conch, lan sass

The Fulcrux of Li-varili.
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area. Captivatingly aquamarine shallows rest in
preternatural stillness, secluded amidst this sultry, tropical lagoon. Beneath the water's crystal
surface, visible roots stand unburied and upright, arching into mangroves like cages for the sinuous
shadows intermittently threading between their aquatic bars. These spindly trees both shelter and
protect the intimate space beneath their lushly snarled canopies, their boughs dripping with woven
veils of tender fireweed blossoms, petals wafting a grassy scent into the saltwater air. As the
forest finds purchase on sandy soil about the perimeter, its trunks cluster more thickly together,
forbidding exploration with treacherous footing - and forging a dark, claustrophobic prison out of
its labyrinthine overgrowth. A coarse island shrine rises from the centre of the shallow pool,
bromeliads bursting about it in glorious adoration of the Lady of the Lagoons. Humming a honeyed
melody to herself, Oinone watches her surroundings with thinly veiled amusement. Languorously bathed
in the waters here, Iaira studies you, her gaze half-lidded.
You see a single exit leading through a tangled curtain of fireweed blossoms.

You have recovered balance on all limbs.

Wreathed in lush waterfalls of lilac blue hair, this nereid possesses a captivating beauty in both
physical appearance and her voice, oft lifted in singsong melody. Her upper body is that of a
healthy woman, her dusky indigo skin glistening with rippling striations, patterned like sunlight
glancing off water. Languidly trailing below, her lower half forms a piscine tail, its fireweed pink
scales flashing violet, like glittering amethysts whose gemstone hues likewise sparkle upon her
frilled, watercolour-streaked fin. A puckish twist to her dark, pouty lips belies her every word,
whether uttered or sung, as do her lidded eyes, grey like the most vicious of hurricanes, twinkling
with otherworldly mischief no matter what might win her attention.
Oinone, the blithesome nereid has an air of extreme strength.

Eminent self-confidence marks the bearing of this bewitching nereid, her every sedate gesture filled
with vain conceit. Unruly hair the colour of fathomless night tumbles down her back and mats against
her cheeks, framing exquisite, sweetheart features with its dampened curls. Burnished like liquid
gold, her upper body glows with radiant vitality, nary a blemish marring her supple skin and
enchanting appearance. At the waist, her shapely physique curves into a piscine tail, its scales the
feverish red of bromeliads, its silken fin lazily fanning the waters in which she prowls. Quiet
hunger seethes within her violet gaze, veiled behind a curtain of thick eyelashes and feigned
disinterest.
Iaira, the covetous nereid has an air of extreme strength.

Suddenly disturbing the waters, a menacing shadow vanishes deeper into the gloomy shade of
mangroves.

Baleful, feminine laughter ripples from the impenetrable shadows of night.

Stepping through the trailing curtain of fireweed, Avaris's taloned feet sink into
the shallow waters, sending splashing ripples out as he surveys the lagoon, antennae swiveling. The
light-forged, stylised eyes of his wings rove about warily, even as the majority of their focus
fixes upon the two nereids, thinning with displeasure.

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "Nereids."

"The most beautiful beings in all the world," Oinone, the blithesome nereid says, her hurricane eyes
sparkling with tempestuous delight. "You agree, of course."

A note of contempt sliding into the chorus of his words, Avaris does not deign to
look upon Oinone, the blithesome nereid with his natural eyes, instead facing forward.

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "I have heard there is something one might do to
aid the Lady Li-varili."

Iaira, the covetous nereid's violet eyes flash with fevered devotion. "Li-varili is as a Mother to
us, and I will not see Her remain ensorcelled any longer."

With a sharp gesture, Iaira, the covetous nereid says, "She is hale, and we must awaken Her."

Dryly, you say, "Indeed? And how might interested parties strive to awaken your Mother from Her
slumber?"

Iaira, the covetous nereid's violet eyes narrow with scorn. "That She would be trapped upon the
Goddess Lantra's healing mound beggars belief. Her enemies must work in concert to overpower Her
thusly, and so must we."

A distant, haunting voice echoes through the trees and over the water, bewitching the senses with
its melancholic song.
12300h, 6150m, 6800e, 10p Bex-
Avaris's visored face slowly tracks to Iaira, the covetous nereid, his featureless
visage betraying nothing of his reaction.

In an even voice, if a shade cool, you say, "Trapped, is She? What, precisely, do you believe the
Lady Lantra is doing to Her?"

Oinone, the blithesome nereid thrashes her tail in the water, her eyes glittering with turbulent
emotion as her smile slips from her cheeks. "The Goddess Lantra cannot keep Her trapped forever. We
must free Her - there is absolutely no one else who might succeed, absolutely no one! Help me gather
offerings to awaken Her."

The sky lightens as Father Sun approaches the horizon, revealing a maelstrom of dark grey clouds
wreathing the firmament in a funereal shroud.

You think to yourself: "Deluded aberrations. So very like their Mother."

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you ask, "What sort of help do you ask for?"
12300h, 6150m, 6800e, 10p Bex-
"You would like to help us, hmm?" Iaira, the covetous nereid flashes you a white, tooth-filled grin.
"Help me, mortal. We will reach our Mother through word and deed with this conch shell, not useless
trinkets."
12300h, 6150m, 6800e, 10p Bex-
You think to yourself: "Ah, yes. Avaris, famed champion of nereids everywhere, stalwart advocate of
the Lady Li-varili's wellbeing."

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "A conch shell, you say?"

Iaira, the covetous nereid's eyes burn with glee as she relinquishes a wickedly spiked conch shell
into your possession. "The spell is simple enough for even a mortal to grasp," she explains. "Prick
your fingertips against the conch's spikes but thrice, then speak the words you would have our
Mother hear."

"Slowly, though," Iaira, the covetous nereid warns with pitiless mirth. "The shell is rather
hungry."
[HINT]: Brush your FINGERTIPS against the conch shell to begin the enchantment.

As though chiselled from a generous and perfect sample of bloodstone, this flawlessly preserved
conch shell drowns in murksome, moody tones. Its abyssal green body spirals in on itself, bumps and
crevices stained by sanguine veins and splotches at irregular intervals. While evenly-spaced spikes
jealously thrust outward, pricking even the most cautious of fingers, the inside feels like silk
against the cheek, perfect for nestling against an ear. Like echoes across water, a wordless song
teases at the very edge of hearing, its hauntingly disembodied chorus conveying a hint of the
enchantment gripping this pelagic carapace.
It weighs about 1 pounds and 0 ounce(s).
It has the following aliases: conch, shell.

[HINT]: You may LISTEN to the conch to hear the voices within.

Lifting the conch in one massive, plated hand, Avaris turns it slowly about as he
examines it in silence, antennae shifting towards it inquisitively.

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "By the power of this
conch and the she'nasim, may this message reach our Lady Li-varili. Lady of the Lagoon, hear our
call! We, Your chosen and Your daughters seek Your presence once more! May Your Rage and Hatred be
made manifest within the Basin once again, with our collective might behind You. Hear us, Lady--the
Spirit of the Sea needs You!"

You think to yourself: "Ah, the raving of lunatics, directly into my ear. How pleasant."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "Will You let the
Empyreal control You? Trap You? Wake, Lady of Lagoons, wake from Your prison. Come soothe Your
scared child, the Sea Spirit awaits You. Don't let them keep a mother from their child!"

(mapper): The mapper script was updated! Would you like to download the update? Click here if so.
The golden, bladed fingers that grasp the conch grate upon the abyssal surface with
an unpleasant, metallic sound as Avaris's grip tightens upon it.

You think to yourself: A surge of anger, indignation crackling to life within him. "I am faced,
again and again, with the staggering idiocy of mortals. How can they look upon what my Lady does,
and doubt the Purity of Her intent? They should all burn for this."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "Rise, Lady of the
Bloodtide. Remember our bond through essence and power, and let not the Elders keep you restrained
and shackled. You do not need the Eye of Dynara for You have strength from reservoirs yet untapped.
Focus, and return to us Lady of the Lagoons!"

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "Haegan! Do you have golden lips for tomorrow?"

You think to yourself: "Elders, plural? I do not recall seeing any lending aid to my Lady in Her
efforts, even though She wearies. Would that They did."

(Celestial Gathering): Soterasiel says, "What's tomorrow?"

(Celestial Gathering): Romaan says, "I believe he does."

(Celestial Gathering): Romaan says, "Hunt time."

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "If not it's my turn for the gift so no one else get them for
him!"

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "Wisdom and rage,
cunning and beauty/ We follow you truly, in love and in duty./ Hear us oh Lady, rise from this
dream,/ Wake oh adored Lady, make the basin scream."

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "Gonna make Haegan a demi!"

(Celestial Gathering): Soterasiel says, "I love you all :)"

(Celestial Gathering): Romaan says, "Who is after Haegan?"

Shafts of pale morning light pierce through the gloom from Father Sun's crown as it peeks over the
world's edge, announcing a new day.

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "Lidon probably."

(Celestial Gathering): Lidon says, "Huh?"

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "What level are you?"

You think to yourself: Disgust, thick and powerful as the currents of a clear river. "Make the basin
scream? What is ~wrong~ with these people? Why do they glory in pain and suffering? They are mad.
Utterly mad."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "You are the goddess
who endures. You are the goddess who will have it all. Will you let those who fought You sit by Your
side with their pity and false affection? Will You let the Empyreal keep You imprisoned? Lulled into
docility? Wake, Lady of Lagoons. Wake, powerful goddess, mother of the Sea and the nereid. Wake and
let those who stood against You tremble in fear."

(Celestial Gathering): Lidon says, "71."

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "Yeah - next up to bat."

Eyes half-closed, Oinone, the blithesome nereid hums a strain of deliriously sweet music to herself.

(Celestial Gathering): Kennian says, "Everyone likes making demis 'round here."

(Celestial Gathering): Lidon says, "Ahh."

Avaris's attention shifts briefly from the conch to Oinone, the blithesome nereid,
antennae flattening into sanguine blades.

(Celest): Romaan (from the Aetherways) says, "Stand strong, New Celest."

(Celest): Lidon says, "Be safe Romaan."

You think to yourself: "The Goddess who endures. Quite the claim, when my Lady is the One with true
Fortitude."

You tilt your head and listen intently.

You are holding:
a beryl encrusted coral wand, a sensible leather valise, 2 turquoise pipes with oceanic motifs, a
mechanical cane, a holy coral lamp, The Redwood Cornucopia of Flowing Tulips, an energy cube, an
emerald wand topped with diamonds, a transplanar cubix, an ornate cherub skull vial, a luminous font
of healing waters, A Diminutive Brazier of Gleaming, a veiled idol of the Empyreal Goddess, a cedar
curiobox, a Scroll of Healing, a portable incineration bin, a nebulous vial of coruscating water, a
deluxe burger, a rosewood-bound esoteric booklet, a pretty violet letter, a shining celestial ring,
A Gaudy Saddle of the Sentinel, a leather bound book of pressed blossoms, a group of 10 bags of
oats, 2 aether room boxes, an aromatic platter of orange chicken, snow peas, and rice, a capricious
umbrella, a white standard, a bright crimson star lotus, a Disc of Beauty, a Disc of Life.
You are wearing:
a pair of ivory angel wings, a thin diamond bracelet, a thin sapphire band, a radiant fieldplate of
brilliant gold, an armband of tangled leaves and thorns, 2 smooth pearl rings, a beryl eagle brooch,
a clear ring, an onyx and pearl ring, a Pendant of Celestial Transcendence, a cobalt sky guardian's
sash, Binoculars of Clairvoyance, Immaculate Prayer Beads of the Empyreal Goddess, a ring of
aetheric quickening, a silvered mantle of the drawn blade, a faceted pair of crystalline ears, a
Sacred Crown of the Guardian, Golden Wings of Fair Eroee, an Elemental Cloak, a circlet of crystal
thorns, Boots of the Wanderer, a conical, nexus headdress, a pair of aviator's goggles, a Brooch of
Angels, a set of clockwork goggles, a snobby snoot, a Brooch of the Tempest, a circlet of black
thorns, a Brooch of the Night, a Brooch of Twisted Flesh, a glowing gold tongue stud, a Brooch of
the Moon, a Brooch of Antlers, a Brooch of Precise Gems, a Brooch of Elemental Air, Crystal Boots of
Berserk Swiftness, a Brooch of Elemental Earth, a Brooch of Elemental Water, a Brooch of Demons, a
pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, a celestial mark of the Empyreal, a glass ampoule of bottled
starlight, a white imperial scabbard, 2 black scabbards with a gold horn, a white leather scabbard
bearing a silver cross.
You have 23 types of item in the rift and 8 types of fluid in the liquid rift.
You possess 81 items and are carrying 66,315 gold sovereigns.

You greet Iaira, the covetous nereid with a sincere smile.

Iaira, the covetous nereid looks up at you, a wickedly spiked conch shell clutched in her hands.
Slowly, her lips curve into a smile dripping with dark amusement. "Come to help me awaken Mother
from the trap woven by the White, have you? Then we will sing to Her directly through this precious
conch. Surely She will hear our voices if we do."
 [1] (say) Let me help you with your conch shell.

(Celest): Lidon says, "Is there a power minister on?"

(Celest): Kennian says, "What do you need?"

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "Let me help you with your conch shell."

Iaira, the covetous nereid's eyes burn with glee as she relinquishes a wickedly spiked conch shell
into your possession. "The spell is simple enough for even a mortal to grasp," she explains. "Prick
your fingertips against the conch's spikes but thrice, then speak the words you would have our
Mother hear."

"Slowly, though," Iaira, the covetous nereid warns with pitiless mirth. "The shell is rather
hungry."
[HINT]: Brush your FINGERTIPS against the conch shell to begin the enchantment.

Suddenly disturbing the waters, a menacing shadow vanishes deeper into the gloomy shade of
mangroves.

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "You are the goddess
who endures. You are the goddess who will have it all. Will you let those who fought You sit by Your
side with their pity and false affection? Will You let the Empyreal keep You imprisoned? Lulled into
docility? Wake, Lady of Lagoons. Wake, powerful goddess, mother of the Sea and the nereid. Wake and
let those who stood against You tremble in fear."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "Lady of the Lagoons,
even as the Elders claim to help and heal You, they hold you trapped. Awaken from Your slumber! The
Sea Spirit needs you, and all the Basin parades over your trapped form, pretending to help while
standing against Your true purpose."

(Celest): Kennian says, "Let me rephrase. No, there aren't any aides but maybe one of us could
help!"

(Celest): Nyda says, "I don't need anything."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "Wisdom and rage,
cunning and beauty/ We follow you truly, in love and in duty./ Hear us oh Lady, rise from this
dream,/ Wake oh adored Lady, make the basin scream."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "We require you awake,
Lady. Throw off the shackles of the weaklings."
12300h, 6150m, 6800e, 10p Bex-
You think to yourself: "Amusing, how selfish their demands are of Her. I wonder how She feels about
such a lack of respect."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "Until her lifeless
body a nereid did spy," the male voice sings the eigth stanza of the song, accompanied by a
hauntingly bewitching melody of lyre and femine voices raised in a siren song, "And pulled her out
to the shore to dry / While the eldest did the captain wed, crying / I'll be true unto my love, if
you'll be true to me.""

Sapphira has entered the area.
Uzriel has entered the area.

Clouds darken the firmament with moody greys, casting sullen shadows upon the watery grove below.

Noxious puffs of smoke pour out of the Corrupted Staff of the Soulless, enveloping Uzriel briefly in
an angry red cloud of foulness and corruption.

The Fulcrux of Li-varili.
A comforting feeling of privacy pervades the area. Captivatingly aquamarine shallows rest in
preternatural stillness, secluded amidst this sultry, tropical lagoon. Beneath the water's crystal
surface, visible roots stand unburied and upright, arching into mangroves like cages for the sinuous
shadows intermittently threading between their aquatic bars. These spindly trees both shelter and
protect the intimate space beneath their lushly snarled canopies, their boughs dripping with woven
veils of tender fireweed blossoms, petals wafting a grassy scent into the saltwater air. As the
forest finds purchase on sandy soil about the perimeter, its trunks cluster more thickly together,
forbidding exploration with treacherous footing - and forging a dark, claustrophobic prison out of
its labyrinthine overgrowth. A coarse island shrine rises from the centre of the shallow pool,
bromeliads bursting about it in glorious adoration of the Lady of the Lagoons. Humming a honeyed
melody to herself, Oinone watches her surroundings with thinly veiled amusement. Languorously bathed
in the waters here, Iaira studies you, her gaze half-lidded. A somnolent-hued nightingale perches
here, its fine-feathered breast arched in preparation for an enchanting litany. He is surrounded by
a deflection bubble. Lips curved in a cruel smile, a sadistic artist spattered in paint and blood
muses here, contemplating her next macabre masterpiece. She is surrounded by a deflection bubble.
You see a single exit leading through a tangled curtain of fireweed blossoms.

Sapphira arches a brow at you. "What is your purpose for being here?"

A distant, haunting voice echoes through the trees and over the water, bewitching the senses with
its melancholic song.

The sun reaches the zenith of the overcast firmament, pausing in its quest to allow the battered
land to bask in the grey light of day.

Sapphira glances at Oinone, the blithesome nereid and Iaira, the covetous nereid. "Have you been
disturbed?"

Conch grasped in the aureate cage of his upper left hand, Avaris does not deign to
turn at the question. Antennae flicking towards Sapphira, several of the glowing, stylised eyes that
adorn his wings shift the weight of their attention to Uzriel and Sapphira as he replies, calmly,
"Sating curiosity."

Lady Grey Sapphira d'Vanecu, Ensanguined Aesthete says, "Unless you plan to unravel the work of Your
goddess, you may leave now."

Oinone, the blithesome nereid bares her fangs with sheer delight. "I do hope you'll always choose to
help me, since my plan is the one that is bound to work. It's just a little bit to collect, and,
well..."

Oinone, the blithesome nereid pouts as she drifts back and flutters her tail fin. "It's a hard thing
to do without legs myself."

You are holding:
a beryl encrusted coral wand, a sensible leather valise, 2 turquoise pipes with oceanic motifs, a
mechanical cane, a holy coral lamp, The Redwood Cornucopia of Flowing Tulips, an energy cube, an
emerald wand topped with diamonds, a transplanar cubix, an ornate cherub skull vial, a luminous font
of healing waters, A Diminutive Brazier of Gleaming, a veiled idol of the Empyreal Goddess, a cedar
curiobox, a Scroll of Healing, a portable incineration bin, a nebulous vial of coruscating water, a
deluxe burger, a rosewood-bound esoteric booklet, a pretty violet letter, a shining celestial ring,
A Gaudy Saddle of the Sentinel, a leather bound book of pressed blossoms, a group of 10 bags of
oats, 2 aether room boxes, an aromatic platter of orange chicken, snow peas, and rice, a capricious
umbrella, a white standard, a bright crimson star lotus, a Disc of Beauty, a Disc of Life, a
wickedly spiked conch shell.
You are wearing:
a pair of ivory angel wings, a thin diamond bracelet, a thin sapphire band, a radiant fieldplate of
brilliant gold, an armband of tangled leaves and thorns, 2 smooth pearl rings, a beryl eagle brooch,
a clear ring, an onyx and pearl ring, a Pendant of Celestial Transcendence, a cobalt sky guardian's
sash, Binoculars of Clairvoyance, Immaculate Prayer Beads of the Empyreal Goddess, a ring of
aetheric quickening, a silvered mantle of the drawn blade, a faceted pair of crystalline ears, a
Sacred Crown of the Guardian, Golden Wings of Fair Eroee, an Elemental Cloak, a circlet of crystal
thorns, Boots of the Wanderer, a conical, nexus headdress, a pair of aviator's goggles, a Brooch of
Angels, a set of clockwork goggles, a snobby snoot, a Brooch of the Tempest, a circlet of black
thorns, a Brooch of the Night, a Brooch of Twisted Flesh, a glowing gold tongue stud, a Brooch of
the Moon, a Brooch of Antlers, a Brooch of Precise Gems, a Brooch of Elemental Air, Crystal Boots of
Berserk Swiftness, a Brooch of Elemental Earth, a Brooch of Elemental Water, a Brooch of Demons, a
pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, a celestial mark of the Empyreal, a glass ampoule of bottled
starlight, a white imperial scabbard, 2 black scabbards with a gold horn, a white leather scabbard
bearing a silver cross.
You have 23 types of item in the rift and 8 types of fluid in the liquid rift.
You possess 82 items and are carrying 66,315 gold sovereigns.

In a mild tone, lifting the conch before him in a casual inspection, Avaris says,
"I may leave whenever I wish. I do not require your permission."

Cradling a wickedly spiked conch shell gingerly in the cup of your palm, you lift its mouth to your
ear, shutter your gaze, and listen:
As steady as a drumming heartbeat, a humid tide rises within a wickedly spiked conch shell like
agitated waves, cresting and roiling. Above the tumult, a watery echo rises: "They plot and they
preen, holding You bound. Break free, Lady of Lagoons! You are stronger than She, and Your children
long for You. Awaken, Li-Varili, fight the Light."

"Surrender to your destiny, harken to my threnody!" sings Sapphira, as an august lute of lucent
silver and sapphire screams and glows a demonic red.

Lady Grey Sapphira d'Vanecu, Ensanguined Aesthete says, "Now will do nicely."

The burning flames swirl around you, weaving the broken and frayed threads of your life into a
seamless whole, restoring you painfully to life as you gasp loudly for breath.

The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Are you alright, sir?"

Flares of divine energy slide smoothly through the air, swirling through untold prismatic hues.

Harmony echoes in your mind as you sing to Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow, "I am quite fine, yes. It
is not the first time I have died, and no doubt it shall not be the last."

The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Oh dear."

Standing before the Seal of Death, you raise your arms and tilt back your head. A glowing light
suffuses the cave and your soul soars with a karmic blessing.

Xiran blinks.
12300h, 6270m, 6800e, 10p Bex-
You incline your head politely to Xiran.

Although glimmers of ethereal energy fade in the wake of her dusty green wings, she is a nimble
faeling titan of unremarkable stature, little bigger than a pooka. Joyous and unrestrained in
flight, moments of stillness reveal white half-moons mottling the furthest extent of her translucent
moth wings. Traces of viridian veins marble her pale skin. At her nape, her silvery hair has been
pulled back into a loose bun, secured by an emerald flower. Dancing in the breeze of her fluttering
wings, unbound strands of silver follow the softened contours of her aged pixie face. Accented by
laugh lines, a connatural gleam of mischief lights her eyes. A lush fragrance dances about her as
she stands awash in the wild, prismatic colours of a truefavour from Maylea, Bloom of Serenity.

She is wearing:
an emerald rose, sending glimmers of green through her hair
a webbed wedding band of platinum
a snowy cloak adorned with moonglory
an opalescent white turtleneck shirt several sizes too large, with
a shimmering silver hairpin closing the collar at the back of her neck.

Xiran circles about you at a respectful distance, assessing you with a critical eye.

Unperturbed, Avaris stands with his hands clasped beneath the layered cloak of his
folded wings, the glowing, eye-like markings of which track Xiran calmly. "Yes?"

Concerned, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "If you intend to attempt something again, Archon,
would you like a healing aura?"

Mildly, you say, "I was not attempting anything. They instigated, I was merely standing there. I
would not be opposed, however."

As if realising your myriad eyes just now, Xiran blinks.

Inclining his head towards Xiran courteously, Avaris's layered voice is polite, and
sincere. "Thank you, Lady. Your name, if you would?"

(Celestial Gathering): Haegan says, "And I only have 1 of my own!"

Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "Ah. I never introduced myself, did I?" She flits back several
paces to bow before you, hovering barely above your waist level. "Xiran Stormcrow, of the
Serenwilde."

Returning the bow with a stately one of his own, Avaris says, "I am Avaris,
Enduring in the Order of the Lady Lantra." Rising, the antennae that flow from behind the bladed
crest of his brow bend curiously as he asks, "Stormcrow. Are you related to Alarin, perhaps?"

Xiran tilts her head.

Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "I would consider him such, although Syr Alarin bears another
family's name now. He would be a grandson."

Uzriel has entered the area.
Uzriel has left the area.

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you ask, "Ah. This may be an odd question, but do you
perhaps hold any position of authority within the Serenwilde?"

(Celestial Gathering): Haegan says, "Sent friend request."

Xiran blinks.

Under the gaze of manifold eyes of light, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "Not to the level of
Syr Alarin, no. But any of Serenwilde may seek to bring an issue before the Moonhart Circle, if
there is something you wish this common faeling to convey."

A low, thoughtful vibration of sound shivers in the air about Avaris for a time as
he considers the matter, expressionless. "I have attempted to contact your Regent in the past, but
received no response. I shall be frank with you - I believe the current political landscape is an
abomination, and is in dire need of correcting." Freeing a clawed, gleaming hand from beneath his
wings, he turns it palm-upwards in a calm gesture. "New Celest and Serenwilde should be allied. I
would take steps so set that in motion."

Xiran blinks.

Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow asks, "And why would you see city and forest allied, Archon Avaris?"

Unhurried, Xiran sways along with the vibrations as they echo through the cave.

The resonant harmony of his words even, Avaris says, "They already are so. More
tolerable, I should think, to ally with a city and forest that are not so blatantly corrupt, vile
blights upon the world as they are. Would you truly rather have Magnagora as your ally, than New
Celest?"

Tilting her head, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "You speak of an allyship due to ideals?"

Passing the golden span of his hand through the air in a gleaming blur, Avaris
replies, "Hardly. You should know as well as I that the ideal of the various communities of the
Basin do not, truly, align. It is a matter of what is more tolerable. Magnagora tortures for
pleasure. They are cannibals. They revel in evil. New Celest does not."

Bobbing aside, Xiran says softly, "Perhaps." Wings beating slowly, she continues, "However, the
proper channels of communication would be through our leadership. And such likely will not occur
unless circumstances would suggest it would be, as you say, more tolerable to change than to
continue on current paths."

The glinting spears of chitin that thrust up through the haloed pauldrons of
Avaris's shoulders lift in a slow shrug. "Change must start somewhere. If the higher echelons will
not initiate it, then it falls to those of us of lesser station to do so. I would be pleased to
speak with your leaders, or any of your citizens, in order to discuss such."

A wry smile spreads across Xiran's face.

Xiran "Perhaps," she says again. "However, I would again suggest finding an opportune time--or an
opportune wave, as it may be--so that you would not expend energies being a bolt out of the blue.
Things may indeed be shifting politically, and there may be such an opportunity".

"Respectfully," Avaris says, "That has not happened in centuries. It may be that a
bolt out of the blue is precisely what is needed."

Eyes unblinking in your light, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "I have seen quite a few shifts
in my lifetimes, so it had indeed happened."

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "Indeed? How long has the Serenwilde been allied
with Magnagora, then?"

Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "A few centuries in total."

Voice resonating with choral harmonics, you say, "A few centuries too many. Who should I be speaking
with?"

Floating aloft, Xiran regards your gaze from your domed helm.

Mildly, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "Have you spoken with your own leadership?"

With a faint hint of displeasure, you say, "Yes. They are remarkably difficult to pin down for a
conversation at all."

Canting her head, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "I find letters to be useful to exchange."
Her light tone vanishing, "Archon, you seek great change for the sake of something more tolerable.
But it would only be on the surface. Some may indeed be swayed by a similar desire as yours, but I
have lived a long time. And I have not forgotten. There is deeper history that the First Forest will
not forget."

Softly, Spirit-Touched Xiran Stormcrow says, "Alliances are temporary things, Archon. The First
Forest is not as coloured by its alliances as you make your own city to be."

"My letters have been ignored. I find little use in wasted effort." Avaris
responds. At the dissipation of Xiran's lighter manner, the great, helm-like wedge of his head
shifts. "And so you embrace the Taint, and stagnation. Disappointing. I shall try another."
Inclining his head politely to Xiran, the massive paladin steps past the faeling, taloned feet
ringing upon the floor with each purposeful stride.

As if parting through mists of water and light, the Empyreal Goddess quietly unveils Her soothing
presence to Her Faithful.

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Light's blessings upon you, My Avaris. I sense much quiet in the city
of New Celest."

(The Avowing): You say, "Light's blessings upon You also, my Lady. Indeed? Is this the quiet of a
pleasant reprieve, for You, or one of a more troubling sort?"

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Sometimes silence is merely silence. It is neither pleasant nor
unpleasant. It simply is."

(The Avowing): You say, "That...Is a very You sort of answer, if You will forgive me for observing
such, my Lady. Are You much changed from when last I asked of Your wellbeing?"

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Not in any meaningful way, I believe. I observe that mortals continue
to spar over My intents and the fate of Li-varili."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "It is a peculiarity and an amusement."

Currents of planar energy waver slightly above the ground.

(The Avowing): You say, "So it would seem. You are much out of favour with those who would speak
with Her. The little conch the nereids have is an amusing item to listen to, after a fashion. They
are all rather mad, I think."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Given the mental state of their patroness, that is not altogether
unsurprising. Humour Me, then. What do the children of the Lady of the Lagoons have to say of Me?"

(The Avowing): You say, "Ah, the usual fare, my Lady. They are not a terribly creative or inspired
lot. You are a black-hearted jailer, a tyrant masquerading as a savior, You are jealous of Her
general wonderfulness, You torment Her under the guide of healing Her, You want Her power, and so
on."

There is a peculiar sort of laughter that ripples through the aether as the Empyreal Goddess reacts
to your words, cool with detached amusement.

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Indeed? Ah, yes. How I delight in the capture of another Elder, for...
nefarious ends I know not of. A tyrant indeed, wielding My power over My patient. How I delight in
cruelty of the sick. When I could have merely left Her to die, as My Cousins so wished. And as for
power, it is surely I who desires it of Her, and not She, who sought Me begging for it mere months
prior."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "It is an absurdity and an embarrassment of logic."

(The Avowing): You say, "Quite so, my Lady. You are legendary for Your diabolical wickedness, after
all. It is clear they are keen students of history, and have come to their conclusions after many
days of careful consideration of all You have done and represent."

(The Avowing): You say, "It is amazing that their brains do not dribble out from their ears with
every step."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Quite so. My Triumvirate was a matter immortalized for all of the ages,
undoubtedly."

(The Avowing): You say, "Oh, yes. An infamous foe of order and righteousness, Lady, that is You, to
the core."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Why else would you pledge yourself so in My service, indeed? For as We
have seen, the way for a Goddess to curry favour with mortals is to drown them and dismiss their
feelings and wellbeing at every turn, in service of Her own selfish whims."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Why should I be no different, indeed?"

(The Avowing): You say, "Why, You have no reason to be any different at all, Lady. After all, it was
Your rampant mistreatment of mortals that drew me to You in the first place. I heard tales of Your
cruel laughter as You trod upon heart after heart, and thought "This is the Goddess for me!""

Light shifts and reflects from the surface of the crystalline walls.

(The Avowing): You say, "Naturally, You could not brook any rivals, so jealously do You covet Your
popularity. Of course You imprison Her out of spite."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "It is almost comical, how much contorting they must do to envision Me
as a villain."

(The Avowing): Cheliyi (from the Aetherways) says, "It is funny, in a ways. But it also just makes
my bloods boil for You, my Lady."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "I thank you for informing Me of this matter, My Avaris. It is... if
nothing else, proof of what I already know."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "I care not what such wretches think of Me. Their misunderstandings
merely reflect the warped perspective I already knew they possessed."

(The Avowing): You say, "They have missed their calling as carnival performers, indeed. Of course,
my Lady. I thought it might bring You some grain of amusement, however dry and fleeting."

Your hand alights upon a bright crimson star lotus, scattering light from its sanguine petals.
Waves of exhaustion wash over you, only to cling greedily to your limbs and mind. Even so, a
peculiar sense of alertness fills you, followed by unwavering focus.

Talons sinking deep into the pliant earth, Avaris locks his knees to prevent them
from buckling, so that he sways as he holds a bright crimson star lotus carefully in one hand.

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "A shame the Czigany Wayfaire is not in town."

(The Avowing): You say, "They will have quite the resume to offer when it does come along, at least.
No doubt they shall be snapped up immediately."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "How fortuitous for them."

(Celestial Gathering): Gyorn (from Celestia, Plane of Light) says, "LOL."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Perhaps I can find Myself employment at the i'Xiia Asylum next."

(The Avowing): You say, "Lady Li-varili and Her gaily cavorting band of contortionists will no doubt
take the Basin by storm. Ah, wait."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Synchronized swimming may be in season, yes."

(The Avowing): You say, "I do not doubt that they have a portrait of You in a place of honour
already, my Lady. "Behold," they say to their students, "The pinnacle of malicious medicine.""

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "How I bask before such adulation."

(The Avowing): Cheliyi (from the Aetherways) says, "OhmyYous my Lady, I can't breathe, hehehehe."

(The Avowing): You say, "You are as a wicked flower beneath the rays of the Sun, evidently."


Sparkling laughter ripples through the aether as you sense the heightened amusement of the Empyreal
Goddess, scattering like motes of starlight.

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "A cruel magnolia indeed."

(The Avowing): You say, "Shall I pack Your things for Your inevitable move to Magnagora, my Lady?
Clearly it is but a matter of time before You reveal Yourself to be the Enchantress' rival for
reigning Lady of that pustule upon the Basin's surface."

(Celestial Gathering): You say, "Message Lantra and ask, seems the safe option! I think she'll be
game."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Let Us take things one menacing step at a time, My Avaris."

The pouring rainclouds above you turn a deep grey, and the droplets grow larger and fall more
forcefully.

(The Avowing): You say, "Ah, of course, my Lady. I shall practice my dread looming in the interim,
and invest in a copious amount of black paint."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Though I fear it is only one more reason for Li-varili to revile Me,
that I may have usurped Her role as feared villainess of the Basin."

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 4th of Klangiary, 595 years after the Coming of Estarra.

(The Avowing): You say, "Ah, but You have preempted Her in this, and thusly imprisoned Her. An
unsurpassed schemer, to the end, Lady."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "My true motives, revealed."

Aural Tildarmin yells, "Turn in your design submissions to your city's local cartel trademasters! As
many as you can!"

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "You have unveiled Me at last."

(The Avowing): You say, "Alas for the Basin, that they will not heed my dire warnings as I cry them
from the mountaintops."

(The Avowing): You say, "Truly, we are doomed."

Whether from the sea or the rain, a friendless mist sheathes the city in sparkling vapour and a
bitter, kniving chill.

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "Kethuru is green with envy at My capacity for destruction."

(The Avowing): You say, "His envious writhings will no doubt be what next shatters the Seals, so
powerful is His resentment of Your malevolent glory."

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "I look forward to the legions of eager mortals who flock to Me for My
malice and cruelty, as is only right and just."

(The Avowing): You say, "I shall sharpen my claws so that I can carve my gory way to the fore, my
Lady, and lay my heart at Your feet so that You may kick it about with appropriate disdain. How
thrilling it shall be."

Sheets of rain pelt the rooftops of the city: an orchestra of noises that leaves every shingle,
window, and gutter slick or waterlogged.

Spilling ever more of its bounty, the light rain develops into a cascading downpour.

(The Avowing): Cheliyi says, "And I can teach Tavi how to wear dark eye paints!"

(The Avowing): Lantra says, "I am told some of My Cousins throw such offerings into volcanoes or
drown them in the deepest sea. Perhaps I can find a similar method of expressing My cruelty."

(The Avowing): You say, "Spit them upon Atonement, perhaps, before You grill them over Your holy
Light, and then nibble upon them while commenting upon their lack of flavour."

(The Avowing): Cheliyi says, "Don't forget to season! Maybe some stardusts, yes."