The room is lit with many candles and there is a sense of quiet to it, almost calm despite everything that is happening. There are people gathered in silent prayer, while others are having hushed conversations. Denica is here, dressed in full armour, like this was all last minute, and she didn't show up for her boat. Looking lost, the princess seems worn by her own experiences. Bloodshot eyes are framed by dark circles, there's a somber expression on her face, like her features could crack in any moment. Taking in a small breath, she's no doubt been at vigils before, but seems at a loss on how to start. Or perhaps, it's just the current state she is in.

"Thank you for coming. I didn't want to be alone," she admits honestly, what her motivations are. "There are people risking their lives right now, as we sit here. Waiting. Those we...," she pushes down that dry lump in her throat. "Those we love, and those we care about. Our family and friends. Please, stay as long as you would like. Say what you need, pray, sit in silence, comfort each other. This is a safe space and just do what you need." The small princess shrinks back to a place to sit, going silent and staring blankly ahead.


Felix arrives in one of the rare days where he isn't in garb fit for the forge. The light chime of mail and plate is accompanied by the soft thump of the polearm borne when he arrives at the shrine. While the Archlector might not be off to war, he is at least as prepared for the eventuality as one might be when here in Arx. A bow is given when Denica begins her introduction and reasoning, a gentle smile shifting lips when he straightens. "Should any have want of my own words or services, I will endeavor to provide that which I am able. It is no easy thing to wait for those we love to return to port, and in this, there is a burden shared amongst all of us."

Sedna is in attendance though she does not yet speak, instead stopping to contemplate one of the candles. She wears the fashions of a traditional Lady from the Mourning Isles -- which may not be one of the most popular choices for the day. In a slight contradiction to the severity of her attire, her long hair is left loose to drift and move as she does. Like Denica, her eyes show signs of lack of sleep and lingering emotional distress.

Edris enters quietly, his leathers polished to a soft sheen, and his expression solemn. He takes in the candles and those gathered as he makes his way further in. His steps pause as Denica speaks, and he listens attentively. Once she sits, however, he finishes his approach, offering a bow and something spoken very quietly, before rising and giving the Thrax princess her space. His gaze drifts to Felix and he nods respectfully. But otherwise for now it seems the Elwood knight holds a quiet vigil as well, though he stands rather than sits.

The doors of the confessional open, allowing Legate Vayne to step inside, flanked by the Templar knights and silent reflection that typically flank the man. He is not outfitted for war as a few others are, but outfit in modest black attire bearing a few sigils here and there of the Lost Triad. A subtle nod of greeting is offered to Felix as the man speaks, Vayne's hands coming to clasp before him as he moves along one wall silently, his eyes drifting from face to face and then finally upward to the stained glass ceiling as if in silent prayer or consideration.

Natasha Thrax - the High Lord of the Mourning Isles' only sibling - is expectedly at the current proceedings. Devout to a fault, despite being a fervent adherent to the Faceless God, Mangata remains the first deity she has ever prayed to and discipleships aside, these confines and effigies are familiar to her. Garbed in the plain, high-necked black steelsilk gown that she favors, hardly ever deviating from its structured, conservative, full-coverage lines, she occupies the same bench as Denica and flanked by her protege, Zoey Kennex. If she hasn't slept - and certainly her responsibilities must keep her burning the midnight oil the last two weeks - it isn't visible. There is no grief, no remorse or apprehension, alabaster features set in an impenetrable, luminous mask as if cut from marble. Despite her place near her beleaguered, grieving cousin, she doesn't say anything to her - at least not yet. Instead, dark eyes and their gilded flecks, firelight rendering them half-amber with purpose, fix on Felix at his words. "Would you deliver some words for us to She of the Sea, Blessed?" she requests in a quiet voice that carries clearly despite the lower pitch of her mezzo-sopranic diction. "For the benefit of our loved ones fighting on the Mourning Sea at this moment, and their allies and friends."

Winter, A Highhill Puppy, Angeline arrive, following Kiera.

Once she's taken her seat again, next to Natasha, one of her attendants is bringing her a cup of hot coffee with a splash of rum, handing it to her and she curls her paint-stained fingers around it. There is a sincere look of appreciation for everyone as they arrive. The princess lacks her typical spark and social charisma, but she is grateful, and that is evident. There is a quiet exchange with Edris and something he says to her, seems to, almost take a little weight off, she almost smiles. When Natasha asks Felix to say something, she nods quietly, "that would be appreciated, thank you," she murmurs. Not very talkative, she welcomes the company of others, during this trying time.

3 First Legion Centurions, 3 Setarcan Royal Shields arrive, following Patrizio.

Zoey is garbed in dark, somber shades as well, and her sleeplessness is more apparent in the dark rings under her eyes. She follows closely to Natasha, the princess's faithful shadow.

A few moments as Patrizio Pravus pauses in the doorway when he's apparently coming to join others who are sending their good thoughts to the gods, in the name of those who have sailed, before he's briefly dipping his head respectfully and stepping in to join the coterie.

Natasha is overheard praising Denica.

Natasha is overheard praising Felix.

2 Valardin Knights, Renault the squire arrive, following Lenard.


Another bow is offered when he is addresed, though any who arrive do get a greeting from the man before Felix speaks again. "Certainly, Highness, and I would be honored to do so." Finding his own space a bit to the side so that those who wish might offer what they wish in a semblance of privacy, with his own attendents of Templar, assistant, and goat kept under control nearby. While no immediate move is taken towards the offerings, there is time left in the evening yet.

At the promise of the Archlector saying a few words, Sedna's attention lifts expectantly in the direction of Felix. She remains out of the way, letting her own laced-together-hands do most of her worrying.

"You will be, when the time is right," Edris says quietly to Denica, a calm confidence to his tone, offering a deep bow of his head. But then he goes back to his standing vigil once more, remaining to the sidelines. Though as the Archlector speaks up, he looks to him with respect.

Kiera steps into the confessional softly, head bowed but then raised slightly to take in those gathered giving nods of greeting to those she recognizes before taking a seat

Patrizio, too, turns his head in Felix's direction when it's clear there are about to be words, the Pravusi prince respectfully dipping his head as he listens, but still has as of yet not said a word, though his hands rest on the back of a pew while he's listening.

3 Thrax Guards, 1 Thrax Elite Guards, Archie, a dreamy eyed archivist arrive, following Cassima.

Paint stained fingers wrap around the hot drink, she doesn't quite drink it yet-- but it's there providing some comfort just in being. Every time someone walks in, the princess looks up, only to look relieved and offer the next person in an appreciative nod. There are little in the way of smiles, but she seems to be holding in a lot of her emotions, even if they easily seep at the seams. There is still a sense of tension, even though the fighting is far away, she seems to be expecting the worst at every moment. Jumpy, in short. Her attention isn't anywhere in particular, eyes stare but don't quite focus on anything. Yet, she tries to look around, noting the people gathered there, seeming grateful that the room is filled with others, so that they might share in this moment.

There are a few folks, in the background, freshening up the carafes of hot beverages and making sure that people are comfortable. That they know there are snacks and things for them, if they wish, but never intruding on this quiet space. A small nod given to Edris, but she closes her eyes soon after, no doubt delving into that thought before she shakes it off and looks towards the well.


It doesn't come immediately, Felix's words, but some time of thought is put into them before he pushes to his feet. "As this time of waiting begins, we all ask for your ear, Mangata. Let those who sail ever have the wind needed, no matter the course. Let each sailor be sure of grip and steady of foot on deck. May every hand be steady and resolve firm in doing what is needed. Let them bear your blessing as the weight of the depths upon our enemies, and be in turn born back upon the tides. Be it storm or blade, crashing wave or churning pool - may those we face bear the consquence of those choices. And may those who are able, come to realize what wrong they have done, and avail themselves of your mercy." A voice without hesitance or quiver, once he begins, Felix more used to speaking over the blows of hammer and steel than into a more quiet room, though moderated enough to not be shouted out.

Kiera gives quiet response to the blessing "May the gods grant it so"

"May the gods watch over them, and may they show mercy." Patrizio's voice is quiet, in answer to that which is spoken by Felix, before his head lifts. He's not above availing himself of something warm and fortified as he's looking about, the jade eyes alighting upon a few familiar faces to whom he offers the dip of his head, before he's easing away from the pew.

Zoey listens intently to Felix's words, her fingers toying at the locket around her neck in the shape of a compass rose. She leans toward Natasha and says something in a low voice.

Sedna brings up a softly balled fist to rub under her eye at Felix's sermon. "Hear our prayers." She says with a slight tremor to her tone of voice as she staves off growing weepy.

There's a nod of acknowledgment to Felix, paired with a grateful look that is wordless, but tangible when he offers his prayer to the goddess on behalf of all of them. Natasha, however, doesn't make a move to rise from her seat just yet - a private, secretive person by nature, it is rare to see her in public, much less speak outside of the courtroom. But these circumstances are different than most, proving that there are exceptions to every rule, and when she speaks again a few long minutes after the Archlector does, her quiet words slip through light and shadow like ephemeral javelins: "His Grace, the High Lord of the Mourning Isles - my brother - tends to decide, almost always, to make his mark upon the Dream by achieving what others claim to be impossible, and has done so time and time again. Rising from bastard to the Prince of Maelstrom, facing the Gyre as Arvum's High Admiral, surviving blows inflicted upon him by entities stronger than mortal ken....and the abolition of a centuries-old institution so passionately held by my people, while remaining fully cognizant of the bloody consequences that would follow and the price that would be demanded from my house and other like-minded vassals in doing so." She pauses at that, her lips pressing together. "Perhaps selfishly, I hope that he decides to do the same in what we as a people have to face now...and I offer my devotions to Her for that very end. For his protection and the men and women under his command. For my..." A long pause. "...my husband, who even now sails under his banners, and their allies and friends who are risking their lives to assist them. Us - in ensuring that the last remnants of slavery does not return to Arvum through the hands of dissenting Islanders."

Denica checks composure at hard. Denica marginally fails.

It was a momentary pause as attention drifted towards the tapestry of glass above, the heel of boots are an echo to announce presence amongst the quiet whispers of conversation. Cassima Thrax is a resolute figure, svelte form is encased in lustrous black leather, far from her customary shroud of matronly attire that denotes her an intellectual diplomat or scholar. Dark head dips to address the hovering guards, the hush drift of her tenor heard faintly as she sends them outside the doors.

Verdant depths spark on those that kindle familiar to the Minister and Curator, dusky features lightening for a fraction as Felix speaks, his voice inviting the prayer to hit home but it's not empathic understanding that lingers but the flame of an anger fanned, "Give our men and women the strength to make the hard choice, giving no quarter to those whom would seek to give us none." Contralto was a booming follow up, a commanding air that filled the space with her usually quiet presence, "May your tempest swirl, Mangata, around those that seek to keep others from knowing freedom upon your seas."

Hushing, shapely limbs carry her further into the space to settle in amongst her kin.

Looking down at the dark coffee in her cup, it's like the endless night and she can see the light from the lanterns reflected off of it. The room is still, almost silence, save for the voices that carry through it, louder because of the cradling calm. When Felix speaks, Denica listens quietly, her gaze lifts and she takes in a small breath again, holding it. There is a quiet murmured, "may the gods see it so," she breathes out and she doesn't even catch that play on words. But it's when Natasha starts to speak about Victus, that the princess's features crack. Her lips press together, scrunching her face like it's everything she can do not to break. Denica loves to give a speech, anyone that's been to one of her events has heard many. Yet, she manages only a simple set of words. "There is nothing, if we are not free," the artist's eyes close and the tears begins to run down her cheeks. Stinging swollen eyes and fingers tremble, she returns to her silence. Teeth clench and she swings easily from sadness to anger and back again.

2 Valardin Knights have been dismissed.

Renault the squire have been dismissed.

From his position along the wall, Vayne looks to Felix as he begins his words, nodding along with each of the priest's words in apparent agreement and hope of the same. When Felix finishes, he murmurs along with the rest before bowing his head in continued prayer, listening to the words and hopes that the others share within the confessional.

Zoey reaches an arm around Natasha to touch Denica's shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze.

Kiera murmers "We pray for the protection of choice, for the honoring of sacred oath, for the light the light of truth, for the knowledge for wise decision and for the presence of mercy to those who fight for justice

Patrizio briefly makes another reverence, before he's quietly easing back out into the cold, to attend to his other duties.

3 First Legion Centurions, 3 Setarcan Royal Shields leave, following Patrizio.

There is a stillness of her person as Cassima can't seem to be settled for long, usually rigid and a pillar in the face of uncertainty, the waiting for news causes ghosts to swim in verdurous sights that belays her calm. Wandering takes her to stand alongside Felix before settling down, ankles crossing to keep from further wanderings and lithe hands grow still upon her lap as lashes lower in a momentary close as lush lips move to speak in hushed tones.


Giving those new arrivals a small smile and a bow of head of greeting, Cassima gets a gentle bump of one elbow before he sits as well, leaning back into place and letting the weight of words and armor settle for a time. A soft spoken greeting follows that small nudge, though a nod follows it at something else said before he replies.

Zoey checks composure at normal. Zoey is successful.

Zoey nods to something Natasha says to her, her expression grim. Not at all the sunny countenance she typically possesses.

Denica looks appreciative for Zoey's touch, though she doesn't verbalize it, it's there. After some time in silence, the princess finds a little comfort when she hands off the undrunk coffee and slips a hand into her heart-shaped bag. Taking out a worn leather portfolio, she is looking through her coat for a piece of charcoal. It's a small piece, the broken off end, but it's enough and after some time just holding it. The princess opens and brushes fingers across the page edges to find a blank one. Opening it, the charcoal meets the surface and there is little hesitation as she begins to sketch.

A slow nod of dark head is given at words uttered, the faint companionly bump causing a wry smile to touch lips that seems to cause a warm light to filter through the harrowed gloom in Cassima's eyes. They list out over those quietly settled still upon the benches, another small breath exhaled and lower lip taken in a bite.

Shifting to her feet, Cassima begins to take her leave and pauses long enough to mutter to Natasha and Denica. From a satchel at her side is a flask procured and handed over to the sketching Thraxian with a nod of head.

3 Thrax Guards, 1 Thrax Elite Guards, Archie, a dreamy eyed archivist leave, following Cassima.

Ottavio, an obliviously obtrusive albatross, 3 Redreef Wardens leave, following Sedna.

6 First Legion Centurions, Sparrow, an enthusiastic and bubbly assistant arrive, following Renata.

Having reaches for the flask when Cassima handed it to her on departure, the small Thrax princess is seated cross legged now on the bench. Between Natasha and Zoey, there is an open sketch book there. Candles light the room. It is quiet, some people are in their own silent prayers, others might have hushed conversation, but mostly it's just still and calm. It seems that the prayers are over, but there are those that remain. A vigil to those that are on the forefronts of their minds, whether closer to them, or just part of everything. A small table is set with a basket of fresh muffins, carafes of hot beverages and a few bottles of Islander rum. There are people coming and going over the course of the night, that is welcomed and so is the presence of all those who want to join.

One might think the marquis-regent has chosen his attire to mirror the somber tone and atmosphere sure to inundate the Confessional. Dressed in dark silks, Gaspar is freshly shaven and that usually-roguish mop of chocolate-colored waves is carefully combed. There are a number of familiar faces about and he greets each with a soft, subtle and pleasant-enough smile. He finds a wall well enough out of the way and settles there for the time being. The prayers may be over for now, but surely there will be more supplicants in time. Best not to be in their way!

Zoey manages to keep her eyes dry, in spite of everything. Mostly she just looks tired. She looks up from comforting the artistic princess and lifts a hand in brief greeting to Gaspar.

Renata arrives late, though she's quiet as she slips in to not interrupt those still holding vigil as she makes her way to the altar room with a light swish of silks. Mild curiosity colors her expression as the Pravosi princess gazes about at the Confessional, though she doesn't yet move forth to join those in prayer and instead remains to take the area in.

Kiera has been quiet but looks up in greeting to the newcomers as they enter

Finger's black from the charcoal, she reaches up to rub her cheek and leaves a mark there. They are stained with tears. The drawing is chaotic, but that is the way of her work, a lot of dark shading, as though she colours the page black. Then little details start to emerge. As people come in, Denica does look up, almost instinctively and on edge. Renata is given a nod as she enters, and Gaspar a deeper one of recognition. Though they are welcoming gestures, she seems to be stuck in her silence.

Stojan who looks tired and worried, could no longer keep still, has taken to pouring cups of coffee and cider to bring them around and offers both a drink, and checks those there should anyone need anything.

The gesture from Zoey is returned with a slight blossom to his smile and dip of his head. He watches Renata carefully for a moment before turning to Kiera and greets her in silence as well. When Denica looks his way, he mirrors her nods and presses his lips together while maintaining that expected, respectful silence.

Renata inclines her head in a polite manner when she is noticed, most notably to Denica and Gaspar, and she soon ventures forth to take a seat at one of the pews. She also accepts a cup of cider from the restless Stojan, murmuring a quiet "thank you," to the man in return.

Ilira walks soundlessly through the first series of rooms. Swathed in black and grey, she wears no jewels, no finery, only a plush, oversized sweater over a plain tunic and leggings, the soft soles of her boots muting her step. She emerges into the main chamber and casts barely a glance to the rest as she approaches the well, kneels, and bows her head. For several moments, her lips move in silent prayer.

There may have been an intent to remain with her grieving cousin through the rest of the night, but a breathless Jasper Torsney breaks through the relative silence, and speedily makes his way towards his royal mistress bearing what looks like bloodstained parchment. Natasha lifts her eyes away from Zoey and Denica to retrieve it from the clerk's fingers, unrolling the strip of paper to look at what is scrawled hurriedly within. Nothing changes in her expression, just a brief flicker in dark eyes as she rises suddenly, and swiftly, from her bench and after a parting, but wordless glance towards Denica, the Voice moves for the door. Renata and Gaspar are given nods in passing as long legs work a quick clip out of the confessional, though it lingers briefly on the Tessere lord. Whatever lurks behind her gaze isn't vocalized, however, clearly called elsewhere and with all due haste.

So many familiar faces indeed, each greeted as they enter and leave in kind. Ever-observant, the marquis-regent catches the look from Natasha and returns it with something decidedly neutral, aside from the nod itself. It's polite and in short order, a smile is given to the princess as well. And you'd better believe those wheels are turning.

Kiera jumps briefly in her seat as the servant enters and natasha swiftly departs and remains looking towarf the exit expectantly

3 Thrax Guards, 1 Thrax Elite Guards, Torsney, an attentive high strung law clerk leave, following Natasha.

Looking up as Natasha stands, Denica's eyes hold appreciation for her cousin, but there is a wave of concern given her swift departure. With the woman gone, she shifts in her seat closer to Zoey and remembers the flask that Cassima returned to her. Uncorking it she offers it in silence to the Kennex Lady, should she wish it. The other hand is lighter on the parchment, her drawing is mostly black and what is not, has taken the shape of a large bug-ridden tree surrounded by little boats with firefly wings. Her eyes close and she closes the portfolio and just hugs it to her chest, sitting cross-legged on the bench.

A delicate frown mars Renata's features, her aquamarine gaze turning to watch Natasha's hurried exit. Exhaling a long breath after a moment, she dips her head in private reflection as her thoughts turn back inward.

Zoey takes a sip from the offered flask before handing it back to Denica, and tightens her arm around the woman's shoulders. She watched Natasha leave, and that is how she spots Ilira, who gets a brief nod in greeting as well.

Wordlessly, Gaspar pushes himself from the wall and spares one last glance around before silently returning back to his estate.

A hyperactive buckskin appaloosa destrier with light blue eyes have been dismissed.

The final few words of Ilira's prayer rise to a whisper of Lycene Shav, before she bows her head and clasps her hands with a murmured "Amen." Then, in one lithe motion, she glides to her feet and turns to the table where the others congregate. Despite the distant, shadowed look in her eyes, a smile plays on her face and warms the edges of her stare. Without speaking, she heads over and settles in one of the empty seats. Her gaze flickers to Zoey and lingers with a kind, gentle smile.

Edris has remained, quietly, and will for quite some time. He doesn't audibly pray, but perhaps keeping watch is part of that for the Elwood knight. Instead he listens and watches with a reverent if distant air.

Kiera receives word from a messanger and rushes off for news of loved ones

The vigil is kept going as long as people remain, the candles burn through the night. There is always someone with a warm drink, but mostly there is silence. A collective space, held with thought and pray, and togetherness.

Winter, A Highhill Puppy, Angeline leave, following Kiera.