops the clasp on it's side to look upon the image within.

Just a dream.

[Hidennka]

Across the City of Baldur's Gate and its surroundings, word is spread that a new Khazak was appointed to the local Thayan Enclave. The Name "Khazark Kahanak Habdilof" is heard and shared plenty of times with shock and surprise by the many people knowing the man as a sailor merchant.

The sound of shattering ceramic echoes within the private chambers given to Cecilia within the Song of the Morning temple. The remains of a vase litter the wall's base, the blonde pacing the length of the room with short, sharp exhales of breath. The news had reached her in the late hours of the afternoon, and she all but seethed in her frustration. I knew it. I knew it. Wretched excuse for a man. Twisted and vile.

Clip, clip, clip. Her armoured boots hit the stone noisily as her thoughts darted almost manically from one to the next, teetering dangerously on the precipice of hate. For he had taken from her once, the life of the one dearest to her. In these moments, away from the eyes and ears of others, it affected her deeply despite knowing it should not be allowed to.

Innocent? No no no, not innocent. Was never innocent. I knew it and they. . . they didn't believe. Not at first. Now they will see, they will know! Murderer. Eldarian's killer. Cold blood. Judged in the Court if Tyr itself! Didn't. . . see this. Didn't expect this. Cecilia laughs at that, a hollow, bitter laugh. Her fingers tap-tapped on the pommel of the winged longsword by her side as she shook her head. But knew. Oh yes, I knew. Demon possession my . . . arm. Where it even true, it was likely welcomed. Explains the relations with Cheryl at least. Lies. Lies all along. Expected. Well played, Murderer, well played indeed. But now, you are unmasked for what you really are Red Wizard. Grimjaws teeth will ensnare that wicked throat, it is your fate. Your punishment. Justice. . . yes. Sooner or later, Justice will come.

With a long exhale through her slightly upturned nose, Cecilia pinches it's bridge and takes a moment to calm herself. In her moments of weakness, gloved fingers instinctively shift from the hilt of her blade and seek out the holy symbol of a Radiant Sun around her neck. A gift. In doing so the tension in her slim form diminishes somewhat and she is able to return to a rational train of thought once more.

"He shows his true colours." she murmurs softly to herself in quiet acceptance.

[Hidennka]

In better spirits, the Knight Cecilia tends to a potted flower by the large stained-glass image of the Morninglord. Within the rays of early sunrise, she ever so gently removes any weeds which may have sprouted and waters with a gentle hand. The blonde's recent spiral into truculence seems almost unbelievable compared to the tenderness in which she whole-heartily tends to the budding flora. For the rest of the morning, Cecilia seems at peace.

[Church of Lathander]

Stained golden hands can be observed on some of the Templars and Priests in the Song of the Morning.

When questioned about the oddity, the clergy of the temple would give a warm smile and a neutral answer of "you'll see."

[Miasmata]

Eldarian can be seen in the main hall of the Song of the Morning giving an easy smile to the numerous guests that fluctuate within it's halls.

Tickets seem to be selling at a steady rate for the upcoming ball hosted by the temple and the Dawn knight is seen urging people to buy them before they run out.

[mireigi]

Stopping by for a brief visit, Tolan and Kitten spend some time talking with Cecilia who was standing attention in the temple. Before leaving the temple, stating an intent to head south to Nashkel to spread the word of the upcoming ball, Tolan leaves a substantial dontation with the church that have become like a second home to him.

Soon after Tolan and Kitten is seen leaving the temple and heading south towards Nashkel, walking hand in hand.

To the keen observer, Tolan's usual armor and cloak that he wear for travel on the road have been exchanged with a far more elaborate, not to mention expensive, armor and cloak - the symbol of Lathander more apparent.

[Hidennka]

With a lull in ticket-sales for the upcoming Masquerade Ball, Cecilia is seen transporting a vast array of crates from a small wagon pulled up outside the temple. A number of weapons rattle and clank against one another within their wooden confines, a few large shields following in tow along with multiple suits of armors. Knocking on the door to Eldarian's chambers, she pokes her head in and announces warmly "As promised, my donation of weapons and armor for newly recruited Templars has arrived."

Eldarian dips his head to this, golden-flecked blue eyes regarding the woman fondly as he stands from his desk with the creaked protest of metal. Moving to take one of the crates from her arms, he smiles down at her. "Let us clean out my office and make preparations for the new armory."

[ghostly_rose]

With the big day approaching fast Eleanore is seen bringing in big vases along with small boxes filled with colorful ribbons and gems into the temple of Lathander. She can also be seen outside the temple taking care of her now fully grown garden, bringing in the ripe vegetables and cutting flowers here and there. Inside she is working hard and making beautiful and elaborate flower arrangements, perhaps a bit overly colorful for the taste of some.