Roleplaying
2004 Archive
2005 Archive
Seminars
| When: | 22 February 2005 |
| Who: | Bronwen, Tyrr |
| What: | Bronwen works away at a tedious, if self-imposed, task while Tyrr searches for something. |
Michael's Encampment
Unlike other Archangels whose Cathedrals can be found in resplendent buildings, Michael's house is instead reminiscent of a pre-Industrial era encampment. Tents for rest, counsel, and larch swaths of cleared earth for sparring and platoon drills can be found here. Earthly generals from all times and places, ranging from Sun Tzu to Patton, make their home here. All of these Angels, Soldiers, and departed souls share one thing in common: they cannot enjoy the bliss of eternity, knowing that Hell is still waging war. Visitors may find that getting bloodied in a 'friendly' spar is the quickest way to earn respect and friendship under this canopy.
Bronwen is seated cross-legged in front of her tent with the tools used for sharpening blades laid neatly out in front of her. She seems to be working on both her own weapons and those that she's found within the Grove that could use a bit of work.
Tyrr's been walking around the tents since he arrived back in the Groves. He's been stopped every once in awhile by old friends, but has begged their pardon and continued to wander. Michael's Encampment is rather large, thus he continues walking in a spiral from the furthest area of the encampment to the center of it all. There's a lot on his mind, the time walking is a way for him to gather his thoughts.
Bronwen works steadily at sharpening the various edges of each weapon. She seems to be rotating the blades at a fairly regular interval, perhaps to avoid overworking on part of any blade and thereby doubling or tripling the final amount of work that the exercise should take. The soft scraping sound of the whet stone on metal is her only companion.
A Cherub by the name of Hariel steps out of his tent just in time to see Tyrr walk by. Moving to catch up to him, he calls out, "Tleyrr!" One of the few who know Tyrr's true name, this easily draws his attention as he stops and looks over his head. "Ah, Hariel. I didn't realize you were back in the Groves." Tyrr's distractedness keeps him from noticing that not more than three tents further down is Bronwen.
The sound of a known, but infrequently heard, name has Bronwen glancing up momentarily from her labours. A faint frown mars her features before she turns back to her activity and its allowance for wandering thought.
Hariel and Tyrr only spend a few minutes talking before the Cherub walks off in the opposite direction than Tyrr was heading. Turning around, Tyrr seems to stand there for a few minutes, staring not along the path he was walking, but instead at an angle facing the direction of the center of the encampment.
Deciding that her longtime friend is well within hearing range, Bronwen makes a simple comment as she continues to move the whet stone. "I've submitted a petition for Sian to be considered for a Saint."
"You've beaten me to it. But I suspect she may have beaten us both to it." Tyrr looks toward Bronwen once he fixes on the source of the sound. "When did you arrive back here?"
"Which time?" Bronwen asks quite honestly. "I arrived here momentarily last night, returned below, and then returned back to this plane until now."
"The last time..." Tyrr becomes distracted as he sees something off in the distance. "Listen, are you going to be here the next few days? I'd like to approach Michael and would say you should be along with me."
Bronwen shrugs a shoulder, replying, "More than likely. I may need to return to Austin to check in to keep my Role viable, but other than that I currently have no reason to be there. Why do you wish to speak to the Warlord?"
Tyrr says, "Many reasons. I'll sit and talk with you before I talk with him." Tyrr unfurls his wings fully to either side before launching himself in one easy leap. "There is much on my mind." And without another word Tyrr's gone flying over the tents away from the center of the encampment."
Bronwen observes Tyrr glide off before returning her attention to her self-imposed task with a single nod.
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