In the great desert. (Mhojave Desert)
A smattering of clouds fills the sky, lacing it with spiderwebs of grey. Great undulating dunes of sand rise and fall all around, swelling like a vast ocean frozen in time. In all directions but north, naught can be seen but the endless roll of desert as it stretches over the horizon in massive waves. Over the northern hills, the sand begins to give way to parched desert soil, rich and red beneath the suffocating blanket of tawny grains. Sands skitter across the surface of the dunes as they are bandied about by scorched winds. A tall black stone statue rises from the desert sands, cloaked and cowled.  Mannimar des Valois, Prophet of the Fortress is here, shrouded. His face is partially concealed beneath a raised hood. Verily Ravensong is here. Her face is partially concealed beneath a raised hood. She wields a glass of moon blossom tea in her right hand.
You see exits leading east, south, and west.

Verily says wryly in a warm, downy voice, "Either he is late, or you are early."

You peer at a statue of Flair unscrupulously.

You tell Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah, "Whatever, I will have it out."

Morro arrives, following Flair.
Flair arrives from the south.
He is followed by Fats, a zombie elephant, an obese tom cat, an ebony pegasus, and a small armadillo.

Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah says, "A whole party, I see."

Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah says to you, "You know, you can still choose to learn from this blessing if you wish."

You say in a quiet, muffled voice, "I already feel richer from the experience."

He is a mhun. He stands a few inches below six feet. His features are hidden by a mirrored obsidian mask. His posture is haunched and unnatural. He is wearing pressed black trousers, a blood pendant, a golden astrolabe, a long-sleeved midnight blue linen shirt, an Aldar Diadem, a Loki's Tear amulet, spectacles of whitesight, the golden fangs of the Grand Hierarch, a finely tooled archery bracer, a mirrored black obsidian mask, a pair of Ogre's Gauntlets, a black hooded cloak of the Serpentlord, a dragonskin quiver, a suit of scale mail, a plain grey handkerchief, a Ceylonese bracelet, a hunter's belt, black patent-leather dress shoes, 2 Hashani scabbards of deepest midnight, and an elegant jacket of pure black. He walks with the strongfavour of Valnurana.

Flair creases his brow in a frown.

Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah says, "I honestly hope you do."

Morro purses her lips.

Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah says, "In any event."

You remove a mirrored black obsidian mask.

This is now how you appear: He is a mhun. He stands just a few inches below six feet. His once handsome face has been horribly twisted, the disfigurement radiating from a small hole in the center of his forehead. Reddish-brown hair, tinted with hoary grey, hangs disheveled and lopsided upon his crown. Instead of the expectant juxtoposition, his green eyes lay on a diagonal plane, the right twisted up upon his forehead while the other sits where his nose should be. Likewise, his nose sits upon his right cheek turned outward at a ninety degree angle. His peppered auburn hair terminates in long undulating sideburns extending down the length of his distorted jaw. His posture is haunched and unnatural. He is wearing pressed black trousers, a blood pendant, a golden astrolabe, a long-sleeved midnight blue linen shirt, an Aldar Diadem, a Loki's Tear amulet, spectacles of whitesight, the golden fangs of the Grand Hierarch, a finely tooled archery bracer, a pair of Ogre's Gauntlets, a black hooded cloak of the Serpentlord, a dragonskin quiver, a suit of scale mail, a plain grey handkerchief, a Ceylonese bracelet, a hunter's belt, black patent-leather dress shoes, 2 Hashani scabbards of deepest midnight, and an elegant jacket of pure black. He walks with the strongfavour of Valnurana.

Fats, a zombie elephant shivers violently.

Silver sparks dance across the heavens as the riderless chariot of Lady Sol rushes past Achaea's three rings, the second brilliantly coruscating at its passing.

You say to Fats, a zombie elephant in a distorted, pained voice, "I am sure you have seen worse."

Orklanishkal arrives, following Amunet.
Amunet arrives from the south.

Verily inclines her head politely.

Amunet nods her head at Verily.

Amunet creases her brow in a frown.

Amunet says to Flair in a chic, liquored voice, "What is the rogue doing here?"

Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah says to you, "Once I begin, please, just trust me. Don't move, run, etc."

Prophet of Babel, Flair Ze'Dekiah says to Amunet, "I don't know."

You have emoted: Vayne's crossed eyes peer at the newcomers.

Flair raises a formless mask of the Nihilist to wear it, and the third eye upon its forehead flashes ominously as the mask deforms and stretches. Tendrils of the strange material choke off a gasp as it forms to his face.

Amunet says to Mannimar in a chic, liquored voice, "I would suggest you take your leave, if you would like your Seneschal to be cured. We do not perform such rites in the presence of outsiders."

You say to Mannimar in a distorted, pained voice, "Do as you will, my son."

Verily says curiously in a warm, downy voice, "Am I permitted to remain, or is that directed at us both?"

Verily raises an eyebrow questioningly.

Orklanishkal says in a soft, raspy voice, "Both, if you would."

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "Does it take so many? Flair managed all this on his own."

Flapping his rotting ears from side to side, Fats searches the room for his Prophet.

You have emoted: Vayne gestures casually to his visage.

Mannimar says in a gentle, yet serious voice, "And why should I leave my father alone in the hands of the one who did this to him?"

Verily's lips twist in a small, worried frown.

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "I suppose chaos is easier to conjure than order."

Flair says to you in a cold voice, "Trust, remember."

Amunet says to Mannimar in a chic, liquored voice, "I can call Tanris, if you'd like, though I doubt it would take more than me to cut your throat."

You wince in pain.

Vayne tightens his grip on his weapons.

Orklanishkal says in a soft, raspy voice, "And even if it would..."

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "You speak to an ally still."

Orklanishkal says in a soft, raspy voice, "Then afford us the deference an ally would."

Amunet says to you in a chic, liquored voice, "You are an ally."

(Ravensong): Verily says, "Grandfather - if you wish me to go, I shall. It is by your desire."

(Ravensong): You say, "Do as you will, I need not their help."

(Ravensong): You say, "They will not harm me."

(Ravensong): Verily says, "I will trust in you."

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "They will not harm me, further treachery would do no one good."

Verily casts her gaze to Mannimar, giving a small nod of her head.

Flair says to you in a cold voice, "You still consider it treachery?"

Flair gives a pained sigh.

Verily says quietly in a warm, downy voice, "Let us trust the Seneschal, please."

Flair says in a cold voice, "Some gifts are lost on the blessed."

Dusk steals silently over the horizon and crimson and ochre engulf the firmament, their seductive tones beckoning the sun to its nightly repose.

Amunet glares coldly at Mannimar, her two dark, human eyes smouldering with unbridled loathing.

Mannimar says to Verily in a gentle, yet serious voice, "He is my father, and I do not wish to see him alone. If I must go, I will first see someone here that I can trust."

Flair says in a cold voice, "Mannimar, Verily. I give you my word that when Vayne returns to you, he will be his old self. For better or for worse."

Verily dips her head in a slight nod.

Verily says to Flair in a warm, downy voice, "I appreciate hearing this."

The slitted mouth of a formless mask of the Nihilist gapes open, the cavernous maw exuding a noxious cloud. "Quiver before the oncoming of Doom," echoes from the hollow void, and the noxious air dissipates with the sound.

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "Perhaps not my old self and certainly not as handsome."

Verily says to Mannimar in a warm, downy voice, "Grandfather has bid us not to worry, so please - let us do exactly that."

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "Take a good look and go."

The cloud cover clears, and sun fills the skies.

The radiant sun shines all about you.

Mannimar says in a gentle, yet serious voice, "Very well. I expect him well when I see him next."

Mannimar beckons Verily to him.

Mannimar rubs his fingers briskly on a Tarot card.

Mannimar flings a tarot card at the ground, and it vanishes into the earth in a spark of magic.

Verily raises two fingers to her brow in an informal half-salute.

A shimmering, translucent image rises up before you, its glittering surface displaying the verdant grasslands, soaring mountains, sprawling settlements and deep blue seas of the Achaea mainland.

Mannimar reaches out and touches the map, and melts effortlessly into the image.
Verily leaves, following Mannimar.

Amunet says in a chic, liquored voice, "Or what? What could a rogue possibly do to us?"

Amunet rolls her eyes.

Amunet says in a chic, liquored voice, "Arrogant cad."

Mannimar tells you, "Return well, Dad."

Amunet says irritably to Flair in a chic, liquored voice, "Get on with it, then."

You say in a distorted, pained voice, "Indeed."

Seeping into the sky, the bloody moon reluctantly rises, surrounded by tear-like stars as darkness descends over the land.

Amunet says to you in a chic, liquored voice, "If it will set your mind at ease, my husband and I are here as witnesses, to ensure that the will of your Lady is followed to the letter."

In the crystal-clear night sky, the stars twinkle and glow brightly.

Flair closes his eyes, bows his head and begins to chant to himself. A strange aura builds around him as the desert sand slowly rises into the air and whirls around those present.

Vayne turns his gaze from Amunet nodding in passing acknowledgment.

In the crystal-clear night sky, the stars twinkle and glow brightly.

Flair says in a cold voice, "A gift was given in honor of my Lord. Or perhaps to sooth my own ego. Either way, it did not please Him and for that I am sorry."

You nod at Flair.

In the crystal-clear night sky, the stars twinkle and glow brightly.

Stained crimson, Achaea's outermost ring glitters like bloody droplets across the night sky.

Flair lifts his arms to his sides. The desert sand flails about violently. When Flair lifts his head, his one good, violet eye can be seen glowing behind his Nihilist mask. He levels his gaze upon Vayne.

Vayne takes a deep wheezing breath.

Flair places his trembling hands to either side of Vayne's face and begins to chant again. The sound is a cacophony of voices.

Flair says in a cold voice, "Still, someone must always pay the price for cowardice and treachery."

Flair lifts the mask covering his face.

In the crystal-clear night sky, the stars twinkle and glow brightly.

Flair removes a formless mask of the Nihilist.
A whistling howl tears from the slitted mouth of a formless mask of the Nihilist as Flair hooks his fingers under the flesh-like material and tears it from his face. Colour floods Flair's skin as he gasps for air.

He is a Chaos Lord. Standing at a full seven feet tall, his long-limbed form is trim, composed of nothing but wiry muscle and bone. Exposure to the sun has coloured his skin a light tan, and several dark scars are scattered over his flesh. Layered over these, the Mark of the Twin has been carved several times all over his body, but these self-inflicted wounds appear long-healed as well. His spikey purple hair is just long enough to hang down over his one good eye in a rakish sort of way. Void of scelera, the organ is a fierce shade of violet, while the other socket is dark and empty. A hard jawline along with his height and build make for an impressive display, though there is a weariness apparent in the lines that crease his face. Though slightly resembling a graceful tsol'aa, he has double joints and droopy eyes and is covered with bumpy skin. He is wearing a living third eye upon his brow, a Collar of Diablerie, a pair of buckawn's boots, a ring of pestilence, a Veil of the Libertine, an embroidered, snow-white vestment, an Amulet of the Moon, a ring of endurance, a bracelet of chaotic hematite, a Ceylonese ring, a mouldy and bloodstained top hat bearing the mark of the Twin, a glittering ring of vitality, a wyvernskin pack, a Sash of Wisdom, a Torc of Telepathy, an Aldar Diadem, a commemorative brooch, a Ceylonese bracelet, and a worn marble ring.

Flair looks blankly upon Vayne as he traces the Mark of the Twin into the air.

A smattering of clouds fills the sky, lacing it with spiderwebs of grey.

Flair grimaces, and places his face so close to Vayne's that they are almost kissing. Flair inhales.

You have emoted: Vayne cringes at the intimate embrace, his form shuddering.

Flair begins to scream as a vile mixture of black and violet energy pours from Vayne's mouth into his.

Vayne stiffens into a rapt pose as the transfer continues.

Flair continues to scream as the energy drains from Vayne into Flair. Flair's back visibly begins to hunch over--the spine cracking like a whip as it bends.

Deepest Stygian night steals over the land as the symbolic hourglass empties and turns, ready to begin a new day.
It is now the 24th of Glacian, 613 years after the fall of the Seleucarian Empire.

Flair falls to the ground, twisted and coughing. The desert sand falls with him. When he looks back up at his friends, his eye is dripping a soft, green ichor.

Flair says to you in a hoarse voice, "You can go now."

Amunet says in a chic, liquored voice, "I knew the East couldn't keep him healthy for long."

You have emoted: Vayne collapses in turn his face intent upon the desert sands, a small plopping noise is heard against the endless grains.

This is now how you appear: He is a mhun. He stands just a few inches below six feet. His swarthy skin attests to his heritage. Reddish-brown hair, tinted with hoary grey, hangs just above his piercing green eyes. His peppered auburn hair terminates in long sideburns extending down the length of his jaw. A subtle disarming smile rests upon his face. His posture is tall and erect. He is wearing pressed black trousers, a blood pendant, a golden astrolabe, a long-sleeved midnight blue linen shirt, an Aldar Diadem, a Loki's Tear amulet, spectacles of whitesight, the golden fangs of the Grand Hierarch, a finely tooled archery bracer, a pair of Ogre's Gauntlets, a black hooded cloak of the Serpentlord, a dragonskin quiver, a suit of scale mail, a plain grey handkerchief, a Ceylonese bracelet, a hunter's belt, black patent-leather dress shoes, 2 Hashani scabbards of deepest midnight, and an elegant jacket of pure black. He walks with the strongfavour of Valnurana.

Flair says to Amunet in a hoarse voice, "It appears that our Master isn't quite done with me yet."

Flair cough.

Vayne slowly stands up revealing his face, unmarred but by a small mark on his forehead. He looks down at Flair's distorted form then to the small insect writhing upon the sand.

You say to Flair in a warm, confident voice, "Never looked better."

Flair smirks.

Amunet says to you in a chic, liquored voice, "You look no worse for wear. I assume that your Lady will allow you to walk back to Hashan on your own, or would such a venture prove too strenuous for one possessed of so tender a constitution?"

Amunet smirks.

Vayne brings his heel down upon the maggot, grinding it into the sand.

You say to Amunet in a warm, confident voice, "And just the other month you were remarking about my strong will."

You say in a warm, confident voice, "I will certainly be on my way now."

Flair rises from the desert floor.

You say to Flair in a warm, confident voice, "Thank you, I suppose. I did learn something from the experience."

He is a Chaos Lord. He is covered in infected sores. He stands over six and a half feet tall and is thin enough that his bones break through his skin. Crooked teeth, yellowing and rotten, have been filed down to fine points and are covered in ichor and blood. His spiky purple hair is matted and  greasy--a few strands  hang over his one good eye.  His eyes are dark violet, crackling with chaotic energy and void of sclera, although the left  constantly cries a light green liquid and both are nearly covered in black, cancerous growths. Twisted and knotted, his spine bulges out of his back, covered in black, mushroom like tumors. His fungus covered fingernails are long, thick and sharp. The mark of the twin, II, has been carved haphazardly all over his emaciated body. The mark on his left arm is deep, cut to the bone, and infested with maggots, while the mark on his forehead glows a soft violet and oozes with pus and blood.  The vomit covering him stinks like tequila and rot. Though slightly resembling a graceful tsol'aa, he has double joints and droopy eyes and is covered with bumpy skin. He is wearing a living third eye upon his brow, a Collar of Diablerie, a pair of buckawn's boots, a ring of pestilence, a Veil of the Libertine, an embroidered, snow-white vestment, an Amulet of the Moon, a ring of endurance, a bracelet of chaotic hematite, a Ceylonese ring, a mouldy and bloodstained top hat bearing the mark of the Twin, a glittering ring of vitality, a wyvernskin pack, a Sash of Wisdom, a Torc of Telepathy, an Aldar Diadem, a commemorative brooch, a Ceylonese bracelet, and a worn marble ring.

Flair says to you in a hoarse voice, "You didn't."

You say in a warm, confident voice, "Of course I did, though it might not be exactly what you intended."

You say in a warm, confident voice, "Whether for your Master or your own ego."

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

Santar swoops down from the skies, grasps Flair in his talons and lifts him away to the skies.

-We fight Santar, he leaves-

Morro Viatrix Ze'Dekiah says irritably, "Can we go home now?"

Morro shuffles something into her deck of cards.

Amunet nods her head emphatically.

Morro shuffles something into her deck of cards.

Flair nods his head at Morro.

Orklanishkal says in a soft, raspy voice, "Preferably."

Morro makes a beckoning motion.

You say in a warm, confident voice, "See."

You say in a warm, confident voice, "I helped."

Orklanishkal says to you in a soft, raspy voice, "I hope you remain well."

You smirk.

You incline your head politely.

Morro Viatrix Ze'Dekiah says coldly, "Farewell."

Morro shuffles some cards with the image of the Universe out of her deck.

Morro rubs her fingers briskly on a Tarot card.

Morro flings a tarot card at the ground, and it vanishes into the earth in a spark of magic.

A shimmering, translucent image rises up before you, its glittering surface displaying the verdant grasslands, soaring mountains, sprawling settlements and deep blue seas of the Achaea mainland.

Morro reaches out and touches the map, and melts effortlessly into the image.
Flair leaves, following Morro.
Morro leaves to the ether.

Amunet reaches out and touches the map, and melts effortlessly into the image.
Orklanishkal leaves, following Amunet.
Amunet leaves to the ether.

The shimmering map folds up and vanishes into the ether.