[center][h3]Merry Flights[/h3][hr][b]11:55 PM, Last Seed 21
Dibella's House of Common Pleasures
Wayrest Temple of Eight and One[/b][hr][/center]

Finch felt lighter on his feet now that his business with Gustav was squared away, and now he could finally set Everard’s plans into motion. He even scribbled a cryptic note and slid it beneath the door to the lord’s room to inform him that people have been hired and paid already. With the shield as a mere downpayment, Finch was anticipating having to pay Gustav at least half of what Everard was going to give him by the job’s end. Really, the only thing Finch was going to get out of this whole deal was some peace of mind, however much that was worth these days. He really couldn’t begin to guess what the mercenaries were going to plan, and as much as he hoped that they were men and women of their word, he couldn’t risk this whole job going wrong. If it did, there was no telling what Everard would do. The man seemed like a desperate lord. Should such a man be sitting on any throne? This insider look gave him a certain insight into this whole rebellion; if only he deigned to give a shit about such things. He didn’t plan on staying in High Rock for long anyways, much less Wayrest, the shit-hole of a city that it was at the moment.

But the job -- yes, the job -- Finch already had ideas in mind as he mentioned to Relyssa earlier. Finch paced down the establishment, deep in thought as he incomprehensibly muttered and strategized. Everard said Mathieu visited the temple quite often, so perhaps it might’ve been worth scouting the scene first to get a lay of the land. There was also a civil war within the city’s walls. There was quite a bit of chaos to take advantage of in this city, but the target also had a network of spies at his disposal. If one of them spotted a regiment of heavily armed mercenaries making a beeline to the temple, he’d probably be alerted. If Mathieu was as dangerous as Everard seemed to suggest, fighting him head-on was probably foolish. So… 

Spymaster in a temple.

Don’t try to fight him.

Steal a sword.

What sense did it make to bring swords into places of worship anyway? Sure, there was a civil war at work and the man played an important role, but there had to have been rules. Were the grounds not sacred? As much as Finch didn’t [i]want[/i] to bank on the good will of people, as precarious as it was, he had to rely on the religious narrative of sacred, neutral ground. Separate people from their weapons at the door, including the spymaster, and hope that as someone who knew to keep a low profile he would comply without making a scene.

That also meant the temple playing along with this policy. They might not be too hard to convince, since it’d appear to be in the interests of the temple and its patrons. That, or plant people who could pose as acolytes or volunteers. If one or two of the mercs were planted, then that might make the job easier… but if they suddenly disappeared, they might be easy to track down… unless they traded it off to someone else… yes. The plan was coming together!

He suddenly crashed his nose into somebody’s shoulder, releasing a startled and pained yelp. As he massaged the soreness away from his face, he disdainfully looked up to search the face of whoever it was he bumped into.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mary chimed. Finch didn’t know who this dirty-blonde woman was, but she was much more solidly built than her appearance let on. A plain linen gown was draped over a pair of modest bloomers that barely peeked out from the bottom and she wore wool slippers. Mary knew this to be a stark difference from the apparel the rest of the company usually saw her wearing, but Finch didn’t have a clue who she really was and she didn’t look like the type who, uh… would [i]work[/i] here. She looked too modest, but then again, he couldn’t be sure.

“No, it’s my fault.” Finch mumbled, averting eye contact. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“I thought you looked distracted.” Mary said, holding back a chuckle. She wasn’t going to mention that she noticed Finch talking to himself so intensely. “Are you alright?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah.” Finch said, trying to brush this woman off. “Just going to head to the temple for a bit of... peace and quiet.”

“As was I. Would you mind the company, or are you a little…” A hint of blush showed on her cheeks as her eyes pointed upstairs. “...[i]over-attended to?[/i]”

“What-- what?” Finch stammered, his face immediately going red. “N-no, no, I uh… no, that’s not my -- uh -- I was just working-- I mean, not like that, but uh, you know, just…”

Mary laughed. “Relax, it’s okay. I’m not a patron here either, I’m just boarding a room. Come on, I think we could both use a little bit of fresh air. What’s your name?”

“Uh… Finch.”

“Mary.”

For the life of him, Finch couldn’t understand how he got himself into these situations. The pair walked outside in the midst of a cool summer night, and for once, the call of cicadas were louder than the distant clashing of steel or yelling. In fact, the city was silent. Mary seemed to enjoy the outdoor jaunt, but something about it was rubbing Finch the wrong way.

“Do you know where to go?” Mary asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s pleasant out.”

“It’s too quiet.”

Maybe the Trifection finally arranged a brief cease-fire between the opposing sides. Finch didn’t know a great deal of the politics behind the conflict, but he did try to pick up information about the city from the locals when he could. The beggars were every city’s eyes and ears, and as long as you could speak their language, you were practically omnipresent. Still, if both sides could agree to stop killing each other, he could only help but wonder what their attentions were aimed at instead. He looked curiously toward Mary, who was humming away as if she was taking a stroll through a park and not a war zone.

“You know there’s a war happening, right?”

“There always is.” Mary answered. “Give me [i]some[/i] credit, Finch. The fact that it’s so quiet tonight is all the more reason to enjoy it, don’t you think?”

That was one way of looking at it. The young man usually took any good sign with a grain, pinch, or even a [i]cup[/i] of salt. There was an otherworldly confidence to the woman walking the worn Wayrest streets in her pajamas that naming her “Mary” did little to ground or humanize her in his eyes. Of what he [i]could[/i] be sure of, at least, was that she wasn’t as mundane as she appeared. So she must’ve been hiding something from him -- go figure, most people did. He finally led them to the large double doors of the Temple of the Eight and One, but with a tug, found that the doors were locked tight. He shot the temple a scornful grimace.

“Strange,” Mary commented, “it should still be open unless the king placed most of the city on lock down.”

Finch didn’t spare Mary a look, instead rummaging through his pockets for a lock pick. He wasn’t as particularly adept at picking locks as much as was at picking pockets, but he still had a job to do. As soon as he stuck it into the keyhole though, he felt Mary’s hands on his his, brushing them back. He was just about to snap at her until she knocked against the heavy wooden door three solid times, and instead stared at her feeling dumbfounded. However, he didn’t even have time to think of their difference of approach before a man mailed in metal chain and leather scales approached the pair.

“Halt there.” Called a guardsman as he approached. Actually, he looked more like a soldier. He was armed with a pike in hand and a sword at his side, and his grip on his weapon spoke to the mistrust he faced them with. “You are in violation of the curfew set by High King Ferrend Bellemont. What is your reason for being here?”

Finch could hear footsteps from inside the temple stop suddenly as the soldier detained them, swearing silently to himself by the rotten luck afforded to him. No doubt this only happened because this Mary woman thought it was a good idea to knock on the door. She probably didn’t know anything going on within the city. As Finch silently stood and stewed in his own aggravation, contemplating whether or not he should run, Mary simply bowed her head.

“Apologies, sir.” She said. “My companion and I were just restless and hoping to pray tonight.”

“Is it not awfully late for that?”

Mary shook her head. “It’s never too late to seek guidance, I think. Especially in times like these.”

“And under what authority grants you the permission to ignore the laws established by our king?”

“I act independently.” Mary said, her voice growing more serious. “As a templar, is it not my right to seek prayer? And my duty to escort this young man safely through the night?”

A tense silence fell over the three of them, and both pairs of eyes landed on Mary. Finch, in disbelief, and the soldier in a slowly rising anger.

“You? You’re one of those fuckin Tri--”

The lock on the temple door suddenly clicked and cracked open. Inside, a priest eagerly peeked out and looked Mary up and down and said, “Trifection Templar, oh good! We’ve been expecting one of you.”

Finch wasn’t the only one who was surprised; even Mary seemed off guard by the mixed reception she was receiving, and the apparent renown that her old temple still seemed to hold. The priest ushered both of them in while the soldier stared daggers into their backs, and the heavy door closing behind them was a much appreciated reprieve. The priest released a heavy sigh and massaged his forehead.

“What was that?” Finch demanded.

“I’m… not sure.” Mary admitted, looking to the priest.

“Your order made quite a few waves.” He explained. “Not everyone appreciates what you’ve done here, but the temple appreciates the cease-fire and the… few tense moments of peace it’s provided, so our doors are open to you. If there’s anything I can help you with, ask me. I will be grounds keeping throughout the night.”

Mary tried to blink away the incredulity fogging her mind as the priest walked away. Order? They weren’t a knightly order, they were a temple. And what have they done here? And what does it have to do with a cease-fire? Her eyes fell back on Finch awkwardly to notice that his eyes were staring daggers at her too, just less aggressively than the soldier seemed to stare at her earlier.

“What?”

“Templar, huh?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing at all. It’s fine. Just, you know, seems like an important thing to mention or introduce yourself as.”

“You never asked.” Mary replied. A self-conscious bug began to creep into her mind. “Besides, my temple went defunct a long time ago, I’m not sure why those people were…”

“So, wait, did you lie? [i]Are[/i] you lying?” Finch pressed. “Because I don’t know many [i]defunct[/i] knightly orders brokering peace deals.”

“That’s not it at all!” Mary protested. “The House of Trifection wasn’t even a knightly order, we were a temple in Jehanna. What do you mean brokering peace deals? They shouldn’t even exist anymore…”

“Mary,” Finch said, sounding impatient, “the [i]Order[/i] of Trifection is [i]here.[/i] They’re the ones playing diplomat between the two warring factions.”

That paused the conversation for quite some time. It was a lot of information for Mary to take in, and she had nothing to say to Finch after that. She had to process what she heard. The next hour or so was spent in contemplative silence, sitting in the front pew. Finch sat with her for a short while at first while she prayed, but the longer she prayed in silence, the more antsy he got. He tried praying too, but he wasn’t nearly as practiced in it as Mary was, and his prayers were often short. He would get up, walk around, and sit back down. He'd walk around the temple, investigate possible hiding spots, vantage points, and so on, and he used the excuse of appreciating the artwork and architecture when the earlier priest asked him what he was doing -- but Mary stayed seated and prayed for what seemed like an impossibly long time.

Naturally, her mind was occupied with a mess of thoughts and worries. Had she really been so out of touch for so long? Had she really avoided newspapers for so long? Was her temple truly still standing and did it survive the scandal that had rocked its very foundations? Furthermore, what must have happened to it? Apparently it had converted to a knightly order from a religious institution; what had spurred that change? What happened to the leadership? Were her old friends still with the order? What would have happened if she returned? Did they think she abandoned them? [i]Did[/i] she abandon them? They called her the most devoted of the templars, but if they truly survived, did she really deserve that title? Mary hadn’t returned home in so long and was so far removed from the politics of High Rock that everything she thought she knew was beginning to unravel.

About an hour into her prayers, Finch came back and tried to talk to her again. She then was fortunately free from whatever anxious high she was on and was able to hear him clearly again.

“So… uh, how about you tell me about them?”

“The templars?”

“The templars.”

“Well… we were a temple. We followed a religion. That’s how it started.” Mary began. “The House of Trifection. We followed the Tenets of Trifection, which was basically a model of moral perfection. Unattainable and always out of reach, of course, but that meant you could always work closer and closer toward it. Mara, Julianos, and Stendarr were our patron divines -- love, wisdom, and justice. We templars were supposed to embody those ideals. Healer… teacher… warrior.”

“So… you guys can do everything?”

Mary chuckled a bit, though a solemn sound it was. “Master of none, mind you.” She pinned on. “But we provided a service. It lasted until… well, a scandal hit the temple that I was sure was going to destroy us. It didn't even know about it, but it made me feel ashamed so I never went back. Now I learned that we survived, and I don't know how to feel. I had no idea, and apparently we’re-- [i]they’re[/i] knights now, and are here in [i]this[/i] city. I should feel happy, but… I’m afraid of seeing them again.”

Finch didn’t quite know what to say to that. There was much more backstory behind this woman than he anticipated and more than he really cared to hear about, more than he [i]would[/i] bother to hear were he less of a bleeding heart. He couldn’t really relate. Like, he threw a rock once at a guard in the middle of a protest. Which turned into a riot, but that was more his fault while Mary’s entire ordeal seemed entirely out of her control. There was a difference between making shitty decisions and having shitty luck, though he could probably argue that he was good enough to manage both at the same time. Eh, on second thought, his own life was pretty eventful even if it was par for the course with most of the peasantry.

“So do you have any other surprises up your sleeves?” He asked.

“Um… I’m working as a mercenary?”

“No shit? Gustav?”

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Stendarr’s mercy,” Finch groaned, “yeah, I know him. I, uh… well, he’ll clue you in. Don’t worry about it for now, I guess.”

Well, this just got a little bit awkward. He didn’t expect her to be a templar nor one of the people he ended up employing. Then again, the company was taking lodging within the brothel, so it was probably just as likely he’d run into one of them as it was he ran into a whore. He spent the remainder of his time flagging down the grounds keeping priest and proposing to him a few practices that’d help Finch later with his job. Covertly of course, and through casual conversation. A suggestion that, perhaps with all the soldiers and tensions in the city, that it might be best for any guests to the temple to leave their weapons by the door before entering this place of worship and communion. After all, this was supposed to be a safe place. No one should not feel unsafe under the loving gaze of the Divines, and this was an argument that the priest couldn’t necessarily refute. At the mention of not having enough members of the clergy to fulfill all the daily duties and tasks of the temple in addition to manning such a position, Finch mentioned that he, Mary, and some friends would be more than happy to volunteer. Finch also had a feeling that the priest wouldn’t have trusted him if he hadn’t walked in with a Trifecta Templar by his side, but he was lucky. After some consideration, they seemed to reach an agreement and shook on it.

It was about twenty minutes after the conversation did Mary seem ready to leave. It was very late into the night now, and both of them seemed quite tired after staying up so late. Both received some pretty heavy news (though one more than the other), but got what they came for nonetheless. There was little telling what the following day would bring them, but both knew there was a lot to expect (for varying reasons). Upon their return to the brothel, they bid their goodnights to one another as Mary resigned herself to bed and Finch to his own quarters, where he’d remain restless and awake. To spend some of this energy, he wrote down what he’s been up to all night on a piece of parchment so that he could forward his plan to Gustav through the crack under his door. Everard wouldn’t care, just as long as he got his damned sword back.

He even wrote a very brief apology letter to Relyssa to slide under her door, he was so restless. Very brief. A few words brief. Something about noticing how something had shaken her and that he will be more careful in the future. He couldn’t really begin to guess what it was, but he figured that someone as powerful as her -- at least he presumed she was powerful -- would be a bad person to have disliking you. He didn’t particularly care for the noble types, but right now he had to rely on these people to work with him in order to get this job done right.

Finally, with all of his energy spent, he blew out the candles and quickly fell asleep with only a few hours left to spare. He’d be fine. If he could function with four hours of rest on a cold cobblestone street, then five hours in a warm plush bed would be more than enough.