Devotion (Public Ver.)

Whispering motes of light manifest into existence, twinkling with a sidereal radiance as a calm,
feminine voice whispers, "Are you ready for to prove your Devotion, My Avaris?"

Stirring from his quiet reverie, Avaris lowers himself to one knee upon the still
waters, head lowered. "I am, my Lady."

The Chamber of the Rhapsodic Choir.
This domed antechamber resembles a cathedral's heavenly interior with its breathtakingly high
ceiling and immense, tall windows. The starlit world of mist beyond their shimmering panes is
revealed from their unadorned glass, while the painted dome above depicts the angelic vista of
Celestia with cherubs, angels and seraphs, as well as each of the Supernals holding court among the
clouds. Ornate pews of stark white wood line up before a raised round dais, where a sculpture of the
Goddess Rhapsody stands at the centre of a tiled mosaic of doves and starlight. Daisies, fresh and
in eternal bloom, rest upon the statue's neck, while their sweet fragrance wafts throughout the
cathedral. Emanating as if from nowhere at all, a beautiful feminine voice laces throughout the
chamber, resounding in faint echoes of memory's refrain. Like a shimmering veil, a baldachin woven
of water and light draws a starlit canopy over the Immaculate Throne as it loftily rises here in a
magnificent display of alabaster stone.
You see a single exit leading northwest.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.

Pinpricks of celestial light coalesce into the faint outline of a star lotus, which blossoms open to
reveal the regal figure of Lantra, the Empyreal.

Lowering Her head in acknowledgement of your arrival, Lantra crosses the chamber to stand before the
Immaculate Throne, Her fingers trailing the length of the misty baldachin as the Goddess says
merely, "Light's blessings upon you, My Avaris. Welcome to the inner sanctum of My Temple."

Antennae flicking up in surprise, Avaris takes a moment to absorb his new
surroundings as he steadies himself, the eyes of his wings roving about with open, fascinated
curiosity. Catching himself, he descends to take a knee, head bowed. "And upon You, my Lady. Thank
You. It is most beautiful."

Her slight and statuesque figure exuding a sense of restrained dignity, She is a radiant immortal
and possessed of a quiet and unassuming stillness. The Goddess's olive-skinned complexion shines
with the dusky radiance of youth, and yet the ancient burden of duty weighs heavily upon Her
shoulders, carried with a silent and practised grace. Lost to contemplation, She appraises Her
surroundings with a distant air; the grey-tinged gaze of Her celadon blue eyes remains as fathomless
and inscrutable as the hazy mists of a waterfall. Despite the seriousness of Her first impressions,
however, a gentle smile graces Her lips with an almost maternal tenderness. Her every movement is
characterised of an unhurried elegance and poise, reflective of an inner peace as She emanates a
soothing white light.

Shimmering tresses of palest starlight spill down Her shoulders in a curtain of white to end at Her
waist, nary a strand out of place. Motes of silver and celadon blue interweave through Her
immaculate coif, their whispers of colour evoking a breathtaking celestial radiance.
She is wearing:
immaculate vestments of purest white starlight that wreathe Her in a celestial glow
a cascading veil of mist and water lilies that trails at Her feet, shrouding Her face from view
elevated sandals of woven willow leaves that leave lambent motes with each step
a gold damask cope clasped with a radiant star lotus that covers Her shoulders in a heavy mantle
a bracelet of woven water and starlight shimmering upon Her wrist.

Like a shimmering veil, a baldachin woven of water and light draws a starlit canopy over the
Immaculate Throne of the Empyreal Goddess, the translucent curtain pulled back by two koi fish
ornaments of ivory and ebony. Formed of imposing alabaster marble, the smooth, white-blanched stone
rises to lofty heights to seat the Elder high above all present; the throne's harsh seating is
softened by silken pillows, each resembling the many-petaled likeness of a water lotus. Engraved
upon the towering back of the throne is a celadon urn overflowing with four luminous streams of
water and light, surmounted by a radiant star lotus in eternal bloom. Motes of bracing white
starlight twirl and dance about the mist-woven baldachin, evoking a soothing and celestial beauty.

"Few save for My Anointed grace its halls," Lantra states, Her hands pressed before Her patiently.
"I do not foresee interruption."

Lantra takes a seat upon the Immaculate Throne, settling comfortably beneath the woven baldachin of
water and light. The Goddess coolly surveys all gathered before Her with a regal lift of Her head,
exuding a calm and stern dignity from Her lofty perch.

Avaris dips his chin in a slight nod of acknowledgement, hesitating for a moment
before asking, a touch tentatively, "My Lady? Might I ask a favour of You?"

Tilting Her head ever so slightly, Lantra looks upon you beyond the inscrutable confines of Her
translucent veil. "You may," She says evenly.

Moving a hand to press the tip of his clawed fingertips upon the floor, Avaris
explains, "I admittedly had anticipated performing this in the room you transported me from. Would
You, perhaps, be able - and willing - to provide for me a layer of water? I had intended to
incorporate it, the darkness, and some starlight in the performance." He gives a brief, rueful
laugh, the sound soft as his markings tinge pink with embarrassment. "I should have expected this. I
am sorry."

Silently, the Goddess raises a hand from Her throne, and water pours from nowhere at all, filling
the vicinity with a film of sparkling water that floods the dais.

((To my deep and everlasting shame, I start drowning and my I THOUGHT my waterbreathe has run out of charges, but
later discovered I just...Didn't have it equipped. Not a shining moment for me.))

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you ask, "Would you mind if I go refresh an enchantment?"

Waving Her hand once more, causing the waters to thin, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "You will not find
it necessary."

Clearing his throat awkwardly, the pink in his wings fairly burning now, Avaris
ducks his head in a jerking nod. "Apologies, my Lady. I will begin when You are ready."

The sparkling waters that fill the chamber shimmer with faint luminescence as Lantra nods, light
scattering across Her starlit veil. "At your leisure," She says, Her voice calm and even in its
intonation as She gestures for you to begin.

Exhaling slowly, Avaris rolls his shoulders to loosen the tension that grips them
as he rises, moving to stand a respectful distance from Lantra. He remains thus for a time, visibly
willing himself to calm as the blush gradually seeps from his wings.

You think to yourself: A setting aside of the mortification in order to focus, sharpening his
attention instead on the task at hand, at trying to salvage the rocky start.

Cast in the soft, diffuse light of the faint pinpricks of starlight that are
scattered throughout the motionless waters, Avaris settles into a posture of tranquil reflection,
chin resting against the curving rise of his plated collarbone, still and quiescent as the pool he
stands upon. Painted in muted swathes of silver, he is as an austere statue brushed by the gentle
caress of an artist's loving touch, each argent stroke conservative and deliberate in its
application.

From stillness, from silence, a first breath. Unhurried and steady, an exhalation
savoured as the opening note in a symphony of creation. The gentle curves of the index fingers of
three of Avaris's hands drifts down to alight behind the cross of his blade's hilts, resting there
for a moment of placidity. With the barest motion, they slide the awaiting blades from their
sheathes, the cool silver pouring forth from his scabbards with the fluid hiss of a falling stream,
decanting into his awaiting hands in a flow of gleaming steel. He raises them as one, turning his
torso sidelong so that the silhouetted swords form one whole - Which parts into three distinct
outlines, limned in subtle light. In the silence of the voidal space, a single, hushed word is sung
into being in a voice that is three, harmonising as one. "Cosmogenesis."

The Goddess's eyes follow each fluid movement, the silence of Lantra indicative of the intensity of
Her attentions as She heeds the rise and fall of each note.

The angle of each of the three blades lends them a difference in hue as the light
strikes them - One is nearly blinding in its luminous, shining white, the other its opposite, a void
of black that is discernible only by the absence at its center as illumination is denied to it. The
last is almost ethereal as the light glances along its tilted surface, a wavering, shimmering
quality to its ghostly shade of silver. The white dips and sways with the exuberant freneticism of a
novice conductor's baton as Avaris turns in a graceful circle, gradually lowering himself with one
leg extended outwards, balanced upon the ball of his left heel. The edge of the white blade plunges
into the still waters beneath, wrenching up a great gout of scattering, misshapen droplets in its
enthusiasm, many of which flicker with fitful glimmers of light, though there are those that are
little more than atramentous blots of ravenous ebon that blacken all they touch. A word is sung,
sharp and bright with eager, ecstatic lack of restraint. "Creation." The sister blade, empty as a
starless sky, snaps down to shatter many of illuminated, unsteady sphere into cascades of glittering
motes, the violent flick and pivot of each jerking motion reducing dozens to their base, inert
element as they fall to the pool from whence they came. A lower register, a voice formed all from
teeth, snapping, jerking syllables, hollow with hunger. "Destruction."

All is witnessed in silence by Lantra as the blades continue in their dance, the droplets lingering
in the air as your words echo throughout the antechamber. There is a solemnity to each fading
repetition, haunting almost in its decibel.

The third sword, ephemeral and distant, draws closer, lured by the sparks of
imperfect potential that shower upwards in careless sprays of malformed realisation. While the black
busies itself with the gleeful undoing of all that is made, the other two grow nearer still, until
their edges glide along one another, sending up a rising note that is so pure and keen that it cuts
at the heart. From Avaris's throat, "Harmony," the voices of the white and silver sing in unison,
the fervor and tranquility finding a balance in their harmony that smooths the motions of the
creator sword, each arcing pass more deliberate, more thoughtful. The droplets that ascend from the
primordial waters below now are constant in their shape, brighter and clearer as their precision of
form refracts the light, sharp and true.

Avaris rises in an unhurried spiral, blades spinning and flowing in an elegant
waltz. He continues to turn in place even as he leans back, lifting a taloned foot high as he arches
low enough that the strokes of sanguine aether flowing from his crest brush the surface of the pool,
the hand that grips the white blade reaching out so that the back of his silver-brushed knuckles
glide just over the unbroken waters. With the barest tilt of his wrist, the very tip of the shining
sword dips beneath the serene liquid, gathering a mote of somnolent starlight upon its point as it
arcs through the quiescent pool with nary a ripple. The long span of his talons curl down as his
foot drifts at a languid, downward diagonal, levering his form upright in a graceful corkscrew,
preceded by the white sword and the infant star cradled at its tip. With a gentle flick, the stellar
mote ascends to float above him, bathing the kephera further still in shades of soft argent. Pitched
low and soft, the melody of his words is bittersweet, the joy of Her advent muted by the burden of
foreknowledge. "A gentle star is given life, as yet untouched by heartache, by strife. Born to heal,
born to mend, to draw back that which might otherwise end."

The Goddess reclines upon Her throne, the veil of Her features betraying nothing as Lantra watches
the arcing light, its immaculate radiance bathing the chamber in its muted beauty. As always, She
listens, and as before, She is as immobile as stone and as unreadable.

The ceaseless, clarion note that rings out from the white blade in Avaris's grip
resonates with the young star as it passes by, the sweet sphere of light drawn inexorably in its
wake. "A love for all that is living in Her heart, the need to nurture, to see Them grow." The
process of creation, of imbuing life with its keening melody, continues unabated, until a trail of
sidereal motes flows from the shining sword in a splendour that seems without end, though many
disperse as they grow distant from the white saber's gravitic pull, arcing out in glittering paths
of effervescent light. The gentle star remains, delineated by the subtly purer hue of its light,
gathering lesser siblings close to bask in the soothing aura of its luminescence. "Long after their
creator from Them did part, from Her a mother's love They did know."

The cycle of white and black continues unabated, the passage of the great swords
somehow distant as focus is drawn closer to the eddying whirl of their wake. From amongst the
lively, bobbing swirl of smaller lights that cavort about the gentle star, one distinguishes itself
by virtue of the innate warmth it possesses. It gravitates towards the elder star as it grows,
buoyant and sweet, and in its cheerful presence, the luminosity of the other burgeons. They orbit
one another so closely in their courtship that they seem as one, a timeless, intimate dance that
seems without end. There is a bittersweet quality to Avaris's layered voice, at once jubilant and
mournful as he sings, soft and clear, "Two halves together form a joyous, loving whole. She is, as
She will ever be, The Light of Her Soul."

The painted figures of the angelic vista of Celestia depicted upon the high ceiling seem to blur as
if with their own movement as you sings, while Lantra is the picture of restraint - all seems alive,
responding and joyous save for the Elder Goddess, whose eyes flicker for a moment from you to the
statue that graces the antechamber behind you. The moment passes, and once more, She looks upon the
kephera with the same quiet severity and interest that She has held from the moment the song began.

"Envy." The abyssal blade, that jealous sister of want and ache, gathers a train of
cast-off, darkling children of its own in a splattering spray of stygian ruin. It turns, thrusting
cruelly down to clash against the flat of the silver blade's peaceful form, shattering the harmony
of the cyclical dance with a jarring crash of discordant steel that sends the ephemeral sword
spinning out of Avaris's hand in a whirling arc high overhead. Still, he does not cease in his
elegant movement, turning all the while as the sword comes tumbling down, blade glinting with
fitful, dizzyingly inconstant light, plunging down in a chaotic blurring of motion, directly towards
the kephera's crown.

Serenely, Avaris lifts a hand up in a smooth, fluid arc, drawing the errant blade
from the air in a flow of silver and bringing it down in the same, ubroken stream of movement,
sheathing it soundlessly. Only two swords, now, the sisters of black and white, engaged in their
back and forth of making and unmaking, the shining weapon ever singing with that constant, pure
note. Their timeless dance is subtly altered, as the absence of the third engenders an imbalance
that grows more pervasive as the circuitous, serpentine paths wend their way in lopsided loops. The
two dissonant swords list towards a converging path, brought together by mutual loss. In tandem,
their trajectory alters, veering away from their respective entourages, sliding into the awaiting
scabbards with a sharp, resounding snap that is echoed in the harsh, cold nature of his voice.
"Abandonment."

The ring of metal reverberates in the antechamber, rippling across the celestial waters as the music
resounds in a brief infinity of sound as Lantra listens, as if anticipating the next notes even
before they are spoken.

The sudden, unexpected absence of the reassuring constance that was white blade's
clarion call is brutal in its totality, the comforting, guiding note ripped savagely away and
leaving in its wake...Nothing. A silence that is unsettling in its pervasiveness cloaks Avaris , a
sadistic nail trailing along the shivering cords of the heart, winding the nerves taut with anxious
agitation. The vacuum of sound is suffocating as it presses in, oppressive and terrifying, sending
the orphaned lights into disarray as chaos and fear take hold. The gentle star wavers, squeezing in
on itself as it retreats, seeking comfort in familiarity, and finding none.

From the tumult that engulfs the children, points of order emerge, unmoving, solid
bastions of calm around which their frantic siblings grow settled once more. The exertion of their
influence stabilises the discord as the shivering, compressed star is coaxed forth by a sibling,
steadying once more. "A Brother does not coddle, does not soothe, nor fued. A hand extended, a focus
provided, purpose imbued." Avaris sings, voice firm and resolute.

The folded layers of Avaris's wings unfurl to their full, vast span, as he grows
still, all six drawn out to provide a backdrop of faintly lambent feathers. The familiar eyes are
absent, providing an unmarked canvas upon which he paints his essence in sharp lines of light and
and dark, the bold strokes forming stylised figures that shift and flow in an indistinct procession
of events. One, graceful as liquid starlight, is rendered with far more loving detail than any
other, each line of Her form suffused with an understated splendour, an elegance that is unmatched
by those that surround Her - Painted with the same brilliant, pure light as the gentle star that
hovers still above him. The figures form into seven circles, each a distinct hue, with six ringing
the golden one that forms the center.

Tendrils of black invade from the outer edges of Avaris's wings, undulating towards
the sevenfold array of circles in sinuous, grasping lurches. The procession of images mapped upon
his wings grows swifter, gaining speed and intensity in equal measure until they flicker by in
flares of sharp, searing light - A warning is given by a male built of angles and edges, an alert
sent up. A blurred, rushed sketch of a hurried meeting, many beings caught in depictions of
impassioned debate. A large formation of figures approaches the encroaching, alien presences, a
female wrought of gentle, warm light extending a hand in peace, in friendship. "Compassion and an
open heart, offered up as a gift, to make from fear a friend." A black line, twisting and distorted,
lashes out at the open hand, spilling a spray of red light that is shocking in its vivid, violent
hue. "From hope and love, instead comes hunger, comes dread - The beginning of an end." A single
image, of chaos and violence, the alien tendrils among the glowing figures, ripping, rending them
apart, consuming.

The exquisite light made manifest in the kephera's unfurled wings revitalizes and renews the
sparkling waters that surround the dais, reflecting the performance with subtle brilliance. Then as
the black tendrils invade, the light dims in turn, the still waters darkening beneath their warning.

A huge, bladed foot stamps down upon the pool, sending up a spray of broken water,
the impact violent and sudden as Avaris lunges forward, the cruel talons scoring the smooth surface
as he twists, launching himself upwards with a great shout in an explosive burst of motion. The
gleaming, polished plates of his carapace flash and glint as he contorts in the air, swords and
wings snapping out in savage, vicious stabs - And even amidst this dizzying whirl of feather, steel
and chitin, glimpses of scenes branded in searing light. Bodies broken and scattered, leaking
essence in wisps of dissipating luminescence even as the healers strive to mend them, desperate in
their ministration - That same, ever-present female form foremost among them, constant in Her
presence even as others shift and flow, flickering about Her. "Chaos! Strife! No end to despair, the
loss of life!"

The tip of his foot lashes down to catch Avaris's fall, turning his momentum into a
low, sweeping kick that carries him up into an upright position once more - Though he does not stop
or rest, striking out with elbow and knee in brutal blows as his wings fan out flat behind him. "The
heart strong and pure, threatened to be overwhelmed by desperation, terror, fear." The Lady of white
kneeling over the shattered body of one She could not save, alone - But only for a moment, as
another Lady painted from soft lines of warmth and love holds Her as She weeps. "The arms of Her
love give Her strength, held close, held tight, held dear."

That single scene lingers far longer than any other, as flickering, maddening
images of war flow around the two embracing figures. Avaris brings his swords together, edge on edge
in a terrible blow, harsh and screaming as steel is dragged over cold, unfeeling steel. At the same
moment, the one that holds the weeping figure fractures, shattering into fragments of broken light
that dissipates, leaving Her bereft, and utterly alone. Her face grows obscured, veiled by the
suggestion mist, and the hue of Her light seems colder, more remote as the warmth from the lost
lover is ripped away. He does not descrate this moment with words, with paltry imitations of beloved
song. He is silent, but not still - For the procession of events rushes ever onward, merciless and
uncaring for individual loss, indifferent to heartbreak.

The Immaculate Throne and the Goddess seated upon it have not moved for a moment, and yet as the
scene manifests upon the dais, it is as if a distance has widened: its shadows lengthened, the mists
denser, the figure more indistinct from Her lofty perch.

When he sings again, there is a hollow quality to his words, as if one voice has
been removed from the choir his own is built from, leaving it sorely diminished. "An atrocity born
of ambition, of pride, an Elixir concocted, heralded to turn the tide." The scenes that unravel on
Avaris's wings are faintly indistinct, numbed in their incessant intensity. Before a crowd of
hopefuly faces, a man of lurid red holds up a cup, from which steams a sickly miasma. The expression
on his face is triumphant, and subtly disturbing, a covetous gleam in the wide circles of his eyes.
"Desperation beggars sense and clarity of thought, so eager to bring an end to this war, so long
fought." Within the sea of faces, one more beautiful, more detailed than the others is distinct in
that Her eyes are filled with doubt, with dread as She looks upon the Elixir. None turn to Her for
Wisdom, none look to Her for guidance. "Even in Her grief, She is pure and true. Shunned,
maltreated, trust witheld instead to spurn." A flickering concatenation of events, faces twisted in
contempt, backs turned upon Her, looking instead to others. "But They forget, haughty with Their
arrogance, so cruel." A spar, a flash of loathing in the eye of the Second as He stabs Her, spilling
red.

The stylised female picks up a spear, hands gripping the haft tight as She holds it
aloft, a dread halo of light sharply outlining the weapon's blade as Avaris intones, voice low and
hard with menace, "Even gentle stars burn."

The endless, wearying barrage of scenes continues to play out in a ceaseless
assault upon the eyes, each built from painfully bright, sharp lines of light that stab with
vicious, strobing intensity. Avaris Scenes of vast import flit by with as much time given to them as
the inconsequential. Three figures sitting in judgement of twelve, the Lady white before Her healing
mound, figures abandoning a hopeless fight through a gateway into the uncaring dark. She follows a
group that passes into the abyss, the formation quickly scattered by the assault of a hideous,
writhing form, which sends the gentle star tumbling into the emptiness, alone, bereft.

Abruptly, absolute darkness. All light is snuffed out, smothered by a blackness so
dense it is almost tangible, bearing with it a crushing sense of isolation as even Avaris vanishes
from sight. There is no sound for a time, so complete is the absence of the void, until words float
through the nothingness - So soft, so quiet that in anything other than this utter silence, they
would be inaudible. Faint and distant, he murmurs, barely a nelody at all, "Alone. Abandoned. A
punishment undeserved. No hope to cling to, no warmth, no light. All that keeps Her is the memory of
love's sweet song, a talisman against the dark."

Emanating from nowhere at all, the bright, rhapsodic sound of a feminine voice echoes the kephera in
wordless chorus, hushed as a candle flickering in the darkness.

Glimmers of light form, at first so dim that they are difficult to discern, but
they grow brighter, more distinct. "Hope. A Brother forged a trail of stars, to guide Her home, from
near, from far." Avaris rings out, hope bright and shining in his voice. A pathway of sidereal
pinpricks of luminosity manifests from the glittering motes, stretching off into the distance. The
gentle star is painted into life from the darkness and goes to follow the trail, but is blocked by a
figure both familiar and twisted - A monster in the guise of one once respected, a mockery from the
past. "Though She is quiet, and some thought Her meek, to Her core She is not weak."

The focus narrows in upon the Lady painted in luminous white, graceful and calm as
lesser lights cavort happily about Her for a time. "Wisdom to teach, love to share, as they strive
and yearn to draw as close as they dare." A single mote of Avaris's essence drifts up from his
plated chest, sharp and golden as it joins the others in their reverent orbit about the greater
star. The other points of light fade into the background, growing diffuse and indistinct, until all
that remains is the beauty of the star of white, and the smaller, aureate light that dances,
spiralling closer in a slow, tentative waltz. The graceful nature of the endless turning is mirrored
in the kephera's form as he slows, spinning down and folding in upon himself until he drifts to a
stop, lowered to one knee. His wings are extended straight up from his bent back, curving in like
the petals of a great flower, from which thrust the glinting edges of his upraised swords, cradling
the two lights within the center as they turn in an endless dance. When he speaks, this time, the
only music is the natural melody of his voice, quiet, but almost painful in its unguarded, earnest
openness, its sincerity. "So long as I You do not turn me away, my Lady, You will never be alone.
This is all the Devotion that I know how to give You."

The passage of time slows as the music reaches its crescendo, its sudden descent into nothing but
voice a stark sound in the hollow chamber. The vow, quiet as it is, gains strength and volume from
its after-echoes, surrounding Lantra from where She sits impassive upon the Immaculate Throne. For
the entirety of the performance, She has done nothing but observe, but there is a weight to Her
silence now: a sense of contemplation as well as a fixed scrutiny that its at once gentle and
probing.

Avaris does not so much as twitch from the posture he maintains, even his breathing
so restrained that there is barely a perceptible shifting of the burnished plates of his armoured
torso. He waits with a patient air, a statue of reverent repose built from curving planes and sharp
angles.

You think to yourself: He is not nervous, despite the unwavering scrutiny that he is subjected to -
He will either be judged worthy, he believes, or cast aside. He has done what he can, and if his
love for Her is not enough, if he is note Devoted enough, than the fault is his alone.

After the lengthy silence, Lantra brings Her hands together in quiet applause. A shimmer of water
and light flashes across Her starlit veil as She says, "Why profess your Devotion in song, My
Avaris?"

There is no shift in the immobile, curving planes of Avaris's features as the
applause is given, his sole reaction a polite inclination of his head in acknowledgement of the
gesture. Rather than answer the question immediately, the quiescent banners of his antennae shift,
undulating despite his efforts at stillness, as several of the light-forged eyes of his wings flick
towards the sculpture that graces the raised dais. When, finally, he does speak, it is with evident
effort, at he struggles with the words, seeking to wrestle them into a shape befitting his feelings.
"I know that You...Favour it, my Lady. It has meaning, more than it would to others, for You,
and..." The pointed tips of his fingers scrape quietly along the grips of his swords, still held
within his grasp. "It is how She showed Her love for You, often. I wished to honour Her, and to..."
Here, he falters, words stumbling into silence.

You think to yourself: To...What? Show his love for Her in the same way? To play at being a
misshapen echo of something far, far greater than he could ever be? To try and ease the ache of
absence with his warbling? Even he, in truth, did not know. All that he does know, is that he wishes
to convey how he feels in a way that matters, that song might carry through the mist that he cannot
part.

Arising gracefully from the Immaculate Throne, Lantra walks towards you, the train of a cascading
veil of mist and water lilies fluttering behind Her to ripple on the low-lying waters. "Music is a
potent power," the Goddess says, giving a glance to the sculpture at the centre of the dais. "For Us
Elders, the sound of Dynara's voice was what greeted Us first in this world. The Song of Creation is
interwoven with Our life itself."

The statement even, unquestioning, Lantra, the Empyreal says to you, "The Devotion expressed is to
be your own. And yet you chose such an expression for My sake. I would not have begrudged you
another path, had you chosen it."

At Lantra's approach, there is a subtle sense of Avaris preparing for a potential
blow, his shoulders shifting minutely higher, the long, armoured fingers of each hand tightening and
loosening their grip upon his swords in an unbidden expression of apprehension. He listens to Lantra
with a keenness that beggars the glinting edges of his blades, his focus entirely upon the Goddess'
every word. At length, he lowers his chin in a faintly uncomfortable nod. "You are kind, my Lady.
I...I can try again, if You will give me another chance. I can find something different."

You think to yourself: And what would he find, exactly, that would express his Devotion without
mimicking others? What could he do? He was no artist, no singer, no poet. How could a bludgeon
express Devotion worthy of Her?

((Snip!))

The Goddess withdraws Her hand, stepping back to look upon you thoughtfully. Then, with Her own
unyielding conviction, Lantra answers, "Then I shall hold you to such a vow of Devotion, from now
until eternity." A brief flare of white light arcs through the chamber at Her words, the thin film
of water upon the dais's floor shimmering in answer.

Softly, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Well done, My Faithful Avaris."

The moment that Lantra breaks contact with him, the radiance of Avaris's eyes dims,
receding until it resembles merely a brillant sea bathed in the light of an argent star. He lowers
his head once again, almost reflexively, and raps his conjoined hands gently against his heart.
"Thank You for this gift, my Lady."

As the countless eyes of Avaris's folded wings gaze ever adoringly at Lantra, he
stirs, asking, "Ah, my Lady. When would You like to discuss what I might do to show my Fortitude for
You?"

"It is more than earned, My Avaris," Lantra replies, Her hand drawing forth a cascading veil of mist
and water lilies once more.

((Snip!))

Fading once more into the mists that surround Her, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Then may We meet
again when your trial of Fortitude is nigh, My Faithful Avaris."

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "Yes, my Lady. Light's blessings go with You."

Lantra, the Empyreal says, "You may depart through the windows of the hall. Explore the inner
sanctum as you wish."