The Nature of the Majesty of the Dawn

Manteekan reaches out His icy fingertips, unabashedly pricking them across the back of your neck, a possessive sort of gesture. "My wisp. Is it still your desire to discuss the 'Majesty of the Dawn'?"

You have emoted: Takhre tilts their head curiously, dark eyes wide as they look up to Manteekan with an unsettling smile. "I would, Father."
You have emoted: Takhre puts away their notepad, rising to their feet.

A vicious, magpie crow caws loudly, sending a shiver up your spine.

You think to yourself: I find Him... strange. And would He be useful to Father, somehow? I am unsure...

---> look Manteekan

Nearly transparent flesh is pulled taut over a tall, lanky and ectomorphic frame. Hanging in the air like a veil of fine mist, the presence of this immortal seems nothing more than a chill upon the skin. A ghastly aura hangs around His figure, manifesting in a cool fog that gathers at His feet, the miasma roiling like an impending storm. The collected mist beneath Him carries him aloft, His slender and nearly skeletal feet never touching the ground. What can be seen of His facial features must have once been fair; handsome if not for His otherwise spectral existence. His unnaturally long, needle-like fingers constantly fidget, as though grasping at something unseen. His intense, icy blue stare is the most corporeal thing about Him, as though His eyes are more real than He is, swirling with internal vortices of ice and snow.
Ghastly alabaster locks billow behind His head, each thread glowing white as it whips frantically through the air behind Him. Icy mist trails behind each strand as it thrashes about, slowly drifting to the ground to settle in a cloud of haze that churns about His feet.
He is wearing:
a torturous noose of thorn and vine
billowing robes of a chilled mist

Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "A curious Elder. Where do I begin, with Lyreth? With Eventru? Or do I begin with what He is? A multifaceted subject that I have not given much thought to."

The rich scent of earthy loam overwhelms the senses, emanating from Tylwyth accompanied by the lingering scent of elder ravenwoods and piles of composting leaves.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "I have heard tale that He is... a fusion? A merging? The histories are rather vague."

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

Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Indeed He is. Let us start there, with the root of the problem. What makes Him so different from The Legion?"

You have emoted: Takhre blinks thoughtfully. "I... well, my most obvious guess, Father, is that He is Two rather than Many." They let out a quiet laugh. "But on a more theoretical level... I might assume the Legion did not 'Love' that which He ate." Their wings flutter as they wrinkle their nose. "It would be rather strange, admittedly, for myself to love eating a deer."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "To love a deer that I ate, rather."

The sound of drums rings violently in the air before falling back to a hushed rhythm.

You think to yourself: Love. What a strange thing to focus on. Why not the gain of power? Then again, many other Elders are not like Lord Dawn... so perhaps it is too costly. Curious.

His expression growing focused, His voice waxing philosophical, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "The difference is in the very building blocks of all of Creation. Construction, and Destruction. Morgfyre uses the excoroperditio energies within us to consume others. Valtreth is not a being of such energies. Weak, he is but the flame of the immanidivinus, easily snuffed."

Considering His spindly fingers carefully, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Have you ever thought to ask Him? Why, One might be forced to conclude He IS Eventru. Do you know, He sought to destroy My children?"

You have emoted: Takhre listens intently to Manteekan's every word, brushing back their head-feathers to remove distraction. "I did not, Father. Then again, I suppose with the ocean city's fanatical devotion to their so called 'purity'," they spit out the word as if it were filth, "I find myself unsurprised. They cannot see the strength and beauty You have cultivated."

Manteekan shakes His head gently. "Oh I do not blame those mortals, no. After I was sent away, however, Eventru advocated for their destruction. Naturally, I only learned of this much too late. As for Lyreth, I have no opinion. Another Elder who lived in the lap of luxury and did nothing, to die meaninglessly. And so we are left with Valtreth." His spectral form sighs wistfully. "I conclude that I have no strong feelings towards that one. Perhaps He knows where My children are kept. And would He tell us? Doubtful."

You have emoted: Takhre purses their lips, their disgust fading back to a pensive frown. "I see, Father. Do You think this merging has perhaps... Tempered the aspect of Eventru? Would He threaten Your children again?"

Gently pricking his fingertips across a wraith-like ivory grimalkin with bewitching, dark eyes, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Tempered? Too strong of a word I should think. No, though changed certainly. I believe it possible He may pose a threat. Though, before the might of the Wyrd, all perish."

Laina inclines her head politely to Manteekan.

The features of Manteekan's face distort as a malicious smile grows upon His face, His features frozen as if caught in a rictus of death while He stares madly into the distance.

Manteekan pets a wraith-like ivory grimalkin with bewitching, dark eyes ingratiatingly.
A wraith-like ivory grimalkin with bewitching, dark eyes rubs up against Manteekan affectionately.

(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Oh my god that's fucking ADORABLE."
(The Shadow Kindred): Tirah (from the Aetherways) says, "What is?"
(The Shadow Kindred): Laina says, "Manteekan is here."

The clash of steel on steel echoes upon the air as Tirah, riding Aria, the rainbow kitsune, strides in from the north.
Tirah inclines their head politely to those around them.

Laina flashes Tirah a joyous smile.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Greetings."
Tirah reaches over and ruffles Laina's hair fondly.
Tirah inclines their head politely to Manteekan.

Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "I will accept nothing more than your Darkest Tidings."
Manteekan erupts into a horrendous cackle, the shrill laughter sending a slow chill down your spine as it peals into the distance.

A wry smile spreads across Tirah's face.
In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Yes, my Darkest Tidings to you, Lord Nightmare."

You have emoted: Takhre watches a wraith-like ivory grimalkin with bewitching, dark eyes with fondness, preening their feathers absentmindedly. They chuckle quietly with Manteekan, expression thoughtful.

In a melodic quaver, you ask, "Father, might I ask an off-topic question?"

Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "You may. I am feeling particularly generous."

You have emoted: Takhre bows their head, eyes glittering with amusement. "Do You enjoy offerings of food and the like? Or are they of little use to You? I have been preparing drinks in honor of Your children, and I thought to leave a few bottles if You wished to sample them. But, I would not clutter Your shrine if they are unwanted."

The screeching of a crow echoes through the dark woods, sounding almost like harsh laughter.

(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Manteekan is so babygirl."
(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "And you can quote me on that."
(The Shadow Kindred): Laina says, "If I understood it, I might hehe."
(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Hahahah."

His expression unreadable, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Usefulness is not the measure of a gift, and I would not turn away something genuine. It is a deal you seek to broker with Me, a kind of contract that I would heed, even if I am incapable of consuming them. Perhaps Algernon likes tea, you may never know."

Manteekan waves His hand dismissively.

You have emoted: Takhre blinks, surprised. "I see. Usefulness is not the measure..." they repeat softly, as if they had never considered such a concept.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Thank You for indulging my question, Father."

Sharp jerking notes hang in the air, reminiscent of Crow's caw.

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 1st of Vestian, 673 years after the Coming of Estarra.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Both of them, rather."

Manteekan, the Nightmare says to you, "Consider what you must now owe for that opportunity, mm?"
The features of Manteekan's face distort as a malicious smile grows upon His face, His features frozen as if caught in a rictus of death while He stares madly into the distance.

A wry smile spreads across your face.
You bow respectfully to Manteekan.

The redolence of sweet, fresh cut roses lingers about Laina, giving them an exquisite allure.

Clapping His hands together audibly, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "I must attend to other matters, Glomdoring. It is Vestian, after all."
A shrill ringing fills the air as Manteekan bursts into a fit of deranged laughter.

Tirah inclines their head politely to Manteekan.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Farewell, Father."

With a flourish of His arm, Manteekan bows deeply.

In a soft, tenebrous voice, Nascent Laina Mzithrei says, "Darkest Tidings, Lord."

The incorporeal form of Manteekan, the Nightmare, dissolves into a cool mist which creeps hauntingly away into the distance, leaving behind naught but an eerie silence and an unsettling chill.

Laina shivers violently.

Tirah pats Laina in a friendly manner.

Laina hugs Tirah compassionately.
In a soft, tenebrous voice, Nascent Laina Mzithrei says, "Sleep time for me."
Laina's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

Tirah nods their head emphatically.
In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Rest well, i'cha."

Laina waves goodbye.

You have emoted: Takhre looks cheery, which is rather out of the ordinary for them and their generally stoic demeanor.

Laina places her hands on the Master Ravenwood Tree and disappears in a fountain of pulsating energy.

You warble thoughtfully, clicking your tongue.

Tirah tilts their head curiously at you.

In a melodic quaver, you ask, "Hm?"

A wraith-like ivory grimalkin with bewitching, dark eyes arches his back as a cool wind blows through his fur.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Nothing, nothing."

Folding your wings so that you can reach them properly, you begin to preen them in a soothing motion, straightening out the disheveled feathers.
Warmly, you say, "I should be done with the drinks soon... then I might write a ritual, write a book... ah! The possibilities tonight..."
You stretch languidly.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "And then a play."
Tirah nods their head sagely.
Y
ou have emoted: Takhre hops up and down in place, flexing their talons. "What amazing information Father has bestowed upon us this Night. I should hope to use it to fuel me further."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Oh? I must have only caught the tail end of it, what was discussed?"

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Father spoke of the Lord Dawn's nature. It was rather interesting. It seems that He is made purely of immanidivinus energy, unlike the Legion who too, is a Fusion of Elders."
Waving their hand dismissively, you say, "To us, of course Lord Dawn is an Elder and many times greater. But nonetheless, in the face of the Wyrd and its might..."
Your mouth twitches as your face breaks into a smile.

A look of understanding crossing their features, Tirah nods their head slowly.

The sound of a distant scream echoes between the trees, only to be suddenly cut short.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "I believe the two of them came to be in very different fashions."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Indeed."