Praying to Protocol

Log Info

• Title: Praying to Protocol

• Emitter: Khepri

• Characters: Gramarye, Khepri

• Place: Temple of Vardama

• Summary: Gramarye comes to the Temple of Vardama to request Khepri's aid in praying to its goddess. Khepri gives her a mini-tour of the Temple and explains praying to Gramarye before leading her to a prayer chamber. Gramarye gives her prayer, and Khepri offers her literature on prayer to take home and study.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-    
Gramarye     6'10"    320 Lb     War Golem         Female    A golem girl with obsidian eyes and bronze plating.
Khepri       6'10"    300 Lb     War Golem         Male      A tall, gangly war-golem draped in religious charms.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Temple of Vardama, early evening

Life goes on, even with the threats that plague Ea. One thing that never changes is that the outside altar and grounds of the Vardaman temple must be cleaned. And so several acolytes, and a gangling war golem, quietly sweep the grounds and clear away the simple offerings around the altar.

Khepri pauses as one acolyte seems in a hurry, and stops him. "Show respect," the golem intones, as the light rain patters down. "Every item is a memory, and a symbol of one who now stands in the Halls to be judged. One day, you will be there as well." The acolyte looks up at the beak-faced countenance, and nods slowly, before starting to remove the offerings with a bit more care.

There's another war golem that approaches the mountain-bound temple of the Grey Lady. This one is less grim in shape and form--although certainly just as tall as her beaked companion--but she is still dressed like a young lady might be on a summer day, albeit in a short cotton dress that cuts off at the ball-jointed knees. The red ribbon with the scarab charm is tied around Gramarye's waist in the same careful manner as before.

She steps inside the temple. Her head pivots around on her neck for a moment, seeming to scan around the premises. Then it seems she spots Khepri, as she walks briskly over to him.

"Khepri," she greets, although it's not said in any particularly emotional way beyond the mere acknowledgement of the golem's identity. "Have there been many offerings left today?"

Instead of bearing a sword and shield, the golem holds a humble push-broom, helping sweep away leaves and dirt. An act of surprising humility for an Executor, but all things must be done in time. Khepri does not complain. After all, the grounds must be cleaned, the words must be spoken, and the dead laid to rest.

When Gramarye approaches it, it pauses, yellow eyes regarding her. "Gramarye," it says in its rather flat tones. "There are always offerings. Prayers for intercession. Joss paper -- the practice has not entirely fallen out of style. Coins. Mementos." The golem turns back to where the acolytes are cataloguing and removing the material. "Memories. The joss will be burned. The prayers read. The coins placed in the common fund. The mementos... are usually reviewed, one by one."

Gramarye's head pivots to the area indicated by Khepri, observing the acolytes work on offerings. There's a too-long moment that would truly be a faux pas in flesh-to-flesh conversation, but the two golems likely are more than happy to allow each other the space for processing that others might not.

Or more accurately, there might not even be a realization that a faux pas is being committed on either end of the conversation.

"I have a prayer to be given to Father," she says, finally. Her head pivots back to Khepri, the light in her eyes shining with every syllable. "Will you give it to him? If you are able."

The cleanup is nearly done, with a couple other acolytes pushing brooms, sweeping up any random detritus. Khepri impassively passes its broom to another acolyte, as now it is called upon to minister. Executors are not the greatest priests, but they are priests.

"I can convey such a prayer. Or assist you in making your devotions. Faith is a personal thing, and it is not always easy to grasp with one watching over your shoulder." The golem pauses. "Do you wish me to read your prayer first?"

Gramarye looks at Khepri for a long moment with those obsidian eyes before she responds--yet another faux-pas, but such is the way of golem socialization. "I was hoping you would help me with crafting the prayer," she says. "It seems to come to people so easily--but I do not know the proper procedure. Father never taught me how. He did not pray often."

Another blink in her eyes. "Unless he stubbed his toe. Then he prayed loudly."

Khepri tilts its head quizzically, but does not shy from the request. "I see. This is not unheard of. As I stated, faith is a personal thing. Ultimately, one must come to grips with one's own relationship with the infinite." The golem gestures for Gramarye to walk alongside it.

As the two walk through the temple grounds, Khepri continues, "The accepted practice is to invoke the preferred deity, and entreat it. In the case of the Grey Lady, you would speak her name, and ask for wise judgement, tempered with mercy, when judging the soul of your father." It pauses, before adding, "One should construct prayers with a certain amount of polish. While a sailor may be devout, profanity is generally not considered properly respectful."

"I see," Gramarye responds. "Then that would make Father's prayers when he stubbed his toe improper prayers, unless there is a god of procreation. I will record this protocol in my memory banks."

There's another moment before she says again, "Do you know if the prayers are received if they go to someone specific? I asked Robert, the artificer, if they are. He says he prays for his departed wife and it is a comfort to him." It's a rather weighted question, but she seems confident that Khepri can answer it.

It's probably for the best that Khepri has no facial expressions, as it turns and stares at Gramarye for a moment. Then it shrugs. "When beset by sudden injury, many will say things they do not mean. It is forgivable, and not worth becoming concerned over."

The golem pauses, contemplating. "All prayers are filtered through the god, but many scriptures reference invoking one's departed relations or, in some cases, saints and other servitors of a god. So the answer to your question would be yes." Khepri considers for a few moments, then comments, "The Gray Lady reminds us that sometimes, prayer and ceremony are not just for the departed, but for those left behind."

Gramarye lets Khepri talk. She doesn't really give any indication that she's listening to him other than to verbally respond to him, but maybe that's the refreshing thing about talking to another golem. No "mmhms," no nods, no little verbal tics that could confound or confuse the servant of the Grey Lady. Just silence, save for the sound of her footsteps.

But then she throws the curveball in the way that only Gramarye can, since she doesn't--can't--telegraph her thoughts before she speaks them aloud. "Have you lost anyone before, Khepri?" she asks.

It's two entities, exchanging data. No need for small talk, coughing, or sidetracking into inquiries about one's dog. It is a change for Khepri, who often fields emotional and rather anguished questions on a regular basis.

When Gramarye asks that question, though, it makes Khepri tilt its head. "...No. I was never close to anyone. I do not have 'parents'. I had instructors and teachers. My existence was one of training to become an Executor." It cocks its head the other way. "The closest analogue might be Mourner Caz, who passed away during my training. I assisted in his funeral." Another pause. "He was missed, but he had been devoted. He had earned his place in the Gray Lady's court."

There's another moment of pause before Gramarye responds again. "I had Father," she says. "He was the one who taught me everything--how to make things, how to repair things, how to talk to customers. But I called him Father after watching a daughter and her father enter the shop. The way they spoke to each other, and how the father taught his daughter things, was like how Father taught me things--so I started calling him Father. It was logical, although he didn't agree at first."

There's the little jingle of the scarab charm on the ribbon as Gramarye faces Khepri's tilted head. "I miss him. I am told that this is part of 'mourning'. But if prayer works for Robert's mourning, then it will work for me." This is said matter-of-factly. It has to work because it should. Golem logic.

Now the conversation moves back into waters Khepri is familiar with. "This is normal. It is in our nature to miss those who have been part of our lives, especially those who formed an integral part of our growth." The pair's path has taken them into the memorial gardens and the aboveground mausoleums. "Since he was responsible for your construction and education, 'Father' is an appropriate name for him."

Khepri gestures at where flowers are blooming riotously, splashes of color that seem at odds with the basalt construction of the temple itself. "Another way to work through one's grief is to devote yourself to a task that the person who passed might find laudable. Or simply, any constructive work. These gardens are maintained by the staff, but often bereaved will come here to spend time among the honored dead and the flowers, coming to terms and moving on with life."

Gramarye looks for a long moment at the flowers. There's a couple of 'blinks' of light in her eyes that suggest she is thinking or processing--or, maybe more accurately, is finding the words to say.

Her head pivots back to Khepri. "Father does not need flowers. I already honor his final directive, which is to continue making 'beautiful things', every day."

Another blink of the eyes, then a question. "Do you do anything for Mourner Caz?"

"Then that is what you should do." Khepri's yellow eyes glow steadily. "There is no shame in feeling loss. It is a normal sensation and indicative of a thinking entity. I merely counsel against letting that loss overwhelm you."

The question doesn't catch Khepri off guard, but it does make it think. "I was not especially close to Mourner Caz. He was, however, well respected among the faculty, and he was exceptionally good at instruction on the scriptures. We had a long debate over the 'Book of the Dead' and its application to modern Vardaman orthodoxy." It pauses, cocking its head. "I suppose I am fulfilling his wishes as well, by tending to the faithful, supporting the will of the Gray Lady, and laying the dead to rest. He did tell me that every destroyed undead would be an appropriate monument to his memory."

There's another long moment where Gramarye just listens to Khepri. No regaling of dogs, no discussions of the weather, no coughs, no filler words. Just obsidian eyes that stare at the beaked face and the yellow eyes.

"I am ready to pray now," she says. "Is there anywhere we should go for the prayer? A specific room?" The scarab charm jingles from her ribbon again as a slight breeze shifts the red silk slightly, the neat bow tie holding fast in place.

Khepri nods. "There are prayer rooms in the temple." The gangling figure leads Gramarye back inside, through the softly-lit passages, the endless chants of the monks echoing and re-echoing through the halls. The golem opens the door to a simple room with an icon of Vardama, a small altar and prayer bench, and two candles.

The golem pauses, then says, "I will remain outside if you wish. As I have said, devotion is a personal thing and not all are comfortable sharing it. No one will disturb you while you are praying."

There's another pause on Gramarye's end as she regards Khepri for a moment, contemplating its words. Half of their conversation, truly, has just been silence. And silence is like the dead. They don't judge, but they do listen, in a sense, and in a world where it often is so loud because the fleshy people insist on being loud... Well, the phrase 'silence is golden' was coined for a reason.

"I'd like for you to stay," she says. "As a representative of the Grey Lady, I must know if I am praying correctly to protocol."

A beat.

"And I am told that friends lean on each other for strength. I do not require leaning. It is a metaphorical phrase."

Gramarye walks up to the altar. Her head pivots down to it and the candles. Then she says:

"Vardama, Gray Lady. I am praying to you. Please tell Father that I miss him. Please tell him that I am fulfilling his directive by working at the Ilife Smithy. And please tell him that I have friends now, so he does not have to worry."

There's another awkward pause.

"I am ending the prayer now." She turns to Khepri. "Assessment, please."

Khepri makes sure to shut the door when it is asked to witness. As it noted, prayer and faith can be terribly private things. There is no judgement -- merely appreciation of the vulnerability one might face when addressing the infinite.

The beaked face tilts as Gramarye offers a simple, fairly... efficient prayer. Still, prayer is prayer, and one cannot criticize devotion, no matter how unpolished it might be.

At Gramarye's request for an assessment, the Executor considers. "Somewhat simple and direct. I admit I am more accustomed to elegant wordsmithing. However, prayer construction is something of an art, rather than an applied science. If you would like, I will furnish you with a book on prayer and devotion to the Gray Lady. Overall, I believe the Lady will be pleased -- and your father as well."

Gramarye nods. "I would appreciate the book of guidance," she says. "Given I do not have much experience with faith, I anticipated that my first effort would be a failure. I am pleased to learn it was successful."

She curtsies, ball-jointed hands and fingers spreading the skirt of her knee-length dress. The scarab charm on her ribbon jingles with the movement. "Thank you for guiding me through the process of prayer and informing me of how mourning works. I am glad to have a patient teacher."

Gramarye pauses again. "I will not call you Father, however. I only have one."

"That is acceptable. I do not fully grasp the nature of fatherhood, save in very broad, vague terms." Khepri bows, placing its hands over its chest in turn, the beaked head dipping. "However, I am content to be 'friend'. Though I am unversed in such relationships."

The two golems depart the prayer room, walking towards one of the outer vestibules where religious literature can be found. "As I stated before, prayer is not an exact science. It must come 'from the heart' as one of my teachers put it." It pauses. "Presumably this was a figure of speech since I do not have one. However, I find a better comparison is that it should be offered without calculation, spoken without reserve."

"Then I am content to be your first friend as well," Gramarye replies. "Firsts are achievements that must be celebrated, according to Father. I will arrange to have a present delivered."

Another beat. "I do not think you will require more flowers, however, given your many flowers. Perhaps I will send you another broom. Practical gifts are appreciated most, as Father told me."

She nods to Khepri's observation regarding the figure of speech. "I will keep this in mind. I, too, do not have a heart in the mechanical sense. Father said that 'heart' could be a metaphorical term for us awakened, however. He preferred to use the term 'soul' instead."

She curtsies again. "I should not keep you from your duties any longer. Thank you again, Khepri, and goodbye."

Once Gramarye has been gifted with some appropriate literature on the subject, Khepri walks her to the door. "There is so much I was taught, but every day I consider that I am woefully undereducated on certain topics. This is presumably due to the short time I have existed."

It tilts its head in that quizzical, birdlike way. "I am pleased to be your friend, Gramarye. You may call on me as needed here at the temple. Do not be a stranger." With that, the golem raises its hand in farewell. "Until again," it replies.