Penitence

Kneeling humbly, you press your palms together before you and close your eyes momentarily as you
pray devoutly to Lantra, the Empyreal, "[A reluctant, tentative presence, much dimmed and subdued.]
Lady Empyreal. You are...Very kind to bestow Your favour upon me, but I ask that You rescind it.
Please. I am undeserving of such a mark. Thank You. I hope that You are well.".

Motes of white light coalesce about you in arcs of brilliant starlight, coaxing you to the Font of
Wisdom.

You think to yourself: Immense reluctance, warring with an inexorable sense of duty - And being
crushed.

The Font of Wisdom.
This shadowy, water-filled alcove is filled with the gentle susurrus of running water, for cascading
waterfalls rain over its smooth stone walls in a symphony of aquatic sound. A procession of water
lotuses, each lit by a single, luminous star, raise their stems high above the surface of sparkling
water as they surround a statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, Her inscrutable expression veiled from view
as She folds Her hands in quiet contemplation. Seven starry jewels crown the Goddess's brow,
mimicking domothean crystal as they emit an eerie light that dapples the shimmering walls. From
where the light touches stone, faint constellations twinkle into view, drawing a sidereal path
across the walls that leads through the Void-black stone to the west, as if charting a way back to
the Basin of Life.
You see exits leading northeast, southeast, and west.

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "Light's blessings upon you, My Avaris."

All but dragging his feet, Avaris enters with his head downcast, fidgeting with his
hands. He lowers himself to a knee, adopting the familiar posture of reverence - Save that his hands
are not pressed to his chest, as usual, but placed palm-down upon his thighs. "And You, Lady."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "I sense you possess great reluctance in speaking
with Me."

Avaris does not answer for a time, visibly wrestling with some inner thought as his
antennae writhe and twist like maddened snakes, lashing at one another. Choosing his words with
obvious care, he replies, "I mean no offense, Lady. Truly."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "It is not offense you evoke in Me, Avaris, but
concern."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "Do you fear you have displeased Me?"

In the midst of shaking his head, Avaris aborts the attempt, hesitating, then jerks
his chin down in a truncated nod. In a voice so quiet that it is barely above a murmur, the chorus
of his words laced with a combination of dread and other, darker feelings, he affirms, "Always.
Always that, Lady."

You think to yourself: This Goddess is too good for him. She ever has been.

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "You judge yourself with the solemnity and weight
of an entire Triumvirate."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "Is your transgression so unforgivable to warrant
such distance from Me?"

Avaris rubs his hands against the golden plating of his thighs, the motion
subconscious, as if trying to rid himself of some clinging stain. "I am sorry, Lady. I do not mean
to be so arrogant. I know that I could never judge with the wisdom of a Triumvirate." The second
question causes silence to wrap about him like a heavy cloak, bowing his shoulders slowly, but
surely. "I..."

You think to yourself: He sees fit to judge all around him, does he not? Why then, should he be
spared the weighing? It is not wonder that he is found wanting, ever wanting.

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "I do not wish to upset You, or...Or argue, Lady.
Not again."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "My Avaris, it is only you who has felt Our
conversation prior was an argument. You have not upset Me. If you had, the glaring light of My
displeasure would be clear enough that there would be no hiding from it."

Avaris bows further forward still, bending at the waist in penitence, shoulders
hunching close. "Yes, Lady. I should not presume to know Your feelings. I am sorry, Lady."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "You are ever the penitent, and yet I wonder at
what sin you seek to atone before Me."

Avaris's fingers arch slowly, the pointed tips grating across the aureate surface
of his chitin, leaving barely discernible trails of scored, flaking gold in their wake.

You think to yourself: How can he pick just one? Them all, of course. Would Atonement's blade
scourge him of them? Perhaps he will find out, one day, if he is true to form.

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "Whichever You desire, Lady. It is Your right."

Luminous star lotuses brighten the flowing waters of the Font of Wisdom as a calm, feminine voice
emanates from the statue of Lantra, the Empyreal, "I have witnessed countless agonies, pains and
maladies, My Avaris. I know enough of scars to not think less of those who possess them."

A flicker of confusion passes across the seven, gem-like eyes studded into Avaris's
visored countenance, their luster dimmed. "I..I know that You would not, Lady. You are better than
that."

The gentle waters of the Font of Wisdom pool forth in arcs of water and light, soothing and calming
even amidst the ever present doubts that plague your weary mind.

Her tone calm and patient, Her hands gently extended to your own, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Take
My hand, Avaris."

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 shrouds Her and trails at Her feet
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.

There is a brief, subtle cessation of the tightening coil of tension in Avaris's
frame as Lantra's presence soothes him - But at being bid to take Lantra's hand, his entire body
clenches, fingers curling tight as he shakes his head fervently from side to side in small, almost
panicked motions. Pulling all four of his hands closer to him, and then hiding them behind his back,
his voice is rife with gentle torture as he pleads, "Please, Lady. Do not command me thus. They are
stained. I don't- I can't...I /will not/ soil You with my sins, with unworthiness. Please."

You think to yourself: The familiar, comforting wash of the Lady's gentle waters has ever been a
balm to his hurts, self-inflicted and otherwise, and this is no different - Save that this time, he
struggles against the influence, as if unwilling to tarnish it.

There is a restrained quality to the stoic grace of Lantra as She watches you, Her expression
inscrutable behind the veil of mist and starlight that shrouds much of Her face from view.
Nonetheless Her hand remains patiently outstretched, undaunted by the statements as the Goddess
heeds them, and dismisses them as water rushing over an unyielding stone.

Gently, patiently, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Take My hand, Avaris."

The manner in which Avaris's resistance to the quietly insistent hand bends is that
of a steel rod subject to terrible, inexorable force - Bending and warping to the inevitability that
he will obey Lantra, no matter how he might struggle. His upper right hand is pulled from behind his
back, trembling as if straining against some unseen force as he extends it, palm-down. On the cusp
of brushing Lantra's outstretched hand, he begs with one last, agonised whisper of, "Please."

Barely visible behind the misty veil, Lantra's gaze flickers towards yours, and in Her gentle
celadon eyes shines a quiet, unshakable determination: a fiercely iron will that only thousands of
years can instill in any being. Such a stoic will shall not yield for you, nor any other being --
Elder or mortal. This time the Goddess says nothing in reply as She merely awaits you with Her hand
outstretched, the plea heard and once more disregarded. Her command is implicit in its silence.

Avaris is no more able to refuse Lantra than a falling leaf can subvert the will of
gravity, though it might struggle and flutter in its desperate fall. The bloody streaks of his
antennae fall limp, defeated, even as the barely glowing eyes of his wings squeeze themselves shut
as if bracing for a blow not yet delivered. Wavering, shivering as if clenched in the merciless grip
of dire cold, the pointed talons of the kephera's gauntleted hand close around Lantra's, barely
making contact with Lantra's form as they rest upon the outer edges of Lantra's hand - His own
tented awkwardly as he strives, still, to keep the bloody, seething marks of his shame from so much
as brushing against Lantra.

You think to yourself: A flash of words from a faded, much-read page, beneath a stylised image of an
armoured warrior kneeling before a radiant woman. 'The Knight obeys the Lady.'

The sensation of the Goddess's hand is like water quenching flame, as cool and gentle as it is
bracing. With a practised gentleness, Lantra's fingertips brush across your palm, and with Her every
featherlight touch, your body cries out in a reprieve from the pain of the mark that bleeds across
your open hands. "The Even-Bladed rarely engages mortals in combat," She says, either to Herself or
to you -- it is difficult to glean. "Were you merely an irritant in Her eyes, She might have slain
you in a single blow."

=Avaris's palm twitches at Lantra's touch, flinching as if seeking to escape the
soothing caress, yet daring - Unable - to do so. Every faint contact of Lantra's fingers upon his
chitin sends a shiver down along his arm, his vast form quivering in a frisson of confused, tangled
emotion, as a steel beam struck a resonating blow. Though his face is cast down towards the floor,
and the constellation of his light-forged eyes is still formed of tightly shut lines of dull
luminescence, there are a number of tiny markings that cannot help but thieve furtive, fearfully
adoring glances of Lantra. Quietly, his voice made all the more peculiar for the roiling,
conflicting sentiments it conveys, he says, "I think that Her rage was so great that She went for
Her weapons instinctively, Lady. It is nothing but a sign of the depth of how I angered Her."

You think to yourself: Inside, he is a maelstrom of tangled, writhing emotions, blurring together
into a confused swirl that calms into languid eddies one moment, then jerks into chaos once more,
only to be soothed by Her influence. The bittersweet irony of one of his most preciously guarded
wishes coming to fruition is a sharp tang, at once ineffably wondrous, and torturous. Finally, he
has felt Her touch upon him, the whisper-light caress of Her fingers along his carapace, Her hand in
his - But he had never wanted to do so like this. Not in shame, not with his hands stained red with
his wrongness.

"Perhaps," Lantra says softly, but She does not dwell upon the confession as She rests Her hands
upon yours, Her touch bereft of warmth as it evokes instead the cooling touch of a balm pressed upon
an exposed wound. So long as Her contact remains, all the misery of the pain is quelled. "Why do you
suppose I asked you to meet Me at the Font of Wisdom, Avaris?" the Empyreal asks, the question
seemingly incongruent even as it naturally spills from Her lips.

The response falls from Avaris with the immediacy of a nerve jerking a limb to
twitch. "Because I lack it."

There is a hint of a smile upon Lantra's lips that vanishes as swiftly as it is seen, Her voice
lilting somewhat as She says, "And yet how is Wisdom gained, My Avaris?"

This time, the reply is a struggle, as Avaris's lifeless antennae twitch and stir
as he wrestles with the question for some time. The smile, fleeting as a shooting star, causes a
sole, minute eye, at the farmost corner of the lowest wing, to widen with awe. "If I knew that,
Lady, I do not think we would be here, like this. But..." A half-hearted shrug of his left shoulder,
the spiked halo jerking up and down in a spasmodic motion. "By reflecting on matters. On mistakes.
Learning from errors, from the missteps of yourself, and others. By listening to those Wiser than
oneself."

You think to yourself: The image of the suggestion of Her smile is carefully crafted into a large
pane of stained glass, memory solidified with exacting detail, then stored reverently away in the
vaults of his mind.

As the Goddess nods in assent, the starlit veil parts ever so slightly to partially reveal Lantra's
face, Her expression devoid of judgment as She focuses equally upon your words and the injury that
has struck your hands. There is a softness to Her words as She says, "To seek knowledge is simpler
than Wisdom. Much of Wisdom's journey is learned, I have found, through failure and futility. It is
a road that is neither free of obstacles nor free of humiliation and shame, for to accept Wisdom is
to accept what you do not know, and be faced with the limits of your own understanding."

As the Goddess nods in assent, the starlit veil parts ever so slightly to partially reveal Lantra's
face, Her expression devoid of judgment as She focuses equally upon your words and the injury that
has struck your hands. There is a softness to Her words as She says, "To seek knowledge is simpler
than Wisdom. Much of Wisdom's journey is learned, I have found, through failure and futility. It is
a road that is neither free of obstacles nor free of humiliation and shame, for to accept Wisdom is
to accept what you do not know, and be faced with the limits of your own understanding."

Whatever response may have been formulating in Avaris unravels, all thought
evaporating as, one by one, the countless eyes that dwell within his wings open to stare in awe-
struck fascination at the glimpse past Lantra's veil, the stylised markings growing wide and round.
He remains thus for a beat, then seems to realise that he has allowed silence to fall between them,
and stumbles across his words as his brains struggles valiantly to recollect scattered thought. "I-
That is, yes. Ah. Mm." He gives his head a tiny shake, as if seeking to clear dazzled vision, then
tries once more. "Yes, Lady. I fear that my failure, this time, has severed the relationship with
the Even Bladed, before it had even begun to truly form. I do not think She will forgive me."

You think to yourself: The sheer, ineffable beauty of even that minute glimpse of Her visage, so
close, and so /real/, is so radiant that all tangled thought simply dissipates, like fog before the
majesty of dawn's light. He basks in it, for a time, before he comes to himself again, and the
memory that he forms is a working of breathtaking, sidereal effulgence - The faintest echo of what
She is, quietly locked away in the deepest, most secure portions of his mind, enshrined with
reverent devotion.

"With the art of healing comes many failures along with its successes," Lantra continues calmly. "It
is the failures that linger with you, rattling the mind with their insistence that if only you had
known more, if only you had acted differently, all would not have gone to ruin. And yet," She says,
a distant thought clouding Her mind as She pauses, "with every failure comes the resolve to never
make such a mistake again. Yet that resolve only comes, Avaris, when one is capable of forgiving
oneself -- accepting what has occurred, and resolving to never allow it to occur again. In that way,
pain is a great teacher." The Goddess weighs your words regarding the Even Bladed thoughtfully. "I
cannot speak for My cousin's thoughts. I will say this. She holds this city in as much esteem as I,
and should you serve it well, you may retain at least some of Her respect. And for the Second
Circle, respect is of far more import than forgiveness. For you cannot forgive those whom you do not
deem worth respecting. A significant offering to Her of esteem and a prayer of genuine apology would
not be remiss, either."

Avaris listens with rapt attention as the Goddess speaks, his chin lifting a
fraction so that he looks upon the lower portion of Lantra's veiled countenance, the azure, polished
surface of his inhuman eyes shining with mute adoration. When the steady, measured flow of Wisdom
pauses, he nods, the dip of his pointed chin slow, contemplative as he absorbs Lantra's words.
"Thank You for Your guidance, Lady." He hesitates, clearly struggling with something, and then
confesses in a voice that is a peculiar mix of guilt and obdurate determination. "I can apologise
for angering Her, but I cannot truthfully say that I am sorry for the question I asked." The hard,
fluted armouring of his fingers tightens upon Lantra's hand, ever so slightly, as a quietly fierce
heat seeps into the hushed hymn of his words. "I will do my duty.

You think to yourself: The shame of bringing such rage to the Even Bladed, the fear and pain that
the conflict engendered have done nothing to shake the foundation of what he has set himself to be,
the cold, diamond core of his intent. He will shield Her from whatever he can, Elder or not. If it
seeks to take his Lady away, he will kill it. Or he will have failed.

A stillness emanates from Lantra as She listens, seemingly no less composed than the moment your
audience with Her began. "You look upon Divine affairs with mortal eyes," She says -- a gentle
statement veering on admonishment. "Our wars are not so visible, and Our loyalties not so cleanly
divided as your carefully penned alliances. Life and Death does not exist for Us as it does for
mortals. We cannot merely destroy that which We abhor or disdain. Nor can We easily rebuild what is
destroyed and torn asunder."

The words poised, even as they hang heavy from Her lips, Lantra, the Empyreal says, "Our end is in
an consummation of Our very essence -- a devouring."

"They are the only eyes I have." The admission is soft, tinged with many subtle
hues of regret, sorrow and traces of frustration. Avaris listens to Lantra with the sober gravitas
the words are due, his shoulders slowly growing slack as the Goddes speaks. Eventually, in a small
voice, his light grasp on Lantra's hand weakening, he asks, "Then how can I..." With a sigh, he
lowers his chin, the sharp, gleaming point sinking beneath the spray of his mane as he trails off.
"Yes, Lady. I understand."

You think to yourself: A foolish notion. One that he knew was a childish one, long since - Had he
not said as much to Lady Lorina? Why, then, was it proving so hard to relinquish? She is a Goddess,
and among the most ancient. What could he ever protect Her from? Foolish. Foolish.

As the Goddess's hand quietly relinquishes yours, the cooling numbness of Her touch remains for a
minute longer as Her fingertips lift your gaze to meet Hers. Lantra nods again, and this time the
veil falls again to shroud Her face once more from view. "This reminder left upon your hands will
vanish," She says, "and yet I sense you shall not forget it. May you learn from it. For I would not
see you suffer such wounds again, if it were in My power."

Avaris's fingers twitch as the contact with Lantra is severed, the sharp digits
reflexively seeking to return to Lantra's touch, numbing as it may be - But they do not, instead
curling in on themselves as he lowers his hand to his lap once more. As his gaze is lifted to
Lantra's, he stares in helpless, besotted adulation, undisguised and plain to see, despite the
immobile, featureless nature of his face. "Yes, Lady. I will try not to disappoint You. Thank You."

You think to yourself: A twinge of piercing disappointment at the touch being withdrawn, alleviated
by the cool, detached numbing that lingers afterwards.

This time when Lantra smiles, the Goddess is all the more radiant despite the slightness of the
gesture, even behind the translucent confines of Her veil. "You are welcome, My Avaris. May you know
Wisdom, even within the places you least wish to find it."

Lantra leans close to you and gently lays a kiss upon your forehead.

You think to yourself: Again, for the third time, he crafts for himself a cherished memory, wrought
of exquisitely detailed stained glass - The smile, a subtle wonder, an achingly elusive thing, ever
out of reach, but ever striven for. There was, to him, nothing worth protecting more than that
simple gesture. Nothing at all.

Avaris's entire form shivers at the press of Divine lips to his brow, his vast
frame trembling like a wire tapped by a gentle finger. He remains as he is for some time, kneeling,
head held at the same angle as Her touch placed it in, as if savouring the moment. At last, though,
he pushes himself to his feet, and this time, he does not wipe his palms upon his thighs, or hide
them from view. He bows low to the statue, as deep as he is able, and maintains the posture for long
minutes, before he rises, and walks slowly from the Font.

You think to yourself: "What am I to make of myself now? I cannot be Her Knight. I cannot ward Her
from...From anything. What does that make me? What am I to be?"

You think to yourself: "Not something to decide today. Not today. When I have more Wisdom, perhaps
then, then I will know."