focus: Nocht

The Fulcrux of Nocht.
The image of a beautiful nighttime sky has been stretched across the fulcrux. Dim stars struggle futilely to compete with the terrifying beauty of Mother Night. The ethereal image wavers on occasion, the sky rippling like water in a pond. A lonely hill covered in tall grass leads up to a single shrine. Behind the shrine stands a large blackthorn tree. The tree is taller than most of its kind, extending upwards rather than outwards. Delicate blossoms shower down from its branches, creating a flurry of white petals and filling the air with the pungent scent of wyrden foliage. A complex series of stones orbit around a stygian orb here. A rippling image of a beautiful night sky has been magically wrapped around the fulcrux here.
You see a single exit leading through an image of the night sky.

You have emoted: Esei kneels silently in front of the shrine, hands folded neatly in their lap.

It is now the 11th of Estar, 593 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 10 days until the New Moon

You tilt your head back and look up at the sky.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

The image above wavers and ripples gently as a cold breeze howls through the fulcrux.

You have emoted: The claw of Esei's left thumb digs deep into the flesh of their right palm, the only movement they make.

A chilling breeze rips blackthorn petals from the lonesome tree in the fulcrux, swirling them around the hill and dusting you with the soft flecks of soft, white blooms.

You have emoted: Tiny droplets of near-black blood drip onto Esei's robes, streaming lazily from the break of their palm. They blink as the petals fall, exhaling softly.

You have emoted: Eyes trained on the blackthorn, Esei's lips part, as if to speak, but they remain silent, instead closing their eyes and inhaling slowly.

A hush ripples across the fulcrux, the icy breeze brushing several of the petals from you as the tall grass seems to bend towards you in anticipation.

The image above wavers and ripples gently as a cold breeze howls through the fulcrux.

You have emoted: Esei exhales gently, tongue digging into one of their teeth, as if thoughtful.

You think to yourself: ** the beat of their heart, subtle but ever-present... **.

You think to yourself: ** the sweet smell of the blackthorn, the cold wind, the rippling sky... peace, calm, -safety-, always to be found... **.

You think to yourself: ** a single flicker of confusion, or perhaps uncertainty - they have never been terribly quick on their feet, or their mind, the uncertainty of the expectation... **.

The boughs of the large blackthorn moan loudly as they shake, sending a new shower of petals cascading across the fulcrux.

You have emoted: Closing their eyes, Esei inhales and exhales slowly, as though centering themself.

The image of the night sky grows terrifyingly dark as an icy breeze cuts across the lonely hill, spiralling patterns dancing across the tall grass.

You have emoted: Esei pulls their hands apart, one streaked with blood, the other with a sanguine thumb, and places them lightly on their respective thighs.

Seemingly directing the words to the shrine and to the fulcrux at large, you whisper, "...thank You."

Finally, a soft voice whispers, filling the fulcrux with a gentle murmur, "What has happened to your hand, My little one?"

You blink.

Quietly, you say, "...me, my Lord."

The scent of blackthorn blooms fills the air as the soft voice whispers, "Hmm... For what goal do you spill your blood, little one?"

The image of the night sky grows terrifyingly dark as an icy breeze cuts across the lonely hill, spiralling patterns dancing across the tall grass.

You have emoted: Esei looks down for a moment, flipping their hands so their palms face the air, the puncture wound already scabbed over. "Focus," they say, still quiet. "The feeling of my claw in my hand, and the pain, helps me focus on what matters in the moment. I do not... do so often."

The voice whispers in your ear now, barely heard above the breeze, "And have you gained something with your focus, My little one? On what matters?"

Quietly, you say, "I believe so, my Lord."

You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

A flurry of whispers fill the fulcrux, murmuring their approval.

The image above wavers and ripples gently as a cold breeze howls through the fulcrux.

The image of the night sky grows terrifyingly dark as an icy breeze cuts across the lonely hill, spiralling patterns dancing across the tall grass.

You have emoted: Fingers curling into loose fists, Esei tilts their head back up to gaze at the shrine and beyond it, the blackthorn.

The boughs of the large blackthorn moan loudly as they shake, sending a new shower of petals cascading across the fulcrux.

A sense of purpose and pride for the Glomdoring swells within you as a three-finger ring bearing an amethyst scythe pulses against your hand.

You think to yourself: ** and between clashing thoughts and muddled emotion comes not a battle cry, nor even a whisper, or intent, but knowledge alone, like that which the familiar augural archway instills: Nothing matters but the Glomdoring. **.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

You have emoted: Esei rises from their kneeling position, pressing their right hand over their heart as they bow to the shrine. "Thank You," they say again in their soft voice, pale eyes gleaming for a moment.