Globe of Mortal Memories

Globe of Mortal Memories

<< Swimming on New Celest's coast, the golden light reflecting off of my fur as I crash with the waves. >>

<< There is love yet, even if their actions lead toward a path of opposition. Bittersweet but pure. >>

<< I thinks of the Most Beloved, how dearly that Loves Thems and how grateful that ams to serve Thems! >>

<< I think about my dear one, my mine-child, my dearest songbirds, my family and father,everyone I have been so fortunates to meets over the years... >>

<< "In my timeline, we lost our nexii," Vonuleish intones darkly to you, the merian woman who looks worse for wear, apparent that she came from a place far darker than our own. "This is one thing I can pass on to you all that might help you in the coming fight against the Time Dames!" The merian mage grips your hand tightly as you nod your head in acceptance. The merian begins the arduous task of instructing you on this foreign magic, Aquachemantics, an unheard of art and specialization in this time. You are the first mortal in this world to learn this new magic Pride swelling within you as you begin to mold platinum into an amphora, out of which pours mists that bend around you in a clinging cloak of vapor. >>

<< The memory of a memory, observing a viscanti with fiery hair and obsidian horns. Is this love, blooming in their heart, in their chest? They do not know; emotions have always been so hard for them, like grasping on to edges of glass. But it is a fondness, all the same. >>

<< The path to the Council chambers is a short one, but you decide to take a more circuitous route, to absorb the sights and sounds of the forest around you. You breathe in the crisp, cool air, rich with the earthy smell of petrichor, a parting gift from the unrelenting storm that has now dissipated. You relish the misty spray of Moon Falls upon your face like a plethora of dainty, ethereal kisses. The bubbling laughter of naiads reaches your ears suddenly as you pass, and you smile, wondering if one has found another lily to cherish. You feel the grass beneath your feet giving away the saturated soil spongy from rainfall. You gaze up at the canopy of leaves and interlocking branches, blinking at the sunlight that peeks through as you walk, the beams piercing the canopy like radiant spears. And the flowers! Their colors so vibrant it is as if they call for your attention and yours alone. You stop to oblige one such flower, fingers brushing the fleshy petals gently. You whisper to it soothing words, calming the spirit within before continuing on. As you climb the wooden ladder leading to the commune above, the wind tugs at your clothes, or was it a pixie, those mischievous and playful fae? You cross the rope bridge you've crossed many times before, wooden planks creaking while it sways gently to and fro, like a mother rocking their child to sleep. Before entering the chambers, you turn and look back, savoring the splendor of nature's beauty around you. This is home, you think to yourself, heart swelling with familial love, and I will give my life to protect it. >>

<< Nerves and uncertainty flood your very being, an instinctual fear borne for a lack of trust as soft mists swirl at your feet. But, Her voice is soothing, and importantly, honest. Clear. Surprise and gratitude surge at once, "Would it ease your heart to know more of Me, and what My purpose is?" She says, but She barely even needs to explain as the gesture is more than enough. Though your trust has been broken, it has begun to heal again. >>

<< He drinks deep of the Fonts, seeking, in his youthful impatience, to grow to know Her all at once. The drive to be as familiar with Her thoughts and moods as She is is overwhelming in its implacable impetus, so that he might judge best how to ward Her from all that might seek the vulnerable portions of Her heart - Be it from within, or without. The memory shifts, the lines and details possessing the clarity of freshness, as he studies the Font before him from a thousand eyes, his view older, more patient. Wiser. Set aside, now, are the childish dreams of playing knight protector, those bright and innocent toys dulled by the knowledge of their inherent futility, and the resignation to that cold reality. In their stead, the harder, comfortless blade of reality - He cannot protect Her how he wishes to, but he can ease Her burdens in other ways. Small. Insignificant, even, when alone, but even the greatest beach in the world is made from countless grains of sand. One at a time, he resolves to himself, unto eternity. >>

<< I thinks about my newly homes, about how happy I am in the city of New Celest with my shops and such beautiful sights and smells and a sense of safety... >>

<< The child formed all of stars is a miracle of brightness and sweet innocence. She brings light and radiant joy to the city and all that she touches, an effervescent beacon of gleeful love that he holds so very dear. He wonders, many times after she has returned to her place within the firmament, if this is what it might be like to have a daughter. Was it the fierceness of the love that made someone a father? The instinctive urge to guide, to protect, or something else? He does not know. What he is certain of is that he is so proud of her that he is fit to burst, and he will never again look upon the starlit sky without hearing the tintinnabulation of her laughter. >>

<< I dedicate to this endeavor my last several months discovering what it is to love another individual. I would do anything in order to keep them safe, to ensure their happiness. If this memory provides such a thing, I provide it freely. >>

<< My children, and my students. Nothing made me prouder than to see them all succeed. For them to marry and have children of their own. My students rising to meet their goals! >>

<< She blinks innocently at the black fox furrikin, but it's too late. He holds back none of his Vernal Ascendant strength as he sends her flying, shofa sending up a gust of air. She lets out a whoop of glee. Descending from the skies, she is immediately doused in fur flying everywhere. His scolding over his salt-ruined robes washes over her, his gruff, rumbling voice filling her with warmth. >>

<< It is the great snow leopard that is unabashedly, unapologetically affectionate, even when, in their meek post-Portal state, they are terrified of her one-eyed faeling companion. Even now, a gentle love in their heart for the big cat. >>

<< Exploring the Shifting City with my brother >>

<< they stare blankly at you, a dearest friend, but you dare to hope they might be more. Is it so terrible to want a father? Their shocked silence fills you with fear, (have you overstepped?) and you rush forward to console them, even though disappointments tears at your heart, it's okay to just be friends, really! But then they -agree-, and joy unlike anything you've ever felt fills your very being, they are a mentor, a friend, and now they are your father. >>

<< When I think of love... there is such depth in my heart for the Glomdoring and all that comes with it, all that are within it, that which I cannot fully understand but still hope to share regardless. >>

<< I recall standing in a kitchen, observing the one I love and their daughter baking cookies as a leothin attempts to abscond with them. This is a moment in which I realized that parenthood is not an act of vanity, but a labor of great selflessness and love. >>

<< Flickering candlelight wreathes memory of taking pen to parchment nigh a century ago: Awareness of a political landscape in shift gives way to placid familiarity with the Cycle--"a brief moment amongst the stars. I am of the Wilde, and death will not tame me." The pen clinks against the lip of the inkwell, refreshing the scent of walnut and soot. "They cannot cut out my love for you, nor my respect for the Communes. In this, I will not change. If ever you desire solid ground, this I vow upon my soul, my shard of Elfenehoala." >>

<< She is beautiful in her wrath, hair swirling like flames as she pushes the human to the sand underneath their feet, but they Know that if she were to truly attack their once-beloved cousin, disaster would ensue. Instead, she falters, and falls back to clasp their hand in their own, seeking comfort even as she talks to the human at their feet. At its core, this memory is one of reconciliation, but not for the one who holds it. >>

<< They think of all the times they have had to work together with everyone - even those from the opposite alliance - for the greater good! >>

<< A memory of a gray-skinned, freckled faeling, distinctly not Fate-touched, murmuring briefly recriminations of shame and doubt - he took so long to feel as they do, but they do not think it matters, and tells him so. "You are right, cousin," he whispers, fingers curling around a freshly healed palm. "I shouldn't mope about the past." A burst of love and pride, however brief it may be. >>
<< You can't sleep. You haven't slept for months, now. But they give you one stern look and drag you to their manse. Even as you two have grown apart, even as they no longer call you sister... they still lull you to sleep. You close you eyes, safe, relaxed, and finally asleep. Your heart swells with a tiny piece of hope, that maybe there truly can be something mended here. >>

<< Clad in gold silk, your feminine form stands upon a dais overlooking the Blessed Isles of endless summer. Your gold hair billowing about you as the breeze rustles waves of wheat in the fields below as next to you, you feel a hand grab yours. Looking next to you is your best friend and your eternal partner within the Exalted Court, an aging dracnari male dressed in ivory whites. His soft smile always assuring you no matter the ill of the world throws at you. His head turns back to the fields below your promenade as you witness a being of glittering gold wrapped in ethereal ribbons rise into the air above a crystal blue sea. It is Lord Eventru, attempting to breathe life into His lands and you remember He asked you both to witness: His Pious Father and August Healer. Coruscating immanidivinus erupts from His form in a vortex of divine light that washes down into the sea, tinging the hues of the world in gold as His power takes hold. You feel the Pious Father's grip on your hand tighten, and the breath in your throat catches as you witness a beautiful serpentine form rise up from the pool of white light. Her long, golden tale of a sea snake, but humanoid body of a tanned beauty with orange hair, the manifestation of this realm. Tears begin to blur your vision as you feel a happy hug envelop you, as you attempt to blink away the obscured vision to finally see Agia cradled within His arms. >>

<< "Do not be a wilting flower," murmurs the Lady, Her presence manifesting as a hand upon their cheek, the presence of Her Wyrd tightening around their heart. Her eyes are sharp and bright in their mind's eye, a smile curving Her lips. "Well done, My Esei." >>

<< I thinks of all the new things I learn every months, about the worlds around me, with and from friends around me, all so that we can be a better we! The bestest thems and myselfs, a me who will learn from my mistakes and do better going forward! >>

<< I recall my first tears in my post-Portal history, falling against a ghodak board. I felt as though I were dying at the time, but the end never came. And then they were there, by my side, to console me, to hold me. I had never until that point felt so safe. I could not help but to finally tell them the words that I had been feeling for so long but had not understood: I love you. >>

<< As my feet beat out the rhythm of the dance upon the ground I turn my gaze to Her, to the colours that bloom in the air at Her presence. The sight of Her there, hand upraised and shimmering effulgence dancing through the air, sends hope and love surging through me. Love for Her, for all the beauty help in the Basin. Love for Her Sister, Her Beloved, shared with the grief at Her lose in every word She speaks of Her. And my determination blooms anew. For Her I will give all I am, all I could ever be, to see Her smile when She speaks of Her. >>

<< A tall, regal Elfen gazes down from his work within an astrolabe to meet your eyes. "She's your mother." he whispers with a small wink in your direction. The midnight, moonless night sky darkens in agreement. >>

<< The beauty of Mother Night stretches out across the entire Basin from atop Avechna's peak, the elfen beside you pensively silent as always. They reach to the sky, murmuring, "Remember, when you are afraid or worried, of the blackthorn." And though they are quiet and poised, you are certainly not, rambling away in delighted response until it slips, "Sibling," and you do not even realize it, truly. But, even as they look at you oddly, returning your embrace, it just feels right. >>

<< I recall white-knuckled hands upon the ropes of a swing, ascending upon an arc that placed me upside-down, and gazing upon the one that had pushed me to such heights, eager to return to them. >>

<< I think about my dear friends, that I protect as fiercely as I would any family. >>

<< Distrust is a feeling painted grand in this memory, but at the same time it carries the rich feeling of a blossoming friendship. A dracnari, wreathed in sun symbology, giving them tea, saying that he would very much like to try reading the leaves for them. >>

<< Lord Yomoigu guide me and keep me. His love carries me through. >>

<< At first, they ask the older kephera, wreathed in gold and orange, to be their mentor. Then, they become family, and it flowed easier, before... well. The memories of their love remain, even as they sometimes wish they could return to simpler times... >>

<< I thinks about the peoples who are no longer with us, who no longer can wakes, who we miss and loves so dearly... >>

<< I recall countless permutations of polytopes, embarking upon an endeavor to find an ideal shape, and ultimately finding something... someone, far greater than I could have ever fathomed. >>

<< The first time I realized that I was meant to be a knight- a paladin. When I was twelve years old, my father gave me my first sword. I'd practiced with his old wooden one for years, at that point, and was so excited to get a real one. I wore it everywhere.. including out into the woods, escorting my little sister out to gather mushrooms and herbs. It had been a particularly cold winter, and a wolf pack had moved into the area. One set upon my little sister, a wee thing, and I remember that rush of adrenaline, exuberance, outright joy when I realized that I could do something about it, could protect her. And I did. It was grim work, dispatching that poor starving creature, but I saved my little sister. Then and there, I vowed that I would devote my life to the protection of those who could not protect themself. >>

<< He stands before the healing mound, as he has done for months now, and spares barely a thought for the petty words and posturing of the Bloodtide and their ilk. His focus is consumed entirely by worry for his Lady, by the frustration at his inability to shield Her from the idiotic doubts of the faithless. He longs to give Her respite from Her constant work, aches to be able to take Her away from it all so that She can rest, but he cannot. So he stands a futile vigil that is nothing but a gesture of his Devotion to Her, and hopes that it provides even the faintest, fleeting flicker of comfort. >>

<< The winds rage as the Serens gathered chant into the skies above. The forest rouses... connected... strengthened... united. The spirits, creatures, and mortals of the forest coming together as one to shield their home and turn away that which threatens them. >>

<< The unmistakable sensation of the Exalted calling to you, Lord Eventru, tugs at your soul; Your very essence so intricately tied to His that you do not know where you end or begin without Him. Through a golden portal you step, to arrive upon an island of white sand within an azure ocean, the Blessed Isles. Lord Eventru smugly looks to you, and you know He has yet another scheme. "I wish to try something that has never been done, my Avatar. We will forge a bond far deeper than any mortal and Elder has achieved. This bond will be made manifest as the Cult of the August Healer," He says as He holds His hand out to you which you immediately take. A sudden jolt to your very core hits you, and you feel it connect to Him. Between you through the sand rises an ivory amphora, your cult's altar. Joy washes over you, the first Avatar's Cult… The August Healer. >>

<< Figures of every shape and size stand beside you, in a row, each adorned in finery of gold and ivory accented with gems of every variety. "The Jewels of my Crown, the Exalted Court," Lord Eventru says to you and the others, noting those in the crowd the motherly Meliana, fiercely loyal Sheia, stalwart tactician Gyorn, effervescent Ilyarin and the fatherly Faragan. Standing next to Lord Eventru, the freckled-faced, red-haired lady, Aison, the one you consider to be your mentor and mother. She stands tall as the Lady Hand of the Exalted Court, glowing almost as bright as the gold temple you all stand within. "We have gathered to celebrate My Hand, rising to the rank of Avatar!" Applaud bursts forth from the court, as you join in, and watch in amazement as Aison lifts into the air alongside Lord Eventru, both emanating a white-gold light. >>

<< Alone in the dark woods, the antlered faeling dances. None are around, save for the wyrden fauna, bright eyes that watch hungrily from the shadows. Rootless and torn, lonely and afraid, she pours out her emotions into the heartbroken dance. And slowly, the forest begins to dance with her in turn. Crows caw and swoop, loamadores crest and dive, and thornbeasts tumble in time to the rhythm, the Shadowbeat they all dance to. As bioluminescent blossoms unfurl in the shadows, so too does a sense of belonging and the seeds of happiness unfurl in her heart. No matter what else may happen, this is her home. >>

<< A darkened grove of blackthorns, a circle of shadowed figures. Hands beat against a drum, almost automatically, his attention held in sheer awe by the Dancer before him as a door in his heart opens that had never before been opened. >>

<< Blood pours down my arm into a held bowl, all the hotter against skin chilled by the night air and the loss of so much already. I feel the swish of silk and shadows around my calves as I dance to the sound of his drums, each step heavy with determination and purpose. The fierce joy of action in a time of need, of purpose enacted, and the gift of myself to the forest's ends all thrum in my chest with each sway and leap. From the corner of my eye, I see the way he watches me, and an odd and intoxicating feeling rises in my chest that strengthens my resolve even as my feet would flag. That scarred and mysterious elfen.. I will come to know him, I determine. >>

<<A memory of several cloaked and shadowed figures within a Temple, discussing the merits of casting bones. There is a faint feeling of dread as the shadow-winged faeling beside him rolls a perfect circle, an omen of dread he himself obtained and filled him with fears of inescapable fate...and then the interpretation is made clearer by their teacher, opening new avenues of thought within him...tentatively, scarred hands roll his own, the bones falling in a scattered pattern, with two standing upright, leaning against one another. His breath catches in his throat, an urgent desire to flee from fate, to shout how undeserving he is of what the Wyrd is all but shouting at him...and then his eyes lift to the faeling, and a small ember of something like hope bursts into fitful life within him. >>

<<Shy smiles and fleeting glances, fingertips touching in passing. A long, heated dance around the periphery of a realization so profound as to ache the soul- love, nascent and brilliant. She stares at him from the couch in the quiet library, hypnotized by eyes the pale grey of winter ice and equally capable of freezing her in place, ready to speak words that would surely shake the world for their import.. then his mentor enters, dismissing her presence entirely, and she slips away into the shadows. The locked eyes in the last backward glance over her shoulder are a burning, heady memory held to her heart for months. >>

<< A memory of a dark library, the steady creak of two rocking chairs filling the silent space. His eyes are fixed on the faeling beside him, a normally subdued and somber mein dissolving into a faint smile so radiant it's a wonder he doesn't need to shield his eyes. Slowly, they reach out and entwine their fingers together, chairs steadying into a matched rhythm even as their hearts do. >>

<< A memory of prophecy. A dark cavern full of skittering, jeweled things, the Great Spirit of Scorpion rising before him and his beloved to impart words of glorious wisdom. A sensation like the tightening of fingers around his own, his heart full to bursting. >>

<< A memory, as clear in the details as it is hazy in the periphery. As the Spirit fills the knight, and words of prophecy and portent echo through the cavern, entwined fingers tighten on each other. She looks up at the elfen with awe and contemplation, and a growing comprehension and joy. Words of wisdom, and timely, words that would shape the course of the path. "To a thousand years of romance," the faeling whispers. He looks down at her, humor sparkling in his eyes. "Only a thousand?" he asks. She laughs softly, a silvery thing. "It's a good start." >>

<< Behind curtains of mauve ivy beneath an endless night, they dance. The shadow-winged faeling, with the grace and surety of long practice. The scarred elfen, with growing confidence as he relaxes and moves with her, their limbs and hips sinuous things as flashes of cloaked smiles can be glimpses from beneath dark hoods. >>

<< The smear of mud and blood upon her arms and gown are not given the slightest thought, not with the curious warmth of the strange infant upon her lap. Quiet in her arms, as he has been since the moment she first held him. She stares down at the bark-like skin and the alert eyes, an indescribably maternal warmth welling within her, bringing a small, hopeless smile despite the bleak realization of ephemerality. Looking up at the elfen, she sees an echo of those same emotions, and a vision of family to come rises in her mind's eye, easing the hurts atop the sound of a lullaby hummed by both. >>

<< A memory of a quiet library, three figures cuddled up on the couch, submerged utterly in the glowing wonder of thoughts of family, of the future, of a time when weapons may be set down to embrace peace. Softly, two of the figures begin singing to the third, a soft, haunting lullaby. The memory thrums with quiet, simple adoration. >>

<< The feel of his hand in mine, more familiar than the touch of my own by now. I watch the rhythm of shadows as they play out over his scars to the beat of his heart- and mine, I suddenly note, feeling the steady thump in my chest that perfectly matches the tempo. Setting the journal on the bookshelf with the others, the realization sinks in, finally and truly. He is mine, and I am his. This is.. real. >>

<< Like mended pottery, the joy of this memory has been shattered utterly, but fit carefully back together and masterfully fused with a different sort of love. She sits across from them, disbelief warring with delight as they offer to adopt her. The visual dissolves into a hundred whispers. "And I love you" ... "You may call me parent" ... "Hloteta kasita" ... "I am proud of you" ... "It will be alright, biye lun" ...... but all these and so many more hold the depth of loss that even he cannot soothe fully in her heart as the sensations of a feathered embrace slip between her fingers. >>

<< Broken pieces of trust and hope and family, picked up one by one by the only one who possibly could. He reshapes them with every stroke of the comb by those darkened waters, imbuing each with a love greater than I could ever hope to fully comprehend.. but gods know I will spend the rest of my life trying to do so, even as a love to match it swells within my very soul. I need naught else when I have him. >>

<< A memory of a heated spring, thin wisps of steam wafting like the memories of the past. The soothing sounds of a comb running through hair, the pain of a loved one echoing in his own mind, the slow easing of tension as acceptance gradually supplants the pain of betrayal of one almost called family. In that moment of vulnerability, love slowly grows out of the cracks to blossom. <<
<< Flour-specked hands, only just barely covering the scars beneath, carefully carry a slice of fresh cake from a kitchen into the spacious cabin living room beside it, a shadow-winged faeling resting upon a couch there. A sense of sheepishness almost causes him to throw the cake away, his very first dish - surely it could not have turned out good? - but the sight of her draws him on, as ever. Passing the slice with a soft 'Happy Birthday', he watches tentatively as she eats, and the look of delight and pleasure on her face is almost enough to lift his feet from the ground, his love cementing his desire to cook more things, any thing, if it meant getting another smile like that. >>

<< As she links her aura into his, bolstering and strengthening, exuberance spills across even the peaked adrenaline. He guards her, and she heals him, and neither falls. Two souls, stronger together than apart. Surely, there is nothing that they could not do so long as they did it together. >>

<< [A memory of bonding. A cool breath of chilled air, the scent of blood and roses, and two hearts and minds that move in perfect harmony]  >>

<< The agony of rent flesh and the dizziness of lost blood are distant afterthoughts to the breathtaking and soul-deep connection as we lock eyes, knee to knee, the gleaming athame set aside onto the gore-soaked moss. My d'arem. Now and forever. >>

<< [A memory of silent, thrilled excitement. Of sitting in a serene glade with a tall, one-eyed faeling. Talks of family, and belonging, and a heart fit to burst] >>

<< A radiant gem held close to the heart, the simple sentence: "It is my greatest delight to see you smile. Each one, I hold to my heart as a treasure beyond price." >>

<< A simple set of lovingly interlaced memories - Fleeting things, each bright and shining as shooting stars, and all the more beautiful for their ephemeral nature. Laughter, again and again, but each rendition distinct from the last. Some are soft as a sighing breeze, a gentle melody of quiet mirth, while other memories are brilliant, glimmering flashes of startled, silvery music, all of which meld together to form a symphony that sings within his heart, more wondrous to him even than the Song of Creation. >>

<< A memory of purpose. Of blood and sacrifice offered up for the protection of something Greater, fierce feral ferocity leaping up in his throat to sing out in savage shouts. What joy there is in purpose, in meaning. >>

<< A weariness, full of satisfaction that tempers his aches. A cold, dark eyed mentor leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder, as they whisper, "Well done, Evoker..." >>

<< [A memory of belonging. Of being surrounded by friends. An easing of tension in the neck and shoulders, like the release of a breath held for years and never noticed]>>

<< [A memory of love. Brighter than the sun, more colorful than imagination, deeper than the Void]>>

<< He practices for years. The days blur into one another in an indistinct smear of endless repetition, going through the motions of his performance for so long without rest that his limbs feel filled with molten lead. He stumbles, often, or the angle of his sword is off by the barest degree - An intolerable error, which he will not blacken his Lady's eyes with. The singing should, he had thought, have been the easiest, but weaving three voices at once, while dancing, and bending the light of his wings into shapes is more taxing than he would ever have believed. It is mentally exhausting, and the merciless perfectionism he subjects himself to permits only the barest of rests. More than once, the sword toss ends with the point embedded into his chitin as he struggles not to snap the length of steel in two from sheer, seething frustration. Yet he persists, until he can improve it no further, for that is the very least of what She deserves for his proof of Devotion. >>

<< Yay family happy thoughts activate! >>

<< I thinks about the peoples who are no longer with us, who  no longer can wakes, who we miss and loves so dearly... >>

<< "I have never met someone who is so sad for no reason," she says to them, her voice soft as she cups their face. They are left flustered and floundering, mouth dry and chest full of moths. They have never laid their heart so open to another before. >>

<< Sussurating leaves and swaying branches fringe memory of one night in Faethorn, when wyrdenwood-was-elfen-was-human waits for assent before gently laying cool hands over her face, obscuring vision. After three heartbeats, he lifts his pale fingers from her eyelids. "Open," he whispers. She does as bid, and what greets her is Mother Moon, the stars in Mother Night's cloak, him, the forest around them--all vibrant in the dark. >>

<< It is their first ever time seeing a Divine, much less Him, and they are immediately stuck to their spot with the intensity of their feelings - they are His, they always have been, they always would be; this devotion they will know as well as they know their blood and bones. >>

<< There is awe, of a magnitude far beyond anything that he has ever experienced in his short life - The presence of the Goddess he had longed to serve with such fervour that Her Light drew him inexorably, inevitably to this most holy of places. For much of his life he has felt small, and never more so now than when he kneels within Her Fulcrux, yet it is so very different, with Her. He feels as if he is a tiny spark, or a fleck of metal that reflects a minute glint of the glory that is Her fury, that most glorious and inspiring light of judgement that resonates with his soul like an artfully plucked chord. Her voice is as the sweetest music, a soft melody that is as a cool balm upon his heart. "That is the purpose of anger - to inspire action, and to draw from the well of strength to do what must be done. There is a time for forgiveness, but there is a time for zeal and fervour, too. To seek to rid oneself of anger is to rid oneself of the power to enact change in the face of adversity and evil." He knows, now, with this revelation, that he cannot be anything other than utterly Hers, in all things - and so he offers unto Her his swords, and all that he is, and ever shall be. >>

<< At first this memory is naught more than painful betrayals to whom it originated, overlapping and overlaying each other in dizzying patterns and manners, with broken trust shattered like glass across a stone floor. But underneath is a silent, deadly, protective rage that is incandescent and hidden within layers of shadow. A sense of sheer devotion; they will not fail the Glomdoring. They refuse. >>

<< There She stands, the Goddess that gave them not only purpose, but meaning; they would do anything for Her, and for Her Glomdoring. >>

<< There she is, that viscanti of obsidian and volcanic fire, clasping their hand in their blackthorn grove as she tells them her worries - that she will not be enough for her new student. A quiet, gentle reassurance; they will help care for him, if and when the time comes. >>

<< You pile the pillows high, something your dad taught you how to do, a place of comfort and warmth where you have her sit. And then, with a bright grin, you flop right on top of her. "A trap!" the elfen jokes, and you can only hum sleepily in agreement. Though, while she's technically trapped beneath you, it's your heart that feels trapped in your throat, butterflies in your chest. You don't know it yet, but you love her. >>

<< It is almost comical, in a way - He is gossiping, after a fashion, with his Goddess, about the Divine. It is a strange and unexpected delight, but a gift that he cherishes with all of his heart. She is gracious enough to accept his offer to take the blame, should any be cast due to this conservation, and that thrills him such that his nerves sing with giddy joy. Finally, some minute, near insignificant way to protect Her - but a starving man is grateful beyond words for the most meager of crumbs. >>

<< "You are strong, My Esei," murmurs the voice of their Lord. It is only words, but it means so much. >>

<< I think of the commune I grew up in, who made no effort to deal with those members who thought a little differently from them, and once again turned their backs on them. >>

<< As you sit beneath the earth, beneath your siblings, you stare intently at the ribbons in your hands. How in the Basin are you supposed to 'braid' these? But they simply demonstrate, giving an approving nod even as your ribbons knot and twist. A swell of pride fills your heart as you show off your handiwork, and they crack a smile. >>

<< There is no visual to this memory, only soft, clicking, gurgling sounds of something decidedly other. A deep-rooted well of affection rises with it. >>

<< The memory of a memory: it is so long ago, before they even knew they were a 'they' after all. A stout dwarf with a handsome face, except for the bulbous nose of his. "I didn't think you could love me," he says to them, almost shy, poetry in his hands. "You are so graceful, and I am not." The slightest quivering amusement; they did not need to see his body to see him. Was this love? They do not know, but it is affection all the same... >>

<< It is their first ever time seeing a Divine, much less Him, and they are immediately stuck to their spot with the intensity of their feelings - they are His, they always have been, they always would be; this devotion they will know as well as they know their blood and bones >>

<< Gathered amid silvery mist and fragrant flower, Lady Maylea lays Her hands upon her faeling shoulders and all is Colour. Soothing and vibrant. Certain. Wild. Her Lady's Divine prismatic light suffuses her, then coven circle through joined hands before surging to their sleeping patient. Life is connection. And at last she knows the feeling of being welcomed home. >>

<< You pour your heart and soul into these brooches, designed just for your parents and the ways that they shine in your life. A tiger lily, for your dad, a chrysanthemum for your father, and a water lily, for you. Each glows fervently, and you inscribe a simple message on the back of each, meant to give them hope in the dark. The joyful tears in their eyes as they receive them are all of the thanks you could hope for. >>

<< I think about my crow, he is a jerk, but I love him >>

<< A great, bitter sorrow tinges the edges of this well-loved memory of family: the little sapling asks if she can be their sister, wreathed in the shape of a willow. They say yes, and for a long time, it is the truth. And then... it is not. >>

<< They ask their uncle for a hug, because they are so tired, and more doubtful than they have been in years, and at first they are worried he will reject them, but he doesn't. The plate armor he wears should be uncomfortable, but it isn't. >>

<< A cheerful elephant frolicks among lotuses, seeing snow for the very first time. She then gets to see it up close, as you chuck a snowball right at her face with a delighted laugh. >>

<< Memories of rituals overlapping each other, stretching back years and years; the rich, heady feeling of encouraging the spiritual growth of others within their guild through this Rite, the beauty and uniqueness of each one. >>

<< I thinks about how exciting the upcoming Gala is going to be! To see all of our friends! Something to look forwards to! Dancing with everyone! >>

<< I remember teaching Gurashi the ways of defense of the mind, to build a wall against the pain and ill-will of those that would use them badly. >>

<< I hopes someday to marry the one I loves the mostest. I look forward to that day so muchly, with all of my heart, yes! >>

<< A hand on your cheek as flame dances in your vision, terror that melts into wonder and joy, to be known and comforted in face of your fear... you are safe, and you are loved. >>

<< The clash of steel upon steel- bright sparks flying as the panicked sounds of the fleeing villagers flows around her. They hold the line against the invaders, filling the gaps when one of their own fall. Despite their own losses, not a single innocent soul was lost that day. >>

<< Curiosity fills your mind as your beloved reveals the contents of a wicker basket: porcelain tea cups etched with gold feathers. She arranges the tea cups on a crystal table and pours a translucent liquid into each one. The familiar scent of cloudberry tea reaches and suffuses your senses, bringing back memories of Icewynd, and the traditions the villagers followed for celebrations and gatherings. Together, you and your new family partake of the tea, your wife's words echoing and settling in your mind like the tea leaves that lie at the bottom of your cup. "For indeed there is no 'mine', there is no 'yours'. There is only 'ours'." >>

<< They squabble. It is, when viewed through the rose-hued artwork of the stained glass memory, one of his very favourite recollections. The sheer relief of being near Her again, of feeling the cool, careful touch of Her Light, after the harrowing absence of his trial, is enough to bring him to his knees, sobbing - But he does not. Instead, he bickers with Her over cleaning his hands in the luminous waters, and his heart feels as if it will rupture with the utter joy that surges within it, even as She makes a cool, nipping remark that slides off him like rainwater. How could he be anything but delirious with the love of Her? >>

<< The quill touches upon the origami blossom, a scorpion cleverly nested within the multi-petaled papercraft as poetry comes to life in sweeping script of golden ink, "My sun and my stars, Moon of my life, Eclipse me in your embrace, Our bed the endless sky, Where we fall together beneath the obsidian sun." >>

<< Through the eyes of an aged Loboshigaru, you see Nocht, the Silent. He is a radiant immortal and alternately imposing and unassuming as He lingers within the shadows, bringing the fabric of darkness to life with His very presence. The stark ebony of His skin is unblemished and smooth, from the aristocratic contours of His face to the slender, musician's hands. Pointed ears stick out from hair of pitch black that cascades down and around His shoulders. Faint pinpricks of light dance within the flowing hair, surrounding it with an effervescent glimmer like starlight. The only colour in His stoic countenance, His eyes are a clear, ethereal blue, each pupil rimmed in a golden starburst which makes His silent, thoughtful gaze appear to pierce to the very soul. He is wearing an ethereal cloak of dark violet hues, a fractured gem suspended from a thin, metal chain, boots of shifting shadow and divine clothing spun from ebon cloth. >>

<< A young Goddess, moving through a dead Forest. As She moves, singing, the woods come to life in Her wake. Flowers grow, animals appear from what was a wasteland. Life thrives, overcoming even death. >>

<< I recall jumping into a pool, my hand clasped together with the one I love, laughing. Their daughter and a too-quick leothin joined us there, and it was then that I felt hope that I might truly become part of their family some day. >>

<< I hopes my family back homes is still happy and healthy >>

<< I think about the laughter of my father, as they swing back and forth on a playset, the warmth of my other Dad's hugs, safety as my brother watches over me. >>

<< I think of all the time spent training to better myselfs for those I love, to protect them, to keep them safely... >>

<< Lady Rancoura is so scary, and Avatar of the Lord; they cannot help but be awed in her presence, and instead of shying away in their meek post-Portal state, they sit and try to learn as much as they can from her. >>

<< I thinks about all of the times Beloved Aschwar and I have gotten to enjoy each others companies - how the lovely tae'dae is working so hard to learn better Basin Common for their friends, and how goodly they are >>

<< I gaze upon the radiant being, vibrant colors shifting the space surrounding her. Her scarlet wings each act of its own accord. Appreciating the Divine's form in details is impossible, so I am forced to attempt to process the full sight all at once. Her image thrown at me like a bucket of mind-boggingly mixed colors of paint. Her form soothes me, makes me forget about the tales I've heard of her wrath and mischievousness. I stumbled with my words in shock, at first denying the truth. Foolishly I asked if she truly was the Moth on Scarlet Wings. I expected disappointment, offense, any repercussion for my disloyalty. But instead I received warmth, beautiful colors and a gift. >>

<< She is so weary it frightens him. Still, even when She is at Her lowest point, She indulges him. As the trembling arc of his wing hovers uncertainly above Her, he yearns to shelter Her within it, to shield Her from the world and everything in it - But he does not. He retracts his outstretched feathers and simply sits with Her, and talks, for it is all he can do. Six vows. He has promised Her so much, and he will swear yet more in the time to come. Anything, for Her. >>

<< A memory of a daffodil, tucked into my braid.. in that moment, I know not only respect for Her, but love. I would follow Her into the Void and beyond. >>

<< A string of memories, years of them compounded one on top of the other in a dazzling string of similar acts, each one familiar yet entirely unique to the mind that holds them. Always the same shadow-winged faeling turning to spot the viewer, whether glancing up from a book, look up from gentle ministrations to some animal, or simply turning in place to look, always the tiny, secret smile that blossoms into place fills each memory with a reverberating fullness of love. >>

<< "Does the stubborness of mortals ever get to be too muchly for You, my Lady?" you ask as you stare up at a statue of Her, startled stillness falling into gentle laughter. A swell of fondness grows in your chest, it is good, to hear Her voice unweighed, even for a just moment. >>

<< They return after a long sleep, one that was so long they feared they would never return. They still grieve the loss of their brother, of their sister, to the Light, their trust fragile like cracked glass as they whisper in His fulcrux. Later, He is one of the first to greet them upon their return, assuring their task is still at hand. They will wait as long as they need to, as long as He bids them to, roadblocks or no roadblocks. >>

<< It is, at first, quiet surprise and disbelief when the first Haruspex comes to them, asking if they would serve the Auguries in a new capacity; as teacher, as guide, as ritualist. "You have exceeded them," she says, in her whispering voice, her violet eyes intense as she gazes upon them, without a shred of doubt in them. It will take them years to fully realize what she says is true, but they are immeasurably thankful for it. >>

<< High above the basin gallops the White Hart, racing urgently towards Brother Raven who flies towards him hale and hearty, free of any signs of the taint. Together they meet in joy, Raven's immense wings encircling Hart's mighty antlers in an embrace of friends long separated who have been reunited once more, if only for this moment. >>

<< Her fair mentor waits as the faeling comes to kneel upon the raised ring of stone. Braided black tresses glided in the dappled sunlight, the elfen inclines her head to a passing fae knight before turning her amethyst eyes upon her. And the lesson begins. "What do you know of the Well of Souls?" The faeling takes a breath before answering, the thrum of her wings sending ripples across the healing waters, across a gulf of time reflected unto both yesterday and before Jaryn would first forsake his name. They are wiccans walking in Ellindel Treehart's footsteps, and they remain yet in love and duty. >>

<< The cold wind kisses their skin as a hush falls over the fulcrux, the grasses almost seeming to lean closer, as if in anticipation of what they have to say... >>

<< I remember the sacrifice of Saint Hamos to save New Celest. >>

<< Though the memory is one of pain and terror, those qualities are dulled into harmlessness - Cruel edges smoothed out to form the framework upon which the shining latticework of other, brighter sentiments are woven. Divine knuckles whiten as Her fingers tighten upon the grips of the blades they grip, and with it a spike of sheer, animal fear, dulled and distant, as if sanded down for this imparting. The undeniable urge to protect his beloved Lady's sacred ground is absolute in its irresistable need, a desperate hand that clamps about his numb, shivering limbs and sets them jerkily into motion once again, forcing pleas through the constricted knot that is his throat - He must do something, ~anything~ to draw that terrible wrath away from this place. >>

<< The veil is drawn back, and he forgets how to breathe. There is nothing of him to spare towards such earthly concerns as air, so completely is he captivated by the unparalleled rapture of seeing Her face in full. Surely, he thinks later, even the first dawn was never so effulgent with beauteous light, nor so resplendent with elegant, calm radiance. Every day, he does not believe that he can grow to love Her more deeply. Every day, She proves him wrong. >>

<< Uncle Aschwar, yes, your uncle, grinning as they show off their new sword, awe inspiring and delightful in the room, bright poppies and warmth, a new garden built from a labor of love. >>

<< Your fingertips deftly run down the arcing leaves of the willow tree, a habit borne of countless visits, and a flower slides into your outstretched palm. A nacreous dahlia of lush crimson-tipped petals this time. You gaze and reflect upon its sunset hues: golden like her hair, and here, also, the color of her eyes. And this here? Surely her favorite color. You breathe in the flower's fragrance, the heady aroma bringing forth still more memories. Is it love, you wonder, when every flower reminds you of her? >>

<< I thinks about the times, just now, just to-day, when I gots to become the Heralds of the Archons?! And and, then the Most Beloved gaves me a favors! Am so happy and proud! I loves my homes so muchly, and I loves Thems so muchly! >>

<< Nocht reaches forward, vine-covered hands appearing from beneath His cloak to grasp Tau by the sides of her head. He turns her face back and forth in His grip as He looks over the changes she has undergone. "Hmm... Perhaps." He answers the Goddess. "Or to become food for them... Though I hope that is not the outcome. Tau has served Me for many years now. I would be displeased to lose her. This trial is yours alone to conquer, My little one. A small gift, however, for your service to Me." As He finishes speaking, a few faint flickers of essence manifest in the air around His hands, encircling her briefly before He releases her. >>

<< The sound of heavy panting fills the air. Your toes dig briefly into the dirt before pushing off of the ground. Rhythmically, these feet carry you down a twisting path and into shallow footsteps laid before you. The figure ahead sprints effortlessly, through turns and narrowing branches. Abruptly the path divides. Hardened from years of keeping pace into the worn foliage beneath them, your stride quickens as it meets the unknown. For several moments you run alone, leaping over fallen logs and avoiding several webs laced between the trees. As the paths converge once more it widens, returning your brother to your side. In front of you both lies the future. >>