"Death is a teacher, I have learned from my elders."

A hazy cavern filled with whispers.
Puddles of dark water litter the rocky floor, blossoming wider and wider as they reach the back of the cavern. A dense fog hangs in the air, rising from these empty pools, the fine mist filling the space with a haunting chill. Indiscernible whispers echo from the back of the cavern, each as eerie as the haze they pierce through. A massive arch of roughly hewn stone rises from the ground, a ghostly haze drifting lazily in its centre that coats the rock in a thin layer of frost.
You see exits leading east, southeast, south, and through a frosted stone arch filled with haze.

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

The Fulcrux of Manteekan.
Dark water fills the majority of this expansive chamber, a haunting mist settled over the still liquid. Within the centre of this massive lake, an island of frost-rimed rock rises, the jagged stones piercing through the haze that fills the air. Frozen remains cling to the sides of these icy crags, clawing at the surface of each as they try to escape the pool below. A massive arch of roughly hewn stone rises from the ground, a ghostly haze drifting lazily in its centre that coats the rock in a thin layer of frost. A tomb of icy stone rises within the centre of the room, statues of innumerable twisted fae poxing its sides. A malformed, corpse white crow flies here with shadowy wings spread. A ceramic death watch beetle skitters about, uttering a series of dire clicks as the colours upon her shell shift and flow. Manteekan, the Nightmare hangs here hazily, His presence nothing more than a chilled mist that drifts hauntingly through the air. He wields the splintered quill of the Forest Dreamer in His left hand. A void darker than shadows lingers here, greedily surveying all with voracious, smouldering eyes. A baleful crow perches here, crimson eyes piercing in their glare.
You see a single exit leading through a frosted stone arch filled with haze.
You have recovered balance on all limbs.

---> look manteekan

Nearly transparent flesh is pulled taut over a tall, lanky and ectomorphic frame. Hanging in the air like a veil of fine mist, the presence of this immortal seems nothing more than a chill upon the skin. A ghastly aura hangs around His figure, manifesting in a cool fog that gathers at His feet, the miasma roiling like an impending storm. The collected mist beneath Him carries him aloft, His slender and nearly skeletal feet never touching the ground. What can be seen of His facial features must have once been fair; handsome if not for His otherwise spectral existence. His unnaturally long, needle-like fingers constantly fidget, as though grasping at something unseen. His intense, icy blue stare is the most corporeal thing about Him, as though His eyes are more real than He is, swirling with internal vortices of ice and snow.
Ghastly alabaster locks billow behind His head, each thread glowing white as it whips frantically through the air behind Him. Icy mist trails behind each strand as it thrashes about, slowly drifting to the ground to settle in a cloud of haze that churns about His feet.
He is wearing:
a torturous noose of thorn and vine
billowing robes of a chilled mist

You look at a torturous noose of thorn and vine that Manteekan is wearing:
Woven vine forms a binding noose, wrapped and knotted to fit tightly about the neck. Sharp thorns protrude from the ivy, pointed inward so that when worn, they dig into the flesh. Drops of a frosty blood cover each of the jagged protrusions, staining the woody material a dark crimson.
You look at billowing robes of a chilled mist that Manteekan is wearing:
Wispy threads of fog have been pulled together into a set of billowing robes, the mist chilled slightly so that it hangs heavy in the air. Threads of the haze whip gently about the garment, caught in an unseen wind that never slows. The churning vapor lies thick about the form, layer upon layer draping over and over itself until it resembles naught but a miasma of alabaster that roils furiously.

With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.

Skaza chitters at you with energetic clicks of her mandibles.

You flash Skaza a bright smile, teeth bared.

---> look Skaza

She is a compound-eyed kephera. She has a relatively small insectoid head atop a broad but flattened body with three faintly flaring segments to her thorax and ten to her abdomen, all protected by a pock-marked carapace of intense metallic green meandering through hues like viridian oil spilt on water. Her large compound eyes are flanked by a scatter of white ocelli and glint with vitreous luster as if chiseled from black obsidian. A pair of fluffy black antennae twitch and sway, sampling the surroundings with constant vigilance. Arising from each thorax segment is a pair of glossy black limbs; thick, almost feathered arms with a more vestigial pair tucked beneath, and a pair of short legs, each appearing luxuriously furred and bearing five sharp claws. A muted amber glow shines from the ventral surface of her abdomen, almost hidden by the sturdy green carapace. Tattooed on her fingers is an illustration of icy grimalkin paw prints.
Resembling an entity from the cosmic planes, her head is wreathed in undulating strands of shimmering cosmic fire. Attuned to her moods, the chromatic waves are in constant flux, from rising up in a halo of incandescent anger to streaming back in ripples of pleasure.
Delicately adhered to the face in an artful circular pattern, a series of gems have been placed against her face.
She is wearing:
an ebony dual-finger signet ring thrumming with a near-constant drone of unsated hunger
a gargantuan wolfman corpse dangling like a cape from her shoulders, claws trailing far behind
a set of face gems haunts her upper cheeks with the eerie brilliance of void-black diamonds
beads of ghostly amethyst skulls clinking together with every shift and bump against her carapace

---> look Iazin

Lean and tall, the figure of Iazin evokes shadows cast on a winter night. His dark grey hair, reminiscent of storm clouds, gradates to frosty white toward the ends. Pulled back, half up, into a loose ponytail to keep it from his face, the rest falls messily around his shoulders. He is an ordinary human icy demigod, pale of skin. Scars trace his skin like silver script- from fine, sweeping calligraphy, to sharp, bold marks, telling stories of misadventure and lessons learned in blood. Cold, icy blue eyes, the brightest spot of colour upon his features, pass over his surroundings in constant curiosity, periodically locking on points of interest, a bright gleam flashing in glacial reflection as they pass over you. The sharp chill of his eyes, however, often softens when he begins to speak. At his collar is a flash of a glassy imprint, jagged lines of crystalline lightning racing down his flesh, glinting brightly as it wreathes his wrists. Long, slender fingers gingerly reach to dreamily touch aspects of his environment, seeking stimuli in such a way that seems as though to reassure himself that either they, or himself, are real. A full beard, the same gradient of grey and frosted white as his hair, has been given an attempt at being kept tidy, to questionable success.
Wait timer expired.
He is wearing:
handsome black trousers with subtle crimson threading
a vampire squid pin
a pair of shadowy boots
an ebony dual-finger signet ring
a sapphire heart pendant, hung from his neck and kept close to his skin
a moonstone ring bearing intricate geometric patterns
a long black leather coat lined with crimson silk
a snow dusted black rose pin
a contrary camel pin
an elegant thorn ring
a cloak of crow feathers

---> look me!

They are a feathered trill, standing at a proud 5'5, their ebony feathers gleaming with a sleek iridescence. Pomegranate eyes peer out beneath a fringe of smaller, softer feathers, framed by their round, youthful face. Their lips are thin and dark, tinted purple by wyrden berries. Slender shoulders are weighed down by their large wingspan, the appendages tucked neatly at their back when not in use. Their hands are tipped with long, sharpened talons, dutifully attended to in order to maintain a deadly edge. Their chest is bare, covered in a soft coat of shiny feathers that smooth into a rounded form. Wiry and thin, they hold an subtle, constant tension in their limbs that implies great speed at a moment's notice.
They are wearing:
a pair of black trousers bearing silver stars
a willow-frond ring
an amaranthine night lotus tucked behind an ear tuft
a silver torc

Iazin widens his eyes in comprehension, then nods to you with a smile.

You nod your head at Iazin.

Skaza tells you, "-- with a mischievously devious note -- Be fearless."

Manteekan stares implacably at Skaza.
Skaza chitters to herself with speedy movement of her mandibles.

Iazin blinks.
Iazin peers at Skaza unscrupulously.

You caress the thoughts of Chancellor Skaza as you whisper, "Fear is a valuable resource. But, I will not cower."

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow whispers, "Is someone going to come out of you, too?"

You tilt your head curiously.

Thick hoarfrost forms across Iazin's torso and arms, opaque white at first before becoming translucent, holding over him like armour before it melts.

Manteekan drifts across the serene waters, dragging fingertips through the water leisurely. Something in his expression suggests violence. "Tell me why you have come, and perhaps I will be satisfied."

You have emoted: Takhre straightens at the implicit threat, though their expression of determination does not falter. "Lord Nightmare. I have come to give You my answer. If this is an unwelcome interruption, I will leave."

Manteekan presses His needle-like fingers through His uncontrollable hair, as though He were barely keeping it together. "You will know when you are unwelcome."

You nod.

You have emoted: Takhre folds their hands in front of them, looking up to Manteekan with a quiet sort of awe before they remember that they meant to speak. They clear their throat, intoning softly, "I have poured over many scrolls and books to come to a conclusion of what might satisfy You, if I might offer it." They spread their hands, talons gleaming in what little light remains. "I wish to spread fear in Your name. To bring You amusement in the suffering of foolish mortals who cannot see the glory of the Wyrd." After a pause, they add, "If all else fails, I offer my own pain and death for Your enjoyment. I have been rude, previously, and wish to become clever and strong in Your service. Death is a teacher, I have learned from my elders."

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

You have emoted: Takhre's lips press thin, but they wait patiently nonetheless.

You think to yourself: ... Perhaps a mistake. But, how else would I learn?

---> longggg pause, i was so nervous!

The Nightmare wills Himself to drift away from the waters, alighting Himself atop a tomb of icy stone. "I am satisfied with your answer, and disappointed that We all make it through this without anyone getting seriously injured. Tsk, tsk."

Iazin sways back and forth.

Take caution, for you now reside in the periphery of Lord Manteekan. A chill mist swirls around your feet briefly, spectral hands reaching out to grasp at your calves before fading.

---> eeee!!!

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "I volunteer, My Lord. I've been mangled for worse reasons."
Iazin braces himself.

You have emoted: Takhre visibly brightens, a dark gleam flashing in their eyes. "Thank You, Lord Nightmare."

Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Do not tempt me so early."
The features of Manteekan's face distort as a malicious smile grows upon His face, His features frozen as if caught in a rictus of death while He stares madly into the distance.

Skaza's carapace-covered shoulders rise and fall in silent mirth.

Iazin offers a wry smile, still unsure if he will end up leaving the chamber on his own power.

(Haze): Manteekan says, "I remind you all that reading materials are dreadfully out of date. Change comes, but first I need to have... a discussion."

You nod.

(Haze): Skaza says, "Even old still serves to sate the new. For now!"
(Haze): You say, "Of course, my Lord. We await with excitement."

A malformed, corpse white crow caws loudly, sending a shiver up your spine.

Iazin nods his head.

Smoothing His gaunt cheek into His hand, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Does someone care to fill them in?"

You tilt your head curiously.
You tilt your head and listen intently to Skaza.
You tilt your head and listen intently to Iazin.

Comprehension flashes across Iazin's face.
Iazin nods his head emphatically.
Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says to you, "Our current order of business is to learn what we can of the Magnagoran Vella. She has visited His Fulcrux at least twice, while obviously an agent of the Enchantress."

You tilt your head curiously.
You narrow your eyes to thin slits.

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "We are not to handle this hostilely."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "I saw her the first time I visited you, my Lord. I... hm. No violence?"

Chancellor Skaza says to you, "Play nice yes."

You have emoted: Takhre refrains from pouting.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Well, I suppose I could reach out to her. Or any of us, truly."

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "The details are far beyond me, but it seems that Lady Drocilla and Lord Manteekan have a friendship of a sort, and that this may be the beginning of an old dance."
Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "Lord Nightmare wishes that we play nice, yes, and not be too obvious in our approach to Vella, though we can assume she will know why we come to her with any kind of inquiry."

Folding your wings so that you can reach them properly, you begin to preen them in a soothing motion, straightening out the disheveled feathers.

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "My personal approach to begin with is to ask people who may know her, rather than going directly to her. I've a few places I can stick my nose and fingers into."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Hm. Why not simply a letter? Are we hiding from others? Or from her?"

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "I don't think hiding, no. Simply... manuevering."
Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "Maneuvering. Manu... you know what I mean."

You wave your hand dismissively.
You nod.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "It is understood."

Clapping his hands together, Manteekan winds His way along the varied statues. His laughter, while not as poignant as usual, conveys his amusement. "An accurate recitation. I will not be upset if you do not desire this test. There are many others to come."

Skaza's mandibles click a faint staccato.

Bowing deeply, you say, "My Lord. I must head to rest. But I will, of course, coordinate with the others in the Haze to enact Your Will."

You nod your head at Skaza.
You nod your head at Iazin.

Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "It will be done, My Lord."

Iazin nods his head at you.
Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "Rest well, kindred."

Skaza chitters at Iazin with energetic clicks of her mandibles.

Iazin clears his throat.
Occasional Aphid Iazin Stormcrow says, "Lord Nightmare?"

Manteekan peers at Iazin unscrupulously.

You incline your head politely to those around you.

Skaza's antennae droops slightly before abruptly springing back up again.

You blink.
You tilt your head curiously at Iazin.
You shake your head.
You incline your head politely to those around you.

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