As the Priestess Walks
Posted: Wed Aug 19, 2020 8:12 pm
((Presently closed, will be opened when I get through the initial parts))
Months ago
The Priestess was stunned by the question, both in nature and in audacity. To imagine that any would ask such a thing of her in the presence of the Mistress's sacred altar! She cried out in anger, "You will NOT make me a party to necromancy, Mage!" But the moment had passed, he had already retreated through a portal to the city, leaving her wrath to face only the undead that surround Her chapel.
Earlier that day
Thirteen, seven, sixteen, nineteen, two.
Eleanor dutifully records the die on a parchment, leaning back in her favored seat to watch the fire while she ponders the rolls. The Mistress never graced her Servant with prophecy or fortune-telling, but the Priestess makes a habit of trying to scry Her orderly will through His chaotic hand none-the-less. Calling across the tavern to Rose, she asked if today's date was also the thirteenth. To her surprise the answer came from a voice through the window and across the stream.
"Should be, ma'am!" The response was needlessly cheery, and instantly recognizable. It was the voice of the Mage, a respectable sort who had treated her with kindness since her return to the region.
The Priestess continued to mull her numbers as the Mage made small talk with an elf who had some nasty rat bites. So, the Lord of Fate had passed a tenuous connection. What's more, she can always relate sixteen as a reference to the pantheon. If she reached, nineteen expands to include the Three Servants of the Lost God. Hardly a good thing, but it was a reach. Two is perhaps signal of the classic dichotomies: good and evil; life and death; light and dark. Thirteen and seven she could also take together as one hundred and thirty-seven, a magical and mysterious number that hinted at precise structures put in place through times and means beyond mortal comprehension. Each component, seven and thirteen, is its own significant portent. Perhaps she could turn the three dual-digit numbers into initials? Thirteen, by one ancient system, could read as some combination of: [A, Q, Y, I, J]. [G, C, L, S]; this would be far too much work for what would end in needless guessing anyway. She could spend all day and in the process completely miss whatever the omens were meant to foretell.
Eleanor packed away the parchment and dice, rejoining the conversation. It seems that the Bloodwitch had joined them. Unnervingly, it seemed both she and the Mage wanted something of her. The Priestess may not have the gift of Foresight, but even she could recognize flattery as the most ominous of portents. The Arcanists had praise for everything from her appearance that day to her relation with the Goddess and her aims to erect a new, safer, chapel. Whatever they were after, it must come at a great cost. Finally, the Mage came out with it: their Guild was seeking her talents for an unspecified purpose. It would be for their mutual gain, of course, he was sure of that. The Priestess did not share this certainty; magicians rarely seek out the Mistress for magnanimous reasons.
Nevertheless, she was bound through her Mistress in service of all. Mages, witches, and farmers alike stood before the same Sovereign Magistrate, and as such the Servant of the Mistress is in turn the servant of all Her subjects, past, present, and future.
Months ago
The Priestess was stunned by the question, both in nature and in audacity. To imagine that any would ask such a thing of her in the presence of the Mistress's sacred altar! She cried out in anger, "You will NOT make me a party to necromancy, Mage!" But the moment had passed, he had already retreated through a portal to the city, leaving her wrath to face only the undead that surround Her chapel.
Earlier that day
Thirteen, seven, sixteen, nineteen, two.
Eleanor dutifully records the die on a parchment, leaning back in her favored seat to watch the fire while she ponders the rolls. The Mistress never graced her Servant with prophecy or fortune-telling, but the Priestess makes a habit of trying to scry Her orderly will through His chaotic hand none-the-less. Calling across the tavern to Rose, she asked if today's date was also the thirteenth. To her surprise the answer came from a voice through the window and across the stream.
"Should be, ma'am!" The response was needlessly cheery, and instantly recognizable. It was the voice of the Mage, a respectable sort who had treated her with kindness since her return to the region.
The Priestess continued to mull her numbers as the Mage made small talk with an elf who had some nasty rat bites. So, the Lord of Fate had passed a tenuous connection. What's more, she can always relate sixteen as a reference to the pantheon. If she reached, nineteen expands to include the Three Servants of the Lost God. Hardly a good thing, but it was a reach. Two is perhaps signal of the classic dichotomies: good and evil; life and death; light and dark. Thirteen and seven she could also take together as one hundred and thirty-seven, a magical and mysterious number that hinted at precise structures put in place through times and means beyond mortal comprehension. Each component, seven and thirteen, is its own significant portent. Perhaps she could turn the three dual-digit numbers into initials? Thirteen, by one ancient system, could read as some combination of: [A, Q, Y, I, J]. [G, C, L, S]; this would be far too much work for what would end in needless guessing anyway. She could spend all day and in the process completely miss whatever the omens were meant to foretell.
Eleanor packed away the parchment and dice, rejoining the conversation. It seems that the Bloodwitch had joined them. Unnervingly, it seemed both she and the Mage wanted something of her. The Priestess may not have the gift of Foresight, but even she could recognize flattery as the most ominous of portents. The Arcanists had praise for everything from her appearance that day to her relation with the Goddess and her aims to erect a new, safer, chapel. Whatever they were after, it must come at a great cost. Finally, the Mage came out with it: their Guild was seeking her talents for an unspecified purpose. It would be for their mutual gain, of course, he was sure of that. The Priestess did not share this certainty; magicians rarely seek out the Mistress for magnanimous reasons.
Nevertheless, she was bound through her Mistress in service of all. Mages, witches, and farmers alike stood before the same Sovereign Magistrate, and as such the Servant of the Mistress is in turn the servant of all Her subjects, past, present, and future.