Daraius tells you, "Good afternoon, comrade. Do you have a moment?"

You tell Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs, "Ah, aye, of course I do."

You think to yourself: So many things to do. I will always have time for Miso's family.

Daraius tells you, "You received my note, I trust?"

You tell Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs, "Just a few days ago, yes. Is there
somewhere in particular you would like us to meet?"

Daraius tells you, "My teahouse is a preferred venue of mine. I can escort you if you do not know
the way."

You tell Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs, "I do not, I must admit. I'll head to
the aetherplex."

You teleport along the aether strands to the Aetherplex Chamber.

A whirling cone of snow rises up from the ground, out of which steps Daraius.
His gently swaying tail slinging ropes of paint behind him, a colorful Hallifaxian painted dog pads
in from the ether.

Daraius dips his bewhiskered canid muzzle politely to you.

Mulengi dips into a low bow before Daraius.

Dripping water echoes in the distance.

You begin to follow Daraius.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs smiles and says, "Thank you for your prompt
attendance."

You follow Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs south to Golden Serenity Teahouse.

Golden Serenity Teahouse.
Banks of clouds roil about here. A simple three-tiered chandelier hangs here, featuring a multitude
of delicate origami hanging from silken threads. There are 4 low, cushioned chairs of beryl-hued
cedar here. An unassuming cedar tea table rests here, a humble exemplar of balance and utility. A
painting of Tosha the Meditative serving tea beneath a cherry tree is proudly exhibited on a nearby
wall, with an inscription on a plaque on its frame. Paint pools in kaleidoscopic arrays at the feet
of the riotously colored dog standing here. Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs
lingers here, his figure traced in a soothing aura of effortless serenity. You see a sign here
instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
You see exits leading north and down (closed door).

A flurry of effervescent golden motes draws your gaze to the effulgent figure of Lord Daraius
Shevat, who radiates warmth and peace in his stately bearing and posture of practiced poise. From
the perfectly manicured claws of his bare digitigrade feet to the tops of his floppy-tipped
triangular ears, he easily stands at four meters, his unblinking burnished gold eyes observing the
world below with placid benevolence from behind the lenses of a thin pair of spectacles. A pelt of
immaculately groomed berylline fur covers his athletic frame, lightening to creamy shades of white
in a broad swath from chin to chest, and along his inner arms. Silky and lustrous as though never
marred by even the suggestion of dirt or debris, his coat flutters gently as if buffeted by a
constant, sourceless sigh of a breeze. Pinpoints of soothing light seem to gather as dew at the ends
of each strand, golden glowing droplets shed with the man's every controlled, graceful movement.
Before dispersing like wayward fireflies, the dense cloud of dazzling motes left in his wake is
stirred by the tranquil wagging of his white-tipped tail, which sways incessantly to an impossibly
slow and regular rhythm. Meanwhile, wisps of ka-infused color dance sporadically about his body,
wending smokelike throughout his fur, the misty colors crystallizing periodically into transient
images seemingly tattooed on air. Interlocking chains of monochrome lotus blossoms encircle his
wrists; a spray of starlit silver feathers soars along his arms; the wingtips of a beryl aerial
reach up his neck to caress his jaw. He is a ferocious loboshigaru berylline vernal demigod, indeed,
though despite his enormous stature, his presence is conspicuously rarefied and indistinct, and each
gesture, glance, and movement seems a lesson in and testament to benign serenity. Tattooed on his
feet is an illustration of sprigs of sunny freesias. Threadlike skeins of mist envelop his form,
flowing out from his body as a vaporous cloak.

He is wearing:
a twining wolves wedding band upon the ring finger of his right paw,
an engraved ring of gold and beryl worn similarly on his left,
a pair of thin spectacles perched upon the bridge of his muzzle,
a kata suit of vivid saffron free from any trace of dust, debris, or errant fur, and
a humble Toshan pocket watch hanging by a hempen braid at his hip.


Daraius pads over to seating area and lowers himself into a low, cushioned chair of beryl-hued
cedar, dwarfing the low tea table before him but somehow looking not at all out of place.

Daraius sits himself down on a low, cushioned chair of beryl-hued cedar and makes himself
comfortable.

Mulengi looks around as they enter the teahouse. "Ah, I have been here before. Miso
has brought me," they say. Observing Daraius taking a seat, they decide to do likewise.

Daraius nods his head at you.

You sit yourself down on a low, cushioned chair of beryl-hued cedar and make yourself comfortable.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "So I've noticed."

Daraius gives an immaculate porcelain tea cup to you.

Formed from a perfect half-sphere of pristine white porcelain, this
sturdy tea cup bears a boldly minimalist profile, with no hint of
embellishment marring its exterior. Lacking a handle, the cup is clearly
meant to be held gently in open palms, its sides thick enough to
insulate the drink within and prevent scalding of the hands. A subtly
flattened base lends stability to the vessel, which rests on a small
square mat of tightly woven straw fibres.
It has 9 months of usefulness left.
It weighs 6 ounce(s).
It has been stamped with the seal of Beryl Aerial Papercrafts.
Golden aubade white tea sloshes about in it.
It has the following aliases: cup, glass.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you, "My dear pup, of course, is relevant
to our discussion."

Mulengi ponders the tea in an immaculate porcelain tea cup. They gingerly take hold
of the cup, but do not take a sip of it. Instead, they hold it with both hands.

Looking up at Daraius, Mulengi gives a nod. "I expected as much," they say. "You
don't seem the sort to settle in for a long astrology reading over tea."

You think to yourself: That was a joke. Laugh please. It was a bad joke, but a joke.

"Mm," Daraius hums noncommittally, though the sound is more a growl than anything. "I have had my
nativity chart analyzed once before. Perhaps another time."

You think to yourself: Joke status: failure.

Solemn, staid voices can be heard from somewhere outdoors, rising and falling in emotionless,
precise monotone.

Mulengi gives a small, nervous smile. "Perhaps another time," they say, repeating
Daraius's words.

You think to yourself: If I live through this. I wonder if others from Magnagora get quite so
nervous. Is it youth? Or my upbringing?

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you, "Miso noted that you had some concern
I might not approve of your friendship."

Mulengi's cheeks go a reddish-violet, the colour seeping up into their ear tips
poking out from their wavy hair.

You think to yourself: ... Miso! You told your dad! Oi!

Daraius cants his head quizzically at your reaction, his ears flopping over to one side. "Was he
mistaken?" he asks mildly.

Grip tightening around the cup ever so slightly, Mulengi shakes their head. "No, he
was not mistaken. I just... didn't expect him to mention it to you. You two must be very close,"
they say. "It is admirable."

You think to yourself: EMBARRASSING. IT IS EMBARRASSING.

His voice laced with a gentle growl, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "I
suppose so."

"Indeed," Daraius confirms, folding his enormous paws placidly on the table before him. "He was
rather eager to tell me of your astrological assessment, and for you and me to speak."

Dipping his muzzle and glancing at you over the rims of his spectacles, Lord Daraius Shevat,
Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you, "You place a great deal of faith in your art, hm?"

Realising their grip is getting tight enough on the cup for their lavender skin to turn white by
their fingers, they release the cup. Reaching up to instead pull their ponytail over their shoulder,
you say, "I do. I believe it can be changed as well. But I place a great deal of faith in my
assessments."

He is 113 years old, having been born on the 16th of Estar, 440 years after the Coming of Estarra.
On that date:
  Sun was in the sign of Bumblebee.
  Moon was in the sign of Lion.
  Eroee was in the sign of Spider.
  Sidiak was in the sign of Bumblebee.
  Tarox was in the sign of Twin Crystals.
  Papaxi was in the sign of Skull.
  Aapek was in the sign of Crocodile.


They are 19 years old, having been born on the 24th of Tzarin, 533 years after the Coming of
Estarra.
On that date:
  Sun was in the sign of Crocodile.
  Moon was in the sign of Crocodile.
  Eroee was in the sign of Spider.
  Sidiak was in the sign of Bumblebee.
  Tarox was in the sign of Twin Crystals.
  Papaxi was in the sign of Antlers.
  Aapek was in the sign of Crocodile.


Dull chiming noises echo in the distance at regular intervals, the sound of hammers on crystal.

Voice dipping into softer tones, you say, "People are creatures of habit - even given the knowledge
or opportunity, many choose to do, to change, nothing."

Solemn, staid voices can be heard from somewhere outdoors, rising and falling in emotionless,
precise monotone.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "Ah, and you think by providing these
assessments, you arm people with the opportunity to change what they otherwise might not?"

Your karma falls to keep up the karmic blessing of harmony.

A Hallifaxian painted dog sidles up behind Daraius and rubs up affectionately - and messily -
against the loboshigaru's back before curling up at his side and snoozing silently.

Dull chiming noises echo in the distance at regular intervals, the sound of hammers on crystal.

Mulengi gives a slight nod of their head. "The Fates can be challenged. I truly
believe that. But it is neither easy nor fast to do so. It requires effort," they say, making eye
contact with Daraius. A look of determination is in their eyes, but they quickly break eye contact.
"My apologies," they say, easing down into their seat a little while still maintaining their proper
posture.

Daraius's eyes dim briefly but he gives no other reaction to the dog, instead training his gaze and
ears on you.

You think to yourself: Don't look into the eyes of those who are higher rank - you are still a serf.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "Apologies?"

You think to yourself: Even if he is not of Magnagora, he is still esteemed and have position and
rank over me.

Making a loose gesture with their left hand, you say, "The eye contact."

Daraius's eyes sparkle behind the lenses of his spectacles.

Mulengi promptly places their left hand onto their lap, the right going to meet it
there as well.

You feel your fortune subside.
It is now the 7th of Vestian, 553 years after the Coming of Estarra.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "Perhaps Magnagoran custom is different, but
we tend not to admonish eye contact between interlocutors."

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you, "In any event, may I ask what you
believe my objection would be to your friendship with Miso?"

Daraius swivels his ears towards you, listening with rapt attention.

You think to yourself: Well, that's direct.

Mulengi blinks in surprise, but brings their gaze in Daraius's general direction
without having it meet his. "Friendship... friendship," they say, mulling the word over in their
mind. "It was not friendship exactly, but if that is how Miso views it, then that wouldn't be a
problem," they say. They sound almost confused, or disappointed, their words trailing off.

Turning up one paw, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "Speak plainly."

As if on command, you say, "Your son gifted me jewelry. In my family's tradition - though I have yet
to find my family after leaving the Portal and cannot remember their names, only their gifts - that
is an exclamation of love and desire. I explained as much to Miso."

You say, "He said that was alright, for me to view it that way. I said his family might not
approve."

Blush returning to their cheeks as they look away, you say, "Then he ran off."

You sigh, "And here we are."

Daraius's ears remain attentively trained on you, his expression inscrutable but his eyes warmly
lambent.

You think to yourself: I know I do not act like the others of Magnagora. Am I failing as a
Magnagoran? Or is this just how my family raised me to be? Is it alright for me to be like this?

Observing your stance and expression carefully, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs
says, "Ah, I see the confusion. I have never made strong distinctions between love and loyalty and
friendship. Perhaps partnership would have been the better term?"

A series of chiming notes, distinctly crystalline, ring out in the distance in a slow, descending
scale.

Slowly, as if tasting the word, you say, "Partnership..." They give a nod. "That's acceptable.
Partnership."

"Mm," Daraius hums again in acknowledgement. "His characterization of the relationship was more akin
to what you describe, yes. Now to my original question."

Dull chiming noises echo in the distance at regular intervals, the sound of hammers on crystal.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks you, "Why do you believe his family might not
approve?"

You think to yourself: Is he checking how stupid I am?

You say, "I'm... a viscanti."

You think to yourself: I know people outside of Magnagora hate our kind. I have seen it before and
after the Portal.

The sound of quiet, muffled conversation drifts through the air.

Daraius's expression remains unmoved and unmoving.

Mulengi glances up at Daraius, spots the stoic expression he bears, and then
redirects their vision to the cup before them which they have not drunk from at all.

You think to yourself: Talking to the Forbidden Lord is easier than this! O Great and Powerful Lord,
how is it You are more approachable!?

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "Is that the whole of it?"

You nod your head affirmatively.

Daraius's muzzle wrinkles subtly, and only for an instant, the barest flicker of confusion passing
over his canine features. "Is it a point of shame for you?" he asks earnestly.

Mulengi tenses at the question, shoulders raising. "Not exactly," they say. "My
family, my upbringing... even after the Portal... my kind receive a lot of hate from those outside
of Magnagora. Sometimes to our faces, more often than not behind our backs."

A series of chiming notes, distinctly crystalline, ring out in the distance in a slow, descending
scale.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "Ah, understood. You may put your mind at
ease in that respect, at least. I harbor no animus towards viscanti."

The sound of buffeting wings is briefly audible.

Mulengi heaves a large sigh, the tension leaving their form all at once.

You think to yourself: Thank the Gods for that at least.

Daraius turns up both paws in a benign kind of shrug, whorls of silver ka energy coursing over his
padded palms. "The source of my objection," continues placidly, "returns to your own faith in your
astrological arts."

Light glinting off his crystalline form, a custodian of order enters from the north.

Mulengi looks up at Daraius, nearly at his face. "That I believe that the locations
of the heavenly bodies in the night sky affect our personalities whatsoever, or that their influence
can be fought?" they ask for confirmation.

The sound of quiet, muffled conversation drifts through the air.

"That remains to be seen," Daraius replies. "If I'm not mistaken, your assessment of dear Miso
suggested that he would be drastically changed by a partner?"

Mulengi gives a slow nod, and a drawn out, "Aye..."

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks you, "And of yourself, you believe your signs
predict that you will bring harm or destruction to your own partner?"

You say, "Or of any that befriend me, yes." They quickly add, "But I am doing my best to fight that,
to work on that, for that not to be an issue that will affect those I care for."

You think to yourself: Oh no. Did my being honest with Miso ruin our chances?

Off to ensure harmony is kept in the city, a custodian of order leaves to the north.

Daraius regards you quietly for a moment, his gaze unabashedly direct; thoughtful, but not unkind.

A series of chiming notes, distinctly crystalline, ring out in the distance in a slow, descending
scale.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "How?"


The sound of buffeting wings is briefly audible.

You say, "I am trying, in some ways, to be more like Miso - a Bumblebee. Sociable, instead of
keeping away from others. Polite, not snappy. Not looking to scr-" they pause, recalling their
company. "-to harm others for my own gain."

Offering the faintest nod, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "Have you brought
destruction on your friends before? Would you recognize if you're doing it again?"

Shaking their head, you say, "If it was before the Portal, I do not recall. After the portal... the
only person to have referred to me back as a friend has been your son."

A soft, inscrutable growl rumbles faintly in Daraius's chest.

Quietly, you say, "I did say fighting the Fates is not easy."

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "You are committed to it?"

Solemn, staid voices can be heard from somewhere outdoors, rising and falling in emotionless,
precise monotone.

Determination in their eyes once more as they make eye contact, gray eyes holding their gaze firm,
you say, "Yes. One hundred thousand percent."

Daraius searches your expression carefully, as if cataloging every nuance and detail.

Mulengi's gaze softens, alert and embarrassed, as they look away as they had
before.

You think to yourself: Don't be too forward. You don't want to be perceived as dangerous. You are
dangerous, so you must do your best to not be a danger.

Unwavering, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "And as for Miso, do you
encourage him to fight his fate to be fundamentally changed by this relationship?"

The sound of quiet, muffled conversation drifts through the air.

You say, "I try not to take up too much of his time, and I want him to embrace that part of him, the
Bumblebee, which he seems to want to do on some level as well. He is very sociable and wants to find
his place. I want him to keep being sociable and to find his place, too."

Daraius nods his head at you, showing his acceptance.

Breaking his gaze from you for the first time and tilting his muzzle slightly upward as he glances
towards the ceiling, Daraius says with a soft growl, "I have known enough sorrow in my centuries,
and dear Miso has known enough of his own. I would not like to see him hurt."

Solemn, staid voices can be heard from somewhere outdoors, rising and falling in emotionless,
precise monotone.

Lowering his eyes back to meet yours, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you,
"Please be an element of harmony in his life."

Voice wavering, as if frightened of their own words, you say, "If... if it should look the opposite
at some point. That I am causing harm to him, bringing him disharmony... please, do chase me away."

Daraius nods solemnly to you.

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs states, "As you wish."

Looking briefly at your untouched cup, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs asks, "How
is the tea?"

Looking at the tea with alarm, you exclaim, "Ah!"

You take a drink of white tea from an immaculate porcelain tea cup.
As you sip the white tea, your thoughts become clearer.
Minuscule pearls of hand rolled tea leaves float adrift within this hot, aurulent brew. You take a
sip, delighting in its dewy-sweet brightness. As you do so, the tea pearls are teased into bursting,
and reveal themselves to be tiny vibrant flowers. The crisp fragrance draws you in - an enchanting
blend of orchid, rose, heather and lavender.

Surprised at the taste, you say, "Immaculate. I had been too nervous to drink it."

You are wielding:
  quill337731 : a clockwork quill in your left hand.
  whip357054 : a golden whip of the pious in your right hand.
You are holding:
"cup332175"                   an immaculate porcelain tea cup
You are wearing:
Number of matching objects: 1 (out of 56 total)

A low, contented growl arises within Daraius's chest.

The sound of buffeting wings is briefly audible.

You say, "The cup and the tea do match, indeed. It's delightful."

Being extra careful as to not damage the porcelain, you give an immaculate porcelain tea cup to Lord
Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs.

His tail gently sweeping the floor behind his low chair, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural
Affairs says, "The recipe was made by a dear friend for my wedding day. I keep it in private reserve
for important meetings."

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you, "I think we have an accord, comrade.
How are you feeling?"

The faintest smile tugs at Daraius's lips as he listens attentively to you.

A series of chiming notes, distinctly crystalline, ring out in the distance in a slow, descending
scale.

Placing a hand to their chest, you say to Daraius, "Surprisingly alive, for someone not. I expected
this conversation to go... far worse than it did. People from outside one's own family can be quite
intimidating, perhaps without meaning it."

You think to yourself: Or perhaps with meaning it? Were you trying to be the scary dad? You
succeeded if so.

His voice laced with a gentle growl, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says, "Mm, I
imagine I've had a similar effect even on my own family members from time to time. I've come to
accept it."

Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural Affairs says to you, "If you're eager to flee and recover,
I will not keep you, but I'd like to take the opportunity to speak with you again at your leisure."

Quickly, you say to Daraius, "Thank you!"

You get up off a low, cushioned chair of beryl-hued cedar.

Daraius's eyes sparkle behind the lenses of his spectacles.

Mulengi bows a few times to Daraius, polite but clearly a nervous wreck. They turn
to face south.

You tug upon the aether strands around you, searching for one that connects to the Megalith of Doom.

With a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl, Lord Daraius Shevat, Minister of Cultural
Affairs says, "May you be well, and your efforts fruitful."

You say, "You too! Take care!"

You think to yourself: Miso isn't the only one with Eroee in Spider.

You teleport along the aether strands to the Megalith of Doom.