Addled

A chorus of crow song heralds the arrival the Lady of the Thorns to mortal perception, Her presence causing the night sky to shimmer like a glittering web billowing in a baleful wind.

You have emoted: The last note ringing chill in the wintry air, Lief's fingers still their quiet tuning as she gazes skyward, quietly frowning.

You have emoted: After a moment's pause, Lief returns to her lute, testing chords and humming snatches of melody.

The wind whistles eerily through the trees.

Motes of emerald light rise from the grasses underfoot, drifting lazily in the air.

A chill wind exhales all around you like a spirit's breath, and suddenly, the Lady of Thorns stands tall before you, Her hands clasped lightly around Her scythe.

An idyllic hillside amphitheatre.
There is a moderate breeze here. Wreathed in vines and adorned with chimes, a sturdy stage has been built into the slope here. In the shape of an open palm, a metallic sigil lies here. A mature hornbeam tree stands proudly here. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. An unfortunate wooden lute has been left here in the dust. Viravain, Lady of the Thorns hovers here, shrouded within an ambiance of unnatural darkness. She wields a wickedly curved scythe with both hands.
You see exits leading northeast and west.

Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "You seem addled by My presence, little one. Tell Me -- what causes your alarm?"

You have emoted: Lief shivers at the wind and glances up. When she does, she freezes, her hands still, her eyes wide.

Faded motes of green impinge on the chill blue of Viravain's eyes, and a strange youth suffuses Her features.

She is a radiant immortal and is possessed by a ghostly countenance that haunts the very depths of Her being. Shimmering hair the colour of a harsh winter's snow spills over Her shoulders and down Her back in a straight fall, meticulously twisted into a loose plait mid-back with a single bit of silver thread. Striking pale blue eyes are deep set within Her youthful face, haunted and fathomless as they rarely stay focused in a single place. As befitting Her youthful appearance, Her figure is slight and willowy and each of Her arms is slender, ending in sylphlike fingers and meticulously sculpted nails. Dark shadows swarm sinuously at the corners of Her slender silhouette, their movements manifesting a phantasm of bewitching grace.

She is wearing:
an earring fashioned from a feather of Crow through Her left ear
an exquisite, intricately webbed black rose brooch nestles against Her chest, holding closed Her cloak
a tenebrous gown of manifold shadows
a ghastly white silk pouch draped lightly around Her waist
an earring fashioned from a feather of Crow through Her right ear
a hooded cloak of stygian darkness
a crown of midnight black roses rests atop Her head, black vines twisting into the white tresses of Her hair.

Argent moonlight pierces the blue glow of the Flame of dae'Seren upon you, enshrouding you momentarily in a silver mantle.

Viravain smiles softly.

You have emoted: Lief's throat works around silent words. She hugs a fragrant lute of hardwood maple tighter to herself from where she perches upon the edge of the stage. "I, ah..." she says stupidly.

Viravain tilts Her head curiously at you.

Viravain reaches out to tenderly cup your cheek in Her hand.

Softly, Her voice low and deep, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "You needn't be frightened, child."

You have emoted: Unintentionally, Lief shrinks from the touch, and then she flinches worse. She's not unlike a deer catching scent of a hunter on the wind, but Viravain's words draw her eyes up once more.

Withdrawing Her hand, Viravain muses, "Have I ever given you reason to fear Me? Or is it My legacy that sends your knees knocking?"

Stumbling around her words, you ask Viravain, "I...how...why are You here?"

The light cloud cover develops further, bathing the firmament in a white blanket.

Viravain lifts Her palms in a display of indifference before tightening Her grip on the scythe. "I notice all, little one. My appearance this evening was quite a moment for you, mmm?" She mimics glancing skyward a few times before twisting Her mouth into a smile.

You have emoted: Lief's cheeks flush, the wintry cold and embarrassment mingling in them to create quite the radiant colour.

The sky lightens and stars fade as Father Sun approaches the horizon in his neverending quest to capture Mother Night.

After working her throat and pulling herself up straight again in her seat, you say to Viravain, "We've never met, I don't think. So...it is...ah, Your reputation?"

Viravain's eyes twinkle enchantingly.

Nodding lightly, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "I know that in the North, I am marked as the villain. An image I recognize is emboldened by my talisman."

Viravain strokes a wickedly curved scythe tenderly.

A black widow spider, the size of a large squirrel, steps forward from the shadows, its eight legs creeping slowly toward the Goddess.

You have emoted: Lief's fingers twang without art against one string of her lute as she shifts it in her grasp, holding it to her middle like it might protect her. "Crows are...normally not...a good omen for us of the First Forest either," she says, still halting, getting a little bit better.

You have emoted: Lief's eyes trail toward the spider, and again she freezes.

Bending to collect the arachnid into Her hands, Viravain muses, "Do you fear My creations, as well, child?" The spider works its way along Viravain's arm before vanishing into the shadows.

You have emoted: "Not all of them," Lief is quick to say, giving her antlered head a little shake. "You created...many of the insects, yes? Are the fireflies Yours?"

Viravain smiles softly.

Her voice gentle, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "I did."

Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "And the dragonflies, and the sparrows."

With a loud yet playful whistle, a mechanical dirigible comes puttering in on currents of air, its metallic claw grasping a green absinthe cup cake with bumblebee motifs, which it quickly deposits in Viravain's hands.

A mechanical dirigible bobs up and down on the air currents before jets of steam erupt from several of its valves, then putters off.

The musky scent of loam and leaves fills you with vibrancy.

You have emoted: Lief's own wings, shaped much like a dragonfly's, slowly fan behind her as she watches Viravain, able to look at little else.

You say to Viravain, "The sparrows sing beautifully, ah...Lady. And I like to watch the dragonflies float, and the fireflies dance. I do not fear all of Your creations."

You think to yourself: Just those of the Wyrd...

Tilting Her head, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "I challenge you to look into the shadows more often, little one. Listen to the song of My crows more closely, without fear. Observe the delicate and beautiful patterns of My spiders."

Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "They have their beauty, too."

Viravain picks up a wooden lute.

You have emoted: Lief's fingers relax uncertainly upon her lute. She scarcely blinks as she listens, attentive, though her easy smile does not flicker to life, not even once. "I do my best to understand," she eventually says in answer, her throat tight around the words.

Sunlight billows across the realm, revealing the full glory of the majestic sun's luminous presence as he climbs higher into the sky.

Viravain holds the instrument lightly in Her hand, Her green-blue eyes drinking in each string. When She looks up, she asks, "My Cousin played so beautifully. Do you? Do you participate in the bardic arts?"

You think to yourself: He hasn't shared...?

You have emoted: Lief draws a long and shaky breath, then nods. She gestures weakly to the list of recordings noted near the stage. "I'm Lief," she explains, utterly unnecessarily. "I've...written and sung a few things."

Viravain smiles softly.

Eyes skimming the stage list, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "You are quite prolific, young Lief."

Absently running a finger along the blade of Her scythe, Viravain seems to drink in the amphitheatre, Her gaze flitting from place to place. Finally, She inquires, "Will you compose something for Me, child?"

You have emoted: Cheeks flushing anew as a wind bites through the amphitheatre, Lief glances askance for a moment, contemplating something. Then Viravain's works jerk her attention to the Goddess again, flabbergasted. "I...can certainly try, Lady. But...I don't know if it will be to Your tastes?"

Birds fill your ears with serenades of happiness and love.

Viravain's eyes twinkle enchantingly.

Gently, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "They will be once you have stretched your artistic mind. You were to spend more time with My other creations, remember?"

Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "For what is an artist, if not someone who is willing to reach past their comfort zone in order to create?"

You have emoted: Lief sways a bit in her seat, then draws herself up straight again. She is silent, though her mind is a-buzz, easily seen in the minute twitches and knittings of her face's musculature.

Small insects flit about in a gentle cloud, their serene humming lending a murmuring cadence.

The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.

You think to yourself: The goal of all creation is Communion...what would it mean to commune with...that? What...will happen to me if She doesn't like what I create?

You think to yourself: My Lady, what have I done? Why?

Birds fill your ears with serenades of happiness and love.

Viravain smiles softly.

You have emoted: Lief swallows, her fingers curling nervously against a fragrant lute of hardwood maple. She is silent as she tries to steady her breath, looking down at its teardrop belly. After she has calmed herself, she looks up again, daring to find Viravain's eyes. "An artist must be true to herself too, though," she says softly. "I can imagine other perspectives, but if I take them and discard my own, my art will mean nothing."

Viravain gives a wooden lute engraved with spiders to you.

The musky scent of loam and leaves fills you with vibrancy.

Her voice gentle and low, Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "How will an artist know what Truth is without looking into the darkness?"

You have emoted: Lief inhales sharply through her nostrils as she stares down at a wooden lute engraved with spiders.

Viravain, Lady of the Thorns says, "I take My leave of you, child. Farewell."

Viravain lightly pecks the air beside each of your cheeks, greeting you formally.

Coiling sinuously about Her petite frame, stygian shadows cloak Viravain in an unnatural darkness and evanesce into the aether, leaving behind only the faintest scent of roses.

Fashioned from several pieces of wood, this lute is expertly assembled into the vaulted shape of a pear. The long, fretted neck has been strung with five pairs of strings, set two and two. Tiny  spiders have been engraved along the main body of the instrument, winding their way around and around, as if they march, single-file, across the full weft of the wood.
It has 20 months of usefulness left.
It weighs about 3 pounds and 2 ounce(s).
This instrument has never been played by a trained musician.
It has the following aliases: lute, instrument.

Small insects flit about in a gentle cloud, their serene humming lending a murmuring cadence.

You have emoted: When the last shadow fades, Lief breathes out a quiet whimper, setting a wooden lute engraved with spiders beside herself and shrinking into the lute she still cradles.