Guy, a hunting kestrel, Balian, a Templar squire, 1 Templar Knight guards, Direhorn Jeffers, a barded Templar wargoat arrive, following Preston.

Pete, a Grayhope account manager arrives, following Mayir.

Binky, an asshole crow, Greguin, an organized priest, 7 Templar Knight guards, Mayir arrive, following Aureth.

The cooks of the Rectory have put together a fine spread for the orderly (semi-orderly ...?) breakfast demanded by the Dominus. Platters of griddle cakes, grilled sausages, a huge bowl of porridge, loaves of bread and rounds of cheese, and an overlarge basket of summer fruit. Simple fare, but the kind which many Arx natives will find comforting and familiar.
Aureth is a little late to his own party, laughing at something as he arrives, with one arm hooked through the arm of the younger Grayhope with him who definitely is not a priest.
"Hello, all! Good morning! Come, get plates, get tea, get coffee! Everything!" Aureth laughs again.

Mayir is definitely, definitely not a priest. "Oh, man, I am sooooo hungry," says Mayir, who is definitely not high in the slightest as he eyes up all of the griddled cakes. "But I should add some protein. Oh! Hi everyone! Don't mind me. Just here for some food. Sorry about the insects on your shrine! That sucks."

Oswyn squints some at Aureth. He's been settled in place for a few minutes at least, apparently drawing on some papers. He sets the work aside and says, "Good morning." Apparently very good. That is a lot of laughter. Sus. The Archscholar gets up out of his chair, rubbing one wrist, and heads for the food he was too polite to start eating.

It's not that Sir Bhandn is FURTIVE about being here, but he is constantly glancing around the Rectory as though he feels completely out of place. The Rectory is just not a place that he visits, or even comes near, 999 days out of 1000. His hands fidget, playing with the signet ring he had commissioned that's sitting on his right hand. "Good morning," is his response to Aureth, who gets a bow just for courtesy's sake, not really knowing the Dominus up close after all. Bhandn doesn't make for anything edible just yet, but his grey eyes eventually settle on the assortment of cakes and sausages with undisguised longing. His hands fidget again.

It is a suspicious amount of laughter. Anyone with a high passive insight can definitely draw some confusions about what the Dominus and his putative cousin were just doing upstairs before descending upon the breakfast buffet. Probably. Aureth does seem to be well-behaved about the health value of his breakfast tray, though, scooping a mighty portion of porridge into a bowl and snagging some fruit before moving to sit down. "Please, everyone, eat, eat," he encourages. "There's so much food here. How are you all? I mean-- you know, aside from the obvious that Mayir mentioned, ah um, have you all met Mayir Grayhope? He's my cousin." He shares this like it is a confidence. It is not a confidence.

"Hi, everyone!" repeats Mayir again, laughing at his own very, very funny whatever that he just said in there, even though he didn't say anything particularly funny. "The Dominus is also my Patron. So I am here to be ... patronaged and learn. From all of your very august brothers and sisters and sirs and dames. And have some griddle cakes."

Preston emerges from the knight's barracks, the big bulk barracks for the knights who don't live elsewhere, and actually out of armour for once. He is yawning as he tightens his swordbelt to his hip, tying the excess in a loose knot and passing it down behind the belt "Mmf." He offers in groggy greeting to one of the Templars guarding the rectory before he picks up a small petit pain to break open "Mm. Your cousins are always such interesting people, Most Holy. And often missed. In fact I can remember a similar meal many years ago, when you were a new Blessed. And then-Father Orazio called us together, and Prism joined us. And dear little Sister Thena was there." He years an end off the bread to chew on as he smiles at the fond memories "And I am as I ever am, Most Holy. I have yet to be convinced to be anything but. Even the sad events of the Shrine are just another opportunity for us to show our devotion and serve the Gods. And in such things, who can find anything but pleasure?"

Making her way from the bedrooms within the Rectory, the newly elevated Archlector of Gloria, descends the stairs gracefully in glowing aeterna. "Good morning all." She dips her head in greeting before she settles down, taking note of all the faces around her as if to commit them to memory. She looks vibrant as ever, despite the early morning.

Oswyn spies Bhandn and his shiftiness on his own way to the buffet; he gently elbows the knight in the side. "Come. Eat," he tells him quietly, with a faint smile. Once he's arrived, he gets some porridge and fruit and sausages and griddlecakes. A bit of each. "Grandmaster," he greets Preson with a quick nod. "Archlector." That's to Wil.

1 Knight of the Temple, Trouble, the waddling raccoon, 1 Templar Knight guards, Luzio, the burly Mirrormask arrive, following Giada.

Something makes Aureth laugh again, and he almost snorts coffee out his nose, which would be so regrettable. He coughs, wheezes, and then clears his throat, scooping a spoonful of the porridge and waving it dramatically. "My gods," he says, "look, Preston owns a shirt."

Archimedes, the Grim Face of Owlish Judgement, Sir Alren, Scholar Duran, a perpetually put-upon assistant, 5 Templar Knight guards, Clementine arrive, following Bianca.

There's a profound blink when Preston addresses someone as Most Holy, and for a moment Bhandn has to look around for who it is. Any thoughts he has on the matter are promptly robbed from him by that nudge from the Archscholar, who sets the knight on a path to startlement, Bhandn giving a jolt before he stares at Oswyn for the span of five whole heartbeats before it clicks in his head exactly what was just said to him. That shiftyness to his eyes continues, but the invitation finally gets his feet moving, and it isn't long before some of the unease turns into a wanton rampage through the sausages in particular; Bhandn likes having protein for consumption, and he gets several of them to prove it. His eyes stray again to the Dominus at the laughing, before they continue on to where Preston is now being remarked upon. Bhandn himself showed up in rubicund with the tabard of the Knights of Solace atop it. He gives the Grandmaster of the Templars a stare as if he'd been ordered to do so, but says nothing.

"Given that I was a babe when I joined the Faith, Most Holy, I am not sure I can be said to own anything. Though I have the use of several shirts, I have this one and a linen one and...ah. I have /two/ shirts, Most Holy. This is Aeterna though, the Orthodoxy does have certain expectations of senior clergy to show the wealth of the Faith. Some do it with finest clothes and jewels, Most Holy, I do it with alaricite and diamondplate blades, and platinum rings." Preston answers before he then flicks at the cloth of his shirt "And, as stated, two shirts." The Templar tears off another piece of the bread, ready to consume it, but before he does he bows his head to Oswyn "Archscholar." in greeting before he gestures to Sister Wil and looks around the room "I think a few of you here know the new archlector of Gloria? So you can all worry a little less that I'm without someone at least ensuring I explain my actions."

Nevermind Oswyn, over there in his regular old common cloth, looking like a shopkeeper. He pops a grape into his mouth and chews.

Giada might be a little late arriving, but she's here and sans raccoon. There's a pause inside, looking about a little to find the food. From the looks of her, she might not have slept yet. "Most Holy, Carnifex, Blesseds, Sirs, and Distinguished Attendees, good morning," she greets after a stifled yawn. There's a bee line drawn towards the coffee. Repping the wealth of the Faith is an ensemble of starlight silk, mirrorsilver, and star iron for her bling bling.

Giada puts a cambric cloth pouch with filigree embroidery in a durable and elegant black snakeskin satchel.

The Dominus' comment has Wil glancing up from piling her plate with bread, sausages and cheese, clearly famished, to eye him with a suspicious eye. There's a quirk of her lips, a hint of wry amusement before she comments, "Someone's had an /early/ start, Most Holy." Her gaze drifts to Mayir at this. "I don't think they have cause to worry, Carnifex. You've done alright so far, the Compact is still intact." She says to the grandmaster, her features softening.

Shock white hair, sylph-like stature and crystalline gaze; all the hallmarks of Bianca, complete with simple aeterna and umbra robes of the Faith. The Legate of Creation enters the main hall of the Rectory slowly, escorted by her Templars and her assistants, moving as if she's taken several beatings lately and only just starting to recover. "Show off," she accuses Preston with a small wry smile, her expression placid. "Good morning, everyone. I hope there's still sausage left."

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Oswyn before departing.

Aureth shields his mouth with his hand, his eyes narrow and bright as he squints across the distance of the table at Preston. "I suppose it would indeed have been more correct to say that Preston is _wearing_ a shirt," he says, "and I suppose also that you would have talked about how you were naked when you came into this world, merely to be contrary." He chews a little on his knuckle, gaze gone abstracted. There's plenty of food to eat, he probably should not eat his own hand. Is anyone actually getting their first impression of him right now? Gods, he's going to regret that later. He sits up straight and smiles, dropping his hands to the table. "Yes!" he says. "I was up at dawn. I used to sleep more. There's nothing like getting news about a murder investigation in one's former family to make sure one is very alert." For some reason, the word alert sets him off again, and he hides his face, attempting to smother the laughter for the dignity of the Faith.

_Attempting_ is the key word here, not dignity. Definitely not dignity.

Oswyn squints in Bianca's direction, immediately offering a smile as he returns to his seat to tuck into some porridge.

"We were just catching up ahead of the breakfast, Blessed Wil!" says Mayir, doing his very best to dip his head respectfully towards the newest archlector as he tucks into his plate of griddle cakes. Mmm. Griddle cakes. "And yes. About the terrible murder of Cousin Asher." he shakes his head. "Just awful."

Looking at his plate, Bhandn rather quickly puts a few of those sausages back, reducing the amount from HEAPS to 'a few'. He quickly scoots out of the way of Bianca to move on to the cakes, where gluttony again threatens to rear its head, only he stops again after 'a few' before moving on to select a few samples of fruit. "Murder?" he blurts out, turning to look at Aureth and still having yet to take a seat with that hearty meal he picked out for himself. Nerves get words out of him every time, and today is no exception. So Bhandn ends up standing there stock still in armor, holding a plate in his hands, eyes bouncing between Aureth and Mayir and back.

A messenger arrives for Giada, and she nods at whatever it says. "On my way." She slips out quietly.

1 Knight of the Temple, Trouble, the waddling raccoon, 1 Templar Knight guards, Luzio, the burly Mirrormask leave, following Giada.

"Indeed," Aureth says. He even manages a straight face for this part, though he does look a bit sad about the fact that he forgot to put cream or sugar in his coffee, after he takes a sip. "I'm afraid cousin Asher was killed. A jeweler of some reputation, I believe? He married the little northern woman with all the babies." He thinks about it. "Wait, no, probably the babies came after," he says, and clears his throat, biting down hard on his lower lip to try to keep the snort from escaping him.

"It's good to meet you." Wil offers to Mayir with a respectful nod in return, pouring coffee into her cup. She's taking a bite of bread when the murder investigation is brought up, causing her to slow her chewing and glance between Aureth, Mayir and Bhandn cautiously. Swallowing, she sets the piece in her hand down and her voice is gentle. "Do you imagine it might have something to do with a certain journal he'd written a year or so ago. An acquaintance of mine told me of that and, well, I feared his life might be endangered afterward."

Oswyn frowns, squinting over at Aureth. "...What happened to him? By which I mean, how was he murdered?"

Bianca looks disturbed by the thought of a murder but it doesn't stop her from finding a plate to place select bits and bites on. There's a murmured, warm, "Congratulations, Archlector," to Wil as the Legate passes by on her way to find a place to rest her battered bones.

Aureth opens his mouth and then closes it, teeth clicking shut over the curve of his spoon as he looks to Wil. "Journal?" he says. "I must not have been keeping up with his writings." Oswyn's question does have a bit of a sobering effect (so to speak) on Aureth, and his shoulders draw back as he says, "I believe he was simply killed in the street. At least that's where the body was found, dead and rifled in the street. I believe the matter was simply closed by the guard and the inquisition with no further-- I mean, he was a Grayhope, you know, in the Lowers. The authorities find our deaths to be a matter of only passing interest, historically."

1 Templar Knight guards arrives, following Avary.

"A journal?" asks Mayir, his ears perking up a bit when Wil mentions something that raised alarm. "What journal? I don't remember a journal. Wait. Au -- the Most Holy already said that." He shakes his head, looking down at his griddle cakes, even as he waggles fingers at Oswyn surreptitiously. "And it may well have been a robbery. That would have been some of the best explanation, truly."

"I am sorry for the loss, Most Holy." Preston acknowledges with a bow of his head towards Aureth "The world can be harsh, and it feels of late that harshness comes a little too often. And often duty and the greater good prevents us from what we may wish." His lips twist a little as he thinks on his last words before he looks across to Bianca with a smile "Mother Bianca. Part of the duty of the Faith is to show off, so the people know their efforts are used, that they have something to strive towards. The Faith is the best of us."

"Oh, I never liked him particularly," Aureth assures Preston. This is what Aureth is like unfiltered. It's not that different from Aureth with a filter, honestly. "But he _was_ family."

Alakay, a cranky northwoods snow cat arrives, following Brannen.

Oswyn reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, squinting at his plate.

"It was an odd journal, hence why it captured my acquaintance's interest. He has a fascination with dreams and the like." Wil says, lifting a piece of cheese from her plate, lifting a hand to wave it at the air. "Not the sort of thing most would pay any sort of attention to - well except the dream seems to have described the events of the Reckoning, with a demon the size of a mountain and things aflame and turned to ash. And then adds that he woke to feel a diamond was hot." She takes a sip from her cup. "My friend keeps an eye on things to that effect and when he told me, I was concerned." Then she turns to Aureth and Mayir. "Of course, it could also have been a robbery gone wrong. Most would have let this pass them by."

"Oh for fuck's sake," expostulates the Dominus. He literally palms his face now. "In a white journal. Of course he did. Of course." Aureth laughs into his hand and for a moment it seems like the laughter might become something else, like screaming or crying, but instead, he gets ahold of himself, and takes a deep breath, and picks up his coffee cup. "Much becomes immediately clear, thank you, Blessed."

It might be clear to Aureth, but Bhandn has a look that says he's still trying to pick up the pieces of his thinking parts and put them back where they belong. The most he accomplishes is staring at Wil, and then after skitters away to go find a place to sit and stare at those sausages. The Dominus swearing right after Wil is done explaining has Bhandn jolt and look at Aureth with considerable surprise. Clearly he wasn't expecting that, even if Bhandn has heard (and said!) the phrase countless times in his life. "What's so bad about that?" he blurts out, still having yet to take a single bite of the considerable amount of food he snagged for himself.

Oswyn squints over at Bhandn and says, "It's not quite as bad as calling out the Traitor in the journals? But it does relate to a current situation." He picks up his plate and, after a brief stop for some tea, heads over for the table where Bhandn sits.

Oswyn has joined the a tall table for disciples.

When Aureth says that all is quite clear right now, Mayir squints at the Dominus like it is all a bit hazy for him at the moment. Which. Because. You know. But then Bhand speaks up with the question, and Mayir nods his head, tucking into his sausages.

"I'm sure most of us have ended up accidentally, or in ignorance or foolish overconfidence, challenged the darkness. Getting our names on delightful little lists. Or glowing in public places and getting noticed, by good and bad. It is hard to judge anyone too hard for that. Or I am growing soft perhaps." The ends torn, Preston can now get to the delightful bit of the bread - the soft fluffy interior - which he pulls out with his index finger "That said, our enemies have big feet. And when they stamp, they tend to get more than just the person who raised their ire. And they are less constrained by duty and values."

1 Templar Knight guards have been dismissed.

Aureth mashes his spoon around in his porridge, a scowl written deep into his expression. "The diamond was hot," he says. Or whines. It sounds kinda whiny. "Good fucking grief." It appears that even a good few solid hits of Haze are not enough to stop _this_, at least for him. It's remarkable what an adrenaline backwash can do for your system. "It's worse than calling out the Traitor in the journals, calling out the Traitor in the journals was a needless risk but it did not _reveal_ anything that ought to have been left buried. Fine. Fine. It just happened now. That's something. That's... something..." He stares off at the window for a long moment, and glares at the glimpse of the moon that is unconscionably visible in the daylight through the windowpane. YEAH MOON. YOU SPACE JERK. "I admit, until this moment," he says, suddenly looking baffled, "Carnifex, I never once considered Orichalcum's shoe size."

Oswyn considers for a moment, then says, "I suppose the diamond part was worse." Then he speaks quietly with Bhandn at the table.

Wil nods at Preston's words, taking another sip of coffee, her features downcast. "Diamonds heating up after dreams of the Reckoning. Too many strange things have happened for me to not keep that in mind and I imagine malevolent forces would too. Whether he has it or not." Her gaze drifts to the window. "I'm glad to say I have never come across him personally but until I do, sure we'll say he has notably large feet."

Bhandn was just about to eat when Oswyn poses that question at the table. Bhandn stops, bit of sausage halfway to his mouth, and he's left there with his mouth hanging open staring at the Archscholar. There's a small clatter as utensil and food strike the plate from being dropped, and then Bhandn is slowly shaking his head. He doesn't reply with words to what Oswyn has to say.

"You know what they say about Metallic Traitors with big feet," says Mayir, speaking up from where he is seated in the room. "Big Metallic shoes." He shakes his head sadly at that simple fact. Evil knows few bounds. "But. Mmm. Not great. Not great. Well. If it was the journal article, then patience on waiting for a year later before almost everyone forgot about it." He nods to Wil. "Good memory, Archlector."

Bianca is summoned by one of her attendants and slips quietly away, taking her sausage with her.

Archimedes, the Grim Face of Owlish Judgement, Sir Alren, Scholar Duran, a perpetually put-upon assistant, 5 Templar Knight guards, Clementine leave, following Bianca.

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven arrives, delivering a message to Oswyn before departing.

"A man who would betray his father and his people for power, and would seek to control the reflections of the Gods to elevate himself to their power? If nothing else, his ambition certainly matches the metaphorical shoe size." Preston reasons, a little forlorn tone - though that might be because he has now hit that sad part of the bread where you've gotten to and consume all the softness and have just crusts left. The sadness of crusty tomorrows. "He is quite keen to lure me into a fight, part of me is a little curious how that would go. I've taken down a small fraction of a Herald, but I must admit a whole one sounds a little daunting. Do you imagine they have their own breakfasts? The Knights of the Swarm and the Knights of the Silence and all of those, and Orichalcum and Reveka Tyde? Get together to just be....I don't know. Evil together? Maybe some of their seeming mockery of our own rituals is an attempt to cling onto what they knew when they were alive, a desperate act of weakness rather than one of taunting strength?" His shoulders lift, Preston shrugging away the idea "Just a thought."

There is a soft click as the door to the rectory opens and a Knight of Solace enters the room. There is another clacking sound as he moves closer to the table kneeling down in front of the Most Holy, or across the table. After several seconds and a signal to take a seat, he stands up with a quick salute towards Sir Bhandn. "I apologize for being late. A young lady was looking for her baby brother. Long story short: They are happy again." Then he sits at the table and directs his attention towards the current conversation.

Something that Preston says catches Bhandn's ear from where he's now thoroughly engrossed in both eating and listening to the Archscholar. "You shouldn't call any of them knights," he calls out to the Templar Grandmaster and Carnifex. "They're /honorless/ butchers only."

Moonsilver, the pale-feathered raven arrives, delivering a message to Oswyn before departing.

Preston is given a stern look by Wil, all trace of warmth disappearing. "It wouldn't be a fight." Is all she can say, before shaking her head. "More often than not, they don't get along. The fractals are an anomaly due to writs but often, they hate eachother and have differing views on how to corrupt the Dream. They are all malevolent, however, regardless of the differences." A nod to Bhandn at this. "It's a corruption of knighthood." She shudders at this, digging into her food again. "Oh, that's good news." Her features perk up at Brannen's words.

Avary drifts in looking hangry. Even her Templar guard is practicing social distancing. She grabs a plate and starts visiting each platter in turn, loading her up with pastries and sausage. Is it possible for that woman to eat that huge mound of food? We're about to find out.

"Mmm, I imagine that those among them who remain human are human indeed," Aureth answers, "eaters of breakfast, players of parlor games. Suffer from anger, love, sickness, chores, traffic, everything, just like anybody else. There is a danger indeed in assuming otherwise. _Evil_ as a nebulous darkness, unknowable by us, that's not a real thing. People who are bound by writ are just people who made a choice, once, they cannot unmake." He drains off the last of his coffee. "Gods, why does coffee without sugar even _exist_?" he mourns.

Oswyn gets a messenger, and writes a reply to send off, and gets another messenger. He reads it, frowns a little, and squint at the others.

Bhandn mutters, "... is why ... don't ... coffee."

"At times, Blessed, 'Can't get along' describes the Faith. Blessed Sina, may her soul find its way back to us, was convinced I was going to be the next Alor, I think. It is to my shame that I could not convince her otherwise before she was killed." Preston observes wrly to Wil, though there does seem to be genuine sorrow at the mention of Sina's passing "And, whether they are knights or not, their groups are known as the Knights of the Swarm and such, Sir Bhandn. Imagine how much longer already dull conversations with me would be if I had to say 'Those who are known as the Knights of the Swarm but who are, in fact, nothing more than cads and tricksters who misuse the honourable concept of knighthood'?" Preston points out, lifting his eyes to the Solace knight and matching the friendly look with a warm smile "And, well. I've known bad knights and evil men even without the Abyss. I do almost hope Waldo is some tool of one of them, it would hurt for Orazio to have been brought down by just some inferior man after something as mundane as temporary power."

Without /obvious/ judgment, Brannen watches the Archlector of Sentinel takes her fair share from various platters. There is a hint of interest or amusement and he can be spied investigating the food on the table. All in due distance, naturally.

Oswyn squints and nods over in Brannen's direction when he notices the man, though it's a bit absent.

Avary squints back at Oswyn as she sits at the table. She looks at Brannen. She moves her plate a little closer to her chest. "Get your own..." she selects a pastry and eats.

"Good morning, Archlector," Oswyn tells Avary, sitting up straighter and easing up on his squint.

There's a decidedly flat expression that Bhandn has for Preston, to show how highly he regards that response. "It's an insult to all of us who bear knighthood that we associate servants of ... /malign/ forces as anything like us," the older Knight of Solace insists, peering at Preston with slightly narrowed eyes, while also somehow managing to find the time to scarf down food from his plate. Bhandn is going at the sausages with a will, chewing rapidly and swallowing as though he were in a competition to see how quickly he can devour what he got for himself. "That would be like me calling some abyssal thing a Templar of some sort. I highly doubt you and yours would appreciate the nomenclature."

"The fact that some reach outside themselves for evil and some find their flaws entirely within themselves does not change the fact that theirs is the work of the abyss, my dear, with or without that capital letter. Liturgically speaking, whether Waldo prays to demons or merely dedicates himself to Ruin in an accidental fashion, the evil impacts of his choices and deeds remain, and strengthen the Ruin accordingly, for example." Aureth's spoon scrapes the bottom of his bowl. He looks sadly down at it. How did he eat all that porridge already? Dang. "Blights of the Swarm? Frights of the Swarm? Kites of the Swarm?" He's definitely helping right now.

There is a blush as Brannen reacts to Avary's statement. "Blessed, I apologize. I did not mean to..." He decides to retreat from this and picks up his plate, likewise getting food from the prepared dishes. He avoids looking towards the Archlector of Sentinel during this journey to gastronomic bliss, and soon returns to his seat with some vegetables and bread.

"High as Kites of the Swarm," pipes up Mayir, from his spot, giggling a little bit at his own humor. "But it's not all evil, you know. Like, if someone breaks a contract, that helps Ruin, but what if it was a really unjust contract and was oppressing the person? Is that Evil? Just because it helps the Reflections doesn't mean it's //evil//. Always. Maybe usually."

"Mites of the Swarm..." Avary inputs between bites with a full mouth. Her expression is beginning to soften as she's sated by food glorious food.

"Well, at the very least, they can make better decisions in the next turn of the Wheel. The Queen blesses us with a clean slate, so that past ills can be amended. No writs make it through the cycle." Wil says, on a more optimistic note, giving everyone on the table meaningful looks. "I've learned that they have a tendency to imitate much of the same rankings and titles of those on the primal plane." She adds to Bhandn's point, frowning. "They -want- the association as a sort of trick I think." She doesn't suppress a smile entirely at the suggestions of new names. "I will point out however..." And here she decides to be /less/ optimistic. "That the Eater had a habit of engulfing people as a response to being referred to with funny names."

"The answer is to break any unholy alliances and forge contracts that are pleasing to the gods." Wil adds on to Mayir's point, her features serious. "Many things that happen in the primal world can help the Reflections, the job of the Faithful is to counter that at every turn."

"Most Godsworn Templars are knights, Sir Bhandn. The full title is Holy Knights of the Temple. And yet, not all are knights, and we use the name Templar still for our unknighted brothers. Because it is how it is. Sadly I suspect some of them even were knights, before they became what they are. Even one of Emerald's most trusted playthings was once an Aspect of Gloria. I find them reminders of the importance of always being wary of our path, to take no shortcuts to our destination nor to lose sight of it, but I would never refer to one of them as a knight still." Preston reasons out his thinking for Bhandn before he chews on the last of his bread roll. Mahir's point and Wil's response does bring a small chuckle "Ah, we have a similar question often posed as a thought experiment to young knights. What if you give your oath to a man who proves to be evil? Do you break the oath and do evil, or hold it and do evil? The answer is probably to break the oath, kill the man, and hope in doing so you die so your own dishonour is paid for."

Oswyn finishes his breakfast, leaning back in his chair with furrowed brow. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, which he sets aside, and remains silent for now. Listening.

Avary sighs at Prestons question as she mercilessly tears the guts out of a piece of soft bread, leaving the hardened outer crust for the compost bin. "Don't you people ever talk about the weather or other banalities? I haven't even had coffee yet." Seriously. She stands and reaches for the aforementioned coffee. Looks around. "Where is the sugar?"

Ramona says, "- Did I - uh - miss all the pan-cakes? Sorry!" That question's from Ramona, who has just remembered how over-committed her time was today. Thankfully, there's no longer a writing quill caught in her hair any more - it's the stabby kind. She offers a respectful dip head of her head for all, and starts shuffling toward the sweets with single-minded purpose: feed."

Brannen eats in silence. He takes small bites and chews on them for a considerable amount of time, attentively listening to the conversation, but not actively engaging in it. He looks at each of the speakers when they talk, and his chewing almost seems as if he was not chewing on the sausage, the cake, or that ominous piece of cheese, but on their thoughts instead. Nothing in his behavior suggests his stomach might become upset due to these, as of yet.

"That's what the offer of penance is for." Wil's easy response to Preston, sweeping up the last of her sausage. "It doesn't need to end in death - look at the Silent Reflections. They live on." Her sharp brow rises at Avary's words. "Banalities? If only that were the case. There's currently a moon out during the day time." A nod to the window.

Oswyn starts to get up out of his seat. "I really don't like that the moon is out in the daytime," he remarks. "But I'm not sure what can be done about it."

Even the weather refuses to offer Avary respite from work. She sighs again, still lifting baskets and moving pitchers and condiments around to look for sugar.

Bhandn just picks at his food now, his ravenous appetite of moments ago replaced by a great deal of grumbling to himself, the words low in volume and accompanied by him playing with his food before taking bites. His glances at Preston identify the source of that grumbling, but Bhandn doesn't engage the Templar Grandmaster further in vocal conversation. Instead, Bhandn sits there and stews. Even the topic changing to the now-everpresent moon doesn't seem to shake him from his mumblings.

Ramona has joined the a tall table for disciples.

Oswyn has left the a tall table for disciples.

Brannen wakes from his ruminations and lifts a small pot close to him, at the table. He raises it and gently tilts it towards Avary, offering it to the searching Archlector. "Here you go, Blessed." He bows his head slightly.

With her plate piled as high - and for its height, there's brilliant structural integrity - as Ramona can manage of griddle-cakes, she settles at a table. Pauses, makes a face - "Moon looks weird," a mutter of agreement, and she starts to eat with that single-minded focus returning. There's a pause, reaching to point at the sugar that Brannen's discovered, "Saved the day."

"There's not much to do for now but focus on the Traitor and his minions." Wil says with a regretful look before she too rises. "I had best attend to the Shrine. Thank you so much for holding this, Most Holy. It's nice to get to know one another." She looks at Brannen for a moment, a smile on her lips when he finds the sugar. "Hopefully I have plenty of opportunities to speak to you all at later dates." And with that she makes her way out.

"Oh what kind Providence!" Avary takes the sugar with thanks from Brannen. She proceeds to scoop it into a mug and have a little coffee with it.

As Wil turns to leave, Brannen rises from his chair and kneels down. Not as long as before the Dominus at his entrance, but as long as is due.

Oswyn nods as well, adjusting the hang of his satchel via its strap. "I'd best be moving on as well. Have a good day, everyone, and take care." He offers a distracted smile and eases toward the door.

"So..." Avary leans in. She upnods to Oswyn's departure and scans her eyes around the table. "What do you think the missive he got said?"

As the small gaggle make their move, Preston lets out a small sigh and brushes the bread crumbs from his hands "I make it a habit never to inquire too far into the world of the Archive, Blessed Avary." He answers before gesturing back towards the Knights Barracks "If you will all excuse me, I should go and get ready for the rest of the day. May the Gods light each of your paths."

"I don't - I don't know. Can we ask him?" Asked in a voice that's on the loud side of - pretending to be conspiratorial - and Ramona takes another massive bite to consider what the contents of a mystery missive could BE.

There's only a grunt from Sir Bhandn to Avary's question. He doesn't have any special insights to share, it seems. He's also still picking at his food instead of consuming it whole. "Maybe someone else will want this," he finally says aloud, and promptly pulls out a cloth from a pouch at his waist where he starts to wrap up those sausages and cakes as much as he can before stuffing it all back into that pouch. His mood has soured a touch, it seems, because Bhandn rises with the apparent mind to leave, though he does offer a directionless bow to the room as a whole.

Brannen takes another bite from his sausage. He appears uncertain as to what to say at first, then replies to Avary, "I do not think this is for us to know, Blessed."

"We can ask...take down a missive..." Avary motions over a Messenger of the Faith. She clears her throat and becomes austere and speaks with great clarity, "To Archlector Oswyn: To prevent wild rumormongering as to the possible contents of the secret message you received whilst at breakfast, I entreat you to please give us some insight as to its content, even if just a taste. Signed, Your Friends with the Pastries."

Pete, a Grayhope account manager have been dismissed.

Bhandn has left the a tall table for disciples.

Aendal, a jumpy and introverted bookworm leaves, following Bhandn.

Ramona rustles - mostly all robes and a plate with a perfect half-moon tower left of pancakes, for later. She slips to stand, holding the plate in. "Oh? Was it a secret message. Oh - so - maybe not. Although, if it were super important - maybe. Maybe not. This feels like an ethical dilemma and I am not properly equipped." She looks disappointed with herself. "I'll return the plate. I promise."

Brannen looks shocked as Avary dictates her missive. It is uncertain whether he is appalled at the idea of receiving a glimpse at the Archscholar's missives or as a consequence of the /Archlector/ dictating her secret-not-so-secret missive publicly. He grabs his fork and starts jamming into the sausage. Who absolutely does not deserve to become the object of crude violence.

"Sir - sir -- I fear for the safety of your breakfast meat," Ramona mutters toward Brannen.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Avary before departing.

Guy, a hunting kestrel, Balian, a Templar squire, 1 Templar Knight guards, Direhorn Jeffers, a barded Templar wargoat leave, following Preston.

Avary wipes her mouth with a dainty pat pat pat of napkin and with her free hand receives a missive. She unfolds and reads with an inscrutible mien. She folds it back and tucks it away. She looks up to Ramona and then Brannen just challenging them to ask her what it says. She sips coffee.

Splat, a pudgy calico cat, 1 Templar Knight guards arrive, following Wylla.

Brannen notices the messenger, watches him almost like a predator move to Avary, and hand the missive to her. She looks at him, and Brannen looks back. But she does not speak, and so he looks back at his plate. "I apologize", he offers to Ramona, "I got carried away."

That last bit of advice offered, with a long - measured look at Archlector Avary, and then back at the sausage. Lastly - to Brannen. Ramona smiles and shakes her head from side-to-side. "No need to apologize to me, Sir." With a nod - a gesture toward the knight's plate. "I am not the sausage."

Wylla arrives looking quite chagrined and literally covered in paint. Upon close inspection ... the paint is actually handprints. Many small, colorful handprints, mostly on the lower portion of her robes althought her backside seems to have a collection as well. Vermillion, ocre, veridian, soot, umber, blue ... many, many different colors. "I'm sorry I'm late-" she babbles as she arrives at a quick clip, the plump, pink-cheeked Archlector bracing herself for the scolding.

Trouble, the waddling raccoon arrives, delivering a message to Ramona before departing.

Impressive self control. It is noted by Sentinel's Archlector - who also doesn't scold Wylla. She lightly clears her throat. "Archlector Oswyn has requested we engage in wild rumormongering about the missive and I am to send him the best guesses."

Avary also tosses a bit of food to the raccoon.

Wylla takes a seat quickly, scooting her chair in. "Missive?" She's looking about for biscuits and sausage and tea. Her hands work on filling plate and cup. "Wha' mishivve?" she asks around a bite of muffin.

"Blessed Avary, she has the sugar - and if there's honey - well, it's around here. There's also --" well, Ramona will assist, and at least make sure that the Archlector of Jayus (she thinks) at least has a cup of tea. "They were talking about the weird moon. Maybe it has to do with that."

Brannen looks up, mildly surprised. "I am glad that the Archscholar has such a great sense of humor", he replies delicately. He had placed a piece of the massacred sausage into his mouth and gulped down. He greets the newly arrived Archlector. "Thank you for joining us, Archlector." He looks at the colorful robe and a smile sneaks into his face - but he says nothing. Even as she talks while eating, he says nothing. So much self-control. "Blessed Avary just suggested we would imagine things the Archscholar might have received in a recent missive." He points at the missive close to Avary before continuing, "and she would send him the best suggestion."

"The moon sent the Archscholar a letter," Ramona supposes, because it's the most outlandish idea she can come up with.

"The Archscholar became noticably dismayed by a missive and then left," Avary explains to Wylla. "Sister Ramona and Sir Brennan rather not speculate as to the contents. But Oswyn has personally requested we do so and send him our best guesses." She hands over the sugar. "I think perhaps an Almanac for 1010 has gone missing."

Wylla seems to have missed quite a lot, but with tea in hand and a bright, grateful smile to everyone for -not- teasing her for her state of mess, she is listening quite attentively. "Oh .... er. Perhaps a new series of books has been published, that he enjoys? A research paper published on a topic of interest?" She sips her tea. "Perhaps something less professional and more salacious?" She waggles her eyebrows. But oh, new information. "Dismay?" She frowns. "Well. Bad news is far too easy to guess, these days," she says, her bright expression dimming a little.

Wylla hums softly, adding, "I keep painting the moon. Not on purpose."

Brannen smiles at Wylla, not in the mood to tease at all. "Blessed, do you also paint with children? They do seem to take a liking to ... decorating your robe." The statement is accompanied by a gentle smile, good-natured, without ill intent. "Why do paint the moon accidentally?" he asks, curious.

Ramona takes a moment to crane her neck, narrow her gaze studiously, and regard Archlector Wylla's robe. Then her own. She smiles, "He asked an interesting question. I like the handprints. It's pretty. I also need to excuse myself - I need to write a letter and test out the potato crossbow for the - hmm -- it's not working. I'll say that."

Avary takes notes.. "Moon sent it....." she murmurs, "...Wylla thinks from spurned lover..... Missing almanac...." She looks at Brannen...then to Wylla and stops writing. "Perplexing, Blessed Wylla. What does it seem to portend?"

Wylla shakes her head at the others. "The moon? It's... mostly it just shows up in my paintings. I never remember putting it there. I couldn't tell you what it means." She finishes a scone. "Oh the-" She looks down at herself. "Well, there were children at the Shrine, so there was an impromptu lesson on color theory. By the end of it, I told them they cold decorate my robe. My backside is a very ample canvas, I'm told. Though they didn't use that wording."

"I like the thought! Teaching children these blessings of Jayus is surely easier than teaching apprentices to work harder." Brannen agrees enthusiastically. "And it makes for a merry symbol of the Prince of Stories." What once was a stealthy smile has become an admiring beam.

Ramona twists out of her seat, again, and she nods once. Affirming a point. "You're soft, Blessed Wylla, and very ample - using your words, beg your pardon." She rises from the bench, bringing her leftovers along, caught up in her thoughts. Muttering, "Color theory..."

Ramona has left the a tall table for disciples.

Avary tries to hide the spit take back into her mug after Ramona calls Wylla 'soft and ample' before bolting. She dabs at her mouth corners with a napkin and rises. "Well then...." she bows to whoever is left and leaves.

Wylla doesn't look offended at all. "I am quite soft and ample," she agrees. "It's quite a comfortable state. -And-," she finishes her tea, "I get the best hugs."

Like the previous attendees, Brannen raises from his chair next. "I apologize, but I will have to return to my duties again. It has been a pleasure." He turns to Aureth and kneels down: "Thanks for the invitation, Most Holy." He leaves soon thereafter.

Alakay, a cranky northwoods snow cat leaves, following Brannen.

"It remains to be seen..." Avary says about the hugs as she begins to don her workaday Sentinel face. She gives the hall one last look before she drifts out.

1 Templar Knight guards leaves, following Avary.

Splat, a pudgy calico cat, 1 Templar Knight guards leave, following Wylla.

Pete, a Grayhope account manager leaves, following Mayir.