[Yael] And All I Got Was This Lousy Dagger [Zekiel | Tarlok]

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Zekiel stood just to the side of his desk—for lack of a better word for it, since ‘his desk’ seemed to imply a more official variety of office space whereas this room itself wasn’t so much an office as a small cubby of work space behind the main hall of his temple, which housed the pulpit and the pews. A slightly enlarged closet with almost as much space dedicated to shelving and the desk therein as there was to anything else, including space to stand. But still here lay a number of his books, prayer sets and hymnals, holy texts—though admittedly only a bare handful were what he would consider ‘his’, the rest being gifts or lingering evidence of the priestess, Mother Enith, who had run the temple before him.

His focus at this moment, though, was not on the room or its books, but rather a small, simplistic dagger in his palm. He knew whose it was, but didn’t at the same time.

He had watched the man approach, been standing there himself when the shadowy dretch had appeared from the air itself and he, Zekiel, had fallen to his knees, but this man—among a full crowd of undefended—had thrust himself forward despite no weapons more to be seen than the very one in Zekiel’s palm, and no visible training from what could be observed based on his posture and approach at the time. But he had done so anyway. Even without weapons, without training, without logical hope of any better outcome than likely death.

He had done everything so many had been too frightened to try.

And Zekiel had not known his name or from where he’d come. That, though, had been easy enough to find answers for in the aftermath. At the time he had looked to seek him out, but the state of calamity had been such that even though at one point they were very near to one another, he hadn’t managed then to relocate him.

He had, however, found the blade he left behind, and hadn’t stopped for even a moment to second guess the impulse to pick it up. He wanted to meet the man again regardless, to show appreciation for his faith if nothing else—and of course return the dagger, should he ever need it again. Thus, he had asked about until he got a name for his efforts: Tarlok.

From there, it was only a matter of extending an invitation and seeing to it that it was delivered. Now, whenever the man chose to answer was a matter in the gods hands.  

[DraconicFeline]

The Only Black Uke

Tarlok knew he had done something notable (And foolish, and stupid, and reckless...) and he had done it in front of more or less the whole priesthood and their apprenticeship and a good chunk of the population of Yael. So some recognition was in order. Tarlok just thought he would have to work a little more merchant magic to get it.

His parents had been leery of sending their good luck charm out to a little seaside town, but one didn't ignore a priests summons and their concern was borne of the fear that he would get taken or accosted on the road. If not by spirits (whether he had angered them or obeyed them was a matter of debate for his aunts and uncles at the family's emergency get-togethers and strategy meetings) then by bandits, mainlanders, shadow monsters, or those poison monsters known as Elaria. There were so many dangers these days.

Tarlok had had to smile very convincingly, and say that not only was he good luck himself but he was answering a priest's summons - that had to carry some measure of protection. That had been enough for them to let him go... But not without attaching himself to a trade caravan, securing a promise of hospitality from a merchant family in the area, and making him travel with many many of their finest talismans... just in case.

The trip was, aside from someone from the caravan coming down with a very unpleasant sickness, uneventful. His message had been relayed to the priest in question upon his arrival - he'd sent a letter when he'd left but it was always good form to make sure that a message was recieved.

In the meantime, the merchant family had heard he was lucky and so he'd settled in for the first of his few days in town with a truly fantastic dinner and whereby he relayed his story with embellishments... and offloaded some of the talismans he'd been carrying for a neat little sum. Apparently, they thought the items would be more effective after being held by him. Tarlok was sure that there were Yaeli who would think the opposite, but - he hoped - the priest was not one of them. That would be awkward.

That morning, after enjoying the luxury of washing up properly, Tarlok recieved directions to the temple and set off there, cocky and confident in his stride. Inside, however, he was thinking long and hard about just what would happen... besides the return of his dagger, of course. The temple itself was not hard to find. It was quaint and rural, but well-kept. He paused, just inside the doorway, looking up at the symbol of the gods enshrined within. Was there a presence here, or would it be like all of the other times he'd stepped into a temple - all words and ritual, and very little else?