The Present Past

The Temple District, early afternoon.

Word has come from Seldan at the Temple of Eluna, an unexpected thing. _I have learned more of the dagger, and of who might have the means of destroying it. It would please me to meet you in the Temple Plaza as soon as you may, that we might discuss._

He waits now in the Temple Plaza, not in the windswept and sun-drenched central plaza, where people hurry through with cloaks and furs pulled tightly around them, but in the shadow of the austere marble edifice that serves as Alexandria's temple to Eluna, notably on the lee side, leaning against the marble, his eyes closed and his lips moving soundlessly in what would seem to be something rote of repetition. Although he is still, his expression relaxed, something in his body language is that of one troubled.

A deluge of someone clad in greens, reds, and golds is what gathers one's attention rather than their stature. A heavily scarred face peeks out between a knitted scarf, as well as a cap with a fuzzy cloth ball that bounces with each step. A sweater knitted with a black and white outline of a large snowflake on the front and back breaks up the festive colors.

Squinting against the wind and cutting snow, Aryia slips into the Temple plaza, sweeping her gaze about and- ah, there he is. She approaches. Clears her throat, and raises a hand in greeting.

Even her knitted gloves are Yule hued. "Her light on your path, Seldan," colorful fingers waggle. <Handspeech/Tongues>

It is the clearing of the throat that entices Seldan to look up, and set aside his meditation. At once, he straightens, looking the festive bundle of fabric with a mul'niessa face over. The half-smile is slow to come, but come it does, and he bows politely. "And upon yours, Mistress Aryia. You have my gratitude for coming so swiftly." He draws in a breath, and seems to settle himself, once more taking on his usual mien of sober thoughtfulness.

"Under guard, I was able to perform a _legend lore_ upon the dagger we found. It took some - time to arrange, but it is done," he explains. "I will spare you most of the details, many of which I do not doubt that you guess." A wan quirk of a smile accompanies that, and he remains leaning against the wall. "I was able to glean the name of the devil who crafted it, and how it was severed from him. While I was unable to glimpse our quarry - the magic shows only legends, and he is not one such - I was able to confirm that it was he, and a bit of why. More would I learn."

The colorful mul'neissa bobs her head- the little pom bouncing as she does- and adds another hand to talk. "Honestly, any excuse to get out of the office party at the Colosseum is welcome," she chuffs, the edge of a smile peeking out from behind the scarf.

To business then. She steps around Seldan to lean against her own bit of marble. "I see. I hope it wasn't too rough, last time doing anything with that dagger looked like a ton of shit to deal with."

Her brows knit. "A name. Can get a lot of shit from just a name. Good shit. Maybe we can figure more out about our mark when we go delving into more books?" <Handspeech/Tongues>

"Such is well in my mind to do," Seldan agrees, turning to follow her as she moves. He seems quite inclined to business, suggesting a limited observance of Yule. There is nothing festive, or even different, about his appearance, than the usual. "The Griever said, "No more lies," he goes on, seriously. "It is in my mind that he acts from hatred of the Tempter, and her lies. The name appears in history dating back some eight centuries. I know not if this be the same man, and the magic simply shies from him, that he is shielded even as I in some way, or if there be a succession of men who have assumed the mantle, across the centuries. Either is possible, but this can I say with certainty, that he is little better, if not worse, than those he despises."

His eyes lower. "The celestial who severed the hand of Kintrilax - for that is the name by which the crafter of that blade is known - may possess the means to destroy it, or know who does. Either a demonic forge can unmake the thing, or its inverse, a hammer of divine light to set the souls used to craft that ill-favored weapon free. It is the name of the celestial that I seek, by learning more of his deeds. But - few places maintain records as far back as the Demon Wars, and it is not in my mind that I will find success seeking in Llyranost." This is accompanied by ice-blue eyes that glint with laughter, even as his expression remains sober.

"The other option lies in Bryn Myridorn. The mighty cathedral to the Draco Solis keeps what few such records were left. I spent a great deal of time in that place as a boy." The laughter, as he speaks, fades into total seriousness, and he swallows. "My sire is a Sunblade there, and we are - not on good terms."

Aryia pulls her scarf down to reveal a slanted worry as Seldan speaks. "I'd want to think its a line of succession, but it wouldn't surprise me if the crazy fucker has prolonged his lifespan in some manner." She rubs her face. "There's got to be something out there. Can't burn shit without ashes scattering. Even centuries ago."

The name gets her to perk, lips moving wordlessly to help capture it. And a brow quirking higher. "Of course you wouldn't find anything there. The closest divine hammer you'd find there is the stick up their ass," she smirks briefly. "So- we just have to find the celestial that cut a hand off a long ass time ago. Better than having to go to the hells to find an anvil."

The festive coach shifts a bit on her feet. "Not on good terms- sounds like that's putting it lightly. Hm. Unfortunately that's our best bet is to go to Bryn Myridorn." She taps her chin. "I can distract him while you look, if you'd like?"

Releasing a feisty Aryia as a diversion is an option. Probably not the best option- but it's Aryia, what can anyone expect? <Handspeech/Tongues>

The remark about the contents of Llyranost's collective colon draws lighted blue eyes and a quiet chuckle from Seldan. "The celestial - his image - seemed familiar to me somehow, in some way, although I cannot say how, for the image itself is wholly unknown to me." Curiously, he does not seem disturbed or troubled by the cold, despite wearing only his usual shirt and trousers, celestial-embroidered open robe, and twin cloaks, only one winter-weight.

"As to the matter of my sire - of the last two times we have come face to face, one ended in blows, and the other ended in him naming me coward and stalking from the room, as a lad thwarted might do. I suspect the latter is only the case because there was a child present at the time. Distraction is not required, indeed would I rather have your aid in sifting through the material. Many to look means quicker to find. As to my sire, does he invoke a quarrel within the confines of the Temple - the consequences shall be his, for such is forbidden."

Aryia can't help but grin at getting a chuckle out of the typically stoic man, but the smile gets obscured, as her nose and cheeks were reddening from the chill by the second. Seems as if she had no special protections save for the knitted layers. "Interesting. Maybe once it's figured out, the familiarity can work some leverage. Though I don't think they wouldn't mind helping in a matter such as this."

She tilts her head to the side, the pom flopping over and bouncing against the side of her face. "If someone managed to get on your bad side, then they sound like a prick," she bluntly points out. "But very well, I can help with searching. Should he decide to 'quarrel', I am very good at talking with my hands. Self defense of course." Her eyes crinkle in a smile. "Just let me know when you're ready to go sifting through dusty tomes. Hopefully its not as fuck off cold there as it is here." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Surprisingly, Seldan's eyes lower, and he seems almost - sad? It's a demeanor that is unusual for him, that breaks through the typical steady sobriety. "Father has never accepted my call to the Dreamer," he explains quietly. "He wished a son to follow in his footsteps. After Emerind -" He stops, his features twisting, then straightening and taking on that stone-like mask, "he leaned on me to be so. The gods had other ideas, and he has not - come to terms with that."

In that moment, he looks - almost small, like a bullied little boy.

Aryia blinks, not expecting such a change in demeanor from Seldan. Her hands are silent for a moment, the mute looking out into the snow that flurries about on the wind. "I can understand, somewhat. When the Deciever left my family and me, we did everything we could to try and lie to ourselves and live in the past about it. The past isn't the present. And it fucking sucks your father can't and won't recognize it. Blind fool to not realize it is the Sun Lord's daughter's decision to champion you."

She cranes her head back to look up at Seldan, eyes half lidded. Either in sympathy or to deal with the glare of snow. "Sorry about Emerind. I bet the pressure of what I guess is a sibling would no doubt press on them as much as it is for you." <Handspeech/Tongues>

"So he is," Seldan agrees, after a moment of watching her in silence, blue eyes taking in every detail. "The Dreamer has given me much, and I am most grateful for it. I have come to learn that I am not the only member of the family to favor Her." Something about that brings some of the open, boyish smile back, more genuine than the usual half-smile. "Emerind is long gone, I fear. My elder brother. He spat on Father's sword and stormed from the house one night. I was eight summers old. None have seen him since, and last report had him in Charn somewhere."

He lets out a hard breath, then intakes a slow one, and the slip of his usual steady sobriety begins to heal into the more usual mien. "I am sorry about your family, and I pray that they find their way."

Aryia reaches out to give Seldan a pat on the arm. "Good, perhaps there are others that also favor the Dreamer in your family. With enough gathered, perhaps your Father will actually realize compassion is supposed to be a core tenant." She shrugs. "Wishful thinking on that front. But- I hope your brother is still well. Charn has shit places. But it has some places that aren't so bad, like any place."

She waves a Yule-clad hand in dismissal. "I appreciate the thought, but that happened near eight decades ago. The wounds have been borne, carried, healed, torn, healed, and scarred over. My trials were different than theirs, but-" she smiles, "-they live here in Alexandria now. Still adjusting from living in Charn for so long. But they have found their space for now. Mother lends her fencing abilities and father his magic to the Explorer's guild. In an effort to... what did they say again... 'understand the common man better?'" She laughs. A raspy sort of thing that turns easily into a coughing fit. "They're doing their best. I appreciate it though." <Handspeech/Tongues>

Another one of those wan, ghostly smile finds its way to Seldan's lips at the pat on the arm. "My cousin of eight summers - who I had not met until a fortnight or two past - has declared for the Dreamer. She is - quite the girl. I envy not her parents." Despite the words, real affection lights the blue eyes. "I am glad that they find their way, and put their talents to good use. The Explorer's Guild never wants for work, and they will see the very best and the very worst that Ea has to offer, that is for certain. For it is as you say. The past is not the present, and it is not ever too late to turn from the Dark."

"Either one becomes their parents, or defies them, as tends to happen," Aryia smirks at hearing of the rebellious cousin. "Keep her close, I'm sure she's fucking ecstatic learning about you."

A little breath leaves her as she gets her composure. "I hope it humbles mother some, seeing what Ea has to throw at them," she rubs her neck. "Dark still lingers, but can't have Light without it, no?" The pugilist shakes her head. "Nevermind, not here for philosophy. But if the Guild can shift my views a bit, as stubborn of a bitch I am, I'm sure it'll do them some good."

She quiets once more, watching the snow and people scurrying about. Gloved hands reach up to tuck long ears into her cap, them turning pink. "Tell me about your cousin," she asks as her hands fall down to her sides. <Handspeech/Tongues>

"In truth, little do I know of her. Two fortnights past, I was unaware that she existed," Seldan explains. It does help that the pair of them are in the lee of the wind gusting through the plaza, and thus it is less cold here than elsewhere. "But she promised to write, and indeed have I only just received a letter." From his haversack, he pulls a single-rolled scroll tucked into one of the side pockets. "If you would pardon me, I would know, at the least, if it be from her, or another."

He does not wait on ceremony, but opens it, beginning to read, his tongue unconsciously sticking out between his teeth, just a little. It is a skim only, but as he reads, his expression grows more and more thunderous, a black scowl replacing all of the softness. "Mistress Aryia. Forgive me. I will need to meet you at the cathedral to the Draco Solis in Bryn Myridorn, three days hence. By Her holy path through the night sky, I will learn what possesses that man, and I will put an end to it." The ice-blue eyes now hold frozen fury, and he snaps straight upright, and turns without farewell, breaking into a flat run for the side door of the cathedral.

-End Scene-