"To be like them. To be Beloved?"

**IT ALL STARTED with Gurashi's prayer to Viravain, and then he prayed to Mysrai, and he's been non-stop hunting/influencing for like 2.5 days now trying to get lots of essence to offer to ALL of the Divine so that he can prove what a good and capable bug he is, yes. Because he really wants to be Beloved. Anyway - offered brazier at Fulcrux 'cause I don't know of any other Mysrai shrines outside of Gaudiguch**

The Fulcrux of Mysrai.
The walls of this rounded chamber are dimly illuminated by burning coals within a copper bowl at the centre, but remain no more distinct than any of the shadowy carvings upon their surface. At times, the walls seem as though they are mere veils between open air and the fire-illumined ring: at others, they are whirling sand or solid stone. Despite this, figures in various races shift and change, gone in seconds or less, with the only constant remaining the pinpricks of alien constellations within. The ceiling is a canopy of silk, or veils, or shifting realities, with loose poppy blossoms floating amidst it, or upon it, in tears of white and red and indigo. Oilslick patterns ripple across the silken folds of this veil as it flutters between two paradigms. Veils of reality bounded by skeins of ivory and blood-hued blossoms twist and shiver above a poppy-inlaid vessel filled with burning coals. An oddly shaped golden hammer has been abandoned here. A plump bumblebee cookie awaits consumption.
You see a single exit leading through a fluttering veil.

look me
He is an ordinary human wyrden demigod. He stands a few inches short of six feet tall with a slim build. His arms and legs are lanky, square hands nervously balled into fists at his side. His sandy skin has been reddened from exposure to the sun, causing an array of tawny-colored freckles to appear upon his long cheeks and thin, upturned nose. Perhaps the most noteworthy thing about him is his straight mop of fiery red hair, complete with a few strands at his part that to obey the natural laws of gravity. A pair of kind gray eyes gaze out from below red bangs, their hue striking against all the surrounding warm hues. The tips of nine out of his ten fingers have been thoroughly bandaged. Tattooed on his hands is an illustration of a bumblebee constellation.
He is wearing:
an ebon throwover cloak striated with lilac patterns pulled tightly over his shoulders, hood lowered
a circlet of crystal thorns pressed a bit too tightly against his head
Boots of the Wanderer which stop at the knees
a Glomdoring friendship bracelet dangling loosely from his wrist
a tiger lily tucked behind his ear
a royal blue silken shirt that is just barely too big, sleeves rolled up and collar upright
rugged tan adventuring trousers which hold is figure snugly
the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree tightly affixed to his left middle finger.

You have emoted: Gurashi lifts his head thoughtfully, gray eyes scanning the Fulcrux. Then, he looks pleased, and with some effort hobbles back to his feet. "O-K!"

Black sand swirls in a steady stream around the room, crimson granules gleaming like nebulae in the night sky.

Hobbling over to Bizirik, cupping the leothin's face, you say, "Are you ready for more, yeah? Or do you want to go home and nap? Can ask Sardonix for help, yes..."

Bizirik, the leothin makes no noise, staring past Gurashi and up at the rest of the Fulcrux.

Shifting, churning, turning, swirling, the sand never ceases its motion - mesmerising in its recreation of the glittering nebulae in the vast depths of aetherspace.

You have emoted: Finally catching the hint from his leothin's vacant, fixated stare behind him, Gurashi turns, frowning... looking up. He rises to stand fully and turns towards the the master shrine of Mysrai, eyes widening.

You think to yourself: ... oh - it is ... pretty...

You think to yourself: ...I do not remember it doing that before ... or - did just never notice.......

In the perfect silence of the fulcrux, the shifting of sand seems to create its own noise: an undulant stirring of the very fabric of the aether itself, distorting colour and dizzying all sense of space and continuity in its passing. Ever twinkling. Ever churning. Crimson upon black, eyes in the darkness, blood upon the sand...all there, and gone, and back again.

Bizirik, the leothin lets out a nervous little sound, tossing its head and rising to its feet, backing away, unsure. Gurashi's feet remain planted in place, be it from exhaustion or curiosity. He tightens his grip on the strap of his lute, moving away finally from Bizirik to wander further in, marveling, listening.

You think to yourself: / *the usual gentle thrum of hivenoise seems to grow dimmer in the presence of this new sound* /.

As you draw closer and closer, listening for meaning among the whispering stir of serpents through sand and fingers through water, you soon find yourself directly before the master shrine of Mysrai, very nearly bumping into it. Here, in the centre of the sand's rotation, meaning seems so close, and yet just so barely out of reach beyond your fingertips. There are words, surely, being whispered here. Secrets. Promises. Threats. A million possibilities, all lost in confusion and misunderstanding; reduced to naught more than the grating of sand upon aether.

You have emoted: Gurashi follows the strange, incorporeal, guiding presence, his wide eyes eventually drifting down to stare into the basin. So close he could just reach out and touch it. He steps closer, leaning over and squinting, then canting his head, trying to listen. A frown as he stands up straight again, gripping the strap of his instrument so tight his knuckles lose their color.

You think to yourself: **uneasy mauve, a swirl of red and black to match the sands of the Fulcrux** Are answers to helping the Shofets in there...?

Bizirik, the leothin tosses its head again, laying down near the door and staring back towards gurashi, great tail lashing in agitation.

There is a soft break in the steady stream, a brief crackle that would go unnoticed were it not for the interruption of the perfect strangeness. A feeling, one of being watched by an ancient, hungering force looms upon your neck as the Shofet of Abyssal Scales forms from the sand flowing through the air.

The Fulcrux of Mysrai.
The walls of this rounded chamber are dimly illuminated by burning coals within a copper bowl at the centre, but remain no more distinct than any of the shadowy carvings upon their surface. At times, the walls seem as though they are mere veils between open air and the fire-illumined ring: at others, they are whirling sand or solid stone. Despite this, figures in various races shift and change, gone in seconds or less, with the only constant remaining the pinpricks of alien constellations within. The ceiling is a canopy of silk, or veils, or shifting realities, with loose poppy blossoms floating amidst it, or upon it, in tears of white and red and indigo. Oilslick patterns ripple across the silken folds of this veil as it flutters between two paradigms. Veils of reality bounded by skeins of ivory and blood-hued blossoms twist and shiver above a poppy-inlaid vessel filled with burning coals. An oddly shaped golden hammer has been abandoned here. A plump bumblebee cookie awaits consumption. Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales lounges upside down in midair, wreathed by a halo of scarlet lightning as black sand pours from the cracks in the aether surrounding Them. They wield the Jackal's staff in Their left hand.
You see a single exit leading through a fluttering veil.

look mysrai
With much of Their figure fading in and out of shifting realities draped around Them, there is little that can distinguish the gender of this small figure. It is only certain that They are a radiant immortal. Where Their body is visible, small tufts of short-cropped fur can be seen in intermittent patches, the flesh beneath visible pulsing with colourful hieroglyphics of a dead language. Set deep into an elongated, canid head are twin vortexes of inky black Void, stars and constellations spinning and swirling through the depths in nonsensical, hypnotic patterns. Atop Their head sit two peculiar ears, like cones that have been flipped upside down, swivelling constantly to capture more of the world around Them. Occasionally appearing from behind Their back is a thick tail that tapers to a thin point just above Their ankles. In the area just beyond Them, enormous limbs of black sand and forked red lightning twitch in restless anticipation to cause untold destruction through the strange and alien realities barely glimpsed through the chaotic sandstorm.
Long black fur, shot through with strands of deep crimson, extends in a mohawk that stretches down Their spine to the small of Their back.
They are wearing:
tightly wrapped bandage armbands around Their exposed bicep and wrist;
a simple tunic of gold-trimmed ebon that covers only one of Their arms.

You have emoted: Gurashi frowns, attention drawn by the sharp and sudden laugh, turning his attention from the master shrine of Mysrai and back towards the swirling sands of the Fulcrux, scanning the air behind him.

You tilt your head, gaze softening as you frown.

Mysrai stares at you without blinking, the vortexes of Their eyes swirling in a mirror that you recognise in an instant: the same pattern mimicked and repeated by the sand swirling through the fulcrux. They do not speak, the staff held between Their hands covered in thick clots of blackened, congealed blood bespeaking Their previous attention as well as the dark, golden blood oozing down from a gash in Their leg.

You have emoted: Gurashi looks all at once quite terrified, the color leaving his face. Then, fear, instantly swept up in concern as his gaze drifts down, looking at the staff, then back up to Mysrai, finally releasing his grip on his instrument's strap. "Mist..... oh - Shofets..." He manages to croak out, stepping forward.

You think to yourself: They're hurt!

You think to yourself: They are hurt where Friend Shulamit said...!!

Taking another cautious step forward, eyeing the figure and tapping his fingers together, you say, "S-Shofets...? I..."

Around the fulcrux, the rounded walls seem to fade away as the sand grows thicker with the Shofet's presence, Their gaze never relenting as They watch. Soon, it is as though you stand in the vastness of aetherspace itself, surrounded by darkness illuminated with swirling, crimson galaxies and nebulae as They wait; golden blood streaming away into the swirling darkness to disappear and reappear like so many twinkling stars.

Harmony echoes in your mind as you sing to Spiritous Wraith Esei Shee-Slaugh of the Ascending Dusk, "**suddenly, very soft... soft soft curious buzzing**."

You have emoted: Gurashi takes another awkward, shuffling step forward, closing the distance between himself and Mysrai. "Hi," He whispers with all his might, staring at the mirror-eyed Divine with a gulp. It looks like he might drop off into nothing, but he takes another step, looking up at the ceiling, towards Their leg. "...can I fix it?" He offers, wringing his hands together, gesturing to the wound, reaching for it, but not too close.

You think to yourself: They are hurt They are hurt They are hurt.

You think to yourself: **an intense, overwhelming desire to help. would mortal bandages do? do Divine make bandages? is it something that can be soaked or poulticed or heal on its own**.

"...maybe...maybe he will be fine, and we are just lonely?" The thought appears out of nowhere, a soft, feminine voice tinged with youth looking out into the distance as a particular speck of sand gleams and a tiny, merian child appears between you and the Shofet, staring across her shell-decorated room at a surly boy merian staring out of his window.

You stare blankly into space.

You think to yourself: **what hurt Them?... oh... **.

"Come on, Xxylsix. You can make it!" A laughing trill looks down from the height of some great plateau, egging on a larger igasho who steadily climbs forward with a grin on his face.

You have emoted: Gurashi's eyes lose their focus, and though he stares up towards Mysrai, he seems to be looking elsewhere, canting his head.

"...I do. Forever and ever." A great bout of applause rings up through the fulcrux as two furrikin embrace with loving adour before a crowd of hundreds.

You think to yourself: / .... /.

You think to yourself: / *a curious chirr - instantly, familiarity, and a diminished presence.... watching, buzzing gently with the rest of the hive noise* /.

A hundred visions, blinking in and out in a dizzying swarm that leaves no sensible image behind, replaced in the next second with another hundred visions. A wide palette of emotion that cannot be fully encompassed in such a small amount of time; here and gone in an instant. All the while, They remain. Staring. No answer to your question, the blood nearly gone from Their leg entirely.

You have emoted: Gurashi wrinkles his nose, then winces, reaching up to touch his head with a hand as he tries to wrap himself around the though. Thoughts. So many thoughts. And feelings. Big and small and bigger still. He manages to look up at the Jackal-God again through squinted eyes. With a pained expression he reaches out, as if to consolingly touch the Shofet's arm.

Weakly, you say, "Shofets Mysrai..."

You think to yourself: It is a lot. It is so -much-.

You think to yourself: **a whirlwind of colors, sparkling, dull, bright and dim and thoroughly de-saturated - heavy and light, many, many - so many, too many**.

The images freeze abruptly as the Shofet of Abyssal Scales lashes out a furred paw to the right, the images freezing in place and then vanishing abruptly. A deep timbre that resonates deep within your soul rises, a primal instinct deep within urging fear and fleeing, and They ask, "...is it what you expected?"

You have emoted: Gurashi grunts softly as the images fade, offering some relief. "...I don't," He takes a breath, "know if it is something that -could- expect." He boggles, his hand still outreached, fingers curled tentatively. "..... You are having all these big feelings all of the time, Shofets...?" He asks, swaying on his feet.

"The glimpse of each paradigm, through the Veils..." Mysrai's voice rings out, oddly echoing even in its soul-shaking timbre as They look down. "...it is pleasure and burden both. A dark storm, and pleasant lining. As many deaths as births, and the ever approaching call of the Abyss which yearns to devour all." They twirl a paw in the air, and suddenly your eyes water intensely. You realise with a start that all colour has been inverted, leaving both Them and your surroundings a ghastly white, tinged with vibrant green for just a few moments before They twirl the paw back. "...so close to each other, that even the slightest touch may alter them."

You have emoted: "Mmf," Gurashi bristles unknowingly, quickly withdrawing the reaching hand to frantically wipe his eyes free of tears. As he blinks again, he looks around the Fulcrux curiously, then back to Mysrai. "...think, it would be so sad, though," He scoots half an inch closer to the  Divine, wringing his hands together, "to see all the could-have-beens? Is always going to be a happier ending somewhere in time, somewhere...." A pause...

You have emoted: Gurashi bites his lower lip, suddenly pulling his usual violet kerchief from a side pouch of his pack and holding it earnestly between his hands. He looks up towards Mysrai's still bleeding leg, then back at Them hopefully, desperately.

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 20th of Kiani, 559 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 7 days until the New Moon

Mysrai's head cants to the side, conical ears nearly brushing the ground as They watch without direct answer. After what feels like an eternity, They simply say, "Perhaps. Yet in the maws of the Abyss, even the happiest endings are tinged in sorrow, and loss. For it will never be True, as it will be swallowed into nothingness."

You have emoted: Gurashi rises to his tiptoes, glancing down awkwardly towards Mysrai and holding the corners of the kerchief with great ceremony between each hand, shaking it once. He glances up - still in one piece - before very slowly, hesitantly, pressing the violet fabric against the glittering golden wound.

Quietly, you ask, ".... oh - do You mean the Abyss, Shofets?" <-- my idiot brain repeated Abyss I MEANT TO ASK THE VOOOOID *stupid*

Bizirik, the leothin continues to watch from as far away a point in the Fulcrux as it can possibly get, its tail slapping the ground anxiously, tufted ears raised as it watches.

Mysrai nods Their head, extending a leg to inspect the wound with a wry smile touching Their face. "You are much...like My Liar." Their leg falls back over the other, kicking towards the ceiling as They simply state, "It is what you desire, yes? To be like them. To be Beloved?"

You have emoted: Gurashi pulls his hand back once he's convinced the kerchief isn't going anywhere, though he looks unconvinced at how much good it might do. He blinks again, looking at Mysrai with a gasp. "Oh... I," His ears turn bright pink as he ducks his head. "...uhm."

You think to yourself: ... oh - like Friend Aschwar....???

You think to yourself: ....**a flood of reds and pinks, embarrassed and happy and flattered, quickly back to embarrassed**.

You have emoted: Gurashi folds his hands before his lap, frowning. "...would like to help, yes. A lot. Very much." He nods. "With all my heart! Friend Aschwar loves you so much and I love Friend Aschwar so much, and all of the Beloveds love -You- so much and, and. I just."

You have emoted: Gurashi puffs his cheeks.

You think to yourself: Beloved.

You think to yourself: **a sudden rush of anxiety, uncertainty. an intense fear of disappointment, gripped with guilt - then, heavier guilt**.

You think to yourself: Do not want to let Anybody down.

You think to yourself: Do not want to make Anybody feel unloved.

You twiddle your thumbs.

Mysrai reaches forward, the leathery pads of Their paw rubbing strangely with the silk of Their fur as They cup your cheek. "It can be so," They say simply. At Their words, a strange feeling erupts in your chest, and you feel almost as though it were a tether, stretching forwards towards the Thousandfold lingering before you. "To name you Beloved, and ignite the spark of Chaos within you." They smile, and let the thrum continue for a few moments before it begins to die down. "Yet...you are not ready."

You have emoted: Suddenly inhaling sharply, Gurashi flinches, looking ready to accept his fate. But the touch comes, and with it no flames or explosions or suffocating sands. He blinks, returning Mysrai's gaze intently, his hands rising to clutch together into fists against his own heart. A new expression overtakes his features, and his face lights up, hopeful - excited. And, just as quickly - the fire leaves him, and his almost smile withers.

Shadows swirl around your arm as the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree digs itself more painfully into your finger.

Voice wavering, you say to Mysrai, "....oh - uh... am," He squeezes the words out, "sorry."

"It is your own heart that holds you back," Mysrai intones softly, and They gently add pressure to your cheek before withdrawing Their paw and draping it across Their staff once more. "For that, I cannot accept an apology, for such is not owed." They nod Their head simply and state, "You will be Beloved, or you will not. Such shall not dissuade My Beloved from their affection of you, nor will it cease the love of My Aschwar. It simply means that you will not be one of Mine."

You have emoted: Gurashi blinks, hardly registering the tears that have boiled up into his eyes and started spilling down over his cheeks. "Oh." He says again, unable to make much other sound. He quickly laces his hands together, setting his jaw and staring at Mysrai with a quivering chin. "O.... O-K.... oh, but."

Mysrai's ears flick slightly, a sign of Their interest, and They wait, staring at you.

Suddenly, you say to Mysrai, "U-uhm," His gaze flicks to his kerchief, held in place with ichor. "H-how can I help? You, then. I mean," He takes a deep, frantic gulp of air. "If I can't - if They won't - uhm. What can do for You, yes?"

You think to yourself: **sad. why so sad? and blue, but not uneasy or calm - sad blue. but we shouldn't be sad, blue - an attempted push from colors that are swallowed up by cool shades**.

Mysrai's eyes turn cold as Their ears perk and Their eyes turn to the side. In an instant, They dissolve into black sand and the storm around the fulcrux returns to normal as the sand slinks through cracks in the aether and retreats. Only a final utterance remains with Their passing, echoing slightly, "...embrace your Truth..."

You think to yourself: ... my Truth?

Bizirik, the leothin lifts its head, snorting softly as it rises to its feet.

You have emoted: Gurashi stands perfectly still, left in the position he was standing in moments before the Shofet disappeared. He looks left.... then right... then up, turning on his heel, searching for any remaining bits of sand, proof They may be hiding. No. Gone. "My Truth," He repeats again, bringing up his hands to cover his face.

You think to yourself: ....... **blue. blue... indigo... shades of maroon - laughter, the smells of the kitchen, friendly touches and warm hugs** ...

You think to yourself: ..... **anxious thoughts of gnarled, creeping mauve vines, choking out the other colors until everything is one solid, ugly shade of ruddy red-violet**.

You sniffle softly.

Faint strains of music precede Euterpe, Muse of Music as she waltzes in, handing you a Scroll of Sorcelglass, and just as shortly waltzes out again.

You have emoted: Gurashi's gaze drifts towards Bizirik as the leothin cautiously approaches. "...hi," He whispers, finally breaking from his stock-still stance and consolingly stroking the leothin's back. "Hi. Sorry," He whispers, soothingly petting its face as it thrums and whines in response. "Sorry sorry... is no need to be scared. Shofets is good." A few more pets, and another whine in response.

You have emoted: Gurashi wipes his eyes and rises again, nodding to Euterpe as the Muse wanders off. "Oh... Friend Shulamit....."

You have emoted: Gurashi drifts towards the veil, a dazed expression on his face.