offering: Xiran, Lisaera

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "Hm... a query for you, if you have the time."

Like a peal of chimes, Xiran's voice echoes in your ear, "Aye, dear nieph?"

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "What do you know of the trillium flower?"

Like a peal of chimes, Xiran's voice echoes in your ear, "Ah?" The silvery aethers stir curiously, tendrils unfurling without encroaching. "The first time I saw such flowers were when they were bestowed by Silver Lady for poems in recognition of Her Aspects. They were of ephemeral creations of frozen, gossamer, and sanguine moonlight."

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "...I see."

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "And which blossom represented which, if you feel like sharing such?"

Like a peal of chimes, Xiran's voice echoes in your ear, "Hee." Flickers of yellow turn to fae-gold in her merriment. "I am sure it's apparent to my clever nieph."

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "Perhaps less so than you think."

Like a peal of chimes, Xiran's voice echoes in your ear, "Mm. May I ask who you saw in passing with such a flower? Or..." The aethers shimmer aspen-yellow again. "Was one bestowed upon you, d'z'lan?"

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "Perhaps if I did, you would rather come and see."

Like a peal of chimes, Xiran's voice echoes in your ear, "Oh? Perhaps perhaps."

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "Perhaps, if you wish, I am in Faethorn."

Like a peal of chimes, Xiran's voice echoes in your ear, "Oh? I shall be along shortly. Then you really...?"

Your soft voice reaches out to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine, tickling their ear, "You will see. Or not."

Xiran curtseys gracefully.

Blinking, Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "I am surprised you are here under the Full Moon, d'z'lan."

You have emoted: Perched lightly against their Lord's shrine, Esei turns their head to look at Xiran. They lightly twirl a trillium of sanguine moonlight, their black eyes oddly unreflective of nearby light. "I have not left the terrace," they say softly. "And they do not seem to attack me, yet."

Xiran sprinkles a circle of salt around you, and a shimmering white orb springs up around you.

Xiran's wingbeats slow as she considers the flower in your hand, bright amid the blackthorn blossoms.

Switching the flower to their other hand, you whisper, "I do not believe She fully understood me. But perhaps that is my fault."

The aged faeling's eyes follow the flower in trade of hands. Her eyes crinkle. Xiran asks, "What makes you say that, my nieph?"

You tilt your head curiously.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "It is difficult to explain that which I feel is intrinsic to my nature, and is thus a deeply spiritual subject, of which I often have... difficulties articulating."

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

Tilting her head, Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "Mm. I understand if I have not earned the right to know of you in such a way." She straightens with a small smile. "May I ask what led to Her granting you this gift? Something of your own in exchange?"

You have emoted: Esei tilts their head the other way, attention returning to the blossom clasped in their fingers. "So... which does this represent? Or shall you force me to guess?"

Xiran's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Hm... something like that."

Eyes still twinkling, Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "Am I to guess also? I cannot imagine you gifted something other than tea, so this particular trillium is most curious in exchange. Perhaps my Lady recognised some quality in another exchange then."

Flatly, you whisper, "Perhaps. I would wish to know the answer to my own question before I divulge anything further."

Xiran hums thoughtfully.

Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "What do you think of Her Aspects three, as sanguine flower in blackthorn tree?"

You raise a slender brow.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Mother, Maiden, Crone, correct?"

Xiran nods, smiling still.

You have emoted: Esei shrugs lightly. "It is hard to say. I have interacted with Her but the once, and read even less of Her or Her teachings."

A sense of purpose and pride for the Glomdoring swells within you as a three-finger ring bearing an amethyst scythe pulses against your hand.

Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "A gossamer light crystallizes, then wanes to..." She inclines her head towards the flower in your hand. "But what She saw, what it would represent, that I could not say."

You have emoted: Esei's lips flatten into a thin line.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Do you follow the Crone's teachings, then?"

Xiran's smile curls, eyes crinkled in amusement. "I was an Adherent of the Crone for a long time. And we would follow all Her teachings, regardless of what phase we shine brightest under. I don't suppose naming the New Moon as mine would help clarify?"

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "I see."

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "My dear aunt... Do you believe I am... -redeemable-," there is a brief curl of their lip, a sneer, before it is gone, "by your standards? By the Serenwilde's?"

Xiran blinks. As she considers your question, the faeling floats about the shrine of the Silent Lord, out of reach of the long thorns while dark cape and silver cloak swirl behind her through the gloom.

You have emoted: Esei continues to stare at Xiran, claws clacking softly against the crystal surface of the shrine.

The sanguine trillium in your hand feels warm, like blood spurting from a recent kill, like the life of a freshly slain sacrifice cut down by your own hands.

You have emoted: Esei's fingers twitch violently against the flower in their fingers.

rowning, Xiran asks, "What would redeeming mean, my nieph? Do you think others believe you have something lacking?" Her expression turns to one of concern as she glances to your medallion before returning to your gaze.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "None of whom live in the Glomdoring, if that is what you are wondering."

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "But, perhaps it does not matter. I am happy where I am."

You think to yourself: ** oaths-promises-wishes they willnotbreak, stupidfoolish light crushitkillit dontwantit- **.

Confused, Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "I do not hear of talk of redeeming people in Serenwilde either."

You wave your hand dismissively.

You think to yourself: ** abruptly, memories of the voices of Wyrden Elders, soft and whispering, both with praise and encouragement, slide over anguished, tortured thoughts. **.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

Xiran slows in her orbit, watching you curiously.

This is happiness...

You have emoted: Esei's lip twitches slightly downward. "Would you rather have this?" They ask softly, gesturing with the red trillium.

The ever-present sense of your heartbeat thrums, beating to the rhythmic pulse of the Drums of the Dead.

B-dump. B-dump. B-dump. The trillium of sanguine moonlight drums with a heartbeat, too, as it ever has.

Xiran blinks. She drifts forward to curl her fingers around a length of thorn instead, her hand easily finding space between the barbs. "Would there be a reason you would rather not, my nieph?" she asks gently.

You have emoted: Esei's ears bob faintly, but their gaze remains upon Xiran. "I have no need for it. It is not mine," they shrug slightly. "I am much better suited to the Shadows, and always have been."

'An offering for an offering...' The words drift through your memories, alike in meaning but wrong. That's not what She said.

Xiran hums. "The Crone knows too the shadows. She knows the cycles to come, and Her wisdom sees Her through. There's nothing wrong with being of the dark."

You let out a soft sigh.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "That is not what I mean by Shadows."

Suddenly tucking it behind the other faeling's ear, you give a trillium of sanguine moonlight to Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine.

Xiran holds still, although her gaze strays to the crystal heart of the shrine at mention of 'Shadows.'

You have emoted: Esei's other hand, which was once braced against the shrine, traces the runes carved into the crystal.

Softly, Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "It was Her gift to you, dear nieph. Surely one flower would not be frowned upon?"

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "I do not -want- it."

Xiran flinches slightly at the vehemence in your voice.

Something prickles at the back of your neck, akin to being watched. No, that is not quite right - you know this feeling well. It is more akin to being stalked.

You reach out and touch a phantasmal shroud of shadows.
As your fingers brush against a phantasmal shroud of shadows a cacophony of whispers fills your ears, murmuring of the past, the present and the future.

You have emoted: Esei presses their knuckles into their forehead, closing their eyes.

Xiran's hand slips away from the protective circle of thorns about you, about the shrine of black crystal. Concern furrows her brow even as she grants distance.

You have emoted: Esei pulls both legs onto the shrine as they fully perch atop it, chest pressed against their thighs as they balance their arms atop their knees.

Xiran watches as you seems to draw into a meditative pose. Softly, she says, "If you would seek Him, my nieph, perhaps this would be better in your hands as proof as to why."

You shake your head.

You have emoted: Esei frowns suddenly. "Why?"

The trillium of sanguine moonlight pulsates softly in the faeling's hair, painting its nearby silver streaks like blood.

You have emoted: Esei's cheek twitches slightly.

Amid the gloom, Xiran inclines her silvery head towards the phantasmal shroud of shadows. "Divine gifts are often of Their essence, and They would know each Other's auras and energies well. But if you did not wish for this," she straightens, the rubescent petals swaying, "may I ask what you sought in offering to Her?"

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "...tea."

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "As if that shocks you at all."

Xiran blinks.

You glance askance.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "...I wished nothing of Her, in truth."

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

Xiran looks at you consideringly, although your dark eyes reveal nothing.

You tilt your head back and look up at the sky.

Gently, Xiran yet presses. "Then a general question, if not of Her. Every time I ask if you fare well, you say for given circumstances."

You have emoted: With an audible creak, Esei slowly lowers their head to stare at Xiran.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "...I believe we have already spoken of that which is earned."

Xiran smiles sadly.

Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "Very well, Auspice."

An unseasonably cool wind brushes through the terrace, fluttering through the silver leaves of the Queen's tree and brushing past you in turn. Motes of lunar radiance are left behind as the breeze soughs through, dewing upon the ethereal foliage in liquid beads, and when it finally departs upon its sigh, it is as though a held breath releases throughout as well, leaving the sweet scent of melting snows in its wake.

You have emoted: Esei visibly tenses, going silent.

Xiran gently draws the trillium out of her hair to hold it between the two faelings. "Are you certain, dear nieph?" she asks, one last time. "My Lady would seek only to repay an offering in kind. If something else would come to mind, it need not be through me that you direct your prayer or offering."

Skeptically, you rasp, "...I fail to understand -why- I should keep it. I certainly expected nothing from Her."

Xiran regards your expression for a while. "I ask aloud, although I am not seeking an answer. Why offer to Her, my nieph?"

You shrug helplessly.

Lilting in an atramentous, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Reasons."

Amused, Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says, "And She cannot have reasons to return the favour?"

You have emoted: Esei only stares at Xiran with increasing skepticism, reaching slowly to take the flower from her hand.

You crease your brow in a frown.

You think to yourself: ** their skull throbs with tension. **.

Keeper Xiran Stormcrow, Scribe of the Woodbine says to you, "If reasons would find you before Her shrine once more, She would listen if you would wish for something after all, my nieph."

You shake your head.

Staring momentarily at the trillium before looking Xiran in the eye, you whisper, "No... best I keep away."

Xiran's lips remain pursed in a smile, although the slant of her brows is rueful. "Until we meet again, d'z'lan. Fare well."

You incline your head politely to Xiran.

You draw the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree across the inside of your wrist, causing a line of blood to well up. You then lift the blade into the air, as shadows spill out of the wet crimson tip, swarming around you and taking you to the Realm of Shadows.