(121-04-17) A Commission Completed
A Commission Completed
Summary: Having finished his commission from Leire, Novak attends the sept to present her with the work.
Date: 17 April 2014
Related: In Blood, Truth

The Starry Sept is the seat of the Faith of the Seven. The High Septon resides here, as do any number of clergy who study here or attend him and the faithful. Seven domes and seven towers make up the structure, all of them richly decorated with seven-pointed stars, carved or inlaid or painted, or in mosaics of tiles.

The largest dome, the worship area, is a heptagon like all the others, but much wider. The seven-pointed star is inlaid into the white marble floor in massive slices of highly polished semi-precious stones: amethyst and rosy quartz, jade and lapis, onyx, cat-eye and garnet. The soaring domed roof is painted a deep blue with glittering sparkles of mica mixed in, and hundreds of seven-pointed stars picked out in gold and silver leaf.

Each of the seven walls holds a statue, larger than life, of one of the gods. The Father, The Mother, The Warrior, The Maiden, The Smith, The Crone, The Stranger. They are painted wood, beautifully and realistically carved by artists of great skill. Their gowns and robes are leafed in gold and set with jewels, and their eyes are alabaster and jet, with irises of sapphire or emerald or deep brown citrine. The exception is The Stranger. His or her statue is plain, almost stylized, the face hooded and the robes painted glossy black with minute flecks of black dragonglass that make it glitter very faintly, like the most distant of stars.

There is an ornately carved and inlaid altar before each statue, for the faithful to pray, and light their candles.

It's early morning in Oldtown, but the Sept is already awake to meet the day. Leire is working with a handful of young acolytes to prepare the floor of the Sept for service, and currently she and the little flock are at the altar of the Mother, the robed youths tidying the rows of candles lit on its edge under her watchful eye.

The large doors of the Sept creak inwards, inside stepping Novak. He shuts the doors slowly behind himself and then looks towards the group of young acolytes infront of the altar of the Mother. Novak squints for a moment but then finally draws out Leire from the group of boys, he hitches his satchel further onto his shoulder and slowly begins to stride over to the group. Novak's eyes are clearly bloodshot, he looks as if he hasn't slept for days, a running streak of dried blood runs from his left nostril onto his lip.

The approach of Novak catches the attention of one of the acolytes, who sets the others murmuring with some elbowing and furtive looks in Novak's direction. Leire follows their attention with a glance over her shoulder, and at the sight of Novak adopts an expression of concern. "Novak. Are you well?"

Novak runs his fingers through his askew hair, he gives off a shrug at the question.. "I've been better, and how are you, Septa Leire?" he gazes briefly to the acolytes and gives off a weary smile, "Hello, boys.." he says monotonously, lacking much expression. He loves kids, but right now he's not quite in the mood.. "I brought the finished product, Septa."

With a dubious once-over of Novak, Leire nods and says nothing, turning instead back to the acolytes behind them. "When you've finished here, go on to the Father's altar," she instructs the underlings, guiding Novak away from where the children continue their work so that the pair might discuss the commission. "May I see it?" she asks once they are beyond earshot, eager to see the piece.

The young man is guided away from the children, he pats one upon the head as he is walking away. His gait is quite slow, he lacks energy and spunk. "You certainly may.." he crosses his left arm over his abdomen towards the bag which is upon his right shoulder, he unbuttons it and takes out a large decorated frame which has fine stretched vellum in it, words and all.. a fine piece of craftsmanship. He stands to the side of Leire and he holds it infront of her, placing it in her hands to see for herself. "Took awhile, I had several projects I also had to do but I kept this on the top of my list.." he coughs abruptly after speaking into his arm, he shakes his head and exhales deeply through his nose and looks for Leire's expression for the work he has given her.

Leire allows the artist to present her with his work, taking the frame in her own hands when it is offered her and taking her time to examine it line by line, detail by detail. She nods as Novak speaks, but absently, her attention focused on the finished piece. Her reaction is slow forming, an expression that takes its time to show upon her face. In the end, it's clearly one that indicates she's pleased, an approving smile partnered with an appreciative attention to the finer aspects of the work. "Well done."

A large piece of fine vellum is stretched and fitted onto a decorative frame composed of bronze. Seven-pointed stars can be seen on each corner of the frame and raised ridges connect to all of the four.

The vellum isn't just a piece of vellum, underneath it is quite an example of remarkable penmanship below a large heading.

It has many curls and waves present inside each letter, rounded perfectly and stopped at the right points perfectly, seeming to strand in piece by piece almost as if it were done by stamp and it goes on like this line-by-line.



Ser Laurent Tyrell, of House Tyrell, called the Knight of Thorns
Ser Quillian Oakheart of House Oakheart, called the Blackrood
Ser Viggo Cockshaw of House Cockshaw
Lord Kevyn Cockshaw of House Cockshaw
Ser Abram Florent of House Florent
Ser Brynden Hightower of House Hightower
Ser Prospero Storm of Nightsong, called the Oncoming Storm

A straight line seperates the page from the accused and the accusers, the line forming a circle at the end and then goes into a downwards spiral for a few inches.


Lord Arnau Blackmont of House Blackmont, First Sword of the Red Mountains
Ser Osric Dayne of Starfall, called the Sword of the Morning
Ser Arrick Gargalen of House Gargalen, Defender of Dorne
Ser Castor Toland of House Toland, called the Stargazer
Ser Arros Sand of Hellholt
Ser Tameron Sand of Starfall
Ser Maelys Targaryen of House Targaryen, called the Prince of Ashes

A perfect line crosses across the bottom of the page after the list of the names from both sides with use of a straightedge. Underneath it reads several stanzas of prayer, in vibrant flowing colors ranging from blue to purple centered with the text already written upon the vellum.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray.
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.

Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.

A seven pointed star stamp is placed directly underneath the prayer to leave its mark as a religous and commemorative document.

In the bottom right hand corner of the vellum lays the scribe's mark in small tilted cursive,


A thin smile appears on the young mans face, and he gives a stern nod.. "Thank you, I would only give the best product for such a thing like this." Novak stumbles backwards after speaking, his eyes closing for a moment.. he shakes himself awake. Novak considers perhaps doing a prayer at the altars, but he is afraid that he might fall asleep.. not a thing he wants in such a place like this. "I'm sincerely glad you like it.."

Leire frowns when Novak stumbles, her concerned expression returning. "Are you ill? Shall I summon someone to attend to you?" She stands there holding the framed vellum, but casts her gaze about the floor of the Sept as if to locate a likely person to see to whatever ails Novak. That his present state might be self-inflicted does not register.

Novak shakes his head, holding up his hand as a barrier almost.. "I'm fine, couldn't be bet-.." his reassurance stops abruptly, his eyes go into a thousand yard stare, and then slowly roll into the back of his head. He goes out like a light, slowly falling backwards onto the ground with a thud, turning pale in the face. It's obvious that he has fainted, and quite a faint it was.. his swept back bangs now fall over his forehead and his eyes.

When Novak collapses to his feet in front of Leire, one of the acolytes who'd been traveling from the altar of the Mother to that of the Father happens to notice and run over to assist the septa. "Take this," she instructs the boy, handing him the framed vellum before sinking to a knee at Novak's side. "Put it out of the way and return with a damp cloth." The boy does as bid, but in the meantime Leire takes to murmuring a prayer under her breath, the finest form of intervention she knows in a situation such as this, and when the child returns with the cloth she lays it to Novak's brow, laying a hand upon his cheek and intoning, "Gentle Mother, lay your nurturing hand upon your son."

The fallen young man squints tightly, he lets out a small groan.. his eyelids heavy, he blinks slowly.. his eyes open, to which he sees Leire hovering above him like a nurse with a wet rag pressed to his head. He exhales deeply from his nose quite shakingly, laying on the floor.. he doesn't attempt to get up, he doesn't think he has enough power and he fears he might faint again.

"Lay still," says Leire, sending off the young acolyte with further instructions. "My brother septons will see you transported to healing hall. You'll be better looked after there, and can stay until you are well again." Pat pat pat, she dabs his forehead with the cloth, leaning over the young man attentively. The acolyte can be seen in the distance, returning with a pair of hardy septons who look like they'd have no problem hefting Novak across the floor.

Novak stays still as instructed, he lets out a deep sigh which has mixed bassy tones of a groan as well. He listens to Leire as best as he can with his state of subconscious he is undergoing. "You're a dear.." he mutters under his breath towards the angel-like Leire, he watches as Septons start to emerge around him, who are ready to 'transport' him.. he doesn't resist, he needs all the help he can get.

"I must prepare for the morning service, but I shall look in on you thereafter," Leire promises, rising to her feet fluidly as the septons move in to gingerly lift Novak from the floor, carrying him through the Sept to the healing hall, where those servants of the Seven gifted in such arts ply their craft.

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