She looked between them, cast in the day's ebbing light; their golden forms standing tall above the mortals of Vaald. Belme had been gifted a particularly stern face, beneath the seemingly animate hair that obscured part of her visage, a tribute to her tempestuous nature. Tempa was held by her, first. The goddess of healers and caregivers was someone the Firebrand had always aspired to be like, despite her constant failures in harboring a nurturing nature and managing consistent adherence to a destructive willfulness. Fire had always been soothing to her, a balm to the passions she had suppressed as a child; an antithesis to the confusion that always found her in moments of private contemplation; a dancing light to sear away the loneliness of that Tempa felt was a fundamental flaw in her making. A crack that would never be sealed, or healed or cared for. Belme's image reminded her of all this, but where she had spoken to the sister-goddesses before...now she merely stared. A breeze drifted through, carrying with it a slight chill from the surface of the Serene Pools. She followed it, turning to watch the direction it moved and all the people it touched upon after passing her.
Some had vacated the Pools, already seeking to take their place at where the first execution would be staged. Three, in particular, caught her eye as Belme's slight sigh rolled through. An Uquii, small and slight, bearing the horns and ears of a Satyr-born barely visible beneath a raised hood, seemingly listening to her companions. A man dressed in green, who spoke in a way not entirely unfamiliar to the Firebrand; she knew a West Cockney accent when she heard it...she had spent some time in Grand Ritain and was familiar with some of their ways. He appeared to be a spry fellow, and lively, from where she stood. A Half-Elf was the third, taller than others she had seen, and pretty from the back. Tempa watched her with pointed interest, moving without entirely thinking. There was something about her that spoke of placidity and attunement, a peace that lingered about one of those who had given their hearts to Gnara.
Her steps were slow and even, a near-march for the Ochre Spearmistress. She tightened her grip around Alacrity and leaned the wrapped weapon against her shoulder, letting her other hand deal with an errant itch forming at the base of her left ear. Her tail, black and ragged, twitched as she moved; a subtle sign of Tempa's uncertainty made manifest without conscious effort. She didn't know what she was going to do, but the questions she had asked the Gods themselves had gotten no answers. Maybe, she thought, if they got no answers for me, one'a their servants will... She didn't entirely believe it, but it was worth a shot and far better than standing around talking to statues.
"'Ey, you, Druidess," it was louder than Tempa had intended, carrying across the Pools and gathering a few glances from those still lingering about, but she paid that little mind and gave some length to her strides, "Ya gotta moment for a lost soul lookin' in search'a some answers?" What did it matter, truly, to approach strangers to her anymore? She stood a short way behind the trio, looking them up and down again before they'd even had the chance to turn and carried on talking, though her volume had dropped slightly; a frown situated firmly on her face, making some of the scars on her cheek and jawline contort slightly. "'Cause I'm sure not gettin' anything from them, when I bother askin'," she shifted Alacrity again, to the opposite shoulder and let her other hand hang freely at her side...fingers slightly trembling as she waited.
The tremble was not an effect of the Moonscratch, barely visible through the slit in her blouse, stretching over the top of her right breast, though it had begun to give her a nauseating feeling as night approached, but was instead her anxiousness working its way, again, to the forefront. Tempa had never been patient or well-restrained, and her heart was coiled in despair. She had come a long way to attend Vaald's Lunar Festival...just to watch someone precious to her die. Few knew that she had entered the heart of Delad, let alone those that she had once kept company with. Let alone the woman she had come here to witness the end of. The smoldering pain was bearable, on its own...but regret was the true enemy of the Firebrand this ending day. She did not know if her bitterness was clear to the woman she addressed, or those standing in her company, but she felt it stretching deep into her core and stabbing into a vacant spot that had once been filled by something altogether different.
She would not be fighting her shadow-self, this night; thanks to a small blessing from a clever friend. Seralle of the Shadowed Countenance had been kind enough to do her that favor, after a short conversation between the two. The Elven Mage was another of the Unsung, one who had lived far longer than the rest. One who understood why Tempa was making her journey to Vaald, even though she had long ago made an oath to avoid the city if at all possible. One who understood why the Firebrand subjected herself to the torture ahead. Seralle had told her how things would unfold, on this night; prophesying the death of The Silver Glint and how a familiar Golem would be taking on a burden he could not hope to face alone. Sometimes, she hated the practically-faceless woman and her propensity for infallibility...but, she could not begrudge her old friend setting her about this quest. She just wished...or prayed, that it did not have to begin with such a sorrowful step.
"Name's Tempa," she said, taking another step towards them, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, "and m'wonderin' if ya..." She couldn't have said why she hesitated, or failed to articulate what it was that was on her mind. "If ya could...if ya could jus' talk ta me?"
