The Temple of Serenity

Uncle Redding Roarin Fletcher was carried from the Sakandi Port to the Temple of Serenity. His things were trifled through. His clothes were removed. He was bathed and washed, and the priest that saw him knew exactly what he needed and prepared a muscle relaxant tincture that would immediately work to soothe -- along with the enchanted aura of the temple.

Just a bit later, Roarin would finally come to true consciousness and there was a white-draped, older man sitting on a pillow beside the bed that was lowered low to the ground. The room was simple and clean, with nothing to boast of wealthy other than the obvious pride and workmanship that went into the intricate details of the windows and columns themselves. No gold. No silver. No jewels. A desk. A lamp. a shelf with scrolls.

And the old priest.



The man first spoke in a language that was not Sakandi, but not a language Roarin would understand, either. When it became obvious that Roarin didn't understand, the man switched to another language -- this was sounding harsh, almost nordic.

Then, with a chuckle, he went to his final language, a language that Roarin did understand. "Forgive me. I have trouble figuring out what language you pale men with bears speak. You must be thirsty."

He leaned forward, and there was a small table-trey on the ground that was not so far from where Roarin rested, and he poured tea into the cup and handed it to him.

"You have quite the demon inside you, my friend," the man said, his voice low and roughened yet soothing all the same. "I am Tiqal. You are in Sakand, more specifically in the Temple of Serenity. We found no papers of identification in your things, so you are unfortunately under house arrest until Lady Fairuz clears your name. It should not be long, but the sun still falls over the horizon, and the moon still rises on the other, and we all must eat. I invite you to dine with me, as my guest."

"Then it is settled," the priest said, of good humor as he poured Roarin another cup of tea and handed it to him again. It was bitter, with a bit of tang. "Not your usual, as I understand, but this is good for you. Good for your soul," the man said with a chuckle.

Then, with a groan, he pushed up from where he sat, his hand reaching out and a staff materializing to help get him to his feet. "Your things are there," he said and pointed to a low bench at the end of the bed. "But you did not pack to prepare for Sakandi weather, Roarin, so there is also clothes to better withstand the heat." Another set, clean and pressed, of linen beside it.

The man began to make his way to the door, and it opened without help when the old man got closer. "And drink the rest of the tea. I will wait for you outside."

Tiqal chuckled and shook his head at the man's chosen garb but let him do as he pleased. "It will be a rather humble dinner, I'm afraid. It is your poor luck that they chose to arrest you in a temple, rather than a tavern," the man joked with the aged Roarin.

He began to walk beside him at a liesurely pace, his voice quiet, the click of his staff on the tiles beneath him. Sunset on the desert washed everything in an enchanting red-gold, and hummingbirds were flying and flitting all over the place with their brilliant colors, supping from the last of the open blossoms before they closed for the night.

"Where have you traveled from, Roarin?" the man asked, content to hear a story, or content to hear an answer. Either would fulfill him.

Taqil laughed at Roarin's joke, shaking his head slightly as they idly walked the halls. "That is the truth, isn't it," he chortle, his amusement a quiet thunder from his chest.

"Gauldin. Yes I have heard of this place. Carmela, too, yes," he nodded. "That makes Carmela and Sakand very similar, then," Taqil stated. "Both a paradise, and either one of us too old to chase the girls any longer."

He gestured to a bench nearby. "Let me sit for a moment. My knees aren't what they were." Once they had lowered down, he reached into his robes and pulled out a pipe and a small bag. Taqil offered it to Roarin first, then took his own puff of the tangy herb.

"I had quite a few days in my youth that I've lost due to that rotgut there," he said, featuring to Roarins flask. "You've chosen quite a long and painful way to die, friend," the old priest said, raising his eyebrows at Roarin.

He puffed on his pipe, breathing it deeply in and then letting it go. "Perhaps not, perhaps not," Taqil agreed, nodding his head as he looked out over the Temple of Serenity, its quietness, its loveliness. "But I do know this, the road gets long. The spirit gets heavy." He gestured as he spoke, took another puff of his pipe, and then passed it back to Roarin. "Sometimes talking, it helps to lighten the load and make the journey more bearable."

Once his hand was free, he opened his palm and lifted his shoulders, in a surrender type gesture. "But I understand the brooding man that likes to keep his secrets. I only offer an ear and a shoulder, should you need it, friend." Tiqal smiled at Roarin and then leaned back on the bench and watched as a small child broke free from her mother who was finishing her nightly prayers. He chuckled as she went after the chubby-legged, almost-naked child.

"Do you have any of your own?" Tiqal wondered at Roarin.

"I understand," Taqil said, and smoked his pipe, a bit of companionable silence drifting between both of them before the young child was seen and the mother, before Taqil's question and Roarin's answer.

"Ah. I was never so blessed," Taqil said of his own progeny situation. "But I think I understand your chosen method of death a little more clearly now," he said, gesturing to the flask again. Moments ticked by, and Taqil spoke. "It is not too late. I think you know this. It is never too late. Even with the last breath of your spirit, it is never too late. Your burden need not be as heavy as it has become." He had turned to look at Roarin with these words.

Taqil listens, those dark eyes of his understanding. Yet, he made no excuses for Roarin's behavior. It was not alright, but his wrongs could be made right. When Roarin caught on, however, Taqil let out a bawdy laugh that filled the corridor and rustled some hummingbirds from where they supped on the last of the day's blooming flowers.

"Not sly enough, it seems. Not nearly sly enough." Still laughing, he leaned back to put his pipe in his white robes and then leaned forward on his walking stick to get to his foot. "Now that I have been found out, let's eat. Being devious takes a toll on my hunger."

As they walked, Taqil tipped his head, as if hearing something. "Ah. Lady Fairuz will also be joining us. This will make the evening interesting. As they walked, they came to double doors that were carved akin to a lattice so that one could easily see through the doors to the other side where there was a short hallway and then a dining room being set by young men and women clad in white. Taqil gestured.

"After you," the Priest said.

As the doors opened for Roarin, the movement alerted one of the young priestesses nearby. She wore a veil over half her face, with only her exotic dark eyes able to be seen over the veil. She came forward, and her accent was thick.

"Welcome, visitor," she said and bowed deeply. "Will it only be you dining with us this evening?" she asked.

The priestess momentarily looked confused. She glanced behind Roarin, and then looked in his face. "Tiqal?" She questioned for clarification.