There is a knock coming from Out <O>.

Out <O> is now unlocked.

There is a knock coming from Out <O>.

Marchande, Junebug, the endearing and enthusiastic Graypeak Mountain Dog arrive, following Rosalie.

Elizabetta, a disapproving lady-in-waiting, Lily, an aloof lady-in-waiting, 2 Grayson House Guards, Clark, an exasperated guard arrive, following Sabella.

Balian, a Templar squire, Guy, a hunting kestrel, 1 Templar Knight guards arrive, following Preston.

Keso, a totally legit assistant, Peanut, an oversized mountain dog arrive, following Aleksei.

Fidget arrives, following Jeffeth.

Sir Rhys, a Valardin Knight, Laurene, a military adjutant arrive, following Alis.

Alena Sparks, unamused first mate, Silk, the Seafaring Spider arrive, following Evaristo.

Dame Marra, a limping fennec fox, Disciple Ismay, 3 Templar Knight guards arrive, following Ailith.

Malcolm has joined the Firepit.

Jeffeth has joined the Firepit.

Maxene, the steadfast ladies maid, Pellinor, 3 Thrax Guards, 2 Thrax Elite Guards arrive, following Alarissa.

Quiet, a Valardin champion, A dutiful Valardin aide arrive, following Katarina.

Sirius has joined the Firepit.

Binky, an asshole crow arrives, delivering a message to Preston before departing.

Malcolm has left the Firepit.

As the doors are unlocked and people march in, the Templars quickly begin setting up the shrine - small hordes of squires brushing all before them while large containers of warming winter spiced apple juice are brought in as well. Preston moves to the front of the Shrine, his gauntlets rattling as they rub together "Welcome, everyone." Preston announces, his voice raising "Please. In a few moments we will start, and we will be delighted to re-dedicate this Shrine to Gloria. Enough time to find seats, and please, do take juice if you feel the cold. Our lady is about honour, not about suffering the cold. And warmth is needed in this place." Preston nods to a Templar at the door, so brings up a horn ready to blow.

Merek makes a way into the Shrine of Gloria, while he wears his black and white attire, adjusted about him. He then shifts a peace binding upon the sheath he keeps on his back. He finds a place to settle in to watch.

Sirius has left the Firepit.

It is /cold/, and, though Dianna Godsworn is cloaked in layers drawn closely around her, the Lycene priestess is clearly uncomfortable. She steps to the front and greets Preston, first, a private word spoken to him before she smiles softly and makes her way to the fire pit.

Dianna has joined the Firepit.

Katarina has joined the Firepit.

Alis strides in alongside others, a brief expression of content appearing as the clink of armor sounds everywhere. Preston is giving a brief bow of greeting then. And, the Valardin princess finds herself a cup of that warming juice to have before she finds a seat.

Kastelon walks over into the shrine, approaching the firepit. He stands there, rocking slowly from heel-to-toe and back again in his sturdy hiking boots. Stroking his beard pensively, he appraises proceedings.

Arm in arm, Alarissa walks with Ailith into the shrine at a sedate pace, looking around as they go. There's a beatific smile for Preston as they go. "It looks lovely Grandmaster!" She calls over. The pendant hanging down around her neck and gleams from being freshly polished. "Doens't it Legate?" Alarissa inquires of Ailith.

Kastelon has joined the Firepit.

Sirius enters an unassuming silhouette amongst the crowd of the faithful that cross the archway's threshold into the Shrine's militant room proper. A linen-slim blanket is wrought about his shoulders to fight the cold, and it's penned by his chest beneath a Silver Dragon pin. His feet make no ruckus as he makes past the puzzle of pews and finds a polished hedge of stone to seat on by the firepit.

Kritr may stand out as a Northerner in furs instead of finery. He lingers in the back, here to watch rather than worship.

Sydney has buttoned closed the pockets of her leather coat, and as she walks, she seems to be having difficulty remembering what to do with her hands now that they're not permanently embedded into the pockets therein. Uncharacteristically, the woman is also wearing a /sword/ on her hip, of all things. It's neatly peacebound, and doubly peacebound by the fact that a brawler with a sword is about as useful as a Lycene with an infinite supply of warm clothing.

There's a soft smile upon the fiery-haired woman's lips as she casts a glance about to those assembled, perhaps seeking out a familiar face in particular in the crowd. That smile turns slightly rueful when said person isn't located, but it remains nonetheless. The pugilist's face is currently covered in a wide variety of bruises and scrapes. She retreives a mug of spiced apple juice and holds it warm in her hands, murmuring, "...It's good to finally be able to visit. I've meant to for some time."

Raya swans her way into the shrine and throws the hood of her snow-speckled cloak back dramatically, revealing an artful cascade of auburn hair. Her pale gaze takes in the shrine that has been shut up for so long before she settles herself gracefully in a seat and smoothes her robes.

Sabella sweeps into the Shrine all bright eyed and beaming as she looks around and chatters to those nearby, "It's been ages since the doors have been opened and it is so amazing that we're all here for the re-dedication! And warm juice! How thoughtful! The snow has been dreadfully cold but I have to say the way it blankets everything makes even the less pristine parts of the city look new and rather romantical, I think." She takes a cup between both of her hands and blows on the top of it before having a sip.

Isabelle, who is just so tired of everyone's nonsense, Sam, who is a boy and definitely not a princess in disguise, Roland, the worst bard in Arvum arrive, following Niklas.

Otto peaks his head into the shrine, taking a look around. He has done his best to clean himself up for the occasion so that meant he was only vaguely soot stained. His work in the forge having long pressed the dark material into his skin. The man is dressed plainly, wool shirt and pants with a heavy leather apron and a loose, floppy hat on his head. He makes his way to stand along the edge, though he does look over the armor that the templars are wearing before give the set that Princess Alis wears an aprasing eye.

Deeply breaths are taken as her gaze passes over the firepits and pews, then over to the altar. Ailith pauses her steps to briefly step aside and bow in respect, a kiss at the tips of her forefingers that glide along the bead for Gloria upon her litany necklace, and she then smiles over to Alarissa. "It is a long awaited day. Breath taking," she whispers, half in an aching tone as her eyes glisten. "Shall we take our seats?" She motions toward the pews and settles.


Princess Alis is trailed, a moment later, by her sister, who is also a Princess. Specifically, Princess Katarina, who keeps her cloaks pulled about herself as if they're the only thing keeping her alive. The Dune Kingdom transplant seems quite happy to break away from her sister and beeline directly to the firepit, her teeth chattering and her expression a flushed pout.

It's hard to hide a giant in a crowd, even should he wish to be hidden. Jeffeth Bayweather is a very large man, and despite trying to make himself smaller, it is not an easy task. His arms hold his sides as if he were to let go they may come undone entirely. The Grandmaster is dressed quite simply, despite te occasion. The man's eyes are rimmed red, and he stands off to the side of the firepit, attempting to get into the 'corner' as much as one can in this open venue. He looks down at the firepit, his features having forgotten completely his more cheerful nature. His eyes slowly raise to Preston something like guilt flashing in them before he lowers his head once more, arms hugged around him tightly.

Evaristo is moving inside with the rest of the crowd, nodding around and raising his hand and bowing, smoothly and social. He's got his peacebound warpick on his belt and wears full armor, which seems quite fitting in this particular shrine. He looks around, awed by the place - and with an air about him suggesting that this is mostly new to him. "Splendid," he says and he gives Preston a grin and a wave, before he looks for a seat.

Alis gets /two/ cups of juice obviously, and when she finds her seat it is obviously one near the freezin Katarina who chose the firepit. "Drink this, Kat. It'll help." she murmurs, holding the cup over the Eurus princess' shoulder to take. Now it might be that her armor has eyeball-seeking capability. Or, the person wearing it is paranoid. Or, merely observant. But, when Otto makes a point of looking over her set, she glances his way to give a quick nod and inquisitive eyebrow raise.

Sirius scoops a small kernel of slate off of the gravel ground and casts it silently into the flames. His eyes, try as they might, keep chase of its various ricochet until the undulating fire and melting starch of firewood collapse it from view. Lightly, the Valardin's cooked nose bridge wrinkles. As a dutiful man in chainmail happens by offering him a cup of juice, the sallow-faced Prince shakes his head once. "Thank you," he's heard to whisper passingly, otherwise focusing on the fire.

Rosalie slips into the shrine quietly, moving to greet Preston with a warm smile and a murmured query before stepping to the side. She dresses warmly but simply and keeps a cloak wrapped about her shoulders to chase the remaining chill away until fires can be lit.

Shifting towards Katarina when she arrives, Dianna lifts a gentle smile to the princess and huddles close, moving to drape her heavy cloaks around the smaller woman's shoulders. She smiles aside at Alis and attends the others present, a smile for Ailith and Alarissa, Jeffeth and Merek, then focuses on Preston and the ceremony.

With a gesture to the Templar with the horn, Preston begins matters with a burst of noise. As the noise deadens, Preston turns to look at the crowd, and his warm smile crosses his features "This is a pleasing time. To re-open this place, in a time when we have not needed Gloria more. But, a shrine is more than a place. More than a place we gather, it is somewhere where the Gods can live in part. A place where we can focus on each, consider each, feel the closeness we have to them. And contemplate on our successes and failures. It is not a cold building, as this place has become, but a home. And each home has a hearth." The doors to the Shrine open, and several armoured Templars begin a slow march in. In the centre one carries the Templar lantern "Then-Blessed Aleksei had lanterns crafted for each God, this one was Gloria's. It stood over us at Stormwall. And it brings now light from the Eternal Flame of Lagoma to heat up Gloria's home here amongst us once more."

Otto continues to stare for a moment before realizing that not only was he staring but that he was also notice. A panic stricken look crossed his face and he drops into a deep bow to Alis. But then The ceremony is begining and allowing him to focus on that instead. He watches the templars march with some reverence.


Katarina accepts the offer of juice with both hands, and drinks immediately. Not the whole cup. That'd be crass. But certainly a long pull. As it ends, Katarina's shoulders are blanketed by one of Dianna's cloaks, and the Eurus-born Princess wiggles her small frame. "Thank you, sister," she murmurs. "And thank you, Sister."

A few minutes after Sabella arrives Prince Niklas Grayson shows up, dictating something to his assistant, though upon realizing that Preston is doing a godsworn thing and addressing the audience he gestures for Sam to follow quietly and moves to stand by his wife's side.

"We'll find a place to sit" And to a bench they go, Alarissa guiding the other woman, her prayer shawl obscuring her left side and the lack of a prosthetic there.

Sirius stands up as if in cue after the brassy horn note reverberates across the room. The whole of his body shudders at the conveyed feeling of readiness, and his head turns to the doorway to address the arriving soldiery. With each passing, faceless knight, Sirius' head dips self-effacingly.

"Of course, Kat." Alis murmur is soft, as Preston begins the ceremony. It's in the slow march of Templars bringing the lantern that Otto's look of panic is noted, and she gives the craftsman an impish short of smile before nodding to him respectfully. Her cousin, Sirius, is seen next and he gets a nod. Soon, she shall become the Arx Oprah of nods. It's apparently her favorte gesture today. Dianna too! One cannot nod in greeting too many times. No indeed. But then her head is bowed in solemn contemplation.

Evaristo looks dedicedly impressed by the ritualistic event here, caught up in the serenity and symbolism.

Head hanging, the Bull of Solace retreats, abandoning the firepit and falling back to where not as many stand. Arms still hugged tightly about himself, he listens while watching his feet. Jeffeth eventually risks a glance upwards, though his eyes are welling to the point of breaking. That may have been a mistake, he quickly lowers his head once more.

Sabella offers Niklas her warm cup of juice and then looks intently up at Preston as he speaks, linking arms with her husband.

Jeffeth has left the Firepit.

Sydney bobs her head along with Preston's words, taking a long sip of that steaming-hot juice and puffing a soft sigh of obvious pleasure as the heat starts to warm her bones. She may look plenty the worse for wear, but she's certainly not feeling it. Her head is held high, eyes resolute. She stays standing rather than taking up a seat, more than happy to cede the seating. Her eyes quietly track after Jeffeth, and she somberly moves his way. Those hands remain on her mug, but she shares a few quiet words to the man.

Raya gets up from her seat and quietly sidles towards the Bull of Solace, reaching out a hand to pat him on the arm. If there crow is there, she's avoiding the crow. Very politely.

"Gloria, we have prepared this place for you. We have gathered your children. We have pledged ourselves to fight for your ideals - for honour and in defense of the innocent. The dishonour that caused this place to be so tainted as been corrected and atoned, and even this has taught us lessons, on the importance of understanding that zeal alone is insufficient, that each step along our path we must consider our choices, and measure them against your ideals." Preston carefully intones, before he nods to the Templars to approach "To show our love we light and tend this flame, and we will tell stories of our honour and of the deeds of those who have fallen. Gloria, we bid you welcome once more." As the march of Templars reaches the Firepit, Preston takes a small splint and opens the lantern to light it before using it to light the firepit.

Otto blinks at Alis' smile before he scoots from his position, finding another spot to sit and watch the ceremony so that he is hopefully forgotten.

Kritr lurksin the cak, holding up a wall.

Her own double cloaks pulled around Katarina's smaller frame, Dianna's head bows reverently as she listens.

Dianna has joined the line.

As the throng of zealous sentinels encroaches upon the firepit, Sirius retreats to a more familiar lane; towards Alis, whose bob of the head didn't go unnoticed. Her lorn cousin soon arranges a little space beside her, and when he speaks — soft-spoken, and hesitant, his voice's drowned by the room's many clamors.

Dianna has joined the line.

Turn in line: Dianna

Sydney has joined the line.

Evaristo glances around to see who will walk over and give a story, and notices Jeffeth over there, and his struggle. He looks thoughtful and stares at the giant for awhile, then more grim-faced, he looks back towards the fire.

Nallah, a buff-looking tortie cat with green eyes, Sirra, a very quiet maid, an indeterminate number of cats, 3 House Mazetti Guardians arrive, following Alessia.

Alessia has joined the Firepit.

Alis has joined the line.

Drifting into the open-aired shrine, Alessia's naturally drawn to the one source of warmth, the central firepit, swiftly making her way. She squints at her sister before settling in beside her.

Withdrawing from Katarina, Dianna removes her brocade cloak and wraps it around the princess' shoulders, then steps to the front, to stand by Preston. She lifts her eyes to him firstly, her cheeks colored as she trembles. "I have a story... from only days ago. Of bravery and strength; of love and loss... of friendships held and success... and of valor.

"I returned from a trip to the South upon learning of my friends' capture in the north; and traveled as quickly as I could to see them return to their loved ones and friends. When I arrived," Dianna hesitates, shakes her head crisply and frowns, "...the perils were great; our foes numerous. And yet... we went, anyway. Grandmaster Preston had ordered cooperation by the Templars there; I brought five along with us in our attempt... and details of the rescue matter less than the valor... of two Templars and a Marquessa." A shiver passes through the priestess as she speaks, "All archers, all three, all ... lost, as they covered us while we ... the others... relieved our friends of their chains. The Marquessa, though, ...gave her life for all of us, quite bravely. Made a shot that that struck true, that ended ... in a most dreadful way for her. And yet. She likely knew the consequences. She paid the price... for us. For we are safe; we all - save these three - returned home." Dianna's voice catches; tears spill down her cheeks. "Marquessa Arcadia, and two Templars, whose names I regret I do not know..." Tremors quake through the priestess visibly. "Gloria be praised for their examples of bravery."

She steps away and rushes back to the fire, standing, shaking, next to Katarina.

Dianna finds her sister at the fire pit, as well, and wraps Alessia in a deep embrace, hugging like she hadn't seen Alessia in ages.

Isabelle, who is just so tired of everyone's nonsense have been dismissed.

Sam, who is a boy and definitely not a princess in disguise have been dismissed.

Roland, the worst bard in Arvum have been dismissed.

"The responsibility of a Templar is always to take a step forward when those around may not. I have no doubt those Templars accepted their fate, knowing it was honourable. Knowing that in their sacrifice others would live. A price paid too often by many across the Compact, including by our Brothers and Sisters of the Solace on the roads. We will remember them, in their Parish and at the Grand Maosoleum." Preston says to Dianna, offering a gentle smile. Preston takes a step back as the Firepit begins to heat up - in armour it becomes like a nice baking zone, and he is not quite ready for that. Still, he beckons the next in the line along.

Turn in line: Sydney

Ailith has joined the line.

Sydney offers her mug to the nearest templar to hold on to with a short little bob of her head, gratitude upon her battered features. Dianna's story knits her brow, and she offers a quiet sigh, a breath that shifts the hair that's drifted towards her front. She approaches the flame and gazes into it rather than out towards the crowd of bystanders. She clears her throat quietly, and when she speaks, it's in a clear and confident tone, in spite of the many bruises that pepper her face just now, highlighted ever-so-obviously with the firelight.

"Mine is a not a tale of valor, but a simple story of gratitude to Gloria. Less than a year ago now, I stood in the Rite to honor her, dressed in the tattered leathers I brought with me from the Lowers, and nothing else. I was rather swiftly dispatched my opponent as one might expect, but I believe that Gloria still understood my intent. To stand with what little I had. Even in failing, I was still granted her blessing."

She tilts her head back, a smile on her features, "Mother Cassandra took notice of me that day, and did her absolute damnedest to hammer into me the ideals of Gloria, and I like to think that some of them even stuck. In so doing, I learned discipline, and I made a great many close friends along the path that led me down. I took steps that I never would have taken had I sat on the sidelines and not paid tribute that day. The path to Gloria's example causes us to lose friends and loved ones, but it also forges some anew."

She reaches into her pocket and sprinkles a tiny bit of dust and dirt over the flame. Certainly nothing enoguh to stifle it. It disappears in an instant. "Thank you for your inspiration. For changing my path, and life. I look forward to praying here more often." She steps away then, retrieving her mug from the templar who held it, and bowing her head respectfully.

Alis stands, though for propriety' sake she doesn't stand on the bench as she's usually wont to do. And the hand that was resting on Sirius' shoulder drops to her side (no doubt much to his relief). "For my story, a tale of honor and bravery to honor Gloria, I want to highlight the bravery of our soldiers who fight at the front lines. The men and women who don their armor and know that chances are high they won't make it back to their families, but they do so anyway . The battle against the Pirates of the Gyre comes to mind. Against a foe that was impossible to understand, they stood strong against fear and dread, and fought back the kind of army that hasn't been faced in hundreds of years. No battle can be fought without them, and we should never forget them, for they are shining examples of Gloria's duty and honor."

Whispering a quiet, personal prayer for all of the soldiers who have been lost in battle, the princess sits back down near the members of her family.

"Gloria cares most about the reasons you fight for - are they honourable? Do you carry yourself honourable? Victory or loss is at least partially in the hands of your opponent - but honour? That is entirely within ourselves and our choices. To step forward to honour Gloria, it doesn't matter if you wear tattered leathers, or the shiniest alaricite, providing you carry yourself with honour. And even then, in defeat, you can pay tribute to Gloria. Show her your love." Preston offers in an attempt at re-assurance, giving Sydney a respectful nod "If you need for anything, the Templars will always help where Mother Cassandra leads the way." At Alis' comments, Preston nods his head "The Gyre was....a time of great sorrow and also of great honour, of sacrifice for a greater cause. We lost many there. Grandmaster Armel of the Solace among them. But, all the Compact stepped forward, at Stormwall and Setarco. One simple step forward, to face the enemies of the Gods. When the easier thing was to stay warm in bed, and pretend the threat was far away."

Turn in line: Ailith

Kastelon has joined the line.

With reverent care, the Legate of Concepts rises from her seat and slides out from the pew to approach the altar. Disciple Ismay scurries quietly behind in the company of a pair of Templars who carry a long pole between them with a hanging small metal box. Steam rises from the opening and a faint glow of oranges and reds can briefly be seen through the barely visible latch.

Ailith lowers to her knee before the altar as her breath puffs out in a soft cloud, the chill attempting to steal away any warmth. Upon rising, she turns and greets the assembly with a broadened smile, then speaks gently. "One of the first duties assigned in this shrine is to clean the firepit. On your hands and knees with only a rag, you could spend hours rubbing out that soot. However, it is around the firepit that these stories of our Goddess arise."

She rubs her hands together, breathing into those chilled fingers. A chuckle follows. "Many of you present might recall the terribly long and frigid nights in the Grey Forest huddled around the firepit. We were uncertain of what to expect. We had guesses, certainly. And we had our mission." Her gaze falls from Alis, Merek, Preston, and may others from that early mission. "Similar nights were had in Eastguard, Stormwall, Setarco, Arx," she recites more cities and places, "And stories were exchanged around a firepit. It is by the fire, on the eve of a battle, when your militant gather. The tension is thick for everyone knows that death is possible. Fear sinks in until one soldier scoffs at another, teasing about a fault, or recalling days spent at home. There's laughter," a solemn nod, "plenty of laughter. Times spent around the firepit strengthens our comradery for it is our bond in honoring the gifts of Gloria -- remembering our solemn duty, knowing regardless of the risks that they shall do what is right."

"A Grandmaster once said - 'We are not beggars, pleading on bended knee, and Gloria expects better of us. No, when facing a battle where victory is an impossible hope, there should only be one prayer. Pray that when the time comes to do what you must to keep honor, you act unflinchingly and without regret. A templar's prayer is to enter the next world with head unbowed and honor untainted.'" She motions to her guards who unlatch the small metal box. Ailith accepts a thick swatch of wool to reach within as Ismay stands closely behind. "Let this stone be a reminder of those soldiers who have respected your gifts and upheld honorable combat. This stone sat in the fire pits for the Templars, Solace, the King's Own, the Lowers, and many more Houses. And I add it to your fire pit in gratitude. Thank you, Goddess, for it is by you that I find strength to see through any the most impossible of odds." Ailith sets the stone beside the others at the firepit, then accepts a tiny wax folded sheet from Ismay. Tiny sprinkles of what seems to be silver leaves crumble and fade in the fire. "And thank you," she whispers the rest as her eyes glisten.

With that, the Legate carefully returns to her seat.

Turn in line: Kastelon

Kastelon looks upon the bonfire as he speaks in deep, solemn tones. "I was hunting a deer in the Shadowood and was surprised by a grizzly. He charged. I lost my faithful hound that day, and gained this coat." The Keaton huntsman removes the garment and tosses it into the flames. The great bearfur overcoat is not swallowed easily by the fire, and takes some time to burn, but lies in such a manner that it does not smother the vibrancy and heat. Kastelon folds his arms. "It was a dour battle, glory and sacrifice, and I suspect one can find Gloria in the forest as much as on the field."

Kastelon checked dexterity + legerdemain at difficulty 15, rolling 4 lower.

Evaristo has joined the line.

"Sometimes the nature of stepping forward is you become the wheat before the scythe - the obvious for those to take. Wise words, Mother Ailith." ANd Preston bows his head before he nods at the story of the Keaton "The Shadowwood is full of conflict and hunt of late, we prepare troops to go there now. But, honour can be found even beyond our fellow man. I once met a dedicated knight who would spend much time with otters, showing they were dedicated to one another and to Petrichor's domain."

Turn in line: Evaristo

Evaristo shifts on his seat there and sips the warm juice, listening attentively. Eyes dart about to watch everyone. He looks contemplative, and he puts a hand on the handle of that warpick of his, not in any threatening manner - more like he is reminded of its presence for some reason. Suddenly inspired, he stands up and walks to the fire - it's nothing planned, clearly. There's a glance at the bear fur and a nod at Kastelon, giving the man a grin. "Nice bear fur," he notes. "Good offering. Wish I had something like that, but alas, this wasn't something I planned," he says, whimsical but charming. "I just wish to remember Sir Godrin Valardin, Godsworn Templar, Cousin to Carnifex Alor Valardin. He went to aid a group of Abandoned and fell victim to a foul priest. And yet, I am sure that in his last moments he knew the grace of Gloria, because he followed her. In the end, he did fell the foul priest anyway." He cuts lose a strip of leather from the handle of his warpick, briefly drawing his dagger to do so after a glance at the Templars to show his intent with that. The piece of leather is added to the flames. "So, thank you, Sir Godrin. I hope I can do you honor." He nods at Preston and steps aside.

Kastelon looks upon Preston somberly as the man speaks, and bows his head in a nod of respect. He also nods to Evaristo, and though fails to grin back, a faint crinkle appears around his eyes at the bear fur compliment. Growing altogether grave once more at the story of Godrin Valardin, however, he simply continues to watch.

Sirius's interest is piqued at the mention of Godrin's name. So much so he even reaches out with an elbow to prod Alis' side and rouse her in case of the possibility she wasn't paying as much attention as he. "Did you hear? I had never once happened upon that tale, about Godrin," he mumbles gravelly, while crinkle-nosed at the still-melting view of the grand coat on the fire.

Alis has been listening intently, lips pursing slightly. "I only know of his remains being brought back to Arx. Not the entire story of... what he did, or what happened." she murmurs back towards her cousin. She's obviously pretending there is no stink of bear skin and fur in the air. Absoutely straight faced.

Kastelon is similarly unfazed by the sulfurous and steaky scent of fur and hide burning. He studies the proceedings with the same serious, heavy-browed expression.

Jeffeth has joined the line.

Sydney quietly finishes the last of her drink and moves over for a refill, the fond smile still on her features. Boisterous and loud as she oftentimes is, she truly does seem to respect the sanctity of this place, and the nature and intent of the stories being told. She returns to stand nearer the fire, never once taking a seat.

As Evaristo says his piece and Preston nods along to the story, a wry smile "A time of great hurt and sadness, but one where people sought in that to behave with honour. The tragedy that honour can force us into conflicts we do not want, but which must resolve matters. That prolonged suffering, even if more comforting, may not always be just." Seeing no-one else waiting, Preston takes a breath "I would add my own story. It is of the blade at my belt, and a lesson its pursuit taught me. One I have mentioned here a few times. One which we must all remember as we face Crusade."

"When we discovered where those of my order had hidden Crusader, a secret lost through time and betrayal, a small band of us ventured to find it. Dame Mercedes of the Inquisition, Sir Jeffeth of Solace, the palace seraph Ailith, Princess Coraline of Thrax, and Dame Esoka of the Templars. And myself. Within the cave we faced tests, one which forced us to push on as we were beset by wolves. They were ferocious, their fangs sharp, their claws sharper. Mother Ailith fell, wounded. I fell, as though dead. And the others protected us, and kept on. Because the onslaught was so fierce, that had any of us stepped out of the line, had any of us broken, we would harm our allies, our friends. And yet, also none of us would fall back, because we knew what this blade means, to my order, to the Compact." Preston continues

"Thankfully my allies fought on, and we were lifted up, and we found Crusader, the blade of Tristan Valardin, fabled to be forged by Gloria herself. We suceeded because when we knew the cause was just, we pursued it. But also because we pursued it together, as one. Had any of us tried to pursue it on our own, we would have failed." Preston then pauses as Jeffeth steps forward and he bows his head "But, perhaps fitting that Sir Jeffeth should tell us our last story."

Turn in line: Jeffeth

Evaristo sits down and listens and he looks quite awed by that tale, the bard in him already writing a song internally, most likely.

The broad shoulders of the Bull are suddenly swaying as the massive man weaves his way through the crowd towards the fire. There's a slight bowing of his head to Preston as he tells his story. Jeffeth remains stationary, those red rimmed pools of blue focusing on the flicering flame as they threaten to well over at any point.

When Preston indicates it is his turn to tell a story, Jeffeth opens his mouth and his breath catches. No words come. His eyes flash over the fire, a mix of emotions passing over and fading as fast as they had come. A flash of guilt, a flash of misery, a burst of anger. His face contorts gradually as he stares down at the fire. And it is at this point that the prolonged silence ventures well into awkward. The big man shifts on his feet some, the little crow on his shoulder shifting as well, as if nervous by proxy. A long moment is given to staring down. Silence, still lingering...

The little crow /caws/ and as if waken from a trance Jeffeth looks up and flashes a glance to Preston. Then a look back to the fire. "I'm sorry." Is croaked out, though to whom is uncertain. His whitened knuckles are waved over the fire and the small trinket he had been clutching desperately is let to drop into the flame. "All better now." Jeffeth lets out, his voice clearly has not been used much lately. "Sorry that took so long." And with his 'story' offered, Jeffeth looks back up to Preston, offers an apologetic look, and heads for the exit.

Fidget leaves, following Jeffeth.

Fidget arrives, following Jeffeth.

Sirius chews on his bottom lip while watching the crestfallen three-man package lumber out of the Shrine.

Jeffeth drops charming pewter juniper brooch.

Fidget leaves, following Jeffeth.

Kritr decides he has seen enough as well.

Evaristo looks downright stunned by Jeffeth's part here, he's just staring at the flames. His gaze snaps free as the large man leaves the shrine. "That is TOO sad," he says suddenly, and he shoots to his feet too and sweeps out of the shrine, like this just got to be just a bit too much for the cheerful bard. Still, he stops near the exit and nods respectfully at Preston before he flees.

"Thank you Grandmaster..." Preston says to the department Bull of Solace. Preston passes his hand over the firepit, that familiar warmth there once more "Thank you everyone who attended and those who made their offerings. The Shrine is once more open and home to those who wish to honour Gloria. And our services will move back here from the Templar Compound."

Alena Sparks, unamused first mate, Silk, the Seafaring Spider leave, following Evaristo.

Raya is overheard praising Preston.

"May we be blessed," additions Sirius after Preston, yet his voice's soft and spoken lightly towards both himself and all who survey. After, the Valardin Prince in artless clothing rises from his humble little perch and wanders rightwards into a corner, where on knees he settles as a supplicant for prayer and distanced communion.

Dianna is overheard praising Preston.

Sirius is overheard praising Preston.

Alis is overheard praising Preston.

Ailith is overheard praising Preston.