Li-Varili Reveal-i

EVERYBODY GATHERED IN THIS SECRET NEW UNDERWATER PRISON PLACE GUARDED BY THIS NEREID LADY:
Imprisoned beneath the Namiraa Trench.
One or two light fluffy clouds drift lazily through the sky. A final twist through the claustrophobic labyrinth abruptly opens up into a vast underwater cavern, its presence seeming undisturbed for thousands of years. Looming, rugged pillars of stone jut up from the the sediment of the cavern floor, forming a dense thicket of rocks, its full depths obscured by the murky waters. Faint, flickering orbs of light cast shadows within the impenetrable gloom, their dim glow the only source of relief from the omnipresent shadows. Strangely, the water is noticeably cooler here, and the current unnaturally still, as if awaiting an unspoken command to be riled up with fury once more. A wide column of jet-black stone, taller than all those around it, rises from the shadowy darkness found at the centre of the basin. Atop its devsatating heights, a macabre contraption has been bolted firmly in place, its silhouette vaguely resembling a chair. Waves of agony and the sickly sweet stench of blood radiate from this ancient wooden chair, bits of dessicated flesh and crusted blood still clinging to the Morokeche Seat. Latched tightly and viciously upon the confines of the Morokeche Seat, an imprisoned figure silently suffers here. Leaning against the nearby pillars of stone, the lurking nereid Soriali sings the strains of a haunting melody here. Magrund, the brazen taurus paws the ground in agitation, clouds of smog and cinder erupting from his snout with every snort and grunt. Swinging her cutlass about threateningly, Teyitha "Stormfury" Contelli sneers and commands total obedience from her crew. A golden retriever is here, panting quietly. Sticking to the shadows, a white wolf surveys the area. Huddled into a small mass of eliciting croaks, Jorge sits here. Emanating a soft, scintillating light, a shimmering portal hovers in the air nearby. Snarling and slavering, a massive rose-coloured rage worg with glossy black wings waits here. Wreathed in dancing emerald flames, a carnelian wyvern unfurls churning wings of roiling shadow here, bloodstone eyes brimming with confidence. Fair Galaphyrae with a Nymph face stands here, a sheen of moonlit energy radiating from her. She wields an athame dagger in her left hand and a kukri dagger of dancing leaves in her right hand. She are surrounded by a deflection bubble. Wreathed in cold flame and an aura of inclemency, a towering woman hovers imposingly, the symbol of Binah shining in her left eye. Flower Fanatic Velcora Lunarose, Queen of the Foxes with a Pilgrim face stands surrounded by a wild fragrance, flickering images of wildflowers shimmering about his body. He wields a shimmering shortsword etched with leaves in his left hand and a blooming wildflower shield of the fox in his right hand. A hooded figure from the Circle of the Deep silently watches here, one hand resting upon their gem-studded sword hilt. He are surrounded by a deflection bubble. Lady Grey Sapphira d'Vanecu, the Ensanguined Aesthete with a Nymph face lingers within velvety billows of indigo-lavender smoke that imbue the air with the intoxicating fragrance of burgeoning dusk. She wields an august lute of lucent silver and sapphire in her left hand and a baleful rapier of darkened steel in her right hand. Humble Avaris, Avower of the Archons is here, enveloped in an lambent aura of dazzling, cosmic radiance. He wields a shimmering multi-tonal scimitar in each hand. Eyes gleaming with daring, a Horizon Walker stands here armed and ready to face the vast unknown. A headless humanoid stands here wearing bloodied hunting leathers and carrying a large, grinning jack-o-lantern under one arm. Tyrus, Ravager of the Red Branch is here. He wields a key-shaped sigil in his left hand. His jaw wrenched open, a horrifying scarecrow stands here, silent. Wreathed in cold flame and an aura of inclemency, a towering woman hovers imposingly, the symbol of Binah shining in her left eye. Chaplain of Truth, Aevumis Luminare, Virtuoso of Light is here. He wields a radiant symbol of love in his left hand. Wyrden Auspice Esei Shee-Slaugh of the Ascending Dusk floats here, suffusing the air with the sickly-sweet scent of blackthorn blossoms. They wield a lissom blooming blackthorn staff in their left hand and a putrid thornvine whip in their right hand. Tridemon Regalis, Keeper of Pure Waters with an Unknown face lingers nearby, the air about him singing with the rush of the ocean. He wields a dazzling white staff crowned by a platinum pearl in his left hand. An air of restlessness surrounds a translucent dracnari emissary, his hands moving constantly as he stands here. Somnolent billows of dove-grey fog obscure the lingering form of a mistwaif clad in vestiges of the night. He are surrounded by a deflection bubble. A tormented spirit hovers here, howling as the air about him trembles. He are surrounded by a deflection bubble. Ashnezharr d'Murani, the Clangoru Slavemaster stands at the centre of a black stretch of dead, desiccated terrain, the scent of death hanging heavily in the air. He wields a formidable black waraxe with both hands.
You see exits leading out and through a shimmering portal.

LOOK SORIALI
Far away from the lagoons of her birth, this lurking nereid looks positively bored with herself for company. Long, wet ringlets of kelp-like curls frame her pouty face, braided and adorned with the bones of sea snakes. She glances about her lair with a deep sigh as she blinks her large, black eyes, her skin shimmering with a glaucous hue in the dim light; though possessed of a humanoid torso, a piscine tail tapers down from her waist, its scales a silvery-grey that blends in perfectly with the darkness of her surrounding environs. A necklace of gatorshark's teeth is strung about her neck with pride, almost a warning for those who would oppose her. When she sings, the gripping allure of her voice is unmistakeable.
Soriali, the lurking nereid has an air of extreme strength.

Soriali, the lurking nereid touches a finger to her chin, ignoring Avaris. "Then if you're ready," she says, and immediately her mood shifts to something more serious, more fitting for something of the caliber that she is about to do.

Soriali, the lurking nereid propels her body towards the Morokeche Seat, brow furrowed as she considers her actions. "I will sing the notes, then. This song resounds here, trapped within the trench on loop, echoing of moments that transpired here long ago. When I am done," she finishes, turning to everyone present, "you are on your own."

Lifting her voice in song, Soriali, the lurking nereid invokes the opening strains of an exquisite nocturne, the notes falling like the lulling shadows of encroaching night.

The imprisoned figure within the Morokeche Seat writhes and moans in answer, as if the music itself is a new affliction.

Moments later, the first manacle on the figure's wrist snaps off, and a new consciousness begins to emerge from the shadows:

At first, you had followed the Goddess to the depths of the trench of your own free will, but at a certain point that began to change, didn't it? The Enchantress's voice ensnared you with its alluring beauty, beckoning you lower and lower into the maze of watery darkness. This chasm had been of your own clandestine making, yet it already had begun to feel strange and unfamiliar as Her song echoed in the caverns. Some primal fear in you awakened, but you could not heed it. Your throat was dry, an unheard plea lodged in your throat as you wordlessly followed Drocilla further and further into the shadows, fearing that She might fulfill Her promise as much as you feared She might break it...

Soriali twirls within the water as if it is her stage, the mysteries of the twilit hour imbuing her melody with wonder, awe and majesty, as it quickens with excitement.

Another snap of iron releasing as an ankle is freed, that same consciousness yearning to be heard:

"We must all be masked for the ritual, you understand? So that no others detect Us." You nodded and took the beautiful mask from Drocilla's hands, its surface glistening even here in the dimmest reaches of the sea. As you placed it on yourself, you felt strange, as if everything that comprised your entire existence had been erased from greater perception. "I am ready for the rites," you whispered, and that is when the chains leapt out from the unseen seat behind you to bind you helplessly in place. "You are too much of a risk right now, My dear," Drocilla's infuriating words reach you as you shriek in agony. A trap, a trap, She had never intended to have you share in Her power... Down here, no one can ever hear you, no matter how loudly you scream...

All at once, the joy that had been inherent in Soriali's voice is no more, replaced with the weight of responsibility - sacrifice one to protect the all.

Again the snap of unlocking buckles rings throughout the lair, and again, a vision enters your mind unbidden:
Drocilla apologized and gloated over your capture in equal measure, and with each word uttered in Her golden tones, your hatred for the Goddess only grew tenfold. "Perhaps you will prefer other company," the Goddess sighed, and that was the last you saw of your once-friend and confidante. Your new masked jailor - a Creator, strangely - had a voice you almost recognized. At His fingertips, all manner of undersea creations burst into existence, each eyeing you uncertainly. "The Lavender Mask could have asked any of the Coterie's Second Circle to tend to you," He boasted, "but She sent Me! She finally appreciates My power and discretion." An arrogant Elder, then? You could manipulate arrogance. After all, Drocilla had more than taught you how...

Aching with beauty, Soriali's song becomes more somber, notes of shame intermingled with loss as she sings of sorrows cloaked in the shadows of night, and tears shed unseen in the darkness.

A strange sense of unease and anticipation fills you as another shackle is rendered useless, and the prisoner's story unfolds further:

Your jailor was only too glad to tell you His name is Blooredi, for what threat did you pose? You, who were trapped undersea in this torturous device - the Morokeche Seat, Blooredi called it - with no hope of ever escaping? He created mutated sea snakes, monstrous jellyfish, and other absurd bastardizations of your cousins' undersea creations, while you feigned love and enthusiasm for each. It was too easy to flatter His ego. Far too few Elders, it seems, had ever cared to try. "When the war is done, and the Elders understand Our betrayal, I will free you," Blooredi swore. You dared to believe Him even as He devoured yet another shred of your essence, for what was neither the first nor the last time...

The pain in Soriali's voice builds to an unbearable fervor, weighing your heart as if the faults sung in this ballad are your own, so deeply does it penetrate your soul.

Another click. Another snap. There is no stopping this ritual now that it has begun:

Silence. Eons and eons of silence. Where had your jailor gone, and had that cursed Drocilla gone with Him? You would take even Her mocking, song-like laughter now. Why had They left and abandoned you? Cold grips you as you watch the strangely glowing eyes of the creations that Blooredi has left behind to guard you, to watch you, to ensure you do not escape your prison. Not that you could, even if you tried. And you have tried. All that is left is to simmer in your own hate, like steam rising from the trench's depths, remembering that you would never forgive Them. The agony and the isolation breaks you down into the barest remnant of yourself, as you can only barely recall your own name amidst the memory of hate, unending and relentless hate for those who betrayed you...

How could you understand the choice she had to make, Soriali's voice beseeches you, how could they understand that cruelty was its own mercy? Apology and lament ring out from her lips, rich with bitterness.

The sounds of unlatching have become all too familiar now. It cannot take much longer to end, you are certain:

...Who do you sense, now? Strange. For so long it has only been you here. You stretch your weary consciousness further, tentatively daring to sense anyone who is not you or these mindless cretins patrolling your prison. Why is it such a familiar presence? ...No, it can't be. They are dead, aren't they? You probe further, astonishment giving way to euphoria. What are the odds that you could be found in this way, and by them, of all beings? For the first time in hundreds of years, you feel yourself hunger to be known. "Free Me," you beg silently to the nothingness. For you can sense their desperation, too, as they approach. They want to know you. They want to free you... Let them come. Let them come.

A final note hangs in the air as Soriali finishes her song, hands pressed to her heart as she weeps openly, the captivating and entrancing song now at its end. It haunts you, this lingering sound - this dissonant mix of conviction and contrition as she swims away: "Forgive me. I had no choice."

Li-varili stumbles down from the Morokeche Seat, beaten and bloody.

LOOK LI-VARILI
With smooth and supple skin the turquoise-green shade of lagoon waters, She is a radiant immortal and shines with a glaucous lustre, though it is marred by countless scars and wounds that have yet to heal. Framed by long-lashes, Her vast turquoise eyes churn with emotion, reflecting a haunting intensity that glints with an almost feral ferocity. Dewdrops sparkle on Her white eyelashes and the rest of Her sharp facial features, as well as Her wet red lips, their glistening hue the striking colour of a bromeliad's petals. Torn and bloodied, Her webbed hands grasp at Her sides, clenching as if unbelieving that She is able to move again once more. Her wild hair tumbles down Her back in a curtain of damp, unruly red curls resembling tangled fronds of seaweed, kelp and cattail reeds.
She is wearing:
a hideous rag reeking of mildew and decay barely covering Her wounded body.

Eyes wide like a feral animal, Li-varili snarls at your approach as She withdraws to the shadows of the lair. She opens Her cracked lips to speak, but the sound that comes out is hoarse from disuse and hardly legible. Again She attempts, and this time only a single word escapes: "Why?"