Time to hit da books

The Fulcrux of Manteekan.
Dark water fills the majority of this expansive chamber, a haunting mist settled over the still liquid. Within the centre of this massive lake, an island of frost-rimed rock rises, the jagged stones piercing through the haze that fills the air. Frozen remains cling to the sides of these icy crags, clawing at the surface of each as they try to escape the pool below. A massive arch of roughly hewn stone rises from the ground, a ghostly haze drifting lazily in its centre that coats the rock in a thin layer of frost. A tomb of icy stone rises within the centre of the room, statues of innumerable twisted fae poxing its sides.
You see a single exit leading through a frosted stone arch filled with haze.

You bow respectfully to the master shrine of Manteekan.

---> Lonnnng pause cause I was trying to write a prayer

A chill mist whips around in lazy spirals from surface of the lake. Within, a pair of eyes filled with vortices of snow regard you.

You have emoted: Takhre seems to be pondering the master shrine of Manteekan silently, gathering their words before they blink in surprise at the sudden presence.
You have emoted: Takhre bows deeply, their wings spreading outwards to maintain balance. "Lord Nightmare. I hope the Night finds You well."

A slight and fleeting sense of amusement fills the fulcrux. "What if it did not?"

You tilt your head curiously.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "... Hm. I do not know. It is a custom I have been taught to better my speech by my elders, Lord Manteekan. I would offer to do what I can, mortal as I am, to better things."
You have emoted: Takhre straightens, letting their wings tuck neatly behind them. "I heard of Your return, and wished to both find answers and perhaps more."

The eyes shift elsewhere, and then wink out entirely. You are certain the presence remains, however. "Platitudes. I will accept them as you mortals deem them necessary." A soft sigh, a ripple across the serene water through a path of hoarfrost must mark His passing. "Answers, and more. Very well. The question? Or shall I give you the peace to think about it carefully?"

Eyebrows raising, you say, "If You would prefer that I am blunt, I would find that immensely refreshing, Lord Nightmare. But yes, my question. Why did You partake of the Elixir? Most Elders who partook the Elixir found their home in Magnagora, the Tainted City. I know of Your unorthodox binding to the Glomdoring, but wonder why You would devote Yourself to it even in spite of Your imprisonment?"

A shrill ringing fills the air as Manteekan bursts into a fit of deranged laughter.

You have emoted: Takhre blinks slowly.
After a long pause, you say, "Actually, I now realize that was two questions."

A certain stillness comes over the fulcrux, and a response comes slowly. "Both, educated. Do I devote myself to the Wyrd? It changes, but let Us not take the fact of the matter for granted, shall We? It is a powerful thing, and none of the others understand it that that I do. Some could, but they don't. Shortsighted, the way Fain was."

You tilt your head curiously.

An icy breath whispers against the back of your neck, as though He must be nearly pressing lips to feathers or down. "The Wyrd is strong. It makes the choice easy. Now see there, I have given you the second answer completely for free." He stops abruptly, letting the pregnant pause linger full of implications.

You have emoted: Takhre's eyes glitter with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, the trill rhythmically twisting a preserved miniature rose ring as they listen attentively. They go stock still as the presence weighs down on them, refusing to shiver. "I thank You, Lord Nightmare, for Your Insight and Wisdom."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "There are many scrolls speaking of Your joining to the Glomdoring in centuries past, but none that offer an insight to You or Your wants. This answer sates my curiosity, for the time being."

A low growl is heard, the voice pitched down. The room chills to the point of being unpleasant. "Me and My wants? What purpose would you possibly need to know?"

Eyes gleaming, you say, "It is the more, I spoke of. How might I prove myself worthy to join Your Order? What do You desire in mortals who wish to follow you? I crave strength, and cunning. And I believe I could learn this from You and Your teachings."

An icy haze loops around your feet, as though threatening to capture them, or pull you under. "I am mildly displeased, but I remind myself that you are but mortals, and ones unfamiliar at that. My attention is necessary elsewhere, but I would leave you with a thought. What do you think you must do to satisfy Me? I expect an answer when next we meet."

You crease your brow in a frown.
You nod.
With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Thank You. I will find an answer."

You feel the icy hand of the Nightmare caress your cheek gently. "Do not disappoint."

Wyrden Haruspex Esei Shee-Slaugh of the Ascending Dusk, your mentor, has entered Lusternia.

You have emoted: Takhre closes their eyes at the touch, before nodding again. "I will not."

With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.

Stepping into the haze within the centre of the arch, your vision goes black and an eerie chill runs down your spine. Just as you teeter at the edge of death, the light returns and you are tossed hastily out from within the mists once more.

A hazy cavern filled with whispers.
Puddles of dark water litter the rocky floor, blossoming wider and wider as they reach the back of the cavern. A dense fog hangs in the air, rising from these empty pools, the fine mist filling the space with a haunting chill. Indiscernible whispers echo from the back of the cavern, each as eerie as the haze they pierce through. A massive arch of roughly hewn stone rises from the ground, a ghostly haze drifting lazily in its centre that coats the rock in a thin layer of frost. With a peaceful demeanour, a void-black swan graced with soft black wings adorned with silver ribbons glides through the air here. Nightmarish Lady Vella d'Vanecu, Doomed Ataraxic Shade with a Regal face lingers within a cinereal pall that deprives her surroundings of saturation and warmth. She wields a discreet pocket-sized notepad in her left hand and a bloody symbol of pain in her right hand.
You see exits leading east, southeast, south, and through a frosted stone arch filled with haze.