Revell has joined the Polished Reflective Bench Seating.

1 Templar Knight guards, Sir Daniel the Beardless, a somewhat hapless Templar arrive, following Hamish.

Dycard has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

Dycard has left the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

Dycard has joined the Polished Reflective Bench Seating.

3 Thrax Guards arrives, following Tyrus.

Hamish has joined the Polished Reflective Bench Seating.

Dycard takes a seat on one of the benches. He had been following Alessia and Dianna with a smile on his face, but that expression now evaporates rather quickly as he takes in the environment and the masked figures present. He seems to be becoming increasingly aware that there's nowhere 'comfortable' to look.

Merek has taken the time to put on his black undershirt and attire, while he pulls a red-black longcoat about him, the belt adjusted along that with alchemy supplies. He looks around a bit, and smiles at the familiar-like place, then he settles about before a mirror.

A darkened figure moves with eerie grace down the aisle at the Shrine to the Thirteenth, a female form only barely discernible when looking just beyond the shadow of umbra-and-stygian that sucks every fragment of light. Smooth, bronzed shoulders are bared - the only line of skin obvious on this feminine body, atop which a helm of dark, broken mirrors are pieced together into a rather frightening display. She moves down to the ancient altar, murmuring to those along her path, ensuring all have a candle and cushion, should they wish to kneel in front of one of the tall mirrors.

Revell takes a seat next to Dycard and places a bouquet of flowers in his lap while muttering something about 'payment'. She lets out a soft chuckle at how quickly his smile fades and takes a look around herself. Ah, so that was why. She could swear that wherever she looks, she can see herself looking right back. She purses her lips and grasps the edge of her dress. Evidently uncomfortable.

The Shrine of the Thirteenth is its usual blend of shadow from the darkness of the chamber itself and bright candlelight often used in meditations to Tehom. This evening it is clearly set up for a service, with acolytes milling about and passing out black candles to congregants as they arrive. Mirrors are placed before the benches, and each seat has a candleholder attached to the mirror where the candle can be placed and lit. The result for those who do so is to see their reflection in both dark and bright, with shadows dancing over the features and candleflame adding illumination.

Towards the front of the Shrine, near the famed altar to Tehom made of that dark mysterious stone, stands a clearly female figure clad in black, with a stygian Mirrormask glittering with onyx tears covering her features. She seems to be waiting, allowing others to mill in and get comfortable before the service begins.

The Shrine of the Thirteenth is its usual blend of shadow from the darkness of the chamber itself and bright candlelight often used in meditations to Tehom. This evening it is clearly set up for a service, with acolytes milling about and passing out black candles to congregants as they arrive. Mirrors are placed before the benches, and each seat has a candleholder attached to the mirror where the candle can be placed and lit. The result for those who do so is to see their reflection in both dark and bright, with shadows dancing over the features and candleflame adding illumination.

Towards the front of the Shrine, near the famed altar to Tehom made of that dark mysterious stone, stands a clearly female figure clad in black, with a stygian Mirrormask glittering with onyx tears covering her features. She seems to be waiting, allowing others to mill in and get comfortable before the service begins.

Word evidently reached the Prince of Thrax, and whether moved by impulse, curiosity, a desire for control or something more complicated than any one of these choices, the man arrives at the shrine in time. Still pale from whatever ailed him, there's yet no such weakness to be found in his stygian gaze, a focus to it even as he looks over those present and their numerous reflections. He is alone, his guards remaining close to the door even as the prince steps further into the shrine. He decides on a bench close to the altar and waits in silence.

Seryna, a charming Lycene handmaiden have been dismissed.

6 Grimhall House Guards have been dismissed.

Gustav, a gruff Islander advisor arrives, delivering a message to Vanora before departing.

Leading the way into the main room of the shrine, another masked figure beckons those following her to settle onto the benches available. She inclines her head to definitely-not-Vanora, before taking her place in the row of benches closer to the front.

Tyrus has joined the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

Hamish passes quietly through the shrine, his hands together in front of him so his robes of station drape down to cover his hands. After a glance around the room and a brief nod for the hosts. After a brief once over of the mirrormasks in attendance he raises his eyebrows and offers to the shattered-mask, "Sister." then he moves to sit at one of the benches, here for the lecture.

5 Grimhall House Guards, Gustav, a gruff Islander advisor arrive, following Valdemar.

5 Grimhall House Guards, Gustav, a gruff Islander advisor leave, following Valdemar.

5 Grimhall House Guards, Gustav, a gruff Islander advisor arrive, following Valdemar.

"Friends and Congregants. Welcome to the Shrine of the Thirteenth, and this evenings Meditation on Reflections. This is a guided meditation that many of you, especially the Mirrormasks, are more than familiar with. As ever, our visitors are encouraged to participate in whatever means makes them feel comfortable." The woman in the weeping Mirrormask begins."For some that may mean listening and observing, while for others it will mean looking into the depths of our own reflections, our own darkness, and confronting what we see within. To begin, light the candle directly in front of you and take a few moments to focus on slowing your breathing and studying what you see. Those of you who are uncomfortable with this idea are encouraged to move to the seating area that does not have mirrors already placed." She gestures vaguely towards some seating area designed for this purpose.

Gently, the dark robe moves shrouded limbs from which a two, slender hands are revealed, holding candles before herself. She gives one, each, to Dycard and Revell, her manner calm, serene - if haunting in the depths of her void. She rests a hand first on Revell's shoulder, gently squeezing in reassurance before moving to touch Dycard's, next, in a similar, gently-assuring motion, then moves to take her place beside the dark woman at the dark altar.

Dycard takes the candle, shaking his head as if to dislodge something caught inside it. Breathing out deeply, he strikes a match and ignites the candle, attempting to focus his attention on it as instructed.

While Tyrus has been watching some of the others that have come in, his attention shifts back to the one at the front, the woman of the weeping Mirrormask. He listens, and even as she speaks, his eyes turn to the mirror before him. The candle is lit as requested, allowing the prince to see himself clearly. He does not shy away, his gaze direct, met similarly by the reflection within. Breathing... slowly... His lips twitch once, a thought apparently causing some amusement in the Thraxian. Yet still he looks, hands together as he waits, hands together in his lap.

Revell takes a moment to take a peek at the others that have gathered for the guided meditation to see what they are doing, what is proper, expected. Eventually, she musters the courage to light and hold up her own candle to the mirror in front of her. Eyebrows knitted, she stares at her own reflection.. and feeling more than a little silly doing so.

l

"Lovely." The voice behind the Weeping Mirrormask almost purrs, as pale green eyes observe the assembled pondering their reflections. "Continue to reflect on what you see, breathing in and out slowly until you begin to sense discomfort. It is that discomfort which alerts you to what the mirror is revealing, and when you feel it you must focus in order to truly confront. What do you see staring back at you that you find unpleasant. Undesirable. What do you see staring back at you that feels like weakness, or sin? Look long enough to find the answer to this question. When you do, you may either choose to speak aloud what you see, the better to confront it in the light, or if you prefer, merely name it to yourself in your own mind. Remember this is a time of truth, not of fear. What ought be feared is not identifying and facing our dark passions, but ignoring them, pushing them aside in our minds until we become victim to them, and lose control of the self we are and the self we are trying to become. In order to demonstrate I shall begin myself, and name the darkness I have seen in my own meditation. Done earlier, as to look in the mirror while masked would only reveal an intense play of light."

The dark woman continues..."I see in my own reflection the perils of uncertainty, the paralysis of indecision that leads not to the change Lagoma would take us to, but rather to freezing. I confront that weakness, that hesitation, and I offer it up to the Thirteenth." While speaking she lights two large black taper candles that have been set upon the altar, and a cone of incense that adds a heady sensation when the smoke is breathed in.

Taking a candle and lighting it with ease, one of the mirrormasks settles back and slows her breathing to focus on her reflection. Her head turns to ensure those unfamiliar with the meditation are getting the help they need, before returning her attention to the mirror before her.

Merek reflects, looking to that mirror in curiosity.

Silently supporting the woman in the weeping mirrormask is another, with the shattered helm. She watches across the room to ensure all are settled and well. "I, too, see uncertainty - and that uncertainty brings fear, anger and frustration, all of which brings the world crumbling around me, and that crumbling brings fear, as well. And yet, I watch, indifferent, as the world falls to pieces, wondering if I am well ... for I am safe and I know myself... even if my loved ones fall. So I fear their loss, above all else; I fear that my inaction will result in deaths upon deaths. And I fear not to fear."

Dycard's attention is drawn to the masked woman, away from his own reflection. He seems to find it hard to stare at it for long. However, at the woman's instruction he does drag his gaze reluctantly back to meet his own. He searches his own image, eyes tracing over the pockmarked surface. After a long time of glaring himself in the eye, the Blackshore Lord does open his mouth to denounce whatever it is he sees, but he seems unable to find the right words, for now.

Revell listens keenly. This was certainly not a place for her, her kin and her beliefs, but she was the kind of person who wished to understand other perspectives. So, she listened, and as the masked individual finished their speech, she felt convinced that she would see something too.

So, she looked. She inspected her own face from every possible angle with the help of the candle, she tried to stare into her own eyes from various distances but.. nothing. Thinking she's perhaps doing something wrong, she once more looks out at the other individuals present.

Another mirrormask, a tall one wearing a gleaming mask, also slows his breathing and focuses on his reflection after glancing around to ensure that no one else needs assistance. It takes some time before his breathing finds any sort of rhythm, however. "There is a great deal of uncertainty now, it would seem. But that uncertainty draws rage from me, not fear. Anger at those who act as if they know better than the rest of us and withhold the knowledge that the rest of us need. That weaken us for the sake of help that will come too late to do any good," his voice finally rises from behind his mask, calm and even in spite of the emotion of which he speaks.

Is Tyrus still listening? Perhaps, though his gaze hasn't moved from the mirror. Perhaps he intends to take the path of silence, remaining seated there? He does not speak, not for a long time. Even as the woman of the weeping Mirrormask speaks of what she sees, of her own reflection and what lies therein, the prince remains silent. A time of truth, not of fear. Yet what happens when one sees nothing? What then? Yet... That's not the case for him, is it? "The Serpent and the Sea. Order and Chaos. There's nothing new there." he murmurs. "Nothing new that wasn't identified, named, understood if not fully accepted." He frowns, looking deeper, past familiar sights, known layers. "Rage. The rage when I was spared and they weren't. Rage against the storm and the sea. Rage that they would not take me. Rage...that I could not save them." His face shifts, the calm mask of before slowly cracking, that very same rage beginning to show, in the man and the reflection. "Weakness, for taking so long to act. For taking so long to throw off the chains. Weakness, that I did not do so sooner." His fingers tighten into fists, and still he continues, his voice still low, and yet filled with so much. "Hatred, for all that could have been gone. For all that was and taken. For all that is, so pale and wan. Hatred for the puppeteers and their games... and sorrow for the broken left in their wake."

Hamish looks unflinchingly at his reflection, expression as cool and hard as the walls around them. Raising a heavy hand, he presses it palm first against the surface. "I fear that I will never be worthy of the gift for which I ache. I fear that in the past I hurt people out of selfishness and cowardice. I know I can find answers, but I fear what it will take to learn them, or what they will bring. And bitterness. A bitterness I thought I had moved past, which is unearned and which lessens me." He gives a faint sigh. "I see a stranger I will never truly know."

While definitely-not-Vanora did not actually plant the gleaming mirrormask or any others in the congregation to give a particular response, this would be the one that she'd have wanted if she did. A smile can be heard in her voice if not seen. "Very good. Fear and uncertainty...those feelings themselves are not dark passions, they are normal human emotions that have no particular value regarding morality. They are important to notice in ourselves however because our /reactions/ to fear and uncertainty can unleash shadows inside of us, especially if we repress or deny the emotions rather than noticing them and attempting to control them. What of rage? Is that a dark passion? It can be, and comes up so often in these meditations that we could see the people were yearning to find ways to understand their own. In battle, rage can be used to focus, to keep one's mind off of fear, pain, even injury, that they might continue to fight, and thus survive. Our rage then is a tool of survival. Sometimes. Other times however, it can control us. We can find ourselves bound by our own rage at particular individuals, or situations, or even the Dream itself. This rage is not a tool of survival, but a tool of undoing. It distracts us from who we are striving to become. I cannot name for any of you the means to understand your own angers. Only you can do that."

Before, the young corsair had been struggling to make eye contact with the reflection sat in the mirror before him. Now, Dycard seems unable to tear his gaze away. His mouth moves again but, if any words actually come out, they're for his ears alone. His, or his reflection's.

Dycard mutters, "..I ... ... A ... ... ... ... stay in one ... for long, who can't, who ... commit ... a cause. ... ... a man ... family needed him, ... nee"


**********************************************************************
The crown of black roses on display in the palace throne room is gone. Poof! Gone! (Servants who are otherwise extremely attentive to palace property very much emphasize the /poof/ of it all.) In its place a little notecard has been left, scribed quite elegantly (actually, quite archaically, scholars are quick to note) with: Triscali the Blackrose, Breaker of Writs, Extinguisher of the Light of Dragons was here
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"...My rage comes from being alone, from truths held from me, from an incapacity to share with others my deepest beliefs... my deepest knowledge - be it love ...or fear ...or uncertainty. My rage sends me into deeper isolation, as well, for I do not wish to unleash it upon the innocent, upon those I love. My rage - all spiraling from being alone. This, I would give to you, Tehom. Take from me this rage; let me be well with being alone. Or take from me the depths of solitude, fear and despair I have at ever being alone," the woman in the broken mirrormask quietly and resonantly speaks.

Revell leans forward and presses her ear to her reflections ear, as if completely removing any distance between herself and it was the missing piece she needed to see something. Feel something. Still nothing. No, it seemed like the people around her was getting a bigger stirr out of Revell than her own reflection ever could. She bit her lower lip and leaned back on the bench.

"I am one who has need of my rage, at times," the tall man in the gleaming mirrormask states following the words of the woman leading this meditation, "But I offer it to you all the same, Tehom, that you might guide me in controlling it in order to keep it from controlling me. I know the dangers, the consequences, of that latter path, and wish to follow You so that I do not stumble down it as so many others do." The face of his mask remains fixed straight ahead while he speaks, as if staring at the mirror before him.

"Why should I wish it gone? Anger, hate, rage... I would not have survived without them." Tyrus murmurs, though whether he speaks to someone in particular, in answer to anyone, or just to himself, is unclear. "Easy to put them aside when one is safe, when one is surrounded by the light of others. Another thing entirely when it's just you and the darkness. When there's no hope left. When you are alone and you know there's no one coming for you. Then this hate, this rage, this bitter strength, is the only thing standing between you and being overwhelmed, finally giving up, finally destroyed." He looks at the mirror again, and shakes his head. "No. I do not ask that You take them away, Thirteenth. Like every scar, let them be a source of strength, no matter the pain. Remembrance, so that others never have."

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

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

Breathing out slowly, Dycard leans back. The hate-filled whispering has stopped, and the lord just looks.. deflated. "..The source of my anger at myself is something I'm going to fix," he says slowly, perhaps to make himself accountable to the man staring back from the mirror. "I think that anger brought me back to Arx, it's pointing me in the direction of being a better man. It has a use, for now." He pauses for a beat. "Other than that, my anger is... directed at a dead man. I don't know how to let go of that. I don't know if I -can- let go of that."

Hamish leans in and presses his forehead against his reflection's for a long moment, then pushes away, grumbles something in a musical language and then moves to sit back down.

Hamish says in Nox'alfar, "Would I even know him if I saw him?"

Revell's gaze falls on Dycard. A frown, and then a sigh. She stands and steps onto the bench, precariously balancing right at the edge. She raises a hand. "Uhm. If I may.. Sorry if this is against the rules - this is my first, erh.. whatever this is, exactly. But would it be possibly for me to address the room? I'll be quick, I promise. I just have a question or two for everyone present. It might help..?"

The young woman glances at the mirrormasks in turn, gulping. "Feel free to say no and I'll sit back down."

Is there a catch of breath from the woman in the Weeping Mirrormask when Prince Tyrus speaks...whether to someone or to himself? Some seated closely and paying attention might observe yes, but it's so hard to tell in the shadows. Either way she recovers quickly. "I am not here...the Mirrormasks are not here...to dictate to any of you how to handle these emotions, these passions which may feel dark in their nature but can also be useful, and even necessary. There is no demand, no expectation, that you banish away any emotion that is not a righteous one, at least none you shall hear from my lips...because emotions are very difficult to banish. How these emotions influence our actions, that we have control over. I expect everyone in this room is aware of the ways that anger and rage can lead us to actions that we know are reprehensible. Lest we become the monsters ourselves that so many of us direct our rage towards. Acknowledge this to yourself regularly, and if you feel comfortable, do offer these dark passions up to Tehom, and pray for his guidance and strength in becoming the men and women that we want to be. He is always here. Always watching. To pray to Him of your sins and weaknesses is not to tell Him what he does not already know...but rather to admit to Him that you know in turn, and to be guided by Him."

There is a pause, and the woman in the Weeping Mirrormask acknowledges the question posed from a member of the group. "It is a guided ritual more than a discussion, but I see no need to prevent you from sharing your thoughts. By all means proceed, and then I will lead us in our conclusion."

"I really don't want a discussion, I just.." Revell reassures the Mirrormask and she takes another sharp breath. Courage. Courage! She grasps the edges of her dress, raises her chin high and rattles off her thoughts in one long string of sentences, with barely a breath in between.

"I know there is no expectations on anyone here to share their darkest secrets with anyone but themselves and their reflections. However, from where I'm sitting-- erh, standing, many here wish to speak. Words like rage, uncertaintly and the likes are all well and good, but they do little to define what your true sin is or how to effectively move past it, use it or whatever it is you wish to do by acknowledging your darker sides."

She suchs in a sharp breath and quickly carries on. "There are so many wonderful things here in Arx there to encourage a brazen openess that I see very few willing to take advantage of. White journals, despite supposedly being there to record who we are, in all ways, for future generations to see and study are often horribly vague in nature and near impossible to make sense of. This whole meeting.. it's another version of that. People want to speak, they want to be heard, they want to let go of everything they hold in, but they don't. Not truly."

"Uhm." A short pause. "I suppose this is me trying to do just that. Be honest, regardless of the concequences. Again. Sorry. I just-- yes. I said my piece." She mutters something about packing her bags and going back home to the Northlands due to embarrassment before sitting down in stony silence, her eyes fixed on her hands.

5 Grimhall House Guards, Gustav, a gruff Islander advisor leave, following Valdemar.

Hamish watches as the woman speaks, expression bland, and when she finishes and moves to sit down he glances toward the mirrormasks, but doesn't jump up to give any sort of response himself.

The woman in the Weeping Mirrormask steps forward a few paces, closing some of the distance between her and the congregation with fluid, graceful movements. "Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Lady. There is much merit to your words, and they also provide a nice lead in for the conclusion of our ritual. This meditation /was/ just that however, a ritual, a shared reflection, but not a discussion or debate. Worry not, we who study Tehom /love/ a good debate, some say too much in fact. Yet for this moment, my intention was to lead people towards their own meditation, not for the collective benefit but for the personal benefit of each and every person in this room. However. The Mirrormasks, both our Godsworn..." Here she gestures to the figure in the jagged mask, totally giving up her cover. "And Disciples such as myself...are always and ever here to provide counsel to those who wish to seek it. It is in these individual workings where many feel freer to express their thoughts and feelings in detail, and sometimes even to make plans for handling them. Thus for anyone who wishes to experience a conversation that is indeed a conversation, and that is specific and not vague in nature, I encourage you to seek out a Mirrormask to meet with in the Room or Reflections or the Consultation Chamber, whether today or sometime in the future. For now..."

A pause, and she turns to stride back towards the altar, blowing out her candle and submerging that part of the room in darkness. "Take as much time as you need, but when you are ready, offer up your prayer silently or aloud if you wish, and blow out your candle. Keep what you have considered here today in your minds, and whether it is through seeking out this Shrine again or some methods of your own, work with what you have learned. Thank you for joining us, and for your open-mindedness and respect."

Dycard glances up from his reverie at Revell. The spell on him seems to be broken, for better or worse. When he looks back at his reflection, that seems to be all he sees - a mirror, no more or less. In silence, he puts his hand out to rest it on Revell's, giving it a squeeze.

Watching with silent interest as Revell stands, speaks of openness and vagueness, the woman in the shards of mirrored stygian remains unmoving, the face of her helm turned towards the young and honest, open woman. A certain intensity may seem to be emitted by her, made evident by the utter lack of movement besides a gentle rise-and-fall of chest and clavicle.

At last, the woman speaks with quiet, simple resolve, "You are correct." And she removes her mirrored mask, revealing herself - perhaps unsurprisingly, to be Sister Dianna Godsworn.

And, perhaps surprisingly, she walks down the aisle and out of the shrine.

Trini Albricci, an attractive young Lycene woman, 2 Templar Knight guards leave, following Dianna.

"Nothing I've said in this place, I haven't already written in the Whites or implied therein." Tyrus remarks, and again it's difficult to figure out whether he's talking to someone specifically or not, or if he's just letting the words of others further his own reflection. He's yet to look away from the mirror. "Uncomfortable truths. How many have been dragged to light? And still more to be found. Yet... I'd be lying if I said this hadn't procured some measure of inner peace. As much as can be expected, considering." Again that half smirk, soon fading away. "And thank you." The prince blows out his candle, apparently considering the words spoken his prayer to the Thirteenth. And with that, he takes his leave.

Tyrus has left the Perfectly Balanced Bench Seating.

3 Thrax Guards leaves, following Tyrus.

Someone wearing a black mirror mask is overheard praising Vanora.

Blowing out her candle, one of the mirrormasks sets it down, before rising from her seat with a single graceful movement. She scans the room in case any are in want of private consultation.

Revell stares at her reflection with an expression that screams 'it's your fault'. For the first time this evening, actually entranced by what she sees. Only for a second though, as Dycard's hand squeezing hers snaps her back to reality. She looks at him with a weary smile on her lips. "-That- bad, huh?"

The woman in the Weeping Mirrormask removes it as the ceremony concludes, and shock of shocks it /is/ Vanora Grimhall. Without the stygian hiding her features she is able to smile at the group gathered. "Thank you so much for coming. I am afraid I am not able to linger to offer consultation today should anyone be in want, however I believe there are other Mirrormasks present who can, and should someone wish to seek me out simply send a note and we can arrange another time. May the Thirteenth guide you as you face the battles ahead, both those from without and those from within."

Hamish pushes himself to his feet and glances to Revell. "There is something to be said for radical honesty, but a supplicant's struggle with their reflection is between them and the Thirteenth." He puts his hands together and starts toward the exit. "The purpose of the whites is less dissemination of information and more keeping a record for someone to find in six hundred years while trying to find out information on ancient and hidden lore." He turns and offers a slight bow to Vanora. "Second Reflection Duchess." Then moves to follow the others out.

Dycard smiles thinly. "You should have heard my first public speech," he murmurs to Revell. "It was worse. I had hiccups." He squeezes her hand again, then looks back to his own candle. After a beat, he blows it out, in silence.