[It's not a thing Myr likes any better--there were those he loved among the dead that might now be wandering the Void; Sina's face comes most easily to mind. (As does Sina vanishing through that honeysuckled arch after he'd bid her good rest and a tiny halla bounding across the fields beyond it; a reminder that perhaps all the Chant said of death might not be complete. Might have room for something kinder in it.)
But the Adalia who lived back on Toril was not dead and wandering the Fade, though who knew exactly what became of rifters upon their disappearance from Thedas--what became of the spirits who'd been given life and form drawn from another of the Maker's worlds and set loose on this one--and since that Adalia was the one concerning them... He breathes out and considers.]
It isn't; rather, an honor, I think. Let me see-- [It's not that he needs to pick up his copy of the Chant and read from it to find the verses he wants, the prayers; he has much of it memorized, for how else could he have contemplated it when blind? But flipping through the pages and seeing the words before his eyes--seeing his own careful annotations, not all of which he'd memorized--helps him decide.]
Here, [he says, laying the book open to the prayer he's chosen,] This will suit, I think; it's for those who've left us without our certainty of their death. Those who might come back. [Usually used for lost sailors at sea or those vanished into the far northern jungles in the pursuit of the qunari heathen (or anciently the Dales, after elves)--or more often in the Circles, with an irony their friends didn't understand, for apprentices lost to Harrowing. (No one was supposed to know where you went if you failed, but the light off a templar's sword when you struggled up from under the weight of the Fade told you exactly where they'd have sent you.)
He offers it to her for her approval. Redeeming Lady, it begins, who smiles on the lost...
There are places, here and there, where it would be easy to substitute one name for another, one epithet for its counterpart. Speaking of mercy and guidance on the road home as the prayer does, it's not far off what Myr knows of Sarenrae.]
guess who remember this existed AND LOVES IT
But the Adalia who lived back on Toril was not dead and wandering the Fade, though who knew exactly what became of rifters upon their disappearance from Thedas--what became of the spirits who'd been given life and form drawn from another of the Maker's worlds and set loose on this one--and since that Adalia was the one concerning them... He breathes out and considers.]
It isn't; rather, an honor, I think. Let me see-- [It's not that he needs to pick up his copy of the Chant and read from it to find the verses he wants, the prayers; he has much of it memorized, for how else could he have contemplated it when blind? But flipping through the pages and seeing the words before his eyes--seeing his own careful annotations, not all of which he'd memorized--helps him decide.]
Here, [he says, laying the book open to the prayer he's chosen,] This will suit, I think; it's for those who've left us without our certainty of their death. Those who might come back. [Usually used for lost sailors at sea or those vanished into the far northern jungles in the pursuit of the qunari heathen (or anciently the Dales, after elves)--or more often in the Circles, with an irony their friends didn't understand, for apprentices lost to Harrowing. (No one was supposed to know where you went if you failed, but the light off a templar's sword when you struggled up from under the weight of the Fade told you exactly where they'd have sent you.)
He offers it to her for her approval. Redeeming Lady, it begins, who smiles on the lost...
There are places, here and there, where it would be easy to substitute one name for another, one epithet for its counterpart. Speaking of mercy and guidance on the road home as the prayer does, it's not far off what Myr knows of Sarenrae.]