RP:Guyon speaks to Keturah
The Fold Council Chamber
Keturah still had the whicker basket draped over the crook of her arm as she shouldered her way into the council chambers. The petite druidess sighed, gauze bound hand moving to pat the herbs she had been plucking. It nowhere near replaced the amount she had taken from the healer's guild, though she meant to eventually replenish the stores she borrowed so heavily from. Holding the door open to allow the larger form of her centaur guest through, the dark featured woman tilted her head upward to look over him. "It is my pleasure to be meeting you," she grinned, sing-song accent trailing pleasantly over her speech. "I apologize for pushing you inside.~" Once Guyon was entirely in the room, the druidess moved to close the door behind her, and the basket was placed on a safe spot near the wall. Moss-gaze flickered briefly toward her own seat at the table of the Round, before she decided against claiming it. After all, she had not a seat large enough to offer the other. Dusting her hands off against one another, then running them across the front of her desert robes, the woman canted her curly head in the male's direction. "I am Keturah Ka'anch, yes?"
Guyon walks slowly into the room, his eyes casting slowly over its contents, though pausing slightly at the large bookcases nestled up against the walls: books were rare in the desert as the climate was too harsh. Tilting his head to the left, Guyon’s dark brown mane falls slightly, brushing over his shoulder. Recanting his head, the centaur turns his human torso to face Keturah. “No need t’apolog’ze,” he says with a smile, his tail flicking away imaginary flies from his equine body. Guyon’s eyes trail over Keturah briefly, taking stock of the way she carried herself and her comfort levels around him- her glance towards a chair was dually noted. Silently, Guyon nods towards a chair “Don’t mind meh, yeh can sit down if yeh wish. I’m quite alr’ght with’ut one.” Guyon’s hind legs lift and drop on the floor, a dull clicking sound echoing in the room- rotating his equine body so that it was aligned with his torso, extends his hand towards Keturah; finally taking note of her desert attire. “Meh name ‘s Guyon. Of the tribe of Mammon.” Canting his head slightly, the centaur gestures to her clothing. “Yeh live in teh desert jus’ south o’ ‘ere? Or p’rhaps th’re is another tha’ I’m not ‘ware of?”
Keturah smiled softly. It was the same type of inscrutable smile she reserved for patients, and the one that was steadily becoming the default expression for her face. Where her features might have been harder to read for it, the woman's eyes betrayed her. Her soul danced for the mention of her homeland, then dimmed at the memories it brought. The forests had softened her far too much. All the same, the woman nodded, inked hands lifted to run through her curls. "I am. From the southern parts of the desert." A practiced wink was dropped in the centaur's direction; a bad habit picked up from the rogues of Rynvale. Yet she meant nothing of it. "I would assume you are as well, Guyon-ji?" Slipper'ed feet carried her to the table, a glance tossed back over her shoulder so that her eyes might rest upon him. "You are as well?" Everything about her- except, she supposed, her demeanor of late- bespoke of her own desert ancestry. From her lacking height to her darkened features and musical inflection, the woman was one of the sands. Shaking herself from the reverie that thoughts of her homeland put her into, the brunette flashed a pearly white smile. She did not sit, though a compromise was made with a slight lean against her chair. "Ah.. but I would lose myself. You are interested in the clan?" Moss-gaze wandered over him thoughtfully, and the druidess canted her head. "You ran into the right person, I believe~."
Guyon smiles warmly at the talk of the desert; his home never failed to bring the centaur great comfort, though also pain. The smile is tainted now, his eyes darkening with the thought- nearly a mirror of the druidess’ own self-reflections. “O’ aye. I grew up far fro’ ‘ere, but after a ‘ard time, I ‘ad teh leave meh home desert of Faul’n ‘nd I found mehself ‘ere.” The centaur’s ears perk up at the mention of the southern portion of the Nameless Desert. “The south eh? I ‘ave recently built mehself a kind o’ ‘ome in teh south o’ the desert. T’is peaceful down there, nawt a lot o’ travelers dare teh go down tha’ far.” Guyon stops talking for a moment, his gaze flitting about the room once more, taking note of the weapons that adorn the walls – they existed in perfect harmony with the learning that was just as evident, courtesy of the bookcases. At the redirection to business, Guyon nods, his equine body shivers slightly, merely a reaction to the centaur’s action. “Aye, I ran inteh one o’ your members earlier in the day. By teh name o’ Kenneth. He agreed teh take me on as an appr’ntice ‘nd he mentioned the clan. He raised my inter’st so teh speak.” Shifting his weight from his hind legs to his front, then back again, Guyon nods “I b’lieve I did. Though I ‘ave no intent’on o’ asking fer entry with’ut proof o’ meh skill ‘nd fealty.”
Keturah twisted her fingers idly through her braid, slight frame leaning against lightly against her chair. The heavy seat hardly moved with her weight, and so she leaned against it a little more, hands dropping to rest upon the wooden arm of it. "The southern deserts are wonderful. Very few travelers, yes, but the merchants who do make the journey to gather supplies are usually as well rewarded as we can offer." If not with gold then at least with shelter from the ferocity of landscape. The smile grew just a touch, before fading back to its more neutral state. At the mention of her clansman, Keturah did perk up, if only to have a spark of wry humor glitter across her eyes. "The pup?" The name for him, regardless of the druid's humanity, would never fade, it seemed. Earthen toned gaze drifted to seek those of the centaur and the brunette tilted her head forward in a nod. "Chal.." the foreign word slipped easily from her lips, and the curled upward in a warmer fashion. "And what is your interest in the clan?" Dark curls loosened ever so slightly from the braid with the occasional nodding, and in turn her hands lifted to brush jet tresses away. "You know much of us? Or.." She trailed off, allowing a brief moment of silence to hover between them. "Why do you wish to join our ranks?" A simple enough question, most of the time. Sooty lashes half-closed above the druid's smile.
Guyon nods in quiet agreement with the mention of the merchants, though a granted few had ever made it to the centaur’s home tribe. Guyon however, is caught off-guard by the word “pup”; a small creature did not come to mind with the name of Kenneth- rather a large hunk of earth hovering in the air is what occupied the centaur’s mind. Guyon’s eyes lifted to meet the druidess’ gaze, his own glance unflinching. The question is well received; Guyon had prepared himself for such a one and gave the simplest, most direct answer. “My knowl’dge of yer clan rests on one fact as does my int’rst. Kenneth said tha’ yeh were good. In a land like this’ne, th’re’s nauwght but evil and teh few good I ‘ave seen ref’se teh stand ‘gainst it.” Guyon pauses, allowing his words whatever effect they may have on Keturah. A quick breath, inaudible at best, before the centaur continued. “Teh problem ‘ere- rather teh probl’m e’erywhere- is tha’ we creatures ‘re s’multaneously worms ‘nd gods. And too many o’ them desire teh be gods rather than raise themselves fro’ teh dirt. ‘Nd those tha’ try end up bad. Rotten wit’ teh wrong desires." Guyon was firm in the statement, it obviously was a great truth to the centaur.
Keturah had not broken eye contact after her question. She had asked it many times, with many recruits and very rarely was it ever that they gave a remarkably varying answer from one to the next. Seeking a family, meaning to balance the world, to be a part of something 'good'. She had heard it all many times. The centaur's answer seemed none to different, and indeed, it was for the very same reason that the desert-born herself had come into the ranks of the Fold. However, the manner in which he conveyed his thoughts into words, the metaphor- that garnered her attention. Her peaked interest did not quite touch her face, though her eyes betrayed the attentiveness where her placid features would not. "That is very true." She nodded her accession. Acting as support in her lean, her hands had found anchor on the chair's arm, behind her. An observant one might have noticed the subtle hints of body language; the brief tensing of her hands against the polished wood, the proud tilt that momentarily affected her jaw. She loved the Fold, and so far, she did not think the recruit was doing a poor job of his interview. Quite the contrary.. her lips parted slightly, a quiet utterance made in her native tongue before she returned to Common. "You understand then, that this is a militant organization?" Moss-gaze was searching again. "Those 'Rotten' ones, the ones who mean to do harm to the lands.. we oppose them, we must be willing to fight alongside our brothers and sisters to keep Hollow safe." She paused. "There are leaders, and orders that will be given and one must learn to follow. You would risk your life for those within the clan and those who cannot protect themselves. How does that sit with you, Guyon-ji?"
Guyons’s posture is rigid- his face and body at a complete alert- now was not the time to falter or appear uncertain; however, the centaur was far from it as his gaze steeled into a hard green- his hooves digging into the floor slightly. “We ‘re given teh power teh raise ourselves, but only so far. ‘Nd teh o’er step those bounds is unf’rgivable and necessitates punishment. T’would be a shame if those who ‘re truly good sat idle while teh rotten in this land take contr’l.” Guyon’s eyes scour the woman before him, reading the fierce loyalty in her eyes and found himself intrigued. Guyon was only searching to right the wrongs of the land, to ensure that goodness- the right type of goodness- won out. His tail flicked once- a hard action as it scathed the back of his flanks; Guyon could not hide his naturally aggressive nature. “Jus’ as ants cannawt live without the’r queen, a family without it’s progeny, so too can a clan nawt survive without it’s le’ders. Yeh will find meh willing ‘nd apt teh take orders; just as yeh will find meh first teh fight ‘nd die for th’se tha’ need it most. I ‘ave met Death face teh face ‘nd I do nawt fear him.”
Keturah liked him. She could not show it, no. After all, until it was discussed with the other members of the Round, the druidess had to be objective. She could pass on her recommendation though, and the desert-born was fast deciding that she would do exactly that. The smile grew, if only barely and if only momentarily. "You have skills in combat," an observation, more than a question, though the woman canted her head to study him curiously. "You said earlier that you would not be opposed to proving your adeptness?" Her hands tensed once more about the surface the curled around, before Ket pushed herself away from the chair altogether. A mere one pace lessened the distance between them, before the brunette took on a dignified stance before him. Her fingers laced before her stomach, green gaze narrowed on his face. Shoulders were straightened, as if she could make up for the lack of inches she possessed with perfect posture. It was only to make herself seem less young. Once more her head tilted, ever so slightly to one side. "It is not uncommon to have battle skills judged, upon entry to the clan." With a velvety chuckle, the druidess nodded. "Chal.. but.. I do believe that is all that I usually ask. Have you questions for me, Guyon-ji?"
Guyon gives a single, hard nod at the comment. Guyon lifts his arms and places his hands deftly at his natural waist, his biceps flexing gently in the light- it wasn’t an aggressive move, nor one designed to impress her- rather it was just a way to keep his energies occupied. The centaur shakes his head “I would ‘ave no probl’m wit’ proving it in combat.” A smile breaks out across the centaur’s face, the first one of the evening and it is brief. Guyon had distaste for showing emotion other than a stoic one in a serious setting, and this was indeed a serious one. But the smile would be easy to notice nonetheless. The pace lessened between the two was noted by Guyon with the downward tilting of his head. This woman had no fear and he appreciated that; looking her full in the face, Guyon shakes his head once more. “I only ‘ave one question fer yeh.” Pausing for a moment, the centaur allows the forewarning to hang between them; a short expulsion of breath and Guyon continues. “’Ow ‘ave yeh, as a clan, dealt with teh deaths o’ yer members? Sur’ly some ‘ave died- as do all who fight fer teh good.” Guyon allows his arms to fall to his sides, though is fingers remain occupied; they thrum gently over the straps of a large gunny sack, its contents are either heavy, or resist to movement due to the inertia of gravity.
Keturah :: "Only one?" The melodic murmur was spoken under a single breath, Keturah's gaze lifted again to seek the centaur's. It was that question, though, that the druidess had not been asked before. Moss-green eyes darkened, despite the enigmatic little smile that remained upon her lips without even the faintest twitch downward. She had been present for deaths in the clan, only recently she had treated wounded and seen to the fatalities of an attack on the compound itself. Eyes did not break away from Guyon, though her mind's eye was upon the portraits that hung within the room they occupied. Leaders before, keeping watch over the council chambers as they must have in life. She knew none of them. Still, for her at least, their presence was heavy; just as the presences of those soldiers who she had fought alongside in battle were heavy. "We hold memorials." She answered, simply. Her following words, however, came without even a bat of her lengthy lashes. "We remember them, and we honor their deaths, and we continue to fight for the values they gave their lives to uphold. Their deaths are not to be in vain, yes?" For the first time in a long while, that long crushed vice of biting into her bottom lip was reawakened, and she shook her head slowly. "We remember them."
Guyon crosses his arms over his chest. “I ‘ave no doubt tha’ yeh are a noble clan, tha’ yer members are yer family, yer progeny, yer ancestry. What is o’ import teh me is tha’ yeh ne’er forget who died with yeh, for yeh. Tha’ teh memory o’ teh truly good ‘re ne’er f’rgotten ‘nd more import’ntly, tha’ they don’t die fer nauwght.” The ferocity of the statement was unmistakable; a fire raged in the centaur’s eyes and he made no motion to hide it. The question stemmed from Guyon’s past, his family, and the terrible fate they met. The centaur had made a pact with the only other survivor from the tribe; that they would fight and never forget. “Only teh good need teh remain o’ people, e’en if they started off bad. Those tha’ ‘ave crossed to teh other plane without fear know wha’ good really is. Tis our job teh make sure tha’ e’eryone else knows it too.” Guyon lifts his head slightly, pride unmistakable in his tone- even the mention of the collective ‘our’ was intentional- proved that Guyon felt a kindred interest to this clan- however new he may be to its circle.
Keturah 's smile returned once more, after her tongue had appeared between her lips to wet the sore spot she had left by gnawing them. A terrible habit. She watched him with interest, especially the strength she found burning within his own eyes. In the end, the desert-born nodded her silent agreement, moss-gaze glittering with her own feelings for her clan."Ah.. It seems the oil is burning away in the lanterns," she noted softly. Fingers unlacing, the druidess turned gracefully on her heel, taking short strides to one of the bookshelves. It took her only a moment to recover the tome she wanted, and from it, she produced the envelope that was given to all recruits. Brushing her fingers across the papered surface, the woman turned back to the male, walking toward him with the envelope extended in offering. "Tis just the final thing, Guyon-ji. Inside are papers to be filled out, and an enchanted badge." She grinned wryly. "Easy questions.. the enchantment is just to ensure no lie is told." A preventative measure against allowing spies into the Fold. "To fill them out at your earliest convenience and return them.. In the meantime, I would speak to the other Round members regarding your entry, no?"
Guyon closes his eyes for a few moments, relishing the smell of the coming darkness. "O' aye, tis late indeed." Smiling gently as the woman turns her back, the centaur extends his hand, grasping the envelope. "Easy questions eh?" Guyon nods, "They'll be done as soon as I am able. 'Nd it'd be 'ppreciated if yeh would." Guyon offers the woman a genuine smile "T'was good teh meet yeh. If yeh decide teh go bac' to teh desert, yer welcome teh stay at meh 'ome. Just east o' teh road to teh palace."
Keturah :: There was a truer smile gracing her features as the petite druidess looked up at him. "I would be honored, no?" Walking back to the wall to retrieve her basket, Keturah turned to open the door. "A pleasure to meet you as well, I would escort you to the gates if you like." Whether the centaur took her up on her offer or not would decide if Keturah followed him to the gates or returned to her clinic to dry her herbs. Whatever he choice, however, the Round member would at least guide him from the chambers, her mind already on the letter she meant to write to the other Round.
Guyon nods "T'would be me who is honored." With the final statement, the centaur follows behind the woman as she escorts him out. "Fare well this e'ening Lady Keturah."