Luella
He watched as she responded, glad to know she had a calm reaction. He wondered what she would have said if he had not put that tid-bit about his father at the end. That last bit of relation to maintain appearances. Varis only grinned as she spoke of how the practices and histories had been passed down. He only nodded, listening as she continued. 

Then, her question about his father. His eyebrows perked up at this as he leaned back a tad and watched, grinning at her reason for wanting to know. *Pure curiosity.* Thus, he nodded, always pleased to satiate such appetites. 

"My mother is originally from Tel Vos, before Red Mountain erupted. She was seeking magical knowledge from the Urshilaku, as a part of her thesis report so that she could move up in the ranks. She was a retainer at the time, and my father was an assistant to the Wise Woman, having enough magical skill to become a renowned battle mage among them. When they met, they spoke of a match made in fire, as he was devoured by her eyes," He gestured toward his own, and how different they might seem to other Dunmer. "And she, absorbed into his wit and cleverness. My mother engaged in a conversation with him, rapidly transforming into a fierce debate. She spoke of him leaving the tribe for her, while he wanted her to become a doting wife."

Varis grinned. "In Telvanni fashion, she challenged him to a duel. If he won, she would become his wife in the tribe. If she won, he would become wedded to her, and become, *Her wife*." A chuckle escaped his lips, as he shrugged. "He was initially offended, and outright refused. His fellow ashlanders chastised him, making fun of him for giving up so easily. So, he agreed to the challenge."

His eyebrows rose, "My father is a name true to his word. When he was defeated, he submitted, and went back to Tel Vos with my mother, with a scar to prove his devotion. They lived there for a time, until the Red Year. The residents of Tel Vos huddled into the underground or teleported to safety. My father immediately went back to the tribe, to help keep them safe. Before the ashfall threatened bury them all, my mother arrived, and helped cast a heap of water walking and water breathing spells, so that they might evacuate out across the seas and make it to Dagon Fel, where they would be safe from the majority of the calamity." 

"Since then, they have been inseparable. For over two hundred years, as, despite her challenge, she became close with some of the tribesmen. I am the youngest of seven, two of which went back to the Urshilaku tribe to reconnect with their past, while the rest scattered across House Telvanni's territories. One of them, if I remember correctly, is off in Vvardenfell, excavating sites and previous holding of House Telvanni, to reclaim whatever was lost in the ash."

Varis raised his eyebrows, "What brought you to the cities, and so far away from Deshaan?"
James
Astal listened intently to Varis' story. Truly a fine tale. As he spoke she leaned forward, hand snaking up under her veil to tap her chin in thought. She felt relief run through her when Varis' brought up how his mother saved the tribe. A selfless Telvanni, a comfort. If anything was a token of their love for each other is was likely that. Seven siblings, impressive. She clapped her hands together as Varis' finished, and steeled herself to answer his question. Astal did not like to think back on the day she left. On those sleepless nights within an ancient ruin. Thankful that her garb covered her face. Varis would not be able to see her darting eyes or lips pulled thin. She took a silent breath and pushed her discomfort down into her belly. 

"Pilgrimage. It was after a rather, tragic event. I found myself entrenched in grief, but I felt a calling. I was drawn to a ruin, one to the troubles. I sought to placate, to cease the agony that plagued me. I spilt blood upon the altar, wrapped my arms in intestines, and spent days in prayer. It was then that I realized, that I could not beg for relief. My first step upon that darker path was me conquering my grief, my guilt. I left, and I decided to travel across the country, to learn from the shrines of both good and bad. I kept to the wilds at first. I lived as I did with my tribe. But, it gets lonely in the wilderness. Community and family is everything to Ashlanders, we need each other to survive. And so, I decided to head to the cities. I did there as I do now to survive." 

Astal motioned to her wares in front of her. "Fortunes and Alchemy. But it also gave me the chance to learn and debate. Within the cities lie the more fervent devotees of the dark path. Hidden in the murky alleys and found through word of mouth.

Through argument with them and prayer I came to my conclusion. That the house of troubles seeks to teach us the hidden lessons. And so I taught what I knew to those who listened. I like to think that my way is not the brutal madness of the cultists. But rather a realization that there is balance and a need for both the good daedra, and the house of troubles."
Luella
A smile crept to his features as she explained her story, and nodded along. His eyebrows rose a tad when she mentioned a temple to the House of Troubles, but did not mock her. Not yet. As she spoke of sacrificing to them, things began to make sense. Perfect sense. The way she held them about her neck, claimed them to be more than mere challenges, but teachers? Varis watched and studied, listening carefully as she discussed her faith, and her philosophy. 

"Hm. A fascinating tale of faith. The journey toward one's own is often a difficult one, especially for the intelligent. The masses may have their sweet anodyne and succor from a priest's lips, but such teachings, such lecturing, are just that; lecture. It is one thing to hear the priest speak of value and virtue, and another to find one's own virtue."

Varis grinned a little. "I would challenge your view of the Troubles. You say they teach us the hidden lessons, while they make their lessons quite clear. They are tests, challengers. I will provide merit, that they are what aid our people in the Psijic Endeavor. To endure hardship. They are necessary, but they must not be followed. To bow to the Test, is to never pass it."

Varis' eyes narrowed as he observed her, wondering if she wished to now take the conversation somewhere more private, or if she would retort immediately.
James
Astal twitched her head to the side. Charms clinking with the sudden movement. She dismissively waved her hand. Pale fingers cutting through the air. She was no stranger to such conversations on faith. To those outside her circle her beliefs were often anathema. There would always be debate, conversation. Such was religion even before she choose her path. 

"By all means, challenge. The position I hold is controversial. I know that, every other walker of the path knows that. I do not so worship, as I do imbibe. The lessons learned from tests can be made forth into tools. At that time, so long ago, I was not aware of how my greatest test would affect me. I realized, through Sheogorath, that nothing was predicable, life itself is madness. Through Bal I would dominate the agonies that plagued me, Malacath would temper my will. And as I traversed the wilderness, weak and weary, that Dagon would make me prove my knowledge of the land. And so, that first month alone, out in the wastes I found my will to live again. Terrible and cruel the gods are, but had I not opened my mind to the depths of what they stand for. I would have likely died."

As Astal spoke, a zealousness gripped her speech. A tinge of obsession. It was obvious that her path had affected her deeply, though she maintained a strong lucidity. Her hands moved as she spoke, fingers tapping into devotional shapes as she spoke the names of the troubles. Her thumb touching specific knuckles with each name. Pin pointing which ones she would hold during prayers. Her form settled down as she wrapped up her speech. 

"But alas, such discussions are better had elsewhere. I get, passionate. But, I like to stay within city walls in such a foreign land. As Dunmer we may speak openly about such entities in our lands. But the superstitious here make it rocky land to navigate in public." Astal motioned to the other stalls in the square. And at the mostly Nordic crowds.

"I have been kicked out of a Nord city once, I wish for it to not happen again."
Luella
The Sorcerer observed Astal as she spoke. As she made her devotion and nature of it known. A look of somber curiosity came over him, as he looked at her as one would study a specimen in a lab. He watched her, as she spoke of how the Troubles had mettled her and allowed her to regain her drive for life itself. Disdain marked the wrinkles of his face, the laugh lines and forehead divets born from years of disgust. However, they settled as he opened his eyes a little and raised his brows at her mention of a better place to sit and speak. 

Varis offered a one-sided grin, as he said, "Of course. Perhaps the Silver-Blood Inn? Surely there is a spot in the corner somewhere there for us. Or a loft, where a door may be shut? Alternatively, a place by the fire, and a spell to keep us silent from prying ears? Then again, in my experience, the Nords of this land do love to watch foreigners fight. As much as I am disinterested in adding to their pitiable superiority mind-set, I do enjoy watching others become enthralled in intellectual discourse. Though, your aversion to being thrown out is acceptable. I'll let you lead the way."
James
Astal nodded. She moved to stand, knees creaking as they unfolded from her sitting position. She pointed towards a part of the city to the right of them. What would be a corner beyond the column of rock that housed the Silver-Blood inn. Hidden behind the mass of stone was an avenue of homes, chiseled into the rock like the rest of the city. 

"Tch, Beyond there. I have lodgings in a small apartment. It was given to me to stay in for a few weeks. My payment after healing a young nordic woman. Some well off merchants daughter. It is small, but warm and quiet. I have food and drink, if you care to partake. But uh." Astal motioned to her rug, with all here wares set up. "Help an old woman out if you can. I have many things."

With that, Astal moved the pack that was behind her to the rug. She set about gently collecting bottles and setting them into the large leather bag. They clinked about as she nestled more. The larger, more whole dried herbs she tied to the front of the pack. Powdered and crushed ones she simply poured into canvas bags, and tossed them haphazardly into the pack. She spoke as she moved about. 

"Fights yes. Had we been at each others throats with daggers, or simply our hands. They would pay little mind, a night within their jails, a public flogging maybe. But speak the names of the gods they fear with conviction. And they will turn on you, the little tolerance they had will evaporate like snow on a forge. These people cower from the shadows. I was speaking to a group of young Dunmer in the city of Riften. My first few weeks here, and caught the ear of a nosy old cow. I found myself dragged from my room at the inn, and tossed out with my belongings. How can the reclamations thrive if those around the Dunmer piss themselves at the very name of Mephala."