The Temple of Sacred Roots

[pumpkinhollow]

In Reverence of the Goddesses

Tucked into a once-verdant park near the heart of the village is the Temple of the Sacred Roots of Our Four Earthly Mothers. The wooden building is cobbled together, seemingly added onto over the years in an organic way as additional stories were added on. Its walls are of dark wood, with steep steepled roofs and large stained glass windows. Most of the windows are vibrant bits of stained glass, often depicting symbols of nature related to each of the Four Mothers.

There are smaller rooms for individual worship or a quiet spot to meditate and even a small library, but the main hall is a circular open room where worshippers come to hear the good word together. They sit in a mishmash of chairs or pillows laid on the floor, or even a large root or stone, all circled around a pulpit and a singular chair in the center, although the pulpit appears to be a bit dusty from disuse. The tree that forms the heart of this building only grows within the confines of its walls, intertwined into the interior’s architecture. The only other room of note is the large kitchen just behind this hall. There many meals have been cooked to share among the faithful. Even if these meals are meager now, the villagers scrape together what they can in an effort to make sure no one goes hungry.

Services are held on Saturday evenings, Sunday mornings, and Wednesday evenings for the down-to-earth faithful. Attendance is highly encouraged - meals are often served! - and the bonds of fellowship must be kindled on a regular basis. However, Degas is often at the Temple either studying for his next sermon or reading one of the many books found in the library.

Use this post to RP threads that take place at or in relation to the Temple of Sacred Roots! More details on the organization and its workings can be found under the drop-downs.

Membership

Point of Contact
Reverend Degas Clayton

Joining
There is no initiation process when you first arrive. You are invited to attend service at any time and the moment you enter the building you become family. However, should you stray from the path of the Mothers, returning to the fold will require some atonement in the form of offerings and prayer.

Benefits
Most of the flock are welcoming, providing you show some effort in helping others as you have been helped. They are the friendliest bunch and often have simple meals prepared for evening services, as well as offering support and compassion to those afflicted by the evils that batter the village.

Drawbacks
The group as a whole seem content to wait for some mysterious event in the future that will surely save their village from ultimate destruction, and are stuck in their ways. Change comes rarely, if at all, nor do they take kindly to their beliefs being called into question. Being ostracized by this group means a cold shoulder from most of the village long afterwards.

Sermons

Degas likes to keep these more down to earth than the previous preacher, especially since he’s not especially trained in such matters. He will share news of a fellow villager’s death so that the others can keep a lookout for them upon their return. He organizes community projects to try and bolster flagging morale and to continue the teachings of the Temples through these simple deeds. Otherwise he just tries to offer words of comfort and encourage fellow Tempe go-ers to keep the faith. They just have to hold out for a sign that the tides will turn in their favor once more.

The arrival of newcomers is met with equal amounts of relief and wariness, unsure if this is a sign or a test. While Degas offers to help new arrivals and invites them to Temple functions openly he won’t take kindly to anyone trying to question held beliefs. Not enough to run them out of town like Elsie and her mother, but a socially cold shoulder on a tiny island isn’t ideal either. That would be about the extent of anything malicious on Degas’s part. He’s not into scheming, just hoping that change finally comes and their salvation is finally brought to fruition.

There is no tithing in the temple. The building was built by the community over the years and they tend to it, donating their time to its upkeep. Prayer or meditation is a part of the sermons as well, worshippers often lay a hand on the person closest to them, forming an interconnected web of touch that mimics tree branches or roots. Or they lift a hand up, palm facing upwards, as a new sprouted plant might push its way out of the dirt. Prayers are muttered, never shouted, creating a wind-like sound as the murmurs are offered up to the Goddesses. There’s songs sung, often accompanied by rhythmic clapping or stomping, or additional voices adding to the cacophony. Instruments are of the handheld variety (hurdy gurdy, fiddle, pan flute), there’s no pianos or organs to be found in the Temple.

Philosophy & Teachings

The Temple espouses the bonds of fellowship above all else, save for the reverence paid to the Four Mothers. It's beliefs are steeped in the hard-working, salt-of-the-earth people who first came to the island, weaving together the fabric of this new society from nothing more than a precious seedling. While its traditions are humble those who hold them dear also hold them close..

It is generally considered sacrilege to depict the goddesses in art with their faces showing, and most art of them will tactfully cover their faces with things like Serannai's mask, Kora's hat, a cloud in front of Celestine's face, or a mourning veil for Mortanne. As it is believed to be disrespectful to presume their facial features.

And while prayer in temples is perfectly fine, it's believed that it is more effective to go to the goddesses where they live--- the forest for Serannai, the beach for Kora, mountains or hearths for Celestine, and graveyards or anywhere snowy for Mortanne. However recent events makes this extremely difficult.

There’s a rock, the tree roots, a bowl of sand, and an old gravestone in the temple for substitutes, although they are poor ones.

The Goddesses

Serranai is the goddess of Spring and the Earth. She is depicted as a satyr who wears a deer skull mask and firey red hair. She can be somewhat mischievous and playful, but can also be a fierce warrior if needed, and is an exceptional archer. She also views the Earth as her canvas and flowers her paints, and any particularly beautiful nature scenes or flower beds are often described as "Serranai's art."

Kora is the goddess of Summer and the Sea. She is depicted as a pirate queen of sorts, a sailor and adventurer with a golden cutlass, olive skin, and long raven hair. She is often seen wearing jewelry made from fish bones, sea glass, and sapphires. It is sometimes believed that sailors who get lost at sea have joined Kora's crew.

Celestine is the goddess of Autumn and the Sky. She is depicted with very very dark skin and cloud-like coily hair that is pale golden like morning sunlight and iridescent. Her dark black eyes are said to be full of stars and she wears an intricate silver gown with a delicately embroidered starmap. She keeps rain, sunshine, snow, and wind in glass bottles on her shelves and will sprinkle them down onto the earth from her home in the clouds.

Mortanne is the goddess of Winter and the Beyond. She is depicted as very pale with long white hair who always appears as the same age or just slightly older than the person she is speaking to at the time of their death. She drives a black funeral carriage drawn by white ghostly horses, and will drive the spirits of the dead to their afterlife while talking to her passenger, asking them questions about their life and prompting them to reflect and take one last opportunity to learn and grow. It is said that the moment you fully understand what kind of life you have lived and what sort of afterlife you have earned is when the carriage will arrive at its destination.

The Building

Comments

Solistice Wednesday Sermon

[preacher_in_reticence]

Gathering those who make an appearance at the temple, Degas ushers them to take a seat in the main room. It’s the longest day of the year, but he starts at the regular evening time, just after a warm meal has been served to those in attendance. Plenty of time for a sermon before dusk sweeps over their sleepy little town. Chairs and pillows and roots serve as a hodge podge seating arrangement around the singular chair in the middle that the man sits upon. One leg over the other, a well worm tome in hand as if reading a bedtime story, he recites a passage on the bounty of the earth and the community that comes together to work the land and its bounty.

“In that spirit of togetherness I would ask you to keep an eye out for Halsey Coburns. Unfortunately he was found…hm, expired, out in the forest. By sunset tomorrow he should be returned to us, but who knows exactly when or where.” The man closes his book with one hand, offering a kindly smile to those in attendance. “And of course, please continue to keep an eye out for our newest arrivals. Also, remember to avoid Lake Sal-Co-Penn and the bodies in the water.”

Degas pauses, a curious look passing over his face, but he carries on. “Oh, and the little brutoks are still underfoot. Keep your lanterns lit, my friends. I hope to see you all on Sunday, but if you wish a private word with me I’ll linger here until dusk.”

Re: Solstice Wednesday Sermon

[wildfirecatcafe]

Beatric is sitting quietly in the temple room, listening carefully to Degas's sermon.

Aren't you an atheist? Why did you take us to church?

I was an atheist back home. This place is so not part of the world we grew up in, though, so I think it behooves us to at least go over stuff again to double-check.

... Also I think a "church" is a specific type of religious building, and this is at least technically not that.

... ... HEY WAIT A SEC, the heck you mean 'aren't you an atheist', like you don't live in my brain and know the same exact stuff I do?

My religious beliefs have never been relevant to your life, why should I have mentioned them~

... Make that trying to listen to Degas's sermon.

[preacher_in_reticence]

As he continues on, reading well-worn lines from equally well-worn pages, Degas does look out upon his flock. All familiar faces, seen time and time again over these last few years, save for a handful.

Beatrix stands out, both for being a new face and also for how distracted she seems. Perhaps she's mulling over the scripture...or perhaps she's speaking to those others knocking about her mind. He doesn't linger on the thought, not wanting to distract himself in the middle of his point.

Together, the goddesses will hear their pleas and grant them succor. They just had to hold on until then. Degas concludes by offering the symbolic representations of their four beloved Mothers for prayer, in whatever way they feel comfortable and to offer his presence should anyone need it. As those gathered begin to disperse, he makes a point to greet Beatrix, taking a seat beside her.

"It's good to see you here, Miss Beatrix. How are you settling into our fair town?"

[lordoftheozarks]

Erik has not been a man of any religion for a very, very long time. Not since death took him, and not really before either. But he is making an effort, shall we say, to scope out the climate of this town. He sat quietly through the meal of which he could not partake and then settled upon a chair to listen to the sermon with respectful attention. He must say, this isn't nearly as distasteful as some sermons he's been subjected to. This preacher is a good speaker and his voice is pleasant. Perhaps Erik could make this a routine.

Once the service ends, he meanders over to chat. "Kind of you to speak of looking after us newly arrived, Father. May I introduce myself? I am Lord Erik Osborne."

[preacher_in_reticence]

At supper Degas enjoyed quiet conversations with his fellow villagers, stopping by to check in with most who enjoyed the same. A good preacher is also observant, so the untouched meal of one of the newcomers doesn't go unnoticed.

After service concludes and he filters through those in attendance Degas turns his attention to the new face in his flock. "After five years, you appreciate a fresh face and a new perspective." he places a hand over his chest, bowing slightly. "Lord Osborne, there's no need to address me as Father. I am but a humble servant for the Temple who's preacher has been missing for some time. But it is good to meet you and I'm glad that you've joined us for this sermon. How are you settling into our fair little village?"

Re: Solistice Wednesday Sermon

[restingslasherface]

Jean listens attentively to the sermon. Apologies, Degas, but their face is just like that when at rest; at least they seem to be taking notes? But that offer for a private word has their attention, and they approach the preacher for one.

Manners first. A hand out, to shake, and Jean's best sharp-toothed smile. "You've got a lovely voice, sir. Jean, new hire - erm, new arrival. Pleasure! To meet you. Hi! Wait fuck - wait you're not supposed to swear in church -"

This is just gonna keep going unless they're interrupted.

[preacher_in_reticence]

The toothy grin is a tad unsettling, even Degas would admit, but luckily he's a practiced enough preacher that it doesn't slow him down too much.

Seems he has a lively one on his hands. Degas returns the handshake, his own firm but not overly tight or controlling. At least until jean starts to ramble, that is. His free hand goes atop theirs still clasped, as if to steady them.

"Welcome to Pumpkin Hollow, Mister Jean." He remarks lightly, making a big assumption of them from the get-go. "Don't fret, I've heard worse in time and certainly worse than that even in these hollowed halls. You must be another new arrival, I hope your transition to life here has been a smooth one thus far?"

The Celebration of life for Merrick Gladwyn

[preacher_in_reticence]

Outside the Temple walls, upon a small expanse of grass and shrubbery, there the villagers had gathered. There is no casket to gather around, no podium from which their preacher would deign to speak. At first it seems to be nothing more than a friendly mingling of the bereaved, villagers greeting each other in hushed whispers and the same sort of welcome is extended to those brought from outside of Marrow Isle. The chattering continues on until the tolling of the hour and then a hush goes over those gathered.

“Thank you all for coming,” Degas’s voice carries over the crowd. He stands off-center, amidst the villagers. Some move to give the man space but he holds out a hand to stop them. He draws a long, calming breath through his nose and wills calm to his whole being. That peace touches every part of the man aside from his eyes. A gloom hangs over them, pain cracking at his crow’s feet. This is a task he didn’t want to shoulder, but all the villagers are looking to him.

“My friends, we all know this isn’t the gathering we had hoped for.” He begins, hands clasped together. “That nearly six long years have passed and the fate of our dear priest was a thread of hope. That he, and the others who left this island, would not suffer the same fate. You may ask yourselves now, what good is it to hope? I bid you remember this…remember the teachings of our Goddesses;

You shall ask…What good are dead leaves?
And I will tell you that they nourish the sore earth beneath our feet.
You shall ask, what reason is there for winter?
And I will tell you it is to bring about new leaves.
You shall ask why are the leaves so green?
And I will tell you because they are rich with life.
You shall ask why must summer end?
And I will tell you…it is so that leaves will die.”

Murmurs arise in the crowd, repeating Degas’s words, some weep but they are silent. He reaches out to take hold of an older woman’s hand, she reaches for the person next to her. On and on, they clasp each other in a winding web.

“We come together from the diversity of our grieving, to gather in the warmth of this community. That we may be reminded of our bonds to one another. That our lives follow the seasons, under under the gentle guidance of our Beloved Mothers. That there is a time to celebrate, that there is a time to harvest, there is time to bask in the glories of life, and there is time to dwell on the passing of it. For all are a part of this world.” He gently squeezes the hand he has clasped, the other lays over his heart and casts a look over the crowd.

“And yes, it is true that this very order has been disrupted over the last few years. That dead leaves do not linger to nourish the earth, that our summers are beset by strange beasts, our harvests troubled, and our springs gloomy. But there is still hope. I see it here in all of you present, that you deigned gather here to remember Merrick and bolster the ties that hold this community together. And there is hope in our travelers from beyond, sent here by the Goddesses themselves. Though they are strangers here, many have embraced us fully and we would do well to continue to do the same.”

Another round of affirming murmurs. Degas briefly closes his eyes. This next part will be the most difficult for him. He can scarcely recall Melly’s funeral for the same reasons, the hurt was too great and tore at his very being. But he must. He must…

“Merrick Gladwyn was the best of us. His departure has been difficult for us all, but he has been given the customary rites and now his bones rest in the heart of the Temple that he served with the utmost conviction.” Another breath. Wetness gathers at the corners of his eyes. “I am a friend of Merrick. I recall with perfect clarity the moment I arrived here, fresh off the boat from Fallsreach with Melly-” His voice cracks. A pause. “-with Melly.” He says with humble reverence. “He bid us welcome and made certain we found a place to settle into a place here in Pumpkin Hollow to call home.”

He falls silent. The woman beside him pipes up next and starts with the same phrase. “I am a friend of Merrick.” This goes on for a time, everyone who wishes to speak begins the same way and shares a singular story of the previous priest until all have said their peace. Their joined hands lift to the sky.

“So we have gathered, so we depart. Until next we meet, may the Goddesses watch over you and your lantern stay lit.”

Their hands release each other and slowly return to their sides. The crowd begins to turn to quieter conversations, murmurs of encouragement, some approach Degas to offer kind words or thanks. The sun is lower in the sky now, but there’s still plenty of time before dark. Degas remains planted in place, addressing any and all who approach him in the same manner.

“It’s good to see you. It lifts one’s spirit to see you here, but is there aught else that I can do for you?”

[deepbluerevue]

“No, Reverend.” The religious term of address feels odd in Grace’s mouth, but she breezes right past it, smoothing down the plain white blouse and dark shawl that was the best she could do as far as funeral garb. “I don’t need anything in particular. Just wanted to give my sympathy for your loss. Must be hard. Especially when you’ve got to keep leading things anyway.”

(Grace would know.)

The Pursuit of Knowledge

[lovinglefthand]

Jean's idea -- that First Aid ask Degas for help collecting information on demonically-inflicted injuries and illnesses -- is a good one, and even if it were not First Aid would probably still be somewhat happy just to be included. So he sends a letter of his own to Degas, asking whether he might be available for a lengthy discussion on the specific hazards represented by demonic forces. For the purpose of preparing effective medical interventions, of course.

A very natural and reasonable thing for the new doctor in town to be researching, First Aid has to agree.

[preacher_in_reticence]

Degas replies that he can be available anytime before sundown in the following week at the temple, and First Aid is always welcome, just as anyone is. Though he doesn't know as much about demons as some in town might.

coughNeilcough

[lovinglefthand]

It's the first time First Aid's set foot in the temple, instead of just admiring it from outside. He takes care to step lightly, not wanting to make too much noise in this sacred place...

Once he finds Degas he'll greet him with a small, humble bow of his head, saying softly, "Thank you for agreeing to speak to me, uh...sir? I'm sorry," he admits sheepishly. "I'm not actually sure how to address you. My people don't really have priests or religious leaders anymore, apart from our Prime."

Choosing Sides | Early November | For Degas

[somebodychildofanyone]

There's an elf in the Temple.

River shows up early in the morning and takes a seat. There's a difficult conversation to have, and she suspects that she might be rejected here. That thought weighs on her, drooping her ears and keeping her gaze down at her boots, but neither River's momma nor the Red Waerlochs raised a bitch, so here she is anyway. She can wait for Degas.

The thought occurs to her to ask the local goddesses for maybe a leg up, but she sets that aside. They were generous to Annabel, and River's so grateful for that, but this is, ironically, mortal business. She's got this on her own.

[preacher_in_reticence]

Degas had planned for the morning to be one of cleaning and perhaps pulling some wintery decorations out of a storage nook, but the sight of River with ears drooping and head bowed is an interruption he simply must address first. One hand taps on the pews as he makes his way to her, and he walks a little heavy, trying not to startle her out of what appears to be a deep, heavy reverie.

"You look like you have stormclouds in your head. That's not where those belong."

[somebodychildofanyone]

"Tell that to the Rain cults." Beat. "...Yeah that uh, that. Only tracks if. You're from my home." River lets out a long breath, and looks up. She doesn't stand. "...I've come to a bit of a decision but it's not um. Not a decision I can, y'know, unilaterally make. You got time to talk?"

For the goddesses

[lovinglefthand]

On the last day of the month, First Aid enters the temple during a quiet hour and walks straight toward the four alters. On each one he leaves a small stoppered vial, purchased from Sally Boyle and filled with a clear liquid that, for a few minutes after he puts it down, seems to shine and glimmer faintly with its own light.

Once every alter, every goddess has received her offering, First Aid stands in the center and quietly says, his voice scarcely rising above a whisper, "On Cybertron, before the energon drought and the Great Shutdown, my people used to bring vials of energon taken from their own fuel lines to the temples, as offerings to Primus. People celebrating a new bond might mingle their fuel together to demonstrate the unity in the eyes of our creator, warriors might offer some of their fuel as a pledge before attempting a great deed...and anyone could bring a vial of energon as thanks to Primus for giving them the strength to triumph through adversity. Everything we have comes from our creator, after all, or so the legends say..."

He respectfully bows his head. "I might not run on energon while I'm here, but this is still fuel taken from my own lines, touched by the heat of my own spark. I'm offering it freely as...as a thank you. For all the gifts you've given us this winter. I hope we will all learn to use them wisely, to better protect this island in the seasons to come."

Ryja's Revival (for Lev)

[maskedstarbunny]

It's so. Cold. Everything is cold, from her toes to her chest to her teeth. Her ears are shivering. The clothes she revived in, that she arrived here in, aren't doing much, if anything. Is this normal? She doesn't know. The bad news is, she's not sure where she is.

The good news is she's making a remarkable amount of noise just trying to find some way to get warm. Activity helps, she knows this. She lived in Ishgard, she upped her exercise to keep ahead of the cold. She wishes she'd studied any amount of thaumaturgy, or even just paid more attention to the aspects of being an Arcanist that weren't healing.

It's just so cold, and she hasn't had a chance to process.. everything, in her own body.

There's a noise from the attic, to catch someone's attention.

[graphomaniac]

Lev/Lyubov regrets coming here a little, to this place that to them feels closed off and cold somehow. They've been in churches rarely, and hated it; they'd been by mosques, too, but due to certain biographical details, a mosque to them is where one's grandfather's family gather, a place you visit when it's the imam's turn to host interfaith shmoozing, and thus not a place with any baggage of alienation.

This place, on the other hand, is like nothing they'd ever been in. It's not that they feel the weight of disdain as in some places of worship; but it's not as if they've merely come to fetch their great-uncle, and then got held up as their great-uncle brags about them to his friends.

But here ... no, it's impossible to say what it is. Maybe merely nerves.

They came to try and intiate some interfaith dialogue, as it happens, to make sure they'd not find out the local word for heretic just because they're trying to put a mezzuzah on Cecil's door. But not finding the preacher about, they're at a loss as to what to do.

And that's when they hear a thump from above; it doesn't take them long to arrive in the attic, out of breath from the stairs, but not yet panicked. They look around the gloomy room, and then call out softly,

"Oy! Anyone here? Thought like, I heard someone—"

A Plea

[theresalwaystheview]

Bart approaches the altar on a day when nobody is present in the temple to question, feeling deeply self-conscious about what he is choosing to do. He is dressed simply, in a simple linen shirt and slacks held up by an unembellished belt, his now shaggy hair held back in a simple ponytail. He looks haggard, worried, and as he comes to stand at the mercy of the goddesses of the island he seems unsure of where to put his hands or whether to kneel.

"Gracious Mothers, I...I will confess to a measure of anxiety, coming here, as I have never given much thought to any sort of piety and yet, I find myself in need of... something. Succor, I suppose.

"I fear I've lost my way. I'm not finding the same fulfillment in my work anymore, no matter how much I would like to help however Your people will let me. More and more, I've become convinced that there is nothing for me but to retire to my lab and to stay there, bothering nothing and no one. It's a selfish idea, I know, but...I don't know what else I'm good for anymore. There are other nurses better at their jobs than I, other scientists with decades more experience that don't need my input and scarcely seem to want it. I want to be able to help a man recover from a terrible past, but it will require so much more than I'm qualified to give. I don't want to burden the people close to me any more than I've already done by trying to confide in them. I won't hurt them anymore with my careless words.

"I'm lost. I... honestly, I don't really know what I want from You either. In my world deities were little more than a way of alleviating fears via fairy stories. People will look for signs in strange places, assign meaning to the mundane, but I already see so much in it all that there isn't any room for more. I don't know what to do from here.

"I don't know what to do," he finishes quietly, looking down at his hands, simultaneously seeming older than his barely-adult age, and like a child beseeching a mentor for guidance.

have an emotional support fox--

[iamthepyre]

Dabi had been making a small habit of coming to the temple, mostly because the place was quiet and he liked that. Besides no one really bothered him even if he was sitting in on sermons, staring at the the stained glass and not really listening to what was being said. He'd never been a religious man, even back home he rarely went to temples or asked luck on anything. Why would he? He had learned at a young age, you have to take your life in your own hands because no one was ever going to help you.

At least that was what he had thought before coming here. Sure he had the League and they helped each other, but they were all means to an end to one another. They were pawns and kings both, using each other for their own ends. And that was fine for them. But here, here Dabi had people who seemed to genuinely care about him. And it was the sound of on of those very peoples voices that he hears as he enters that has him stopping in place.

He doesn't move, doesn't dare make a sound as he manages to catch some of what Bart's saying. He hears how the man feels he's lost purpose, hears something that sounds very much like how much Bart had wanted to help him. Him specifically? Really? That was something Dabi wasn't used to. Sure Magne and Cesar were good to him and wanted to help, but it was more than that. At least to Dabi it was.

When he can finally manage to get his legs to move, he finds him self walking closer, careful to move as quietly as possible before sitting in one of the pews, arms resting over the one in front of him as he leaned forward and rested his chin on his arms. Eyes never leaving Bart as he listened. Closing his eyes he can't help but think about his time in the woods not that long ago, when he had met his new friend who had hopped from his shoulder to instead sit on the seat next to Dabi. The frustration and anger at losing his own purpose that burned him from the inside out

In his own commiserating, Dabi misses how Natsu hops down and quietly trots over to Bart, butting his small head against the mans leg with a short bark before placing a paw on his leg as he had come to do when Dabi got lost in his own mind. He was signaling Bart, trying to get him to sit down so that the little fox could crawl into his lap and be a source of comfort.

Mid-July

[not_the_last]

A few days after this, around sunset, Cassandra returns to the Temple of Sacred Roots. She doesn't seek out a cleric this time, but approaches the altars directly, her hands clasped around a small assortment of objects.

"Kora," she says aloud, "lady of summer. I'm here to pay my respects, to you and your sisters. Firstly to you, as it's your time now, and ... as my family and my country are linked to a god who might be considered in some ways your counterpart. Pelor, the Dawnfather; god of the summer, and the sun, and the planted fields. In his name, on behalf of the de Rolo family of Whitestone, my deep respects to you."

On the altar she sets down a large clam shell, on which she's carefully painted a yellow sunburst. It's not quite the usual shape for one; anyone who's ever seen the crest of Whitestone, or the smaller de Rolo crest, will recognize it.

Moving to the next altar: "Serranai, lady of spring. I have someone ... two someones, in fact, very dear to me and linked to the spring, whom I thought I would never see again. I'm more grateful than I can say for the chance to see them here, living well. For Erin Peters, and for Master Phil Connors, and for all the others of your domain." She sets down a little bouquet of wild thyme and clover blossoms, tied with a scrap of white silk.

An observer would notice, at this point, that she isn't coming to the altars in sequential order. "Celestine, lady of autumn. I'm told you are in part the patron of scholars. I regret that most of my own study has been out of necessity rather than love of the work, but nevertheless -- in the name of all those whose earnest work in scholarship has aided me, I thank you." And she sets down a little ornament of woven straw, a minor prize at the recent festival, in the shape of ... well, it might be a walnut or an apple, but it's probably supposed to be a pumpkin.

And lastly: "Mortanne. Lady of winter. I ..." For the first time, her practiced phrases -- more diplomatic greeting than prayer -- begin to falter. "Your priest told me that you comfort the orphan and the widow. I ... many years ago now, I lost all my family but one brother. At the time I thought I'd lost him as well. They were murdered, along with many who were loyal to us. I haven't ... I've never --"

It takes her a moment to start over. "There's been too much death, in my home, in too short a time. I've never been able to mourn all of it. And I've -- I've been responsible for too much of it, as well. I don't know how to begin asking for comfort, or if I even have a right to. But I think of the four of you, it's your domain that I fall under."

She turns over the last object in her hand. "I had ... on the cursed ship, I'm sure you know of it by now, I had an enchanted item. A wooden box full of snow, that always had more snow in it. It was always summer there, one unchanging hour of summer, and I missed snow so much. I would gift that box to you if I still had it, but as I don't ... I hope this pleases you instead."

And she sets it down: a child's model of a snowflake, six-sided and symmetrical, made of the little separated scales of the pine cone Angel offered her, glued together with their edges painted white. It's decidedly an amateur effort, but by the same token, the effort that went into it is clear.

Cassandra straightens up, bows her head, waits for a long moment to see if there is any response. If there isn't, she'll give her best formal curtsy to all of the altars and depart in silence.

*Just* before the start of the Thatcher's Blight, or John Rambo, Paladin

[theydrewfirstblood]

A Holy Knight of Land and Spring.

John hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since the barbecue. The revelation about paladins, talking to Angel about what he did or didn't feel worthy of doing, and Kora's intimation that he was...already on some kind of path...

He considers talking to Angel or the preacher, Degas, but decides against it. After, definitely, Angel made him realize how seriously he wants to take this--how right it feels--but he started this path alone, with no one but Serranai to guide him.

He decides that he'll take those next first steps the same way: alone, guided only by his heart. He takes some time to think about how he wants to do this, thinks about what he did when he was drafted...

John chooses a Wednesday night, after services have ended. There's precious few around, so he goes to Serranai's altar and draws his survival knife--his most constant weapon--and moves forward to lay it on the altar.

"I know your favorite is the bow and arrow, but this is my constant companion, so I wanna...make it part of this." he explains softly. From his pocket, he also pulls out a piece of animal hide, into which he's stitched a stylized arrow in a contrasting color. When he's done, he'll stitch it in as the new grip on his recurve bow at home.

Laying it on the altar beside his knife, John takes a breath.

"When I got drafted into the Army back home, they, uh...they made us swear an oath to support and defend the constitution and values of my country." he continues. "And I talked to Kora, hope she told you I said hi. She, uh--well, a lot of people gave me this idea. So...if I'm gonna choose to be a soldier this time, I feel like it fits to swear another oath. Not because I have to, but...because I want to. Just a promise, from me to you, and--and Kora mentioned magic, but I'm not looking for anything here. I'm not doing this for power or cause I feel like it's all I can offer. My friend, Angel...he got on me about my self worth, y'know? But this...it doesn't just feel right it feels good. The idea of doing this...it makes me feel good about myself. And I think that means something. So..."

Clearing his throat, John takes a small step back--and because it feels right, he gets down on one knee and instead of raising his hand, wraps his fingers around the bead that still hangs around his neck.

"I, John James Rambo, do solemnly swear, that I will support the people you watch over in this place, no matter who they are or where their values lie, in any way I'm able. I will defend all that you represent: the earth, the arts, the hunt, against all enemies or forces that might do them harm. I swear that I will bear true faith and allegiance to you and yours, that I will obey any command you give me, fulfill any request you make of me, and show respect to your sisters and their will."

He pauses, unable to help a smile as he thinks of Kora.

"Unless they're stinking drunk, in which case I'll show respect to their will if they sit down and have a glass of water. Or whatever a goddess needs to do to prevent a hangover."

Take that, Pirate Queen. If he has to take care of himself then so do you.

"I swear that I will serve the will of those who serve you: those who serve the Temple of Sacred Roots. I will follow the creed and the rules of the faith, and...and I'll do whatever you would ask of me as...as a Holy Knight of Land and Spring, if that's what you would have me be."

Because it still feels a little ill-fitting, feels too much too...good, but he's trying to remember what Angel said, that he has value...

"...I swear all of that, and--and I promise, with all my heart 'n soul, that I'll make sure you're never sorry for the kindness you've shown me." he adds in a whisper, speaking more from the heart than simply swearing an oath. "I'll try to be a better man for you, someone you'll be proud to have...carrying your banner, I guess. I can't forget the God of my home, and I won't, but I'll accept you the way you seem to have accepted me: for what you are, as you are, and always give you the respect you're due as a goddess and--and love you. However you're okay with...'cause I do. At least a little, Serranai...I'm not sure I'm safe to love another person, and if I'm right I'll go to my grave happy just loving you, but...if I'm wrong, know that I'll always love you most. Not 'cause anyone else will come second, but because when I had no hope left for myself, you gave it to me. You took care of...my broken pieces, and if my love is ever safe to try and give someone again it'll be because of you."

John shuts his eyes, and feels the sting of tears.

"I...I hurt a lot, and the nights are always cold for me. You make things hurt less, you make the nights warmer...and if you'll have me as your soldier, I swear I'll do the same for other people...so help me, in your name."

John waits until he can swallow past the sudden lump in his throat, then stands up again and takes his things off the altar--and, after brushing the tears out of his eyes, kisses his fingers and touches the altar.

"Just so you know, too: one of the things I promise to do, as being yours, is fix this mess. Me 'n Jon Simms--we know. And we're workin' on it. We'll bring your people home."

John leaves the temple, goes home to fit his bow with the new symbol of his pledge...

And life goes on.

A Letter. [End of August, shortly after the Blight is ended]

[pineapplesalmon]

Left in the Temple of Sacred Roots.

To Mortanne,

It's been years since I've written a proper letter. My apologies if I come off as rude, but I wish to take up as little of your time as possible. You are a goddess, after all.

Magne is making a beautiful life here and will remain if she can. I need her. She needs me. But my Earth needs me, too.

I know the mechanics of interdimensional travel. With the right signal, finding this place would take no time at all. This leaves me with only a handful of questions whose answers remain unknown that prevent me from discussing a shared future with Magne.

1. Will I be able to return here once I awaken on my Earth?
2. Will there be something able to guide me back here?
3. Can Magne stay here?
4. Will Pumpkin Hollow be safe from nanites if I open portals to my world and back? Will Magne be safe from them if she travels to my world?

I intend to marry Magne. If we want children, we will need access to my Earth's artificial wombs and related technology. Thus, I will need to start prepping her for obtaining legal status in some country there so we can get access. (Unless there's some option here that is not what Tarantulas did?) Knowing these answers now will greatly help us plan for the future.

Lastly: thank you for forcing me to take a vacation. You were right. I am in your debt. Magne still finds it amusing.

Thank you for giving so many of us a second chance. You will not regret putting your faith in us.

Warm Regards,
César Salazar

One Week After The Gala

[theydrewfirstblood]

John's been...a little busy. However, that only serves to remind him of his duty, and of what has been bothering him for a good, long while.

He's careful, despite his offerings being small. He puts a great deal of intention into gathering them--and almost as an afterthought, he takes a page from Kitty's book before he visits the temple.

He starts with his goddess: an offering at her altar of an arrow made with his own hands. Fletched with feathers from Co's own back (freely given, shed naturally and collected when soothing her at bedtime with a little help to preen), an arrowhead of bone from one of his forest kills, bound in strips of deer hide taken from a gift given to him by a friend, adorned with a cluster of dried violets that represent Serranai to him better than a lot of things.

He moves to Celestine's altar, as it's her season now: an offering at her altar of a jar filled with acorns and mushrooms gathered in the forest just beyond the boundaries of his property. Inside there are also a few dandelion blossoms and greens, representing his own form of harvest, taken from the wild plants he cultivates carefully in his little rabbit preserve beneath the star-filled night sky.

Next, he goes to face Kora: an offering at her altar of a small glass bottle filled with sand, sea shells, and smooth worn chips of sea glass, topped with a stopper made of driftwood carved into shape with his own blade used not just to hunt and craft but to fight. There is also, of course, a small shot glass filled with good scotch--high end, flavorful, designed for sipping to be savored.

Finally, he moves to present to Mortanne: an offering at her altar of a rabbit skull from his hunting on a small bed of sprigs of evergreen. Inside the skull is a small pinch of earth taken from the local graveyard wrapped inside a handkerchief, and a tiny wood carving of the Buddha Co Bao wore for luck, with seven notches carved into the back of it--all to represent the friends he's lost to death.

When he's finished making his offerings, he steps back and reaches up to wrap his fingers around the talisman of Serranai hanging around his neck: the green glass bead, which now hangs from his neck alongside the wood leaf pendant Elsie gave him.

"...I wish I knew how to do this better." he sighs after a moment, bowing his head. "Just...making offerings and talking? Nothing wrong, I guess, I just--I wanna do enough. Anyway: someone's gotta come to you with this, and I feel like it should be me. I swore myself to you, Serranai, a knight of Land and Spring: the fae are of the land, at least where I come from, so I gotta think my lot falls in with theirs. I'm a knight, a fighter, Kora, and I think a war is coming. It's your season, Celestine, so I'm coming to you as the one best able to hear and answer me while you have the power to speak as your sisters do. And you wanna talk about loss, Mortanne...how much time has Elsie lost with her dad? With her mom--never knowing she was there this whole time? There's the natural order, there's life being life...and there's this. And it's not right."

He pauses, then takes a deep breath and reaches into his pocket for what appears to be a flat metal cuff. It could fit around a slender wrist--or, possibly, a very small tree branch, depending. The surface has been fitted with a raised metal arrow, a leaf, and a flower.

"So, as your soldier, as Serranai's man, I'm asking you to help me hold my oath. To look after others as you've looked after me...watch over Elsie. Not as a fae princess, but as my friend, as a kid who doesn't deserve to be so alone. With Nyarlathotep out there--look out for her."

He holds up the cuff, then faces Serranai's altar and crosses over to hold it skyward with a smile.

"And, uh--I'm borrowing this idea from Kitty. Thank you, by the way...if you have any blessing to offer Elsie and her mom extra protection, please lay it on this gift and send it to them. If you can't, if their protection is my burden to carry I'm glad to, you can keep this and think of me. Just...Kora told me I could use magic as your paladin. If this is my task to perform alone, I could just--use a little guidance. I don't know a thing about magic, so...maybe send me some pointers?"

He starts to set it down, hesitates...then presses it to his lips for a long, lingering moment before resting it atop the arrow that was his offering.

"...I miss you." he admits softly, wistfully. "And I'm counting every second 'till the spring. I'm--I've changed, and I dunno if that's a blessing from you or a curse from those fucking demons, but if it's dark in nature know I'll purify it. I'll use this thing I've become to do more and better in your name. I, uh...I've also met someone. Maybe more 'n one someone. I hope when your time comes, I get to see you again. I'd love to introduce you all. And, if you had a hand in that, too...thank you."

John smiles, kisses his fingers, then lays them against her altar before he leaves the temple.

After the Gala

[blindwatchersees]

He makes the long trip to speak to each of the goddesses in their homes. He spends the morning in the forest, serenading with the birds. Towards midday, he buries his feet in the sand, singing sea shanties. As he prepares dinner, stirring the stew pot, he hums an old tune his husband used to sing to him. And once the stars have come out, he ventures out to the graveyard, wassailing without answer. And interwoven into all of this is a request: "Help me, please, to work a miracle for my daughter. I want to give her a small piece of my divinity, but that is harder to do when I am here, outside of myself."

Sheogorath isn't sure how the goddesses feel about him, especially after the mess that rancid jester made, but he is only guaranteed to fail if he doesn't try.