Intimate communion

Jp with Lucian Omni and Bandorchu

Voah's expression softened further and she smiled appreciatively at Tarmen's acknowledgment.

She immediately turned her attention to the task at hand. Reaching into her pack, Voah retrieved a dagger. It was a blade she had picked up during their stay in Desdem. "That will not do…” she said, unsatisfied with the Arcadian weapon. “Give me one moment.”

The holy woman hoisted herself onto the raised deck beneath the arcade and opened one of the sliding wooden doors. It wasn’t long before she returned with a different dagger, this one Helian steel from the priory of Kupen.

“This dagger has been part of many rites already. Today, it will serve to enhance one of our own."

She carefully approached Tarmen, the dagger in hand. "May I?" she asked, gesturing towards his armor.

He motioned for her to proceed.

Tarmen noted just how many moments he and Voah had shared, both of strife and camaraderie, but each just as intimate. As she began the rites, he felt the same well of emotion he had felt in the caves . While he had no intention to try and woo Voah, he couldn't ignore the intruding thought that if he ever found someone of similar mind as her, he would be hard-pressed not to be smitten.

Upon his consent, Voah took a steady breath as she stepped closer to Tarmen, the scent of leather and iron mingling with the faint traces of incense.

She took the ceremonial dagger, its blade slender and ornate, and began to carefully carve the simple geometric lozenge into various areas of Tarmen’s armor. Each line was etched with precision, the leather and steel yielding smoothly to the well-crafted blade.

As she worked, Voah continued to speak, ensuring her actions were imbued with purpose and reverence.

“This lozenge is a symbol of protection, a ward that has been used by all clergy, military, and laity of our faith in times long past. It represents the watchful eye of the Pillars, guarding against malevolence.”

She moved to the main chest piece of the armor, where she began to create a more elaborate etching.

Holding onto Tarmen for steadiness, her heart quickened a little, the proximity bringing back memories of their shared moments in the dark tunnels beneath the mountains. There, in the suffocating blackness, they had held one another for comfort and safety, a strange bond forged in the depths of fear and uncertainty. The scent of him, the warmth of his body, and the strength in his embrace had been her anchor in those harrowing moments.

She focused on the task at hand, yet she couldn’t help but be acutely aware of Tarmen’s presence, the subtle heat radiating from him, the sound of his steady breath. Blue eyes flicked to his, the pursed lips of her focused expression breaking slightly as she bit her lip. There had been an attraction there for some time, both on an emotional and physical level. They shared a spirit for adventure, one that she had first seen on the Hogue when they sparred with belaying pins. That spirit that had gotten them into trouble and brought both of them to their knees in shared vulnerability in the dark. Yes, Tarmen had crossed her mind on more than one occasion.

—-

That lingering potential between them now hovered in the air, a teasing reminder of what might have been. Pillars only knew what the future held, but for the moment she could not forsake Gonyaul, her betrothed, especially knowing he still lived and needed her.

After finishing the etching, Voah stepped back to survey her work, ensuring it met her standards for both effectiveness and respect to their beliefs. She was satisfied with her work.

Voah then retrieved the spherical censer that was hanging nearby.

She then closed her hand placing her thumb between the index and middle fingers. “This is the Manofiga, the ‘Fist of Mourning.’ It is said to ward off danger, bad omens, bad luck, and evil. To complete the ritual, I ask that you hold the same gesture as I continue. And try to repeat after me… if you can carry the tune,” she smiled.

Very quietly, Alexis closed the door behind her.
In what those two shared she was not a part of, so she had removed herself. Who knew what the future held for them. She would not take away from a beautiful moment.

Might as well embrace that sense of isolation she had grown accustomed to. With a sigh she found herself a place to settle down and wait, alone with her thoughts.

With solemn veneration, Voah began to intone a Mizaran canticle in a quiet, melodic tone. It was fitting, given that her namesake came from the word for such chorales and hymnic chants sung in old Mizar, known as the Voaha.

The words were old, perhaps not fully understood even by her, handed down through generations as a way to invoke the Pillars’ protection.

From a small pouch on her belt, she grabbed pinches of sacred salts and began to sprinkle them in a circle around Tarmen while swinging her censer to bless him with holy incense. As she circled Tarmen, her steps measured and deliberate, she recited the prayer, her voice growing in confidence with each pass.

Hearing her measured prayers brought a wave of embarrassment to Tarmen. His whole life he had talked big of his closeness to Zin and Vastad, but as she began he had to handle the truth of not even knowing their prayers by heart. It was the loose, familial embrace most in Kru’ll held, but just as how he had held others at arm's length for so long, there was an isolating distance in that faith that he only now felt alone in. The realization spurred his desire to hold this moment with the same reverence as Voah, further cementing his path back to the Pillars.

He did his best to follow along, faltering at first as he gathered the verses, before his baritone song settled over hers in harmony. He had some pride in picking up tongues quickly and he smiled at hearing a distant familiarity between this and the archaic messages written on so many ruins back home. Another tease of how close they could have been perhaps, yet still side by side. He did find it humorous to then realize that Gon’yaul was perhaps a better fit, following traditions as old if not older than the Pillars. Rather poetic, he mused, before returning his focus on following the chant.