Do not anger Akatosh, lest you face the wrath of the foremost Divine
Do not anger Molag Bal, lest you face the wrath of the most sadistic of Daedra
Do not anger Mephala, lest your judgement come from where you least suspect
You cannot anger Sheogorath, he is already quite mad.
The Vigilant of Stendarr are a group of people that wear several different hats. On some occasions, they are representatives of the Divine of justice and mercy, on other occasions they also act as priests of the Divines, not just Stendarr. On one moment they may be just another meek member of the Imperial Cult, on another occasion they act in the sinister role of an inquisitor.
People forget that anyone from any of those roles still have their own personalities.
At the Wayrest Temple of the Divines, every member who worked and lived in the Cathedral was expected to take part in the morning prayer. This was a highly ritualized event, taking place when the bell tolled six times in the morning. The staff would be up from their sleep and stand outside the doors of their rooms. Only until all of the staff had assembled would they walk in unison and in line to the main sanctuary. There, the Archon would lead them in morning prayer before they were dismissed to start their daily duties.
That was the ideal plan. It did not always happen that way.
The single bedrooms for Claudia, Sibylla, Do'Ravier and Bann-Je were all in a row right next to each other. Claudia was the first to leave her room and despite the fatigue, wore her best devout face as she stood outside her closed door awaiting for the others.
Do'Ravier was the next to exit his room but the Khajiit barely caught himself from falling flat out on the floor when he nearly tripped on his tail. Bann-Je was next but no sooner did he step out of his room did he walk backwards only to walk forward back out of his room again. In fact, he repeated this process three times until his OCD finally allowed him to remain standing outside. This was in full view of the other monks were still had not gotten used to Bann-Je's eccentricities and were doing their best not to stare.
Sibylla was the last to exit and her face was etched with a deep scowl, obviously unhappy with being awake at this hour.
"Couldn't you at least try to look civilized, Sibylla?" Claudia scolded barely above a whisper.
"That last bottle of mead made a very compelling argument for me to drink it last night." Sibylla grumbled in her heavy Nordic accent.
"So now will you at least try to consider temperance and moderation with the drink?" Claudia retorted.
"I'll definitely have a temper if you keep pestering me, Claudia." Sibylla snapped quietly as the robed monks clasped their hands together in prayer and walked with one accord toward the sanctuary.
If Archon Tacitus noticed the tense whispers from what should have in fact been a silent procession entering the sanctuary, he pretended to ignore them. Every now and then there would be some funny business among the monks, even the most cloistered monastery would have its own form of drama. Tacitus also reminded himself that of those gathered within the reverent halls of the Cathedral, there were a select few...special...individuals. This would just have to be the nature of the beast.
And after last night's explosion, a few whispers could be politely ignored.
The archon led them all in a reverent, quiet prayer to the eight Divines. If there was any funny business going on, he did not notice. After all, he had his eyes closed himself and maybe it was for the best. Unknown to him, Sibylla nodded off momentarily and nearly fell flat on the floor if she had not caught herself at the last moment. Of course, the sudden movement aggravated her hurting, hung over head and she stifled a groan.
Finishing the prayer, Archon Tacitus did not need to dismiss them as the staff and monks already knew their routine. The archon went back to his study to handle the papers and other managerial duties that was needed in a cathedral. While Bann-Je's obsessive orderliness made him a subject of ridicule, it also made him a usual assistant to the priests of Arkay. Arkay was the Divine of life and living and as such, it usually fell to the priests of Arkay to act as surgeons and physicians. Every healer needs a clean and well organized set of instruments and tools, something Bann-Je was all too willing to provide. Repeatedly.
Sibylla, despite her sinewy body and equally tough demeanor, served as an advisor to those seeking guidance from the priests on all manner of difficulties. Granted, once they sorted through Sibylla's gruff exterior and short patience, they often found a gem of practical wisdom that the simple Nord woman occasionally produced. This was a byproduct of Sibylla's experiences from having travelled around most of northern Tamriel as an adventurer and blade for hire. However, on occasions Claudia had to be be around to soften some of Sibylla's more coarse traits.
Claudia, when she wasn't trying to keep her team in line, was acting as the Cathedral's mother. There was inventory to check, supplies that needed to be purchased, treasuries that needed accounting, a dozen errands that needed tending to. Also, there was the constant stream of visitors that needed help getting to the right people to help them.
Even Do'Ravier had his uses. Despite quickly gaining a reputation for explosive experiments, the Khajiit was in fact one of the most education personnel within the temple, a fact he also liked to hide. If there was a medical problem the lay healers could not handle, they called the eccentric cat to look at the problem. If there was a theological question that the other priests were unsure of, the crazy Khajiit was consulted.
Of course, all four of them were also anxiously awaiting for when they might be called upon to utilize their talents for stamping out evil.
Two lay healers were tending to several severely wounded miners who were injured in a mining accident a few days ago. The miners before them were not responding well to healing spells and the physicians felt it had something to do with the catastrophic burns they had sustained when a natural gas pocket vented into the mine which then came in contact with a torch.
They were barely paying any attention to Bann-Je who was diligently, almost religiously, keeping in step behind them.
"The standard healing spells are still not sufficiently closing the wounds and this is the third day of treating them, Brother Ulfred." the first healer said in frustration to his compatriot.
"Spells are not everything. Where those fail we need to resort to old fashion methods; the use of tools, cleaning of the wounds, removing foreign material, healing salves and letting the body's natural regeneration do the trick, Brother Gemiedies." Brother Ulfred explained, placing a dirty and bloodied tweezer on a nearby table.
Bann-Je had swiped it in a flash, replacing it with a spotless tweezer just as quick.
Neither Brother Ulfred or Brother Gemiedies noticed, too engrossed in their work.
"The body of man, mer or beast, while a marvel of creation is also a dirty one, prone to breaking. The body must remain clean, and so too the tools that are used to operate on them. We would not want to implements of healing to in fact bring sickness." Brother Ulfred continued his earnest dictation.
"This is a dying art, you know?" Brother Gemiedies replied as Brother Ulfred returned an operating knife to the table, the implement spotted in gory red.
"Quite to the contrary, this should be a growing art." Brother Ulfred argued, oblivious to the Argonian furiously scrubbing the blade in soap and alcohol before being rinsed and meticulously dried.
"Sicknesses, diseases, poisons and wounds cannot always be answered with spells. Any healer who wishes to truly earn that title must also know this lost art. Nothing is more embarrassing than facing a malady that won't go away in the face of a healing spell." Brother Ulfred finished, surveying his work before giving an approving nod and walking off.
No sooner had they left, Bann-Je frantically and expertly redid the bandages on the victim so that they met his higher standards before disappearing in a flash.
Elsewhere, Claudia and Do'Ravier waited at the door of the Cathedral of Eight. Since Claudia was the overseer of most of the operations at the temple, inventory being one of them, it was only necessary for her to make sure that everything was accounted for during the delivery they received from the merchants. Do'Ravier had to be there because he took care of most of the alchemical business at the cathedral, and therefore it was only logical for him to be there as well.
"Why are you causing so many explosions with your experiments? Are you doing this on purpose?" Claudia demanded out of the blue.
"I don't do that on purpose, you know. Do you think I enjoy brushing off the singed furs from my body?" Do'Ravier retorted. While his voice was harsh like most Khajiits, his pronunciation of words was much better than what most people would have expected. He had a commanding ability over Cyrodillic idioms, phrases and vocabulary. If it was not for his accent, most people would have forgotten they were speaking to a Khajiit. He even used the word "I" just as well as anyone else did.
However, Claudia did notice that there were certain times he liked to drop into the typical Khajiiti butchery of the common language, resorting to referring himself in the third person. Claudia sensed that there was a pattern to Do'Ravier's behavior but she had not figured it out yet.
"Then why is it in two weeks straight there are two explosions?" Claudia chided.
"Last week, I was working on a portable means of producing light in dark places. I got the light like I wanted but the explosive force was not intended. This week, I was more interested in the fire salts bit, maybe I could find a way to make a readily available flame kit, easier to use than flint and steel." Do'Ravier shrugged.
"And instead, you got fire and an explosion. Again." Claudia muttered with a roll of her eyes.
"I can't help but feel that there must be some way to apply what I'm finding..." Do'Ravier mumbled.
"Uncontrolled explosions will never catch on, Do'Ravier." Claudia said.
"But what about controlled explosions?" Do'Ravier offered.
"Listen to yourself. 'Controlled explosions?' That's oxymoronic." Claudia scoffed.
"I'll find something for it." Do'Ravier grumbled.
And that was when the door opened, revealing the caravan team arriving to deliver their products.
The cathedral had struck a deal with a caravan team that was based out of Hammerfell. Despite Hammerfell being literally disowned by the empire, trade still had to continue except now prices had to reflect the changes of the political winds. Nonetheless, the staff still felt that this one caravan team still provided the best quality and range of products at a reasonable price.
"Good day, Morgan. Were your travels safe?" Claudia asked the Redguard merchant.
"Nothing out of the ordinary. A few bandits, nothing the guards couldn't handle." Morgan replied, handing Claudia a bill that listed all the items they had shipped.
"Does it all look in order, Do'Ravier?" Claudia asked while her eyes still scanned the parchment.
"Yes..." Do'Ravier muttered distractedly. In fact, his eyes were locked onto a comely Breton woman who must have been a new addition to the caravan. She was coming right to him too.
"Here's the last of your rosebud hips and other herbs. Are you an alchemist?" the woman asked, handing him a burlap sack.
"Uh...yes. This one, I mean, my name is Do'Ravier. You are?" Do'Ravier blathered.
"Celestie. I just stared working with the caravans a few days ago." Celestie smiled.
"Ah, how nice. So you will be returning often, yes?" Do'Ravier asked.
"I'm sure. This is part of my assigned circuit." Celestie nodded.
"I think we're done here, Do'Ravier." Claudia said, trying to get the Khajiit's attention.
"Ah, yes! I will have to put these away. Nice meeting you, Celestie. Hope to see you safe here once again." Do'Ravier said quickly and started fumbling in putting away the supplies.
After the doors shut behind the caravan, Claudia caught up to Do'Ravier who was doubled over under all the weight of the supplies he needed to bring back to his lab. Claudia made no effort to help him, instead she settled with looking at him with an incredulous smirk.
"She has a pretty face and she seems like a nice person, but really, Do'Ravier?" Claudia jibbed.
"What are you talking about?" Do'Ravier asked, carefully navigating the steps to his room.
"I know our emotions can get the best of us sometimes, but I don't think very many Bretons might have a thing for Khajiits, if you know what I mean." Claudia explained.
"Please, you are thinking too far ahead. I just met her. She just caught my eye, that's all." Do'Ravier muttered quietly, not wanting others to hear.
"Seemed to be more than just your eyes, your wit and tongue seemed to go too. Ha! The Breton caught the Khajiit's tongue! Hahaha!" Claudia laughed at her own joke.
Do'Ravier was not amused.
On the other side of the cathedral, Sibylla was stealing a moment away from the constant stream of the pious asking for advice. When Sibylla first signed onto the Vigil of Stendarr, she thought it she was going to be in a constant state of fighting the spawn of evil and daedric cults. For awhile, that's exactly what it was but soon the higher ups figured out that her talents were better served working for more specialized teams. That was how she ended up working under Claudia but with the transfer also came the long periods of inactivity.
At first, Sibylla nearly went insane with the lack of duties. Sure, she did believe in the Eight Divines and all but at the end of the day, she was a fighter, just like the rest of her ancestors. For her, a prayer was a two minute ritual on the eve of battle. There was no way she was going to spend all day praying when she could at least be sparring.
There was an amazingly short supply of people to spar with at a temple.
Fortunately, it was Claudia who first recognized at least some markings of a mentor in Sibylla. Granted, Claudia had to really coach Sibylla at first. Sibylla was more liable to literally beat sense into a person rather than persuade them. Gradually, Sibylla learned to curb her tongue a bit though she was never going to be the typical, mild priestess who quietly dispensed wisdom.
This was made all the more evident by her secretly sipping some mead before she intended to step outside to face the crowds of needy again.
Corking the nondescript bottle and stashing it away in a cupboard, she was on her way to the sanctuary when Bann-Je silently but urgently stalked up to her. She only had a moment to register his presence before the Argonian spoke into her ear.
"We have an assignment. Report to the archon immediately."
Sibylla practically skipped to the archon's office after simply telling those seeking her counsel that they were on their own for the rest of the afternoon.