Warnings (Private ver.)

As you sit here, beneath the tree, and think to yourself, your compound-eyes catch something amiss.
A pair of icy green eyes, disembodied and hovering, staring at you.

Avaris's antennae twitch towards the eyes, eliciting an immediate response, as he
rises smoothly to his feet and snaps off a crisp, precise salute.

The eyes regard you, your salute, and simply blink away.

Avaris remains at attention for a time after the eyes disappear, and only relaxes
into a moderately more relaxed stance once it is clear they will not return.

A firm yet feminine voice cuts across the aether, "You sought audience with Me, Avaris?"

Avaris dips his head in a firm nod. "I did, Even Bladed, if You have the time for
it." He pauses, and then adds, "I imagine You can hear me if I speak within the relative privacy of
my mind?"

You catch the brief stench of something burning, the heat of metal: forgesmoke, which billows in and
pools, pools, and pools into some vague figure and shape.

Beneath a weeping willow tree.
The rippling sound of flowing celestial waters echoes distantly from a healing shrine of Lantra
nearby. This location is flooded with shallow, crystal clear water. A peaceful gurgling sound rises
from a small stream, which meanders from the west and flows into a well-maintained pond, adding to
the tranquil quality in the air. A rounded island of wet grass sits within the pond, connected to
the bank by a narrow wooden footbridge which seems to have borne countless travelers to the little
isle. The island itself is home to a large weeping willow tree, which struggles to stay upright as
the myriad of branches and leaves droop down into the pond below. Small, brightly colored fish flit
around the island, playfully nipping at the small drops of water which fall from the willow. Fresh
breezes stir the branches of the ancient tree like soft sighs and whispers that pervade the island,
making it an ideal spot to meditate. Terentia, the Even Bladed is here, slate-hued forgesmoke
billowing around Her like a cloak as She surveys Her surroundings.
You see exits leading southeast, southwest, and west.
12300h, 6300m, 6800e, 10p Bex-
Coolly, Terentia, the Even Bladed says, "I can hear you in many, many ways, Avaris."

Possessing a diminutive frame, the Goddess Terentia might be easily overlooked; however, Her
commanding presence forces attention nonetheless upon the fact that She is a radiant immortal. What
was once brilliant coral blue hair has paled to the most subtle silvery turquoise, its curls forming
a loose crew cut with a close shave on either side of Her head. Icy green eyes are set in a steely
gaze that are constantly and completely focused, seeming to never miss a single detail. Lithe
muscles ripple gracefully beneath smooth, starlit skin; traces of previous battles remain, the cruel
beauty of scarred god-flesh acting as both medal and wound of battle alike. Most significant amongst
these scars are three trailing claw marks that cross Her left cheek and descend across Her chin and
down Her long neck. While time seems to have taken the Goddess' appearance, Her lips form a tight,
thin line that suggest the disposition of a more ageless being.

She is wearing:
a buckled weaponbelt of scaled silver-hide
a skirt of bejeweled silver scalemail
an illuminated halo hovering behind Terentia's head
ornate, silver-plated greaves
a gilded gauntlet of albescent metal
an intricate breastplate of white edged in silver
a pair of pearl-studded, winged sandals
a delectable meatball pouch
a mirrored vambrace.

The Goddess stands before you, forgesmoke fluttering still behind Her like a cloak, Her arms
unweaponed and folded behind Her back. Terentia regards you with the same stare that you experience
moments ago, waiting for you to speak.

Avaris lowers the sharp point of his chin in a slight nod. "Merely making certain.
I did not wish to babble in my head without purpose." Studying Terentia quietly for a moment,
unperturbed by the stare given in turn, as he asks, tone polite, "Are You well? I do not think I have
ever asked it of You - But it is foolish to presume it."

She chuckles, a low, breathy sound. "I find that question the most useless question in all Creation,
Avaris," Terentia replies. "Does it matter if I am well? Whether I am happy or in despair matters
little when twisted forces conspire, when the world seems constantly at odds with itself." She
pauses, Her lip pulled to one side in consideration. "I am not. My intelligence reports speak of
unrest within Celest, the re-emerging of a vile artifact long since gone, and the frustrations of
trying to maintain a formation when many rest or refuse to do much in their time awake."

Terentia rights Her expression, Her face once more becoming steel.

The response sparks to life a glittering wave of motes of light within the seven,
solid blue eyes that are set within Avaris's visored face, like a gem-studded helm catching the
light - a smile, after a fashion, but a faint and short-lived one. He listens with a sober air,
shifting his hands to clasp all four at the small of his back, beneath the overlapping cloak of his
wings. "Wellness and morale matter, respectfully, Lady. A commander in ill form, emotional or
otherwise, will not usually act the same as when they are hale of heart and mind." He shrugs, a
modest rise and fall of spiked, ringed shoulders, the natural pauldrons brushing the thick ruff of
his mane. "I know of what You speak, indeed. May I assist You in any fashion?"

Terentia looks away briefly, as if She were hearing something distant and otherwise unhearable. When
you speak, Her eyes flick back to you, listening. "Ahh, so you would assume that I, like a mortal
commander, could be in ill form. Nasty thought there, Avaris." The Goddess smiles, but it's just a
flash of teeth before She continues to speak. "Which issue would you think to assist Me with? You
have three to choose from."

Avaris angles his head aside, the lower left antenna shifting in a loose flick.
"Stalwart and dauntless as You are, Even Bladed, I know that even Elders can be in ill form. I have
felt it." A note of subtle humour enters the melody of his voice, nearly undetectable within the
otherwise serious tones, as he assures, "I will not tell anyone, Lady. It would not do to have such
nasty thoughts spreading." At the question, he responds promptly, utterly lacking in hesitation or
uncertainty, "All of them, and any that You believe I may be of use in, besides."

You think to yourself: The echoes of the Empyreal's memories, the countless scenes of loss, despair
and poignant fallibility elicit a distant note of sorrow, before they are quietly put away once
more.

Continuing your playful, if not concerned, riposte, Terentia offers, "I suppose I would wonder which
Elders you interact with, to have such thoughts about." Then, the intensity of Her focus bubbles
over. "Ahh," is all She says, letting that lie. "Well, one, Avaris, you simply wouldn't be allowed.
My Dagger's issues are not yours to deal with--those are Mine. The Seat, well, that is an issue, but
I have yet to determine what would be the most appropriate course of action. But a weapon of that
kind... is concerning." Then, She tilts Her head, the halo about Her head illuminating the softer
contours of Her face. "It seems to Me that Celest is in a war with itself, unwilling to recognise
that there are greater threats. But, I imagine there would be little to be done unless there was
some routing out." She sniffs.

You think to yourself: "Ones that guard Their hurts in different ways, but I know that even the
finest armour is not proof against pain, no matter how well hidden and controlled. Ah, dear Lady, do
You ever allow the mortals that love You to tend to Your heart, or do You keep them as distant as
the Empyreal does?"

The regard that Avaris places upon Terentia grows a shade more acute, though he
does not pursue the matter of Elders further. Instead, he turns to the explanation at hand,
listening intently until the Goddess finishes speaking. This time, he does not respond swiftly, the
finger of one of his hidden hands tapping thoughtfully upon the hard carapace of his conjoined
fists. "I see. So is there nothing that You would have me do for You?"

"I did not appear before you, Avaris, for you to console Me." There is bite to Terentia's words this
time. The almost playful quality of your conversation evaporating like seawater and leaving only
salt. "At least for one of those tasks, namely Celest, I would have you continue to do what you are
doing. You bring, much like My Falaine, a refreshing breeze to city. I would wonder when that breeze
might become a stronger gale, so to speak." The Goddess retrieves Her arms from behind Her, folding
them tightly across the chest. "I do hope these are not the only questions you sought to ask Me."

Avaris lowers his head in a bow of mute contrition, the four bloody swathes of his
antennae flattening at the sharpness in Terentia's words. The steady beat of his pointed finger
impacting upon the armour of his chitin comes to an abrupt halt, and he maintains the posture as he
replies, voice carefully neutral, armoured in cool formality. "They are not. I had intended to ask
if You had insights on how to dispose of the Seat, or otherwise secure it - But You have pre-empted
that. I ask for Your stance on the Lady of the Lagoons. My other question, I will save for last."

You think to yourself: A flinch, followed quickly by a boiling, churning frustration directed at
himself, a wordless seething at his apparently limitless ability to offend, hurt or insult anyone
and anything with his blundering words.

"Mmm," muses the Goddess as She considers that question. "My stance on Li-varili." Terentia tilts
Her chin up, almost as if She were looking up at something in the sky, Her gaze traveling that
direction. She speaks to you without looking: "I have not thought about Li-varili in a very, very
long time. I remember Her a preening sort, vain, but mostly tied to Keltari, Her sibling. I have
little to make of Her now. What do you make of Her?" Her eyes drift back to you, brow arched.

A firm yet feminine voice rattles within your head: "You would need to do more to truly offend Me,
Avaris. Unyoke yourself of feeling that way."

While the majority of the stylised, light-forged eyes within Avaris's wings are
respectfully downcast, there are a few, smaller ones that drift upwards to steal a glance at
Terentia as he listens. The faint creaking of chitin protesting the duress of gradually applied
force emanates from beneath the feathers that cover the kephera's back, his reply curt, flat. "A
threat."

You think to yourself: "As You say, Even Bladed."

Terentia says nothing in response to your words, this revelation that you share with Her. Instead,
Her lips purse. After a moment, a stretch of seconds, She orders, "Explain."

"She is a Traitor in all but name. She sought to undergo the Rite of Abomination,
but was denied it by the Enchantress' betrayal." Avaris reports, tone cold and hard, taught as a
clenched gauntlet of steel. "The nereids are Hers. They are monstrous, vile creatures. She is much
akin to them, in many ways. The mortals seem fascinated with Her, falling blindly to the allure She
possesses while ignoring the obvious warnings." A slow, hissing breath is forced through the
invisible seams of his face, and he continues, "Her time in the Seat has made Her worse. She is
vicious, spiteful, and ambitious. She wants /everything/, Even Bladed, and I believe She will do
anything to acquire it. There will be a mountain of corpses, and worse, I feel, before She is done,
if She remains unopposed."

You think to yourself: The sharp-edged, desperate hope that this time, just this once, his warnings
will not go unheeded or dismissed - Weighed down by the leaden expectation that this will not be any
different.

Again, Terentia says nothing and listens, instead, to your words with the flat expression like She
has worn in the past. "I will take your worry and arm Me and Mine appropriately." Her words finally
break that up, taking on the speculative tone of strategy. "The difficulty is, of course, unaligned
to anyone in Lusternia, She is able to play the field more expertly than most. That gives Her an
edge. Mobility. That is, of course, your concerns are true."

You think to yourself: Not an outright dismissal. He would take it. Finally, /finally/, Someone at
least can see the potential for harm the Lady of Lagoons possesses.

Continuing, Terentia, the Even Bladed says, "I would be mindful of one thing, Avaris. To name one of
Mine kin as Traitor is a grave matter."

With his face still pointed at the ground, the slight nod that Avaris gives is
nonetheless clear. "I expect Her to begin swaying Elders to Her side, or manipulating Them to Her
advantage, if She is able, yes." At the admonition, the creak of squeezed chitin precedes, "I know,
Lady. I know. Who else has willingly sought the Rite, if not the Traitors? I do not think Her any
less culpable simply because what She sought was denied to Her."

Giving a slow, careful nod, Terentia considers, almost to Herself, "Who would She seek to sway, I
wonder?" Then, more firmly, directly to you as She attempts to switch gears: "Your last question,
then, Avaris? I will hold your fears in My thoughts and in My bladehand."

Avaris gives the matter due thought, contemplating it for a time, before offering,
"Those likely to be most sympathetic to Her, or pulled into doing what She desires of them. None of
the Ladies here would be receptive, I..." He falters for a beat, the hue of his eyes dimming as his
antennae curve forward and down in a steep frown. "I hope. Unlikely to be those of Magnagora. I
would imagine the Wyrden Elders, those of Gaudiguch, and possibly the Serenwilde." He lapses into
silence once more, the golden plating of his interlocked fingers grinding against itself as he
flexes and shifts his fingers. Eventually, visibly bracing himself, he asks, "How can an Elder be
killed or otherwise neutralised?"

The look that Terentia has given you previously, while firm like metal and stand-offish now hardens
and sharpens like a blade between you. Her gaze, those two icy green eyes, narrow. "You would seek
to kill one of My siblings, or to have one of Us kill Them, Avaris?"

Force in Her voice, Terentia, the Even Bladed says, "My kin, who once built this 'Basin of Life,'
whose numbers counted in hundreds and thousands? My kin, who were decimated so thoroughly that only
a handful of Us remain now, you would seek to kill Them?"

Instinctively, Terentia's hands unfurl from across Her chest and find themselves placed at the hilts
of Her swords.

Pointing Answerer, the red-steel blade, toward you, Terentia works hard to contain the power that
builds in Her expression. It isn't force there any longer, but fury. "You be mindful to rescind such
a thought, Avaris, before I carve it out of your brain Myself."

Weathering the pressing weight of Terentia's gaze like a ramshackle redoubt
besieged by overwhelming opposition, Avaris draws his wings in tight to his back, shoulders hunching
as if enduring a series of blows. With the painfully slow, deliberate motions of one intending to
offer not so much a hint of hostility, he extracts his hands from where they rest at his back,
gradually extending them out to either side, palms facing Terentia, open-handed, empty. With all of
his eyes downcast, now, and antennae flattened to the dome of his head, his voice is quiet, but not
soft, or pleading. "I seek only to be prepared for the worst."

((Gets murdered! Manually, with actual sword swings, not a zap, which was a really nice touch!
This triggers the intercession Lantra was sweet enough to give Avaris.))

As Terentia takes your life, you feel the comforting presence of the Lady Lantra as She whisks you
to the safety of Her healing mound.
The healing mound of Lantra the White.
This serene landscape appears more like a painting than reality, shaded in gentle shades of blue and
green as an altar of white stone rises like a pedestal encircled by waterfalls. The cascading falls
shimmer like a translucent curtain of mist, bathing the surroundings in a sparkling mantle of white.
Stoic as they gracefully ascend from the waters, star lotus blossoms cradle the base of the pristine
altar as their pure hearts emanate a soft, immaculate glow. Twinkling motes of cosmic energy dance
forth across the rippling pool of water, leaving dizzying arcs in their wake as they trace across
the alabaster stone. Rising with solemn grandeur from the misty waters, the healing mound of the
White glistens with soothing light here.
You see a single exit leading out.
The mortal threads of your being severed, you scream in agony as the Divine spark within you enfolds
your body with scorching flames.

The gentle touch of moss and marble presses against your back as you hear the White Healer's calming
voice: "Be not afraid of this defeat. Allow Me to give you remedy."

White flowers blossom at the Goddess's words, flourishing all around you with life and renewal as
you are cocooned in a soothing, radiant glow. So gentle is Lantra's work that you are hardly aware
of Her presence, save for the domothean crystals that pulse softly overhead.

"We Hamadhi tended to many grievous wounds in battle," Lantra says, Her voice quiet but firm, "and
yet all Warriors knew Their fates would eventually lead Them to Our healing mounds. Know that this
is but a temporary destination in your journey, $=(target$), but do not forget the lessons your
wounds have taught you."

The radiance surrounding you dims at last as the Goddess's words fade, leaving your body feeling as
light and rejuvenated as a newborn being.

The metallic clang of metal against metal pierces the air as Terentia appears from a billow of
smoke.

Lifting a forestalling hand to Terentia, Avaris entreats, quick and desperate, "Not
here. Not in Her place of healing. Spill my blood elsewhere, anywhere - But not here. I beg You."

Arriving in streams of forgesmoke, Terentia cuts through the serenity of this place--holy and marked
by Lantra--Her swords still tight in Her grip, knuckles pale as the moon. "You ever think those
words again, Avaris, you will not even be recognisable to your Lady. Body and soul."

Terentia, the Even Bladed has bestowed Her divine disfavour upon you. It will last for 5 months.

((Disfavour desc: Bloody red essence burns his palms, staining him with a penitent mark that
ascribes the displeasure and disfavour of Terentia, the Even Bladed.))

Terentia's eyes peer toward the mound, essence flowing around the Goddess in thick waves. And then,
She sharply turns on Her heel, away from you.

With a sudden crack of energy, Terentia disappears from sight.

The faintest tinge of red enters the wide, roving eyes of Avaris's wings as the
Goddess' attention shifts to the mound, the feathered pnions twitching as if about to put themselves
between Her and the holy place - Only for the overwhelming pressure of Her displeasure to dissipate,
sudden as a blade pulled from the gut. Wavering on his feet, lifts his hands to stare at the four
marks that burn upon his palms, bloodier and more intense in their anger than anything he has ever
been capable of producing with the red of his own fury. Trembling, he stands there for a long time,
antennae limp and lifeless, draping over the edges of his head like streaks of spilled blood.

You think to yourself: His heart, hammering still against the prison of his chest, his nerves
screaming at him to run, to fight, to do /something/ - Even though he knows, without a shadow of a
doubt, that nothing could spare him from Her wrath, even if he had tried. The mark of Her
displeasure burns more than just his hands, pressed against his soul like a searing brand of red-hot
iron.

Avaris stirs abruptly, glancing shamefully at the mound, snatching his hands to his
chest as if to hide them from the disapproving gaze of Someone else. He turns, then, and he does not
stride forth from this sacred, holy place, that should be a place of comfort, of peace - He flees
from it.

((Goes to his under-construction manse))

Stepping onto the cool, empty plane of water, so devoid of solace or warmth, Avaris
simply stands where he is, the fingers of his hands mechanically moving to the grips of his swords,
only to jerk back as if burned - Over and over, in a futile cycle of folly.