15th of Zi'Da 719, 21st break.
Before Woe could make it to the exit of the Western Temple, in which the halls of Vri were, he heard a voice calling out to him, "Mister Rand! Hold a moment, wait!"
Woe walked only a few more steps before turning on his heel and looking at the priest. His nerves were on edge, yet as cautious as he felt toward the priests of Vri, he stood his ground. The priest arrived before Woe within moments, carrying what looked a hefty tome, with a page marked by a ribbon. "I have information for you, about Antony Fransse's murder."
"Well?" Woe quirked a brow, holding out his arms to take the book, which the priest promptly deposited in his hands. The book was heavy, about five pounds in all. Probably the thickest book that Woe had handled ever. "I'm not... expected to read through every page of this, am I?"
The priest's expression brightened in the joy that was uncharacteristic of Vri's faithful. Perhaps another sign of the Lord of Ends's disfavor for the current flock. Woe reflected that he might pose as a better priest of Vri than these folk. "No, check the bookmark. You'll find a summary of the Mortician's findings recorded there."
Woe looked from the priest to the book, which he opened to the earmarked page. There, he found the name of the deceased, a report of his death, and so on. Afterward, were a bunch of empty pages yet to be written. "Do you perform no autopsies after Councilor's death?"
"No, we can only spare the expense when the family wishes it, or in cases of high profile deaths, such as Fransse's. But you might find something useful in the Mortician's findings? Thank you again for your help. I'm sure Antony will find justice with you."
The priest's confidence was oddly touching. Yet Woe couldn't help but feel a twist of irony, that a Webspinner would be given aid by a priest of Vri, to find justice for a Councilor of Chamadarst. Woe nodded at him, then found a place to sit, where he could study the report in detail.
The report was light on fluff and heavy on detail. This was no obituary, meant to glorify the dead man. Leave that for the funeral and the family to celebrate a man. What was there were the physical attributes of Fransse. He was a Sevryn, average height, weight, and build. Dark of complexion, with a tattoo of a tree across his chest, A mark? There was also a mention of the marks on his hands, which he took from the report were less well known by the public, based on the fact that they declined to identify them as Sombran nel marks, but rather circular tattoos on his hands, wreathed by leaves.
Leaves. It seemed strange to Woe that Antony would decorate his Sombran in such a way as if to draw attention to it when it was kept so silent. He had to know more about marks that existed, to see if this tree and leaf tattoo matched one of them.
The priest of Vri was still milling about the catacombs, and so Woe stopped him, "Your... er... worship?" Woe felt profoundly uncomfortable speaking in reverential terms to the priest of Vri, but he supposed Sintra wouldn't mind for the sake of appearances. "Was Antony marked? It mentions a tree tattoo on his chest and leaves on his hands..."
"Ah yes, he was, he had the mark of Sevrath, from Moseke. He was a very ardent follower, from what I understand. A frequent visitor to the Eastern Temple."
Woe nodded toward the priest by way of dismissing him. He took another look at the recorder, placed the earmark, and then closed it up one final time. Then he was off toward his apartments in the city, where he would rest on this new information.
16th of Zi' da 719 7th Break
When he left his apartment the next morning, the sun was beginning to dawn. He looked up at the sky and estimated that the sun would be kissing the frosted gardens of the Eastern Temple by the time he arrived. Not that he was aware of any ceremonial or traditional significance to such a weatherly occurrence in Moseke's temple. But natural light and the fact that people may be out and about in the garden would ensure that Woe had people to put to a question.
His steps took him not two blocks before he ran into Fleaface, who was leaning on his cane as he hobbled along. Woe eyed him warily as he appeared not to notice the Mortalborn at first, one hand on the head of his rod and the other on his bottle.
”Fargis?…”
The older man coughed into his sleeve, sniffing and then spitting to the side. He stopped and looked up at Woe, " Oy, master… Was just headed back on errand…"
Woe nodded to the older man and shrugged as he passed him. He thought to ask him along to the Eastern Temple but wasn't sure what end that might serve. So he continued on his way.
Before he took too many steps, he realized he didn't know very well where he was heading. He turned his head and called out to Fleaface again, "Fargis, do you know where the Eastern Temple is?"
"Aye, I'll show ya..." He muttered, grumbling under his breath as he waved Woe along to follow.
Their walk together proceeded mostly in silence, giving the mortalborn time to appreciate the surroundings. As they got closer to the Eastern Temple, Woe couldn't help but notice the sweet, cloying scent of fallen leaves on the air. The potpourri of so much dying vegetation lent a pleasant atmosphere to the bare vinery that crawled along every stone crevice of the Eastern Temple.
Once there, he beheld a great garden, and contrary to what he expected, he saw a garden in full bloom, with all the autumn vegetation to behold. For all it was cold, the garden was still alive. Cylus had not yet deprived the garden of life. He wondered idly if there were specimen in this garden that could even bloom in Cylus. Given what he was seeing, it wouldn't surprise him to find that being the case.
Fargis turned to Woe, and shrugged, "Here tis. Anythin' else master?"
Woe shook his head without looking at his agent, "No, Fargis. Thank you." So saying, Fleaface retreated from Woe's side, and left the temple about his own business.
After recovering from the initial awe inspired by the Eastern Temple, Woe was at a loss for how to proceed with his investigation. Presumably he thought to investigate the herb that had resulted in Antony's death. He started searching for a priest, an attendant, even a gardener to help him with his inquiries. Yet before he could start, he overheard the unmistakable sound of a child crying.
He turned around, and saw a child crouched over what looked to be a black-furred dog. A Lysorian Shepherd, if Woe was any judge. Cautiously curious, Woe couldn't resist insinuating himself into this situation. His spark tasted the delicious sadness of the young child's tangle, and was drawn to it as a bee to pollen. Woe knelt beside the boy and his dog, and for a moment said nothing.
"Poor Breen..." Said the boy. He patted the dog's fur. It appeared dead already, having gone through its death throes. That must have been a traumatic event, to see a creature one cared about tormented in such a way. Woe found himself relating to the child.
"There, there..." Woe murmured, awkwardly patting the boy on the shoulder in an effort to comfort him. "He's no longer in pain."
For a few moments, silence. Then the boy looked up at Woe. "This... hurts so much. I wish I didn't feel so sad..."
Woe shook his head, "No it's perfectly natural. Let it run it's course, boy."
The boy sniffled, and snuffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand every other trill. Before Woe could tamp down on his spark, it began to spin its tendril's toward the boy''s mind. There, it began siphoning those sweet sorrowful emotions, weaving them and incorporating them into the void in Woe's tangle. Soon enough, the boy was calming down, and stopped sniffling.
Woe froze, he didn't need to risk exposure as a mage right now. He was far from friendly territory, in the very heart of Moseke's temple. It wouldn't do to practice magic, however involuntarily, on children!
Nevertheless, the child seemed not to realize what was happening in his emotional state, but accepted that his sorrow was fading away. "Thanks, the talk made me feel... better."
Woe heaved a sigh, as the sorrow fell on him now. "It's of no consequence." He said, finally resigning to the magic manipulation, and knotting the sorrow into his own tangle so he wouldn't feel compelled now to cry in the boy's stead. "You took good care of your dog, yes? I'm sure he appreciated it..."
The boy stood up then, and nodded to Woe. "We should bury it. Will you help me?"
"Of course, I'll help." Woe murmured with a sigh.
A break or so later, they'd buried the dog in the grounds of the Eastern Temple, and had a good cry over the creature's fate, and the frailty of life in general. Woe made no speech, and neither did the boy. He only shared back some of the boy's sorrow, to allow him some release. Yet not to overwhelm him, he held back the bulk of the lad's sadness that he'd stolen away.
The boy had since left, and Woe stood over the grave of the dog for but a few moments. He was about to walk away, when he heard a voice calling in his mind, "Well, that was impressive... You've done my young master a great service."
Woe cast his glances this way and that, wondering if he was going mad (again).
"No, you're not going mad, my sad friend..."
"Who are you?"
"I'm a spirit of Sorrow, the leavings of my young master's Breen... And I've chosen you for my new master."
Woe quirked his brow, "Breen?"
Thus the spirit followed Woe home, although he made no concessions that the dog ought to follow. Yet follow the spirit dog did, and would, until perhaps, the sorry man known as Woe was no more.
The investigation did not proceed from there, and Woe was regretful to relate his failure to the Temple of Vri and the family of Antony. Yet even for his failure, he did take away something of value. The spirit of sorrow, Breen, would follow him loyally henceforth.
