Gurashi's Very Own Poppy

<-- me on Astral hunting with a handful of people

An enormous shadow of saffron rises before you, staring down at all gathered as it continues to grow into the shape of an enormous looming owl. Struck throughout its ephemeral eyes, pinpoint stars of voidswept black stare down in silent appraisal.

Inside the mouth.
A biting cold fills the air, seeping away from a healing shrine of Manteekan nearby. A rainbow halo surrounds a crystalline power node that pushes up from the ground here. Ionye, the celestial amphiptere, awaits here, a corona of starlight radiating from the feathered frill around his neck. Completely motionless, a slender leothin intently surveys its surroundings. Eddies of frost swirl around the graceful form of a large snow phoenix with icy wings. A warforged crusader readies to strike with a sword of light at hand as righteous fire furiously whips around them. A warforged crusader readies to strike with a sword of light at hand as righteous fire furiously whips around them. Only barely noticeable, silver constellations float about a star-struck explorer, basking them in a faint glow.
You see exits leading northeast, east, south, southwest, and northwest.

Bright and clear, you say, "... ah..."

Sir Romaan D'Varden, Knight of the Paladins says, "What is that?"

Bright and clear, you say, "... Shofets..!"

Comprehension flashes across Romaan's face.

(Veiled): Mysrai says, "Beloved. Attend Me, in a place of your own choosing. Though I suppose the Astral Prison is as fine as any, should you be...otherwise predisposed."

(Veiled): You say, "No no, I will find You, Most Beloved!"

Suddenly, you say, "I need to go! They must speak with me yes!"

<-- trying to clear the room cause gdi

Romaan nods his head at you.

You give the world a smart salute.

Sir Romaan D'Varden, Knight of the Paladins says, "Thanks for coming."

(Veiled): Mysrai says, "It shall not take long. You may return upon our meetings culmination."

Romaan snickers softly to himself.

Bright and clear, you say, "Yes!! I will be back, They said I could come back!"

<-- ascends

You think to yourself: A goodly place... oh!

<-- run run run to temple

A cliffside pavilion over a roiling abyss.
Throughout the location, small dancing flames flicker and spark. Ivory, copper, pillars, twisting ribbons of molten material rise on the outermost edge of this walkway along the sheer side of the cliff. At the centre of this wide, crimson-paved walkway, a great dias of copper rises, stamped with fell, strange symbols. Braziers hang from above, descending from amidst a panoply of many coloured tapestries depicting the innumerable forms of the Thousandfold. A low, rounded dias of copper and ivory rests at the centre of the floor, surrounded by radiating patterns of enameled gold and indigo tiles: above, a tripod dangles on tarnished chains, disgorging clouds of resin-scented smoke. Spangled with eccentric loops of indigo, emerald and copper, a rough collection of abstract feathers adorns an otherwise blank painting. Streaked in kaleidoscopic paint, a statue of Ashtariel of a Thousand Hues stands here.
You see exits leading west and up.

You think to yourself: ... O-K. O-K! O-K?

(Veiled): You say, "I am inside of the Temple, am, Most Beloved! Astral would be muchly too noisy, I think."

You think to yourself: Regular peoples conversations are hard enough...

You fidget impatiently.

Bright and clear, you say, "... Oh! BIZIRIK."

You put your fingers in your mouth and let out a high-pitched whistle, then hope for the best.
Bizirik, the leothin trots in with head high.

Bizirik, the leothin glares angrily at you.

Bizirik, the leothin obediently falls into line behind you.

As you look around the pavilion, at first you see naught but the distant, inky expanse of nothingness beyond the pavilion. Then, with just a moment of clarity, you spot an enormous shape looming at the edge, visible only by the saffron dust swirling across His inky feathers.

double take
A cliffside pavilion over a roiling abyss.
Throughout the location, small dancing flames flicker and spark. Ivory, copper, pillars, twisting ribbons of molten material rise on the outermost edge of this walkway along the sheer side of the cliff. At the centre of this wide, crimson-paved walkway, a great dias of copper rises, stamped with fell, strange symbols. Braziers hang from above, descending from amidst a panoply of many coloured tapestries depicting the innumerable forms of the Thousandfold. A low, rounded dias of copper and ivory rests at the centre of the floor, surrounded by radiating patterns of enameled gold and indigo tiles: above, a tripod dangles on tarnished chains, disgorging clouds of resin-scented smoke. Spangled with eccentric loops of indigo, emerald and copper, a rough collection of abstract feathers adorns an otherwise blank painting. Streaked in kaleidoscopic paint, a statue of Ashtariel of a Thousand Hues stands here. Completely motionless, a slender leothin intently surveys its surroundings. The air about Him crackling with saffron hieroglyphs, Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees gazes dispassionately at His surroundings as though seeing through them.

LOOK MYSBY BUT OWL SHAPED
The air holds its breath surrounding the gargantuan feathered form of this enormous creature, aetheric energies sparking in hieroglyphs of saffron colour that guarantee He is a radiant immortal. Covering Him from head to claw is a vast field of inky black feathers, dusted along their tips with saffron dust that shimmers in light like the distant abyss of space as they cast shapes and flowing rivers before being cast into entirely new patterns with His movement. Two enormous wings are folded at His sides in place of arms, falling down to the ground before spilling out and behind Him like the train of a dress. Golden claws can be seen extending from His leathery grey, avian feet, spreading out further hieroglyphs along the surface of what it is He walks upon like oil spilling over water. Towering upwards to twelve feet in height, His head is rounded and His face distinctly owl-shaped, a viciously curved gold beak protruding from the bottom of a central ridge splitting His face in half. Wide and unblinking, His eyes are little more than voidstruck pools of absolute darkness that shimmer with swiftly-changing saffron constellations in unfathomable patterns.
He is wearing:
a swirling crown of saffron hieroglyphs, distorting both time and space around His head;
an intricate poppy petal ring placed onto one of His talons.

Perking up, you say, "Ah...!"

You have emoted: Gurashi quickly bows deeply before Mysrai, hands folding over their heart. "Hello! Good mo-- afternoon!"

Bizirik, the leothin chirps happily at Mysrai.

Bizirik, the leothin snorts, then begins nosing around in Gurashi's bag as the human is stooped forward in a bow.

Staring straight into the distant darkness, His eyes away from you, Mysrai's voice is once more a thousand echoes of a breathtakingly beautiful baritone that resonates in your chest, "You are good to attend Me so quickly, Gurashi. Ever loyal, ever eager." There is a moment's pause to allow the praise to sink in, and then His voice returns, "I will not ask why you have run away to the Light. It is My decree that all who would follow Me may, regardless of their home. I would infer that your beloved had aught to do with it, and would not begrudge your heart its due place."

You think to yourself: * a sudden rush of excitement, and nerves, a swell of color, gray, color again, silvery skeins of anticipation *.

You have emoted: Gurashi lets out a soft sniff at the praise, slowly rising to stand up straighter as they cant their head up at the enormous avian form before them. "...ah, O...K..." They bite the tip of their tongue. "Well, talked to Beloved Alary briefly, when was still just idea..."

Furrowing their brow, you say, "They did not tell me was a ... bad idea?"

Mouth stuffed full of some stolen foods, Bizirik, the leothin happily trots over to the side of the Thief, her paws rising high like some manner of show-horse as she rubs happily against Him for a moment before curling down and beginning to gnaw at her ill-gotten gains. <-- not me

In a breathtaking baritone that rings in a thousand beautiful echoes, Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees says, "It is not. It is simply your idea."

You think to yourself: ... where did she get that pie ...

You have emoted: Gurashi glances down at their bag, then back at the leothin, deadpan before returning their gaze to Mysrai. "Yes."

Bizirik, the leothin snorts, pleased.

Bizirik, the leothin looks awfully pleased with herself as she chirrs at you for a moment before continuing to snort and snuffle into the pie tin. <-- not me

Seemingly unperturbed by the flecks of pie that fall into the inky carpet of His feathers, Mysrai's head swivels upon His spine to stare down at you, and you realise with a start that you are unable to tell whether He is looking back at you or if He is finally facing forward once more. "Yet I feel...doubt in your mind, My Gurashi. New memories and knowledge linger within, touched by My kin."

You have emoted: Gurashi clears their throat, the leothin ever present in their periphery. "...w-wait, doubt?"

Mysrai's eyes do not blink, nor do you think they are able to. They just stare down at you, swirling and churning with uncountable saffron stars as He watches.

Unable to hide the look of terror that crosses their features, you exclaim to Mysrai, "Oh - I, have no doubts or regrets for joining You, Most Beloved! I promise! I mean it!"

You think to yourself: Oh! Am not worshipping Them goodly enough?? Or --.

You think to yourself: * another passing recollection - flames and malice, a sense of unease, the vision planted by the Empyreal, fleeting *.

You have emoted: Gurashi's flailing slows as the terror is replaced with embarrassed understanding.

Mysrai's head rises in a decidedly serpentine manner, coiling through the air before snaking downwards to meet you at eye level, though even one of His eyes easily is the size of your whole head. "This, My Gurashi." As His beak parts, you notice its razor edge, perfectly suited for piercing and tearing flesh, clicking with every syllable. "This fear. These sights. A kernel of doubt that worries your stomach and twists it in knots, placed there by My kin."

Oracular smoke drifts by on a Void-laden breeze, sending your mind betwixt veils of perception.

You have emoted: Gurashi is unable to refrain from letting out an eek of surprise at the sudden close proximity to the Divine before them. "Ah!" They nearly fall over, catching themselves with a quick backstep. "Oh! I," Their breath catches in their throat, "...a kernel..."

You look at Mysrai, expression filled with concern as you frown.

You have emoted: Gurashi straightens in their spot, returning the foot that stepped back to catch themselves back to its previous position. "Peoples seem to have lots of opinions of You, Shofets..." They say at last, quiet.

You sniffle softly.

Mysrai's head withdraws, and He inclines His head in a nod of agreement. "My Mother made Me the very image of Chaos, little one." There is a moment of consideration, the dust upon Their feathers swirling into new, eldritch patterns before They ask, abruptly, "What is your favourite colour, little one?"

You have emoted: Gurashi reaches up to wipe at their eyes, surprised. "My favorite color...? Uhm..."

You think to yourself: * the pastel colors begin to fade, allowing for a simple hue of forget-me-not blue to settle upon their mindscape, all encompassing, calm *.

Quietly, you say, "Is hard to explain ..."

Mysrai nods His head simply, saying, "Then speak not, and allow your mind to show Me the truth. For it already has, and ever will."

Looking up, you say to Mysrai, "O-K."

You have emoted: Gurashi scrunches their face as they shut their eyes, intensely focused.

You think to yourself: * the color grows and spreads like watercolor painting, at times more violet, other times more blue - now gold? a few other colors attempting to creep in - so many to choose from - so many goodly ones *.

Mysrai's head swivels clockwise, turning almost ninety degrees before He asks a question that snakes into your ears in His breathtakingly beautiful voice, "What of Tridemon? Cheliyi? Shulamit? Alary? Surely they all do not share your choice of favourite, and may have their own favourites, and opines upon this which you hold to be so beautiful?"

Bizirik, the leothin lets out a massive belch into the air. <-- not me

Bizirik's head begins to droop. It opens its great maw and curls back its lips to allow its forked tongue to unfurl as it yawns before snapping its mouth shut.

Scoldingly, you whisper, "Bi-zi-rik."

Bizirik, the leothin grins smugly.

'THUMP THUMP THUMP' Bizirik, the leothin's tail is somewhat muffled as it attempts to smack the ground through the carpet of Mysrai's wing feathers. <-- not me

Opening their eyes once more and speaking in confusion, you say to Mysrai, "They can have different favorite colors, is O-K?"

In a breathtaking baritone that rings in a thousand beautiful echoes, Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees asks, "Are any truly wrong?"

You shake your head.

Bright and clear, you say to Mysrai, "No!"

Bright and clear, you say to Mysrai, "I do not think so?"

You huff, puffing your cheeks.

In a breathtaking baritone that rings in a thousand beautiful echoes, you ask, "What of the tyrant, who demands that you must choose what he chooses? Who speaks that any who do not paint with the brushes he has selected is foolish, and orders paints of his own choosing. Who then decries the pies you bake and orders naught but egg tartare? Who says that no more might you be Beloved, but instead must remain sequestered among those he has already chosen for you? Is he wrong to do so, My Gurashi?"

You have emoted: Gurashi's frown deepens, and they cant their head in the other direction now. Their embarrassment apparent as their face flushes, they ask, "Am not sure am following the question, Most Beloved ...You mean like ..." They wrinkle their nose and twist their mouth, clicking their teeth. "That someone tells me my favorite color is wrong 'cause is not their favorite color?"

You think to yourself: * swells of confusion - that seems to make sense - but, who is right to decide who has the rightest color? *.

"Mortal minds...mortal minds..." Mysrai sighs softly, His beak clicking a few times as He ponders this before looking down once more. "Yes. He then tells you what your favourite colour must be. And because he has done this, he now tells you who your friends may and may not be. For your favourite colour is blue, and My Asch loves gold, you may no longer waste your time being friends. You must now only be friends with those who adore blue, and Asch only gold. These limitations and structures applied not only to you, but to everyone you know. Everyone who has not wished or asked for them."

Suddenly, you say to Mysrai, "But. That is how things already are between places and peoples."

Bright and clear, you say, "I mean, not those exact examples, but..."

You fidget impatiently.

You think to yourself: * a sudden thought * would have to eat all my powers to keep apart ...

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

"Precisely. My Brother," Mysrai's voice is now a razor's edge, still breathtaking and resonant, but entirely dangerous as He considers His Brother, "He would see all the world constrained. Limited. He would look upon you as He looked upon Me, My Gurashi. A failure. An oddity. To be broken and placed within His Order until He was satisfied. For just as Mother made Me in the image of Chaos manifest...so too did She make Him Order." As He speaks, the images of the war return to your mind, and you see the Thousandfold's pure, unmitigated rage once more. Nothing but bloodlusted murder lingers within Their starstruck gaze as They look upon the distant, towering figure of Zvoltz, whose dispassionate gaze harbors no emotion as He orders His troops forward.

You think to yourself: * the colors continue to swirl, then churn, thoughtful, concerned *.

You look at Mysrai, expression filled with concern as you frown.

Softly, you say, "Oh..."

You have emoted: Gurashi blinks a few times, their gaze leaving the Great Owl's face and staring off just beyond Them, watching the scene as it plays out before them. "...does that mean You feel the same way about Order, Shofets?" They ask, their voice far-off as they watch.

"It has always been Our nature to quarrel. To fight. Yet there was a time when We did so in good spirit, understanding of each other..." Mysrai's voice is distant now as your eyes behold the two standing side by side, slaying abominations and monsters that are only illuminated by the fulminating lightning and scintillating chaos that They fling away. "...yet in Mother's absence...He decided that He must know Her mind, and limit us. Attempt to provide Her Will where He could not know it."

You look at Mysrai, expression filled with concern as you frown.

Softer still, you say, "Oh..."

You think to yourself: ... sad ...

In a breathtaking baritone that rings in a thousand beautiful echoes, Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees says, "Mortals crave Order and Chaos both, My sweet Gurashi. Yet it is in Will, and Choice, that one chooses. It is never in the Choice of another. I turned My Will against Him, and rather than understanding this and freeing Me of the constraints He saught to clap on Me like irons, He began a bloody, vicious war."

You think to yourself: * another swell of curiosity, watching the deadpan expression of Zvoltz gazing back at the Thousandfold's fury-filled one * ... in good Spirit ...

You look at Mysrai, expression filled with concern as you frown.

Voice cracking, you say, "Oh, gosh..."

Mysrai's voice is soft, and kind, finally, as They ask, "Where do mortals come from, My sweet?"

You have emoted: Gurashi takes a step closer to Mysrai, their hands still clasped together at their heart, though not quite so tight, the color returning to their scarred knuckles. "From ... Sharded Elders..." A pause. "Right?"

Mysrai nods, once. "Then now you must understand, that if the nature of mortals is to crave Order and Chaos both..." They do not finish the sentence, or the explanation, Their eyes staring forward instead to let the statement hang in the air like a looming storm. After several long minutes of silence, He says, "I fought My brother, and many shall call Me brutal for it. Savage. Monstrous, even. I cannot blame Them, for many look upon Chaos and see the twisted remnants of Magnora's Handmaidens, and believe Me to be...too familiar. Yet it was for those who were born well after Me that I fought, and for those who I prayed would return at Mother's side that I bled." Morose melancholy breaks the storm of expectation, and lingers heavy for several more moments before fleeing. "You have heard from My kin, who yearn to see that I do not...corrupt Their charge. Yet remember always in your heart, My sweet...that it was not I who sought to choose another's Will, or make Their Choice."

Their eyes now shiny with tears, you whisper, "Shofets ..."

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.

In a breathtaking baritone that rings in a thousand beautiful echoes, Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees says, "Dry your eyes, little one, for I did not call you here for a history lesson."

You have emoted: Gurashi quickly reaches up to wipe at their face, gasping. "R-right. Many apologies..."

A sense of well-being and calm fills the air and warms your heart as an enormous tae'dae with black and gold fur strides in from the west.

You think to yourself: * a lingering sense of sympathy, regardless - hard - must have still been .. *.

You blink.

LOOK AT THE BEST BEAR
Radiant gold and inky black compete for prominence in the thick fur that covers this enormous tae'dae's body, the well-groomed hair shifting like fields of wheat and clouds through the night sky with each movement. Despite their thick limbs and eleven-and-a-half feet of height, an aura of well-being and contentment radiates off of their body, only enhanced by the gentle smile that is nearly always present on their muzzle. Glittering mis-matched eyes, the right brown and the left green, stare with a gentle warmth at the world around them, only inches below a pair of fuzzy ears with several notches missing from them. A brilliant red hieroglyph crackles in the centre of their forehead, flaring occasionally with small tendrils of red lightning. They are nicely dressed in a comfortable pair of deep grey trousers, held up by a burgundy belt of leather, and a three-layered tunic of bright red-violet cloth that fits them nearly perfectly. A hooded coat of striking vermillion hues hangs atop this, flower petals hand-sewn across its embroidery and circling the black star easily visible on their back. Light tan, a pair of strap boots are a stark contrast to their fur and have been decorated with little, hand-drawn moths. Shifting colours swirl around them in a small space, creating an aura of delightful serenity for all who pass through it.
Aschwar has an air of extreme strength.

Perking up, you exclaim, "Oh! Aschwar...!"

You hands fly to your mouth as you give a short gasp of elation.

Mysrai nods at His Heart as they enter, saying, simply, "Yes. You may now give them the gift. Imbue it as I have instructed you."

You blink.

You have emoted: Gurashi looks from Mysrai to Aschwar, canting their head the other way now, reaching up to pull their bangs back from their face. "...gift?"

You think to yourself: * a fleeting sense of panic * ..... DID NOT BRING ANY GIFTS.

Aschwar beams at you brightly before turning that same shining smile towards Mysrai. Though they stand just shy of His great height, they somehow yet seem small compared to the looming Divine. "Yes, Shofets." They turn their face back to you and quietly say, "Trust me. You will like it very muchly. It is for you, so that way when you are in your new home with Mister Tridemons, you will be able to hear the Shofets and know that we are always with you. Now close your eyes and hold out your hands!"

You blink.

You have emoted: Gurashi's lips form a perfect 'o' of surprise, then pull into a thin line as they shut their eyes tightly, holding out both hands without hesitation, palms cupped and facing upward.

Bizirik, the leothin's muffled snort rises from somewhere beneath the veil of feathers.

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

In a flash of Divine power, a shifting, living poppy of ivory petals appears in your hands, marking you a member of the Divine Order of Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees.

Bright and clear, you say, "... ah...!"

Their eyes still closed tight, you say, "C-can I peek? Something's --."

Aschwar's face looks just the tiniest bit tired as they look down at the poppy, withdrawing their paws and saying, "I grew it myself, and the Shofets decided it was time that you got your own. And soon, I'll be growing lots more, as more people start doing goodly th--" They are cut off as Mysrai gently intones, "Asch." There is a feeling of amusement hanging in the air as His voice resounds, "Yes, little one. You may look."

You have emoted: Gurashi opens their right eye, then the left, gasping at the bloom within their hands. "Oh!! Aschwar!!!" They bring the poppy close to their face, sniffing it cautiously before flashing the tae'dae a broad, toothy smile. "It is so beautiful!!"

Bouncing up and down, you ask Mysrai, "This is for me? For me? Really!?"

In a breathtaking baritone that rings in a thousand beautiful echoes, Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees says, "You need but touch it, and I will know that you require Me. In the same manner, through it might I impart My voice to you, even though custom demands I respect the boundaries of My kin's influence over your city."

You have emoted: Gurashi lets out a laugh, nervous, excited, cupping the bloom delicately in their hand. "Oh, my gosh! My very own - I am so... honored! Flattered! I promise I will take goodly care of it? And only touch if it I really need to and--" They wheel around to Aschwar again. "Am so excited! It is so great! May I hug you?!" They ask, practically bursting at the seems in their enthusiasm.

Aschwar runs up to you and envelops you in a massive bearhug.

You think to yourself: * bright firework-like splashes of color, of gold and pink and cerulean blue *.

You throw back your head as you let loose a delighted laugh.

You reach out, pulling Aschwar into a tight embrace.

Laughing and wrapping as much of their arms around the tae'dae as they can, you exclaim to Aschwar, "Your flowers keep getting better and better!! My eyeballs can hardly believe!"

Aschwar takes a big breath as they release you and draw back, then suddenly spouts, "AndyesIwouldlovetocomeandhelpyougrowflowersbutIamverybusilylatelyhelpingtheSaintbecausewegottagettheShofet'sVaultsreadyandIgottahelpbecauseIamsobigandstrongandIamrunninglatenowbecauseIwass'posedtogoandhelpanddidn'tsoIloveyouverymuchlyandbesafeandtellMisterTridemonsIsaidhi!" No sooner has the last syllable left their mouth do they quickly jog off, waving over their shoulder with a light laugh as they begin scurrying towards their destination.

The world seems a little less pleasant as an enormous tae'dae with black and gold fur departs to the west.

Your shoulders bunch as you let out a short giggle.

Yelling after the tae'dae as they go, you exclaim, "I love you tooooo!"

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.

Muffled laughter rings out in far galleries, echoing weirdly off the stone.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

You think to yourself: * heart racing - so fast! So ... ah! *.

You have emoted: Gurashi bites their lower lip, suddenly remembering the presence of the Divine before them. They stand up straight, eyes wide.

Still holding the poppy delicately within their hand, you say, "I promise I will keep doing my very bestest, yes."

As the tae'dae grows distant in your sight, Mysrai offers you His voice once more. "You may return now, little one. While I do not know yet that all the doubt may have been assuaged from your heart, I trust that you will carefully consider that which is told you in the future, lest My kin deign to lead you astray in Their own fear."

Softly, you say to Mysrai, "Do not doubt You, no - not You, Shofets. Promise."

Mysrai nods His head simply, and as His wings lift, offers you one final piece of wisdom. "Yet know that the vision She showed you was true. There is naught I would destroy, or hurt, should that which I care for come under harm." Absent of her hiding place, Bizirik sheepishly returns to your side and chirps happily towards Mysrai as He lowers His wings again. "Be well."

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

You nod your head emphatically.

Yelling again, now at the spot that once housed a Divine, you exclaim, "Thank You!"

You bounce up and down.

You slip into a shifting, living poppy of ivory petals.
As you twirl the stem of the blossom through your fingers, it curls abruptly around your wrist and settles. With a murmur, the petals stir, sending coppery wisps of resinous smoke in a swirling spiral about your wrist.

Bright and clear, you say, "...ooooOOOooohhh...."

An echoing voice murmurs, "You are My Beloved - bear My token in pursuit of your True Will, that your dreams become real. Know that I am always with you, My Own."

You think to yourself: * ba-bump *.

These faithful of the Divine Order of Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees are online:
Gurashi, the Heart's Friend
There is 1 mortal in your Circle (and below) on this Plane and 0 on other Planes.

(Order): You say, "Many thank Yous both again, yes yes. Am going to touch the poppy now, so please do not be alarmed, just want to see, I want to see."

You reach out and touch a shifting, living poppy of ivory petals.
Your vision blurs, and veils stroke your skin. Gazing through them, you cast your perceptions wide, seeking the attentions of the Thousandfold.

Bright and clear, you say, "Ohhhhhh... neat!"

You beam broadly.

You think to yourself: * happy *.

In the depths of the shifting fog, vast wings stir the sky with shifting patterns of nightmares. Darker shadows follow beyond, a flotilla of moths soaring through the billowing clouds.

An echoing voice arises abruptly, and a soft caress of silken veils brushes your skin, whispering to you in foreign, lilting syllables, "Walk ever with My grace, little one, and know that the Light shines in a paradigm just as darkness falls in another."

You blink.

Bright and clear, you say, "...ah? Ah!"