What Does She Really Want?

Clearing in the pines.
A fresh gale whistles in your ears. Tall scrub-pines form a backdrop to this clearing. Thin trunks
are covered in brush-like branches, their needles brown and ready to drop. The clearing itself is an
area of grass and soil, pieces of pinecone and dry blades scattered across the ground. The sound of
cackling crows echoes through the trees. A mature hemlock tree stands proudly here. Casting darkness
all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. Illyria is here. She wields
a glittering black rose in her left hand and a mystic cudgel in her right hand.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, south, southwest, west, and northwest.

[[Rhalkyr brings Illy a whole cow to eat, because he's like that.]]

(Glomdoring): Irilara says, "Hail, Glomdoring."

(Glomdoring): You say, "Warden. Good, to hear, again."

(Glomdoring): Irilara says, "Likewise, Initiate. Doing well?"

(Glomdoring): You say, "Yes. Speaking, with, Illyria. She, is new. Came, from elsewhere. Should
meet, soon."



A single ear is flicked at the sound of the scrabbling cub as the young horse eagerly stuffs her
nose into the oats, though she angles slightly so that her hindquarters face the noisy thing.
Shifting her weight off of a rear leg to allow a hoof to cock idly as she eats. When the cub finally
is released to stampede, the horse doesn't so much as flinch. Rather, she waits patiently until the
thing is nearly at nipping distance and plants a dainty hoof directly into his chest, sending the
infant manticore flying across the clearing in a painfully impressive arc. Illyria winces
sympathetically. "She's more than she seems," she murmurs apologetically. "Pretty, but dangerous.
Sorry about your cub- might have broken something."

Watching the cub unconcernedly as it approaches its inevitable fate, Rhalkyr makes
no move whatsoever to deter the manticore infant from its course. Even as the yowling thing goes
hurtling through the air, his glittering eyes merely track the trajectory, impassive. Softly, in a
husky, honeyed voice that is distinctly not his own, he says, "Pain is a teacher." Upon the arrival
of Acosris, the giant scorpion, he cocks his head at the creature, snapping his hands together to
mimic the sharp rhythm the scorpion clacks out. In his usual, torn tones, he says, amiably,
"Warden."

Irilara arches a brow as she watches the soaring manticore cub. She glances toward you before
commenting, "It can be. Hail, Initiate." Then she turns her eyes toward Illyria. "So this is the one
you were speaking of, formerly of Serenwilde and Celest, now of the Glomdoring. Always good to see
someone come to their senses about such things."

Acosris, the giant scorpion skitters over toward the young manticore upon it's landing. The scorpion
stares down at the young thing, before nudging it with a segmented leg.

Illyria nods a quiet agreement to the sentiment, eyes lifting to track the entry of scorpion and
sileni alike. She says nothing in reply to the words, simply meeting Irilara's eyes levelly as she
continues stoking the neck of the young winged horse.

Uttering a guttural sound of indiscernible sentiment, Rhalkyr rises slowly to his
feet, before following Acosris, the giant scorpion's path to pad over to the pitiable mewling cub.
The infant yowls and hisses at the nudge, fleeing in a limping, lopsided gait to the presumed safety
of Rhalkyr's feet. He looms over it for a moment, before lowering himself into a crouch, examining
the distressed babe at length, which trembles. "Long, and winding, path may be. Matters, not.
Destination, was, correct." Tenderly, he runs his fingers along the manticore's head, uttering a
low, soothing series of rumbling sounds which soon serve to quieten the babe. "Missed, presence,
Warden. Will be, waking, more?"

Acosris, the giant scorpion turns toward Irilara, his pincers clicking together before one leg
stomps the ground.

Irilara tilts her head at Illyria's scrutiny before looking toward the giant scorpion. "No,
Acosris." She then turns her attention toward you. "I would argue that the path does matter. Yes,
the end destination is more important, but one can learn much from observing the path." The sileni
pauses then, head tilting to one side before she moves her shoulders in a small shrug. "I wake as
often as I can. Given that I do so I cannot make any promises about waking more."

Illyria watches the conversation silently, polite neutrality on her face as she listens from her
perch atop the cow's carcass. Her wings wave slowly, idly, the only source of motion from the
faeling save for the tiny motions of fingers against the horse's dove grey fur. Not being addressed,
she seems content to remain wordless and observe.

Rhalkyr's eyes slip from the cub, to study Acosris, the giant scorpion for a long,
silent moment, gleaming within the depths of his mask. At Irilara's command, however, they slide
away once more, shifting to rest upon Irilara for a beat, and then over to Illyria, and away again.
"Yes. Is, fair." Lifting his free hand, he makes a circular motion over his heart, and then jerks a
finger aside, as if pulling something out. "Not, censure. Just, miss, whole. Same, for all."


Reaching up to pluck off her spectacles, absently using a bit of the mantle she wears to clean them
Irilara inclines her head slightly to one side as she examines you. "Regardless, have things been
going well for you?" The sileni then turns to regard Illyria. "And I suppose that formal
introductions are in order as, whilst I know of you from having kept an eye on those of the
Serenwilde, if only to know of those I may end up facing in battle, we have never formally met. So,
names. I am Irilara."

Illyria lets her hand fall away from the horse's neck finally, leaving her to finish her meal in
peace. Standing up from her seat atop the cow, she places a foot back behind the other and dips a
small, graceful curtsey, keeping her eyes on Irilara. "I am Illyria," she replies quietly, her voice
low in volume but pitched to carry easily. She says nothing more, simply moving her cloak out of the
way and sitting back down on the carcass.

Rhalkyr tilts his head from side to side, lifting a hand to mirror the motion, in
response to Irilara's query. "Yes, no. Have, task, for Blackpetal. Is, difficult." Gaze sliding over
to Illyria, he utters a low, amused rumble, raising the same hand to brush his fingertips across the
painted teeth of his mask in a soft rasp. "Quiet, one."

Irilara lets out a soft thoughtful, and melodic, hum. Slipping her spectacles back on the sileni
says, "A pleasure, I am sure, Illyria." Looking to you she continues, "There is nothing wrong with
silence. Some might say there is something wrong about the staring, but I am fairly well used to
such." The sileni moves over to Acosris, the giant scorpion, and hops up to settle in a seated
position on his back, prompting the scorpion to move his curled tail away to avoid stinging her.
"What sort of task were you given, and is there aught you need help with in regards to it?"

Illyria glances in between you and Irilara, giving the former a small smile before turning and
slipping away into the shadows of the forest once more, trailed by a mildly irritated horse.

Watching the faeling disappear into the forest, Rhalkyr absently strokes the
manticore cub, which continues to quail between his feet. "Maybe, can help. None have, the knowing.
Only, conjecture." In a smooth, feminine voice, radically different from his own, and yet utterly
distinct from She who spoke the words, he says, "Your first task for Me will be to discover the
origins of the Greev."

Irilara swivels her head as she watches Illyria slip off before asking in a bemused tone, "Does she
believe that to have been stealthy? Really should educate her on stealth if that is the case."
Shaking her head the sileni turns toward you once more. "The origins of the Greev? That is... A
little tricky. I know of when it woke and devastated the Glomdoring as it was at the time. There is
even a play about it. But it's origins?" The sileni falls silent for a moment, idly tapping one long
finger against her lip in thought. "I must admit I never questioned that. I always simply thought
it's origin was in the Wyrd itself. That when the Wyrd came into being as it is now, the Greev came
with it. That it was less something born of the Wyrd, or changed by the Wyrd the way the Ebonglom
Wyrdling is, and more something that was made manifest. I would state that Xenthos, if you can get a
chance to speak with him on it, may be able to shed some light on the matter of the Greev."

In response to the question posed, Rhalkyr simply lifts a huge shoulder by way of
answer, his head angled down towards the cub - though his eyes are ever flitting about in a
ceaseless survey of the surroundings, and all contained within them. "Was first, asked. Knew, only,
what all, know - little." Brushing his fingertips across the manticore's brow, he rumbles in a low
murmur, "Even, honoured elders, cannot, answer. Unsure, what Blackpetal, wants, of Rhalkyr."

Irilara seems to pay little attention to her surroundings, in contrast. Her legs cross from her
perch atop Acosris, the giant scorpion as she leans forward, eyes fixed on you. "I believe that,
beyond anything else, what is wanted is a demonstration that you will take the time and dedicate the
effort to fulfilling a task set before you. As regards this specific task... Given the lack of
knowledge I would say to ask what you have, as you have, form theories, then present those theories.
A statement that you could not find the exact origins, but then going on to share what you've found,
what others thought, and what you, personally think on the matter." The sileni falls silent a moment
before she asks, "You've checked the library, yes? I do not recall seeing anything on the matter
there, but I have not exactly performed an in-depth examination of the tomes for any on the Greev."

Rhalkyr is silent for a moment that stretches on, and on, until it seems as if he
may not answer at all. Eventually, though, a dubious sound reverberates from his chest as he angles
his head slowly aside. "Mmh. Considered, this. Phrasing, was, precise. Discover, origins. Not,
theorise, conjecture, of origins." He brings his hands up, and snaps the edge of his right into the
palm of his left in a short, decisive motion. "Discover. Implies, none know. Not 'Learn'." Lapsing
into brooding silence once more, the shadows about his eyes deepen, as hidden brows draw down.
"Have, yes. None. Only, play. Maybe, will ask, residents, of forest."

"Perhaps," Irilara Irilara replies, settling back on Acosris. "Though I feel you are being a bit...
Limited, I suppose, in your view of what discover means. It can mean to find knowledge none know. It
also, however, in this case can mean to find knowledge that you do not know. Personal discovery is
still discovery. That is simply a minor note, however. It may also be that what is being looked for
is the knowledge that nobody knows. Yes, you were asked to discover the origins of the Greev, but it
may be that the lack of information is what you are tasked to discover, not the information itself."
The sileni pauses, her brow furrowing as she goes over her words before she shakes her head
slightly. "If that makes sense. Regardless, asking the residents of the forest cannot hurt any. They
may not know any more than you have already learned, but so long as you've the time putting forth
the effort cannot hinder you in your task."

Rhalkyr leans his head at a steep angle, first to his left, and then to his right,
rolling his monstrous shoulders in slow back and forth motions. "May, be. Even, nature, of request,
is conjecture. Nebulous, in all, ways." Drumming the calloused pads of his fingers against his knee
in a quiet rhythm, he turns to gaze off into the forest, eyes slowly roving from shadow to shadow.
"Do not, want, to disappoint, Her. Must, be sure, before, return, to Her."

Devotee of the Tah'vrai, Irilara says, "Do your best not to disappoint, to be sure. But also be sure
not to dismiss that admitting ignorance and the inability to find anything is a valid conclusion.
Not preferable, perhaps, but if there is nothing for you to find, then there is nothing for you to
find. And doing something like waking the Greev to see if you can figure anything out whilst it is
awake would be... A poor idea."

Rhalkyr emits a short, sharp snort of startled humour, the sound intermingled with
disbelief and derision both. "Would not! Not, without, Her, instruction."

Irilara flashes a brief grin before moving her head in a small nod. "That would be for the best,
yes."

Rhalkyr grunts once more, a glint of humour in the vivid green of his eyes, before
he gathers the cub delicately into his arms, and rises. "Must, tend, to stupid, son. Gratitude, for,
talk." He cocks his head towards Irilara, gaze flickering to her and away again. "Another, time,
yes?"

Irilara moves her head in a small nod. "Another time. Be well. And good luck. Hopefully he is not
too... Obstinate."

Rhalkyr dips his head in a tiny gesture of acknowledgement, before he pads out of
the clearing, moving quietly.