the myglae and the twilight

A haze settles over the playground, and though it is still early morning the sky appears as if it is on the cusp of nightfall.

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

Gentle pink bubbles descend upon the wind, dancing about a blessed sculpture of the Loving Radiance. Almost looking as if it were itself singing, a gentle voice begins to sing of love, joy and hope.

A soft voice suddenly whispers in your ear, almost inaudible over your own breath, "Hello, My little one."

You think to yourself: ...hello, my Lord.

Within Gurashi's lap, an adolescent Nyalian mastiff looks up, canting his small head. Gurashi blinks once, twice... then swiftly scoops the small creature up in their arms, drawing him into their lap. They turn, gaze sweeping across the playground, eyes widening.

Gurashi stares at you, gaze softening and frowning at you as their expression fills with concern.

A soft breeze passes through the park once again, like a sigh, and suddenly the Silent Lord is there.

You have emoted: Esei drops from their perch on the swing, sweeping into a reverent bow before Nocht.


LOOK NOCHT
More silhouette than Elder, the way the shadows on the ground seem to grasp towards Him make it unmistakable that He is a radiant immortal. Standing a little taller than the height of an average elfen, all other aspects of the Elder's appearance are shrouded in veils and robes. Flashes of brilliant emerald and prismatic light occasionally light up the air around Him, accompanied with a sickly sweet floral scent that lingers in the air.
He is wearing:
a veiled blackthorn crown that obscures His face
concealing robes painted with the colours of Night that twist in the air around Him as if underwater.

You look at concealing robes painted with the colours of Night that Nocht is wearing:
Shimmering with a faint divine energy, these billowing robes look like a piece of the nighttime sky has been cut from the heavens. Soft purples, like dusk, paint the areas near the shoulders before slowly giving way to the deepest black that colours the majority of the elegant robes. Struggling, faint pinpricks of light dot the dark cloth, like faint stars in a moonless sky. The robes engulf the wearer, flowing fabric seeming to move of its own accord. No sign of the wearer is visible within the garment. Long swaths of fabric hang from the shoulders, tied at the elbows to form sleeves before falling loose to cover even the wearer's hands from sight.

You look at a veiled blackthorn crown that Nocht is wearing:
Blackthorn branches have been masterfully coaxed to wrap around the thin gold band that forms the base of this crown, the dark colour of their wood contrasting sharply with the gleaming gold and their own bone-white petals. A rippling band of thin cloth falls from the crown down to the wearer's shoulders, it's sheer fabric allowing only a faint outline of the head behind it.


Nocht tilts His head towards you as He whispers, "Far from home, My little one."

Softly, placing a hand over their heart, you say, "Perhaps, but it is always with me."

Gurashi looks surprised to see Nocht so close to them, their jaw dropping. They do not release their grip on an adolescent Nyalian mastiff, who is oddly compliant save the occasional confused squirm as it is clutched to the human's chest.

Gurashi finally bows their head politely to Nocht, unable to wipe the surprise off of their face.

Nocht turns His veiled head towards Gurashi, His unseen gaze fixed on them for several moments before turning to you once more. "I heard your prayer, My little one. If you wish to speak now. Unless you are busy with your..." He gestures towards Gurashi allowing the sentence to remain unfinished.

Gurashi huffs, puffing their cheeks.

With an ethereal, smoky lilt, you whisper, "I am not busy, my Lord."

Gurashi looks away from Nocht to you, finally closing their mouth. They cant their head slightly.

With a majestic wave of His arm, Nocht opens up a rift in the aetherways that fluctuates oddly before it settles down into a vibrating Divine portal.

Gurashi glances askance at you.

Suddenly, Gurashi, The Heart's Friend says to you, "Thank you for visiting."

Gurashi looks at you hopefully.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "I will meet you there, My little one."

You nod solemnly.

In the park playground.
Pale, watery light floats away from a shield shrine of Carakhan nearby. This location is flooded with shallow, crystal clear water. It is warm and quite pleasant. Here in the north end of the grassy expanse, a section of New Celest is dedicated to the young, and the young at heart. Wood and metal structures are solidly screwed together, to encourage physical activity, fun, and games. One of the more exotic creations is the two-headed dragon. After climbing a ladder, people can hop down the maw of the dragon, spiraling down its tubular body and popping out at the bottom, which is also shaped in the image of a dragon's head. Surrounded by an aura of clarity and calm, a sculpture of the Loving Radiance stands here, captured in blissful repose. An adolescent Nyalian mastiff darts about excitedly, his tail wagging like a brandished sword. Filling the air with a low-pitched thrum, a vibrating Divine portal floats here. Gurashi is frowning at you, lines creasing their forehead. They wield a vibrant mandolin of songbirds and stars in their left hand. Nocht, the Silent stands here, completely obscured beneath a cloak as dark as the night.
You see exits leading north, southeast, southwest, and through a vibrating Divine portal.

As you step into a vibrating Divine portal you are momentarily deafened by the thrumming of the portal, distracting you from the fact that you have just stepped out into nothingness, though this uneasy realisation has barely struck you before your legs are compelled to take another step, and you emerge through an identical portal.

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

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

A vibrating Divine portal begins to fluctuate, thrumming loudly for a moment before it is suddenly still, and then simply vanishes from existence.

The surrounding shadows convulse, writhing within pinpricks of emerald light as Nocht, the Silent materializes from the aether.

You give Nocht a respectful bow, one hand clasped over your heart.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "And how are you this morning, little one?"

Softly, you say, "I am well, overall, thank You."

The skulls hanging from a shadow-limned wreath of stygian feathers across your brow sway of their own accord, and the flickering of shadowfire glimmers just beyond your vision.

Softly, Nocht, the Silent whispers, "The myglae...."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Perhaps..."

(Order): Nocht says, "Are you awake, little one?"

The pointed tips of your ears twitch to hear an errant sound.

(Order): Illyria says, "I am, my Lord."

Waving His hand imperiously, Nocht beckons vaguely to something unseen. The area before you parts strangely, revealing a glimpse of the aetherways before Illyria is pulled suddenly through and the way closes behind her.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Welcome, little one."

You nod your head at Illyria.

Illyria exhales a long moment, regaining her orientation, then curtseys deeply.

In a muted whisper, Proselyte Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "My Lord Silent."


LOOK AT ESEI
Skin the color of mauve-tinted ebon and spotted with dark, delicate freckles like inverted stars across a night sky, they are a nimble shadowcaster faeling wyrden demigod changeling. Their eyes are the most disarming thing about them, wide and liquid dark with black feathery lashes to frame them, just a bit too innocent to be real. Their nose is straight, turning up at the tip, while their dusty plum lips contain a multitude of sharp teeth. Their black hair has been drawn away from their face in many braids, swept into a faux hawk atop their head and trailing down to the middle of their back. Their body is broad for a faeling, standing no more than three feet tall, with elegant limbs. Their artist's hands are delicate, each slender finger tipped with a black claw; their fingers and toes abruptly darken to pitch black at the tips, leaving it difficult to discern where their digits stop and claws begin. Their ears are rather short, tapering to an elegant point, darkening to black at the very tips, and occasionally flicking to listen to any noise. Their long, slender wings are vaguely in the form of an insect's, though it is hard to tell which, as they are completely made of shadow and slips of silvery light. When moving, their wings dislodge a flurry of ebon and silver motes that trail after them before quickly dissipating.
They are wearing:
a circlet of the Shee-Slaugh house delicately placed against their temple
Ebon Prayer Beads of the Silent Lord wrapped around one wrist
a phantasmal shroud of shadows worn loosely around their shoulders
the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree attached to their left forefinger
a sturdy off-white tunic, the hem neatly tucked into their trousers
loose black trousers, comfortably tightened around their waist
an onyx teardrop earring through their left ear, dangling on a thin golden chain
an onyx teardrop earring through their right ear, dangling on a thin golden chain.

LOOK AT ILLYRIA
She is a nimble shadowcaster faeling demigoddess of sylph descent, ethereally built and far taller than most faelings, a statuesque five feet in height. Her refined complexion is a milky kawhe in hue, darkened by smudged kohl around her eyes. In stark contrast to the tan, a generous smattering of pale white freckles dapples her cheeks and shoulders. Smooth, dark brown antlers arc up from her head, each tine sharpened to a deadly point and inlaid with gold runes in an ominous promise of danger that belies the softness of her features. A wavy fall of gold-touched rose pink hair is caught up in a loose, tumbling tail that keeps the majority of the voluminous mane from her face, interwoven with aureate charms of wyrden flowers. Catlike, almond shaped eyes of a matching rose hold slit pupils, framed by thick lashes below dark and carefully shaped eyebrows. With a delicate nose and plush lips, her face is lovely and alluring in its dainty structure, but the brightness of her eyes suggests a constant careful observation and calculation of the world around her. Six wings of ephemeral shadows and roiling black storm clouds trail behind her, flickering now and then with flashes of eldritch mauve lightning.
A mane of pale pink hair frames her head, teased and blown out to create outrageous body and volume. Her pink tresses fall nearly to her waist, at once shaggy and meticulously styled for precise effect.
She is wearing:
Ebon Prayer Beads of the Silent Lord muffled with pink silk ribbons
a glittering, arm-wrapping spiral bracelet of stygian crystal
a hallowed brooch of the Silent, pinned to the shroud
a ravenwood stud through her lower lip
a silky cloak of woven starlit night embroidered with prayers
an azure-limned triquetra ring of the eternal Night
an intricate, ribbon-wrapped gown of a lady of Night
a phantasmal shroud of shadows, draped over her shoulders.


Nocht extends a covered hand towards you as He whispers, "Do repeat your question for Illyria, My little one..."

Illyria turns to face you, her head canting as she listens intently.

You have emoted: Esei rolls their shoulders back, feet slightly apart as they begin to speak, cadence that of someone repeating something earlier said. "Given previous events regarding a crow and a myglae taking on its feathers, I was curious to know if the myglae are able to adapt to anything they come in contact with?" they state softly, hands clasped behind their back. "I was curious to know Your thoughts on how they might react to the Wyrd, when properly taken in by it?"

Nocht watches you silently as you speaks, the faintest hints of green briefly flashing from behind the veil that obscures His face. Once the retelling is finished, He whispers in his echoing empty tone, "I am curious if you... if either of you have any thoughts as to what the answer may be."

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

You have emoted: Esei catches a single petal between their thumb and forefinger as it falls, curling it gently between their fingers as they think.

With an ethereal, smoky lilt, you say, "...nothing concrete from my mind, I am afraid."

Illyria is silent for some time, the chill wind stirring the draping shadows and silk around her as she considers. Finally, she ventures softly, "The Wyrd is, itself, a force of change. Infinite potential, in a way. I expect they would become exactly what is needed for the health of the forest at the the time of that contact. If a mutable thing- the myglae- meets an influence of change as strong and purposeful as the Wyrd, they could not help but to become an extension of its intentions."

You have emoted: Esei tilts their head towards Illyria in agreement.

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

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "And would only the myglae be changed?"

With quiet regret, Proselyte Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "I do not know enough of them to speculate, my Lord."

You have emoted: Esei pauses, tilting their head. "As though the... Wyrd would also be changed, my Lord? Or... the wyrdenkin?" They ask slowly, voice soft.

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

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "This is My hope. You cannot only take from the Wyrd.... You must also give."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "And this applies to Us all."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Illyria nods silently, but in firm agreement.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "But much is uncertain. My myglae... Hmm. Resist easy definition. Understanding."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "This is why dearest Maylea rejected them outright."

You furrow your brow in thought.

You think to yourself: ...easy is not always best.

Nocht kneels down slightly as He whispers, "Your hands, if you please, both of you."

You have emoted: Blinking briefly, Esei holds out both hands.

At the mention of the Goddess, Illyria's eyes shift to the flickers of prismatic and emerald light around Him, then flash back up to His face at the request. She immediately steps forward and kneels, holding up both hands.

Nocht reaches out with His covered hands, grasping each of you by a single hand. There is an iciness to the touch even with the barrier that is His robes. He pulls slightly at your hand, weaving a glamour of some strange growth that is like a slime or fungal growth, its strange colours filling your palm and wrapping around your fingers. As He weaves the illusion, He whispers, "Awakeners are not like Creators, My little one. We sing to what already exists - the parts of Creation overflowing with Our Mother's touch..." He rises as He completes his work, the illusory moss-fungus colouring your hand. "This is what I woke the myglae from."

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

You have emoted: Esei tilts their head, dark eyes surprisingly soft as they take in the illusion.

Softly, Nocht, the Silent whispers, "What She intended it to be... I do not know. Perhaps even She did not. Wild and unplanned like the Primal Gods or Heralds..."

Illyria watches the weaving intently, her study of His hood quickly refocused upon the growth that seems to appear and grow there. Wordlessly, she waits and watches, carefully listening to Him speak as the stratling colors blossom and take form. So singular is her examination of the fungus-like substance, she almost doesn't react to the final words, but finally looks up with bright, curious eyes.

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

A calming, warm breeze swirls around Illyria as the fragrant scent of roses suffuses the area around her.

It is now the 5th of Klangiary, 591 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 32 days until the New Moon

Shadows swirl around your arm as the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree digs itself more painfully into your finger.

From seemingly nowhere, Bizirik appears, a slice of layered rainbow cake with star-shaped sprinkles clutched in its set of smaller forelimbs. It clumsily hands a slice of layered rainbow cake with star-shaped sprinkles over to you before slinking back off.

You glance askance.

Gurashi's melodic voice sings into your mind, "*a faint thrum, a tentative single skein of saffron dancing in the air* Love you muchly, cousinling. Stay goodly, and kind."

Even more softly still, Nocht, the Silent whispers, "But they were merely this, and could not exist on their own forever. The fact that they grew so long in the empty of the Void is a testament to their strength, but they would have faded away eventually. So I Woke them, and they became part of Me. And now thanks to Maylea's... gift. I hope that they can also become part of the Wyrd. That they can make the Wyrd even mightier with their sight, their way of being, which is unlike anything else in the First World."

With an ethereal, smoky lilt, you whisper, "...sight, my Lord?"

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

Nocht tilts His head back, looking beyond the fulcrux. He whispers, "The New Moon arrives. A fine time for sharing these stories..."

Illyria glances back and forth between her hands and Nocht, glittering fascination in her eyes as she listens, laced through with powerful speculation.

Nocht, the Silent whispers to you, "Indeed. They changed Me when I took them within Myself. I say sight, but it is something more."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "And perhaps it is something more that can be given to the Wyrd."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

With an ethereal, smoky lilt, you whisper, "...I would ask questions to... perhaps explain it to me, but I am afraid I do not know -what- to ask, my Lord."

Quietly, tentatively, Proselyte Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "The Wyrd takes and the Wyrd gives. If they myglae are a part of You, my Lord, and they give such a gift to the Wyrd... perhaps the Wyrd might gift in return? A change for the better?"

The smell of flowers drifts past Illyria's nose, causing her eyes to flicker.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Hmm. A payment for My healing, perhaps."

Quietly fervent, Proselyte Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "How can we help, my Lord."

You have emoted: Remaining silent, Esei's fingers curl gently over the illusory moss.

The skulls hanging from a shadow-limned wreath of stygian feathers across your brow sway of their own accord, and the flickering of shadowfire glimmers just beyond your vision.

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

You think to yourself: ** a short, brief flash of thought - struggling, struggling, how could anyone, Anyone, reject -this-? definitions... understanding... mere perception of what truly -is-. **.

Nocht raises to His full height, waving His hand over both of yours which causes His robes to flutter. The glamour upon your hand glows, melting away to form an imitation of the myglae that hovers above your palm. The creature is alien, something strangely both similar to and nothing like the fae, with a churning shape that refuses to hold onto a single form. "We will perform a second awakening. For the myglae. For the Wyrd. For Me..." Eventually even the hovering imitation dissolves into tendrils of light and magic that fade away completely. "That is why I wait for the treachery to revealed fully. I will not risk it being tainted by that deceit."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Illyria's eyes lock immediately onto the illusory myglae, widening as she studies it with pupils that constrict to lines despite the low light. At the pronouncement, though, she looks back to Nocht, nodding. "Yes, my Lord," she whispers, unable to fully repress the eagerness that sparkles in her otherwise muted expression.

Nocht exhales softly in what may be amusement, causing the veil before Him to flutter slightly. "Perhaps I have only caused more confusion, My little ones, but I believe We will all end up learning together what changes they will bring."

Quietly, observing the illusion with a soft look to their eye, you say, "...no confusion, at least from me, my Lord."

Illyria shakes her head, switching halfway to a nod of agreement with you, unruly tendrils of rosy hair bouncing around her face.

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

In a muted whisper, Proselyte Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "Questions, Lord, endless questions. But not confusion."

You have emoted: Esei pauses, tilting their head with thought.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "One of the traits I have always been fond of in mortals, little one."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Endless questions."

A small, sweet smile flits across Illyria's face

Quietly, glancing to Nocht, you whisper, "...I've a question of my own, though I am unsure if You know the answer."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "You may ask it regardless."

You think to yourself: ** all but buzzing-humming with questions, never idle, even though you may forget those questions they will return one way or another... **.

With an ethereal, smoky lilt, you whisper, "...when You said sight... do You know if it is at all similar to Dominique Nightshade's Othersight?"

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "It may be... Vision that is more than simply seeing..."

You nod solemnly.

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "But it is difficult for Me to grasp the way you all see the world. To truly understand it, at least."

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "I must soon turn My attention elsewhere, little ones..."

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

Having listened very carefully to question and answers, Illyria nods solemnly, curtseying deeply once more. "Thank You, my Lord, for clarity and a vision of the path ahead."

Nocht, the Silent whispers to Illyria, "Of course... I would have a final moment alone with the Auspice, My little one."

The pointed tips of your ears twitch to hear an errant sound.

Illyria nods her head emphatically.

You have emoted: Esei's eyes flick between Illyria and Nocht, but they remain silent and unmoving.

Illyria curtseys gracefully.

Illyria stands before the image of the night sky, arms spread wide. Dark tendrils shoot forth from the apparition, wrapping around Illyria and forcibly sucking her in.

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

You have emoted: Esei's eyes lower respectfully, tilting their head forward to listen to Nocht.

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

Nocht paces slowly in a circle around you, His billowing robes trailing after Him as they drag along the tall grass. "I am curious at times too, My little one. It has usually served Me well..." He whispers in His empty tone which combined with His concealed face betray no hint of His feelings. "Why do you spend time with that child? Or that child's child? I am curious."

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

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

You have emoted: Carefully folding their hands behind their back, Esei takes a moment to consider. "Your Shroud of Twilight teaches manipulation," they start quietly. "I cannot do so outright, not obviously, with them being in an allied city... But I can, and have, pulled on family ties that once laid between us. They still perceive me as... as cousin, as sibling. I allow them to see me as softer than I truly am, so when it comes time to strike... they are caught more unawares."

Quietly, you say, "This, too, is a give and take."

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

Nocht, the Silent has bestowed His divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 3 months.

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

Nocht, the Silent whispers, "Then weave away, My little one. I am always watching."

The surrounding shadows wane, relaxing into their normal state as the form of Nocht, the Silent dissolves into the aether.

You have emoted: Esei exhales again, hands relaxing to fall at their sides.

You give the master shrine of Nocht a respectful bow, one hand clasped over your heart.

You think to yourself: Be well, my Lord.