Belated Birthday Thanks

With a whisper of energies and a glimpse of changing paradigms, the veil parts, allowing you passage beyond.
You veil to the Fulcrux of Mysrai.

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The Fulcrux of Mysrai.
The walls of this rounded chamber are dimly illuminated by burning coals within a copper bowl at the centre, but remain no more distinct than any of the shadowy carvings upon their surface. At times, the walls seem as though they are mere veils between open air and the fire-illumined ring: at others, they are whirling sand or solid stone. Despite this, figures in various races shift and change, gone in seconds or less, with the only constant remaining the pinpricks of alien constellations within. The ceiling is a canopy of silk, or veils, or shifting realities, with loose poppy blossoms floating amidst it, or upon it, in tears of white and red and indigo. Oilslick patterns ripple across the silken folds of this veil as it flutters between two paradigms. Veils of reality bounded by skeins of ivory and blood-hued blossoms twist and shiver above a poppy-inlaid vessel filled with burning coals.
You see a single exit leading through a fluttering veil.

You have emoted: Cheliyi enters through the veil hesitantly, keeping her hands close to her chest.

You think to yourself: ... Are They awake? Do Divine sleep? Or do They sleep for fun...

You think to yourself: Mm... I will pray anyways. I hope it doesn't disturb Them if They are resting...
You think to yourself: I should ask dad about it later.

You have emoted: The wyrdenwood sighs quietly before rummaging through her pack to pull out a few offerings. "Thank You very muchly, for letting me visit Your city last month," Cheliyi murmurs, gently laying the corpses on top of the coals.

You offer up 2 corpses to Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees.
You imbue a brazier of wonder with 500 units of your esteem.
You offer up a brazier of wonder to Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees.

You think to yourself: ... I should also thank Them and apologize. **soft green mottled with fading orange, so, so tired**.

Kneeling humbly, you press your palms together before you and close your eyes momentarily as you pray devoutly to Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees, "Dear Lord Shofets, hello again. It is me, Cheliyi. It is also my birthday month, again, which is a weirdly coincidence. But anyways, I wanted to thank You, for fulfilling my wish. It may not have been because You wanted to listen to me, but I am still very grateful, yes. Dad seems much happier with You and Your Beloveds! I am also sorry for doubting You, since You seem to love my dad so muchly. It was pretty rudely of me. Still, I worry about them lots, and people are not so nicely to them lately. So... yes. I would still love it lots if You would keep being nicely to them. Not that You have to care about what I feel. But it would still be nicely. Also, I wanted to say that Mixter Aschwar and Mixter Zeebin were really nicely to meet! So... thank You for them being so happy as well, yes. And Your city is really pretty, yes! And weirdly. But I think that is what makes it pretty? And the moffs... mothhhs are lovely to see, yes. I just wish it was not all on fire all of the time, yes. And the monastery with the wall-walking monks looks so nicely! Oh! And if You could tell Mixter Aschwar that their garden is really lovely I would be very thankful, yes! They deserve nicely things. I am rambling. Sorry. Thank You muchly for listening even though I am not one of Yours, Lord Shofets.".

You stand up and stretch your arms out wide.

You have emoted: Cheliyi pulls back to her full height with a creak, looking around the room. Her hands claps one another loosely, a brief flicker of pain crossing her features.

You think to yourself: **dull green and orange, muddled by aching palms** I hope They liked my prayer. Touching my hands still hurts, but that is mostly my fault. I should ask Mister Dad about anger again sometime soon...

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 think to yourself: Why does the world have to be so unfair to everyone I love? Living alone in the forest was so much simpler.
You think to yourself: ... And it wasn't as quiet.

You have emoted: Cheliyi glances down at her roots, before sighing quietly. She sits on the ground, well away from the sparking coals.

Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase brings him closer to the world's edge.

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

You have emoted: Cheliyi shifts her branches as she watches the ever shifting walls, humming softly.

You think to yourself: I wonder why They like fire so much. Fire only seems to hurt things, but all of the Beloveds are nicely and healing. I think.
You have emoted: Cheliyi absentmindedly rubs at her moss covered forearms.

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.

It is now the 8th of Shanthin, 573 years after the Coming of Estarra.

You hum softly, your leaves resonating in tune with the small set of bone chimes.

The perception of time momentarily slows to a fraction as Atropos snips stray strands and frayed threads upon the Tapestry of Fate, each cut bringing a distant scream. Time rushes forward as the memory fades, yet you retain the knowledge that your fate in Lusternia is far from meeting its end.

You have emoted: Cheliyi eventually stands, quietly dusting off her cloak.

Cautiously, you bow respectfully to the master shrine of Mysrai, only to sway dizzily once you stand upright.

With a gentle creak, you say, "Many thanks Mixter My Sir Eye, Lord Shofets."

With a whisper of energies and a glimpse of changing paradigms, the veil parts, allowing you passage beyond.

---> me logging in later that night

Password correct. Welcome to Lusternia.
Your last login was from domain:
162-238-119-37.lightspeed.stlsmo.sbcglobal.net.

*** You have 2 unread message(s). ***
A Gentle Grove.                                        (#OVERGROWTH_1)
A thick bed of moss clings to the ground here. There are 3 moss-covered stump chairs here. In the shape of an open palm, a metallic sigil lies here. A honeycomb package sits here, contents concealed within its amber walls. A blossoming bouquet origami rests here.
There are no obvious exits.

---> read message

Message #607 sent by (system) (received: 2020/10/30 01:06:01)
   Mysrai, the Thief of Hidden Apogees has bestowed His divine favour upon you. It will last for 15 months.

You blink.

---> look me (internally screaming)

Towering above, she is a twisted wyrdenwood demigoddess and blends in quietly amongst her siblings. Her weeping, willowy leaves cascade like a shower of slender emeralds, obscuring the gentle but sharp features beneath. Hanging off a large limb, a set of deer bone wind-chimes clink softly in the wind. In the nook between some of her sturdiest branches balances a large, mossy nest, full of fluffy white feathers and various shiny knickknacks. Various pieces of origami hang in her boughs, like paper fruit. Mossy patches soften her rough exterior, her supple yet sinewy form a curious blend of strength and grace. Her branches droop, the limbs falling freely around her like a thin, green curtain. There is no denying the sense of raw power that effuses from her every step, no matter how tender her footfall. The only hint of her previous life lies in her eyes, the iris clouded milky white with a watery sheen.

A single voidstruck eye, full of brilliant saffron stars, stares out from the middle of her forehead.

She is wearing:
a pair of thin spectacles set ever so slightly askew, almost begging for someone to right them
a warm cloak of autumn hues wrapped snugly around her shoulders
a pair of supple leather hunting gloves fastened tightly to her palms
a jewelled bracelet of the Three of Night secured firmly to her wrist with a living vine
mechanical lace gloves
Ebon Prayer Beads of the Silent Lord wrapped loosely around one wrist, tethered with a thin vine
a satin scarf of the Hunt tied loosely to a branch.