[IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

[faithlikeaseed]

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Comments

[swordproof]

[ Six manages herself as best she can, steeling herself, forcing herself to be stoic and strong because it is all she knows. She thinks of her reaction when Adrian had fallen, when she had realised his spirit had been taken and she had no strength nor magic to return him to her arms, realising that there were no clerics nor diamonds or magics that might save him... She had dug a grave with her own hands.

Sometimes, she thinks she can still feel the crack of the mud under her fingertips, the pain of digging with bare hands, of feeling the ground open below her. She had bled into his grave, the scar of that wound still vibrant and flush across her back, and she had resisted the urge to crawl in alongside him. She had suffered so much, she thinks: she did not want to suffer more.

Frowning, she pauses to consider the nature of Adalia's devotion. She had chosen poorly and it had been her duty, as a Paladin of Sarenrae and her sister, to guide her back toward the light. She had failed in that, surely; seeing the two of them here, seeing their delight in one another's company... ]

No. [ Pursed lips, set, tight. Not one that Six is willing to offer any kind of worship to, at least. ] I believe they return to the arms of those who most touched them. I would hope that, if she had truly died, Adalia would be welcomed in Sarenrae's embrace.

[faithlikeaseed]

[Ah.

That's an expression--a tone--Myr recognizes as well from experience; love for one's own blood couldn't erase the disappointment one felt in their choices. (Too often enhanced it, as he'd learned worrying over Vandelin.) It raises another question--he'd heard rumors of Adalia's particular relationship, for rumors were the lifeblood of the Gallows--but not one he'll ask now or any time following. There are certainly some things he does not need to know simply to pray for her, or for Six.

So he nods to this, chewing his lower lip briefly in thought as he fits these pieces in where he might with all he knows of Andraste.]

Our lady Andraste is likewise forgiving, and we entreat Her for the souls of those who've departed into the Fade--that She'll intercede with Her Divine Husband, so He will take them up in His arms.

Those who turned aside from the Maker in life are said to wander the Void forever and only She weeps for them-- But I’d think, even there, the penitent might hear Her voice and cast off their sins to run to Her.

[He hopes. He dearly hopes.

He reaches careful fingers to touch his copy of the Chant where it lies splayed open.]

In Hasmal, a week after the death we’d sing from Trials for the departed--and pray for them a month at least. In the Circle, anyway--we were all alike there, but outside it the rich could pay for more weeks of prayer. [Like anyone else’s piety would get them where they were going, his rueful smile seems to say.]

The prayers, though--they’ve a form to them and you might change the words a little for Sarenrae, as you're not sure of any for her. I think ours would suit.

[swordproof]

I see.

[ Six isn't sure how she feels about the idea of people being trapped and unable to hear the voice of the God they are so devout to. Sarenrae guides, Sarenrae is gentle and soft and good, but the idea of being stopped and lost and not being able to feel any of that guidance...

She can empathise. It is what being in Thedas is like.

There's some uncertainty to her and it's obvious that she wishes that Sarenrae was here, or at least some essence of the woman, something that makes her feel less alone, something that might give her a real anchor. There's knots in her stomach and she has to force herself to breathe and calm down, to focus on this. She is praying for Adalia - for her sister, for the only family she has left.

(The only family she believes in.)

Relaxing, Six rests her hands on her lap. ]

I have some, for her, but not any that might be appropriate for a situation with no death or mercies. [ There's a frown on her face. ] But... If it is not an offence, I would use yours.

guess who remember this existed AND LOVES IT

[faithlikeaseed]

[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.]

its just GOOD

[swordproof]

[ It's clear that Six is struggling with this. She is out of her depth entirely, unsure what to do with herself, not sure how to manage or handle what has happened to her and what will happen in the future; there is no temple of Sarenrae to guide her here. No, instead she has a weight to her, something that makes her feel as though she might settle in knots, as though she might twist herself inside out, a longing for something that will never be present.

The tiny shrine in her room is not enough.

She wishes for the book of prayer she had with her once. She might have read them to Adalia, to offer her goddess to her lost sister once more, to give her a place. (To avoid the topic of their father, to dance around their heritage, to hide her shame). ]

Thank you. [ Her voice is, perhaps, too soft and too quiet now, not sure what to do or say. This is not her religion, this is not her path, and she accepts it because she thinks that is what she ought to do. Not even her own prayer can guide her here; loss is a loss and she will wear the mantle. There will be no pause.

Reaching out, she touches the page. ]

This... Thank you, Myr.