Her Light

Rippling across celestial waves of water and light, the clear voice of the Goddess Lantra resonates
about you, "[There are no words to this missive, merely a strange whisper that beckons to the lowest
depths of the Vanishing Isles. A grief that is not your own floods you, swirling with the hot
undercurrent of anger and the ache of despair, until at last nothing but a numbing ache remains, and
the sensation that a new aspect of the Empyreal Goddess has manifested among the sunken ruins.]"

The broad, sanguine spans of Avaris's antennae are drawn gradually down into a
steep frown as his hand drifts away from the ampoule upon his hip. The kephera's wedge-shaped head
turns, as if studying something through the wall of the spherical chamber, his hand lifting absently
to brush along the petals of the crimson star lotus upon his chest.

You reach out and touch a bright crimson star lotus.
Your hand alights upon a bright crimson star lotus, scattering light from its sanguine petals.
A black, sucking darkness clenches your heart, echoes of grief ravaging your body from an unknown
memory as you persist in this too-familiar task.

The sanguine petals of the lotus flare with sudden renewed brilliance at your touch, washing over
you in a new flood of emotions -- the quiet ache of Grief, the numbing chill of Apathy, the
surrendering pain of Strife, and the discomfort of Doubt -- as a calm, feminine voice whispers, "You
would know more of Me. Seek then what I have unveiled to you."

You think to yourself: The scintillating bastion of his inner self is subsumed briefly beneath the
deluge of foreign emotion, as an outpost upon the sea drowned beneath a vast wave. The arcing blades
of light tremble beneath the flood, the walls of his will shivering, but remaining intact - If
dulled in their luminosity.

Above a surrendered bridge.
Lashing storms have torn this proud bridge asunder, burying its debris in the shadows of the deepest
sea. This bridge's destination appears to be naught now but a chasm of darkness, brought low by the
relentless push and pull of waves battering against its foundation. Thus defeated, the only reason
this bridge stands at all is that it has nowhere left to sink: the lowest depths of the sea tenderly
embrace the wreckage as a shrine to the casual brutality of the Fates.
You see exits leading north, northeast, south, and northwest.

Gliding through the water with the particular grace of large creatures suspended
within the chill embrace of the sea, Avaris's vast wings trail behind him like shimmering banners of
layered gold, rippling faintly in the current of his passage. The tip of his talons provide the
purchase necessary to propel him forward at a sedate pace, his attention focused upon absorbing the
sundered bridge.

Bringing with it a sense of soothing tranquility, a soft, forlorn melody fills the water.

Battered parapets breached by Strife.
Vicious battle has laid waste to the parapets of this breached fortress. The victim of an arduous
siege, the stone bears the scars left by a sturdy battering ram, its walls ultimately caving in upon
themselves into rubble. Scraps of metal and debris are all that remains of various weaponry that now
rusts beneath the ocean floor -- a scarred blade, a dented shield, a spear snapped in two -- though
it is naught but a pitiful, blunted reminder of what sharp edges they once possessed. Beyond the
parapets, what must have once been the stronghold of a keep is now merely a wide expanse of water,
safeguarding nothing but sand.
You see a single exit leading north.

A disturbance in the water sends echoes of distorted sound through the room.

Borne forward by the momentum of his entrance, Avaris floats towards the ruins of
the fallen fortress with an almost dreamlike quality to his motions. He pauses by the breached
walls, halting his momentum by sinking the gilded saber of his talons into the rubble beneath.
Crouching, he runs the flat of his fingers across the shattered remains of a spear, then traces the
warped outline of a broken shield.

Bringing with it a sense of soothing tranquility, a soft, forlorn melody fills the water.

Pinpricks of exhaustion seize your consciousness as the nearby currents seek to drag you down into
the watery expanse.

Bright anemones sway in the currents, their feathery arms undulating in hypnotic patterns among the
ruins.

You think to yourself: The lingering effects of Her emotions weigh him down more than the pull of
the aquatic depths, a clinging patina of despair, of black feeling that threatens to undo him. He
persists, though his mind and will ache like muscles given no reprieve, and his thoughts turn over
the nature of this place. "Why a fortress, here? How did it fall? Is it drawn from another place, or
symbolic? Who did these weapons belong to?"

As the spear turns over in your hands, you recall the shape and heft of Atonement, and wince as the
brutal memory of it embedded in flesh intrudes with the thought unbidden. There is a similarity in
its delicate beauty here, and yet it lacks the threat of the Divine weapon you recall so well.

Avaris's fingers flinch, as if to draw back from the weapon, but his touch does not
retreat. Instead, he focuses upon the weapon more intently, drawing the edge of his thumb over the
flat of the blade, the gesture thoughtful, almost fond.

Watery echoes reverberate throughout the surroundings, eerie and haunting.

You think to yourself: The reflexive urge to jerk away is as strong as it ever is, when such a
memory surfaces to the fore, but he will not draw away from that which is of his Lady - Even if it
is a painful memory. He has seen defeats, even in his short life, both personal and of others. Would
he be able to persist, if all that he sought to defend was brought to such ruin? "I must. I cannot
be allowed to falter. Not in this."

A disturbance in the water sends echoes of distorted sound through the room.

The dull blade does not harm you, so smoothed and eroded as it is by the sea, but you sense that it
was once strong as steel, a seemingly unyielding resolve cleaved in two by something stronger still.
Is this the strength of Her Fortitude, perhaps, or that of a being far weaker? The sensation of what
was lingers, but illuminates little else.

You think to yourself: His attention lingers upon the spear as he mulls over the sense that it
imparts, running his awareness over it, as he runs this thumb along the blade. "Her Fortitude is
without peer - This is simply fact - but even the strongest of wills can waver, or be overcome. A
defeat, but, as with so many, a temporary one. Her true strength is in persisting, in getting back
up after She has stumbled. So, too, shall I rise again when I am struck down. When She wavers, I
will be there to steady Her, for Her to lean on."

Placing the spear where he found it with a reverent air, Avaris rests his palm atop
it, head bowed, and simply kneels there for a time in silence. Eventually, he rises, pushing himself
off the ruined ground so that he ascends slowly, suspended in the midst of the broken battlements
for a long moment before he brings his wings together in a single, powerful flap that sends him
rushing forward in a stream of displaced water.

Through mournful rubble.
The broken shards of a stained-glass window form an odd passage through this path of mournful
rubble. Watery mist spills across the tattered shreds of parchment and crumbling stone, drowning all
in a torrential downpour of salt and sorrow. The faded beauty of a lush garden clings to its former
glory, but floods have throttled whatever life this courtyard previously knew on the surface. To the
distant north, a once-beautiful fountain can be seen, its imagery depicting two Goddesses entwined.
You see exits leading north, southeast, south, and southwest.

The momentum of Avaris's burst of motion drains away almost entirely, causing him
to arc gently down like a loosed arrow that is at the end of its flight. On the cusp of setting
down, several of the radiant eyes upon his wings flick down, taking in the nature of what makes up
the path. The resplendent pinions that they adorn flutter swiftly, a small, rapid series of motions
that holds him aloft, so that he does not crush the shattered beauty further beneath his feet. The
featureless visor of his face pans slowly back and forth, studying the garden for a time, before
refocusing upon the distant fountain.

A fountain dry with Grief.
No water trickles forth from this dry and stagnant marble fountain, sculpted in the likeness of two
Goddesses entwined. Time has worn away much of the defining features of one Elder in Her tender
embrace, save for the immense pair of wings that tenderly enfold about the robed Hamadhi opposite
Her. Star lotuses frame the latter's face, radiant and beautiful as they weave through Her starlit
braid, impossibly remaining in eternal bloom despite the unforgiving environs. The exact nature of
both Divine is obscured by the heavy alabaster wings, but glimpses beyond the stone feathers reveal
a depth of feeling that defies a single word's defining. Even so, a palpable grief pervades this
private sanctuary, though it is but one of many unspoken emotions that lingers among the ruins.
You see a single exit leading south.

The golden form of Avaris drifts down in a gradual descent that places him some
distance from the fountain when he touches down. He stands there, the expressionless, unmoving
planes of his face as immobile as stone. The paladin remains thus for a frozen moment that stretches
on for a seeming eternity, looking up at the entwined Goddesses in a manner that manages, despite
his inability to display such, a twisting, complex skein of emotion, few of which are bright. So
still is he, that the gilded kephera is as a lesser statue, placed in juxtaposition to convey
longing, perhaps, or sorrow, or resignation.

You think to yourself: The pressure of the depths are as nothing to him, but that of the grief of
this place, of the constant, clenching fist of his own inadequacy, it squeezes upon his heart like a
cruel vice, crushing it with a languorous patience. As ever, when he sees Her with the One She
loves, he is a being split in two. Sorrow for Her loss, that the world is deprived of Someone so
wonderful that his Lady would love Them openly and freely. Sorrow, that She is alone, in the way
that truly hurts. Then there is the sharp pain, the jagged reminders that his own foolish feelings
are the most futile of all.

The fountain appears to animate with movement as the Goddess's wings tremble, only for part of the
stone to crumble and fall away to dust.

A paralyzing stagnation takes hold of you in this strange place, your heart tightening so much with
despair it seems to overwhelm all else.

There is an exquisite bitterness to the immaculate wonder of the crumbling fountain, as if the very
adoration it represents is as painful as it is beautiful to look upon. How can something so beloved
cut so deply? The question haunts and hurts, lingering with a sense of confused pain, that disperses
like a thought discarded and left unfinished.

The focus of the seven, lambent azure eyes of Avaris's featureless visage turns to
the statue of the lost Goddess, their hue dimming as he looks upon Her. The dense, shimmering white
of the mane that rings his upper torso drifts in the gentle currents, the pristine tufts swaying
like sea anemone. The upper left of his wings shifts, curving around him and moving forward to brush
the very tips of its feathers along the edge of the statue's, the contact light as a whisper, and
brief as the last flicker of a dying light. Withdrawing, he turns, and even as he propels himself
away, the gaze of his glowing markings lingers upon the two Goddesses.

A listless walkway.
Fallen pillars form this unorthodox walkway, stretching across the sea floor in a tangle of
petrified coral and seaweed. What had been immaculate white marble has eroded to a bluish-green hue
beneath the algae blooming in the undersea depths, succumbing to inevitable rot and decay. Every
step upon the perilous stone causes it to shudder, as if it barely possesses the strength of will to
remain upright. An overwhelming sense of futility permeates this place, emanating from the ruins of
a chapel looming in the east. Veiled in starlit mist, a beautiful merian anchoress lingers here in
quiet meditation.
You see exits leading east, southwest, west, and northwest.

Settling down atop the haphazard walkway, Avaris's great weight causes the toppled
pillars to tremble ominously, bringing the huge kephera to an abrupt halt. Eying the path, such as
it is, in a decidedly dubious manner, a flow of tiny bubbles streams up from his faceplate as he
hisses out a soft sigh. Taking to the water once more, he navigates this passage with decidedly
greater caution.

The longer Avaris looks upon the neglected chapel, the more severe his displeasure
becomes, as all four of his antennae bend down so steeply as to point almost directly downward. The
waters that surround him slowly begin to bleed a faint sanguine hue, as the markings of his wings
simmer with a low, baleful red light, the lines that form the eyes narrowing. As the door creaks, he
steps forward in an almost reflexive manner, placing both of his immense left hand upon it to brace
it, studying the hinges and the surrounding architecture, as if deciding where to begin fixing it.

You think to yourself: Irritation burns in the core of his heart like an ember of resentment, of
dull, persistent anger that such abhorrent neglect could be allowed to come to pass. "Who could have
allowed such a magnificent place to fall into such disrepair?" A flicker of familiar displeasure,
cold and sharp as the flash of a blade, a series of faces flitting by his mind's eye, disgust
settling with each one. "If I must tend to this, and all else, by myself, then so be it. It takes
only one diligent hand to repair and maintain. I have eternity, after all."

As you touch the shuddering door, you briefly witness a different scene than the one that surrounds
you: the chapel as it was when first erected, all splendour and magnificence. Then, as if watching
the slow passage of time, you witness its destruction brick by brick: a single stone, a sudden gust
of wind, a creaking beam left unfixed. This is not the act of swift destruction, but rather slow
disregard and neglect, ultimately wasting away to a temple to nothing but apathy itself.

You think to yourself: The vision stokes the ember of quiet anger into a flaring, searing, furious
light. How ~dare~ they allow this to happen! How could they turn aside from their duties, to ignore
the small signs of distress, of weakening? All it would have taken was a few moments of effort, and
this beautiful place would remain as it was. If this was to be their attitude towards it, towards
the Order, towards ~Her~, he would put the fear of failure into them. If love would not motivate
them, if the gentle touch was not enough, then they would respond to the clenched fist.

The fingers that seek to brace the door curl inwards very slightly - Not enough to
further damage it, but there is the distinct sense that there is an immense restraint holding them
in check, before they relax, and Avaris steps away, studying the chapel critically for a long
moment. Pushing himself off from the ground, he drifts upwards until he hovers above the chapel,
looking down upon the statue, his fingers flexing.

You think to yourself: "Hm. I will need stone. Fresh hinges, glass. Best not to use wooden beams for
the roof, it will merely rot. Perhaps if it is properly treated, I will need only to replace it
every few centuries or so. I shall have to ask Nabithia about this, and if the statue can be
repaired."

With a single, decisive nod, Avaris twists about, snapping his wings together and
jetting off in a straight line from the chapel.

An unsettling chasm.
High above this underwater chasm of rock and sea, the distant figure of a battered statue is barely
visible, crumbling stone occasionally falling from above to land in this plunging mire of water and
shadow. Washing over the flotsam and jetsam, lapping waves sculpt the refuse into something
deceptively harmless, though the water sharpens rather than smooths their jagged edges. Lulling
voices whisper through the languor of the still waters, beckoning to a strange mirror that casts
eerie light from the western sea.
You see exits leading northeast, east, southeast, and west.

Allowing his bulk to draw him down like a drowning knight, still clad in his
treacherous armour, Avaris sinks through the depths to land gently atop the sharp detritus, which
scrapes futilely against the dense plates of his chitinous soles. Marching forward, undaunted, the
paladin's focus is fixed entirely upon the peculiar mirror, antennae twitching and swiveling, as if
seeking the source of the whispering voices.

A mirror shattered by Doubt.
Of a colossal height and magnitude, this cracked mirror reflects the murky surface of the sea in all
its bruised bluish-black shades from where it has sunk into the ocean floor. Within the slivers of
fractured glass, strange figures manifest as if conjured by smoke and fog, their after-images
haunting as they ghost through the distorted pane. Whispers resound about from all directions in a
chorus of murmurs and susurrations, seeming to grow in volume the closer one approaches the mirror
in all its dark, tempting beauty. The temperature plummets to chilling degrees this low undersea,
drawing the most unsettling of creatures to lurk in the nearby shadows. All ambient light is
swallowed in these abyssal depths.
You see a single exit leading east.

The visions in the cracked mirror before you churn and roil with mist, hauntingly familiar in their
depictions, before fading out into darkness.

Gliding through the dark waters as if pulled inexorably onwards by an invisible
string, Avaris's attention upon the mirror is that of one fascinated, the disturbing creatures that
linger on the cusp of vision spared not so much as a single glance. The sanguine flags of his
antennae ripple and undulate ceaselessly as he approaches the monstrous fixture, the voices pulling
them this way and that in a ceaseless vying for his focus. Finally, he stops, so close to the broken
mirror that a strong current would threaten to send him swaying into it . He stares, wings drawn
close about him.

Coiling within you like a serpent ready to strike, a sudden knot of terror winds itself within you,
constricting your heart and dizzying your mind.

There is a familiarity in the voices, as if they linger in the recesses of your mind in the darkest
corners -- for these doubts are as much your own as your own breath, spoken in your own voice, cruel
and unkind as they are. They overlap one of the other, finally whispering only, "Are you enough for
Her?" As the taunts fade, the mirror gleams darkly, though it is as distant from light as the
furthest star.

A sneering voice whispers strange, alien fears into your ear, leaving you shivering and sick with
dread.

You think to yourself: The allure of the mirror draws him in like a hook within his heart, the
fascination of the murmuring chorus as blackly sweet as siren song, saccharine as rot. As he stares
within the fractured reflections, resisting the temptation to lift his hand and place it upon the
shattered panes, the hook is yanked viciously forward, a lance of fear skewering him like a great
spear of ice thrust into the gleaming walls of his mental fortress. "Am I enough for Her?" Splinters
of dodge spider their way outwards from the breach, cracks forming in the obdurate bastion of his
conviction, finding the familiar fault lines of old doubts. "How could I be? I am just a mortal, and
She is...She is everything."

Even as the alluring draw of the mirror pulls you in with the gravity of a collapsing star, there is
a quiet voice, so small you almost do not hear it, that presses against the louder doubts that
circle your mind: "You did not doubt Me." Even in their calm intonation, there is a tenderness in
the words, a gratitude that perhaps seems stronger in its recalling, as the recalled voice
continues, "Thank you, for your faith in Me." Such an insignificant expression of gratitude
nonetheless fills you with the recollection of a luminosity beyond all imagining, and in its wake,
the mirror seems duller, somehow, in its once-glossy, ink-black sheen.

You think to yourself: That quiet voice, so much softer than the tumultuous clamour of doubts - Both
his own, and those he has heard raised against Her, against all that is right and good - is as a
lodestone for him, a steady point upon which to orient himself. She is his guiding light, in all
things. Even here, in the dark depths, surrounded by doubts, by shadowed waters, She is the star by
which he navigates. "I will be enough for Her. I must be. I have no other choice."

The incessant jerking, writhing motions of Avaris's antennae calm into near
stillness as he straightens, regarding the broken thing before him with a renewed air of steadiness,
no longer spellbound. The blades of his taloned heels bite down as he takes a step back, anchoring
him while he studies the mirror - Neither fleeing from it, nor rushing headlong towards it.

The lotus in your hands, for a moment, brightens to a white hue, sending motes of starlight dancing
around you in all directions. The immaculate petals glow anew with the vibrancy of your convictions,
faint as they are in this dark place, as the starry pinpricks of light coalesce before you to form a
hazy, indistinct figure.

Before the presence of a veiled figure shrouded in starlight the blackened mirror appears at once
all the more immense and all the more diminished, as if seeking to absorb the light that emanates
from Her in its pulsing darkness. Yet the play of shadow and light is as natural as the duality of
the koi fish within the Lady's realm, for the shadow does not banish the light, but nor does the
light cause the heaviness in this place to abate. For it is as much of Her as anything else in Her
realm.

The unwavering light of Avaris's wing-borne eyes follow the dancing glimmers of
sidereal radiance, their own luminosity strengthening, growing a shade warmer in hue. As they
manifest into the figure, the kephera lowers himself to one knee, assuming his customary posture of
reverence, a veiled figure shrouded in starlight's light reflected faintly in the polished surface
of his golden chitin. He offers nothing with which to break the weighty silence of this place,
content to provide simply the quiet reassurance of his steadfast presence, the constellation of his
eyes keeping a constant vigil, even here.

You think to yourself: The spear of doubt does not evaporate at Her appearance, but instead is
coolly ripped out and cast aside as the distraction that it is, ignoring the cracks so that he can
focus upon the joy of Her nearness - And on keeping watch, lest the dark overbalance the light.

With all the silent regard of one who has observed long, a veiled figure shrouded in starlight looks
upon you thoughtfully as She steps towards the mirror. The whispers emanating from it seem to grow
louder at Her approach, more animated, their voices many that you recognize from your days and
nights keeping vigil before the healing mound of Daiev ma'Mornhai. You recall many of them as words
you yourself have overheard in your time there, or suspected, even if they had not been spoken
aloud. "Avaris," the Goddess's voice says suddenly, cutting through the noise with disarming
softness. "You have lingered long in this place. I would know your thoughts."

As the voices burgeon, so too does the light of Avaris's markings, the regard of
the glaring eyes shading towards menace. He keeps his silence, however, until She speaks, the mere
sound of Her voices coaxing forth several glittering motes within the azure orbs embedded in his
visored face. "Lady. It is a joy to hear You, and to see and be near You, as ever." The statement is
warm, bright with sincerity, the adulation in the chorus of his own voices setting itself against
that which crawl forth from the mirror. "It is a dark place, my Lady." Lifting a hand from his
breast, he gestures at the dark that surrounds Them, his words steady and calm. "I believe that the
light may be seen more clearly, when placed in juxtaposition to the darkness."

"Yes," a veiled figure shrouded in starlight says simply, the agreement clear and resolute. "I find
many things are best illuminated and made manifest through such drastic means. Nuance can be lost,
strangely, the more one tries to shade in grey, rather than black and white." Her veiled countenance
turns to regard you, the starlight arcing about Her in a gentle, relaxed motion, as She turns from
the mirror even as its shadows reach for Her with the yearning of eager, grasping hands. "And when
you gaze upon this darkness, what light do you draw forth to present before its backdrop?"

You think to yourself: The urge to rise, to step between Her and the groping shadows is almost
overpowering in its intensity, the need to act of bulwark to those treacherous voices almost a
physical force - Which he resists. She did not need him to protect Her from this. His faith in Her
was enough, for now.

The low note of concurrence that vibrates forth from Avaris's armoured throat
shudders in the water about him, setting the liquid to shivering like a distorted heat haze for a
brief moment. "An unfortunate truth, Lady. One of a very great many." The soft, bright blue lambency
of his seven natural eyes shades the water about his head in a soft, diffuse halo of azure as he
maintains his downcast regard. "It is Your light, Lady, as always. My own is but a reflection, save
for my Devotion to You. That, I will strive to have shine brighter than any other."

It is as if in response to your words that the silvery-white light of a veiled figure shrouded in
starlight radiates with a renewed brilliance, bright enough that the mists shimmering about Her
dissipate as if scattered in the waters. In their absence, the figure of the Empyreal Goddess is
revealed in truth, Her cascading veil drift upon the water as Her immaculate coif of starlit tresses
is gently pulled in the ebb and flow of the currents. "That is well," Lantra says, Her voice soft
with consideration. "For I would be such a light for Mine, in their times of darkness, to purge such
doubts from their mind."

You think to yourself: The sheer beauty of Her is a delight that is almost too intense, as when he
first emerged from the black of the Undervault into the light of day - But he had not flinched away
then, and he would not turn his gaze from Her, no matter how bright She shone.

The alabaster point of Avaris's chin dips down into the gently swaying tufts of his
mane, the pristine fluff shimmering in the reflected light. The sanguine swathes of his antennae
curve down faintly for a time, before he appears to come to a decision, and raises his head to look
upon Lantra, the pure blue of his sevenfold gaze bright and earnest. "And You are, Lady. You are the
star that lights my way, in all things." The clawed points of his upper right hand cut through the
water in an emphatic gesture as he says, "I am concerned that You focus so much on being a light for
all others, that You do not have one of Your own to draw You back from the precipice, from the
depths of the darkness. I know that I...I do not shine bright, but I would do that for You, if I
can."

The sincerity of the plea ripples through the water like a wave as Lantra listens to it, Her focus
upon you almost overwhelming in its complete totality. Much of the Goddess's expression is obscured
by Her starlit veil, though the white star lotuses that frame it glow, faintly, as a light unto
themselves. "Do you believe yourself a dim light, My Avaris?" the Goddess asks simply, the query
devoid of any judgment, chastisement, or even confusion. It is mere curiosity, a question given
voice seeking a sincere answer.

You think to yourself: The pressure of Her intent bears down upon him like a physical force - But
not one that he suffers beneath, as he might with a foreign Divine. The weight of Her attention is
akin to having every spotlight in the world focused upon him at once, but he has grown accustomed to
that sense of exposure. Mostly.

"Well, yes, my Lady." Avaris The answer is delivered without hesitation, tinged
with a shade of puzzlement, as if She had asked if he believed himself to be a kephera, or if his
name was Avaris. The errant hand with which he gestured returns to the fold, settling against the
gently curving breastplate of his innate armour, the clawed tips nestling close to the crimson
lotus.

"I see." Lantra presses Her hands before Herself with the faintest echo of a sigh, one that seems to
bring with it a soothing wind that sweeps through the vicinity. Even as serenity and tranquiltiy
spreads through you, however, it fades just as quickly, as if a memory too late recalled has caused
the calming influence to swiftly fade from you, leaving you only refreshed and nothing more. "A dim
light is not nothing. It is something that may yet be fanned further, into something brighter -- or,
if neglected, fade out into smoke and ash before its light is truly begun." The thought is cut off
by a brief pause, before the Lady says at last, "I do not think your light so dim as to exist for
fear of being snuffed out. For your trial of Fortitude saw such through to its completion. You burn
brighter than many in your Devotion for it." There is a sternness in the words, though no sense of
correction, merely a sincerity of belief as they are spoken aloud. "Yet if you believe your embers
remain dim, I would have you stoke them into something you feel confident in holding forth as a
torch for all to follow." The Goddess then lowers Her hands, the shadows of the mirror receding with
the motion, as She steps towards you, Her presence somehow invoking a thrill of anxiety and a sense
of comfort both. "May it be a light you feel confident bringing before Me," Lantra says, Her hand
briefly alighting a hair's breadth from the crimson lotus you wear. Its light burgeons in answer to
Her presence, though the Goddess curiously does not touch it, bringing Her hands once more to Her
sides as She awaits your answer.

You think to yourself: The onset of the soothing tranquility engenders a rebellious, stubborn
digging in, the defenses of his embattled fortress shoring up, rather than relaxing their guard.
Conversely, as the calming aspect of the winds recedes, so too does his grip upon his will, his
entire being easing slightly, a pulse of gratitude thrumming briefly through him. With the brief
skirmish aborted before it truly began, he turns his focus upon Her words more keenly, studying them
with the acuity of intent that a general would survey difficult terrain. A torch for all to follow?
Him? He could almost laugh at the absurdity of it - The only effect his light has had is to drive
others away. But he would view the intent with the sincerity with which it was delivered. His Lady
was no laughing matter, nor were Her words, or opinions, no matter how strange.

The stillness with which Lantra watches you is almost statuesque, Her veil glittering with cool
light as She lingers with a practised patience. If your thoughts are heard, there is no suggestion
of such in Her expression, or lack thereof behind Her veil of mist.

Bringing with it a sense of soothing tranquility, a soft, forlorn melody fills the water.

The kneeling paladin does not retreat from his Goddess's approach, though Avaris's
broad frame straightens, a shiver running through him as a frisson of nervous excitement thrums up
along his spine. He grows utterly still as Lantra's hand is extended, holding himself so carefully
motionless that even the rise and fall of his chest diminishes to almost nothing. It is only when
Lantra's hand recedes that he relaxes, albeit the barest fraction. His upper right hand moves to the
lotus he bears, the motion habitual, only to jerk to a stop as he remembers the presence of the One
it is connected to, and decides to err on the side of politeness. Lowering his hand to rest across
his knee, he lapses into a contemplative silence, marshaling his thoughts before he speaks. When he
does so, it is in a measured, careful manner, each word placed strategically in sequence. "You are
kind to believe in me so, Lady. I...Feel that I will disappoint You, in this. I am not a light that
leads, but one that burns. I am unsure that fanning such a light would serve You well." The fingers
of his lowered hand curl in, the gesture slightly anxious. "But if that is what You wish of me, I
will...Try. Somehow."

Lifting his chin a fraction, Avaris says, "Is that the kind of light You wish for
me to be for You, my Lady? I will not be happy with the knowledge that You have none at all."

Watery echoes reverberate throughout the surroundings, eerie and haunting.

There is a quizzical tilt to Her head as Lantra considers your reply, this time the silence between
you one that seems loud in its lack of answer. The mirror behind the Goddess churns and froths with
a thick blanket of mist, but it remains trapped behind the pane, the Goddess Herself still present
as She was, although She appears much subdued. "I do not ask you to lead if that is not what you
desire," the Goddess says at last. "Only that the light you bear is one that is worthy of all that
you wish to be for Me. That those who look upon it see the fire of your Devotion for what it is. You
need not be more than this, for Me." Then a curtain of silence falls once more as the Goddess
witnesses all that you are in this moment -- the anxious curlig of your hand, the forced stillness
of your posture, the uncertain nature of your question -- before She says at last, "You are so
certain I have no light of My own. Perhaps My own embers appear dim, to you."

A disturbance in the water sends echoes of distorted sound through the room.

You think to yourself: The chill of dread spreads throughout him like ice-water poured between the
joints of his chitin, a flicker of panic crackling through him. He had misstepped, again. He had
insulted Her unwittingly, ~again~. Stupid, ~stupid~ fool. His stomach coils and clenches
unpleasantly as he searches for a way to fix this, to undo the damage his oafish ways have caused,
yet again.

Bringing with it a sense of soothing tranquility, a soft, forlorn melody fills the water.

Avaris's head lowers so that the flat of his visor is parallel with the ground, his
antennae laying back across the dome of his armoured skull. "I am sorry. That is not what I meant."
A brief, muted squeal of protesting metal resounds from his chest, where his claws score along the
smooth expanse of his golden chitin, an unwitting gesture of self-recrimination as he thinks. "Your
light is unsurpassed, Lady. There is naught dim about You. I did not mean to imply such. I am sorry
if I caused offense."

"No," Lantra says softly, Her hands lowering once more, Her veil flickering with uncertain light. "I
do not believe you have." There is a lengthy pause as if the Goddess waits for words that do not
come. And then, as if resigned, She raises a hand, and the lotus on your person once more begins to
brighten.

The lotus upon you once more shines and returns to an immaculate white colour, its purity of light
dazzling to behold. Rather than the ache you are accustomed to from the delicate flower's unexpected
weight, this time, adoration like you have ever known floods through you -- an emotion you had
believed to understand in all its forms, but somehow, in the form of an Elder Goddess's sincerest
expression of feeling, it is all the more overwhelming in its potency. Such tenderness is almost
painful in its exquisite vulnerability, something incredibly fragile, but all the more precious for
it. And though you are not the source of this affection, this gentle warmth that encompasses all
your being, like a quiet light that is maintained even though what it once illuminated is no more.

With a strange awkwardness that is nonetheless unheard in Her calm and measured words, Lantra says,
"I hold light within Me, even as mortals do. That which I recall when the darkness is at its most
impenetrable. Perhaps it is something I do not..." The words trail off, uncertain of how to
conclude, before She says merely, "It shines nonetheless."

Watery echoes reverberate throughout the surroundings, eerie and haunting.

The visions in the cracked mirror before you churn and roil with mist, hauntingly familiar in their
depictions, before fading out into darkness.

You think to yourself: The vulnerable affection envelopes him like a blanket of knives, each
lovingly carved and honed to a sharpness that he could not before have comprehended. The poignant
tenderness hammers at his heart like a flanged mace, the constant, aching knowledge of his
inadequacy, of that which is beyond his reach, driven him like a dagger slid into his heart by a
caring hand. The bladed walls of his mind snap shut, like a flow blooming in rapid reverse,
hunkering down under the assault of sincere adoration that is not his own. Still, even through this,
he is glad for Her - That She holds this impossible light within Her, that She has that to warm Her
when all the world is cold. He would simply have to...What? Persist in futility.

At once the lotus blossoms once more to a sanguine hue, its blood-red petals wearying your body with
the familiar ache as the adoration fades, the faintest traces of affection lingering before the
numbing touch of the red motes of light banish them from you completely.

The white light of the lotus blanches the resplendent gold of Avaris's form to a
shade not his own, bleaching his wings to an alabaster white as he stiffens. When it fades, and his
own hues return, he does not move for the span of several long breaths. A single, jerking nod is his
first response, and then, a faintly detached, distant quality to his resonating words, "I am
gladdened that You have such a light, then, Lady. Thank You for illuminating the erroneous nature of
my assumption. You are very kind."

You think to yourself: The enervating weight of the bloody lotus settles upon him like a comforting
blanket of familiarity. This was a pain, an ache that he was accustomed, and so he clings to it
tightly, focusing upon it, rather than the memory of that terrible, wondrous light.

As the lotus once more weeps red, Lantra falters somewhat, though Her posture remains as poised as
ever. It is a subtle shift, an uncertainty, as the Goddess says, "You are... welcome, then, My
Avaris." The words appear almost like a question in their utterance. She stands before the shattered
black mirror in stark white silhouette, at a loss, before She finally states, "I have disheartened
you. This was not My intention."

Though there is no trace of it upon his downturned face, there is the suggestion of
a faint smile to Avaris's voice as he replies, without rancor, "It is alright, Lady. Far from the
first time We have not had the intended effect upon One Another." Dipping his head down further
still, he strives for a steady, unconcerned tone. "I am a difficult mortal to interact with. I
apologise for being so, when You are only trying to help me be better. Perhaps You should focus Your
efforts on others."

"I focus My attentions where I desire," Lantra replies, the faintest trace of bemusement -- and
perhaps stubbornness? -- in Her stern intonation. "It is for Me to decide where that lies, with
whom, and when." A hand gently alights upon the star lotus that clasps Her cope as She continues
evenly, "My Cousins could level the same judgments upon Me that you place upon yourself. Yet We
asked for patience from one another, did We not?"

There is the faintest beginnings of a stubborn shift to Avaris's jaw, but it is
gone as swiftly as a tendril of mist in a hurricane. A slight twitch of his chin in the most minute
of nods precedes a level, almost entirely even response, marred by the subtle shading of
resignation. "As You say, Lady Empyreal." The massive wings folded upon his back press in closer
still as he shifts his hands away from the lotus chained to his breast. "We did. I am sorry for
ruining the conversation. I do not know how to fix it. I would like...I do not enjoy being a source
of discomfort for You."

This time when Lantra approaches, Her hand gently lifts your chin up towards Her as She says, in a
voice as soft as rain, "Eternity is a long time, My Avaris, and I am a Goddess who holds Herself to
Her promises, as much as I hold Mine to theirs. You have ruined nothing." There is no numbness to
Her touch, but a gentle warmth, one that spreads through you even at this barest brush of Her hand.
"You asked Me a question I did not answer," says suddenly. "Yes. I would have you be such a light
for Me, if you wished."

Her touch receding as Her hand falls to Her side, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Do you desire to be
such a light for Me still, My Avaris?"

You think to yourself: The listless, heavy miasma that dulls his bright intent drifts about him like
a persistent fog, sapping his fervor with the cold brush of reality. Why did he keep doing this? He
knew it was impossible. He should just content himself to live out his days as a normal member of
the Order, and cease striving to rise above in assisting Her. She clearly had no need for him, and
his efforts won naught but discomfort for them both. Her approach is, at first, barely registered,
so numbed is he in the aftermath of the vision - But the touch of her fingers upon his chin jolts
him like the caress of lightning, setting his nerves to tingling with a soft warmth. He considers
the question in a detached manner, distant from the burning eagerness of earlier.

The kephera makes no effort to resist Lantra's touch, and nor does he strive to
avert his gaze. The regard of Avaris's inhuman eyes is that of a muted blue, deeper than the usual
azure, his antennae laying loosely back across his head. "You are generous to seek to indulge me,
Lady, but there is no need. You have Your light. I was overeager, again. I need to adjust my
expectations to be within mortal constraints, that is all. Thank You for the clarity."

Lantra weighs the response with a single nod of understanding, saying, "If that is your Wisdom," and
does not reply further. Whatever Her reaction, it is obscured in its entirety behind the curtain of
mist. "This is a place unfit for such thoughts as you bear now," the Goddess says finally, Her voice
quiet yet firm with command. "Do not linger here for too long. There is temptation in listening to
such thoughts as these for too long." Tendrils of mist begin to gather about the Empyreal once
before, Her voice echoing before She vanishes entirely: "You need not be a light to guide Me, My
Avaris, but be one worthy of Me. This I do ask of you." And then in a swirl of starlit motes, She is
no more.