I didn’t know how frail your throat was under the blue collar.

[baedalites]

Who: Curious first gen youth, temple personnel, sundry
What: A visit to a temple, a ritual witnessed
Where: Eliandre's Temple in Griss Twist
When: Presumably in the afternoon
Notes: A temple scene was requested
Warnings: Risk of Zen philosophy, death may be referenced

The gods of Baedal, though often elusive, hold a great amount of power and influence - not least through the people who pay them tribute. It may be subtle but it's always there, or that's what people claim; prayers answered, favours granted, vengeance exacted. There are many public temples in the city and more, presumably, that are closed off to visitors. Temple folk are a common sight on the streets.

As her dominions bid, Eliandre is a god of many temples and great complexity. Justice is never simple and though it shouldn't be, death often is. Her home in Griss Twist is one of the larger temples in the city as it harbours the Hush, an old atrium garden. It's big enough to keep tall knotted trees and more humble specimens. There is even a pond for koi fish and some more unique creatures. Its caretakers are often older people, retired from a life spent in the presence of death. They never speak; talking is strictly prohibited inside of the Hush.

Outside is a different matter through it rarely gets loud. The décor is an exercise contrasts, black and bone white tile covers the floor. There are places to sit, some comfortable while others appear less so. Black offering bowls filled with white teeth stand on an altar by the wall, not really in focus. There is always a votary and some novices about to field and advise visitors or supplicants. There are ordinators too, figures that keep to the background dressed in solid black or solid white. They don't bother anyone who does not need to be bothered.

At the moment, the place has an energy to it, the feel of something happening. A small group of people look have gathered around a woman with xenian features. She's older, the fur on her pointed and notched ears going snowy. The group seems very amiable, a little eager perhaps for the woman's taste to be fawning over her but she bears it with grace. It's a procession of sorts, heading towards the Hush.