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Post by Ilea McKinley on Mar 16, 2015 21:36:23 GMT -6
The melting snow and slow forming puddles of water didn't stop Ilea from stomping through the streets of Wildgard. It had been some time since she'd last been here. She tried to think and immediately remembered. Her last day in Wildgard last Autumn was the day of her friend Idina's funeral. Ilea tried to shake away the thought. She hated death, and even worse, funerals.
It hurt most for her as Idina had been Ilea's closest friend in Wildgard. Or so she remarked.
She then barged up the many steps of the Church of Her, and pushed the doors open without an ounce of respect for the wood they'd been carved of. This had been her destination all along. She'd never even told Aurelia she was headed back to Wildgard, but where else would she have gone? She was sure her wife would turn up in a few days.
She then reached for her right hand to feel for her wedding band as reassurance. When she felt noting but her flesh, she remembered that she'd taken it off and thrown it behind her after leaving Aurelia. Perhaps she'd never turn up now. This worried Ilea. She had a much clearer head now and was upset at her own actions from earlier. She desperately hoped that Aurelia would show up now, so she could apologize.
Feeling more nervous than before, Ilea took a deep breath, and shouted: "Minister! I know you're in here, come out!" She then stood promptly and waited for The Minister's response.
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Post by Minister Cillian O'Donnel on Mar 22, 2015 10:34:24 GMT -6
His church had been so quiet, save for the ambiance that resonated through the great hall like a holy chant. That was always the sound he liked to hear; Her voice reaching out to him, blessing him for all that he had done to help people, and protecting him from all the harm that should befall him.
Hearing the chant reminded him of Sarea; how long had it been since he'd heard her voice? How long had it been since he'd had a word with her? Ever since Idina's death, the poor lass had been rather reclusive. In fact, she'd strayed far from the church, and any attempts at contacting her were met with miserable failure. The Minister truly worried for the elven bard, hoping that she was safe and sound, and not frozen after the dreadfully chilly winter.
Among the voices in the church, he suddenly heard another. Hoping that perhaps it was Sarea, he waited a moment. However, his ear betrayed him, and he heard not the voice of song, but rather the voice of a young and deer friend who he'd also not spoken to in a while.
Smiling a gleaming smile, he got up from his wooden chair, placed the leather-bound book he'd been writing in on the side table, and began towards the great hall. Excitement filled him, and he longed to know that this young one was safe in Her hands.
"Ilea, my dear!" he sung as he marched through the aisles, his great robes sweeping the floor. "Or, rather, my deer! How have you been, young one? Safe, I presume?"
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Post by Ilea McKinley on Jun 27, 2015 10:41:33 GMT -6
Ilea was taken aback by the Minister's sudden kindness. Or at least it felt like kindness to her. Taking a deep breath, she bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, I have been quite alright, thank you for asking." Instinctively her hand went to her ring to remind her of where her devotion lie. Except once again all she felt was soft pinky flesh. The kind that hadn't had very much air to breath in the past little while. She blew out a long breath, now distracted as to why she'd came in here and her business.
She took a swift seat on the floor, feeling dizzy. It was from overworking herself, but she denied that fact. Ilea believed that she could go as hard as she wanted for as long as she wanted. Despite her size she was a strong warrior, and she wouldn't let anything come in her way. Raising her hand, but not looking at the minister, she spoke again. "Could you get me some tea? Mint, please." She ordered the Minister around. Not like he'd mind, she presumed. Especially with his odd tendency to keep his "people" happy.
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Post by Minister Cillian O'Donnel on Jul 20, 2015 10:00:13 GMT -6
Happy to help her, the Minister rushed back towards his kitchen and put his favourite clay kettle—the one broken many times by rampaging locals—on the stove to ready the water. He didn’t particularly like mint tea, but his friends and pupils did, and he couldn’t stand to not have what they wanted in store.
He hadn’t seen this particular lass in quite some time; she’d not spoken to him or sent him letters about what she’d been doing of late, and he’d grown suspicious that something had happened to her. However, no one he knew had seen her recently, and therefore he knew something was wrong; otherwise, she’d have no reason to be here.
“So, Ilea,” he began, allowing her to sit down in one of the aisles, “I assume your travels were either prosperous or enlightening?” Then, he added with a little titter more to himself: “Or both! Both is good!”
He looked her over: she seemed weary, not only physically from traveling, but of the world. Her eyes were emptier than he’d remembered, and she spoke most neutrally. He noticed that she wore no ring—at first, he was upset that she wasn’t wearing a ring of Her, but then he noticed the more important fact: her wedding ring was gone.
Perhaps there’s more to it…he thought as he heard the kettle whistle shrilly.
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Post by Ilea McKinley on Jul 21, 2015 20:28:25 GMT -6
"My travels were... uneventful to say the least. I'd rather not speak about that right now, however. They ended on a bad note with someone I hold very dear to me. I'm sure you understand or have gone through a similar experience." Ilea's eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. She was remembering her final moments with her wife, before she'd been irrational and stomped away angrily. She hated herself for that. Now that was a fate she could not change. She only hoped that Aurelia would follow after her.
She reached for her ring again. Not there. It was a nervous tick and only now Ilea noticed this. She didn't want to be here but at the same time she needed to be here. Especially with what'd been happening as of late. She knew know that her life was in danger. Or at least her friend's lives. She sighed and shook her head. Touch finger, no ring, mutter a curse word beneath her breath. A new cycle Ilea wasn't probably going to be able to break.
"I believe that is the tea, no?" She asked, wanting her tea badly at this point.
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Post by Minister Cillian O'Donnel on Jul 28, 2015 0:06:00 GMT -6
"Oh, yes, I have heard many a tale of these…most unfortunate circumstances. As a matter of fact, it is how I met my dear friend Ibelin! You should say you know him, unless you don’t—and you are absolutely right in saying that that is the tea!”
Immediately, he sprung up, only to have his back bend slightly, causing him to wince in pain and reach for the nearest support. He’d been having back troubles recently—a sign of his old age—and was now needing a cane to get around. Unfortunately, he sometimes forgot it when in the sanctity of his church, and moments like these did nothing to remind him of why he needed the cane.
“Deary me!” he exclaimed, pushing himself forwards towards the altar, where leaned a wooden cane with a serpents head carved into the handle; on the right side was carved the name Patcho, a reminder of who the sceptre once belonged to.
Slowly, he made his way to the stove and lifted the kettle off of the heated stone. He then poured the water into a cup beside him; his hands were unsteady, and once he finished he couldn’t help but spill some water around the cup. He silently cursed his weakening body in upset that there was nothing he could do now about his age.
“I’m old, my dear, and am wearing thin,” he called as he brought her the tea, not realising that he’d only poured her hot water and left out the actual tea. “And yet there is too much to do before time reaches me…as it reaches everyone. As it has reached you.” Then, with a small chuckle, he added: “Fate surely is a thing of mystery, wouldn’t you say so?”
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