Ugarte arrives, following Fortunato.

Since the first 'official' sermon held by Mysterion within the Shrine of the Thirteenth, the Mirrormask had kept himself busy. Whether it was ministering to those that sought him out, puzzling those who were mere curious onlookers, or debating fellow Brothers and Sisters of the Faith - he was not hard to find. If one could not find him, however, for he took to prayer and fasting often, then it was still only too easy to hear about him, for he was on the lips of money. Contrary in nature, as many of his calling are, Mysterion loved nothing more than engaging other priests and arguing philosophy.

The worst part, of course, was that no one could fault Mysterion's knowledge. Whether it was matters esoteric or easily understood by a layman, the Mirrormask could never be faulted for espousing anything outside the Faith's doctrine. This made him rather unpopular among some, and wildly adored by others.

And he had called the Faithful back to the Dark Reflection's shrine again this night. There was little preamble. News passed by word of mouth: a vigil was to be held. The details, alas, were scant.

Fortunato treads in, pulling his waistcoat firm over his chest. His eyes are bright. He sottos to whoever happens to be close by, "Is this going to be a philosophy vigil? I love philosophy vigils."

Calaudrin doesn't care for Mysterion, at all. But yet here he is! He steps into the shrine, giving it the once over and then shouldering his way closer to the front so he can get a good look at this fellow again.

Hadrian along with his usual Ducklings strides briskly into and through the Shrine of the Thirteenth. This time however, Hadrian seats himself promptly and gestures the Guardians to provide him his space. Instead of seating himself in the range of the front pews, this time Hadrian's selected to seat himself in the rear. Closer to the exit. There he settles in, one hand atop his knee with the opposing arm thrown across the back of the pew. He sits properly upright, yet the slight lean still seems to provide him with the appearance of relaxation so commonly perceived of the Lycene. Idly his hand lifts from his knee to fidget his fingertips around the cloak clasp at his shoulder that looks strangely as though it were an etching of a grinning Hadrian Mazetti providing the viewer with two big thumbs up.

Driskell moves within the confines of the Shrine, his own black robes flowing behind him although just behind to the left of the priest is a looming figure of black wearing a mirrormask and a gauntlet of silver on the right hand, holding a book for Driskell. Seeing that there are a few here this evening, he gives a tilt of his head in recognition of a few before his gloved hands clasp behind his back and he stands near the altar at the front of those gathered to be a witness.

Mysterion is before the altar this time, rather than upon it. His head, the face of which is still entirely obscured by a featureless mask of stygian, nods towards Driskell. Then he peers out amongst those gathered, though how the Mirrormask saw clearly (if at all), was anyone's guess. "Few are those unable to meet their reflection," he breathes in a soft voice. He then brings his pale white hands together and addresses them all.

"A philosophy vigil...a good idea, but one for another night. A new face is seated here with us, though..." The black mask sways from left to right, and a low chuckle emanates from him. "Those of you from last time will well recall there are no truly new faces, not here. All are expected." Then he goes rigid, a hand thrusting into the air as he shouts, "No!" He paces towards Driskell. "Tonight we hold a vigil for a soul lost, forgotten, by men." His hand lays upon Driskell's shoulder, as Mysterion turns his attention towards Calaudrin. "For one who was betrayed; who was deceived; who was a victim. Now..." Now, to Hadrian he looks. Or seems to. "You may wonder why this is being done here, and not being held in the hands of Death. Well and good. It is because only by looking back, by searching in in the place where others fear to tread, that this soul can be found, and returned to the Wheel."

Fortunato turns his eyes, glittering with a near hint of challenge, to Mysterion. "Indeed. What's so terrifying about a reflection." He deposits himself in a pew, his arms looped over the low edge of his chest. He subsides to absorb for a moment. New face that he is.

Calaudrin squints at the masked Mysterion and looks skeptical and suspicious when he turns his attention onto him. He frowns heavily and finds himself looking for a seat, choosing to sit next to Fortunato. It's an affliction of his that he gravitates towards Grayhopes wherever he goes.

Driskell continues to stand, although the pale white hand that touches his black robes is looked at with a flick of the gold eyes before he looks back towards Mysterious. The Silent behind him takes a few steps back though, away from Mysterion and Driskell. Fortunato's question gets a lift of a brow though.

Hadrian looks to each shoulder before his attention turns back to Mysterion and a question seems to come immediately from him, "Where others fear to tread? So we're not going to your mother's house? Hear her visitors are always satisfied". Hadrian pauses for a moment before he quietly mutters, "Nailed it," and then turns his attention down the pew. As if he were looking for whomever had such audacity to say such a thing. His neck cranes and he squints, then shrugs, before he glances toward the Guardians standing nearby. Perhaps he was looking for at least a chuckle out of them or maybe assurance that they hadn't departed.

"Who can say what frightens one, and not another? Are not many of our fears personal?" Mysterion asks rhetorically. There's a laugh for Hadrian's quip and then an enigmatic, "Oh no, oh no, my Mother is too much even for me. Undoubtedly she would eat you whole." Stepping away from Driskell, Mysterion nevertheless beckons the fellow Mirrormask to follow him. Around and behind the altar he goes, then crouches down. "Help me to lift this, if you will, Brother Driskell," he requests.

Should Driskell choose to do so, then the pair of them together would haul forth a large incense burner, made of thick stone and intricately carved. Upon the altar it would go, and from there Mysterion would set about lighting the incense within. "The path is narrow, and the gate unsure to be open. All gates require a key, and that is where we must begin. Never forget, the way is treacherous. I am not one to save any of you." Well, well, well.

Hadrian's outburst is given a flat look by the stoic priest across a shoulder before he moves to follow Mysterian. Around and behind the altar, the gloved hands carefully lift up the large burner but once the assistance is finished, he'll move back towards the side of the altar. He's watching very intently what is happening.

"Oh, all fears are personal." Fortunato keeps his head canted, and drapes his arm between him and Calaudrin, who he acknowledges with a sidelong nod. "I don't think I'm quite following," he says, low. "Are we going somewhere, er, in our minds?"

Calaudrin lifts his hand as if he's waiting to be called on. But instead of being patient he asks, "I'm sorry, where are we going again? What are we being saved from? Or /not/ being saved from, as the case may be." He's undoubtly the worst former-Lycene to have ever been born. He catches that sidelong nod from Fort and lifts his own shoulders helplessly after droping his arm. There's a return for him, also in low tones, "I have no idea what's happening. But I don't like it." But he's also not leaving! Invested.

Hadrian's attention shifts away from the Guardians and back to Mysterion before the altar when his rebuttal is spoken. Hadrian watches a moment longer before he chuckles lightly and concedes with a nod. Though when the intricately carved stone brazier is hefted atop the altar, Hadrian's left eye widens slightly as the eyebrow overhead shoots upward. The arm laid across the back of the pew he occupies slowly slithers down until it his hand comes to his side and his fingers allowed to rest across the grip of the rapier at his side. Silk knots rapier to scabbard, but the gesture seems to be of reassurance rather than any real desire to free the weapon.

"Soon," answers Mysterion. "My children, none of you are yet ready. Worry not!" He says confidently. "This is why you are here - in part, anyway - I am preparing you." The smoke slowly filtering out from the burner is thick, grey-purple in color, and almost too sweet in scent. "Breathe deep," a giggle. "Or don't." He seems to look towards Calaudrin. "The very literal answer, which you will best appreciate, is that you will sit here, listen to me speak, or ramble, as you no doubt imagine it to be, and then you will walk through the doors of the shrine and return to your little apartment. The one that may be infested with rats or roaches, or both."

The smoke grows thicker, unnaturally so. And much too quickly. Mysterion speaks on. "If all fears are personal, then you must also agree some are universal. It is common, for example, for people to fear snakes, or death, or darkness." He seems heedless of the smoke. Indeed, in some places where it hangs low in the shrine, it is almost impossible to see what is beyond it.

Hadrian checked willpower at difficulty 10, rolling 3 higher.

Calaudrin checked willpower at difficulty 10, rolling 8 higher.

Driskell checked willpower at difficulty 10, rolling 4 higher.

Fortunato checked willpower at difficulty 10, rolling 6 higher.

The smoke, at best, is somewhat distracting.

Fortunato bares his teeth, briefly, and if it's a threat display, he's a small man staying in the shadow of Calaudrin. It's not much of a threat display. "Think you're making some assumptions about my friend Calaudrin, here. Sure his apartment is very nice, well maintained. He's no Grayhope." He says nothing about fear until he's inhaled a few shivers of smoke. "We can take a little darkness. And I rather like snakes."

Driskell lifts up a brow in a high arch at the way the smoke moves from the burner to fall on the ground and begin filling the altar chamber. "The thing is you might fear the roach you see but there's a thousand at least you aren't even aware of. And if you don't like rats, never take a long ship from Maelstrom. Still, they'll work in a pinch if you're hungry enough." he replies towards the fellows who are also here. He does lean forward to waft the smoke in.

"Why does everyone assume that my apartment is full of rats and roaches?" Calaudrin frowns deeply at Mysterion, looking marginally insulted by this presumption! It might be because he never lets anyone in there and it's in the heart of the lowers, but hey! Yeah, assumptions. He nods along with Fortunato, appreciating the back up. But also, pausing at the end to squint at him. But he shakes it off. "Sure, the darkness is fine. And the smoke apparently." He wafts some of it away from his face.

Hadrian's nose begins to wrinkle as the smoke permeates the chamber. The hand atop his rapier lifts to rub a knuckle into his eye, likely due to the smoke. Something that Driskell comments though causes Hadrian's fist to drop from his face and for a brief moment there's a look of revulsion etched into the Marquis' features. Then he seems to think about it, shrugs his shoulders once, and begins to nod his head as though it seemed a perfectly reasonable statement. Though after a moment Hadrian asks of Mysterion, "The smoke. Is it supposed to make our toes tingle? After we've concluded here, we should get together. Have you ever swam in the sky?"

The smoke only grows thicker, and even good Brother Stefan, local Silver Knight tasked with night duty at Tehom's shrine, fades from view. "Making assumptions is what men like to do," Mysterion retorts casually. "They also, as Brother Driskell wisely points out, will do anything if they feel sorely pressed and in need. Anything." He claps his hands together. "Have any of you here ever been in that corner before? Have any of you ever truly been driven to the edge? Don't answer if you don't want! Idle curiosity. It kills cats. Luckily, I am not a cat."

Calaudrin checked willpower at difficulty 15, rolling 7 higher.

Hadrian checked willpower at difficulty 15, rolling 5 lower.

Fortunato checked willpower at difficulty 15, rolling 8 lower.

Driskell checked willpower at difficulty 15, rolling 10 lower.

Driskell breathes in the smoke that he wafts in towards his face, clearing his throat a moment as he holds a breath. The gold eyes stare towards.....

"No." Calaudrin answers with a grumpy expression on his face when more smoke fills the room. He tries to wave it away from his face and sighs heavily when it can't be cleared.

Driskell says as he stares, "A very long time ago, lifetimes perhaps it seems now, I was in a very dark place standing at the edge of the precipice. Looking down that long blackness I came from and what was done to get there."

Fortunato moves his hand into his bag and draws out a knife. It's a blunt blade meant for an artist's palette. He leaves it on his lap. "Sure. Demon shot arrows past me into a dear friend, and I could do nothing." He says it in a sharp staccato.

"The death of life? Experience?" Hadrian asks as a hand idly bats at the cloying smoke. He shrugs once as he blinks, heavily, before he continues, "I met a man that could have crushed me. Powerless as a child against the strongest warrior...", Hadrian remarks with a slow shake of his head and a slight tremble to his words as though recollecting such a recent memory, "..I've lost my best friend. Not even a chance to say goodbye before she was gone. The edge though? Probably not. Things can always be made worse." Hadrian continues to watch Mysterion, or attempts to at least, through the smoke. Then he the fine hairs at the back of his neck seem to bristle and he looks abruptly to his left. Then his head snaps around to look to his right. Paranoia, perhaps? Then Hadrian quietly murmurs to the nearby Guardians, "Keep your eyes peeled..", he instructs helpfully.

Unfortunately for Calaudrin, the smoke just continues to fill the room, breathing it in cannot be avoided. Mysterion nods along to both Driskell's as well as Fortunato's answers. "Worse? Yes...yes they can," Mysterion replies with a slow bob of his head. "But things lost can be found. Our purpose here tonight, as you will recall."

Calaudrin checked willpower at difficulty 20, rolling 6 lower.

Hadrian checked perception at difficulty 25, rolling 11 lower.

Fortunato checked mana at difficulty 20, rolling 0 higher.

"Ooo, a piece of candy!" Hadrian remarks as he disappears beneath the back of the pew in front of him.

Driskell checked perception at difficulty 25, rolling 1 lower.

Calaudrin is just completely aggravated by this smoke. Which might be a touch odd since he /smokes/ and sells tobacco? But once he's in one of his moods, it can be hard to shake. Then with a great big sigh, he kind of slumps backwards. The Iron Guard is shaking his head again, seeming to be caught up in something and looking confused even as he starts to straighten up. He looks upon the room with renewed energy.

Fortunato checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 9 higher.

Fortunato stands up. He holds the blunt blade between his thumb and forefinger and points toward Mysterion. He seems to have forgotten his size and strength (neither of which are enough to make this gesture). "Anything can get worse. I see the movement in the jet, the creature in the walls that follows you like a shadow. Stand down and explain yourself."

Fortunato checked mana at difficulty 10, rolling 16 higher.

"Explain myself?" There's a giggle for that. "Have I not? I am preparing you. Your eyes have been opened, and the gate stands ready. All that is required is the key," he strides casually towards Fortunato. "Little painter. Your eyes see just a bit more than most. Will you go out into the world now, will you find the pieces of the key, will you walk this road from which you may never return?" He leans over, over, somehow almost bent, long pale fingers curling like spiders over Fortunato's face. "I know Brother Driskell will..." When he stands straight, it is to look to Calaudrin and Hadrian. "And what of you two, Iron Guard and former Duke? You were called, but will you answer?"

Fortunato checked composure at difficulty 15, rolling 0 higher.

Calaudrin might be getting high off of the smoke, but he's not so completely disconnected from reality that he doesn't act. With Fortunato standing up to Mysterion and then the man coming to get into Fortunato's space, he stands from the pews and puts his arm between them. "I think that's close enough. /Brother/." As of the possibilty that he might answer any call, there's defiance in his expression. Laced with doubt, but there nonetheless.

Hadrian reappears from behind the pew, a piece of taffy in hand. He holds it out toward one of the Guardians to take before he remarks toward them, "Dispose of that. One shouldn't allow the shrines to be dirtied by trash." The comment is made just as Hadrian turns a eye full of implication toward Mysterion. Hadrian soon settles back into his seat on the pew, a soft cough expelled into his fist due to the smoke. Then after he's composed himself the former Duke of Southport offers a simple dip of his chin in acknowledgement of the question, "I've come this far. I may as well see where this path winds."

Fortunato twitches, once. But Calaudrin interposes himself. He restraightens firm, his eyes firm on the mask, even if those spidered fingers are too close. He keeps that blunt blade upraised. "I see you," he says. "Maybe you want me to. I see your mouth of knives, your eyes of flame. I'm just a little painter. The last demon failed all the same." His voice isn't /completely/ steady here, but he makes a pretty good go of it. No promises of keys are made, but in all this defiance, perhaps he still lacks context.

Driskell lets out a long sigh, lifting a gloved hand upwards towards Calaudrin, "The heart of the Thirteenth is quiet like still water from behind the Mirror and through stillness, we can reflect truth in all situations. Don't be hasty to act." before he lowers a hand down, and says tiredly, "Good can do evil, evil can do good. It is the opportunity and choice which we have ultimate power in either maintaining the balance or disrupting it. There's -nothing- to fear, Fortunato. Truth brings that freedom."

"Truth, yes," Mysterion murmurs, withdrawing from both Fortunato's as well as Calaudrin's personal space. "Brother Driskell speaks of choices, and in this you are all given the choice. A mouth of knives. Mm, yes, quaint. Words can indeed be used as weapons," in his voice is the notion of a grin. "But I cannot, would not, force you." He turns away, walking towards Driskell and the altar. "The pieces are thirteen in all, as it should be. We shall meet again, at the appropriate time, to retrieve that which was lost." His masked chin gestures towards the very back wall of the shrine, where the room is dimly reflected back at them.

When Mysterion withdraws from Fortunato, Calaudrin slowly lets his arm drop after the invasion of personal space is over. He watches the man darkly, even as he withdraws from them.

Fortunato does not lower his blade. He's all wired dark-bright and no speech of truth seems to relax him the least degree. He watches Mysterion withdraw.

Driskell seems....tired. His shoulders slump a bit, the stoic mask slips just slightly to show exhaustion as Mysterion retreats towards the altar and where he's at, he looks towards where the back wall of the shrine is at, looking to see what reflects back.

Hadrian remains silent and attentive for the time being. Little to say on the matter, he simply absorbs the unfolding mystery. He slowly rises up to his feet once again and steps from the pew to meld into the ranks of Guardians. He spares Mysterion one last glance, then toward the rear wall, and then back to Mysterion. Briefly his attention bounds between the two.

The unusual Mirrormask has little more to say. Indeed, the incense seems to have all but dissipated. Brother Stefan is there to help guide worshippers on their way out.

It is, after all...nearly dawn.