IllyChel Song

You tell Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell, "Illyria. I wish to send a letter. Will your
people permit me to do so from their facility?"

The soft voice of Illyria tickles your ear, "Yes, of course, Avaris. You can teleport straight to
me, if you wish."

Clarion bells ring out, infusing you with stern, steadfast duty. With a deliberate, clear mind, you
bring Illyria's visage to the forefront of your concentration.

The stern clamour consumes you as you stride determinedly forwards.
Dark Tidings Postal Service.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. The ominous caws of many black
crows are a perpetual disturbance of the peace and quiet of this dark chamber. Dozens of them roost
in the beams high above the floor, gazing down upon those below them with their beady eyes, some of
them glowing with an ominous red eye like the spirit they sprung from. Countless feathers the colour
of midnight cover the floor, sparkling softly in the faint light that appears to shine from the
walls in places. Twisted roots churn their way into the ground, having been incorporated into the
walls of the chamber, pushing into the onyx walls as if to break free of their confinement. A single
desk stands in the middle of the room, a large black quill and ink placed upon it, those who make
use of it can feel the countless gazes of the crows upon their back, as if pondering the words
committed to paper here. An elegant black ash armchair stands here radiating a simplistic elegance.
A jet-black desk sits here. A dark ravenwood sign has been nailed to the wall here. Reader Illyria,
Listener of the Silent Knell is here. She wields an athame dagger in her right hand. You may MAIL
letters from here.
You see a single exit leading west.
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Rising from the desk and curtseying, Illyria steps to the side in the case that you wishes to use
it. "Greetings of the eventide, Avaris," she murmurs, folding her hands in front of her. With calm
eyes, absent of anything but a gentle welcome, she watches the kephera, a figure of quiet stillness
within the peaceful chamber.

You have emoted: Crushing the carpet of discarded crow feathers beneath his feet as he steps into
being, Avaris tilts his head back to regard the roosting corvids for a moment, before lowering his
gaze to Illyria. He looks upon her for a time, expressionless, visibly wearied, then inclines his
head very slightly. "Illyria." Brushing past, his size forcing a proximity that trails the edges of
his wings against Illyria's form in a whispering, unintentional caress, he does not sit at the
vacated desk, but rather kneels beside it, hunched over as he begins to write.

Watching your careful penmanship with interest, Illyria glides a few small steps closer, though not
near enough to be perceived to hover. The shadowdancer does not attempt to make idle conversation
while you writes, simply hums softly to herself, the wistful and nearly inaudible melody absent in
quality as she waits. As the sleek crow wings away with the letter, she speaks up, her words as
light as the susurrations of the stiff feathers of the paladin's wings as you moves. "Have Celest's
seagulls taken ill?" The inquiry is genuine in its curiosity, gentle in its venturing.

You have emoted: Flicking the atramentous plumage that clings to his knees away with a sharp motion
of his wrist, Avaris rises to stand, his motions stiff, as if the act pains him. If Illyria's
closeness perturbs him, he makes no sign of it, as he does not seek to draw away or keep her at
arm's length, merely tilting his great, wedge-shaped head down to study the soft-spoken faeling for
a long moment. "I would not know. I have not set foot there since I was cast out."

Looking up, and up, and further up still as you rises, the wind it generates sending roiling eddies
through the darkened clouds and tangible shadows, Illyria regards the other with an air of dawning
understanding. "Raw," she murmurs, nodding slightly. Nibbling lightly at the corner bit of lip
caught into her teeth, contemplation drapes her like a serene veil. "Would you, perhaps, like to
take a walk? No need to talk if you don't wish it." Drifting backward in a fluid manner that makes
it clear that beneath the trailing hem of her skirt her feet are not touching the ground, she tilts
her head inquisitively.

You think to yourself: A flicker of irritation, fitful and dull. "My writing was clear enough. Why
does she persist?"
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Cheliyi enters from the west, a thin sheen of water rippling outward from every step.
Trailing in a bone-chilling fog, Muginn, the ghost-feathered magpie flies in from the west.
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Cheliyi blinks.

Cheliyi walks into the room with a determined stride, frowning deeply, only to stop as she
recognizes the both of you. "... ah, hi hi, Miss Illyria. And... Mister Avaris."
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You have emoted: In the midst, it seems, of replying to Illyria, his head halfway through the motion
of a small nod, Avaris's head turns at Cheliyi's entrance, antennae twitching. He stares, the faded
blue of his seven natural eyes flat, betraying nothing. "Cheliyi."

Illyria tilts her head, looking down from your eyes to regard $Cheliyi thoughtfully. "Good morning,
Cheliyi," the faeling says politely, dipping her chin with quiet courtesy.

Cheliyi bows politely in response to Illyria's curtsy, glancing between the both of you with a much
more passive curiosity. "Did not knows, that were having a private conversation. Will see myselfs
outs, if am intruding. Came to... speak."

You have emoted: The barest flicker of red stains the parchment-hued sheets of Avaris's folded wings
at Cheliyi's explanation, the fingers of his right pair of hands twitching inwards in a minute,
convulsive gesture, as if tugged by a tapped nerve. His voice is cool, remote, and subtly imbalanced
in its attempt at harmony. "To whom?"

Dryly, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says, "Well, goodness, Mister Avaris, I wonder who just
sent me a letters."
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You think to yourself: A drawing inward, a fist of glinting shards of glass clenching tighter.

Cheliyi blinks suddenly, her expression falling minutely.

You have emoted: In a flat tone utterly empty of levity, Avaris responds, "Can you not read? I told
you not to seek me out."
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Rather than either reassuring or rebuking Cheliyi, Illyria simply waits with an air of curiosity and
calm, head tilted as she listens.

Cheliyi glances again at Illyria, her expression more pensive than upset by your harsh tone. Simply,
she says, "Perhaps I cannot. Because, I do not believe I just read something where you claimed you
were utterly alone in your pain, and that there was no -possible- way I could understand. That I, a
person who lived in a commune that stabbed me at every turn in the littlest and largest of ways,
would not understand the sensation of -emptiness.-" Her gaze turns up at you once more, and it
remains ever calm, ever steadfast. "Even as I felt empty, I found people to help me. I had people
reach out, to me. This is me attempting to do the same for you. Even now, you sit in someone's
company. You clearly have peoples who care."

Cheliyi's mauve frills twitch to some errant sound.
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Cheliyi sighs softly at something unheard, though she doesn't move from where she stands.
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Mildly, Illyria steps forward, frowning faintly as if a puzzle has just been set before her. "Joy,
wielded like a sword," she whispers to herself, shaking her head slightly.

With a frown, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity murmurs, "Wielding like a sword?"
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You have emoted: The markings that are carved into the pale plumage of Avaris's plumage bleed a
thick, sanguine light, which pulses sluggishly through the staring eyes as if pushed by the beat of
a monstrous heart. The chitin of his hands creaks as he squeezes his fingers tight, faint, hairline
fractures running through the weakened armour with a whispering of crackling, dead leaves. His chest
rises and falls in an uneven rhythm, as he visible strives to rein in his temper, and only partially
succeeds. His voice is a roiling, seething acid, hissing as it burns up from his throat like an
upwelling of furious insects, clawing for release. "You compare the pinpricks of mortals to the
carving out of a love Divine, of everything that I have built myself around, the foundation of all
that I am?"
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Cheliyi blinks.
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Cheliyi stares implacably at you.
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Softly, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says, "Mister Avaris. Your hands."

You think to yourself: The throb of his temper batters at his self control like a battering ram, in
tandem with the painful beat of his heart, his head growing light with the blood that rushes through
it.
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You have emoted: Avaris does not so much as glance at his hands. "What of them?"

Illyria's own eyes drift down at the sound of the breaking chitin, concern filling them, but she
makes no move to approach the paladin. Instead, she lifts her chin and studies Cheliyi with a faint
frown, as if attempting to see within her. The faeling's head is tilted to the side, as if listening
to something far in the distance.

Softly, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says, "You have hurts enough without inflicting more
upon yourself."

Just as softly, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "It is not he that is inflicting
more hurts, Miss Cheliyi. Intentionally or otherwise."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Cheliyi's lips.

You have emoted: The sound that echoes from Avaris's throat is only a laugh in the very loosest
definition, so black and hollow is it. He says nothing, however, the antenna closest to Illyria
twitching Illyria's way, allowing the others to speak as he lapses into a cold silence.
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Like a gentle ripple in a crystalline pool, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says,
"Metaphorically or otherwise... it is your hands that are squeezing Mister Avaris. Do need bandages,
before it is worse."
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With the hint of a weary smile, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says, "Would know."

Illyria glances down at the fractured chitin anew, casting a clinical eye over the hairline
fractures visible at her angle. "They are not so bad as to need bandages, I think," she assesses
practically, her voice soft and cool as fresh aloe over singed skin. "People do worse when they
punch walls."

Gently, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says, "Bandages are not just to heal. They soften the
blows, and prevent more harm. But, am glad is not as bad as it could bes."

You have emoted: Without turning his attention to the as yet creaking bludgeons of his clenched
fingers, Avaris's tone grows abruptly weary, the fire snuffing out, leaving ash in his voice. "I do
not want or need bandages, Cheliyi."

Softly, Slakened Cheliyi, Novitiate of Purity says, "Alrights, Mister Avaris." The mugwump bows
politely again, her expression warm despite the nature of the conversation. "I have overstayed my
welcome, here. Have a goodly day, to the both of yous. Manse is always open, yes."
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Cheliyi departs to the west, each step sending a ripple of water outwards across the surface.
The room grows warm once more Muginn the ghost-feathered magpie glides off to the west with a click
of his beak.

Looking up from the kephera's palms to the rest of your stiff, barely-contained figure, a shadow
passes through Illyria's eyes. She turns to face Cheliyi, drifting forward without bothering with
the appearance of walking as the gentleness of her cool demeanor turns chill indeed. Before she can
say a word, however, the mugwump makes her exit, and the faeling exhales softly, the steely
expression fading as she turns to face you. Wordlessly, she gives the door a significant look and
raises a brow in silent inquiry.

You have emoted: The baleful pulsation of shimmering discontent that throbs through Avaris's wings
slows, the dire red seeping away like spilled blood swallowed by dark, thirsty earth. He breathes a
long, exhausted sigh, lifting his cracked, upper right hand to pass it over his face wearily. At
Illyria's look, he simply nods, and waits for her to proceed.

Through quiet caverns and woodlands both sparse and dense in turn, Illyria walks onward, not filling
the raw silence with anything but the soft sound of a song just barely voiced as she leads you. Her
feet sometimes step firmly along the earth, sometimes only brush it, and sometimes she strides along
without bothering to touch the ground at all, never seeming to notice the difference between any of
those states. As evening falls, they enter the pine forest near the mountains, and she leads upward
until they reach a flatter point. Here, she turns to look out over the whole of the forest, darkly
beautiful from above, with eventide curtains draped atop it.

Sloping evergreens.
This southeastern tip of Glomdoring is an area of thick pine forest. Great tall firs are mixed with
their less-healthy brothers, forming patches of dark green and brown. The forest floor slopes
steeply up to the east, heading towards the looming mountains that keep Glomdoring in their shadow.
To the southwest, the path slopes downwards back into the forest, allowing a view of the great
southern mountains, silhouetted against the sky. A rowan sapling clings tenaciously to the ground
here. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air.
Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell is here. She wields an athame dagger in her right hand.
You see exits leading north, southeast, and southwest.
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As if parting through mists of water and light, the Empyreal Goddess quietly unveils Her soothing
presence to the Basin of Life.
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As the intoxicating fragrance of bromeliads perfumes the air, you sense that Li-varili, Lady of the
Lagoons has returned to mortal perception.

Ripples of celestial light radiate across the firmament like water as the calm voice of Lantra, the
Empyreal rings out, "Lady of the Lagoons, Your pursuit of Me may cease. Speak with Me before the
Pool of Stars if You desire."
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The shadow of a crow seeps in from the southwest.
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Upon a wave of wind bitter as the salted seas, the striking voice of Li-varili, Lady of the Lagoons
cries, "Wonderful. I was beginning to tire of this dull maze of mist and starlight."
You have emoted: In direct, brutal contrast to Illyria's almost ethereal traversal of the woodlands,
Avaris's passage is like the destructive, implacable onset of a landslide. Branches and stones alike
crack and shatter beneath his massive feet, churning the ground up in his wake. At the plateau they
reach, he slows, coming to a stop close to Illyria. He is quiet, for a time, staring out over the
forest, and seems to be growing a touch less agitated - Only for the Empyreal's voice to sound
across the basin. The effect is immediate and intense, the huge kephera flinching down as if struck
a mighty blow, hunching in on himself defensively, wings folding about his form as if trying to ward
off the sound of Her voice.


You think to yourself: Each word spoken by that achingly familiar voice is like a lance driven into
him, the calm intonation twisting at his heart as it is cut afresh. His will wavers, shuddering
under the rising tide of roiling anguish that the Goddess' voice evokes.
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As the peripheral signs of agitation fade somewhat in the paladin, Illyria turns her attention to
you. The swell of Divinity through the skies draws a peculiar reaction from the shadowdancer, her
arm and the expanse of three tumultuous wings sweeping out to shade you as you draws inward, glaring
upward with all the indignation of a nurse whose patient had just been disturbed. Stepping a bit
closer, she closes her eyes, the silence of the pines slowly reclaiming the space around them once
more.

You have emoted: The points of Avaris's fractured claws scrape over the tarnished gold of his chest
with a sound that is an odd, unpleasant hybrid of metallic screeching and chitinous rasp. He
shudders, his great, helmed head bowing under the pressure of some internal force, and does not
appear to even notice Illyria's proximity - Or anything at all, so turned inward is he. Eventually,
however, he draws in a slow, hitching breath, striving for calm as he forces himself upright once
more.

As you straightens once more, Illyria steps subtly farther away, giving the paladin your space and
dignity as she withdraws the rather ineffectual cover of her arm and wings. The shadows trail away
more slowly than her limb does, curling in delicate tendrils as they realign behind her. She glances
over you, quickly assessing, both the state of the damaged plate and the demeanor in which you holds
himself, and frowns slightly, folding her hands to rest in front of her as she waits. "Avaris," she
whispers softly. "Would you like to hear a song?"
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You think to yourself: A song? He had never had anyone sing for him, before. A strange reluctance at
the notion, a discomfort at what he perceives as an unnatural upending of roles, which...Fades,
numbing into something quieter. "Why not? Why not."
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As if drawing a curtain of water and light, the form of the Empyreal Goddess recedes into starlit
mists, vanishing from the Basin of Life.
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The sound of wings flapping heralds a screeching murder of crows flying overhead.
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You have emoted: Straightening so that his back is stiff and erect as a pillar of worn stone, Avaris
lowers his hands to grasp the forearms of their opposites, the sharp edges of his fingers glinting
as they encircle the natural vambraces like manacles. He does not respond immediately, though his
grip upon his arms intensifies briefly as the sensation of the Empyreal's presence recedes once
more, leaving the world diminished. Eventually, he gives answer by way of a twitch of his chin, and
a jerking shrug of his spiked shoulder, offering mute acceptance.

With the acceptance, quiet and unenthusiastic as it seems, Illyria smiles softly, drifting backwards
and upward as the night spreads out behind her. Taking a cross-legged midair position that places
the sylphen faeling's eyes roughly at the height of the titanic kephera's, her cloak and gown trail
around and beneath her, stirred by the cool wind through the mountains. Closing her eyes, she begins
to sing, her voice soft and sweet and gentle as the lilting, haunting words spill free. "Broken
dreams, diverted rivers.. into the cold, the child shivers.. Down he goes to touch the shore," she
sings, shadows dancing around her. "Arrows deep, deep in sandy quivers."

You have emoted: Turning slightly so that he faces out over the shadow-swaddled forest below, Avaris
cuts a pale, stark figure against the backdrop of the night's velvet expanse. Remote and impassive,
the visor of his face is as expressive as a mask crafted from plates of bone, off-white and brittle.
The stiff feathers of his wings shift and stir restlessly by the trailing fingers of the air, and
save for the steady regard of the luminous eyes that dwell within his feathers, there is little sign
that he is even listening.

You think to yourself: A soft pang of melancholy writhes languorously through his gut, discomfort at
the sweetness of the eerie melody.

Illyria's eyes slip closed as she continues, the pensive notes forming a shadowed lullaby. "Pulled
from sleep, bleary eyes.. over bodies, the child cries. Laying on the cold stone floor," she sings
softly, her voice aching and raw even in its honey sweetness. "Clouds roll, roll through the chill
skies." The shadows that pass from the clouded moon, dance around her, as if called by the song.

Her wings drifting lightly behind her, the faeling's song, faintly recognizable now as the tune she
so often hums, carries lightly over the scree. "Steady heart, shadows calling, through the flames,
the child is falling. Passing through the heat of war," Illyria sings on, "Lands vast, vast in their
sprawling."

You think to yourself: The forlorn notes of the song resonate with him, sharp and keening. "I should
not be surprised. This does not seem a place for happy songs. It fits my mood, these months."
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The twisting pines spill needles to the earth as a particularly sharp gust of wind rolls down the
mountainside, lightly covering both Illyria and you. The wind snatches at her dress, sending the
hemline twirling and twisting. Still, the faeling continues her quiet, melancholy song. "Harshest
lights, towering gates.. before the city, the child waits. Sheltered by the shadowed moor," she
sings softly, "Hope fades, fades in his harsh straits."
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You have emoted: The cutting currents of air whirl about Avaris with as much effect as the
scrabbling claws of a gale at the walls of a lonely fortress, high upon a promontory before a
distant sea. The needles of the pine bounce off the weakened chitin of his form like the arrows of a
besieging horde, many lodging deep into the soft, unprotected ruff of his throat.
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The tune slows a bit, the words becoming soft and tender, a hint of the melancholy lifting, though
the haunting melody remains the same. "Jaded souls, blinding fires.. nothing here the child
desires," Illyria continues, her voice silken and touched by a hint of hope. "To the woods he runs
once more, hidden safe, safe by the briars."

You think to yourself: The faeling's words, echoing back to him in soft, exquisite torture, a
refrain that draws a loving blade across his heart which each passing caress. "Harhest lights. Hope
fades. Blinding fires. Safe by the briars."

Her eyes still closed, a hint of a smile touches Illyria's lips as she sings, the gentle lullaby
drifting through the evergreens. "Loving shadows, rivers foaming.. no more is the child roaming.
Through the forest he'll explore," come the final words, tender and achingly hopeful in the wake of
the rawness of the child's plight. "Home deep, deep in the gloaming."

Opening her eyes, softly, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "My mother sung that to
me. It's all I remember about her."
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You have emoted: Silence drapes over them like a sheltering cloak as Avaris allows it to fall across
the two of them for a time that stretches on, and on. After many minutes of this, he stirs, still
not turning his gaze from the forest that sprawls beneath. "Home." The echo is quiet, a potent
medley of yearning, bitterness and loneliness ringing clear and sharp as a spear's edge. "Why did
you sing it for me?"

"Because," Illyria says simply, letting her legs uncross and fall beneath her as she drifts back
slowly down to the mountainside. "It has always brought me a measure of comfort. Comfort, without
false promises or unrealistic dreams. Simply.." The shadow-wreathed faeling exhales slowly, lifting
a hand to tuck a wind-tossed lock of rosy hair from her face. "Simply, that things can get just the
littlest bit less bad."

You have emoted: "Less bad." Avaris repeats, a derisive twist to the words, followed by the harsh
caw of an embittered, darkly mirthful laugh. "You offer me much comfort, Illyria. I wonder at that.
Is this not the Forest of No Mercy?"

Illyria tilts her head, regarding you thoughtfully. "No mercy does not mean needless suffering. It
does not mean not healing. It does not mean offering support when needed, or comfort." She shakes
her head quietly, fixing you with an intent stare. "It means no mercy to our enemies, or to that
which weakens us. Somethings, we cut away, and leave by the wayside. Some things make us stronger
for healing them." A single shoulder lifts, the pale dapples stark against the milky kawhe curve.
"And.. sometimes, less bad is the best that one can hope for. And then you look for the next tiny
degree of less bad. And then the next. And someday, perhaps...." she lets the thought trail off,
looking up to study the night sky.

You have emoted: The worn figure absorbs Illyria's explanation in silence, unperturbed by the steady
weight of Illyria's attention. Avaris's chest expands as he inhales deeply, the scored plates
failing to catch the faint light of the distant stars above. "That is an interesting way to view
matters." His reply is neutral and calm, and he very distinctly does not raise his head, nor any of
his lambent eyes, to regard the stellar expanse that yawns above them. "I look forward to learning
more of why you love this place, Illyria. Perhaps you can take me to your Lord's realm. I will speak
with Him, soon, I think. I should get to know Him a little better."

Looking back down and canting her head in mild surprise at the suggestion, Illyria hums softly to
herself. "I will ask," she says softly. "But I can make no guarantees that my request will be
granted." Her tone is apologetic but gently firm, but her eyes linger on the umbral silk of the
scarf around your neck, a hint of a soft smile touching her lips. "Until we meet again, Avaris," she
whispers, drifting a few airy steps backward to look down into the forest below.
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The last vestiges of midnight shadows flee as Mother Night hides herself from the luminous arrival
of her shining mate as he chases her across the bowl of the sky.
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You have emoted: The sharp point of Avaris's chin dips down as he inclines his head in
acknowledgement of Illyria's response, offering no words of his own in turn. Instead, he moves away,
unfurling his immense wings to their full, monstrous span. Once more, his departure is marked by the
abrupt gale he stirs up as he launches himself skyward, a sickly star striving to rejoin the heavens
- And failing, as his efforts simply carry him along the horizon, dwindling into nothingness.