Reassurance

A familiar hollow-toned voice intrudes upon your thoughts, "Hello, little one..."

In the midst of clambering up the branches of the Ravenwood, Rhalkyr grows still,
head cocking as if hearing a noise.

The branches tremble beneath your fingers as the soft voice whispers in your mind, "I heard your
prayer, and I see you've already helped claim one more servant for the Wyrd."

You think to yourself: A deliberately muted furor of wild, ecstatic emotion, a hushed whispering of
reverence - though laced through with the subtle threads of discomfort, and aching shame. "Beloved,
Silent One." A pause, and then a mental shrug. "Set, upon path. Took steps, of her own. Proud."

Rhalkyr caresses the quivering branches adoringly, calloused fingers rasping across
the rough bark.

The soft voice ripples idly through your thoughts, easily brushing against the threads of discomfort
buried within, "There is no need for modesty, little one. If it is done for the Wyrd, then delight
in whatever part you had in bringing it to pass. Elexia..." the voice pauses, a sensation akin to
repulsion or anger briefly touching your own mind, "dearest Maylea has a firm grasp upon her soul.
Be cautious. Anything involving the Bloom of Serenity involves significant danger."

You think to yourself: The idle touch stills the discomfort, as a reverse of a finger sending
ripples out to disturb the smooth surface of a quiescent lake. "Yes, Silent One. Joyous, to have,
another flower, for the garden." A flicker of savage satisfaction, a flash of teeth. "One, from, a
lesser one, makes, sweeter, still." An instinctive hunching at the sense, the brush of the feelings
causing the creatures of his mindscape to flinch down as if struck. "Yes. Will, take care. Still,
would want to have, if possible?"

A cascade of rippling spasms flows down Rhalkyr's form, the dense musculature
twitching as his fingers tighten upon the branches.

Ripples of cruel amusement play across your thoughts, "Yes..." the voice whispers. "As for your
offered gift, I will leave it to you. I am curious what you would do with your prize. A word of
advice - a promise is a powerful thing to have. It can be used to control and bind as easily as it
can be used to unite. I would not be too quick to spend its potential."

You think to yourself: A gradual easing of the lingering tension. "Gratitude, Silent One, for
advice." A long pause, devoid of sound, but rich with the mad flurry of bright, sharp thought -
which cuts at the self as often as without, a taut, coiling sense of shame slithering about the
mortal mind. Slowly, with much self-recrimination weighing the words down. "Silent One? Would
ask...Advise. On, decision, to make. Heart, torn asunder. Do not, know. Path, to take."

There is no voice this time, just a faint impression of curiosity followed by a patient silence.

You think to yourself: Within the secret, innermost heart of the silken, shadow-bathed jungle that
forms his mind, a waterfall. Behind the thundering, atramentous screen of the mighty flow, a cave, a
home. At the back wall of the warm, intimately comfortable space, a series of carved wooden statues.
The focus is upon the two uppermost, which have been carved with aching care and reverence. The Lady
Viravain, and the Lord Silent. Crouched before both, an immense tiger, though the massive creature
is diminished by the way it hunches in on itself, staring agonised between the two figures. "Cannot,
join, both. Would not, insult, either. Love, both. More, than anything. How, to choose? Impossible."

The disconcerting feeling of your thoughts being twisted about briefly overwhelms, as if they were
being inspected by another. After several moments a hollow, soft "Hmmm..." fills your mind, twisting
its way over and under and between your anxious thoughts. "Perhaps..." the voice suddenly whispers,
"The fact that it is causing you such distress means you are not yet ready to decide. I see facets
of you suited towards Myself, yes. But also facets suited for dearest Viravain, and even Manteekan
and Shikari, though They do not wander the Basin at the moment. Take your time if there are doubts.
For when you make that promise there should be none. As I've already said..." the soft voice murmurs
as tendrils of shadows wrap around you like fast-growing vines. "A promise is a powerful thing, and
I promise you neither of Us will be pleased with a broken one."

Soft whispers filter up into the trees as you feel your mind become yours alone once more.

You think to yourself: The words are paid rapt attention, an intense and feverish regard mingling
with impossibly deep wells of love, devotion, and belief, of such a degree that they have long since
ventured far into the realms of madness. No resistance whatsoever is offered to the Divine presence,
the alien sensation uncomfortable, but as welcome as scalding water to a man dying of the cold - a
craving for something satisfied far, far in excess, and all the more enrapturing for it. Resolutely,
despite the doubts that plague and bite like vermin, in a voice as deep as the shifting earth, but a
great deal more immovable, "Promise made, is promise kept."

Nocht, the Silent has bestowed His divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 1 month.

He remains unmoving for a time, with even the soundless beating of his fingers upon
his breast falling still as he stares, unseeing, at the bough of the Ravenwood. Rhalkyr hangs there
like a carving of some misbegotten child of man and beast, poised as he is in the midst of scaling
the tree, with only the faint rise and fall of his chest providing any indication that he is a
living thing. Abruptly, he lunges down, springing away from the tree in a surge of sudden energy,
and is gone.