Zealous Catchup

Beneath a weeping willow tree.
The rippling sound of flowing celestial waters echoes distantly from a healing shrine of Lantra
nearby. A peaceful gurgling sound rises from a small stream, which meanders from the west and
flows into a well-maintained pond, adding to the tranquil quality in the air. A rounded island
of wet grass sits within the pond, connected to the bank by a narrow wooden footbridge which
seems to have borne countless travelers to the little isle. The island itself is home to a
large weeping willow tree, which struggles to stay upright as the myriad of branches and leaves
droop down into the pond below. Small, brightly colored fish flit around the island, playfully
nipping at the small drops of water which fall from the willow. Fresh breezes stir the branches
of the ancient tree like soft sighs and whispers that pervade the island, making it an ideal
spot to meditate. A sea-green kelpie drifts here as though underwater, the air thick with the
warm scent of the sea.
You see exits leading southeast, southwest, and west.

Standing before the pond with a pensive mien, Avaris's antennae are already
pointing towards Misericorde as she enters, a number of the smaller eyes that adorn his wings
regarding the merian calmly. Lifting a hand to gesture to the area with a circular motion, his
tone is conversational as he says, "This is, in fact, my original haunt. I strayed from it for
a time due to a rather...Unpleasant incident. I have since moved past such."

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say to Misericorde, "Everything is more than well,
as it happens. What of yourself?"

Misericorde claps her hands behind her back as her fire-bright gaze sweeps across the area with
a critical eye. After a moment she pronounces judiciously, "I could understand the appeal, but
I think I would find it more beautiful looking up from the waters." Her mouth quirks a fraction
upwards for the barest of moments before the expression on her dark features flows back into a
practised neutrality. Still and silent with her thoughts, she eventually voices, "Well, I
believe. Hoping for calm after such foolish storms." With a little snort she then adds, "Then
again, I suppose we shall see how Vernal nominations proceed."

The large wedge of Avaris's burnished, helm-like head cants to one side as he
considers the pond. "I do not think it is quite deep enough to cover me, but you may have more
success. You shall have to show me some of your favoured locations, sometime." Turning from the
placid waters to face Misericorde fully, hands folded beneath the shimmering cloak of his
golden feathers, the kephera inclines his head courteously. "I am pleased to hear it. It is a
relief to have Alarin finally gone from the city, and the Order. It has been a time of much
change." The featureless visor of his face inscrutable, he asks, "What do you think the likely
outcome will be?"

Misericorde shifts her gaze from the surroundings to you, her own head inclining politely in
turn. She allows her hands to clasp behind her back, a glint of mischief evident in her eyes as
she replies, "I do hope you like the cold, dark, and wet, then." The smaller merian then
exhales audibly at the question, her head tilting faintly to the side while the gills at her
ribs flare noticeably. "It's hard to say," she admits. "I know of Xedrik, Faragan, and Gurashi
as candidates. Alarin leaving means he has been struck from the pool - and I believe there is
one more but I'm unaware of who." Her voice a touch colder than previously she continues, "The
first two I would not mind seeing. I nominated Xedrik. Gurashi I have advised against to the
Queen for disloyalty to the city. I hope she listens."

A note of humour joins the natural symphony of Avaris's many voices as he
remarks, "I am more prone to enjoying bright places, but I can bring my own light, so that I am
not too terribly put out." The immense paladin does not respond to the list of nominees
swiftly, instead contemplating the matter in silence, antennae undulating like strands of
sanguine kelp caught in a gentle current. "Faragan was my nomination. We have something of a
bleak pool of candidates to draw from." Extracting a hand from where it rests at the small of
his back, the blades chitin glints in the faint starlight as he turns his fingers aside in a
gentle motion, asking, "Disloyal? I am not surprised to hear such. What have they done?"

Her expression placid as still waters and quite at odds with her voice, Misericorde Misericorde
asks in turn as the susurrations of the tentacles atop her head become conspicuous, "Were you
aware I was approached to be the Witness after Alarin abandoned the guild to contest?"

The larger of Avaris's left antenna twitches aside in a minute display of
surprise, a hint of which suffuses his resonating response. "I was not. I know nothing of the
goings on of the Archons, in truth. You were a fine choice, though it would rankle to see you
as subordinate to someone like Gurashi."

Misericorde's expression does not change as she continues, "I was approached as the first
choice, and as such requested a meeting to set expectations and discern whether we could work
together or not. I concluded the meeting after they insulted me repeatedly by evading my
questions. Gurashi then admitted they would choose Mysrai over the city if pressed. New Celest
deserves better, and frankly still does. I dropped my name from consideration and Kennian was
thusly chosen." She regards you with an echo of an expression, a certain frigidity lying just
below the surface which never fully manifests. "I spent a good deal of time assessing my
position within the guild, and whether I should abandon my work there. As you can see, I have."

Avaris listens with the severe demeanour of a judge hearing evidence given to
damn a party long since deemed guilty, no surprise evident in his person, only a cold
disapproval. The point of his chin lowers gradually to brush against the swaying tufts of his
shimmering white mane, the many pitches and tones of his voices united in their cool, hard
enunciation. "Gurashi is weak, and has never belonged in New Celest. Many do not, for they see
it as a city of love and friendship, built of desserts and cotton. It is pathetic. I am not
surprised that they lack the spine to remain loyal to the Light." A low, thrumming sound of
displeasure shivers in the air before he remarks, "There is much of that, of late."

Misericorde hums a single note at the back of her throat, the sound damning and low. "They
are," she concurs, "And I told them as such." Her gaze slips downwards as she composes herself
for a moment, the tentacles atop her head slowly stilling despite her evident displeasure. When
she turns her attention back to you she then agrees, "Yes, there is. Hopefully now that some of
the chaff has blown away the city can begin to reform as it should. Regardless, with luck the
new Ascendant will be someone with loyalty to New Celest."

A brief, reverberating sound emits from Avaris's throat - What would be a
harsh laugh, were it not for the inherently melodic nature of his voice. "I expect they cried
and looked pitiable. Their daughter is much the same." The layered wings that fold atop his
back shift in a soft susurrus of whispering feathers as the kephera nods, the motion emphatic.
"We can but hope. There are far too many that loudly claim to be loyal to the Light, and that
they are exemplars of all that it represents." A sharp, dismissive flicking aside of his clawed
fingers in a blur of gold sends a faint whistling of torn air, voice as soft and forgiving as
steel. "Empty words, proven to be as hollow as their conviction."

Misericorde admits with an easy shrug of her shoulders, "I wouldn't know. I left once my piece
was spoken - my time was not further deserved." She falls silent as she merely observes you
while he speaks, something akin to fondness evident in her expression. "Yes," she then agrees
with a simple nod. "But I am tired from all of this senselessness," the merian admits, "and
should likely dwell on less infuriating matters." Her gaze casting to your face she notes,
"You've a new title listed, I see."

Acquiescing to the change in subject with an amiable inclination of his
gleaming head, Avaris turns his wrist inwards, gesturing at himself with a slight twirling
motion of his two forefingers. "Indeed. My Lady has seen fit to trust me to lead the Argent
Light within the Order, as Her Incandescent." His voice is warmed with pleasure, but utterly
empty of braggadocio or pride - The tone of one happy to serve. "She is pleased with my work
thusfar, though others are less so."

A ghost of a smile touches the corners of Misericorde's lips at the news, her hands unclasping
from behind her back to reach out and lightly touch the wrist of your lower right arm. Her
voice warm she congratulates, "Well done, then, on your promotion. I am certain that was no
small feat." With a tilt of her head, she then observes as her hand falls away and back to her
side, "Your Goddess's pleasure is all that matters within Her Order." Leaning forward the dark
merian confides as if a secret, "To Nil with their displeasure."

The companionable, congratulatory contact sparks a glittering array of
pinpricks of light to life within Avaris's azure eyes, the paladin lowering his head in a
gracious acceptance, replying, "Thank you. I hope to repay Her trust many times over." At the
imparting of confidential knowledge, the massive, golden figure laughs, a full-hearted thing
woven from many warm, delighted tones, humming and harmonising with one another as his bladed
crest glints in the light. "Exactly so! That is entirely my thoughts on the matter,
Misericorde. They can either rise to the occasion, or fall to the wayside. I am, presently,
without equal in authority in the Order, and I intend to set it to rights." Waving his hand
aside, he says, "But enough of me. How is your family - Your lovely wife and stalwart
daughter?"

Misericorde chuckles softly in turn at your laugh, her eyes bright. A subtle shift of her
expression reveals a smile across her dark lips and she answers in turn, "I believe they're
both well. Niralahi was recognised by the Sculptor after the production of her last play, which
I was quite pleased to see - she deserved the promotion for her work. And as for my daughter
I'm afraid we keep missing one another during our wakings, but she seemed well when we met at
one of those lectures. I forget which it was." She makes an absent wave of her hand as she
fails to remember which exact lecture she means, but she nonetheless adds with an impish lilt,
"And my seal is still dumber than bricks, so it seems things are on the level for now." She
winks one fire-bright eye at you, another low chuckle sounding from her chest with the action.

Avaris's upper pair of hands lift, coming together in a merry clap of metallic
chitin, his demeanour bright as he enthuses, "That is wonderful! Please pass on my
congratulations. I am certain that she was delighted to have received recognition from your
Lady." Lowering the burnished, natural gauntlets of his bladed hands, he tucks them behind his
back once more, offering a soft laugh. "You seem fond of it, regardless. We cannot all be
blessed with a rapier wit, I suppose, and so must make do with other qualities." Regarding
Misericorde fondly, he says, "It has been good to speak with you, Misericorde. I forget,
sometimes, that I am not alone in my beliefs. For now, however, I should return to my
meditations for a time, if you will excuse me."

"Alas," Misericorde laments as to her seal. Her expression slowly slips back into neutrality
once more, though she nonetheless agrees with a nod of her head, "I will pass on your
congratulations to Niralahi." The dark merian then answers, "Speaking with you has been a much
needed respite from all of this nonsense." With a sharp lift of her hand in a salute she
continues, "Keep well, Avaris."