"Oh, my love. I'm -always- trying to provoke you," Eleyna murmurs with a smile that's as sweet and deadly as a goblet of poisoned wine. She shifts her pale gaze to Ferrando, smiling as she tips her chin at the man, "It's never too early to make sure he's educated like a proper Lycene Prince."

Arriving with his sister at his side, Ford makes his way in, squinting his eyes to adjust from the stark brightness outside to the near pitchblack inside. He finds a spot for them both near the front.

Shard practically slinks in. Her shoulders are hunched and she doesn't look the least bit comfortable in being here. That said, there's a curious intent to her expression, and she takes up a place near the back where she can see and hear well enough.

Eirene stalks in, hand resting easily on her sword. Her masculine stride is slowed only as she enters the temple and eyes the few there with a soft scowl. She adjusts her swordbelt as she folds her arms over her chest to wait. Back schmack. She's Lycene and moves forward. .

A clock somewhere strikes the hour, the sun hits that particular point in the sky, and the Shrine of the Thirteenth is suddenly not quite whisper quiet. Dark robed figures in mirrored masks drift up and down the corridors of the Shrine like so many ghosts. Some begin to congregate closer to that large polished altar, jet darker than the sky without its moon, interrupted only with the occasional silver of a reflection caught. Standing before that altar with red-gold hair loose and sprawling down her back, is a pale skinned creature wrapped in figure-hugging silk somewhere between purple and black. The Pravus lady has donned no Mirrormask today but presents herself as she is, homage to Tehom offered in the reflective silver pins that keep hair back from her face, but only there. "Greetings, from the Temple of the Thirteenth to those who gather here today to honor Him, or learn of Him. Be welcome in this place. Come forth to where you might face your own reflection, when the time comes and you are ready." The accent one of Setarco's, even if the pale skin isn't quite.

"Lovely," Talen drawls lowly, turning his eyes forward and catching sight of powerfully built cousin of the Artiglio. "She just ate too much at dinner," he insists, before looking with a side-caught glance at Eleyna, as if trying to avoid the backlash of such a comment. "Or a miscalculated potion?" he proposes, almost as if in peace-offering. Whether it's her greed, or her talents as an alchemist in question, it doesn't really bode well. Either way, the clawed thumb of a steel-covered gauntlet is lifted, edging the polished surface of the helmet up, revealing Talen's face. As Eirene passes, he comments aside idly: "I'm pretty sure she patched me up in the field. Doesn't fuck aroudn much, that one," he tells his wife.
It's then that the ceremony starts, the invitation to approach one's reflection, his steps guiding him. "Come," he tells his wife, as if he's almost more interested in the religious focus than his sciency partner. Gasp!

Preston finds himself entering the shrine of the thirteenth, looking quite inconspicious. Providing you ignore the full Templar armour and the long swords at his waist, held away from his legs with the side of his gauntlet. A nod is given towards the Mirrormaskers at the front, but he stays a little clear of the gaggle moving towards the mirrors, intent for now to watch. Make sure no-one is trying to burn or otherwise harm the clergy.

With a roll of her eyes, Eleyna mutters under her breath before lifting her voice a bit louder to be heard by those standing nearby in the templ, "You're impossible." Eirene is offered a nod as they pass with Eleyna murmuring in a hushed tone, "I know who Eirene Malvici is, Talen. I'm an alchemist for the love of the Thirteenth." No other comment is offered as she's led to the front, assuming a more respectful mien, though she doesn't quite possess Talen's religious leanings.

Shard keeps back as well, making it clear she's watching, rather than participating. Still, her attention goes to those who do step forward, and especially the woman leading the ceremony.

Ford literally takes a spot in the front row, looking as out of place as possible. All those bright colors on him. He doesn't care though. He's easing back into a bench and draping his leg over the other, while extending his arm across the back of the bench. He came to do some learning.

Not quite clergy but not quite not-clergy, the mirrors reflect visions of Vanora from all sides as she stands in place before the altar. Some show silvery angles of her body and those close by from the sides, the back, the corners of the eyes...others reflect only darkness. A slender hand lifts and a wave of fingertips sends silent command, and thus it is that the doors to the Shrine close heavy. There is no lock, no way of keeping any in or out, and yet the darkness that sinks over those remaining in the temple is almost palpable. A comforting blanket or stifling blackness, depending on one's perspective. There is silence for a moment, and then another, silence that almost lasts too long until it does not, and in the dark quiet there is one bright flame. A lone candle burning almost bluish on its wick, and the room is again shadows and light reflected over polished surfaces. "We call to You, with the name that is not uttered. We call to you -Tehom-, the Thirteenth, the Dark Reflection. Hear our voices, view our bodies assembled, feel the beating of our hearts. We invoke your Blessing, and we pledge to show our worthiness. Come and hear us." Her voice fills the room easily when lost to whatever zealotry comes forth here. "Worshippers, both devoted and curious, fix your eyes upon the flame and await the caress of the Thirteenth within you. Observe the darkness in the mirrors until you see more than darkness."

Preston turns his head at the sound of the heavy doors closing, even dampened through his helmet he can hear that. The young Templar's attention returns to Vanora and the front of the Shrine as he reaches up and pulls his helm clear of his head. Shaking out his blond hair, trying to remove the dullness of helmet hair, it tangles into his blue eyes even as they focus on the flame and the mirror, trying to discern anyting of import in that contrast between the light of the lone blue fire and the dark blackness surrounding. Still, he cannot help himself but tighten his gauntlet around his diamondplate sword, re-assuring himself by its presence.

Vanora's words cause Talen to look towards the flame, considering it carefully before he turns his head slightly and glances at Eleyna. When he refocuses on the fire, his attention lingers there while he continues to listen. When his eyes catch sight of one across the way, on the opposing side, he inclines his h ead. Apparently that's Preston, staring for a lengthy time, moreso than is polite.

Eirene stands ramrod still and stares, her face stern and harsh in the flickering light.

Shard stands a little straighter, a little stiffer, as the doors close and darkness descends. She breathes deeply, perhaps a little deliberately so, and turns narrowed eyes on the indicated fire. It's not quite a stare, as she glances away several times, or at least that's what it looks like in the deep shadows and flickers of light.

Ford sweeps his gaze along the flame, lingering for some time before they wander, examining all the reflective surfaces. Just the flickering blue-ish flame gave off a lovely light show in all the smooth shiny surfaces.

As eyes adjust to the light the candle is visible affixed to a holder upon the altar. Beneath it is another mirror, this one flat on the jet akin to a tray. The woman leading the rite uses the flame to set several cones of incense burning, the embers reflecting on that shining surface. "We are all of the Thirteenth...and He is of all of us. Mirrors can deceive when we allow them to, when we wish for deception. They cannot lie however, not when we look into them for the truth. Seek your truths now, you who would receive Tehom's blessing. Look into the reflection before you and find what you fear, what you suppress, what you deny. Look for the wrath that burns to to act against your enemies not in justice but in revenge. Look for the lust, the greed, that make you crave more and more no matter what you are given. Look for the envy, the petty and small ways that darkness creeps in and becomes a part of you. Find it. If it is not apparent, try again. Look harder, banish the notions you use to protect yourself and look harder. Look into the eye of what you fear of yourself. Hold that gaze, keep that thought your flame as the Thirteenth comes to reach for it."

Eleyna does as is instructed by Vanora and glances at the flame and then towards the mirrors. The corner of her generous mouth lifts in a smirk as vices are listed off and the fear that is supposed to accompany them. If expression is to be judged alone, Eleyna Velenosa is clearly a woman that not only doesn't fear those things. She embraces them.

For Preston this just makes him stare spitefully at the mirror, quite content in his belief that he will see none of the evil predicted. Of course, confidence can be born of ignorance. And as those doubts start to tumble through his head and gather with them other thoughts, his eyes do flick away for a moment from this mirror spectacular. It is then he spies the attention of Talen and gives a more formal bow of his head, a quiet murmer of "Highness. May the Templars help?" breaking the serene nature of the temple, Preston caught between social conventions on whether to remain quiet or to acknowledge the attention of the high born.

Eirene is unnerved by this. The tall Lycene woman turns and locks her blue eyes on the reflected black-leather clad vision there.

Octavia is more here to observe the observance than to participate. The judge sits quiet and stern, eyes moving about as if taking note of the place, the officiant, the reverent, and the curious - cataloging it all to think about later. She's far more interested in the reactions others have to the reflection than her own.

The broken silence, for whatever it was, causes Ford to drop his brow and slowly glance over his shoulder. It doesn't linger, but he returns his eyes to the reflective surface that is displaying himself back to himself, then to the flame and back again.

"That's a very good question," Talen intones across the way towards Prestohn, his lips peeled up at the corners, a shadow of a smirk. "But no, not in this instant. I am curious to see one of you here," he utters low, a thrum of his voice, his hands moving behind him to clasp. "Look into the flames, Sir," he urges, "find your darker side," he encourages. "We each have one. All of us. Even you. Find it," he urges, not emphasising any point obviously, yet singling out the Templar in his rough voiced advice.

That now-familiar voice continues on, sounding sweetly strange by this point, as if intimately addressing someone who is not there. Or who is. "Look into the reflection for your pride. For the vanity that keeps you from being of true use to those who rely on you or to yourself. Look for your arrogance, find it in the gleam in your eye or the set of your chin...and understand that it makes you weak. That looking without understanding makes you weak, and in your weakness the Thirteenth is not impressed...not inclined to grace you with His gifts, and they are /many/." If Vanora hears the side conversations taking place she ignores them, for the time being.

Ferrando has stepped up to regard his own mirrored visage, his contemplative expression reflected back at him as he studies various aspects of his reflection. A faint frown curls his lips before being flattened out into a lightly grim line.

Shard's curiosity has clearly taken her a little beyond observing. She steps forward, boldly perhaps, just enough to catch a glimpse of herself in the nearest reflective surface. It's probably not nearly enough for close examination, but she tips her head a little to the side and looks intently. There's no look of fear, but no look of pride either, no disgust, no admiration, only the kind of scrutiny she tends to give to everyone, a careful sort of detailed accounting. Given her distance from the reflection, the question is just how detailed it can really be.

"All of the Faith are our children, our wards, Highness." Of course, Preston being 18 does make such talk have a note of ridiculousness "Even, and most especially, the Thirteenth. We are not judged by how we defend the strong, but how we treat the marginalised." Preston risks the longer talk but ultimately his eyes are drawn back to that candle and the mirror. His brows furrow for a moment, causing his fringe to to annoyingly get into his eyes, the Templar blowing up to get the rogue hair away from his peepers. "I am well aware of my failings, highness. The Gods have seen to that."

Eleyna only takes her eyes off her own reflection long enough to slant a glance at Talen as he speaks with Preston. Her brows lift, but no comment is offered as she focused her pale blue eyes on the reflection's once more. A stray hand, the one not currently serving as host to Hiss, rests against the curve of her stomach as she listens to Vanora's words.

Ford really does his best to look past his own reflection to see something more. Then there's more talking. He sets his jaw and cants his head without looking away from the reflection, "SHH.."

Eirene ignores everyone. She takes this seriously. But her face is stern and unreadable.

"When you have found what you would use...beckon it near. If you have caught the envy in your glance, the shame, the sin...if you have seen what you hide...call it forth. Not aloud mind...this is for you and no other. Call it silently. Call your outpourings of rage and offer them to the Thirteenth, tell Him that they are His to make into something worthy. Rage that serves a purpose, rage that can be honed like a knife or aimed like an arrow. Call forth your lusts, your cravings that do not abate...offer them to Him, that He might forge their direction and feed your passions with His own. Focus on your vanity, ponder the way your ego inhibits the truth of you, and offer it to Him. Offer to the Dark Reflection all that is unsuitable in yours. If you have found nothing..." Her words pause briefly, but who can say when a shadowed face smiling. "If you have found nothing, look harder. Look better. Come back here day after day alone, to seek the silvered glass, until you learn how to truly see." The candle lifts from the altar then briefly, illuminating delicate features haloed by red-gold hair. "I offer to the Thirteenth my vanity, that He might make me truly worth such pride. I offer to the Thirteenth my anger, that my pain may become the sharpest tool I have, the most effective. I offer to the Thirteenth my lust, my greed, that He may determine where my passions are sated and what they make me become. I offer to Him all that I am, or will be." Her voice quiets into a whisper then, some prayer between the lady and Tehom that is just for them. Candles flicker for another moment and then go out. Again the darkness suffocates, it seems like far too long when it is only seconds. And then suddenly the doors are being opened, light from the street streaming back into the Shrine. It is over.

Shard's expression, when the light returns, is something akin to guarded defiance. At what, and why, is anyone's guess, and it's gone before it can really set in. She turns away from the mirror, eyes tracing over the spent candle, the ritualist, the mirrormasks, and then back toward the doors that are opening up. Preston's in the path of it all, so he gets a long, careful looking over as well.

Ford lowers his head and closes his eyes a bit. There was probably a silent word spoken to Tehom. Or just in general. Eitherway, when the doors open he lifts his head and opens his eyes again, looking to Octavia. Perhaps gauging her reaction to it all, a small smile is offered though.

Eirene tightens her hand around the blade at her side as she stares. Hard. Challenging the image there silently.

Ferrando lets out a breath once the doors open and his eyes adjust to the new source of light. His lips move silently in some sort of quiet statement to himself, or perhaps another. Rolling his neck and then a shoulder, he shrugs off his contemplative aspect and looks a little more like his usual affable self. He proceeds up to Vanora and bows lightly. "Thank you for leading the ceremony, Reflection," he says respectfully. "As always, I find them very illuminating." There's a bit of a private grin at his choice of wording.

Once the darkness has dispelled the Mirrormask lady steps away from the altar, leaving the Silent Reflections to clear away candles and incense to leave the polished stone pristine again. The darkness has dispelled and the mood with it, for she no longer stands with that odd, proud posture or speaks with that voice like silk and smoke. "Of course. I hope that it was illuminating or inspiring in some way." Her head dips forward graciously, and Vanora Pravus is just that again, a noble lady among others. Nothing more.


    Extremely late, it seems, Cesare slides in through the door- a shadow unto himself. Dark skinned, ebon haired, and with dark cinnamon toned eyes he is as quiet as shade itself as he glides quietly to the side of the door to quietly watch what appears to be the ending of whatever proceedings or meditations have only just concluded.