Fortitude, To Outlast The Stars

The minute stars drifting within the depthless waters beneath Avaris shy away from
his path as he stalks about in aimless agitation, each footfall spreading darkness like spilled ink,
leaving a tangled swathe of atramentous liquid in his wake. The hairline cracks in the chitin of
each hand are fine, but widespread, a crazed and spidery pattern of self-inflicted damage that
splits apart and closes with each clench of his fingers, the claws forming fists in an arrhythmic,
spasmodic manner.

You think to yourself: He could beg her to take him back. She might. She might. She would never open
her heart to him if he did, never draw him close... But wouldn't that be better, than cast out,
bereft? Anything would be better than this constant, burning absence.

The pale strands of his antennae lash about like lines that have snapped beneath
too much pressure, whipping about Avaris's head in bursts of frenetic activity, only to grow still,
and spasm into life once again as he paces.

You think to yourself: He could go back. Couldn't he? Limp back home with his failure writ upon him
like damnation's brand, his shame bared and searing. But She had numbed his pain before. He did not
want to be numbed, but if that was the only way to feel Her touch again...

The erratic, directionless nature of Avaris's stiff strides nevertheless have a
consistent component - No matter which way he turns, how sharply he pivots, he never seems to draw
near the throne that sits in quiet, pristine judgement, no does he so much as glance its way.

You think to yourself: Maybe She would not soothe him again. But he could live with that. It would
be enough to just hear the music of Her voice, even caustic with disgust. He'd do much, just to
drink Her in, the sight of Her, Her presence. To taste Her scent, to feel Her touch, even raised in
anger, to crush. He was starving, freezing cold. He'd eat poisoned crumbs, accept the wrath of
fire's hateful hold.

You think to yourself: But that would mean failure. A lack of Fortitude. You needed Fortitude, to
outlast eternity. That was what he had sworn to Her.

Avaris draws up short, standing a spear's length from the throne, abruptly still.

You think to yourself: He had sworn to Her, yes. But She has not vowed so unto him, had She? And why
would She? Why would a star bind itself to a mote of dust?

As Avaris stares at the throne, cold, hard and remote, his fractured fists begin to
tremble as red begins to ooze into his wings, vivid sanguine seeping into the markings like blood
welling up from deep lacerations.

You think to yourself: Could you resent Someone for loving them too much? He had not thought that
you could - It was not Their fault, after all. They did not choose to have your heart cast at Their
feet. Was it any wonder She had looked at him with such bemusement? How would he react if an insect
fell before him in witless devotion?

You think to yourself: He knew this. The cold logic, the detached sense of it all. He did. But that
didn't change how he /felt/, at how the anger bubbled up when he looks at that damnable throne,
empty as it has ever been. She had never even touched it, never warmed it with Her presence. Had She
even noticed this little pocket he had carved out for that pathetic display?

Avaris takes a single step towards the indifferent throne, the angelic wings, pure
and flawless, a mockery of his present state.

You think to yourself: Would She have cared, even if She noticed? Was She just pitying him all
along? She was ever the mother, after all. It would make a bitter sort of sense.

You think to yourself: But he was no child of Hers. He did not want Her pity, or Her maternal touch.

There is a long, tense moment of stillness that seems to stretch ever onward, the
fragile peace of the areas growing more brittle by the moment as Avaris glares at the throne with
such intensity that the air about him shimmers and warps with a subtle haze.

You think to yourself: It did not matter what he wanted. He would not get it. He had known that all
along, hadn't he?

You think to yourself: Then why was he so angry at Her?

A soft, gentle whisper drifts through your mind, like a passing thought, "Why are you angry at Her?
Is it so wrong to feel betrayed?"

The antennae that flow from Avaris's head like streams of bone twitch, bending down
in a slight frown.

You think to yourself: Was it wrong to feel this way? She had cast him out, after all. He had given
Her nothing but love, and the Devotion She so prized, and what had he gotten in return?

Soft, gentle voices murmur in reply, "Nothing but scorn it is all She is capable of giving. None can
ever please Her. Better to curse Her name and be free, is it not?"

The wounded chitin of Avaris's fists creaks as he squeezes them tighter yet,
sending further gaps in his armour wending their way quietly through the dull carapace.

You think to yourself: The only One that could ever please Her was dead. A specter that haunted all
those who would even try to grasp at the impossible, distant star of Her affection. Chains of memory
weighing him down as he sought to join Her in Her vaunted, heavenly station. Just to stand at Her
side, to be close. But what was freedom? What was he, without the chains? He had given everything of
himself to Her. He would be nothing. Nothing.

A soft and pleasing hum resonates in your mind as the intrusive thoughts whisper kindly, "Always
chasing after what was. Chaining yourself to the past. Such a waste when there is a future to yet be
saved..."

You think to yourself: A future? What future was there without Her in it? Without Her light? Nothing
but hollow, cold darkness. An eternity of silence. What salvation was there in that?

Gentle, coaxing whispers fill your thoughts, "Perhaps you are wrong about the darkness, hmm? Can one
who has stared into the Light for so long truly understand it? Can one who was been deafened by
angelic hymns truly understand silence? Come closer to the dark and the quiet, and you could see..."

You think to yourself: Had he been wrong about the darkness? He had railed against it, against the
insidious corruption of the shadows in Celest. But...Had he been right to? Could so many people be
wrong? Illyria was dark, and quiet, and so terribly comforting. Would it be so wrong to draw a
little closer? To slip into the darkness, like blessed sleep after so long hurting, so much time
clawing futilely within the Light? What harm was there?

Soft whispers murmur in approval, "What harm can there ever be in seeking the truth?"

You think to yourself: The truth. The truth was so often hidden away in darkness, wasn't it? Secrets
were kept in shadows, not left in the light for all to see. But what truth did he even care to
learn? A bitter laugh, sharp and cutting in its mockery. "The truth about love and betrayal, of
course. What else mattered?" Had the Silent Lord not said He knew Her cruelty well? That had stuck
with him like a well flung dart. He had not thought Her cruel, but...This was cruelty, was it not?

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "[Adjacent to your thoughts but not approaching, simply
gently manifesting in the manner that an eventide rose might unfurl slowly at the first brushstrokes
of twilight, her mind reveals its presence. Silent and cool, like a shaded oasis at the peak of
midday desert heat, its very existence close to your aetheric presence presents an unspoken
invitation- to approach, and dwell in the comfort it offers. A single thread of thought spans the
gap, a delicate unspoken inquiry of state of being]."

You tell Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell, "[A shifting of his awareness, the weight of
his countless eyes turning to you like lanterns holding guttering candles, their light flickering
and dim. The oasis is regarded with a mixture of wariness and temptation that wavers, his mental
balance sliding gradually forward and back in uncertainty.]."

You think to yourself: Illyria. Soft-spoken and calm, gentle as midnight rain. So like Her, in so
many ways, and yet...Not. Not an impossible star, so far above him that he could never reach, no
matter if he strove for eternity. Mortal. Grounded. Attainable.

Several of Avaris's light-forged eyes shift back to the throne, staring at the
vacant seat, accusatory in their regard.

You think to yourself: The great dam of his will, riven through with cracks, strains to hold back
the raging tide of his anger as it pounds against his restraint, ceaseless, unrelenting in its
assault.

The suddenness with which the tranquility is shattered is appalling in its violence
as Avaris's right leg snaps forward in a brutal kick that sends his taloned foot crashing through
the marble of the throne in a detonation of sound and flying fragments of white. He lashes out at
the left armrest with the back of his upper, corresponding hand in a blur of sickly yellow, and the
crack that echoes at the impact is accompanied by a faint spray of blood as his weakened carapace
breaks. Such is his temper that he either does not notice, or simply does not care, as he brings all
four of his hands together in a conjoined, brutish bludgeon, high above his head - and brings it
down like the fall of a dying star. Again, and again, and again, in a furious concatenation of
thundering impacts that for all their explosive sound are drowned out by the ragged, tearing roars
of mindless rage that rip themselves free from Avaris' throat in a wordless litany of pain, of
simple, raw anguish.

Eventually, he stops. It is not a gradual trailing off, not a stream trickling dry,
but a complete cessation that is as abrupt as the onset. Floodgates slammed shut after a brief,
torrential release of pressure as Avaris collapses to his knees before the rubble of the throne,
staring at the ruination with dull, listless eyes.

With the shattered gauntlets of his battered hands, Avaris numbly picks up the
fragments of the throne, the marble jagged, stained with the red tarnish of his blood. He gazes
fixedly at them for a time that seems to stretch into infinity, before he allows his fingers to go
slack, letting the marble fall limply from his grip.

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "[Her presence comes no closer, but nor does it
withdraw. It is a silent offering, extended without expectation of acceptance, and no ill will
should it not be. A second thread follows, simultaneously both shadowed and gleaming silver, like a
spidersilk strand of hematite. This one notes the flickering state of your thoughts, and is touched
with faint, genuine concern]."

You think to yourself: So tired. An exhaustion that was soul deep. So much pain, without and within.
So much darkness, pressing in - Or was he inviting it in? He could no longer tell. He was lost
within it, stumbling blind. But was that any different from the mist? It was. The darkness, at
least, did not cast him out. It would soothe him. She would soothe him. He could feel her concern,
the sincerity of it. Would it be so wrong to grasp hold that thread?

The voice grows softer, barely a hint of a suggestion as it drifts through your thoughts, "Such
pointless cruelty. No purpose. No goal. Just suffering..."

You think to yourself: Just suffering. He was tired of it. Even the most relentless warriors had to
lay down their arms and rest for a time, didn't they? Did he not deserve a break? A little rest.
That was all. It would do no harm.

You tell Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell, "[The distant sensation of heat, brushing
against your mind like the displaced air from a far-off eruption of a devastating inferno, which
fades, and cools, until there is a stillness, the quiet of night after a scorching day - But hollow.
In a voice worn down with weariness, the edges blunted, cadence stilted, he speaks a single word,
the fingers of his awareness curling around the threads, but not yet grasping hold.] Illyria."

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "[Like cats formed from shadow and smoke, the threads of
gentle contact send tendrils of quiet regard twining around the word, bumping lightly, undemanding
but softly curious.] Avaris. [The name is whispered in return, something closer to the sigh of a
cool breeze through shadowed boughs than a voice. It pulls lightly, but in the manner that a
mountain stream might- not a request for one to move along with it, but simply moving in accord with
its nature.] You are weary. [Not a question, but an observation and acknowledgement of the
naturality of such a state, but infused with a cloud-soft wish to soothe it]."

You tell Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell, "[The hand twitches, the barest shiver of
temptation as restraint slackens, ever so slightly. The sense of his will is that of a muscle too
long drawn taut, trembling with exhaustion, but locked into place. Still, there is the whispering
suggestion of a thirst, parched earth dried beneath a cruel sun.] I am. [The admission is a shameful
one - A confession rasping from a hoarse throat, uttered in concealing darkness. There is a longing,
an alcoholic staring at a drink that is not a perfect match for his favoured poison - But close
enough.]."

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "[Flowing delicately, unobtrusively, the serene and
soothing stillness of her thoughts are like a numbing salve as the touch lightly here, brush softly
there, deftly drawing attention from the rawest scrapes, the harshest burns. As cool waters might
flow over sunbaked rocks, tranquil and comforting as they leech the heat away, so too do the
tributaries of her mind as they outreach in smallest part, though her presence remains at a
respectful and unobtrusive distance.] Would that I could ease it.. [The words are of quiet longing
borne of a desire not to see anything suffer needlessly, an understanding that no simple words or
actions could heal the hurt. Simply a wish, soft as a healer's prayer.]."

You think to yourself: Numbing, so like Her touch...

Avaris shivers as a frisson runs through him, his stiff feathers rustling with the
subtle motion.

You tell Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell, "[The abrupt, almost violent urge to grasp,
to close about that gentle font and drain it, to slake an unquenchable thirst. The sensation is
brief, but jarring, like the scrape of massive talons on the other side of a comfortable, secure
retreat, and then gone. What remains is a twisting, almost sickened sense of keen yearning, of a
loneliness so absolute as to make the Void seem a welcoming, hospitable retreat.] I do not think
anyone can."

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "[As still and serene as a lake at midnight, she does
not recoil from the sudden lurching of your thoughts, the avaricious longing met with a tranquility
that flows over and into the emptiness. It does not fill the void, nor does it try. Rather, it tips
into it like a waterfall, dissipating into a shadowy, glittering constellation that scatters through
it, leaving a darkly sidereal constellation that leads outward from it, should one only choose to
follow.] "No," comes the soft reply. "But still, I am here.""

You tell Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell, "[At first, the stellar quality of your
thoughts causes him to flinch back, in the manner of a burn victim seeing a harmless candle, but
gradually, he eases into a more relaxed state, watching the umbral stars with fascinated hunger. The
pulse of his heartbeat is faintly audible, the drumbeats of a distant, rapacious band of deserters
echoing in the night.] "Where?""

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "[The shadowed stars shift, forming the shape of a
blackthorn tree upon a hill, the rest still spilling out into a darkly beautiful trail of serene
steps outward into the aether] My favorite place in all the world. As ever, you may teleport to me,
if you wish to."

You think to yourself: "Favourite place in all the world? Ah. Yes. That does seem fitting, does it
not?"

The stern clamour consumes you as you stride determinedly forwards.
The Fulcrux of Nocht.
The image of a beautiful nighttime sky has been stretched across the fulcrux. Dim stars struggle
futilely to compete with the terrifying beauty of Mother Night. The ethereal image wavers on
occasion, the sky rippling like water in a pond. A lonely hill covered in tall grass leads up to a
single shrine. Behind the shrine stands a large blackthorn tree. The tree is taller than most of its
kind, extending upwards rather than outwards. Delicate blossoms shower down from its branches,
creating a flurry of white petals and filling the air with the pungent scent of wyrden foliage. A
complex series of stones orbit around a stygian orb here. A rippling image of a beautiful night sky
has been magically wrapped around the fulcrux here. Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell is
here, shrouded. She wields an athame dagger in her right hand.
You see a single exit leading through an image of the night sky.

The severe ringing of bells dies away unnaturally swiftly in this space as Avaris
steps into being, his sheer mass pressing down upon the tall grasses and flattening them underfoot.
Still, he does not seem so out of place as he might have, before - The pale hue of his plumage, the
white, almost petal-like appearance of his antennae seem almost at home here. He turns his head to
regard the blackthorn, briefly, before turning his visored face to study Illyria. He says not a
word, but waits in silence.

Nestled into the thorny boughs of the blackthorn, Illyria is cradled in the crook of two larger
branches, a foot dangling with the swirling hems of her skirts as the cold breeze tugs at and
caresses the canopy of milky blossoms. When you appears from the aether, she straightens gracefully
to sit upright on the intersecting limbs, riding their gentle sway as a child might ride a swing.
Unlike many blackthorns, this one is easily large enough to accommodate even the titanic frame of
the kephera beneath it, and she extends a hand in silent offering to approach, to settle, to simply
savor the soothing solitude of the hilltop in the peaceful night.

The faded blue of Avaris's seven eyes is that of the sky fading towards night as he
stares at the offered hand, his antennae twitching in tiny, jerking motions, back and forth, back
and forth. Eventually, with an almost reluctant manner, he steps forward, beneath the sheltering
canopy of the blackthorn and its serene occupant, and lowers himself to sit. With his back leaning
up against the trunk, he maintains a rigid posture of control for a long moment, before he abruptly
slackens, shoulders slumping and head thumping back against the bark as he exhales.

As you approaches, Illyria lets her hand drop to perch along the branch, then pushes off lightly as
if to tumble down to the earth. Instead, she floats lightly frees, reaching a hand to unsnag her
cloak from where several long, wicked thorns have punctured it. She drifts downward, twisting midair
to face you as she descends, finally settling lightly to the earth just before the massive kephera.
The chill breeze is bracing and numbing, its quiet song gently mournful as it whistles past.

The grieving wind draws its cold fingers across Avaris's mane in a caress that
stirs the dense, stiff tufts of dull white, plucking gently at the dead leaves of his plumage in a
susurration of sighing sound. The great helm of his head does not turn down to face Illyria as she
alights before him, though several of the dim, eye-like markings that roost in his wings shift their
attention to Illyria, their regard almost covetous in its intensity.

Quietly, the faeling lifts a hand to study the sweet, eager shadows that dance over her skin. She
steps over to your side and sinks down into a cross-legged sit, then leans a gentle shoulder against
you him, wordless and tranquil. Wherever the Silent One's shadows touch the harsh brilliance of the
disfavor, the light is softened- though not covered, as it would have been from any other source.
Still, the effect is of a gentling of the painful brilliance, and Illyria sits in companionable
silence, closing her eyes to simply savor the unending night as blackthorn petals tumble around them
like freshly fallen snow.

You think to yourself: It was...Surprising, to him, how this form of closeness did not bother him.
How many hugs had he turned away out of discomfort? How many times had he wanted to reach out a
soothing hand, only to withdraw for fear of harming?

You think to yourself: Too many. Why permit this, then? Perhaps he was simply too far gone to care.
There was little his form could do that the jagged thorns of the Glomdoring could not.

Whether the simple contact is as a balm to his wounded soul, or if the Silent
Lord's shadows sooth the searing pain that limns Avaris's form, the end result is the same - He
breathes out a long sigh, the exhalation carrying upon it an immensity of weariness, of pain that
simple air should not be able to bear. The thrumming tension of his armoured form unwinds gradually
as the muscles smooth out, his limbs going limp as he simply allows himself to sit, and be supported
by the tree behind him.

The long silence stretches and the shadows lap lightly around Illyria , and by extension, you where
she leans, quietly soothing without expectation of conversation. The rippling sky, silence, and
flowing wind combine together to give the faint impression, after some time, of being underwater-
beneath a still, serene lake. The faeling hums softly, as ever, the bits and pieces that make it to
audibility lifted away and cradled by the breeze that ruffles the waving grasses around them.
Finally, she speaks, only a few quiet words. "It is beautiful here, isn't it?"

Were it not for the gradual rise and fall of Avaris's expansive chest, the boneless
manner in which he sits against the tree would make him seem an abandoned suit of armour, bereft of
its warm occupant, or a puppet knight with its strings cut, tossed aside. The subtle illusion of
placid depths lends him the aspect of a sunken statue, a forgotten monument to some long dead
champion of a past age. Whatever he appears to be, it is still, and lifeless, reinforced by the
quiet, hollow quality of his voice. "There is a certain appeal to it, yes."

Illyria nods in silent agreement, then falls still once more, though the constant tug of the
swirling wind lends an appearance of continual life and motion as her cloak flutters, her dress
ripples, and shadows dance joyfully over her from, so tiny next to you that one might mistake her
for a more normal, diminutively proportioned faeling from a distance. Content to go without
speaking, she simply listens, letting the kephera speak if he so chooses, but otherwise simply
letting the numbing comfort of the icy night linger around them.

The salve of silence lingers undisturbed for a span of time that seems without end,
a frozen moment captured in shadowed hues and pallid white as the two sit beneath the boughs of the
blackthorn. In time, many slow breaths hence, Avaris speaks, a strange note to his voice as he asks,
"Does your Divine love you?"

Looking up at the question, Illyria studies you, a hint of a frown on her face. She doesn't answer
for a long time, giving the question the care and consideration it merits. "I suppose that depends
on the sort of love you mean," she says softly. "But yes. I am his Childe. And He loves all of His
Childryn." Shifting her eyes to the shifting, twisting blackthorn boughs, the faeling falls quiet
once more.

The the ponderous motion of a falling oak, Avaris's head tilts down until he looks
down at Illyria directly, his gaze, as ever, unreadable. "How do you know? Has He told you? Has He
said 'I love you, My Childe'? Does He make you feel loved, to your core, without a whisper of a
doubt?"

Noting the movement, Illyria looks back from the tree to your eyes, her expression solemn. "No," she
says honestly. "He has not. And even if He had, there is always room for second-guessing oneself.
That is mortal nature, is it not?" She shakes her head minutely, lifting her hand to brush a petal
from her eyelashes, where it had fallen. "But that is beside the point. I do know, with utter
certainty, that this He where I belong, and that has brought me contentment."

The sound that buzzes up from Avaris's chest vibrates his chitin like a struck
shield, shivering against Illyria where the faeling remains in contact with his side. "The Divine
feel far more than we do. It is my belief that if One loves you - Truly loves you - then you will
not be able to doubt it. There simply would be no room for it." He lifts his upper right hand,
raising it to curl the splintered mass of congealed blood into a slow, grinding fist, the motion
more experimental, as if testing the range of motion, than anything spurred by anger. His words are
thoughtful, deliberate in their cadence as he speaks. "Contentment. Why should we settle for simple
contentment? They are Divine. They can give us whatever we desire. Why do you think He has not told
you that He loves you, Illyria?"

Illyria's eyes move to the damaged hand, frowning at the sight of it. "I suppose I have not earned
it. And.. I have not asked," she admits softly, looking down at the grass to study the patterns the
wind twists into the blades. "Contentment is a blessing to me, Avaris. It is far, far more than I
ever had before." Leaning forward, she plucks free a few blades of grass, beginning to plait and
twist them, silent and calm, though she does not hum. "They are so very old, the Divines. And our
lives, long as they are, are fleeting and finite. It must be very hard for Them, to become attached
to a mortal and then have them pass on, their thread severed. Now repeat that for millennia. I
understand Them walling Themselves off to the sort of love of which you speak. Not without a very
great deal of bonding and trust beforehand."

Avaris shows no sign that the battered appendage, nor any of its brethren, perturb
him - Though the extent of the fracturing makes it clear that it must. "They have not been among
mortals for so very long. Perhaps They are simply miserly with Their affection, or do not view us as
worthy of it. I wonder, often, at what They truly think of us." Lowering the hand to his lap, he
leans his head back against the tree once more, staring up at the night sky. "What would you do if
He cast you out?"

Silent for a long time, braiding blackthorn blossoms into the grass plait, Illyria is quiet and
still.. but it is with an air of melancholy rather than serenity. "That would suppose, I think, on
why it happened," she whispers. "Were it my error? I would move Planes to mend it." When the little
circle of flora is completed, she does not put it on, but rather lays it back in the grass, a silent
offering. "If it were arbitrary? I... I think it would depend on how others acted, after. But I
would be broken. Maybe forever." The last is said almost inaudibly, but quietly and starkly sincere.

The ridges of Avaris's jawline grind against the bark as he swivels his head to
look at Illyria, a searching quality to his regard, matching the intensity with which he probes,
"Why would it matter how others acted? Is He not everything to You? Does He not form the core of
your being, the foundation of your existence?"

You think to yourself: "Or am I the only one fool enough to build myself about Another in such a
way?"

Illyria turns to meet your gaze levelly. "Yes," she says frankly. "He is. He does. But even the most
shattered vessel can be mended with a careful enough hand. Though it will never be the same, after.
Still... with a skilled enough artisan, it may even be more beautiful than before." She tilts her
head to the side. "And then on the other hand, you have those who will pick up your pieces and lose
them, or scatter them in their well-meaning chaos, or pocket them thinking they are keeping it
safe.. and then you will never heal. That is why it matters."

There is not so much as a flicker of emotion in the wan blue of Avaris's inhuman
regard. "It is very imbalanced, the relationship between Divine and mortal. We break all to pieces
when They discard us, but sometimes I wonder if They even notice our comings and goings." A faint
curl of one antennae, pale as bone. "Does He love you the most?"

With a faint, sad smile, Illyria shakes her head. "I would hardly presume to think so," she murmurs.
"And as for the imbalance, well... yes. You are right. Though I do think that when Theirs turn on
them, it does hurt them. Still.. They have lost so much, all of them. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps
even millions, wiped away. Leaving, what? Dozens? What is a mortal or two to loss on that scale? To
watching one who you grew with for aeons be consumed by a Soulless?" The faeling looks back down,
setting her head lightly against your arm the way one might lean against a tree. "No, Avaris. It is
an agony, and unfair in many ways, but I understand it. And that is the importance of other mortals.
To fill the gaps the Gods cannot. Or will not."

The scorn in Avaris's voice is searing in its intensity, the layered, discordant
quality of his voice dripping with caustic derision. "Fill the gaps. Mortals cannot do such a thing.
That is like trying to fill an empty ocean with a few buckets of water." His antennae flick out like
lashing whips, sharp and fierce, though he makes no motion that might disturb Illyria's place upon
him. "No, Illyria. Theirs is an absence that cannot be filled." He lapses into silence for a time,
but it is only a short while before he stirs, and asks, "Why not? Why does He not love you the
most?"

Illyria doesn't answer for a long while, her eyes fixed on the grass. "I told you one that I will
not speak for others, especially when I do not know. Far less for my God. Someday, though, perhaps,
I will have earned that honor. For now, I simply serve Him as I can, and am content with what I
receive." Her voice is somber, but free of any bitterness or resentment at the sentiment.

You have emoted: The laughter that ripples forth from Avaris is quiet and dark as a lake at night.
"Such a convenient retreat when you do not wish to answer directly. Give me your opinion, then,
knowing that I am aware you are not speaking for anyone save yourself, with what you have observed,
what you feel, and what you think."

Illyria sighs softly. "I did answer directly, Avaris. That I have not earned such." She shakes her
head lightly, the scant light in the Fulcrux glittering off the aureate charms in her hair.

A thoughtful sound reverberates from Avaris's throat, faintly dissonant as it
shudders through the air. "Then who has?"

Illyria shakes her head slowly, not meeting any of your eyes. "I couldn't say. His Avatar, likely,
though she has long slept. The Auspice, too. Perhaps his Enur Il'dal." She lifts a shoulder, then
lets it fall. "Is there a reason to even speculate?"

"Always." Avaris's reply is immediate, and far firmer than any of his words have
been of late - The old conviction shining through, albeit briefly. "What is this Enur Il'dal?"

Illyria glances up at the firmness of the reply, raising an inquisitive brow. "The Enur Il'dal is
the head of His Order. There are two- one, the sleeping Avatar, and the other is Tau." She pauses a
moment, some thought lingering in the front of her thoughts a moment before it is discarded.

The pause is not missed, as the ever watchful eyes that flood Avaris's wings thin
minutely, their scrutiny growing more acute. "You were going to say something, I think. What was
it?"

Illyria offers a faint smile, shaking her head slightly. "It would not make sense without lengthy
context. It simply strikes me to wonder how much one can change before they are someone else
entirely."

Avaris lifts a blood-encrusted hand to pass it through the air in a broad gesture.
"I do not appear to have anywhere to go. Provide the lengthy context, if you are willing."

Several dim stars in the magicked image above flicker before fading away as a little more light
fades away from the fulcrux. ((Nocht Purple))

Several of Avaris's eyes travel upward as the light dims further, but his attention
remains on Illyria.

Studying the grasses, Illyria finally replies, "That is a story not mine to tell. Simply, someone
changed so greatly that they remembered nothing and were completely different, and that often makes
me wonder the implications of such."

A low, shivering sound of contemplation stirs in Avaris's throat at this, turning
his bloodied hand aside. "There are fables about that particular subject. You are not the first to
wonder, and not the last. There is no easy answer to it."

An icy breeze swirls around the fulcrux suffusing the chamber with the sound of creaking branches
and the sweet scent of blackthorn blooms. ((Nocht Purple))

Avaris's antennae flick aside at the scent, much in the manner one might wrinkle a
nose.

Illyria looks up at the touch of a breeze perhaps just a bit colder, the scent of blackthorns on it
just a touch stronger, and smiles faintly. Glancing over at you, she dips her head. "Relevant here,
though. Like that shattered vessel, if you break something down enough, when you put it back
together it's hardly the same thing at all. So.. what is it? What will you be? Unless you chose to
fade away into the void, you will live on as... something. The question is.. what sort of
something?"

Twisting shadows snake down from the magicked image above, swirling around Illyria and Avaris both.
Several of the tendrils weave together into the shape of Nocht, the Silent, one of His covered arms
linked casually with one of the kephera's. "Greetings, My little one." He whispers softly. "And to
you, My cursed guest" He adds without looking up at the larger mortal. "My Illyria asks an
interesting question... I would hear your answer."

More silhouette than Elder, the way the shadows on the ground seem to grasp towards Him make it
unmistakable that He is a radiant immortal. Standing a little taller than the height of an average
elfen, all other aspects of the Elder's appearance are shrouded in veils and robes. Flashes of
brilliant emerald and prismatic light occasionally light up the air around Him, accompanied with a
sickly sweet floral scent that lingers in the air.

He is wearing:
a veiled blackthorn crown that obscures His face
concealing robes painted with the colours of Night that twist in the air around Him as if
underwater.

Lowering his hand to rest upon the unmoving curve of his armoured thigh, Avaris
lifts the shoulder opposite Illyria in a slight shrug. The spiked ring of his pauldron halts in its
descent, however, as Nocht's tenebrous form coalesces, the arm linked with Nocht's own thrumming
with surprise - Though it does not jerk away or withdraw. There is a slight stiffening in the
kephera's immense frame that Illyria's proximity did not engender, as every one of the lightforged
eyes turn slowly to stare at Nocht, wide and bewildered. There is a long moment in which the
tarnished paladin clearly struggles to process this development, then he inclines his head to Nocht
in a courteous manner, and gradually relaxes once more. "Silent Lord." The greeting is cool in its
delivery, but not cold, or biting. "I do not have a satisfying answer to the question. I do not
know. I find it difficult to care, in truth. What does the vessel care what becomes of it, once it
has failed at its purpose?"

As the shadows coalesce, the soft smile on Illyria's lips grows, though is perhaps a touch more
subdued than it might usually be. She tilts her head back to study both Nocht and you, a soft hum in
her throat. "Numbness is a good thing, a merciful thing, for one who lies in pieces. But as your
pieces come back together, little by little, you should try to have a shape you wish to see them in.
So you are a broken blade. That does not mean you cannot be melted and reforged anew. I ask again.
Into what? What shape would you chose for yourself? What purpose?"

"Hmmm..." Nocht muses as He reaches out, revealing a vine choked hand with sickly gray skin. He
grasps your injured hand, slowly turning it over as He circles to stand before the kephera. He makes
a slight *tsk* noise as He looks over the wound, but offers no comment beyond. "And you've failed in
your purpose, child? There is no longer anything for you to strive for?" The Elder God asks, still
holding your hand in His own.

With Illyria pressed lightly against one side, and Nocht upon the other, Avaris's
helm-like head shifts slightly back and forth between the two, bemused. As Nocht takes his hand
within Nocht's own, the point of the kephera's chin is dragged inexorably down, as if magnetised by
the act, so that he stares at it as if disbelieving of what his eyes - Natural and otherwise - show
him. He remains transfixed as he answers, a shade distracted, "A sword does not choose its purpose,
Illyria. It is wielded." To Nocht's question, a delay, in which his pale antennae curve down in a
slow frown. "What should there be to strive for, after failure? The love that I desired is not
within my grasp. The light has been denied to me. All is silence. It is deafening."

You think to yourself: Has She ever held his hand like this? No, not really. Oh, She had forced him
to take Her hand, so that She could numb his pain, but...That was just doing what She did, wasn't
it? Healing. It meant as much as the dressing of a bandage.

Watching Nocht examine you with a veiled expression, Illyria maintains her position, one shoulder
leaned lightly on the kephera. "The difference, Avaris," she says softly, her voice gentle as
honeyed milk, "is that a sword does not have a soul or a will. And you do." Her fingers lace
together in her lap, and she glances away into the image of the night, studying it pensively.

"Yes..." Nocht whispers softly. "When We first had to truly confront it, it drove many of Our
Cousins insane. Is that your fate, child? If it truly is... why prolong your suffering so? Simply
give Me what you are so certain I want, and slip into the gentle peace of oblivion so the Fates may
try again."

The faint sensation of the Silent Lord's grip tightening around your hand.

Avaris does not answer swiftly, staring still at the conjoined hand of mortal and
Divine, visibly struggling to comprehend the reality of what is before him. A whisper of red drifts
through the eyes that adorn his wings, which narrow faintly with displeasure. His voice hardens, a
harshness to the dissonant, oddly resonating quality of his tone. "I am not weak. I can endure
silence." His grip upon Nocht's hand firms ever so slightly - Not squeezing, but sufficient that the
application of pressure is readily discernible, the broken plates shifting uncomfortably beneath the
Divine's fingers. "I have question for You, in turn, Silent One. Have You ever loved? Truly, deeply,
completely loved? Given all of Yourself to Another?"

Without shifting her regard from the distant, shadowed illusory stars, Illyria leans forward and
into the grass, retrieving the untouched circlet of blossoms and grass , and begins to unweave it as
deftly as it was woven, though with a slower deliberacy. She simply listens, making no further
comment as her fingers unravel pale petals and dark blades.

Nocht tilts His veiled head as He regards you in complete silence for several moments, the magicked
image of the nighttime sky above growing slightly darker, the swirling breeze a bit colder. "That is
a bold question, child. Some may even say disrespectful. Do you even know what you ask? Do you think
you can understand love like We do?"

The grip on your hand grows firmer, almost uncomfortable.

Lifting his visored face to regard Nocht levelly in turn, Avaris's gaze is neither
daunted nor defiant, but it is steady. "Is it disrespectful to seek to understand? How can I know
what I ask, or whether I understand love like You do? So little has been shared with me. What else
can I do but stumble blindly in the mist, in the shadows?" A twitch of the clasped hand, but he does
not squirm with discomfort, or seek to retrieve it. "Will You guide me?"

Strand by strand, the plait unwinds, letting blackthorn petals tumble back down onto the grass and
Illyria's lap, stark and pristine white against the caliginous fabric. Still she listens in silence.

Nocht turns His head back to look at Illyria. "Do you truly wish to learn, I wonder...? I have seen
My little one share much with you already." He looks back up at you from behind His veil. "There is
much to learn within My shadows, certainly... but you cannot see, cannot learn while you are still
within the Light. I will guide you, child, but all things come at a cost..." His words linger in the
air, carried away by the cold wind that circles the fulcrux. Finally, He speaks once more. "Curse
the name of the Lady that betrayed you. Curse the half-formed of Celestia. Curse the Light. But be
warned, words spoken aloud carry power even if they are lies in your heart."

The featureless, faintly curving planes of chitin that form Avaris's face betray
nothing as to his reaction to Nocht's words, as immobile and immutable as the walls of a fortress -
Albeit one besieged. His turn, for silence, which he shows no discomfort within as he holds Nocht's
gaze at length, antennae undulating so slow they seem caught in the sluggish current of some
ancient, black river. "All things come at a cost." The words are echoed calmly, his manner steady
despite the inherent threat of the situation. "Are we to bargain, then, You and I?"

You think to yourself: Why so keen to have him curse Them? What would the words of a mortal do to
the likes of Them?

"Ah... Have We finally reached your purpose here, child?" Nocht whispers, a slight note of amusement
weaved into the soft, hollow tones of His voice. "I am a fair God, Avaris. I return that which is
paid for."

Illyria's fingers slow and still on the nearly unraveled braid, and she looks up with an enigmatic
expression, head tilted curiously to the side as the cold breeze catches her hair up and to the side
in a roseate tumble before laying it back down in disarray against her shroud. Still, she listens.

The spikes that protrude past the ringed, tarnished halo of Avaris's pauldron rise
like worn blades held aloft as he lifts his great shoulder in a slow shrug. "Fair to a God may not
be fair to a mortal, Silent Lord. What assurances have I that You will deal with me, fair and true?
Will You swear it aloud, on Your soul? Words spoken aloud have power, You said."

Nocht turns His veiled gaze back towards Illyria. "How curious, My little one... What do you think?
Should I swear oaths and promises to this child...?"

Illyria's eyes narrow as she studies you, and for a long moment, are colder than the wind that
swirls through the Fulcrux. To Nocht, slowly, she murmurs, "It is a foolish thing for him to ask. An
oathbreaker will swear anything and all and then break it anyways, and one who is honest and fair
needs no such thing to deal truly." She shifts her gaze to Him, a troubled shadow passes through her
eyes and she hesitates a long, long moment.

You think to yourself: "Words spoken aloud carry power even if they are lies in your heart."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "There you have it, o cursed child. Make your offer now or retreat back
into your suffering."

The angle of Avaris's wedge shaped head tilts ever so slightly at this. "There I
have it, You say. She has said nothing. You, Yourself, said that words said aloud are powerful. That
eliminates all consideration for honesty or the breaking of oaths. You will not swear to bargain
fair and true with me, then?"

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Child, I could break you into pieces right now and pick through the
remains if I so chose. I will not make oaths to a mortal. One from so lost a place as New Celest at
that. You risk all in tempting My patience."

In response to an unheard comment, Nocht, the Silent whispers, "You need not leave, My little one.
Our guest must decide now what he will do."

A very faint glint of light shines in Avaris's eyes, a flicker of something sharp.
There is a very tired quality to his voice as he replies, "I know well the danger Divine present,
Silent Lord. You are far from the first I have suffered the displeasure of, and sadly I do not think
You will be the last. You need not bother with voicing threats. They are implicit." The fingers that
hold Nocht's hand maintain their slight pressure, neither seeking to crush, or slackening. A soft
breath sighs forth from between the invisible seams of his face as he seems to come to a decision,
the chorus of his voice steadying, if still far from harmonising. "Very well. A mantle of some
significance. Formed of Night, all shadows and starlight. Heavy, with a seven-pointed star for its
clasp." A slight shift of his chin as he studies Nocht, asking, levelly, "You know it?"

A sudden and oppressive sensation envelops the fulcrux, the feeling of grief and anger so palpable
it is almost suffocating.

The last blades of grass unbind, the flowers held within tumbling free and dissolving into petals,
fallen from Illyria's hand as she stiffens with echoed emotions and closes her eyes.

You think to yourself: The beleaguered fortifications of his mind groan under the weight of the
Divine's emotions, splintering, but not yet collapsing.

Nocht remains perfectly still despite the sudden oppressiveness of the fulcrux. "Your Lady has sent
you to mock Me, child? To reopen ancient wounds? Such things were lost long, long ago..."

The Silent Lord's grip is now painful, the chitin of your kepheran armor threatening to shatter
under His anger.

Avaris mirrors Nocht's stillness, lapsing into a lack of motion more suited to a
statue than a living thing. Still, he does not seek to retrieve his hand, or retaliate - He simply
endures, a stone cracking under impossible pressure. Despite the pressing danger, he grows, if
anything, more calm, the pressure serving to steady him as he replies, evenly, "I do not know why
You would think it mockery. It is not lost."

His voice like violently snapping branches, Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Prove it, child. Show it to
Me now or I will destroy you and pick through the gore."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "And then I will seek out Lantra."

Save for the fluttering of umbral fabric and flickering wings, Illyria might be a statue set atop
the hill, frozen and silent as she watches with veiled eyes in utter silence.

Only at the mention of the Empyreal does Avaris's grip tighten, a sudden convulsion
that is mirrored in the flare of sanguine light that surges to life within his wings - And dies, as
his hold relaxes. In a voice that is almost eerie in its mildness, he says to Illyria, "Move aside,
please, so that I might acquiesce to Your Lord's request."

Illyria stands immediately, floating up and backward to clear a space between herself and you,
watching intently.

Maintaining his regard of Nocht, Avaris does not so much as twitch his attention
away as he reaches his left pair of hands back, slipping them beneath the pallid cloak of his furled
wings. There is a brief moment in which the only sound if a muted rustling, before he retrieves
something that flows like shimmering night, the magnificent garment made all the more wondrous by
the battered, wan kephera that holds it aloft with great care - Never permitting it to touch the
ground. He says nothing, but merely watches Nocht, patient and still.

You begin to wield the Sidereal Mantle of Ailustris in your right hand.

You think to yourself: A sense of bone-weary resignation for yet more violence at Divine hands, over
which flickers sparks of intense curiosity.

Nocht releases His grip upon your hand at the sight of the mantle taking a half-step back as if in
disbelief, though His veiled face conceals the true nature of His reaction. "How did your Lady come
to hold that...?" He whispers, His words soft, yet laced with suppressed anger. "And what does She
expect you to gain from Me in return?"

Avaris's hand hangs suspended in the air for a moment, before it drifts down to
rest upon the grass at his side. The antennae that flow from his head, pale as shards of bone, stand
erect and unmoving as he looks impassively at Nocht. In reply, he says, simply, "Fortitude."

Nocht exhales sharply at the reply, His veil fluttering at the breath. "What a cruel way to teach
you a lesson, child. Contemplate that when you seek Her favor once more." He extends a hand towards
you. "Give Me the mantle, and you will have what you seek."

Floating a short ways away, Illyria is immediately transfixed by the mantle, her eyes widening, and
then still further at the reply from the paladin. She frowns, agreement on her face at Nocht's
assessment of the lesson, but says nothing, simply witnessing the exchange in silence.

His motions stiff, yet dignified, Avaris pushes himself to his feet, taking intense
care all the way to avoid marring the mantle. Once he is upright, he looks down upon Nocht for a
long moment, before he replies in a quiet voice. "She is not the only One that teaches with pain,
Silent One. The only cruelty in this is mine." With this, he holds his hands out to Nocht, the
shimmering garment of sidereal shadow draped across his broken palms like an offering, in truth.

You give the Sidereal Mantle of Ailustris to Nocht, the Silent.

Nocht reaches out and grasps the divine mantle from your grasp. His vine-choke fingers run along its
starry surface in silent contemplation for several moments, ignoring the mortals present. Finally,
He holds the mantle close to His chest and whispers softly, so softly that you cannot make out His
words. Gently folding the mantle over His arm, He finally returns His gaze to you. "I wonder what
your Lady would think of your cruelty, child. How interesting it would be if She were pleased..." He
reaches up towards the magicked image above, and with a quick motion of His hands seems to pluck one
of the stars out of the image. It is a shimmering light wreathed in a gentle mist that coils around
His arm as He holds it aloft in front of both you and Illyria. "I will not give you the satisfaction
of calling Me a liar, child. Take this for your Lady. A once-gift from Our Brother to Her. Knowing
that She has kept such... secrets from Me, I feel no regret in hiding it from Her."

Nocht gives a mist wreathed star to you.

Evette curtseys gracefully.

A tenebrous leopard lopes excitedly towards Tau as she comes into view, butting her head forcefully
against Tau's hand demanding affection.

The image of the night sky ripples as the body of Esei suddenly emerges from its grasp.

With several beats of her wings, Tau alights upon the master shrine of Nocht's shoulder.

A tenebrous leopard eyes you hungrily, yet remains a distance away from the gathering.

Esei alights carefully on the ground upon their entry, placing a hand over their heart as they bow
briefly to Nocht. They right themself shortly thereafter, clasping their hands behind their back.

Floating tranquilly a short distance from you and Nocht, Illyria does not turn to face any of those
who enter, her eyes locked on Him and the kephera.

Watching the Divine's reaction intently, but without expression, or any real
indicator of his own feelings, Avaris waits in patient silence until he is addressed. "I know what
She thinks of it. Nor is She mine." Stepping forward to retrieve the light within the faded cage of
his fingers, he gathers it carefully to his chest, turning the flat, dense chitin of the back of his
hand outward. Ignoring the other mortals entirely, he inclines his head towards Nocht in a courteous
manner. "Our business is done, then. Forgive me if I do not wish You well." He turns, studying
Illyria intently for a long moment. "Remember the questions I asked, Illyria. Dwell on them, lest
you become a shattered vessel yourself."

Nocht reaches up and places His hand upon your face, pushing him backwards. "Be gone, cursed thing."

With the smallest flick of His finger, Nocht sends you flying headlong into the depths of the Astral
Plane.
Grotesque boils upon the sand.
A crimson mist shot through with living motes of sickly green hue flows out from a healing shrine of
Thax nearby. The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. A nauseating stench
that had been a simple hint before has now pervaded the entire area. The blackened sands are
interrupted with several boils that seem to fester and explode without any regard to what's nearby.
The boils push past the layers of black sand and the white material that comprises them strains in a
grotesque manner as the pus seeks to bust free.
You see exits leading east and west.

A soft laugh vibrates throughout the twisted area as Avaris shakes his head,
lifting his lower left hand to pass it over his face slowly. "Cursed thing. The irony."

a mist-wreathed star
This ephemeral glimmer of light looks as if was plucked from the sky above, its insubstantial form
flickering just like the stars at night. It is oddly weightless, and yet cool to the touch as it
remains shrouded within an ever-churning mist. The star's gentle, white light is reflected off the
water droplets that surround it, bathing its surroundings in an iridescent starlight.
It is strangely weightless.
It has the following aliases: star.

Before a secluded mountain spring.
Immaculate white marble glistens with a faint sparkle of mist as the narrow path opens up to reveal
a shallow mountain spring, filled with the gentle sound of trickling water. Marbled shades of
celadon blue dance across the smooth surface of the polished stone, resembling the way starlight
dapples across the open sea as it emanates with a constant thrum of cool, luminous energy. A
soothing breeze whispers throughout the hollow cavern, resounding within the alabaster walls with a
lingering, watery echo. Shimmering over with water and light, a sparkling veil of white mist draws a
starry curtain here.
You see exits leading north and west.

Avaris stands before the glittering veil, clutching the star to his chest as he
stares at the misty curtain with a palpable air of trepidation.

You think to yourself: "Perhaps She is...Not paying attention. I will be swift."

You part a sparkling veil of white mist, leaving your surroundings in a bright shimmer of water and
light.
The Fulcrux of Lantra.
The rush of running water echoes throughout this alabaster sanctuary, its white pillars surrounded
on all sides by shimmering waterfalls. Breathtaking stars twinkle across the misty falls as they
collect into a luminous gazing pool, its rippling waters clear and sparkling as they reflect the
open expanse of the celestial sky above. Caught in a graceful dance of duality, an immaculate white
koi fish circles its dark twin in the glittering depths of the basin, continuing in a silent push
and pull as their silhouettes form two halves of a whole. The white, blue and pink petals of
assorted lotus flowers crown these starry waters with their regal beauty, standing at the feet of
several stone priestesses who guard this place. The statues bow their veiled heads in silent prayer,
each bearing a tilted celadon urn that overflows with the boundless light of healing waters.
Shimmering over with water and light, a sparkling veil of white mist draws a starry curtain here.
Impossibly still at the centre of this luminous pool of water and light, a single star lotus flower
blooms brighter than all the others, its heart radiant as the dewy petals unfurl to reveal a
beautiful, enchanting light.
There are no obvious exits.

You have recovered balance on all limbs.

With his head lowered in the manner of one seeking to avoid notice, Avaris's steps
are hurried as he makes his way towards the pool, anennae flicking about with nervous, watchful
apprehension. He lowers himself awkwardly to one knee, the motion stiff and ungainly.

Kneeling humbly, you press your palms together before you and close your eyes momentarily as you
pray devoutly to Lantra, the Empyreal, "[The faintest touch of awareness, the barest brush of a
fingertip to draw Your attention, quickly snatched away. The discordant, layered voice is carefully
neutral, almost stilted in the severity of its formality.] "It is done."".

Tension fading from your weary body, the searing light that wreathes your form mercifully dims at
last from its unforgiving brilliance, fading to a gentle nothingness that flickers and is no more.

The disfavour of Lantra has worn off, leaving you with decreased essence.

Slowly, gently coalescing into existence, a much quieter light manifests before you, glimmering in
the likeness of a star lotus that longs to know and be known. You recognize its light as the one
found within the Lake of Polaris, blooming alone and apart ever since your first time wandering
within the Vanishing Isles. "Come to Me," a feminine voice whispers, and the vision fades, beckoning
for you to seek it.

Avaris rises from where he kneels, his motions less stiff, but all the more
uncertain as the quiet light appears before him. He does not reply, but simply nods his assent, and
turns to leave.

The base of a small waterfall.
A small, cool waterfall chatters its way down the cliff face at the north end of this canyon,
spilling into a pool at the foot. Overflow from the pool trickles lazily away in a broad, shallow
stream, down the length of the canyon to the south. Mosses and ferns grow thick under the trees that
shade the canyon floor. An oak sapling clings tenaciously to the ground here. A small, mottled pig
snuffles about here, looking for food.
You see exits leading south and through a luminous waterfall.

Avaris's shattered fingers curl and uncurl in rapid, anxious motions as he stares
at the waterfall, his foot twitching forward, and halting.

You think to yourself: The memories of the others, turned away, sharp and cutting as shards of
glass. "Fortitude."

You part the misty curtain of a luminous waterfall and vanish in a shimmer of water and light.
Within the Lake of Polaris.
Beautiful waterfalls surround this starry grotto to pool into a luminous lake, filling the vaulted
cavern with sparkling white mist. Koi fish of every colour glide throughout the grotto's pool,
pressing against the star lotuses that bloom in abundance before the sidereal falls. Behind one
waterfall's veil of mist, a statue of the Empyreal Goddess can be made out in the hazy fog, Her
stoic figure wrought into the alabaster stone. Though Her expression is inscrutable, Her hands are
pressed together to hold a single star lotus, which impossibly remains in radiant, eternal bloom. A
stately plaque at Her feet reads the following: "As above, so below." Cradled within the marble
Goddess's outstretched hands, an immaculate stone basin awaits the falling waters.
You see exits leading north, east, south, west, up, and through a luminous waterfall.

A ripple in the starry waters radiates from the south, beckoning with rays of pale white light.

Starry waters mirroring the sky.
As the lake's waters quietly spill towards a large waterfall to the south, the wide expanse of this
glistening pool shimmers into view like a mirror held to the starlit sky. With a surface as smooth
as glass, a glissade of water lilies glides serenely across the water, their dewy petals lit by
motes of lambent light. These motes dance and twirl across the sparkling waters, like lanterns aglow
within the dark shade of the nearby willow trees. Tall white cranes gracefully step beneath their
branches, their ripples disturbing the lake's otherwise peaceful waters. Unfurling its beautiful
petals in eternal bloom, an immaculate white lotus emanates a luminous, celestial glow here.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, south, west, and northwest.

A rare and unusual flower found in the healing waters of the Lake of Polaris, this white star lotus
emanates a luminous, celestial glow here. The lotus's immaculate white petals unfurl to reveal a
pure heart alight with the breathtaking glow of a single, twinkling star. Motes of celestial light
wink across the lotus's soft, pillowy petals with a dewy radiance, weaving through a calming,
tranquil fragrance that emanates from the lotus's centre. Regal and resplendent, this star lotus
blossoms in eternal bloom, as if existing outside of time itself.

The immaculate white lotus blooms before you with a dewy splendour, and you feel an irresistible
urge to pluck it from the lake's depths.

Avaris reaches out tentatively, hesitating a moment with his bloodied hand
suspended over the lotus, before he takes it as gently as he can manage.

As you pluck an immaculate white star lotus from the luminous waters of the Lake of Polaris, the
flower gently yields to your touch, petals unfurling to reveal a dim heart of starlight.
You hear a distant shifting from the centre of the Lake of Polaris as the flower emerges from the
waters, beckoning you to the realm's entrance.

Within the Lake of Polaris.
Beautiful waterfalls surround this starry grotto to pool into a luminous lake, filling the vaulted
cavern with sparkling white mist. Koi fish of every colour glide throughout the grotto's pool,
pressing against the star lotuses that bloom in abundance before the sidereal falls. Behind one
waterfall's veil of mist, a statue of the Empyreal Goddess can be made out in the hazy fog, Her
stoic figure wrought into the alabaster stone. Though Her expression is inscrutable, Her hands are
pressed together to hold a single star lotus, which impossibly remains in radiant, eternal bloom. A
stately plaque at Her feet reads the following: "As above, so below." Cradled within the marble
Goddess's outstretched hands, an immaculate stone basin awaits the falling waters.
You see exits leading north, east, south, west, up, down, and through a luminous waterfall.

Steps that descend through the waterfalls glisten, newly arisen from the waters of the Lake of
Polaris.

Lotus cradled in one hand, the misty light clasped protectively in another, Avaris
studies the stairs for a moment in silence, before proceeding.

Descending beneath the waterfalls.
Like the sound of falling rain, the constant flow of rushing water echoes throughout this narrow
passageway hidden beneath the Lake of Polaris's waterfalls. The limestone walls have been polished
smooth by the waters, almost mirror-like as starlit torches reflect white light across their glassy
surface. Mosaic jade tiles have been laid upon the ground, drawing a vibrant path of koi fish and
lotuses that leads into the depths of the cavern.
You see a single exit leading southeast.

Illuminated by star lotuses.
Water has trickled in through the crevices of the limestone walls to collect here in small pools,
where star lotuses blossom amidst the darkness. Dewy light spills forth from their white petals,
dimly illuminating the petal-strewn chamber with an enchanting, otherworldly glow reminiscent of
starlight. A spray of mist coalesces in the air from the nearby entrance to the falls, lingering
here in a mantle of sparkling white that wreathes every footfall in fog.
You see exits leading south and northwest.

Avaris pauses, entranced for a helpless moment by the beauty of this place, his
antennae drifting aside as his myriad eyes turn and stare about.

Under the watch of angels.
A series of white marble archways have been seamlessly built into the cavernous passage, upholding
the underground chamber as pillars. Looking down from the vaulted arches, a host of stone-wrought
angels blesses those who pass through with outstretched hands, resembling the devas and archangels
of the holy plane of Celestia. At the feet of these pillars, a sparse array of star lotuses glimmers
faintly in pools of muddy water, their only source of water trickling through the walls.
You see exits leading north and southwest.

The well-trodden path of the Penitent.
Natural shelves in the limestone walls here bear various offerings left by penitents who have
ventured forth to the Grotto of the White. Celadon urns overflowing with water and light stand as
testaments of others who have witnessed the healing spring and brought back something to remember
the pilgrimage. Tendrils of mist spill from the fluted urns, drifting across the floor of the
caverns in hypnotic whirls of soothing white.
You see exits leading northeast and northwest.

A bend beneath the waterfalls.
The underground path curves gently here, a gap in the limestone walls revealing the misty spray of
the waterfalls churning overhead. There is an ethereal quality to the way light bends and reflects
from the curtain of sparkling white, glistening like rain pouring down from the heavens. What water
trickles within the passage has gently rounded each stone in its descent, the resulting pool
blossoming with proudly unfurled star lotuses. Like candles, they glimmer with a faint light,
guiding those who wander through this narrow corridor to their destination.
You see exits leading north and southeast.

Before an underground shrine.
A profound sense of solemn grandeur emanates from this underground shrine, its arched entrance
upheld by four marble pillars of grand stone. Overhead, an elaborate mural has been carved in bas-
relief to depict the robed figures of the Hamadhi tending to the wounded and suffering upon Their
healing mounds. At the centre, the figure of Lantra, the White can be seen, Her expression filled
with concentration as She gestures towards those closest to Her in quiet command. Beneath the mural,
an impervious stone wall gates all entry further underground. Her white robes pooled at Her feet, a
sculpture of Lantra, the Empyreal kneels here, cradling the fallen in Her arms.
You see a single exit leading south.
As you approach the sculpture of the Empyreal and the Fallen, the star lotus in your hands beckons
for release, motes of light scattering from its soft petals.

Worshipfully sculpted from an enormous, flawless sheet of translucent marble, two Elders manifest in
this transcendent display of fortitude and devotion. Alabaster smooths and pools like liquid about
the robed form of the Empyreal, and though Her veil shrouds Her downturned eyes and lips, not even
stone can obscure the emotion wrought upon Her visage - the heavy burden of sorrow, the tenderness
of love, the aegis of duty. The subject of Her grief rests sheltered in Her arms, draped over Her
knees, desperately clutched by hands that would surely tremble were they alive. This fallen Elder's
face turns toward Her with open eyes that do not see, body limp without the fire of life to possess
it, legs which once belonged to an artist tapering into nothingness as though frozen mid-
dissipation. Though this statue shoulders its dolorous weight with decidedly graceful poise, an
unexpected source of solace rises in a wreath about its foot: star lotus blossoms unfurl there with
the promise of hope amid ruin, like flickering lights to pierce the darkness. Below these delicate
flowers, words have been chiselled into a plaque, the script elegantly whorled and fluid.
It weighs about 62 pounds.
It has the following aliases: sculpture, statue.

There is nothing noteworthy there for you to read.

You drop an immaculate white star lotus.
As the star lotus gently alights before the sculpture of the Empyreal and the Fallen, a dewy
radiance spills forth from its petals, bathing the chamber in light as it disperses into the aether.

The sculpture's eyes flash with sudden immaculate light as the stone wall shudders in answer, moving
to reveal a starlit sanctuary.
[HINT]: You sense this opening will be brief! You should go EAST now!

The Sanctuary of Resurrection.
Enclosed on all sides by pristine marble walls, this vast, secluded chamber is buried deep beneath
waterfalls that churn distantly overhead, and guarded by sculptures of archangels. Though this
windowless place possesses no natural light, there is an abundance of radiant starlight flickering
within the angels' hands, each white flame crystallised within a translucent, lotus-shaped sconce.
Like a shimmering curtain, water cascades from the walls in a sparkling veil, leaving the angels
untouched as it gently pools and encircles the chamber in a low-lying marble fountain; various small
cushions have been placed here to allow for a moment's respite in the sanctuary. Within these
glistening waters, star lotuses bloom and koi fish of every colour thrive. A breathtaking mosaic
mapping the entirety of the Vanishing Isles spans the floor, turquoise-and-cerulean tiles indicating
the oceans swirling between the Seven-Star Islets, speckled with white to form the frothy falls of
the Misty Veil. Pulses of light twirl faintly across the jewelled tiles, drawing the eye to the
southern exit and the glittering waters that await within the Grotto of the White.
You see exits leading south and west.


"Avaris," a gentle, feminine voice radiates through the chamber, soft in its cadence. "You have kept
Me waiting."

Looking about him in mute wonderment, Avaris jerks at the sound of the voice,
falling to his knee in an immediate, almost reflexive manner. Head lowering to stare the the floor,
he dips his chin in a sharp nod, lifting his upper right hand out, palm-upwards, wordlessly offering
the mist-wreathed star up.

Pinpricks of celestial light coalesce into the faint outline of a star lotus, which blossoms open to
reveal the regal figure of Lantra, the Empyreal.

Her slight and statuesque figure exuding a sense of restrained dignity, She is a radiant immortal
and possessed of a quiet and unassuming stillness. The Goddess's olive-skinned complexion shines
with the dusky radiance of youth, and yet the ancient burden of duty weighs heavily upon Her
shoulders, carried with a silent and practised grace. Lost to contemplation, She appraises Her
surroundings with a distant air; the grey-tinged gaze of Her celadon blue eyes remains as fathomless
and inscrutable as the hazy mists of a waterfall. Despite the seriousness of Her first impressions,
however, a gentle smile graces Her lips with an almost maternal tenderness. Her every movement is
characterised of an unhurried elegance and poise, reflective of an inner peace as She emanates a
soothing white light.

Shimmering tresses of palest starlight spill down Her shoulders in a curtain of white to end at Her
waist, nary a strand out of place. Motes of silver and celadon blue interweave through Her
immaculate coif, their whispers of colour evoking a breathtaking celestial radiance.
She is wearing:
immaculate vestments of purest white starlight that wreathe Her in a celestial glow
a cascading veil of mist and water lilies that trails at Her feet, shrouding Her face from view
elevated sandals of woven willow leaves that leave lambent motes with each step
a bracelet of woven water and starlight shimmering upon Her wrist
a gold damask cope clasped with a radiant star lotus that covers Her shoulders in a heavy mantle.


Her voice soft and wondering, Lantra approaches you with the slow grace of one who has an eternity
to consider Her thoughts, Her veiled gaze seemingly drawn by the star within your hands. "You have
done it."

This time, none of Avaris's eyes turn to Lantra at Lantra's appearance. Instead,
the snap downwards and away, averting their gaze. The upraised arm trembles almost undetectably as
it holds the star out, though not from fatigue. Again, he simply nods in response, the downward stab
of his chin short, truncated.

You think to yourself: Coiling dread tightens in his gut like a wire drawn taut. A complex, tangled
array of emotions both dark and light writhing, underscored by uncertainty.

For all that you avoids the Goddess's gaze, Lantra observes you with silent intensity. Even behind
the confines of Her veil, the flicker of Her eyes from the injury upon your hands, to the bowed way
you holds your body in genuflection, is unmistakable. She no longer appears to see the star, in
truth, as She says softly, "You have suffered much on this path, have you not?"

Lantra removes a gold damask cope clasped with a radiant star lotus.

Gently enfolding the kephera in the mantle, Lantra gives a gold damask cope clasped with a radiant
star lotus to you.

You are holding:
"cope360253"                  a gold damask cope clasped with a radiant star lotus

Rich damask brocade forms this heavy mantle, which provides a reassuring warmth and gentleness as it
drapes over the shoulders in a cope of splendid golden light. An elaborately wrought star lotus of
purest gold clasps the mantle upon its wearer's personage, the brooch's leaves carved of celadon
jade. The front panels of the garment shine with the sacred language of Ae, the beautiful
calligraphy embellished with white blossoms that entwine about each embroidered character. Upon the
back of the cope, the intricate embroidery of an urn overflowing with four streams of water and
light can be seen, its surface crowned by a radiant star lotus. The resplendent image is illuminated
in rainbow threads that shimmer through a prismatic spectrum of colours, lustrous and gleaming.
It weighs about 20 pounds.
It does not retain any heat whatsoever.
It bears the distinctive mark of Lantra, the Empyreal.
It has the following aliases: cope.

You slip into a gold damask cope clasped with a radiant star lotus.

The very sound of Lantra's voice sends a brief, subtle shiver through Avaris's
form, the fingers of his lowered hands curling in tight against his abdomen. When he does, finally,
speak, his voice is subdued unto barely a murmur, the typically harmonious melody of his voice
rendered discordant, imbalanced. "Nothing compared to what You have endured, Lady." As the cope is
laid about him, he grows completely still, save for the antennae that coil and twist inward with
uncertain discomfort. He hesitates, many of the eyes within his wings turning to stare at the
aureate garment with wonder. "You should not sully Your mantle, Lady. Take it back. Please."

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty,
spreading darkness across the land.

Her voice clear, yet firm, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "It is Mine to do with as I wish."

You think to yourself: The weight of the cope is at once comforting as a caress, and heavy as words
of damnation. He longed to touch it, to revel in the closeness of it, of Her, but he does not
deserve it. The firmness in Her voice is heavier still, for he knows that tone well enough by now
that arguing will do little.

The touch of Her hand lingers for a moment upon the glistening threads of the cope, patient and
gentle. "Avaris," Lantra says again, this time pausing before speaking. "Do you believe that I wish
for you to suffer?"

Breathing out a brief exhalation of sheer frustration, Avaris strives to keep his
bloodied hands from so much as brushing against the garment, his shoulders set. Whatever words the
stubborn tilt of his ridged jaw makes way for halt before they can manifest as he pauses, antennae
curving down in a steep, faintly puzzled frown. His voice is bemused as he replies, carefully, "Of
course not. Why would You ask me this, Lady? You hate to see others suffer."

There is a patience to Her words as Lantra asks, "Then why do you choose to throw yourself before
the cliffs of adversity? Why seek the shadows, for My sake, when I would have you walk in the
Light?" The Goddess's hand drifts upon the cope to rest upon your shoulder, hesitating. "I wish to
understand."

Avaris does not seek to shy away from Lantra's touch - The opposite, in fact, as
his shoulder rises a fraction, unbidden, to provide a steadier place for Lantra's hand to rest. "I
want You to know that You can trust in me to venture into the darkest places, Lady, that I can be
dashed against the most unforgiving shore, and endure." As he speaks with a quiet, fierce
conviction, he still does not look upon Lantra, not with the faded blue of his seven, physical eyes,
nor with those that adorn his wings. "I want You to know, to Your core, without any doubt, that You
can trust me. That I can be by Your side, wherever You go. That I am strong enough for You to lean
on. I will persist. I will not yield."

Weighing your words with the solemnity they are due, Lantra raises Her other hand to lift a
cascading veil of mist and water lilies, revealing Her expression in truth: there is no anger, no
frustration behind the mist, but rather a quiet concern, and the curiosity naturally born from it.

Lantra draws a cascading veil of mist and water lilies away to unveil Her face, framing Her features
in a sheer, sparkling curtain of mist.

Her celadon eyes gentle and kind, Lantra, the Empyreal says to you, "And yet I would not have you
dashed against the shore. I would not have you bear the weight of an Elder's burdens, nor feel that
you must prove yourself to such an exacting degree."

Pausing, again, as She weighs Her next words with care, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "I am not blind
to what you have endured for Me."

The motion of Lantra's hand draws the attention of one of Avaris's smaller eye
markings, the tiny, faintly glowing symbol furtively sneaking glances at Lantra's face. All others
remain downcast as the kephera nods in ready acceptance, though there is an implacable quality to
his reply. "I know that You would not. You are good, and kind. I would do it anyway, Lady." The
fractured chitin of his lowered hands presses close to the plated of his abdomen, his shoulders
tensing as if preparing for a blow.

"How fares My Brother in the Glomdoring?" Lantra asks softly, Her hand trailing the cope to fall
back at Her side. "I sense He possesses the mantle once more. The Silent must be pleased."

The last vestiges of midnight shadows flee as Mother Night hides herself from the luminous arrival
of her shining mate as he chases her across the bowl of the sky.

You think to yourself: At first, his mind skips over the precise wording of the question, thrown
initially off track as it is. As he prepares to answer, however, the train of thought comes to an
abrupt halt, slamming up against the wall of disbelief as he replays the words over in his head. "My
Brother." Again, as if doubting his own memory, he runs through it, and when it does not somehow
change to "My Cousin", his thoughts spiral outward as he tries to make sense of it. Was he supposed
to have delivered it to Lord Darvellan..? Was Lord Darvellan secretly in the Glomdoring? How poorly
had he botched this?

Antennae writhing and flickering back and forth in confusion, Avaris hesitates
several times before he finally speaks, voice ringing with uncertainty. "Lady? Was...Was I supposed
to give this to Lord Darvellan? I fear I have badly misunderstood You."

Lantra folds Her hands before Herself, awaiting your answer patiently. At the apparent confusion, a
faint smile graces Her lips, as She says, "No. You would find that difficult, given His place in the
Void." The veil behind Her drifts in the faded light of the Sanctuary as She sighs. "The Lord Silent
and I shared the same creche. Siblings, perhaps, in only the most essential terms of the word. Yet
not close enough to be considered true kin."

Evenly, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "I know Him and His temper well. I can predict Him. And that is
why I chose Him for your trial, My Avaris."

With a gentle lift of Her hands, Lantra a panoramic vista of stars manifests in a blur of light,
revealing a glimpse of a misty expanse once seen upon the mantle you bore as a burden. "Ailustris,"
the Goddess says simply. "Where Dynara created Us. Nocht. Darvellan. And I."

The intensity of his astonishment is so great that Avaris's hold upon many of the
downcast eyes slips, as they flick up to goggle at Lantra, aghast. The writhing antennae freeze,
vibrating in place for a long moment, before he processes Lantra's words fully. Immediately lowering
his gaze once again, he nods, a touch unsteadily, only for several of the larger eyes that make up
the constellation of lights within his plumage to lift, staring at the vista with undisguised wonder
- And no small amount of curiosity. "I confess that I do not know how that is, Lady. I had
thought...The Divine simply were siblings, or were not." A pause, and he ventures tenyatively, as if
wary of stepping on a hidden trap, "I do not know that first name, Lady. I am sorry."

With the gentle patience of a practised teacher, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Ailustris was the name
of Our creche. As Continuum was for Xyl and Jadice, and as Iklara was for Zvoltz and Mysrai. It is
the place of My birth."

With a flicker of uncertainty, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "And Nocht's. Though that is all We share
between Us, in truth."

Avaris gives life to a soft breath of understanding, remaining otherwise silent in
order to give Lantra room to speak.

A strange reluctance in Her words, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "We have not spoken since the start of
the Elder Wars, He and I. Our temperaments were too opposed. Our views too starkly different in all
things. Even the company We chose to keep. Far better to remain apart from one another, to cease Our
fighting. It was strange, then, that He warned Me as He did of the Lady of the Lagoons."

You think to yourself: A keen curiosity, sharp and glinting as a blade. He had long wondered about
Her youth - Had seen the creche in Her memories, but never had a name for it. It is carefully filed
away as he listens to Her speak, attention acute, total.

Turning to you once more, the cloud of contemplation lifted from Her gaze, Lantra says, "That is why
I did not fear for you. It was a gift freely given, out of gratitude. Something precious that He had
thought long lost."

The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his
shining golden rays.

The angle of Avaris's jaw shifts subtly as he listens, antennae standing erect. A
brief flicker of something very much like consternation passes across the smooth orbs of his eyes.
"He...Was greatly angered, Lady. He did not interpret it as a gift, I feel. You do not know Him, I
think, as You used to - The Wyrd will have twisted Him. He may even seek reprisal, misguided as it
would be." He hestiates, then forges onward, words quiet, but firm. "Lady, I know that You do not
tend to heed my warnings, but, please. Be wary of Him? Please?"

"Hm." There is the barest sound of a sigh as Lantra heeds your reply, no small manner of irritation
reflected in Her usually impassive gaze. "I had anticipated some suspicion. In some manner,
approaching him as you did with My disfavour and My lack of patronage left you safer than
otherwise. Still, I suppose the Silent has yet to learn how to be gracious, or how to interpret
anything except a threat."

The single word exuding a sense of dismissal, resignation, and the briefest flash of indignation,
Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Disappointing."

You think to yourself: Safer? He had not wanted to be /safe/ - What was the point, otherwise?...But
She was who She was. He could not begrudge Her concern. It would have proven little to have the
Silent splatter him across the wall out of hand.

The pale lines of Avaris's antennae bend earthwards, further and further still,
until they are near flat against his head as they point down past his eyes in a severe frown. They
remain thus for a long moment before he shakes it off with a slight back and forth motion, clearing
his throat in a peculiar, vibrating sound. "He focused on that fact that You had kept it hidden from
Him, largely, Lady."

Avaris lifting the star that rests upon his splintered palm a shade higher, he
says, "He said that He felt no regret in hiding this from You, as a consequence. It is a once-gift
from Your Brother, to You, or so He said."

Registering the mist-wreathed star in your hands once more, a genuine glimmer of curiosity shines in
the Goddess's eyes as Lantra extends a hand, waiting.

You give a mist wreathed star to Lantra, the Empyreal.

Avaris tips the star carefully into Lantra's awaiting hand, and withdraws his own
to join its brethren, tucked against his waist.

As the Goddess studies a mist wreathed star in Her hands, an immaculate white glow radiates from it,
bathing Lantra in a breathtaking sidereal radiance. "I have not seen this since..." There is a brief
calculation, attempted and dismissed. "I was very young," the Goddess says instead.

Avaris's antennae flick up, shivering with curiosity. "I have...Often wondered what
You were like, when very young, Lady," he ventures carefully.

Gently, Lantra places a mist wreathed star beside one of the star lotuses that grace a cascading
veil of mist and water lilies, twinkling faintly.

Lantra slips into a mist wreathed star.

Her slight and statuesque figure exuding a sense of restrained dignity, She is a radiant immortal
and possessed of a quiet and unassuming stillness. The Goddess's olive-skinned complexion shines
with the dusky radiance of youth, and yet the ancient burden of duty weighs heavily upon Her
shoulders, carried with a silent and practised grace. Lost to contemplation, She appraises Her
surroundings with a distant air; the grey-tinged gaze of Her celadon blue eyes remains as fathomless
and inscrutable as the hazy mists of a waterfall. Despite the seriousness of Her first impressions,
however, a gentle smile graces Her lips with an almost maternal tenderness. Her every movement is
characterised of an unhurried elegance and poise, reflective of an inner peace as She emanates a
soothing white light.

Shimmering tresses of palest starlight spill down Her shoulders in a curtain of white to end at Her
waist, nary a strand out of place. Motes of silver and celadon blue interweave through Her
immaculate coif, their whispers of colour evoking a breathtaking celestial radiance.
She is wearing:
immaculate vestments of purest white starlight that wreathe Her in a celestial glow
a cascading veil of mist and water lilies that trails at Her feet, shrouding Her face from view
elevated sandals of woven willow leaves that leave lambent motes with each step
a bracelet of woven water and starlight shimmering upon Her wrist
a mist-wreathed star twinkling upon Her glistening veil.

To your question, thoughtful, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "You have seen the Supernals of Celestia.
How they possess their own personalities, strengths, and demeanors. We were all like that, once, Us
Elders."

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "An echo of who We were destined to become, guided by the Song of
Creation into Our full being."

You think to yourself: "Ah. More beautiful than ever, as always. What more fitting an ornament for
Her than a star? And still, as nothing when set next to Her." His thoughts slow at Her words,
turning the concept over as he strives to envision what She might have looked like, then.

Avaris nods along thoughtfully as Lantra speaks, a hand rising unbidden to play
thoughtfully at the stiff tufts of dull white that ring his throat. "Might I ask of the star, Lady?"

Turning to you, the dewy light illuminating Her in its misty glow, Lantra says, "It is from when
Darvellan first began to infuse essence within His stars, giving them purpose in His explorations.
He gifted Me one, finding I might delight in it. It is one of His first such stars." Then She
ponders a moment longer, lips pursed as She says, "I do not recall how it vanished, only that one
day it did. I searched all of Ailustris but its light had gone from Me. I had not known it was in
the Silent's possession."

The realisation quiet, devoid of any anger or malice, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "I suppose He took
it, then. He could be jealous in that way."

A nearly indiscernible tinge of red brushes across Avaris's markings, so faint as
to barely shade the dull white at all. "That does seem like Him, Lady. I am sorry that He stole it
from You." Grasping the fluff of his mane and twisting at it, he offers, somewhat hesitantly, "I am
pleased that You have it back, though. Does it...Are You happy to have it?"

"Yes." Lantra is breathless in Her soft reply, nodding. "It is something I did not anticipate when
you began this trial. And as loathe as I am to see what you have endured for it, I am glad to see
something of a simpler time return to Me. There are precious few such reminders in the Basin of Life
for Me."

Avaris waves the mention of his trials aside as a matter of no consequence,
focusing instead upon Lantra's apparent pleasure, which is echoed tentatively in his voice. "I am
joyed that You have such a thing again, Lady. Would that I could find more for You." He lapses into
silence for a brief span, fidgeting awkwardly with his hands, still looking at the floor. "Have
You...Been well?"

As if shaking Herself from a daydream, Lantra, the Empyreal says to you, "It is not My welfare that
concerns Me at present. What of you? You spent many months in the darkness, bereft of all things
that bring you light. You even cast out those who would have given you company, had you sought it."

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Cheliyi and Aeldra both feared greatly for you, even as I told them to
trust in My Wisdom."

Again, Avaris brushes the mention of his suffering aside with a faintly frustrated
motion of his hand. "Lady. I am alive, and I have returned. I will not collapse before You in a
heap." More gently, he presses, "Please, Lady. I have been very cruel to You, of late. It would
assuage much of what ails me, if You would just tell me, and true."

Taking in your frustration with a calm, lingering assessment, Lantra asks simply, "What do you wish
to know?"

Taken aback, as a man pushing against a barred door might be when it suddenly
opens, Avaris does not respond immediately as he strives to gather his wits. "Ah," he begins, then
pauses. His arms shift beneath the mantle that drapes about his shoulders as he fidgets with his
hands once more, antennae bending down in a frown of thought. He nearly visibly picks through an
array of possible questions, before finally he settles on one, almost grave in its earnest
sincerity. "How have You been feeling?"

There is a sense of bemusement in the Goddess's reply as Lantra says, "That is a highly variable
answer. The past few months have been vexing, for a multitude of reasons, in truth. Many of which
have now resolved, I hope." She pauses, as if parsing through an array of memories before deciding
on a single one to pull forth, stating, "I held audience with the Lady Li-varili. It went as would
be anticipated."

You think to yourself: The memory of standing, overlooking the shadowed forest with the faeling
nearby - Everything darker, colder with the absence of Her. The sound of Her voice, from afar, the
gentle calm as painful as a brush against an open wound.

Avaris dips his head in a brief nod. "Yes. I...Heard. She did not accept Your
healing, I assume." With a slight shift in the angle of his head, he inquires, "Were You upset by
Her choice?"

"No." Lantra exhales, Her expression more sorrowful than angered. "It is what I expected. And
perhaps it is a mercy, given the balance of power within the Basin of Life. Still. There are so few
of Us left, and the wounds, such as I witnessed them, were deep and lasting in their pain. I wonder
at who the Lady of the Lagoons might be, if such wounds were healed. If She would change, in any
meaningful way." The words trail off, lingering in the air like a thought unfinished.

A low, thrumming sound shivers the air about Avaris as he contemplates the trailing
thought, frowning at the ground as he examines the concept at length. "Perhaps. I do not think that
She would, in a way that truly mattered. Less erratic, perhaps. More consistent, but still hateful,
still ambitious. She would be a slightly different form of villain, I feel." A rustle of fabric as
he shrugs his immense shoulders. "But, as You have reminded me before, Lady, I am not prescient.
Maybe She would become better for it. I do not think She will give us the chance to find out. I hope
only that we can handle whatever it is She does, instead."

Offering a benign shrug, Lantra states, "It matters not, in the end. How She remains now is Her
choice. I cannot seek to change Her will, any more than Li-varili can change Mine." Then the concern
is brushed aside as the Goddess asks, "We have not spoken of what you gained from this trial, save
the token you returned unto Me. Was the path you chose worth its thorns and shadow?"

Avaris cocks his head at Lantra's question, puzzled once more. "Gained? I was not
aware I was to gain anything, Lady." Faintly nonplussed, he adds, gently, "That is not for me to
decide. That is entirely dependent on You. You know why I asked for it."

Now Her time to appear vexed, if only mildly so, Lantra studies you for a moment longer. "Do you
believe yourself possessing the Fortitude for the doubts and self-hatreds that plague you?" She asks
at last, the question gentle despite its solemnity. "Did facing them in such a manner give you
reassurance in your own inner strength and will?"

At something of a loss, Avaris's light-forged shift about the room as if seeking
inspiration while he thinks, pausing for a time before he ventures, hesitantly, "I...Suppose. I did
not do it for that, Lady. You know why I did." Glancing up at Lantra uncertainly, he is swift to
lower his gaze once more. "Do /You/ believe I have those qualities, sufficient to remain by You, for
You to lean on me, and trust in me as much as You are able?"

Her hands pressed before Herself, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Avaris, I never doubted you possessed
them in the first place. I believed your vows, when you made them unto Me. Your expression of them
is your own, but I hold faith that you embody them. Why do you think I ask these tasks of you? That
I might throw you off the cliffs to see how far you plummet before you catch yourself? It is to
remind yourself of what you are capable of, as one of Mine."

Avaris stares at the ground for a very long time indeed at this revelation. He
continues to stare as his antennae twitch into life briefly, curling and twisting about one another,
before growing still again. The smooth, featureless planes of his face form minute seams as he works
his jaw, only to seal again. "Ah."

Avaris continues, lamely, "I see."

Slightly perplexed, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Is this not the answer you wanted? Was I to have
less faith in you?"

Expelling a short, forceful breath, thick with exasperation and no small amount of
frustration, Avaris lifts one of his hands carefully free of the mantle to place it over his face,
unwittingly smearing the off-white and tarnished gold with congealed blood. In a very deliberately
patient tone of voice, nonetheless limned with a great deal of feeling, he says, "Lady. So that I
understand Your meaning properly. You are telling me that You trusted enough in me to lean on me,
share Your burdens me with, and all the rest that I have gone on and on about - Before any of these
tasks or trials?"

As your meaning is stated and made clear, Lantra considers it once more, reflecting on the nuance
and subtlety of such a reply. "I see," the Goddess says at last, Her expression softening. "I
believe I see your meaning. You are not concerned with whether or not you possess Fortitude. You are
concerned with My ability to trust in you, to rely on you, and to place burdens upon you. There is a
distinction."

As if concluding a rather lengthy and elaborate puzzle, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "For you these
trials are not about proof of what you possess, then. It is about proving your worth to Me."

A hitching sound stutters forth from Avaris's throat, an aborted word, perhaps, as
if lifts his hand from his face to slowly, ever so slowly, lift his gaze to stare at Lantra, utterly
baffled. "Well...Yes, Lady." A quizzical tilt of his helm-like head as he regards Lantra like some
ever-shifting, confounding puzzle.

Facing you in a mutual display of mild consternation, Lantra, the Empyreal says to you, "You place
such great burdens upon yourself for My sake. I do not ask you to answer your fifth vow yet,
Avaris."

Squaring his shoulders resolutely, Avaris's jaw tilts up the barest hair of a
fraction. "I know that You do not. I am striving to be worthy of it. To make it so that You are
comfortable enough, secure enough in the fact that I can fulfill it completely."

A pause, a flicker of uncertainty, as Avaris says, "I am trying very hard. I am
sorry if I stumble often on the way, and...And for hurting You. I do not intend that. Ever."

Gently, Lantra replies, "And I can see your worth, as you push forward in these tasks. Your effort
shines through them, and your will remains strong. Even as I do not seek to hold lofty expectations,
you nonetheless strive for them." Another pause, this time a weighing of words before She speaks. "I
am not blind to your efforts, Avaris, nor am I ungrateful. I merely do not wish to inflict needless
suffering and doubt in you."

A hand alighting on the mist-wreathed star that graces Her veil, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "I am a
healer in more ways than one. It vexes Me to see things broken, suffering, or in pain. I strive to
fix such when I am able."

A faint, vibrating sound, frustration at his lack of articulation before Avaris
says, "I do not think You ungrateful, Lady. You are ever gracious and kind. Too much so, I think,
sometimes." Lifting a fractured, blood-smeared hand to gesture at himself, he states with utter
sincerity, "I am not broken, Lady. You do not need to fix me. Just let me help You."

Extending Her hand, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Then would you return to your place among Mine,
Avaris? As one of My Enduring?"

Avaris regards the offered hand for a long breath, a cavalcade of emotions moving
within the depths of his inhuman eyes as his hand shifts towards Lantra's, the falters. "It is not
about what I would have, Lady. I have been cruel to You, and abused You sorely in this. I will
understand if You would rather keep me at arm's length."

"That is not what I have asked you, Avaris," Lantra rebukes softly. "Would you return among Mine?"

The rebuke elicits another frustrated hum from Avaris ,a tinge of impatience and
exasperation in his reply, "You /know/ I would, Lady. I want nothing more than to be close to You."

Equally stubborn, Lantra remains with Her hand outstretched, a single brow lifted as She regards you
with a firm patience.

Antennae drawing down in a scowl, Avaris shifts his gaze to the mess of congealed
blood that coats his hand. "My hand is dirty. You won't let me clean it. You are going to make me
sully Your hand, aren't You?"

Coolly, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "We can cleanse it, if you like. Follow Me to the grotto."

A quiet breeze sweeps through the vicinity as Lantra, the Empyreal dissolves in a luminous swirl of
white lotus petals, leaving only twinkling motes of starlight in Her wake.

The Grotto of the White.
Captured rays of light reflect off the sparkling waters of the Grotto of the White, enhanced by the
glittering limestone that surrounds the narrow, underwater cave. Reminiscent of starlight, these
twinkling motes bob and twirl against the surface of the walls, then dance across the still pool
that fills most of this cavern, winking in and out to allow only brief glimpses of this mystical,
sacred place. As if seeking to further obscure the crystalline waters, a rolling blanket of mist
shrouds much of the pool from view to linger here in a dewy, glistening mantle of white. Murmurs of
distant feminine voices echo here, muted by the sound of trickling water; though their cadence is
soothing, it leaves a disquieting sense of being watched and observed as if by the waters
themselves. Boundlessly flowing with light, a luminous pool of healing waters radiates a celestial
glow here. Lantra, the Empyreal stands here with a restrained dignity, Her aura radiating a
celestial light.
You see a single exit leading north.

As if gliding over the waters, Lantra steps to the side of a luminous pool. "At your touch, these
waters will cleanse you."

Stepping warily behind Lantra at a respectful distance, Avaris stops dead when his
eyes fall upon the luminous pool. He turns his head to stare at Lantra in a manner that is just a
shade reproachful. "Lady, this is not typical water to wash oneself with. I do not wish to pollute
the pool."

Archly, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Do you doubt the healing powers of My realm?"

Avaris tilts his head slightly back, gazing at the ceiling as if beseeching it for
patience as he draws in a deep, centering breath. "No, Lady. Of course I do not. You should know
that I do not. When have I ever doubted You?"

Lantra stands impassively, waiting, as if She has tired of voicing Her opinion and will no longer
waste the effort of doing so.

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Are you quite done with your excuses on My behalf?"

Uttering a low, irritated sound, Avaris stalks wordlessly several paces from Lantra
and turns his back, buzzing irritably all the while. He lowers himself to one knee as he reaches his
hands down towards the waters, scowling.

You hear the clicking of a wheel in the distance as you are blessed with 10% Increased influence
damage.

You splash your face with the healing waters of a luminous pool, exhiliration coursing through you
as you cleanse yourself of all impurities.

Patiently, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Was that so vexing?"

The last vestiges of midnight shadows flee as Mother Night hides herself from the luminous arrival
of her shining mate as he chases her across the bowl of the sky.

Straightening, now cleansed, Avaris turns a pointed look on Lantra and replies,
equally patiently, "/It/ was not, no. Thank You for the use of Your sacred healing waters, so that I
might wash gunk off my hands, Lady."

With all the grace of one who holds the higher ground, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "You are most
welcome, Avaris."

The tiniest, most infinitesimal mote of red flickers to life within Avaris's wings,
before dying out immediately - Though the eyes within them thin as he looks at Lantra wordlessly.
With a sound that is very much akin to a reverberating grunt, he nods.

In what seems an endless repetition between you, Lantra once more extends a hand, Her unveiled gaze
upon you as She awaits your answer. "Shall We restore things to as they were, Avaris?" the Goddess
asks.

The sight of Lantra's hand seems to jolt Avaris into the awareness of the fact that
he is not, in fact, kneeling before his Goddess, but rather looming like some ill-tempered effort at
statuary gone awry. Crossing the distance between himself and Lantra in a few long strides, he
lowers himself to one knee before Her, settling into his customary position with only a modicum of
feather rustling and shifting about. "If that is what You wish, Lady." he replies evenly, holding
out his hand to Lantra. "You are certain You wish me back?"

Her answer clear, firm and immediate, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "You never left, in a sense."

Without further protest, Avaris brings his hand to brush against Lantra's, the
contact of his chitinous, armoured touch as light as a feather.

As the Goddess's hand takes your own, a brief flare of immaculate light floods the grotto, sparkling
across the healing waters and bathing you in a misty radiance as the bond between you and the
Empyreal is restored anew.

As Lantra, the Empyreal baptises you in the sacred name of the Empyreal Goddess, a soothing white
mist envelops you as you stand Before the Veil of Her Order.

Glorious rays of morning light burst forth from Father Sun's crown as it peeks over the world's
edge, announcing a bright and shining new dawn.

Lantra, the Empyreal has appointed you to enduring with Fortitude in the Divine Order of Lantra, the
Empyreal.

Lantra, the Empyreal graciously grants you entrance into the the Divine Order of Lantra, the
Empyreal. Congratulations, and may you serve your God well.
In a flash of Divine power, a glass ampoule of bottled starlight appears in your hands, marking you
a member of the Divine Order of Lantra, the Empyreal.

(Before the Veil): Lantra says, "Well done on completing your trial of Fortitude, My Avaris. Welcome
once more among Mine. May you never need such welcoming here again."

(Before the Veil): Auriella (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Welcome back, Avaris! Purest
blessings upon you!"

Immediately, Avaris's lower left hand snaps down to the ampoule, which it clutches
with such force that any mortal object would surely shatter. A quiet sound of relief, almost a sob,
escapes from him before he masters himself, clearing his throat as he lowers his head before Lantra,
solemn with the weight of his gratitude.

(Before the Veil): You say, "Thank You, my Lady. I hope that I never need such again, either.
Fervently."

(Before the Veil): You say, "Thank you, Auriella. Blessings upon you, also."

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Shall I invite the others to witness the Sanctuary and the Grotto? Or is
there aught else you wish to speak to Me of while We remain alone."

Avaris gives his head a small shake. "Not unless You have anything You wish to
speak of with me, my Lady."

((Snip))

Avaris lifts the hand to gesture aside. "The others will appreciate this place
greatly, I think, my Lady."

There is a gentle pulse of light and power that reverberates throughout the Vanishing Isles, as the
Fonts of the Temple flower with new memory at the revelation of the Sanctuary of Resurrection and
the Grotto of the White.

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Yes. I will alert them. You may wander here, if you like, and discover
what lurks within these waters. Now that you are of Mine again, you may enter the Sanctuary by
bearing the light of the star lotus at the sculpture."

Lantra cups Her hands together in offering. Motes of light unfurl to reveal a single star lotus in
Her palm, lingering there with radiant beauty.

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Much of this place will make itself known to you, for you are of Mine."

Avaris lowers his head in a nod, though he does not dip it so low that it deprives
him of the view of the lotus within Lantra's palm. "You are ever generous with Your gifts to us.
Thank You, from the bottom of my heart."

((Snip))

A thoughtful cast to him, Avaris's chin descends in a slight acknowledgement of the
words, visibly already turning them over in his mind. "Yes. Think upon it I shall, my Lady."

Soft laughter as light as a gentle rain spills from Lantra's lips, the melodious sound accompanied
by a faintly amused smile.

Shaking Her head slightly, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "You will take anything I say in a manner that
allows you to serve Me better."

The sound of Lantra's laughter elicits a deluge of glittering motes of light
within  Avaris's eyes in undisguised delight. "Well...Of course, my Lady. That is how it should be."

With a faint sense of amusement, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Very well, then. So be it. Welcome
back, My Avaris."

Lantra leans close to you and gently lays a kiss upon your forehead.

A quiet breeze sweeps through the vicinity as Lantra, the Empyreal dissolves in a luminous swirl of
white lotus petals, leaving only twinkling motes of starlight in Her wake.

Lantra, the Empyreal has bestowed Her divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 30 months.

A quiet breeze sweeps through the vicinity as Lantra, the Empyreal dissolves in a luminous swirl of
white lotus petals, leaving only twinkling motes of starlight in Her wake.

Lantra, the Empyreal has bestowed Her divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 30 months.

Avaris's chest expands gradually as he draws in a deep breath, savouring the moment
like the first sip of cool, clear water after days spent roaming the harshness of the desert. A
clawed hand lifts to where Her lips touched upon his brow, though they do not make contact, simply
hovering there for a time. Softly, he murmurs, "I am home."