Child of Ember - Chapter 19

The night was full of music and revelry as they approached the church. There hung in the air the scents of meats, ales, and spices from the merchants that called from every street corner and every alleyway.
The voices of the merchants were but a single note of the music that filled the night. Everywhere was the sounds of revelers, the coo of lovers, the music of bands.
Music. Everywhere there was music. Whether from bands, or from simple musicians that piped on the street with his flute in hopes to earn enough to feed himself and his family in the comming days.
In the midst of all of that, the church seemed to sit like a solemn monk in an air of near silence...

Lit looks around, hoping to see Dea, but to no avail. He's lost her in the giant crowd. He looks around, hears the music, and is about to go find a patner when he snaps out of it. He must find Dea.
"Where did she..." then he spots the church, and an involuntary shiver passes through him. He's about to turn again, but steels himself. "For her sake...just get it over with."
He looks back at the ominous steeple for a moment, then resigning himself, he walks slowly towards it.

The church is a building of black stone with great, crimson windows that reach from the ground to the roof. This late at night it is difficult to discern more about them than that.
The door of the church stands open, a single priest dressed in crimson stands there, greeting members of the congregation as they enter. From inside is a cheery light, bright and welcoming.

Dea casts a look around, scanning the crowd as if searching for a certain person.
Her eyes light up as she seems to find who - or what - she was looking for. "Ofcourse they would gather at the church..." she mutters.
She steps forward into the flow of people that stream into the church's hall. The group she has chosen to wait in line next to are a number of women who are rather scantily clad for a church service.
It is likely (not conclusive) that the victim of Ember's Child was a prostitute. Even if this is not the case, the prostitutes of Mortigny will have heard of and have their own theories on the deed. They will not likely part with that to an outsider, but they will exchange rumors and gossip among each other. It is certain that some of them will attend the service. Thus, Dea has joined the queue near the most likely bunch, in the hope to catch some rumors that may proof useful. It will certainly serve to test her theories.

The ladies talk in hushed tones, ceasing as you approach. They eye you casually, but with a sense of waryness. These women you know are survivors of the streets and the harsh realities of the world they are trapped in. Here and there along their bodies are bits of paste jewelry. A diamond here a ruby there. One even is wearing a string of pearls, a rare thing in such a land locked nation. Even from a distance you can tell that they are artificial, the sheen of the beads broken here and there as the irridecsent paint that covers them has begun to fade.

Dea stands in line next to the girls, seemingly ignoring them. She looks up at the church, marveling (or so it seems) at the architecture and colored windows, while keeping her ears open to any rumors she might hear. She is specifically eager to know what they think of Caine DuMonjiete and his associates.

She hears little about Caine. Most of the talk revolves around last nights ball, and Louise Reinier's confrontation with a mysterious stranger. Appearantly the stranger was kin to the Reiniers, but no one knows exactly who it was, and there is only speculation over what the spat was about.
Dolph is lost in the crowd somewhere. It seems he was headed off to the cemetary.

Dea listens for a while at the babbling behind her, then sighs.
The affairs of the nobility is not something she has an interest in right now. She must be on the wrong track... if the girl was not a courtesan, how could she have joined up with Caine?
What can she possibly have overlooked? Unless...
Dea turns to the crowd, scanning it for her companions.
She catches Lit walking towards the church, but the flame mage cannot possibly answer her question.
Where is Dolph? Off to... the cemetary? The service isn't held there, is it?
Only grief and memories linger there. She ponders for a while, whether she should catch up with him or ask the question later. Intruding on someone this way is hardly appropriate...
Almost, she sets the thought asside of joining him and starts heading towards the church entrance.
Then, abruptly, the turns around, and walks towards the graveyard. He wouldn't mind much...
And maybe, just maybe, it could give her glimp of what moves this man so.

Unlike the city streets, the graveyard is quiet and devoid of any revelry. The moon hangs high, casting ghostly shadows on the ground. Here and there are the remains of dried flowers set upon the dead grasses. Spring was slow in coming, and the graveyard held the the memories or better times.
The cemetary was old, and cluttered with wind worn stones whose faded epitaphs marked lives gone by, families lost to the war, or simply a lone reminder of a life wasted.
It was a cold place, abandoned by most.
Most, but not all. In the shadows of a great cross stood a man with skin like pale marble and dressed all in black. A stranger might easily mistake him for a piece of statuary given life. Before him on the grave lay a bundle of red roses already gathering dew in the cool night air.
A breeze scented with the promise of spring tugged at his long black hair. He sighed into the night, and ran his fingers lovingly over the writing on the stone.
"Much has changed since you passed away. More and more am I drawn to this place as friends and lovers die. This has become as much a home to me as Crumblestone. Oft times I sit beneath the spreading arms of the great oak and wonder to myself, Is it worth it? Is all there is in my life pain? The cold stones give no answer to me, and the dead hold their tounges. Even the tree, with its ageless wisdom yields no answers. I spoke with mother last night. I asked her if she would come to see you, but she declined. I suppose I understand. She has a family to support and finances to take care of," He sighs. "Am I alone in my visits to you? Does not my mother, or brother ever visit you?"
He ran his fingers over the Epitaph once more as though trying to reach beyond and grasp something intangible.

Adolph VonLithenstien
Born 685 - Died 740
Imigrant, Patriot, Hero.
May all remember the sacrifice he made.

From the shadows of the cemetary's walls, Dea watched Dolph's grief. She felt... uncomfortable, as if intruding in a private place, a burglar in the emotional home of this man, a man that she could...
She shook her head. What was happening to her? She shouldn't be here, spying on this man, a man who trusted her and let her sleep in his own house. What could she do, anyway? Ask him the questions that were going through her mind? This was not the place nor the time.
Behind her, she could hear the service start. Her duty lay there, where an innocent woman was brought to her rest, not here where nothing but sadness and dissapointment could be her part. She had to go.
With a last glimpse on Dolph, she silently strode back towards the church.

Lit finally reaches the top of the stairs at the church. He looks around, and hearing only prattle about the deceased, he walks inside. He has tried to conceal the crimson scarf under his clothes as best he can, but it still peeks out around the entirety of his neck. He hopes no one notices and asks him to remove it.
He looks around for Dea, but catching no sight of her, he thinks he must have reached the church before her. Then again, perhaps she is dallying with their kind lord Dolph...
"No," he dismisses the thought with a shake of his head. Wherever she is, she will be here. She's of the Clergy, and she will keep her word. He thinks again of Dolph, and feels slightly uneasy. The man seems kind enough, but then, so had the priests of his homeland.
Of course, Dolph WAS different. He was a wizard, as himself. Perhaps he could learn from him...SOMETHING.
Lit's attention snaps back to the task at hand and he takes note of his surroundings.

Here and there he hears murmers of those gathered, though they cease as he passes. The women watch him warily before begining again.
He finds a seat and the cleric clears his throat. "I welcome you, and The Morning Lord welcomes you. Tonight we have gathered to celebrate the life of our sister, and to commend her spirit to the afterlife..."
He begins, and your mind begins to wander...

Dea walks up to the church, her head filled with questions and doubts. Silently, she enters the gathering hall, sliding along the pews like a ghost.
She doesn't even notice people looking at her as she passes. She slides onto a bench, next to Lit. Mustering the control she learned as a priestess, she empties her mind, pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind, and focuses her attention on the priests sermon.

The priest she met earlier the night before ascends to the altar and clears his throat as he looks over the twenty or so of you that have gathered here.
"It is good to see you all. I am sure Isabella would be happy to know that she was loved by so many. We have gathered here to celebrate Isabella's passing beyond this world, and to remember the Joy that she had brought to our lives." He begins, and Gestures to the chior. Music begins to fill the hall, and the cleric says, "Let us begin with the Hymn of Rememberance, Number 213 in the book."
All gathered stand and open the books to the page mentioned and begin singing a hymn to the Dawn Bringer about how people are born into a world of darkness and evil, and how when they pray their voices reach out to him to help him find them, and when he does he will pluck the faithful from the darkness and bring them to the world of light.

From a nearby rooftop, Alex watched the bustling party on the street below.
Drunken men reeled in the streets, following whichever pretty maiden caught their eye. Even this high up, the smells of unwashed flesh, sweat, puke, sex, and ale permeated her nose. Alex sniffed in disgust and headed across the darkened rooftops, staying to the shadows.
Alexandria smiled at the freedom she felt way up here. No one to bother her, she moved freely across the buildings, instinctively heading away from the huge crowds.
She stopped a few moments later near the edge of town, on a rooftop overlooking a large cemetery with a lovely little chapel nearby.
It would seem services were going on. It had been a long time since Alex had been to a service. And perhaps, in this strange land, the services would be different. Better, even. At least she hoped they weren’t filled with the hell and suffering those of Costa Bella were. Although in all her travels, she had yet to find a chapel, temple, or religion that didn’t teach such things.
Alex dropped down from the roof into the shadows of the cobblestone alley below. Voices at the end of the alley drew her attention.
“I’m tellin’ ya, John” A gruff voice whispered, “There’s tons a stuff just waitin’ to be taken. And them folks ain’t gonna need it.”
“Yeah, but Mick, this is wrong. How’d you like somebody ta do that ta you when you couldn’t defend yourself?” A shaky voice whispered back.
Alex followed the voice and saw the two men hiding at the end of the alley. The larger man with the gruff voice, what had the little one called him? Oh, yes. Mick. Mick grabbed John and pulled him through the shadows and across the street to the rear of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the cemetery. Alex followed quietly behind them, wondering just what they were up to. The two men snuck into the cemetery grounds and headed for a large family crypt, Alex not far behind them.
“I’m tellin’ ya, John, they just laid this guy here. He was loaded. He’s gonna have a ton of stuff on him. Rings, jewelry, you name it. We’re gonna be eatin’ high on the hog.”
John grumbled something under his breath and followed Mick through the grave markers. He glanced back several times, uneasy. Alex sprinted past the two men silently, using the gravestones and shrubbery as cover. Finding the shadows of the crypt they’re heading for, she hunkered down to wait. A snapping twig out in the main body of grave markers drew her attention, and that of the two thieves.
A tall man stood near a grave marker, running his hand over it as if trying to draw comfort from it. Alex heard the two men chuckle.
“Now this,” she heard John say, “I can handle. A live mark.”
The two men came out from behind a large marker and headed toward the unsuspecting man. Alex drew her rapier, it’s long, thin blade shone in the moon light.
“Gentlemen, I think that would be most unwise.” She said in a quiet voice, her Spanish accent drifting on the wind. “It would be best for all involved if you went on your merry way. There are plenty of other ‘marks’ at the festival.” She materialized out of the shadows of the crypt closer to the two men than they had realized.
“All right! A play toy. This night just gets better and better, huh John?” Mick leered at Alexandria. “A gypsy bitch ripe for the plucking.”
“You pluck her, Mick.” John smiled wickedly, “I have something else in mind.”
As Alexandria shook her head in disgust, Mick charged toward her with a dagger in hand. She allowed him to parry her first blow, making it an easy one. Then she slid her blade through his defenses and sliced his wrist, causing him to drop the dagger. She spun and parried a blow from John meant for her back, and heard the other one draw a sword from it’s scabbard.
After parrying a series of five or six blows from each man, she said, “Senors, I am through playing with you now. Run and I will spare your lives. Stay and you will surely die.” Alex’s voice was calm and even, not at all out of breath from the exertion of the battle.
John lunged again, ignoring the warning. Alex’s long mantle cloak suddenly swirled up in front of both men, blocking their view of Alex.
Their swords struck the cloak, ripping it as it fluttered to the ground, empty. Their eyes bulged, and both men looked around frantically.
Alex stepped from the shadows of a nearby crypt and slid her rapier between Mick’s ribs. John watched as his friend’s eyes went wide, as if he could see death coming. Then they went blank and Mick slid from Alex’s blade to crumple at her feet. John charged in wildly, his missed swing ringing against the side of the crypt. Alex slammed John roughly against the wall of the crypt, knocking the wind out of him. Her hands wrapped around a cat-handled dagger at her waist. She pressed the sharp blade of the dagger against John’s throat and he ceased his struggling.
“Take your friend’s body, Senor, and leave. Do not return here. If I see you again, I shall lay a curse upon you and your children and their children for all time. Do you understand?”
John nodded his head, his body quivering. One minute, she was pressing him up against the wall, the next he found himself flying and landing next to Mick. He grabbed the body and rushed from the cemetery. Alex turned to the unsuspecting stranger.
“Are you hurt, Senor? Perhaps you would like to rest a moment?” She motions to a nearby stone bench.

"I am well. I applaud your swordmanship. Might I have the name of my rescuer?" He says as his eyes cautiously appraise you. There is something in the way he stands that speak of confidence, and all about him Alex senses an aura of power.

Alex bows, "Somehow, Senor, I doubt I 'rescued' you. But my name is Alex Tariiana. It is a pleasure to make your acquintance. I'm only sorry those men disturbed you."

He reaches a hand to an overhanging branch of the tree that seems to dominate the Graveyard, and you watch as a large squirle runs across his arm to perch on his shoulder. Out of his pocket he pulls an acorn and hands it to the animal. The animal quickly begins to devour it.
In the distance the music in the church rises. The sound of the Hymns send a shiver through Alex, and once again she find the man reguarding her.

Alex smiles at the antics of the little squirrel, but keeps her distance so she doesn't spook it. As the music rises, she glances toward the church. "It would seem services are going to be letting out soon. I should let you get back to your prayer. It was nice meeting you."

"Actually the services are just starting. Mind if I keep you company? Who knows what other dangers lurk in the shadows of the unknown night?"

Alexandria laughs, "Then by all means, Senor. But I do not wish to keep you from your ruminations." She nods to the grave site. "Would you like me to wait elsewhere while you finish?"

His lips twist into a smile. "I have said that which needs be said. The dead keep each other company, and the living should do the same." He extends his arm. "Come, the night grows long, and as the crowds part the predators will be about. Not all of which are human or as easily defeated as the two you just faced."

"I think, perhaps, they should be thankful they face me rather than you, Senor." She lays a gloved hand on his arm. "I am yours. Where are we off to, if I may be so bold?"

"Anywhere you choose."

"Perhaps, you can recommend a place for a lady to stay that isn't overly costly, but isn't a common room either? I'm rather new in town and haven't had a chance to look for myself yet."

"Perhaps you might care for the comfort of my keep? It is the least I can do for such a heroic rescuer."

"I would be most honored my lord, and humbly accept your kind and generous offer."

"Good, then I will show you to my home and extend my hospitalities to you."