Truth Changes

(Great House Myeras): You say, "I need opinions!"

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Hmm?"

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "It's terrible!"

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "Perhaps!"

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "Purple goes well with pink!"

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "Are those opinions useful?"

(Great House Myeras): You say, "I have received a rather outrageous marriage proposal via origami rose, and I wish to respond in kind. Thus I'm designing a petunia to send this ring back in. Should the design be made for all the world to make use of, or should it be for the Serenwilde alone?"

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "That last one was a fact, though."

(Great House Myeras): Millien says, "Who's trying to win you? If I can ask.."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Well, that's a rather personal ask. Would you want anyone else to make use of it?"

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "Oh yes, you absolutely must tell us everything."

(Great House Myeras): You say, "One of Nocht's cultists."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "I still stand by my statement and question, ha."

(Great House Myeras): You say, "It could be a useful tool for others! I'm not certain!"

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "I've no personal preference, but I always like seeing more public myself. I could go without cartels on the whole outside of submitting things."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "So I've a naturally slanted bias."

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "I think unless it has a ton of personal significance, it'd be better to share it."

You have recognised Tsakali for: For being absolutely wonderful at the bonfire dance and feast. Helping the Liar get around, introducing so many of us to them who otherwise probably wouldn't have had the chance. I'm so glad I had the chance, and I am hopeful and eager to have the chance to give that tour Tsakali hinted about one of these days (hopefully soon)!

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Right!"

(Great House Myeras): You say, "Public it shall be, then."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Now, what colour is the petunia?"

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "I want to say yellow!"

(Great House Myeras): You say, "Purple, actually! Yellow is too happy and cheerful in my mind for the message I want to send."

(Great House Myeras): You say, "I considered black, but perhaps they'd be rather fond of a black flower."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Ah, I suppose that is reasonable and true."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Well, Wyrden folk are all pretty fond of purple too. Or mauve, more precisely."

(Great House Myeras): Llani says, "You could pick a color no-one likes.. Like beige!"

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe says, "Or puce - poor pentunia doesn't deserve that, though."

(Great House Myeras): Millien says, "..Maybe motley?"

(Great House Myeras): You say, "This one's a darker shade of it. I want them to feel me glowering from afar when they hold this flower in their hand."

With a sudden, lurching movement, the chaotic sandstorm discolouring the sky streaks through the heavens to come to rest above Serenwilde, ripping loose leaves to dance like discarded silks among the black sand and scarlet lightning.

You blink.

You whisper, "Oh, goodness!"

You hold the Flame of dae'Seren aloft and an emerald light shines forth, revealing a hazy hallway of ancient trees. You walk through the hallway, feeling the ancestral spirits welcome you.

The Moonhart Mother Tree.
The variety of trees that crowd around the Moonhart Mother Tree goes beyond count, elms and alders, beech and cherry, hawthorn and hazel, evergreen and oak, all dwarfed by the magnificence and majesty of the mother tree herself. The grasses and shrubs that grow in the surrounding forest become scarce as they approach the tree, replaced by tiny wildflowers of amethyst-purple and marble-white. The veil to the ethereal plane is particularly thin, and the laughter of pixies and other creatures of the fae tinkle down from the treetops and tickle the ears of those below. The atmosphere itself, although benign and welcoming, also vibrates with a palpable power, sending shivers up the skin. Towering high above is the Moonhart Mother Tree, stretching her enormous branches heavenwards. Gleaming with a silver lambency, a slender tree grows here, its bark and boughs displaying the faces of the dead. There are 3 small screech owls here. An illustrated canvas hangs in the air here, supported by silvery ribbons. Lacking any visible weapon, Adasser, Wolverine's Mask assesses his surroundings with glacial blue eyes. Covered in bone armour, watching you warily, a silver-furred vixen sniffs the air. There are 5 armoured owls here. There are 2 armoured foxes here. There are 7 fierce timberwolves here. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. There are 10 frost hags here. Watching you warily, a silver-furred vixen sniffs the air. There are 2 striped badgers here. There are 5 centaur hunters here. There are 10 kephera nature warders here. Soft hues of light illuminate a small shrine situated within a tangle of delicate bluebells. A mature hornbeam tree stands proudly here. There are 57 glowing powerstones here. Singing a hauntingly beautiful melody, Miakoda, Maiden of the Moonhart, stands here. There are 5 fiery dreambeast cup cakes here. There are 4 platters of smiling bees here. There are 10 iridescent peacock cookies here. Still crackling with the heat of being freshly cooked, a platter of wine-braised chicken has been discarded here. A platter of flowers and fruit sits here, waiting to be eaten. A young stag with white wings wanders about here, his head held regally. Jolanthe is here, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. She wields a crystalline chrysalis lute in her left hand and a floral parasol of pink and lavender silks in her right hand. Millien is here, pondering thoughtfully. A radiant stag stands here with pride and poise, silver antlers rising in branching fractals.
You see exits leading north, south, and through a vined stairway.

"Uhh..." stalls Llani.

You peer about yourself unscrupulously.

Millien hugs you compassionately.

Jolanthe hugs you compassionately.

Busy Bee Llani Myeras, Springtime Portent whispers, "That's not good.."

Jolanthe Myeras asks, "What isn't?"

In a soft, quiet tone, Millien Myeras says, "I could write a sternly-worded letter for you.."

Uzriel tells you, "What was that?"

Busy Bee Llani Myeras, Springtime Portent exclaims, "The sandstorm!"

Flailing her arms, you exclaim, "I appreciate the affection, but!"

Busy Bee Llani Myeras, Springtime Portent asks, "Or am I the only one who saw it?"

You shake your head at Llani.

[Walking out to the festival glade.]

Hidden glade market.
Large, heavy raindrops splash upon the ground. A number of briar rose bushes grow at the edges of the glade, enclosing it in a thick, thorny ring that is difficult to traverse without injury. Rising from the leaves is a subtle fragrance, sweet as apples, which permeates the meadow with its rustic stalls and shelves that house various items for sale. Tall birch trees rise from among the briars, their whorled eyes overlooking the area like silent guardians. An oak sapling clings tenaciously to the ground here. Hackles risen, a fierce timberwolf prowls about here. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. Binky Tailsnap stands here, his soft nose and whiskers lifted thoughtfully. Her olive skin glowing with beauty, Duethielle Landrennbenn sings to herself. Wings humming, Miaei Wildbriar hovers in midair.
You see a single exit leading west.

A pert little nose takes in a delicate whiff of your surroundings, sensing the faint traces of others in the nearby area.
Jolanthe: 931            the Moonhart Mother Tree
Tsakali: 931             the Moonhart Mother Tree
Millien: 931             the Moonhart Mother Tree
Llani: 931               the Moonhart Mother Tree

You lift a hand languidly and send a moonbeam to Tsakali.

You gently rise into the air and dance along a moonbeam to Tsakali.
The Moonhart Mother Tree.
The variety of trees that crowd around the Moonhart Mother Tree goes beyond count, elms and alders, beech and cherry, hawthorn and hazel, evergreen and oak, all dwarfed by the magnificence and majesty of the mother tree herself. The grasses and shrubs that grow in the surrounding forest become scarce as they approach the tree, replaced by tiny wildflowers of amethyst-purple and marble-white. The veil to the ethereal plane is particularly thin, and the laughter of pixies and other creatures of the fae tinkle down from the treetops and tickle the ears of those below. The atmosphere itself, although benign and welcoming, also vibrates with a palpable power, sending shivers up the skin. Towering high above is the Moonhart Mother Tree, stretching her enormous branches heavenwards. Gleaming with a silver lambency, a slender tree grows here, its bark and boughs displaying the faces of the dead. There are 3 small screech owls here. An illustrated canvas hangs in the air here, supported by silvery ribbons. Lacking any visible weapon, Adasser, Wolverine's Mask assesses his surroundings with glacial blue eyes. Covered in bone armour, watching you warily, a silver-furred vixen sniffs the air. There are 5 armoured owls here. There are 2 armoured foxes here. There are 7 fierce timberwolves here. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. There are 10 frost hags here. Watching you warily, a silver-furred vixen sniffs the air. There are 2 striped badgers here. There are 5 centaur hunters here. There are 10 kephera nature warders here. Soft hues of light illuminate a small shrine situated within a tangle of delicate bluebells. A mature hornbeam tree stands proudly here. There are 57 glowing powerstones here. Singing a hauntingly beautiful melody, Miakoda, Maiden of the Moonhart, stands here. There are 5 fiery dreambeast cup cakes here. There are 4 platters of smiling bees here. There are 10 iridescent peacock cookies here. Still crackling with the heat of being freshly cooked, a platter of wine-braised chicken has been discarded here. A platter of flowers and fruit sits here, waiting to be eaten. A young stag with white wings wanders about here, his head held regally. Manifold eyes, limbs, and mouths in constant motion, a hulking golem of twisted flesh looms here. A radiant stag stands here with pride and poise, silver antlers rising in branching fractals. Millien is here, pondering thoughtfully. Jolanthe Myeras is here. She wields a crystalline chrysalis lute in her left hand and a floral parasol of pink and lavender silks in her right hand.
You see exits leading north, south, and through a vined stairway.

Jolanthe scratches her head looking for an idea.

Tsakali inclines their head politely to those around them.

You say to Tsakali, "I was *so* certain perhaps I might find a certain someone with Binky."

Tsakali utters a deep, rumbling laugh.

Tsakali, Pilgrim of Bodhi says, "The Liar does as they will."

Scarlet lightning streaks to the ground near the Woodbine Lyceum, washing it in dark red hues. Black sand whistles as it flies through the air, peppering tree leaves with tiny holes as the storm rages through the forest.

"Uhh..." stalls Tsakali.

Tsakali begins to follow you.

You have emoted: Lief sways uncertainly in the air, peering about herself. She gazes skyward, then flits immediately into the woods.

Tsakali follows you south.

[Movement]

Before the Woodbine Lyceum.
There is the lightest of airs blowing through the locale. Ivy and saplings have spread over what remains of a thick stone wall. Crumbling mosaic tiles are still visible underneath the bushes, mud and leaves. Here and there, fallen blocks of white or grey are deposited between the trunks. To the south and northeast are remnants of what must have once been a large building, but to the north a newer structure rises from the ruins, constructed of oak and moonhart wood and inscribed with many images of Serenwilde past and present. The colouration is such that the structure blends in with the trees nearby. Carven over the vine-veiled entrance are the words, 'Woodbine Lyceum'. Musical notes carved into its surface, a milestone waits here. A mature hornbeam tree stands proudly here. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales lingers between cracks in the aether here, surrounded by flickering images of sundered realities. They wield the Jackal's sceptre in Their left hand.
You see exits leading north, northeast, and south.

A young stag with white wings trots in from the northeast.
Jolanthe arrives, following Busy Bee Llani Myeras, Springtime Portent.
Llani arrives from the northeast.

You have emoted: Eyes as wide as moons, Lief covers her mouth, her flight abruptly stopped.

Jolanthe tilts her head curiously.

Mysrai's eyes do not move from the enormous Lyceum at your entrance, Their furred fingers gripping the Jackal's sceptre tightly.

Llani approaches with caution, scurrying to hide behind a tree as she notices Mysrai before the lyceum.

You have emoted: Her wings still, Lief drops silently to the earth. "Hello, Lord-and-Lady-and-Neither," she ventures. "Can we, ah...help You find something?"

You glance askance at Tsakali.

Tsakali shakes their head at you, giving a soft smile and making a motion with one hand as if to urge patience.

Mysrai's attention suddenly turns towards you as Their ears wiggle and turn towards the sound. Vivid hieroglyphs the colour of golden sand spill from Their muzzle as They say, "I look for the one known as 'Missus Lief'."

You have emoted: Lief gives an audible squeak, only to cover her mouth again. Clearing her throat, after breathing in deeply, she once more ventures, "I, ah - that is me."

Mysrai's hand vanishes into the dark storm that breaches the realities around Them, Their eyes never leaving you as They appear to rummage about for something.

Xis arrives from the south.
Tail stub wagging, a great brindle mastiff bounds in from the south.

You have emoted: Lief's hands wring together in her effort to clasp them over her lap. "I, ah," she starts and stops again, gathering her racing thoughts. "I hope the Woodbine Lyceum doesn't disappoint You? We can go inside, if You like...?"

Mysrai withdraws a hand and steps forward, standing naturally at eye level with you as They reach out and press something into your hand, saying, "An apology from My Liar, for disturbing your festivities. They were most insistent that it find its way to you."

Mysrai gives a honey-soaked poppy to you.

Silken petals, a patchwork collection of nonsensical black and gold patterns, ring the dark, bell-shaped interior of this delicate blossom, drops of honey regularly falling from their tips like morning dew. Beneath the flower, a small stem of furred green has been nipped shut by a trained hand, leaving naught but a few miniature leaflets.
It has 1 months of usefulness left.
It weighs 2 ounce(s).
It does not retain any heat whatsoever.
It has the following aliases: poppy, flower.


You have emoted: Lief's anxious wringing stills. Gently, she reaches out to touch a honey-soaked poppy, then to take it. She gazes down at it and all its sticky sweetness, momentarily mystified and speechless. But then, rather abruptly, she regathers herself with an earnest, "Oh, no! The Liar was anxious, we all understand. It was a rather overwhelming festival even for some of our own numbers, and we call this forest home!"

Earnestly, you say to Mysrai, "I hope they don't blame themselves. I was really worried they left feeling entirely unsafe and unhappy with their visit."

The gift given Mysrai's attention returns to the structure as colourful hieroglyphs burn the aether about Them with each word, "Be that as it may, they felt you deserving of such a gift. You should be honoured." Their nose flares briefly and for an instant you are sure Their eyes return to you, but the next moment They are still staring at the Lyceum with no expression upon Their face. "What is the purpose of this place?"

Llani has left the area.

Nine orbs of varying colour blaze into existence about Xis, forming a circle. Spinning, they pick up speed until they become a blur of white light that whisks them skyward and away.
Sniffing at the air, a great brindle mastiff crouches low as it tracks something off to the ether.

You have emoted: Her bare toes digging into the soil, Lief gazes down at a honey-soaked poppy again, her shoulders hunching slightly for an instant. The moment passes, however, as all moments do, and after a calming breath, she turns her own gaze up to the lyceum. "It is a home for memories," she says. "We gather here to express ourselves - to perform, to learn, to study. And we gather here to remember those who came before us with what they left behind for us."

Softly, you say, "We have many such places in the First Forest, but this is perhaps the grandest and most frequented by all our numbers."

After an instance of thought that seems to stretch for an eternity, Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales asks, "To create?"

You have emoted: Lief cants her antlered head, considering. "To create memories? Sometimes, Lord-and-Lady-and-Neither."

Golden hieroglyphs spilling from their muzzle that quickly fade into rich amber, Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales asks you, "Would you do Me a kindness, fae-child, knowing that I may offer you nothing in return?"

You have emoted: Lief's lips part, and then close. She looks down upon a honey-soaked poppy again, then squares her shoulders to look to Mysrai. "I think kindnesses are best extended when nothing's promised in return. I suppose I've often been called kind, however foolish that might make me."

You say to Mysrai, "If it does my home and my Lady no harm, I would certainly try."

Tsakali smiles softly.

A smile revealing horrifyingly sharp, canine teeth briefly splits Mysrai's lips before They nod Their head in acceptance, "Then I would ask you, fae-child, Beloved of Another, to take Me to your favourite place within this forest, that a part of you might make itself known to Me."

Tsakali dips her head in respect before turning to leave, giving you an encouraging smile.

Tsakali leaves to the south.

You think to yourself: To know me...without me knowing Them in turn. I could lie. But They'd know. I'm a bad liar, and lying tastes bad anyway.

You have emoted: Lief tilts her antlered head in consideration, cupping her freckled cheek into one sticky palm as she considers Mysrai's request, her face an open book as her mind works in thought.

Finally deciding, you ask Mysrai, "Yes. There is a place that is very dear to me right now, a place above all others. But these places often change, and while it's been my favourite for some time, who can say tomorrow?"

Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales says, "So long as it is your Truth, and you may say with your whole heart that such is, then I am glad."

Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales says, "You may lead Me there."

You have emoted: Lief dips her antlered head; her wings then carry her feet from the earth to hum down familiar forest paths.
[Movement]

Beautiful woods.
A strong sense of security emanates through the local area from a shield shrine of Charune nearby. There is the lightest of airs blowing through the locale. Bright flowers and vibrant, variegated leaves form a pattern that spreads through the plants here. Although the thick oak trunks dominate the valley, here they are studded with bright mushrooms, vines of ivy and thorn, and moss, all of which combine into a stunning, abstract shape of a thousand colours. Where birds are visible flitting through the bushes, they are green and blue woodpeckers, bright goldfinches and stunning red-breasted robins. A mature hornbeam tree stands proudly here. Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living totem. Piercing through the soil with its thin stem, a gold-and-red Hornsmen's iris scents the air with an earthy perfume.
You see exits leading northeast, southeast, and up (open door).

You have emoted: So familiar is the way here to Lief that she easily avoids all obstacles in her way - any branches, any profusely-blooming shrubs hiding thorns. She comes here to these beautiful woods, and sits herself down upon one mossy rock.

Avurekhos enters from the northeast, emanating an aura of immense power.

Avurekhos purses his lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as he carefully gathers his thoughts.

Nightmare of the Glomdoring, Avurekhos Feyranti, Crimson Fist of Luciphage says, "Smells like a bunch of unusual paradigms."

With much of Their figure fading in and out of shifting realities draped around Them, there is little that can distinguish the gender of this small figure. It is only certain that They are a radiant immortal. Where Their body is visible, small tufts of short-cropped fur can be seen in intermittent patches, the flesh beneath visible pulsing with colourful hieroglyphics of a dead language. Set deep into an elongated, canid head are twin vortexes of inky black Void, stars and constellations spinning and swirling through the depths in nonsensical, hypnotic patterns. Atop Their head sit two peculiar ears, line cones that have been flipped upside down, swivelling constantly to capture more of the world around Them. In the area just beyond Them, enormous limbs of black sand and forked red lightning twitch in restless anticipation to cause untold destruction through the strange and alien realities barely glimpsed through the chaotic sandstorm.

Long black fur, shot through with strands of deep crimson, extends in a mohawk that stretches down Their spine to the small of Their back.
They are wearing:
a reforged crown of gleaming voidcopper that floats ominously above Their head;
tattered robes of ebon silk that look ready to fall apart at any moment;
a spiralling ring resplendent with gemstones that is pierced through Their right ear;
a thick golden collar beset with dark gems that hangs heavy across Their shoulders and throat.

Mysrai hovers in midair upon a dust devil of black sand, crimson lightning still sparking through the air along Their path and the small swathe of destruction torn through the plants unfortunate enough to be in Their way. They open Their mouth to comment, and then Their attention is captured, however briefly, by Avurekhos.

Avurekhos nods respectfully to Mysrai.

Nightmare of the Glomdoring, Avurekhos Feyranti, Crimson Fist of Luciphage says, "It has been a long time since I have witnessed the Elder that gave me the dead poppy."

Avurekhos ponders the situation.

You have emoted: "Uncle!" Lief blurts out from her seat upon a mossy rock. She looks to Mysrai as she rearranges her skirts about her legs, a honey-soaked poppy held in one of her own hands.

Calming herself, you say to Mysrai, "This is, ah, my favourite place right now. But Truth changes, particularly our innermost truth. The glimpse of me You see through here might well soon be a memory itself."

Mysrai's face remains unreadable as They visibly turn Their head between Avurekhos and you, constellations within Their eyes breaking apart and reforming in alien patterns as They watch in patient silence for a time, "Such a strange connection to have found. And for a Tainted to walk these woods...Yet, there is something within you that suggests a shifting of paradigms may soon make itself known." Their mouth burns with scarlet paradigms as They speak, quickly turning to gold as They comment, "But to glimpse such a Truth, no matter how fleeting, is the closest many mortals may come to achieving Enlightenment."

You have emoted: "You know my Lady's teachings?" Lief asks Mysrai curiously, watching Them through newly careful eyes. Her busy hand stills, then rejoins the other about a honey-soaked poppy. Petals shiver free from her antlers, yellow and pink and blue, drifting about her before fading into motes of essence.

Simply, pink hieroglyphs merrily crackling away near Their muzzle, Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales says, "There is much that I know."

Avurekhos looks onward with his emotionless orbs, lips curling into a slight smile at the words spoken.

The air discoloured by sapphire markings that quickly pale to grey before burning out, Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales asks, "How many others in the forest are like you, fae-child Lief? Who hold Truths so vibrant and burn so brightly?"

You have emoted: Lief's mouth works around uncertain, half-formed thoughts until Mysrai's questions realign her thoughts. She straightens, and rather stoutly, she asserts, "Many. Many and many and more do. My Lady is much beloved here in these woods, and even those who do not worship Her directly *burn* with colour and life."

You have emoted: Lief's nostrils flare with her conviction, and she breathes out through them slowly before she asks Mysrai, "Do You ask me these things to better know Her? You seem to me to already know much of Her heart."

Mysrai's eyes turn towards Avurekhos as They continue to address you, watching his expression and reactions with an unspeakable patience. Silvery glyphs dance through the air as They remark, quickly shattering like glass and falling to ash among the forest floor, "The Abyss draws ever near, and there is much that would hasten it. There is much that I seek, and to know who among Creation is worthy to stand for it is first and foremost. Such is My duty. As to your Lady..." The Shofet trails off, hieroglyphs in a wide variety of pastel hues filling the air about Them as They consider carefully, though they quickly smudge like dirty ink before vanishing. "Even I do not know how She would see Me now."

The storm, which had hung so still for so long, begins to pick up pace once again as granules of sand scour trunk and leaf alike while scarlet lightning washes the canopy and plantlife in bloody shades of red.

You think to yourself: The Abyss? What Abyss...?

The bright, bell-like voice of Elexia rings in your ear, "Sister, what is going on? There is a storm above the forest that does not look to be of natural make."

You tell Sower Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon, "Ah - the Lord-and-Lady-and-Neither Mysrai is visiting."

The bright, bell-like voice of Elexia rings in your ear, "Ah, oh my... Are They... upset? Mayhaps because of how the Liar was treated by our troublesome guest?"

You have emoted: Lief fidgets with a honey-soaked poppy in her hand, uncertain. She looks to Avurekhos, a questioning look upon her brow, before she offers to Mysrai, "She...might tell You. If You and She spoke, and She were to know You. But, ah...when You say Abyss, You don't mean the Void, right? It isn't closing *in* on us... right?"

You tell Sower Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon, "It's...very hard to tell. I don't *think* that They are; I think I as host would have long been scoured if They were, but I've been offered a poppy from the Liar instead."

You tell Sower Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon, "The Liar was apologetic instead, from what They say? That they wanted to say sorry for causing such trouble, though I don't think they need to apologize at all, it was a really hectic time!"

You tell Sower Elexia Myeras-Silvermoon, "I hope they aren't frightened away from here, really. I think they and Binky got along so well for the brief time they knew each other."

The bright, bell-like voice of Elexia rings in your ear, "Aye, with so much going on, the Liar was certainly not to blame. Not that you were either, mind! And aye, I was so pleased by how eager they seemed to participate."

Maylea steps quietly into view, the air bending with a swirl of prismatic colours.

The bright, bell-like voice of Elexia rings in your ear, "At future events, I suppose we will have to have measures in place for such disruptive guests. It is a pity they are required, but it appears to be the state of things."

You have emoted: Lief is seated upon a mossy rock, a honey-soaked poppy held in her sticky hands. She brightens as she sees Maylea, beaming, "My Lady, hello!"

Hieroglyphs begin to half-write in the air as Mysrai's grip tightens on the Jackal's sceptre, but all seems to still as Maylea enters, Their eyes snapping immediately to Her.

Maylea places a hand on you as Her golden eye blazes, staring fiercely at Mysrai.

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

You have emoted: Lief's smile falters as she gazes back at Maylea, then follows Her gaze to Mysrai.

The chaotic sandstorm stills abruptly, granules of black sand hanging motionless in midair alongside streaking arcs of scarlet lightning frozen mid-flash.

Her voice even despite Her blazing gaze, Maylea, Bloom of Serenity says, "I thought I sensed Your traces in the forest."

The deep baritone spilling grey hieroglyphs into the air, Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales says, "And Yours unmistakable."

(Great House Myeras): Millien says, "Hoyy."

(Great House Myeras): Elexia says, "Well met, Millie!"

Mysrai's lupine face betrays no emotion as They stare at Maylea, but Their small frame rises slowly into air, born aloft by a dust devil of black sand that whirls quietly about Them.

(Ironhart Collective): Forrest says, "What was this?The chaotic sandstorm stills abruptly, granules of black sand hanging motionless in midair alongside streaking arcs of scarlet lightning frozen mid-flash."

Maylea waves a hand at the air, and a sudden wash of flower petals drift upon a fragrant breeze to brush at the still granules of sand, pushing them aside.

(Ironhart Collective): You say, "Ah - my Lady is seeing to it."

Maylea casts Her gaze upon you and the honey-soaked poppy in your hands. "And You are now giving Gifts, Thousandfold." A smile flickers across Her face, "That is different."

You hear a rustling and turn to see Lleuke emerging from the undergrowth.

Lleuke blinks slowly, his mouth agape for a few seconds as he tucks a strand of his golden hair behind a pointed ear.

There is a careful moment of pause as Mysrai considers Maylea's words, finally responding, "It was the Will of My Beloved Liar, Bloom." Their face is cast in shadow as They look down at the poppy briefly, "Had I known she was Yours, perhaps..."

You have emoted: Lief offers a honey-soaked poppy up to show Maylea, its petals ever dripping its sweet nectar. She hesitates with a quick, openly appraising look back at Mysrai with Their words, but she remains silent.

Scarlet lightning crashes in the storm hanging about Mysrai, never arcing beyond Their own person save to leap into the realities visible beyond Them.

Her eyes flickering over the form of Mysrai, Maylea asks lightly, "Something bothering You, Thousandfold?" She touches the honey-soaked poppy offered by you, causing the viscous honey traces to vibrate with colours. "It's quite a look on You."

Mysrai's eyes turn up towards Maylea, and there are no constellations within them, stars blinking out one by one and only igniting half as fast as they depart. Their muzzle opens once, twice, thrice, in an attempt to speak, but They seem to find no words as hieroglyphs burn out in the aether about Them before they can truly manifest. Finally, a pale lilac manages to spill out, "I did not come to quarrel. I simply came to Judge."

You have emoted: "I thought You came on behalf of Your Liar," Lief says to Mysrai, peering at Them, and then down at a honey-soaked poppy. She hesitates, and asks again, threads of anxiety darkening her words, "What is the Abyss?"

With a loud yet playful whistle, a mechanical dirigible comes puttering in on currents of air, its metallic claw grasping a stately chocolate and banana cheesecake, which it quickly deposits in Lleuke's hands.

A mechanical dirigible bobs up and down on the air currents before jets of steam erupt from several of its valves, then putters off.

Touching Her hand to your shoulder once more, Maylea murmurs to Mysrai in an undertone, "You Judged once." She spreads Her other hand to sweep across the forest, "What is here, that You find worthy of Your Judgment?"

With a loud yet playful whistle, a mechanical dirigible comes puttering in on currents of air, its metallic claw grasping a stately chocolate and banana cheesecake, which it quickly deposits in your hands.

A mechanical dirigible bobs up and down on the air currents before jets of steam erupt from several of its valves, then putters off.

(Great House Myeras): Elexia says, "Thank you, to whichever of my family gave me this lovely cake."

(Great House Myeras): Millien says, "I was about to ask who that was."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe (from the Aetherways) says, "Just a little birthday cake to share!"

Mysrai turns and Their furred hands tighten around the Jackal's sceptre, the sound so potent it seems They would snap it in Their hands. "A bastion of Creation, standing strong against the Abyss." The glyphs that trace through the air are a black that seeps like oil and crackle with their own scarlet undercurrent. Their ears shake, and turn towards you, a sign that They heard her, but They remain silent.

You have emoted: Lief blinks down at a stately chocolate and banana cheesecake, thoroughly surprised. Quietly, she sets it aside, her attention otherwise keen upon Mysrai.

(Great House Myeras): Elexia says, "Oh my, it's your birthday and I hadn't even realized. My most sincere apologies! Your cake is simply divine, sister."

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe (from the Aetherways) says, "It's easy to remember for me, since it's essentially near the middle of summer. And sometimes it's just nice to share things on your day, rather than the other way around!"

(Great House Myeras): Jolanthe (from the Aetherways) says, "Then it's on you to remember, rather than everyone else, heh."

Maylea bows Her head towards Mysrai and murmurs in a wry tone, "I am glad to hear that the First Forest so passes the test." Her gaze steels for a moment, then softens. "And yet." She searches the starless eyes of Mysrai, commenting, "You have been far. And You did not go away just so that You could come back and Judge again. What have You been doing?"

You have emoted: The pressure is subtle, but Lief leans gently into Maylea's hand upon her shoulder, drawing support from it as she watches Mysrai, her faeling ears twitching once attentively.

"I...She..." Mysrai's breathing quickly becomes laboured, and They snarl as Their hands fly to Their head, digging deep furrows into Their furred flesh as the dust devil begins to spark with constant scarlet sparks, hieroglyphs violently exploding around Them. "The Abyss, it...No! No! Not Her!" The overpowering scent of cayenne quickly flushes the air and reality buckles as the Shofet rapidly begins to flicker in and out of view. With an anguished cry, They vanish, and the remaining black sand falls limp and lifeless to the ground like the last drops of rain scattering from a tree's boughs.

(Great House Myeras): Millien says, "I never remember my birthday."

The chaotic sandstorm roaming the Basin dissipates far too suddenly, black sand raining like ash down upon the highways.

Maylea bends and scoops up the sand Mysrai left behind, clenching it in Her fist as Maylea stands, thoughtful. The sand flickers into many hues, bursting into many coloured rays of light before coming to nothingness.

You have emoted: Lief's subtle pressure becomes much firmer when reality buckles around Mysrai. When it ends, she is breathless, panting in once, a honey-soaked poppy fallen against her white-skirted lap. Her eyes are wide when they find Maylea, wide and full of confusion.

Gently turning, Maylea, Bloom of Serenity says to you, "Eldin, are you all right?"

After a long moment, finding her voice, you say, "I... wanted to ask Them what They perceived about the poppy." The words are grasping non sequiturs until she shakes her antlered head firmly. "I'm okay, my Lady. I am."

Gently squeezing your shoulder, Maylea murmurs, "Ask, if you see Them again, if you wish, Eldin. Just ensure They do not take from you what you do not wish taken." Her eyes fall to the poppy in your hands. "It is a thoughtful gift," She comments, Her expression unfathomable.

You have emoted: "I like it," Lief agrees with Maylea, her gaze studying a honey-soaked poppy anew. "It's...hard for me to believe They didn't realize I was Yours with a gift like this, though."

You have emoted: Lief pauses, then adds slowly, "At the festival, someone said that 'lies are truths yet to be,' or something like that. Maybe they used the word 'paradigm'."

Almost to Herself, Maylea whispers, "The Shofet... What were They doing?" She shakes Her head before absently plucking a poppy from the air. This one is fiery red, and its petals turn and writhe before they form the shape of a Jackal's head.

You have emoted: Silence is Lief's answer, silence and uncertainty. She looks once more to Maylea, her brow knitting with thought as her hands return to cradling the lovely poppy gift given to her.

You think to yourself: Did They depart of Their own will? Are They okay? Did They...spend too much time in the Void, too, like Nocht...?

Maylea lets Her poppy fall from Her grasp, and before it reaches the ground, tongues of flame consume it, the last remaining petals pointed like the Jackal's ears. She shakes Her head once more and smiles at you. "My dear. Enjoy the gift. But the Thousandfold has many faces, and this is only one of them."

Maylea leans in and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Gracefully departing, Maylea dissolves into a swirl of prismatic colours.

You have emoted: Lief's eyes close instinctively with the kiss upon her brow, and open once her Lady has departed. Her lips part, and she gazes around the woods. Even the birdsong is quiet here, though it's begun to return, tentatively and hopefully.