Sunlight Revelation

Dinner goes pleasantly with Schara's family. Not a single person goes hungry, and Warrick and Aelwyn (Aelwyn particularly) are even asked genuine questions by Schara's family about their lives and professions. It's all small talk, easy like water gently running over the hands in a calm pond.

The family starts to quiet down, and as people are busied, Schara, Warrick, and Aelwyn find themselves by the door of the house. Maybe they intend to leave. Maybe they're just lounging by the exit. Either way, they're all very present when they hear a _knock_ at the door:

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

It's a knock that one would wholly expect of a Daeusite.

Warrick answers the questions thrown at him as best he can, himself throwing back his own queries, particularly on how to say something in Sildanyari (he's incredibly novice at it, doubly so for human).

He's got his belongings with him, crossbow slung over a shoulder with his armor in a bag. They'd have to stay the night at the very least, with how long it got here. He's about to ask about the apple orchard, but then the knock cuts him off. He squints. "... I only knock like that when I have a warrant..." he mutters, setting his things down and unshouldering his crossbow. Not his house, so he's not answering the door.

It had been a long time since Schara had a dinner with family, and it was a small comfort that helped relax things. But life kept going on, and there was always chores to be seen to. The artificer had left her arms and armor in her room, but back at the door, the artificer had their bronze armor back on.

"Someone has to make sure the chickens are back inside for the night so I figured I could do that for a change of pace. It's hard to pick up hens without arms, and kicking any stragglers back into the coop is unethical, harmful, and inefficient." They half ramble, sounding in a better mood, as well. At least until the noise of the door catches their attention, where they tilt their helmeted head in its direction.

Aelwyn was more than pleased to be answering questions about himself; his sharp teeth a deadly row as he casually explains the importance of the bend in the 'makari waltz' and other important nuance for a dancer like him. So, there was genuine regret that the evening was winding towards a close.

The knock makes him turn his head. "Tch, this is not the city, surely there are far better reasons to be knocking down a door like that." He says to Warrick. "Who knows, maybe the chickens heard of the party."

In the relative silence that follows the knock, a feminine voice speaks from the other side of the door. "I'm not with him, and I'm not here on his orders. I swear this by my lady. I just have a message and a parcel to give, then I'll be on my way."

Warrick glances back towards the others, quietly cranks the weapon. "... a parcel?" he whispers, scowling briefly before hiding the weapon behind the door and interposing himself at the entrance. He carefully opens the door.

Schara tilts her head one more time and seems to stare over towards Warrick and Aelwyn. "This is my home still, and if there is anything of concern this late in the day, it is probably safest for myself to open it, which makes sense to me. I understand the worry about further parcels, and if anything is amiss I will trust in you two to help deal with it." The artificer considers, turning towards the door as well. "The chickens are not that tall, they would not be able to make a knocking sound that high up, and they are not capable of speech, either. I understand it is not a time for jokes, but I know they put others at ease at times."

Aelwyn looks between the door, Warrick and Schara, tilts his head and then lets out a low rumble in amusement. "And this is why one tips a courier handsomely. It can be a deadly profession." He gestures, and looks at Schara while Warrick opens the door. "Ah, let us deal with it gether, Brass, yet urely it is only a parcel."

When the door opens, a form shrouded almost entirely in a dark cloak stands on the other side. She--if the figure is truly a woman--is on the short side, as sildanyari tend to be, but all that can really be seen of her is the slight indentation of a fair-colored chin, pale in the way many who hardly see the sun are, and a mouth and a slim nose.

She holds out the parcel that was promised to Warrick. It's something wrapped in black cloth and carefully tied with a silk ribbon that is of the exact same hue, shade, and luster as the cloth underneath. Whatever's inside must be somewhat slim and compact, as it's not terribly big. Warrick's held children bigger than this.

Yet stranger are the words that leave her mouth:

"Soon comes a time of rebirth,

A reform for the lady to take

As he who shines with the sun

Is too compassionate at times

And gives chances too freely

Out of kindness unearned."

Once the package is taken, she simply nods and turns away, walking briskly before a spell falls from her lips... and she's gone.

Warrick blinks as he's given a package, his mouth parting briefly as the message is delivered. And then, the elf is gone.

He turns back towards the group, and offers it to Schara. "No one knocks at this hour," he mentions to Aelwyn. "And I have no clue what that was about. If this is another body part, so help me Serriel--"

Schara is left with several questions on the air and even more unsaid as she attempts to hail the figure as they leave. Mostly of who they were and what they were delivering, along with the nature of the rather cryptic message.

"Please, no, no more severed limbs in ornate parcels." The artificer states rather firmly. "We are somewhat far from the other farms, I can't see why someone would be coming to deliver a package at this time and leaving either."

"If needed I might be able to open it. Unlike your limbs mine are mostly replaceable after all, if it truly is some manner of trap." Schara suggests, rather hesitantly.

The appearance of the courier, the mysterious words and the equally mysterious disappearance makes Aelwyn twist his lips. "Tch, this one knocks at this hour all the time." He tells Warrick, "... vanishing couriers are very expensive, though."

Then he slides out his glaive and gestures at the bundle. "If one is afraid of a trap, this one can open the box from afar."

Warrick looks at Schara, then towards to Aelwyn. Sighs heavily before putting the package on a nearby end table. "I'll get it. You two be ready." He dons a shield from his belongings, holding it up as a free hand tugs at the silk ribbon to unravel it.

It becomes quite evident, once the ribbon is untied from the cloth, that there's something inside the cloth. Unfolded, the parcel's contents are quite simple. There's a piece of parchment with writing on it.

It contains exactly two sentences.

"He's coming.

Punish him."

Underneath the parchment are two beautiful black daggers that feel... ominous to the touch. Perfectly balanced, their edges lethal, their hilts feeling _important_ in some way when touched.

Schara, for all her suggestions, took up a spot behind Warrick, bracing behind the ex-guard. It's a moment waiting to see if anyone reacted poorly before the artificer manages to peer over Warrick's shoulder. "Does the handwriting look familiar at all, and why would they give us daggers? Were they someone contracting assassins that went to the wrong building in the middle of nowhere?" Schara begins rambling. "She didn't ask for payment, so where they paid before coming here? You know more about courier work than I do, Aelwyn."

Aelwyn makes his way over and he tilts his head, with now actual suspicion in his eyes. A moment later, he opens the door carefully and peers out, to see if he can catch anything else. "No, it does not. And tch," He clicks his teeth. "One does such a thing if one has too many coins. Though this one is starting to consider with the way one vanished and the daggers, that the statement of an assassin may be more accurate."

Warrick stares at the parchment, his attention sliding over to the daggers. "... no, I think... maybe the man might be coming back?" he answers. "But this method is nefarious," he glances behind him towards Schara. "Almost ritualistic. I am not keen to use these, I'd rather make them suffer in a cell and face proper justice. But this is not my place to make that call."

He stares at the daggers. Huffs. And drops to a knee as he begins to don his scale mail packed away.

GAME: Schara rolls spellcraft+3: (16)+11+3: 30

"The man? Which man?" Schara wonders, sounding confused as she stops, and picks up one of the daggers. "I hope the he you are speaking of is not who I am thinking you are talking about, but it would not be out of the realm of possibility."

"Please watch yourself picking them up if you do so." She warns abruptly, gesturing to Aelwyn as Warrick was putting on their armor. "Most daggers are made for taking the life of a person, as there are usually weapons more suited to harming animals and other creatures, but these are made for harming people more than a normal dagger, is what I am trying to say. Not evil but the idea of making something with the express purpose of taking someone's life does not sit the best with me."

"If there is no harm in holding on to one, perhaps Aelwyn should take one? Even if not for killing a person, they might be good to throw at something if needed, as your glaive has limited reach and it appears to be enchanted to return to your hand if thrown."

Aelwyn walks over and looks at the daggers suspiciously. "... this one feels that the reach is quite enough." He squeezes the haft of his polearm, nostrils flaring for a moment. "Though this one has many questions. Why a pair - and why send the daggers in first place?" He turns to look at Warrick instead. "Either this is a message or a weapon."

Back towards Schara. "... and this one supposes, whatever 'he' means, one should be prepared." Which makes him look at Warrick again, while he -carefully- picks up one of the daggers to slide it into the hidden slot underneath his shoulder armor.

"I think we all know its the same man we're speaking of," Warrick grunts, annoyed at the thought of them coming back to this location. He rises to his feet, setting an arming cap on his head. He glances at the daggers, sighs, and then takes both of the daggers, feeling the weight of them in his hands. "I can throw daggers fairly well. If they come back, I can do it quickly.

Schara does not hesitate to pass over the dragoon. "I believe I know, but I would hope to be wrong." The artificer sighs, dusting off their hand in spite of a lack of need to. "If they are, then this is dangerous, and I don't want to put my family in further harms way. He may be behind what happened to my mother after all. I'll go make sure that they're safe."

<OOC> Warrick says, "i... would like to use my (war) aspect on the daggers"

Revenge.

The daggers speak to Warrick. These daggers were made for the purpose of revenge. They are forged long ago by a sildanyari woman, whose tears run down her face as she pulls them from the flame. The tears continue as she refines their edges, honing them into something beautiful, something deadly, something she enchants with words that Warrick barely recognizes in his command of Sildanyari:

"If there is any deity out there, I ask them to bless these blades--to kill the man who killed my father."

Someone does. Two shadowy hands come and touch them, but the woman seems unaware that they were touched at all, shedding more of those hot tears as she vows to avenge her father all over again. Warrick sees the blades used over and over again to kill. The sildanyari woman fights her way into a fortress, cutting throats and letting their life spill out in crimson rivers from their necks as they slump to the ground in her wake.

She gets to a bedchamber, where a sildanyari man, beautiful as any sildanyar man ever was and ever is, sleeps soundly. With perfect aim, she throws them both into the man's chest. A death rattle escapes from his lungs, and the woman comes to take them out, tearing the necklace of Daeus from his neck and throwing it to the ground.

"False cleric," she accuses. "Someone ought to have taken you down years ago. I forsake the gods; I did this all on my own--"

Yet there's a fond woman's chuckle, and the shadow hands from before alight on the sildanyar's shoulders. "You need not worship me," she says, "for I do not yet exist in this way. But Time will reveal all: when the levee breaks and all rights itself into a new order."

A whisper, and then the image shifts. Warrick sees them lovingly placed on an altar by the sildanyari woman's hands: dedicated to no goddess he recognizes, but to one that might one day be. "In preparation for her coming," the woman says. "In punishment for those who engorge themselves wrongfully on the Light's compassion and abuse it."

The history ends. The daggers are quiet. They have spoken all that they know.

Warrick stares at the daggers, inspecting them, holding them one way, then backwards, balances them. But then his gaze unfocuses. And stares on out. His lips part briefly. Unknowingly, a single tear slips free of his eye before he shakes his head.

"Fuck," he huffs, looking down at the weapons, wearily looking at them. "These are... made specifically to tear down those that abuse the Light."

He looks at the others. "I know not what deity blessed these, but they must be emerging. Twilight maybe..."

With hesitation, he sheathes them in his bandolier. "They shouldn't harm us. Hopefully.

Aelwyn nods his head to the either of them. "This one agrees. We should prepare, regardless." He glances around the room they are in. "... and see if we cannot put an end to this." The draconian turns to look at Warrick then. Very slowly. "... abuse the Light." He repeats, slowly, before he slides his hand over his mane of quills. "What shall be our next move?"

Schara stops to listen to Warrick, and the elf slumps slightly. "Those sound strange. I do not disapprove of them completely, but it still feels somewhat wrong. Yet I know if they return, I would not hesitate to kill them, as they are a risk of harm to you both and everyone I care about." Schara answers coldly. "Which is why, I'm at least going to warn my family. They need to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, but I don't know if it is safe for them to leave right this instant. There is no telling if people are coming what direction they may be coming from, and this area is more defensible, as much as the idea of my home being at risk terrifies me, them coming to further harm worries me much more so." She continues, heading off to the house to alert them.

Schara gets the opportunity to warn her family. They promise to stay inside their house and barricade themselves to the best of their abilities. The chickens also get put away safely, although there's a small one that keeps peering up at Schara with big chicken-eyes until she gets some kind of affection. A nuzzle from a toe does fine to placate her.

It's not long after that a wiry sildanyari man dressed in highly ornamented and elaborate robes, bearing Daeus's symbol, arrives accompanied by his retinue. Handsome and pleasing, his blonde hair makes him look as radiant as is befitting a cleric of the god of the sun. The guards that accompany the Sunguard are rather plain by comparison, seeming to bear the colors and robes of monks dedicated to Daeus. Oddly, while they bear no weaponry, the Sunguard has a longbow and quiver strapped to their back, and a longsword dangles from their belt.

"Hello, Schara," Thraven Elmsdew purrs, delight in his eyes. "I'm so happy to see you again. How are you and your mother holding up? I came by with some of my people to offer your dear mother some prayers and relief. The ritual I had in mind, unfortunately, requires quite the late hour."

Warrick feels a mild unease with the daggers on his chest, but one mantra of Serriel is that every weapon has a purpose. And this is no different. "Worry not, Schara. It is easier to hold a place you know than to take a place you don't." He finishes counting his bolts. "And he won't get much out before he pays for his crimes. Unfortunately, law enforcement is far away, so-" Ker-chunk. Bolt slotted in. "-we are the law."

As company arrives, so does Warrick, stepping out in a black and red trimmed armor with a unwieldly looking large crossbow being held be the carry handle and stock, his armet helmet closed shut, with the nightfall breeze in the forest ruffling a single red feather that sticks out the top of it.

Schara was finishing up with things outside, making sure entrances were locked from the inside among other things, and as she arrived at the entrance, the artificer freezes up on the spot.

"You are not making any attempt to hide that you know who I am, Sunguard Elmsdew, and I do not know why you would think my mother needs aid as I doubt anyone that would live here would wish anything to do with you." The artificer answers, stopping their rambling tapping the side of their helmet with one finger. "Your concern is not appreciated as it is not trusted whatsoever, but you should be on your way as there is a cleric much more trustworthy who is my friend and would help my family if they are in need with no further ulterior motives if that is not clear."

Aelwyn clicks his teeth, then makes a series clicking sounds. "Ah, now that, Guard..." He leans away with an uncertain look on his face. "... is quite the dangerous precedent one is setting." He flashes his sharp teeth. "Worry oneself not, Brass. It shall all be over soon."

When the company arrives though, Aelwyn stands there as well; his glaive burning bright as he casually he holds across his shoulders, hands over the haft. "Yes, it will be to one's health to leave." His lips twist into a macabre grin. "For this one also has a ritual in mind, and it involves the fire of blood."

"Why _should_ I hide that I know you?" Thraven asks seriously, frowning in a manner that's far more like a pout that has certainly earned him some fawns from the souls of Dawn's Embrace who go to the Temple of Daeus. "I have never, ever forgotten you nor your dear family, Schara. Everyone in Dawn's Embrace are held in my prayers and my thoughts."

The Sunguard sighs as they look at Aelwyn briefly, then turn their attention to the Warrick, and then they finally look back at Schara. "You have to believe me, Schara. I want to make amends for all that has happened. We can bury the ugly past and the darkness. I can forgive and forget, and I'd _like_ to forgive and forget. Daeus has called me to compassion, and I shall radiate it as best as I can."

GAME: Warrick rolls sense motive: (13)+5: 18
GAME: Schara rolls sense motive: (14)+3: 17
GAME: Aelwyn rolls sense motive: (15)+6: 21
<OOC> Riptide says, "He's not lying about wanting to 'forgive and forget'. But it's in a snake oil salesman way. He absolutely has an ulterior motive for coming here and preaching his words of reconciliation."

"We all have lines that we do not condone when crossed," Warrick intones to Aelwyn before they step outside. "This line has been spat on and desecrated."

As they stand before Elmsdew, he spies Schara freeze up in that manner that they always do when confronted with anything distressing. He steps forward next to her, shoulder to shoulder. The artificer has plenty of backup this time around. The armored soldier's helmet creaks as he looks skyward, then settles on his front foot. "What ritual, of the /Sun Lord/, requires it to be at night?" he points out, voice echoing coldly in his helmet. "... radiate your compassion by confessing your sins to His daughter in civilization."

Schara stopped, and tilted their helmeted head. It helped to have allies with her, and the moment of the others talking gave the artificer enough time to collect herself. "You know why you would hide that you know me, yet choose obviously not to as you know it will bother me significantly." Schara states. "I do not look like myself, sound like myself, I did everything I could to limit the interaction I had here and you have not been welcome here for some time. So you if I am not mistaken, you are admitting to either keeping tabs on my family or spying on me in Alexandria, are you not? Like you are letting us know you know more about my mothers injury than anyone else should."

"There was a point in time where I would have wished to forgive you , but you were in the wrong to begin with and you are not worthy of forgiveness." She continues, trying not to ramble despite the rising anger in their voice. "If there is anything you need to do here then I reiterate that you are unwelcome, this is property that belongs in no way to you. So please leave now, and I would suggest that the entourage brought with you should not associate with you whatsoever."

Aelwyn slowly lowers his glaive from around his shoulders, standing besides Schara as she delivers her reply. At the end, he takes a step forward. "This one dances with fire," He begins, gesturing at the group. "... and this one's is more than willing to demonstrate what it means, to those that do not wish to take Brass' advice to heart, and persist to stand with this..." A gesture aimed at the Sunguard. There's a short, sibilant tasting sound, and then he finishes, "... walking collection of limbs, unfortunately bound together."

Thraven smiles widely, a smile that's very charming and warm as he takes a step forward. "Oh Schara." His words are so... loving. "I don't have anything to hide from _you_. I have indeed been looking for you, inspired by a vision Daeus sent me. You slipped away, and I was so worried for your safety when you left. Why wouldn't I know about your mother's injury? I am the Sunguard of Daeus for Dawn's Embrace. It is my job to know about everything and everyone here, to tend to them in the way they need me best."

He raises his arms a little. "I have nothing to confess, for like Eli's rays, I hide nothing save beyond cloud-cover, only to unleash my sunlight when the clouds part and give to me that which I may reveal my true self upon at last. I still care for you, Schara. You may have rejected me, and you may have run, but it was inevitability that led you right back to me. His light is waiting to bask upon us in our union, Schara. Come with me, and I will treat you as like a queen, and I will right that wrong I made, and I will heal your mother, too. Forgiveness and compassion, just as Daeus told to me in his glorious vision! No longer am I the man who jealously acted in lust and hatred, as is unbecoming of a Daeusite."

The monks who accompany the Sunguard are a little too still, as though marshalling their own reactions to Thraven's words.

-To be continued-

OOC

<OOC> Riptide says, "Map: https://www.mipui.net/app/index.html?mid=m6hp7jjs2u9"