Break Something

With a whisper of energies and a glimpse of changing paradigms, the veil parts, allowing you passage beyond.
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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. A paper lantern rests here to one side, its multicoloured form ready to be set aloft. A creamy chocolate soup has been dropped here, steaming gently. Nightmarish waves of bizarre hues flow from the massive wings of a maddened dreameater moth as it soars here. Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess with an Unknown face is here, shrouded.
You see a single exit leading through a fluttering veil.

You see the following people here:
Ixchilgal, Lunette, Lief.

Ixchilgal doffs an elemental crown to you.

Lunette flashes you a joyous smile.

You have emoted: Lief quietly bows her antlered head upon entering through the veil, only to raise it and silently gaze about herself.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Quite the gathering we're coming up with here."

Lunette nods her head sagely.

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says, "Indeed we are."

You have emoted: In the quiet of this place, with the dim-burning coals in the centre and the seeming veils surrounding them, Ixchilgal's voice startles Lief from her contemplations. She offers a quiet laugh and a dip of her antlered head. "Thank you both for allowing me to contemplate this space," she says softly.

Ixchilgal smiles wryly at you.

Lunette flashes you a joyous smile.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Far be it from us to stop any who wish to ponder upon the Most Beloved."

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says to you, "You should come contemplate it more often."

The twinkling lights of countless constellations flare visibly within the skies, heralding the arrival of the Navigator.

-p veil
A shivering length of ephemeral fabrics flutters here, obscuring passage through reality itself into a space beyond. Images whisper over the surface, figures melting between one form and another: male and female, bestial and kind, all rise and fall into nothingness. Skeins of sigils and calligraphy flicker into existence and vanish within seconds, and the faint smell of resins whispers through from beyond.
It is strangely weightless.
It has the following aliases: exit, portal.

You have emoted: Lief's fingertips brush against ephemeral fabrics as she asks, curiously, "The Most Beloved?" She looks from Ixchilgal to Lunette and back again.

-p shrine
Forged from brushed copper, the rim of this massive, shallow bowl is inlaid with tilework depicting white and crimson poppies. Within, coals snap and sparkle, releasing resinous plumes into the air. Distortions of heat and reality intermingle above the banked fires: within these folds of being/non-being, constellations shift and sparkle, obscured by veils of dancers, by the robes of indistinct figures, by the very twisting of the smoke itself. Above, untouched by the searing heat, a spiral of ivory blossoms rotates, flickering around and through a matching skein of blood-hued flowers curling in the opposite direction.
It weighs about 375 pounds.
It has the following aliases: shrine.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "The Most Beloved, the Thousandfold, the Lord and Lady and Neither, Ivory Urchin, Beckoner Beyond the Maze, currently Shofet of Abyssal Scales. They have many, many names and titles."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "But specifically, Most Beloved is in reference to Their order. Those who follow Them are the Beloved, and They are the Most Beloved."

Lunette nods her head sagely.

You have emoted: Lief smiles faintly, letting her fingers drop from the veil of cloth to touch her freckled cheek. "That is surprising," she comments. "And lovely. Would you both say the bond of love is genuinely felt and shared?"

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says, "Though I am a much more recent addition to the Beloved, I would say the bond is as such."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We would. You can't piss someone off like we've pissed off the Most Beloved, if there is no connection."

Lunette flashes Ixchilgal a joyous smile.

The sky lightens and stars fade as Father Sun approaches the horizon in his neverending quest to capture Mother Night.

You have emoted: Lief hides a grin behind both her faeling-sized hands. Her dragonfly wings hum as she's drawn curiously forward, flitting her about to study the master shrine of Mysrai. "That is good," she says when she lowers her hands, her voice bright. "I love my Lady very fiercely and dearly, and it gladdens me to know that other Elders share bonds like this with Theirs."

Showing that he understands, Ixchilgal nods his head slowly.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Speaking of your Lady, may we ask a question?"

Looking up from the master shrine of Mysrai, you say, "Certainly!"

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Your recent news post indicated that Lady Maylea was not thrilled with Their visit the other month. It makes us wonder if She is...unreceptive to our presence."

You have emoted: Lief cants her antlered head. Drawing away from the master shrine of Mysrai, she wings about Ixchilgal instead, the motion lazy. "I don't think She minds. She wasn't thrilled, you're right - but She loves me very fiercely and dearly, too, and it is no simple matter, knowing the mind of the Shofet. When She understood They were not there to harm me or our home, Her gaze softened somewhat."

Showing that he understands, Ixchilgal nods his head slowly.

Tapping her freckled nose, you say to Ixchilgal, "It might mean She watches you closer than most, at least for now, but I don't think you should take it as being bothered. You are one of us now, too, after all, and She would learn more of you."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We do hope not. As a general rule, we try to avoid annoying unfathomly powerful cosmic entities."

You grin mischievously at Ixchilgal.

Lunette gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We've slapped enough mosquitos in our life to understand that relationship."

Brightly, you say to Ixchilgal, "If you wanted, you could always seek audience with Her. She's always told me She wishes more would come to speak with Her and share their voices with Her."

Her eyes twinkling, you say to Lunette, "You certainly could as well - I don't mean to exclude you. I only mention specifically to Ixchilgal because of his concern."

Lunette flashes you a joyous smile.

Sunlight billows across the realm, revealing the full glory of the majestic sun's luminous presence as he climbs higher into the sky.

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says, "I will consider it, then."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We might, once we ponder up a suitable peace offering."

He is a noble merian demigod changeling and is of fairly average height.  He has green, lightly scaled skin, and hair that almost looks like seaweed.  In stark contrast to his greenish scales, his lips are a bright red.  Dark bags around his eyes do little to distract from a disturbing moustache that almost seems plastered to his upper lip.  His left eye is sealed shut from a vertical scar running across it.

His hair has been cut short nearly to the point of being shaved. Curiously, it is striped in seven distinct colours, ranging from red to violet and all colours of the rainbow in between, creating a whimsical array of hue.
Naught but a nautical knot, his scraggly red beard has seen far better days and is well beyond saving with a mere trim or untangling. Crystallised sea salt weighs down the frizzy strands, aiding in some semblance of a style while the rest curls back wildly about his shoulders.
He is wearing:
a shifting, living poppy of beige petals
an emerald wedding band of loyalty
a decadent gold-bronze gown bedecked in ruffles and gearwork
mechanical lace gloves
a mechanised shell of commanding power
an apron for kitchen slaves.

You have emoted: "Peace offerings," Lief comments, clasping her hands together and turning to face the master shrine of Mysrai. "I wanted to make one such to your Most Beloved, but there is no proper medium for me to put it upon just yet."

Ixchilgal ponders the situation.

Softly, you say, "That is why I've come here to gaze upon this sacred space."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We came here to gaze upon Lunette."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "...that didn't come out quite right, but we stand by it."

You grin mischievously at Ixchilgal.

Lunette ponders the situation.

She is a nimble faeling and stands about two feet tall. Radiant neon purple hair frames her face and flows down in ringletts over her back stopping just above her well rounded bottom. Her face is small and round with chubby cheeks and a little button nose, bright purple eyes almost matching the color of her hair stand out brightly above her lilac tinted lips.  Her diminuitive body while small has a bit of a rounded shape, though it does not conceal the curves of her form in any way. Long arms and legs sprout from her torso and seem a little willowy despite her fuller form. Four bright pink wings stand out from her back, a bit taller than she is altogether, with intricate black designs spiralling throughout them.

She is wearing:
a star-etched moonstone ring
a charming jewelled filigree mandala ring
an onyx engagement ring with an opal moon
a beryl sun ring
a beryl sun ring
an etched turquoise ring
a yellow bone ring with a sapphire pool
pale pink robes accented with crimson roses
a clear ring
mechanical goggles
a Mask of Esteemed Beauty
fingerless gloves of the pyromantic dreamweaver
a glowing gold tongue stud
an outlandish whirring bandolier of red-gold brass
an incandescent backpack of burnt orange and vermilion silks
a Bamboo Mask of Merriment.

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says, "Whatever works."

Lunette gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

Black ink bubbles up about Ixchilgal, moving of its own accord to trace complex patterns in an intricate circular seal about him. A scant moment later, they recede, leaving no trace of their passing.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "But yes, we came to ponder some mystical things as well. All very serious and super duper secretive."

"Shh!" says Ixchilgal, putting a finger to his lips.

You have emoted: "Your wings *are* beautiful," Lief says after a moment of looking more closely at Lunette. "Stunningly vibrant. How lovely to manifest such colour."

Lunette blushes furiously.

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says, "Thank you."

You beam broadly at Lunette.

Ixchilgal looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Ixchilgal's body and features begin to melt like wax, then solidifies into a trill.

He is a feathered trill demigod changeling and is exceptionally tall, even for a trill, just clearing seven feet.  He possesses sharp, narrow features, particularly along the jawline and cheek bones.  His left eye is little more than scarred mess, the right being something completely out of place.  The white of the right eye is a black, starry void, while the pupil looks like a solid copper orb.  The plumage on his head forms a glorious crown of snow-white feathers, while his wings have been dyed an impressive combination of reds, blues, greens, and yellows.  Ruining the graceful elegance typically found in his race are almost comically large ears, poking out of the side of his head like a set of dinner plates.

His hair has been cut short nearly to the point of being shaved. Curiously, it is striped in seven distinct colours, ranging from red to violet and all colours of the rainbow in between, creating a whimsical array of hue.
Naught but a nautical knot, his scraggly red beard has seen far better days and is well beyond saving with a mere trim or untangling. Crystallised sea salt weighs down the frizzy strands, aiding in some semblance of a style while the rest curls back wildly about his shoulders.
He is wearing:
a shifting, living poppy of beige petals
an emerald wedding band of loyalty
a decadent gold-bronze gown bedecked in ruffles and gearwork
mechanical lace gloves
a mechanised shell of commanding power
an apron for kitchen slaves.

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says to you, "I like your wings, as well."

Lunette's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We'd quite forgotten what our own wings look like."

You have emoted: Lief's dragonfly wings hum, keeping her aloft as she bows her antlered head graciously toward Lunette before turning to study Ixchilgal's in the muted, hazy light.

Folding his wings so he can reach them easily, Ixchilgal preens his wings happily, straightening out the disheveled feathers.

Softly, admiringly, you say, "A veritable rainbow."

The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.

Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess says, "Unfortunately I must ask you to please excuse me, as I must rest."

Ixchilgal nods his head at Lunette.

Lunette curtseys gracefully.

Ixchilgal bows respectfully to Lunette.

You have emoted: Lief waves her hand in merry farewell to Lunette.

Ixchilgal ponders you thoughtfully, looking you up and down.

The melodious voice of Lunette resonates in your mind, "I wouldn't mind meeting with you some time to learn of your Lady as well, and I'll flutter my wings about for you even."

You have emoted: Lief turns as though to study the master shrine of Mysrai once more, but she catches Ixchilgal's eye, and returns the look with a curious one of her own.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We wonder at times if we should have stayed a rogue. It would be easier to follow Them that way. No conflicts of interest. No upsetting other deities."

Ixchilgal turns his gaze to the shrine and falls silent.

You tell Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess, "I would absolutely adore that!"

The melodious voice of Lunette resonates in your mind, "Wonderful. I will see you soon."

You have emoted: "Talk with Her," Lief says softly but insistently.

You tell Daydreaming Lunette, Masked Countess, "Fare you well!"

The melodious voice of Lunette resonates in your mind, "And you."

Ixchilgal doesn't answer at first. Staring silently at the shrine for a long time before turning back to you. "It's not just that. We've lived in cities our whole life. We are not adapting well to the forest. It is lovely, the people welcoming. But we are having trouble finding an identity. We thought the Wodewose would make such easier, allow us to shape our own path a bit. But it's not quite what we thought it would be."

You have emoted: Lief's parted lips close, and she folds her hands in her lap, her knees coming up to settle her in a halfway seated position, hovering as she is. Her antlered head tilts as she listens to Ixchilgal, all her wandering curiosities and musings vanished in the aether. "What did you think it would be?" she prompts, gentle.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We aren't certain what we thought. Maybe...like we said, shaping our own path. There are many paths in the Wodewose, but they are other people's paths."

Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Even your rituals, we don't understand it. You tell us to turn the clock in order to boil the kettle, and then swallow the rock and give birth to a bluejay. Pour the boiled water on the bird, and you'll see a vision of...whatever. -That- we understand. We follow the logic, the...well, the -lack- of logic."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "But even your festival, lovely though it was...baffled us. Plant the seed, let it blossom into your dreams of the future? We don't follow it."

You have emoted: Lief studies Ixchilgal's narrow-featured face for a time, drifting slightly this way and that, like a flower bobbing in an errant breeze. There is an absence of judgment in her mien, even with mention of her very own work - though a small, rueful smile creeps into her features. "That," she says, "I think shows my own roots. It's okay if you didn't understand or connect with it - that doesn't mean you don't belong."

Ixchilgal creases his brow in a frown.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We are not so certain."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We were born in Dairuchi, you know. A long, long time ago. A dracnari, which should shock nobody given our birth place and name. Almost from the moment we left Dairuchi to live in Magnagora and become a Geomancer, we felt a connection. We knew that was home. It was our home, until Gaudiguch was released from its prison in time. We left Magnagora to join Gaudiguch, and once again, we immediately felt at home. We -belonged-."

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.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "In Serenwilde, we are...a very well treated guest. Nobody has been anything but kind to us, but we are still an outsider grateful to a very accommodating host."

You have emoted: Lief's wings keep her roughly level with Ixchilgal, though she is many times smaller. Her rueful smile fades, her gaze unwavering upon Ixchilgal as she listens, serious and intent. "What does 'home' feel like for you?"

Ixchilgal shakes his head.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We don't know. It is simply something inside us that feels right."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "It was absent when we served the Forbidden, and it was absent when we left Him to follow Lady Kalikai. We found it again with the Most Beloved, and so we are clinging to that hoping it will transfer to the forest somehow."

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

You have emoted: For a time, Lief is silent. Her gaze breaks away from Ixchilgal to study the burning embers of the master shrine of Mysrai as they crackle and snap into the silence. "I've never known another place besides the Serenwilde," she eventually confides. "Or, if I did, I can't remember it - the Portal's robbed that memory. But I came to here a Listener at the Veil. It came time for me to consider which of the Great Host I felt tied closest to."

Clarifying, you say to Ixchilgal, "The Great Host is their name for our ancestors, the dead who have not found peace, those who've left something unfinished."

Ixchilgal tilts his head and listens intently to you.

You have emoted: Lief drifts a bit, returning her clear, gray eyes to the master shrine of Mysrai, the light of its simmering heat reflected in her gaze. "Thetis came to me as I sat in their library, worrying over scroll after scroll, searching for information - for connection - for something to identify with. For *anything* to align myself with. Eventually, I thought, 'Maybe Rhoswen Wildbriar. Maybe she who wouldn't listen to Farella without fighting for her own beliefs.' It was close." She shakes her antlered head. "But it wasn't right. It wasn't home."

Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.

Looking up again, a little laugh upon her lips, you say to Ixchilgal, "I told Thetis she seemed like an asterisk in their records to me, and that I, too, felt like an asterisk. Like I didn't fit in."

Ixchilgal nods again, leaning casually against the shrine as he continues to listen to your story.

You have emoted: "I had to fight a *lot* to find that feeling of home. I felt it first when I spoke with my Lady, and I told Her I was drawn to Her strength. I felt it stir again when I took up the ways of the Sowers of the Last Seed, though our circle was so very small then - just Feyr, Ramilies, and then me. And then I wandered, and came back, and found it wholeheartedly again." Lief clasps her hands together, searching Ixchilgal's face, looking for his eyes. "It's okay if you don't agree with me and what I say, but home, to me, is something that you fight tooth and claw for. You tear into the flesh of what you value, you find your truth, and you cling to it fiercely, with all you've got."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard frowns and says, "We did fight for home. It betrayed us."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Maybe that's why we're having trouble finding it again."

After a moment of startled shock, softly, you say, "Yes. I...wouldn't be surprised if that were why."

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 2nd of Tzarin, 546 years after the Coming of Estarra.

Ixchilgal's body and features begin to melt like wax, then solidifies into a faeling.

He is a nimble faeling demigod changeling and typically sports an annoyed looking frown, staring about the area with one pale, cloudy blue eye, giving off almost haughty aura. A nasty scar occupies the area of his left eye, completely closed up with white scar tissue. He maintains good posture, back straight, almost stretching in order to tower over those around him - a futile effort, given his diminutive stature.  A mop of black hair with plenty of gray shocks is slicked back against his head, though a few stray strands tend to escape the conformity. Pale skin seems stretched over a meager frame, body easily liftable by a pair of translucent wings sprouting from his back, resembling those of a dragonfly.  The veins of the wings pulse and glow with a swirl of rainbow colours as he moves, constantly changing regardless of local light sources.

His hair has been cut short nearly to the point of being shaved. Curiously, it is striped in seven distinct colours, ranging from red to violet and all colours of the rainbow in between, creating a whimsical array of hue.
Naught but a nautical knot, his scraggly red beard has seen far better days and is well beyond saving with a mere trim or untangling. Crystallised sea salt weighs down the frizzy strands, aiding in some semblance of a style while the rest curls back wildly about his shoulders.
He is wearing:
a shifting, living poppy of beige petals
an emerald wedding band of loyalty
a decadent gold-bronze gown bedecked in ruffles and gearwork
mechanical lace gloves
a mechanised shell of commanding power
an apron for kitchen slaves.

Ixchilgal wastes no time in taking off, after shifting down to his faeling form. A quick pair of circles around the shrine before plopping himself upon it, wings still buzzing frantically, almost enough to unseat him from his new chair.

Stars manifest within the chaotic sandstorm ravaging New Celest, gently buffeting away the scarlet lightning and black sand as two powerful forces shoot through the heavens and vanish from perception.

You have emoted: Lief's eyes widen, and then sparkle with quiet delight. She flits quietly about Ixchilgal, then dares to settle herself down beside him. "How do they feel?"

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We've always enjoyed this body. It is liberating in a way. Sure, a trill can fly...but a trill can't sit on someone's head. Well, maybe a tae'dae...or igasho. And even then, it would be annoying."

Ixchilgal looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

You have emoted: Lief lifts her hand to cover her mouth, though the flash of a grin can be seen in her bared teeth moments before she does. Above her hand, as she leans to one side, she studies Ixchilgal's new wings, admiring the threads of colour shimmering in them by the dim light of the master shrine of Mysrai. "Lovely," she declares, lowering her hand once more and returning to his face.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We felt at home with the Most Beloved, because we are...chaos? In Magnagora, there was room for chaos. Perhaps not as much as we embodied, but enough to make do. Gaudiguch...we swam in it. We embraced it, we were drunk with nectar of our being. We can find no chaos in Serenwilde. If we want to find home, we have to find the chaos."

-l me
Flowering vines wreathe the antlers which crown this faeling's head, adorning her with perpetual springtime no matter the season. Though she is a nimble faeling blossoming demigoddess, she appears otherwise mundane at first glance. With a boyish, twiggy figure that's taller than average and a sprightly, ruddy pixie haircut, she might be androgynous were it not for her softer features. Large, inquisitive gray eyes sit beneath strong and expressive brows, while a small, upturned nose wears the same proud constellation of freckles which scatters across her healthy, rounded cheeks. Pert and peach-stained lips lift into a natural smile unless some greater emotion temporarily seizes them. The wings which sprout from her back are not a butterfly's, but a dragonfly's, their long, limpid shapes occasionally glimmering with opalescence in the ambient light. Streaks and handprints of dusky green paint splatter her face and body, contrasting her youthful white dress with the stains of ancestral tradition. 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:
a silver moonflower circlet
a charm bracelet of prismatic crystal orchids chiming with the movement of her arm
a slender snapdragon ring
a frosted thistle blossom pendant hanging from a thin silvery chain
a slender midnight orchid ring
a translucent crystal bindi faintly illuminating her brow with prismatic colours
a vine-woven bone necklace
a soft white dress of delicate eyelet lace
the Flame of dae'Seren hanging from her wrist, its blossom held there by the silver chain wrapping her forearm.

You have emoted: "You cannot see the chaos of the Serenwilde?" Lief seems genuinely surprised. She looks down at herself, bathed in the light of her Lady's favour, wild and prismatic and free. She pauses for a moment in contemplation, then glances sidelong at Ixchilgal. "I have absolutely no idea whether you might find it useful," she says. "Or whether it would just be confusing. But Jolanthe said it felt like home to her, when I showed it to her."

Ixchilgal tilts his head and listens intently to you.

You have emoted: "It's a book of poems I wrote," Lief laughs, "when I was Yneli - moving - toward my Lady, still a Listener grasping for meaning."

Ixchilgal looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

The last vestiges of midnight shadows flee as Mother Night hides herself from the luminous arrival of her shining mate as he chases her across the bowl of the sky.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "It couldn't hurt to try. You would not be...adverse to showing us?"

You have emoted: "Not at all!" Lief beams, clapping her hands together. "If you'd like, I will bring a copy to you here."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "And as for chaos, well...perhaps we have different definitions. To us, it is...a disruption of the natural order of things."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "In Magnagora, in our youth, it was very militaristic. Very formal, very...yes sir, no sir, right away sir. But those who could shine on their own were tolerated, even if they broke the mold."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We started two...-two- civil wars in Magnagora, and still they let us stay. We defecated all over house d'Murani, both literally and figuratively, and even that was not enough to see us gone. We put on girly dresses, pierced our tongue, and wrote love poems to Munsia. Nothing we were supposed to be doing, and somehow, we still thrived there."

You have emoted: Lief's hands still, resting upon her white-skirted lap as she listens to Ixchilgal with curious interest.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "In Gaudiguch...well, it's hard to break the natural order of things in a place where it has a tenuous grasp of that concept in the first place, but we still did our best."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "But here in Serenwilde? Where is the chaos? Oh sure, a nut falls on the east side of a tree instead of the expected west. The owl that's been sitting at the Moonhart Mother Tree for as long as we've been here didn't even look like it was -thinking- about eating Binky, which was frankly the biggest mouse we've ever encountered."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "But that isn't chaos. That's just some chance. Nothing is disrupted by that."

You have emoted: Lief's eyes twinkle with quiet mischief, her legs, dangling as they are over the edge of the master shrine of Mysrai, kicking lightly back and forth. "I see myself a little chaotic," she confides to Ixchilgal. "Maybe it doesn't seem that way, but the expected order in Serenwilde? I'm quite certain my mother would be horrified to learn I invited members of *Magnagora* and *Glomdoring* to party in Serenwilde."

Eyes twinkling, you say to Ixchilgal, "I'm also certain she'd view me as a dreadful influence on my sister Elexia, for causing her to see Avurekhos not as 'the traitor who shall not be named,' but as the struggling, wounded person he is."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We're certain Avurekhos loves that description of him."

You nod your head at Ixchilgal, showing your acceptance.

You look thoughtful and say to Ixchilgal, "...both descriptions, I'm sure."

Ixchilgal creases his brow in a frown.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "You know what really bothers us about Gaudiguch?"

You have emoted: Lief tilts her antlered head, curious.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "How many times have we fallen on the sword to protect the city. We've faced off against the Templars...the -entire- guild. We stared down the Freedom Council and it cost our family its ties to the city. We challenged the Most Beloved Themself, because there was people in the city who felt They were oppressive, and we thought perhaps we could do something about it. We've taken hit after hit after hit for the city and its people."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "And in our time of need, how many even objected to what happened?"

You have emoted: Lief's expression twitches with an empathic sorrow she feels, and does her best to suppress, as she listens to Ixchilgal, fingers threading through one another in her lap.

Ixchilgal suddenly grins, shaking his head. "Don't take this wrong, but we don't generally confide in people all that much. Especially not kids." Then, almost without warning, he's off the shrine and hovering around the room again. Studying the veil, then the poppies blossoming along the ceiling. Then off to some tiny little obscure formation on the wall, never staying in one place for more than a moment.

The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the land to bask in his shining golden rays.

You have emoted: Lief's lips twitch upward faintly at that, her legs kicking out lightly where she sits before her ankles hook, one behind the other. She turns her gaze back to the master shrine of Mysrai, and murmurs as she stares into the coals, "Veils upon veils. We must protect ourselves, I understand." She pauses, then adds, finding Ixchilgal's figure out the corner of her eye, "Especially with children who might not know better and break something."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Oh, if -only- the kids were that reckless. Children used to be interesting. You'd constantly be having to save them from some mischief or another. Scold them for another mischief they should really have known better for. A delight. These days, as soon as the kid steps out of the portal, they're swamped by tutors and people trying to keep them from ever doing anything exciting."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We aren't certain we should be admitting this, but got just a brief moment of that again a few months ago. During a timequake, some Gaudiguch kid wandered in. Probably couldn't have fought his way out of newton if you did all the work for him, but somehow he found his way into just about the most dangerous place he could."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "So we found him before anyone else noticed he was there, and we helped him out. Let him know to be more careful."

You have emoted: Lief returns her gaze to the coals, studying the way they crackle and flicker with percussive music. "Why don't you try breaking something?" she asks curiously. "In the Serenwilde, I mean. We're all children before the Elder Gods, and I daresay another splash of colour, brighter and bolder than my own, might be refreshing."

You grin mischievously at Ixchilgal.

Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.

Ixchilgal stops at your suggestion, almost all the animation leaving him at once. Even his wings come to a virtual standstill...which has the unfortunate effect of sending him tumbling to the ground, where upon he is forced to pick himself up in a most undignified manner.

You have emoted: Catching the noise of Ixchilgal's tumble, Lief lifts her hand from her lap to conceal her grin. Quickly, politely, she looks back to the master shrine of Mysrai, though the sparkle in her gaze betrays her knowing.

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.

Ixchilgal walks back to the shrine, wings slowly fanning himself as he pats dust from his gown. Far more dust than he possibly could have picked up with that little tumble, and seemingly coming from nowhere, as the gown isn't nearly that visibly dirty. Finally, he looks up at you, brow furrowed like his still considering how best to answer your question.

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

You have emoted: "I mean," Lief says softly, lifting one hand to gently trail over the lip of the shrine's basin of coals, "don't take this the wrong way - but you're a child yourself in the Wilde right now, finding your place. Test your boundaries. Discover your limits. Tear a place for yourself here, a place we will miss terribly should you ever abandon us."

Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We're almost five hundred years old. We aren't certain anyone would buy the excuse that we're just a Wilde child beguiled to go hog wild. Our standing would be restyled to be reviled."

Her eyes twinkling, you say to Ixchilgal, "You think you're expected to know all these unspoken rules? Maybe your own expectations are what bind you tight." She shakes her antlered head and looks directly at you once more, leaning forward a bit over the edge of her perch. "I firmly, whole-heartedly believe that no one shackles me better than myself and my own fears. What about you?"

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Dunno...our wife is pretty handy with a set of shackles. Not sure we could accomplish that on our own."

You hide a grin behind your hand.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "But, we suppose you have a point. Maybe we should try being Ixchilgal, before we assume it would be unwelcome."

The corners of Ixchilgal's mouth turn up as he grins mischievously.

Ixchilgal's eyes fill with battle rage as he screams out, "For group sex and personal gain!"

You have emoted: Lief's freckled cheeks flush, and she laughs muffledly into her palm still covering her mouth. "Yes," she exclaims, "um, that!"

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 3rd of Tzarin, 546 years after the Coming of Estarra.

Ixchilgal's body and features begin to melt like wax, then solidifies into a fink.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "We will need time to ponder this. How best to be Ixchilgal again."

You have emoted: When the colour in her cheeks begins to subside somewhat, Lief lowers her hand, still laughing quietly to herself. "I find myself ready to meditate upon what I've seen here myself," she says, beaming, gesturing about herself. "Would you still like a copy of the book? I will send my dragonfly to you anon if so."

Ixchilgal looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "You send us a book of poems, we send you one. Yes?"

You nod your head affirmatively at Ixchilgal.

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Good good...thank you, Lief, for listening to us."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "It's not always easy to hear someone ramble on and whine about how unfortunate he is."

You have emoted: Lief's grin softens into a smile, and she hops down from her perch, her wings humming furiously to catch her before she hits the ground. "You just owe me," she says to Ixchilgal, "if I ever find myself in a bit of a spot myself and needing a good whine."

You smile impishly and say to Ixchilgal, "You've been warned."

Ixchilgal looks suddenly very serious as he nods. Fink was, perhaps, a bad choice of forms for this gesture, as the motion causes something unpleasant to sloooowly start dropping out of his nose across his upper lip.

You have emoted: Lief rummages about until she procures a saffron-coloured kerchief, which she passes to Ixchilgal with an insistent, "You can keep it."

You say to Ixchilgal, "I hope I discover some minor disaster when I next come to."

Unscarred Ixchilgal Mes'ard says, "Perhaps. We must think. We don't understand enough yet to figure out what will cause harm."

Ixchilgal looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

You have emoted: Eyes twinkling, Lief gives Ixchilgal a merry wave as her wings carry her to a fluttering veil.

Ixchilgal wipes his nose with the offered kerchief, then absently starts sucking on one corner.

With a whisper of energies and a glimpse of changing paradigms, the veil parts, allowing you passage beyond.
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A sacrosanct, smoke-filled cavern.
This location is flooded with shallow, crystal clear water. Muted traceries of paint outline the bas-reliefs graven into the stone of this cavern. Here, a curving woman wrapped in flamelike blossoms rises out of the rock: there, a robed man lifts his lantern. Other figures rise amidst them, in turn becoming warriors, scribes, sages and children arrayed in bewildering, interlocking patterns. Sigils and starfields fade from the skins of each figure, radiating from occlusions of crystals within the walls; shallow, broad bowls of stone rest beneath them, ringing the cavern. Smouldering coals lie within, casting what little light there is within this darkened sanctum. Oilslick patterns ripple across the silken folds of this veil as it flutters between two paradigms.
You see exits leading north, east, west, and through a fluttering veil.