Always, Feel

Illyria smiles politely to you.
Illyria eyes you curiously as she browses, glancing up now and then at the silent man.
Cocking his head aside, Rhalkyr flicks a glance at Illyria, eyes glittering within
the recesses of the toothsome mask that obfuscates his features. In a voice as ragged and deep as the bones of the earth cracking apart, he says, "Many manses, yes? Much, to digest."

Illyria idly scratches the ears of a wandering mastiff as she drops all remaining pretense of
reading the directory, tilting her head to regard you with more open curiosity. "Many everythings, around here. Manses, cities, people... puzzles to be solved." Shrugging one shoulder, she flashes a slight smile and glances back down to the listings, although her body remains oriented toward the other.

Clasping her oversized hands together, Nikkakorra bows respectfully.
-
Illyria flashes Nikkakorra a joyous smile.

Uttering a contemplative rumble that reverberates deep within his throat, Rhalkyr tilts his chin back, eyes flickering to each new arrival, and away again almost instantly. "Basin, teeming, with life. Much, to learn." A pause, as he flits his attention to Nikkakora long enough to offer a grunt of greeting, then down to the array of canines. "Am Rhalkyr. Name?"

Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "Nikkakorra."

Angling his masked head to the left, Rhalkyr lifts a massive, calloused hand to gesture at Nikkakorra, then to Illyria. "From?"

Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "Mucklemarsh originally. Magnagora now."

Diaphanous wings drift idly along errant air currents as Illyria watches the exchange with a quiet smile, eyes alertly leaving the two now and then to take in an occasional, especially interesting arrival or departure. When your hand drifts back her way, she lifts her chin and speaks up briefly. "Illyria," she offers, the smile blooming.

Nikkakorra idly flaps her bat-like wings.

Rolling a thickly muscled shoulder as the chill phoenix departs, Rhalkyr tosses a curt grunt Nikkakorra's way, turning his head to face over Illyria's head. "From where, Illyria?"

With a thoughtful pause to consider the odd tones and cadences of the towering man's voice, Illyria eventually replies, "Hm? Oh, the Serenwilde. And you?" she asks, stifling the urge to float upward  to intercept the off-centered stare.

The heady fragrance of night-blooming jasmine suffuses the air as Nikkakorra appears amidst billows of velvety indigo-lavender smoke that roil in from the ether.
-
Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "Sorry, had to get food. Eating is important for keeping healthy."
-
Nikkakorra consumes a platter of fried potatoes with gravy and cheese leisurely, seeming to enjoy every bite.


Abruptly dropping down to a loose-limbed crouch, Rhalkyr runs the flat of his
leather palm across the ground, the callouses rasping as they brush along the hard surface. Head  cocking to his left, a flicker of vibrant green accompanies the brief glance towards Illyria, before  his attention flits elsewhere once more. "The Glomdoring. Interesting, to meet, of the Serenwilde."  Lifting a hand, fingers curling loosely inwards, he twitches the appendage towards his chest, asking, "Met one of Glomdoring, before?"

Rhalkyr tilts his head towards Nikkakorra, and utters an amused rumble. "Yes. Eating, important. Food, good?"


Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "Finks must be careful what they eat or will end up like Newton Tunnel finks."
-
Nikkakorra shudders violently.

Rhalkyr dips his head aside. "Groomed, better, than Newton Finks." A pause, and then, "Why?"

Illyria's eyes follow you into your crouch, curiosity written bare on the pale, freckled face. She drifts forward a few feet closer, looking down at the earth where your hand had brushed. "I've hardly met anyone at all yet," she admits. "I think I've heard the name, though."
-
Nikkakorra eyes you, scrunching up her nose. "Why what?"

[Pilgrims and bards following Rhalkyr complain loudly]

 Rhalkyr slowly turns his head to regard the complaining entourage, and utters a low, warning growl. Rising to his feet, he flicks his fingers at them and states, "Impatience. Weak." Cocking his head over his shoulder at Illyria, he says, "Will return. Remain, if wish to speak." Angling his head owards Nikkakorra now, he adds, "Why, choose, to be different. Will  return."

[Delivers them, returns]

Everchosen Nikkakorra says to you, "I did not choose to be different, I chose to be better."

Resuming his previous posture of crouching, balanced upon the balls of his feet, Rhalkyr tilts his ear at Nikkakorra. "Why?"
-
Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "To be an example to my people, to show them how to rise up out of the squalor and become the noble warriors we were before the gnomes destroyed our home."
-
A sad, wistful expression comes over Nikkakorra's face.

Rhalkyr remains quiet for a handful of moments, then grunts, evidently satisfied. "Fine reason. Working?"

Nikkakorra creases her brow in a frown.
-
Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "Only one other has."
-
Illyria lapses into a silent, fascinated study of both of the others, content to let them carry on their conversation.

Ferne arrives from the ether.
A light brown pegasus glides in from the ether on grey wings.
Marigold, the lop-eared bunny, hops in from the ether.
-
Illyria pets Marigold, the lop-eared bunny ingratiatingly.
-
Marigold, the lop-eared bunny leans into the touch before sprinting happily in a wild circle.
-
Illyria flashes Ferne a joyous smile.
-
Clasping her oversized hands together, Nikkakorra bows respectfully.
-
Ferne flashes Illyria a joyous smile.

Ferne inclines her head politely to those around her.
-
Marigold, the lop-eared bunny gives the world a smart salute.
-
A cone of sparkling light rises up around Ferne and whisks her away.
A light brown pegasus spreads grey wings wide as she prances off to the ether.
Marigold, the lop-eared bunny bounds off to the ether.

Brushing his fingertips across the ground in an idle arc, Rhalkyr's eyes flit from Illyria, to the departing rabbit, then to Nikkakorra, and away. "One, is progress."

Everchosen Nikkakorra says, "Well, it looks like this aetherhunt is not going to happen."
-
Placing her right fist over her heart, Nikkakorra murmurs, "Blessings of the Chain."
-
A cone of sparkling light rises up around Nikkakorra and whisks her away.

Illyria watches the strange woman go, then turns her attention back to the equally strange man, an hint of an irrepressible smile playing on her lips. "So. Glomdoring? You're a forest commune too, right?" she inquires curiously.

Trailing the mountainous ridges of his craggy knuckles along the ground in slow, elliptical patterns, Rhalkyr tilts his head at an odd angle, eyes fixed upon the ground. "Yes.  Different, from yours. Similar, once. Much changed."

Illyria's eyes follow the path of your hand on the earth, lips quirking as she tries to pay
attention to the words. In a sudden burst, she fails, striding over to crouch next to you
and peer more closely at it. "I'm sorry, but- what are you doing, exactly?" she asks, eyes
questioning.

The muscles of his back twitch in minor spasms at the abrupt motion from Illyria, though Rhalkyr makes no move to dissuade Illyria's approach. Rather than immediately answer, he
lifts his left hand to tap the back of Illyria's with the edge of a rough knuckle, then turns it,
palm-down, lowering it to rest upon the glittering gems that form the floor. "Feel."

Curious, ever curious, the slip of a girl mirrors the motion with her own hand, pressing the soft palm- so different than your- to the glassy surface of the floor. Illyria blinks after a moment as  the undercurrents of electricity become an almost palpable sensation underneath her hand as the  polished mineral murmurs a melodic song of melded nature and technology to the young shaman.  "....Wow," she whispers, eyes growing wide.

 Motionless where he crouches, a hulking, bestial presence that presents a striking
contrast to Illyria, Rhalkyr waits with an almost serene patience for Illyria to sense the thrumming  current that weaves through the fantastical minerals. His own eyes flick to Illyria's, fever-bright  in their intensity as they thin minutely, then flick back down to the glimmering, exquisite beauty  of the ground at his hand. Softly, as much as a voice that ragged and throaty can be said to be  soft, he murmurs, "Yes. Always, feel. Will tell, much. Yes?"

Illyria lets her palm linger on the brilliant floor for a moment longer before lifting it, flashing
you an enchanted grin. "Feel everything. Got it," she affirms, reaching out to touch your hand as he had touched hers. "Feels rough," she muses, eying the calloused surface with a thoughtful air. "You're right. Tells much." Stifling a yawn, she steps away. "I should rest before I fall asleep right on this wondrous floor," she says ruefully.

 Gaze flickering to the contact, then focusing more sharply upon his hand, Rhalkyr
flexes his fingers in a thoughtful motion. "Yes. Good lesson, to learn. Sharp student, to learn, so  swift." Dipping his head in a curt nod, he rises to his feet, all fluid, feline grace. "Sleep only, in safety, yes. Go. Will meet, again."

Illyria touches her forehead in a jaunty sort of salute, blinking when her hand finds the pale
antler there, then grinning. "Go well, Rhalkyr. Nice to meet you."
-
Illyria disappears in a flash of light, teleporting by the power of the Gods.