There is a word for the old woman as ugly as the one that eventually approaches the shrine. That word is hideous. What beauty that she may have ever possessed in her life certainly fled with the years, coupled with her yellow dry leathery skin, and wrinkles upon wrinkles. Her nose is crooked and lacks of proper nostril, the side of it left open and gaping, far too large on one side, like a ugly pit. What is left of her hair comes out in cobweb wisps, white and stringy, with most of her bald head hidden under plain brown head wrap. However, it is her eyes that give pause, beady and black, deeply set and still sharp with wit and cunning.
Her bird like hands, clawed with yellow nails, clutch at a knotted and gnarled piece of wood as she approaches the shrine. Her thin rope like arms are covered in lines of scars almost like roughly carved runes or shapes. Her robes are equally as plain, woven of rough wool to keep back the winter cold, a dingy green. She does not bare any holy symbols of Talona on her body, yet she would pause and consider the man, before asking in return. "Why."
The calm confidence the man had while the figure was still approaching, before she was fully lit, quickly disappeared as she moved closer to the door and into the light. He'd give the woman pause, as if having some difficulty absorbing all of her unsightly features - his eyes going a bit wide and mouth dropping open just a little. After a short moment, he'd blink a few times and stammer back, a bit uncomfortably before finally collecting himself.
"Ohh... My... eh... My Governess... She's seeking insight inta'a malady that rumors is difficult to treat. It is said to come from a, uh, /strange event/ happening throughout the Mistwood. Through her wisdom, she understands those who spread misfortune are often the best at also suppressing it. In this case, that being clergy of the Mistress of Disease. So I am here, in search of such a person."
Last Edit: Mar 1, 2018 14:14:58 GMT -5 by Lady Frost
As he speaks, she merely stares at him until the end, when she smiles. What are left of her teeth are spoiled and rotten jagged daggers in her mouth paired with breath that smells of rot. She would hobble right up to him and lean in close and give him an almost motherly pat on his arm. “It’s alright child, that which springs from the well of life turns to the ground after.” She would squint at him and tip her head slightly. “Tell me more of this governess.”
And she would exchange a quiet word with the fellow for a time, before turning to the shrine and laying out several exchanges of offering. Pocked bones of bird and feather, dead crumpled butterflies of yellow wing, coins of course, and a wooden bowl filled with clean water, in which she floats several small yellow flowers. As the young man speaks behind her, she looks at her work quietly before turning and walking away, not so much a word in parting or comfort that his message was successful.
Sometime later, a young woman of plain feature, wearing plain brown robes trimmed with purple comes to tend to the shrine- lighting censers of sweet smelling incense, cleaning up the offerings and collecting the gold. A message can be handed to her, and she offers curatives to disease and ailments.