Zeebin Makes His Choice

Chaotic sand patterns within a tiered rock garden.
The air about them pulsing with a kaleidoscopic aura of serenity, Aschwar smiles softly at their
surroundings.
You see exits leading southwest, west, and northwest.

You beam broadly at Aschwar.

You give Aschwar a peck on the cheek.

You say, "Brightest greetings once again, Beloved."

Chaotic sand patterns within a tiered rock garden.
Tiers of rock elevate different portions of this sizable garden, long grasses spilling over each
level and across wide, pale granite paths trailing through and around the tiers to allow the terrace
to be admired from all angles. Sustaining the resident plantlife, fountains and small streams have
been constructed to mimic natural waterfalls and rivers, albeit in miniature size and contained
within their rocky borders. Between these enclosed segments of garden span wide swaths of sand,
interrupted here and there by small sculptures formed of balanced rocks. These sculptures offer a
contrasting sense of discipline to the chaotic patterns raked into the sand around them, the lines
confounding and nonsensical but never connecting, bewildering in their complexity but somehow
aesthetically pleasing. A young cherry tree rises from one of the tiers at the far edge of the
garden, fragrant pink petals scattered over its immediate environs. The air about them pulsing with
a kaleidoscopic aura of serenity, Aschwar smiles softly at their surroundings.
You see exits leading southwest, west, and northwest.

Aschwar nods at you, smiling softly as you enters before simply handing you a rake. "Here. This is a
goodly way to keep your mind in place while you are talking about important things." They point out
to the patterned sand that exists around the rocks and say, "You can go over what I've made, it is
okay."

A shifting, living poppy of amber petals exudes the scent of fragrant oils as the petals begin to
fold inward one by one. As they unfurl in the same manner, you notice that the petals have again
changed colour, this time adapting a beautiful golden shade.

Trading his broom for a rake, you say, "Much appreciated, Beloved. I always wondered how you made
the stones ripple just so."

Aschwar taps at the edge of the nearest tier with the end of their rake, and the sand shudders
throughout; losing all sense of raked order and becoming once more as wild as the Skarch floor.

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

With a simple smile, Aschwar says, "I could make them look however I want, 'cos that is the Shofet's
gift to me. In the Shifting City, I can have whatever I want."

Setting rake tines to smooth sand, you say, "It's nice to do it by hand. It stills the mind a
little."

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 11th of Juliary, 573 years after the Coming of Estarra.

Aschwar nods as they sit themselves on the stone path leading up through the tiered hill, watching
you quietly for several long moments before settling their rake across their folded legs, waiting
patiently.

Overhead, the sky is blotted out with the massive, rainbow-hued wings of a dreameater moth.

Trying to balance on a stone and sweep the rake in a circle around it, you say, "I have enjoyed
teaching my students immensely. It has helped me to grow. I am more than what I was, I think... Not
particularly wise or clever but... more whole."

You have emoted: Zeebin completed the first ring of rippling sand and begins to awkwardly step off
of the rock, careful not to disturb the work already laid out in the sand.

Aschwar watches the movements in the sand, still saying nothing as they patiently watch you.

Leaning against the rake for a moment to view the first marks he has made, you say, "As always, I am
troubled by doubts. Am I fit to teach? Do I know what I am doing? Do I understand the scope of the
damage done to the golden child? It is my belief that Saffron is in the choice, and so I must choose
to be untroubled, and to be confident."

Their voice gentle and soothing, Aschwar says, "But you still doubt."

Shaking his horned head as he begins the second ring of ripples, you say, "Saffron is the dawning,
the truth and the telling, the manifestation, the celebration, the sharing to blue knowing. It is in
making the decison and choosing what you choose... in... choosening... Grng. But... I have failed so
many times. All I really know is that I am I."

Aschwar considers your stumbling over words, and listens carefully, then asks, "What comes after
Choice, Beloved?"

Raking the sand with steady hands, you say, "Another choice. Again and again. The choice of Saffron
is action. Manifestation and realisation. Any less and the choice would be but thought, adrift on a
sea of Indigo."

Aschwar ponders this for a few moments, and then simply says. "I choose to rake." They pointedly do
not get up, and stare at you. "I choose to go practise swords." Once more, they do not move, sitting
entirely still. "I choose to go and eat some of mister Binky's very good nuts." Yet again, they
remain entirely motionless.

Nodding slowly, you say, "Saffron manifests. Choose to rake and rake the rake. Choose to practise
swords and then do it. Saffron is making your choice and then making it happen."

Aschwar says, "And what happens when you make a choice, and then do not do the choice? If you are
confused, and guess bad things, and doubt, and worry? Do you think your choice is being made very
strongly into Will, or Truth?"

Leaning on the rake, you say, "You see why I'd been unable to move past Indigo for so long? I dwell
in a sea of maybes and what-ifs... I -think- I know the way, and I am trying to step boldly onto the
shore, but I feel like I'm just waiting for the whole Saffron strand to sink back beneath the
thrashing tides."

Aschwar says, "So why do you think, then, that the Shofets chose Saffron to come back, and not
Indigo?"

Simply, Aschwar says, "He trusted it to you, after all. Do you think He made a mistake?"

You have emoted: Zeebin shakes his horned head, exhaling ochreous smoke as he does so.

Exhaling a soft jet of yellow flame as he returns to raking, you say, "Manifestation and waking and
dawning and speaking, these are the things that I know Saffron to be. I -think- I know the answer to
that, too... I think it's because Saffron is the way of choosing and -doing- and that is something
the Beloved have been struggling with lately. I think Indigo sleeps because Indigo is genuinely
dangerous, and can drag a heart into the depths, as it has me."

You say, "The knowing and the dreaming and the inspiration and secrets... Indigo is not what the
Order needs right now. Saffron light, Mama's beacon. A way to push us towards actually manifesting
choices into the world."

Aschwar places their elbows on their knees, resting their chin in their paws as they carefully watch
your raking. After you have spoken, they let you rake for a little longer before asking, "Is what
you know Saffron to be the same as what Saffron is?"

Shaking his head, you say, "It was so badly damaged by the wound of Delusion. I know Indigo like the
veins of my heart, and Saffron is its twin, its complement, its opposite. There are no doubt
elements of Saffron that I do not know, could not know, without exploring them myself."

Simply, their voice gentle and even, Aschwar says, "Are you sure?"

Viewing the ripples in the sand with a somber expression, you say, "In the end, there are no paths
and there are no colours beyond the infinite dance of perspective that forms the Will, obscuring the
True Will that gleams beneath it all like a knife. When I say that I know Indigo, that I know
Saffron, I know with utter certainty the path they have carved curling through my heart, the road
that I follow is clear to me, even if I cannot yet show where it winds in an atlas. I am I, no more
than that, and I am Saffron because I have chosen to be Saffron. I am Saffron because I am Saffron."

Just as simply, and just as kindly, Aschwar says, "Then why do you doubt?"

Smiling to himself as he resumes his raking, you say, "Because the sin of Saffron is pride, Beloved,
and the sin of Indigo is stubbornness, and I do not wish to harm myself or my Beloved with either. I
leave my chest torn open and visible so that They can reach in and strip out delusion before it
reveals itself."

The Shifting City fades around you. Your stomach drops into nothingness, falling endlessly before
the surrounding buildings and streets recondense.

Aschwar gestures towards you with a paw, their golden claws gleaming as the other remains cradling
their head. "You are of Indigo, dreaming and thinking and mysteries. It is your nature. But Saffron
leaves little room for this, Beloved, and to think too greatly is its enemy. You need not know why,
you simply must know. When you question the choice, you muddy its purity, like pouring silt into
water. By entertaining the concept of Delusion, you invite it."

You have emoted: Zeebin pauses momentarily, as if stumbling upon something unexpected and
uncomfortable. He glances towards you with a look of concern and swallows.

Their voice entirely simple, and ringing with a hundred echoes suddenly that jar you in their
complexity, Aschwar says, "Why do you think that mortals cannot perform the Yu Ken Leep, Beloved? It
is because they think. They do not do. The thieves need naught but His word that it can be done, and
they choose to do. So they can.""

Continuing to rake, now with a slight tremble in his fingers, you say, "I... Is... is that what I've
been missing? I could do that ardently for Indigo. I looked Them in the face and told Them no."

As you look towards Aschwar, you see their shadow rise from the ground, enormous and looming and
entirely owl-shaped as it stares down at you with a peering, singular intensity that is not present
in the tae'dae's eyes. Twin mirrors of kindness and expectance, gentleness and hostility. A
challenge and a question in two different sets of eyes.

You have emoted: Zeebin turns to look to Aschwar and freezes, seeing Beloved and shadow.

Aschwar's eyes are gleaming pools of emerald and amber, glowing with unfound power as their voice
echoes in a pale imitation of the Most Beloved's. You remember, briefly, the story told to you by
your mother: how this child exists now as the living Book of Mysrai. "It is your nature. You are
Indigo."

Colour leaving his face as he makes his choice, you say, "I am I, Beloved Aschwar, no matter the
colour. I claim Saffron."

Aschwar's head tilts curiously to the side, and they simply ask, "Again?" The shadowy owl, born of
saffron energy and eyes that are struck through with void-black, twinkling stars mirrors the motion,
though its head swivels upon its axle and its eyes narrow with such intensity that you are certain
that darkness mirrors every sin in your heart.

Swallowing hard as he nods, you say, "I claimed the duty, the passing of secret knowledge. Now, I
choose myself. I am Saffron. I am Indigo. I am I. I will not be torn apart by my True Will - it will
tear apart anything that stands in my way."

You say, "Including vice. Including sin. Including delusion."

Aschwar's eyes close, softly, and you are left alone with the brilliant saffron owl.

You have emoted: Zeebin kneels before the owl, heart beating loudly in his chest.

In brilliance, it expands, growing larger and larger, staring at you with eyes that threaten to
consume and swallow all the light that even it creates. Fathomless, empty, and demanding is the
darkness stat stares back at you. There is nothing beyond this light, nothing beyond this darkness.

So simple a concept. To choose. To surrender utterly and wholly to that choice. In these eyes, you
see naught but your own failures, and you know them to be legion and multitude. From each slip of
the tongue in conversation to each betrayal of trust, they play before you in rapid succession. Each
echoing the same, harrowing thought. You CHOSE them. You CHOSE this.

You have emoted: Zeebin exhales plumes of white smoke as he stares into the eyes of his Divine,
resolute in his choice.

You are you, the echoing mantra rings in your mind weakly after each mistake brought to bear before
the brilliant and unerring flames. Yet you wonder yet if this is the choice that He intended. You
wonder if you ever can truly attempt to know His mind, or any of His thoughts, as the brilliant
hieroglyphs that begin to trail down from the owl singe your flesh where they touch and cause awful,
blackened feathers to sprout and fall away.

You think to yourself: No doubt, Zeebin. Just like they said. Choose Them. Choose Love. Choose Will.
Choose yourself.

In the brilliant saffron light that has blocked out all sight of the rest of the Shifting City, and
lain open the wound in your chest for closer dissection, you wonder yet if there is aught to be
done. Then, in the back of your mind, you hear the quiet, soft voice of a tae'dae, not even out of
adolescence and no longer echoing as their voice asks, "Will you choose to know? Even if you should
fall?"

You murmur, "Oh Beloved... I could never help but to know myself..."

The pain of each saffron hieroglyph is no longer noticeable as they continue to fall like the fiery
eruptions of Zoaka upon a doomstruck world, bathing your skin in ecstatic heat that melts away flesh
and bone; boiling your eyes from your head and leaving naught but ash in their wake. The exquisite
agony your body experiences is surpassed entirely by the sheer realisation of a profoundly simple
truth; that in the mind of Chaos, you were chosen for your imperfection. You were chosen because you
would fail. You were chosen because you would continue, in spite of this.

You have been slain by a glipse of Chaos.
A swirling force begins to tug at your soul and the world spins around you.


                   __, _ __,   _, _ __,
                   |_) | |_)   |\/| |_
                   | \ | |     |  | |
                   ~ ~ ~ ~     ~  ~ ~~~


 (-6540h, 100.0%)
Your mana drains away as you concentrate on maintaining a link with the living.
(p) 0h, 8790m, 6540e, 0p ex-(-150m, 1.7%)

Your soul is flung back to the prime material plane. Slowly, a skeleton forms from the aether, and
muscles appear upon the bones, bubbling up in a frothy spray of blood. Finally, new skin stretches
out and covers your new body, and you step out from the Eternal Flame.
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--------- -10:24:2 ----------
Before the Eternal Flame.

Eritheyl gives a miniature platter of crystal sugar candy to you.

You have emoted: Zeebin blinks in confusion, touching his chest, his arms, his head, feeling the
curvature of his eyes.

Eritheyl Ryseni says to you, "Yes, you're all here. Each and every beautiful inch."

You have emoted: Zeebin reaches for his poppy with trembling fingers, afraid that he might find it missing.

Slender lengths of brilliant, rubescent voidcopper enmesh themselves in a stem of flowing,
calligraphic form supporting the nodding head of the blossom. A spray of curling, metallic leaflets
support the delicate living petals of the poppy flower as the golden segments nod and shiver
together. Sparks of subtle rainbow light play off of this shifting artifice, little more than
ripples of oil over water, and a curious murmuring of energies plays in the bowl of the blossom,
setting the flower to a slow, shifting fluttering.
It is strangely weightless.
It does not retain any heat whatsoever.
It bears the distinctive mark of the Divine Order of Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees.
It has the following aliases: poppy, pin.

Gurashi's melodic voice sings into your mind, "* a gentle thrum and soft pastel colors * ... hope
everything ... I hope you are O-K, Beloved! I am here if you need me!"

You have emoted: Zeebin finally begins to move about, slowly, agonisingly as if rediscovering how to
walk for the first time.

Stammering, you say, "H-how... O-ouch. M-m-my head-d...."

An echoing voice arises abruptly, and a soft caress of silken veils brushes your skin, whispering to
you in foreign, lilting syllables, "In the power of Choice, Will is born. Saffron's purity is
mirrored only in babes and the truly Enlightened. Your failure is expected, and mortal. Your next
choice must be made of your own true Will."

Shadowy feathers slither across the floor and through the air, rising like a coiling, serpentine
mass. Solidifying, the owlish face of Mysrai emerges from within as His head swivels unnaturally to
face you.

Eritheyl bows respectfully to Mysrai.

You kneel before Mysrai, swearing your allegiance to Him.

Sparks of vibrant energy spring up around you as Mysrai clicks His beak together several times,
turning His head to an impossible angle in what could easily be either disappointment or humour.

His great voice echoing in a thousand, chest-shakingly beautiful baritones, Mysrai, the Thief of
Hidden Apogees says, "Make your Choice an entertaining one. You were so certain, after all, that I
chose correctly."

Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees has bestowed His divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 30
months.

Mysrai graciously grants you entrance into the Divine Order of Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees.
Congratulations, and may you serve your God well.

**********[ THE DIVINE ORDER OF MYSRAI, THE THIEF OF HIDDEN APOGEES ]**********
Faithful              Position                                   OC    MC    IC
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zeebin                of the First Paradigm                     Yes   Yes    --

With a toothy smile, you say, "How could I do anything else?"

Mysrai's eyes stare dispassionately towards you as a third eye peels open within your forehead, the
voidstruck energy there flecked with saffron eyes that stare forward ceaselessly. A perfect, if
pale, imitation of His own.

l me
Attars of hyssop, pearl and sacred basil eclipse two alert and curious eyes in a nacreous halo,
deepening the lurid indigo of each iris as they note your attention in the space of a single blink.
With a slender skull, ridged eyebrows, four horns and long, toothy maw, he is a fierce illuminated
dracnari, who has adorned himself with religious fervour. Lapis lazuli fills scrimshaw heirogylphs
along each bone-white horn, detailing celestial bodies, wheels of flame and the dance of birds,
while shades of black and blue beyond bruises stain his fingers and hands with the indelible proof
of his devotion. Each golden scale has been rubbed with oils to shine, flashing with liquid
brightness like spilled sunlight even as beads of dull amber resin and lines of sapphire dust chart
alien constellations across his body, while his sinuous tail drags behind him like the trail of a
comet. Labyrinths of powdered indigo, cassia and camphor painstakingly wend endless trails across
his body in inconsistent shades, veering from ruddy and metallic to chalky white to brilliant blue.
Though relatively tall for a dracnari, his emaciated frame speaks to long periods of isolation and
meditation, suggesting a frailty of body that his bearing and demeanour deny. A single voidstruck
eye, full of brilliant saffron stars, stares out from the middle of his forehead.


His great voice echoing in a thousand, chest-shakingly beautiful baritones, Mysrai, the Thief of
Hidden Apogees says, "In Indigo's shadows."

Sparks of vibrant energy spring up around you as Mysrai clicks His beak together several times,
turning His head to an impossible angle in what could easily be either disappointment or humour.

Turning in upon Himself, Mysrai dissolves into a flurry of feathers that break apart and slither
away into nearby shadows.

You have emoted: Zeebin blinks with his ordinary pair of eyes, reaching up to gently feel about his
new third eye with keen interest.