Pressure

Padding over to the rent, Rhalkyr crouches at its edge, forearms resting upon his
thighs, hands dangling freely as he stares into the thick substance. "Honoured, elder. Know Khasur,
well?"

Xenthos turns his head from the pool to regard you. "Mm. I would not say 'well,' but somewhat, aye.
We have met on numerous occasions.

Rhalkyr's only response for a time is a terse grunt, the ragged sound tearing loose
from his throat like the rending of dry wood. After a while of his contemplation of the pool, he
begins to tap the side of his thumb upon the flat bone of his shin, keeping time with the rhythm of
the Heart. "Places, much weight, on choice, of words? Precision, of phrase?"

Xenthos ponders the question for a time, giving it due consideration, before he speaks. "Yes, I
would say so."

Rhalkyr's breath hissing out, long and soft, from beneath the constant, malevolent
grin of his mask. "Thought, as much. Was, unsure, if, focusing overmuch, on reactions, to questions.
On, phrasing. Particularly, third."

Rhalkyr pauses, dipping his chin aside. "Second, also."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to you, "Phrasing is -always- important."

Rhalkyr's left hand flutters aside in a rippling of fingers. "Some, careless, with
words, with phrasing. Some, much, more so."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Often such ends up being quite
revealing."

You say, "Mmh. True."

Rhalkyr still does not lift his gaze from the pool as he addresses Xenthos. "Where,
mentions of, Grand Librarian? Why, think, same, as Weaver?"

Xenthos points accusingly at a shadowy pool of blood and sap.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Those words came from here."

Rhalkyr lets out a soft, "Ah." of comprehension.

You ask, "Think, Weaver, Grand Librarian, awaits, in unfound, library? Where, hiding?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "A question I would very much like the
answer to, myself."

A deep, trembling sound reverberates from Rhalkyr's throat as he nods. "Why,
Khasur, not speak, freely? Knows, likely, identity, of Weaver. Knows, much - or, pretends, to."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "There are times when one can know a
thing, and not be able to share it. There are reasons for such. And She is of the Lady's. I know
that I would not wish to do something against Her will."

Gradually, Rhalkyr cants his head to the left, until it is nearly parallel with his
shoulder. "Struggling, to understand." His left hand makes a vague, circular motion, as if to
encompass something. "Why. Task, given, to child. Khasur, not free, to speak. Blackpetal,
reasoning." His thick fingers furl and unfurl, as if seeking to grasp something elusive. "Testing,
us? Unable, unwilling, to tell, directly?"

You think to yourself: Ah, but how could a mortal even hope to understand the workings of a
Divinity? How, in particular, could something so thick of wit and slow of mind, dare to suggest that
it is capable of glimpsing even the most minute mote of Her thoughts? Folly, of the most galling
sort.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to you, "I do not know her reasoning. I
would like to think that there is some intention there, but it possible that also she does not know
the answer you seek."

Rhalkyr's hand lowers to hang limply upon his knee, as boneless as a dead thing.
"Mmh. Do not, think, Weaver, is fae. May, come, to possess, remains, of Greev - Inhabit, as, spirit.
Wear, like, clothing."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Yet the greev still lives."

Rhalkyr lifts his shoulders in an indifferent shrug. "Blackpetal, still lived,
when, Kethuru, inhabited."

Xenthos raises an eyebrow at you.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to you, "I would also strongly recommend
that you not intimate something would control Her anywhere that She might hear."

Rhalkyr turns his head, finally, to regard Xenthos quizzically. "In, book. In,
library. She permits, existence."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "There are many, many books. Most are
works of fiction. Few are entirely factual- it is difficult for an author to write without their own
beliefs seeping from pen to page. She does not deign to comb them over page by page. There are,
after all, books that mention the Gloriana."

Rhalkyr utters a bemused rumble, looking at Xenthos for a long moment, before
returning his gaze to the pool once again.

You think to yourself: Just another instance that shows why he is unfit for this, for the garden,
for Her warm regard. An apt display of how unwyrden he is, and before the most honoured of his
elders. Another misstep on the path She has set him upon, another stumble.

Rhalkyr leans towards the pool, balancing upon the balls of his feet. "Safe, to
touch?"

Xenthos purses his lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as he carefully gathers his
thoughts.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "I never have."

Rhalkyr maintains his posture, steady as a rock, despite his precarious proximity
to the precipice of the pool. "Will not, try. Yet."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "I suspect it would be risky. Whatever
goes in, may never come out again."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "That would be the Glomdoring's choice."

Rhalkyr lowers his chin a fraction in agreement. A note of weariness enters the
torn timbre of his voice, as he replies, "Yes. Choice."

You think to yourself: Would he even be fit to feed the Glomdoring in such a manner? Likely, it
would spit him out, disgusted - unworthy of being even a meal.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard sniffs you, trying to decipher just what that smell emanating from you
is.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard regards you, just the tip of her tail twitching.

Rhalkyr angles his head ever so slightly in Ilistala, an enormous leopard's
direction, the subdued green of his eyes drawn to the slight motion of Ilistala, an enormous
leopard's tail. He says nothing, nor does he meet the great beast's eyes, instead sliding his own
back to the viscous liquid within the rupture.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard stares at you intently for a time longer, before turning around and
circling back to Xenthos who lays a hand upon her back.

Abruptly, Rhalkyr says, "When, last, Frozen One, checked?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Many, many years. I have walked by the
pillar, but I have not closely examined it. Nor, I think, have any others."

Rhalkyr utters a thoughtful sound. "Worth, correcting, think."

Xenthos nods his head in agreement.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to you, "We should be departing."

Rhalkyr turns his head in Xenthos's direction, but does not lift his gaze. "Will,
remain. Hunt, well, honoured, elder." Lifting his right hand from its incessant beat, he slaps his
palm upon his chest, emitting two short, sharp sounds.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And you, as well."

Xenthos pats Ilistala, an enormous leopard in a friendly manner.
A loud rumbling emanates from Ilistala as she rubs against Xenthos.

Alone, now, free from the watchful eyes of his elders, Rhalkyr sinks back, until he
sits upon the ground with his legs drawn up in angular arches, his massive hands placed over his
mask. Slowly, as gradual as the thaw of ice on a cool morning, his posture slackens, his immense
shoulders slumping down, as if subject to a great, inexorable weight.