Cold Tea and Heated Words

You tell Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon, "I am free, and come bearing cookies."

The bright, bell-like voice of Elexia rings in your ear, "Excellent! I shall come to you, then - I've just the place in mind for the tea!"

A delicious sugary smell heralds the sudden entrance of Elexia, who appears in a puff of powdered sugar.

Elexia flashes you a joyous smile.

You flash Elexia a joyous smile.

You say, "Is it a tea house?"

You begin to follow Elexia.

Tapping her cheek in thought, Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon says, "I thought we might sip by a favoured spot of mine in the Realm of Serenity, but is there somewhere else you'd rather speak?"

Elexia leads you at a leisurely pace, passing by a flowing waterfall and gentle river, and out of lush forest of fruit trees. This final place feels peacefully quiet in comparison, suspended over an endless void. A radiating glow emanates from a plaque upon a tall, blooming cananga tree, and vibrant colours twist endlessly through the tenebrific dark.

Warmth floods Elexia's already-bright smile as her violet eyes spy a tall, blooming cananga tree. With familiarity, she flutters near its base, sparing a moment to rest a hand against its bark before her sable wings carry her gently to the ground beneath the tree. She glances back at you.

Walking through the surreal landscape, Illyria is quieter than even her usual custom, staring around with wide eyes as she goes. "Is this... the realm of a deity?" she asks softly, eyes trailing between one thing and the other until fixing onto the void beneath them. Her wings drift downward slowly until they hug her back, wispy and insubstantial as the fading colors around them.

Elexia answers you first with a nod of her head. The pixie-like faeling's hand rises up near the translucent, shimmering crystal bindi atop her head. She stops just shy of touching it, instead allowing its radiance to dance through her splayed fingers. "This is Kiunid Vruna - Serenity Itself, the realm of My Dear Maylea, Bloom of Serenity." Her hand falls to join her other in front of her. She cants her head lightly. "In particular, this spot is where I do much of my writing, and my contemplations." A wistfulness passes across her face. "Oh! Tea, tea..." she murmurs to herself, beginning to rummage around in a satchel of turning seasons.

Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.
As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.
You have emoted: Serenity is the last thing that could be said to describe the sylphen faeling as she sinks warily to the ground, looking around. She sits there quietly, faintly troubled, waiting for the tea to be poured and served. Illyria's eyes follow the smaller woman's movements as she searches for the libations, pulling out the cookies from their parcel without looking down and laying them in front of her. "So that means She'll hear all of this, then," she murmurs, a statement rather than a question.

You give a little seal cookie to Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon.

Elexia produces two bottles from the depths of a satchel of turning seasons, following up two cups patterned after acorns. Notably, one of the cups is significantly larger than the other, so much so that it looks almost comical in the faeling's hands. She spares you a curious look, but then pours into this larger cup first. "The Lady is always with me," she says with a matter-of-fact certainty. "It matters not if we stand in Her Realm, or in the depths of the Wyrden Wood, She would hear. I've seen enough in my years to know that to be truth." She nods her head to punctuate her statement. Having finished pouring, she passes you the cup. In order to reach you, her wings spin into motion again and lift her upwards.

You think to yourself: She'll get to be disappointed with me before She's even met me.

Elexia pours white apple blossom tea from a bottle into a little acorn cup.

Winging over on her sable wings to deliver it, Elexia gives a little acorn cup to you.

Elexia alights near her satchel once more, pouring herself a cup in short order afterwards.

Elexia pours white apple blossom tea from a bottle into a little acorn cup.

You take a drink of white tea from a little acorn cup.

Elexia takes a little acorn cup into both of her hands, lifting it to her lips to take a small sip of the beverage. As she does, her eyes close for but a moment. When they open again, they look upon you with a quiet sort of inquisitiveness. "What weighs on your mind?" she asks, her voice gentle.

Pursing her lips, Illyria looks down and takes the cup, freeing Elexia from the burden of the outsized thing. In her own hand, it is rather small. She sips carefully, then pauses, distracted from her musings by the delicate and bright flavors of florals and citruses on her tongue. A faint smile brightens the youth's somber face. "This is lovely," she says softly, wrapping both hands around the heat of the mug. The question is not answered immediately, of course. Like most things, she takes her time to contemplate it, sifting the layers of meaning around both inquiry and possible replies before venturing a response. "A move," she says carefully. "And questions, to inform it. But I don't think this is the right place to speak on the topic, out of respect, so perhaps we should just stick to a pleasant tea and talk of the theater."

There is a slight tilt to Elexia's head as she listens with rapt attention to you. Although her smile remains, filled with compassion, a faint sadness flickers across her eyes for but a moment. However, her gaze remains curious, and without a hint of judgment. "I am glad you enjoy the tea, dear" she says with a dip of her head in recognition. Her smile grows fond and wistful, as if something had just come into her mind. "This, my dear, is a place full of difficult conversation. A place of challenging the heart, a place of growth. It is a place where many have come to worship, aye..." She waves a hand. "The Shelterfolk of Serenwilde, but also Gaudiguchians, Hallifaxians, and once, a Celestian. And they, too, have pondered here, have looked within, and found growth." She returns her hand to her cup. "If you would like to journey elsewhere for this talk, I would be happy to accommodate you. But, if it is a difficult decision, a searching of the soul, then I think this a fine place indeed."

Gently, Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon says, "In any event, if this is what is truly on your heart, we should discuss it, whether here or elsewhere."

Illyria looks down into the teacup, tilting it this way and that to swirl the contents within as if the dregs of the sweet beverage held the answers to all the woes of the world. Once more, the answer is long in coming after Elexia's words have ceased, the only indication of her alert attention shown in the slight tapping of one index finger on the rim of the acorn and the shifting positions of her brows as she mulls over the matter in her mind. The guarded tightness of her gauzy wings loosens somewhat, though, allowed to float free once more, albeit at a sharp downward angle. "Mm. Would you tell me all the bad things you know about Glomdoring?" she asks in a voice hardly above a whisper. A moment later, she continues, even more quietly. "And the extent of what you know of the Silent One?"

Elexia's reaction to the mention of the Glomdoring is slight, but she responds altogether differently to hearing 'the Silent One.' Her already moon-pale complexion grows even paler, and her violet eyes find her cup. Across her sable wings, a fearful red laces and arcs like lightning before disappearing. Her eyes close, and she inhales a steadying breath, her sable wings fanning to their fullest behind her. As she exhales, her eyes look to you again, her smile returning - but with an air of mournfulness. "I will speak of the Glomdoring first," she says softly. "It is the result of the Lady of Thorn's attempt to purify the Wood using the Seal of Nature, when the madness that lay behind the Seal gripped her. It bears the touch of the Soulless Ones, the beings who devoured the Elder Gods, and the reason those Elders that shattered into the mortal races did so." Her expression falls further. "They bear great cruelty, and seek nothing more than to spread their Wyrd - the result of that failed attempt at healing - across the entirety of the Basin. Those fae which bear duty - tah'vrai - to Night are bound in shadows, and oft scream in their anguish. They think not of slaying even a child." Her violet eye's narrow, and her voice grows even softer for a moment. "As they attempted to when the Silent One ordered it."

Carefully taking in Elexia's reactions as she waits and watches, Illyria's fingers continue their small motions around the odd cup even as the rest of her remains poised in near-perfect stillness. The arcing colors within the other woman's wings are noted with a faintly puzzled twitch of her lips, but her eyes stay locked on Elexia_she face. The mournfulness in the words is matched with a quiet regret when a reply finally comes, trailing slowly from her lips with a strange sort of weight. "Why did He order that?" she murmurs, her wings pressing closer once more atop the shimmering skyscape of her layered cloak, the edges of which are pulled closer against a perceived chill by a hand freed from the tea cup. She looks like she might say more, but closes her mouth and shakes her head, awaiting the answer to that inquiry before continuing onward.

Again, there is the momentary pause from Elexia coupled with a brief closing of her eyes. When they open, she smiles no more. Her expression is cold, though it is not directed at you. Instead, the faeling's eyes stare distantly into the dark beyond the edge of the shining platform you two speak upon. "It is written by the scribes, in the two hundred and sixth post in the Events of the Realm." She places her tea cup down beside her. "There was a prophecy, that a moonlit child would bring a great blight upon the Wyrd if she was not slain. And so, the Silent One sent the one known as Xenthos to slay the babe." Again, red erupts in her wings, though her mien remains the same. "He slew the child's father, and wounded her mother, but when he turned to slay the babe, my Dear Lady Maylea rescued her from the Silent One's clutches." Like a spot of peace amidst a raging storm, a smile reappears on the faeling's face. "That very mother now serves the Lady as Her High Priestess." A pause, and then the smile vanishes again. "I have also met the Silent One myself. Many times, now." Before continuing, her violet eyes find you once more.

Illyria's eyes follow Elexia's into the void, staring into it both blankly and piercingly as she mulls that over, cataloguing each thing in turn. "A self-fulfilling prophecy?" she murmurs thoughtfully to herself. "So many are. An attempt on the baby's life very well might result in that baby retaliating as an adult, if it did not succeed." She halts, shaking her head. "That's neither here nor there, though," she acknowledges. Lifting a hand to rub her forehead, she lifts her eyes to meet hers. "What did you find, in those meetings?" she asks, curiosity overlaying the sadness in her tone.

Elexia cants her head one way, and then the other, her violet eyes studying you. "I have found that He is able to cloak Himself in His shroud. Appear at times as even... pleasant. But beneath, cruelty." Her voice loses its soft tone, growing firm. "I remember when He told me, when I was young and weak in myself, that I would always be so weak and so cowardly. I remember when my sister, Lief, prayed for Him to stay His hand from her friend, Gurashi... And I remember, with my own eyes and ears, how she shrieked with pain as He struck her in reply." No black remains in her wings, now, only red. "Gurashi had difficulty living in the Glomdoring. They are not the only one, I have spoken to one recently who also left." Her violet eyes close, and as the topic shifts from the Silent One, the red drains from the filaments of her wings. "They had kindness. Compassion. Mercy." She looks now at you more keenly, as if trying to discern something within. "The word 'Glomdoring' means 'No Mercy' amongst the fae. It is what their Rowena Nightshade cried as she once cut down fae when the Taint gripped her. To them, it is a weakness, a blight, something which cannot survive." Her voice is steady. "If there is a shred of mercy, an ounce of compassion, a hint of kindness in you, there is no place for you among them."

Her voice sincere, Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon says to you, "Do you have mercy, Illyria?"

Illyria freezes, eyes pulled to Elexia with an inexorable gravity as the words weave their web across her. The stillness in the faeling's body is complete now as, suddenly and far sooner than ever expected, a pivotal decision is placed before her. Unprepared, she stares, as logic... fails. For once in her young life, there is no reasoning to explain the feelings that drive the instinctual upheaval against the words delivered with such calm, firm clarity. And then, there is. Lifting her chin, something settles over the cloud-touched girl, something heavy. "Nature is not merciful. Where is the mercy for the sick fawn, the calf with the broken leg? Where is the mercy for the sapling that grows beneath the elder tree, choked and stifled by the lack of sunlight? There's no mercy to be found in the hunt save for the swiftness of the kill. No mercy given to the forest from the wildfires, save for the renewal of growth thereafter." She closes her eyes, then opens them with a long exhale. "This is just a fact of life, one we ourselves subscribe to. What's the difference?"

"Shards are not animals. Nor are they plants," Elexia replies, her voice firm. "We are sentient, soulful beings, descendants of Elders given that gift by the Lady Dynara. To cut down a shard to feed the wyrd, to slay an infant because of the Glomdoring... It is not like a plant dying of natural causes." She grows quiet for another moment. "Nature can be cruel, and can be fierce, as the deeds of Farella Lunseer of the Serenwilde displayed when she allowed the Celestian refugees drown. However." She gestures with a hand. "We can be kind, warm, as shards of the Elders. And we can gain strength from each other's kindness. Just as Rhoswen Wildbriar led, after Farella's deeds." She cants her head once more. "You spoke to me the other Moon of concern, for our relationship as a Commune with Magnagora. You thought they were too cruel. The Glomdoring is just as touched by the Soulless, and a place of just as much cruelty." She raises a finger. "If you go there, you will be swallowed up. Either your kindness, which you displayed to me, will vanish and you will be an untrue self. Or, one day, you will depart with a broken heart." The edge to her tone disappears, sadness overcoming her features as she says softly, "I will not condemn you for your choice. But, if you decide to do this, I will mourn for you."

 Illyria listens in silence, but the words don't lift the weight from the narrow shoulders. With eyes of a blue that no longer seems particularly soft at all, she blinks once and slowly lifts the cup of much-cooled tea to her lips, hardly tasting the previously enjoyed beverage as she takes a long sip. "I was concerned of the Taint," she says quietly. "And needless cruelty. Torture for torture's sake. The cruelties that Magnagora indulges in are just that- indulgences. Culling that which weakens you is not cruelty, though the amputated arm may scream otherwise, not recognizing its gangrene." She sighs, looking to one side. "The Wyrd is not the Taint. I've read enough to know that much, and it does not feel that way either. If it's simply a case of it being a cruel and cold place, well... call it youthful stubbornness, but I think I must find out for myself." She stands, something sad in her eyes and old beyond her years. "Thank you for the tea, and the talk," she says quietly. "I know my way out."