Takhre and Anorak get their shit together

Among the climbing vines.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Climbing rosebushes adorn every surface here, wrapping their snakelike vines around every rock. The walls of the gardens are completely covered in blooming roses of varied hues, from dark to light, and the air is filled with their aromatic scent. A circle of six statues stands in the centre, each staring outwards. Though the creeping vines curl around each, it is possible to discern that each is a faeling, alternating male and female form, but nothing is clear beyond this. The delicate statues all have a crown of roses settled upon their brows, the only flowers visible upon them, despite being covered in thorny vines. Small pathways of glimmering black stones cut through the walls to the northeast. A beautiful and decorative rug lies here, formed from the fur of a single aslaran male. A black direwolf is here blending in with the shadows, its massive ebon wings folded at rest.

You see exits leading northeast, northwest, and through an archway of black rock.

Carved from a single aslaran specimen, this beautiful rug is the colour of the deepest stygian night. The legs and arms of the donor are clearly visible, making up four smaller sections that jut out from the main body of the lush, black fur rug. A stubby tail makes up the fifth limb and a small silver tag is attached with the words "Donated by Yrael" embossed upon its exterior.
It weighs about 62 pounds.
It has the following aliases: rug, aslaran.

Anorak bows respectfully to you.
You glance askance.
You begin to follow Anorak.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Go to where you wish to rest."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Or- Study, I suppose."

You follow Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath northwest to a web-shrouded path.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Here."

A web-shrouded path.
This winding path curls past the bulk of the temple towards a wilder, less manicured forest. Here, the stone beds bear wyrden flora growing in and through the skulls of various beasts: thorns curl around the antlers of a hapless stag, while roses bloom in the eye sockets of a dragon. One beast is unrecognizable, its bones bearing inclusions of strange alien gems: through this, a savage, well-used spear has been plunged. Along the length of the weapon's haft, the leather dressings bear the crude symbols of Shikari, the Predator. A blackthorn sapling clings tenaciously to the ground here. Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath is here, shrouded. He wields an athame dagger in his left hand.
You see exits leading north and southeast.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Unless you would prefer somewhere with seats."

You have emoted: Takhre looks at the skulls curiously. With a faint, amused look in their eyes they simply reply: "I can see why it would appeal to you. This will suffice."

Anorak nods his head emphatically.
Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Aye. It may yet be a reference..."

You have emoted: Takhre moves over to sit on the edge of a stone bed, washing the blood from their feathers with a slight frown. Otherwise they stay silent. Red slowly stains the dirt, though it is greedily swallowed by the Wyrden soil.

Anorak seems to be making notes on the various ways in which the Wyrden plants grow through the bones.

You have emoted: Takhre eventually manages to look somewhat clean, though their frustrated expression indicates their opinions otherwise.

Anorak glances at Takhre.

You have emoted: Takhre seems rather distracted with their appearance at present, and does not notice.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "K'wala, it is alright. You need not busy yourself with appearance in the Lady of Thorns' garden, Beauty is not so singular as to be limited to the physical."

You have emoted: Takhre's ear tufts twitch, and they glance over with a scowl. "I... will take note of that."
You have emoted: Takhre sighs softly, and stills their hands and just watches their surroundings.

Anorak nods curtly but respectfully.

You think to yourself: **you feel disgusting**.

You murmur softly to yourself.

You think to yourself: What were the mantras of Night again?

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "A moment."

You blink.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "My apologies, k'wala, I had to attend to something."

You blink.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "It is... well enough."

Anorak bows respectfully.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Would you rather we work elsewhere? I have what I need for now and you seem... to wish for a change in scenery."

You have emoted: Takhre stands, wings tucked tightly behind them. "... I would appreciate going elsewhere. The location is fine, of course. But perhaps a place with seating."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Very well. In the garden or perhaps a study of some varietal?"

In a melodic quaver, you say, "A garden is... tolerable."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "Tolerable or desireable, k'wala?"

Preening nervously, you say, "Desirable."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "As you wish."

You begin to follow Anorak.

You follow Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath northeast to courtyard before a vine-covered temple.

Courtyard before a vine-covered temple.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. The area opens into a spacious courtyard, offering views of the twisting vines that grapple up along the smooth temple walls. Symmetrical plantings and raised stone beds define the space, the dark, glossy leaves of various flora straining against their rigid containers. Pathways of glistening onyx run between the beds, delineated by perfectly manicured hedges, which further distinguish this formal space from the rest of the gardens. Heavy benches of iron spaced equidistantly allow for quiet conversation or solitary reflection. A glimmering web of iridescent hues stretches along the temple wall here. Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath is here, shrouded. He wields an athame dagger in his left hand.
You see exits leading southeast and southwest.

(The Lily Pads): You say, "Sadly they are not physical. but! we can rp."
(The Lily Pads): Anorak says, "Sicko mode."
(The Lily Pads): You say, "Furniture is real if its visibly a different color in the look text."

Anorak sits on an available iron bench.

You have emoted: Takhre sits down on the same bench, their visible distress easing somewhat.
You think to yourself: I want to throw myself into a lake. Or the baths. Gods.
You think to yourself: And why is he so damned -polite-.

You fidget impatiently.
You fidget impatiently.

Anorak glances at Takhre.
Anorak pulls out his notebook and touches up on drawings.

Howling loudly to the sky, a black direwolf glides in from the southwest on ebon wings.
Anorak pets a black direwolf with ebon feathered wings ingratiatingly.

Howling loudly to the sky, a black direwolf glides out to the southeast on ebon wings.

Anorak thinks to himself: Wings, just like k'n- k'wala."

You think to yourself: Why am I hesitating to -leave-? Ridiculous bird.

With an edge of unease to their voice, you say, "I... think I may head to a large body of water. Or perhaps the baths within my family manse."
You have emoted: Takhre says this, and then does not move from their seat.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "As you wish, k'wala. I would not stop you. If you need assistance of any manner do not hesitate to ask."

Awkwardly, you say, "I would not wish to distract you from your work."

Quieter, as if betraying a thought, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "...or company, one supposes."

You have emoted: Takhre freezes, and suddenly looks rather guilty. "It... would be appreciated. The company, that is."

Anorak thinks to himself: Fuck, why am I inviting myself over? We've already done this song and dance, you devil of dumbassery."
Anorak bows lightly. "As you wish, k'wala."

You scowl miserably.

Anorak begins to follow you.

---> mutter don't call me that

In a melodic quaver, you mutter, "Don't ...l me t...."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Mm?"

You portal to Ayaniya.
This room has not been mapped.
A crossroads within an old wyrden wood.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. A subtle beat perpetuates in the air, resonating with the natural sounds of wildlife. The sky above the crossroads is a pale, dusky purple during the lightest of times and pitch black during midnight, leaving a sense of a sky with neither sun nor moon. A single lamp post has been erected here, its lantern glowing with a pale lavender glow. Purple loropetalums grow in clusters around the path, all but blocking some and leaving others open for easy travel. The forest beyond is made up primarily of ravenwoods, hemlocks, and rowans, with the occasional flash of birch or ash. A black direwolf is here, blending in with the shadows. Solid gold forms a long forearm, frozen mid-grasp to serve as a knocker. You see a sign here instructing you to use the PORTAL command to enter the aetherplex system.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, and out (closed door).

In a melodic quaver, you say, "It was nothing."

Approaching the archway to the bath house.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. The archway to the south of this path is bordered by stone columns carved into the vague shapes of birds, distinguishable features worn away. The archway itself has been restored with new wood, blocking the view inside, though the stone doorway has been carved with arcane symbols of protection, healing, and cleansing. Hedges line the path, growing with odd, faintly glowing flowers.
You see exits leading north, northeast, northwest, and in (open door).

---> in

The cool preparation room.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Past the archway, a large wooden desk with a stone top is the center of the room. The west wall is lined with wooden cubby holes, perhaps for placing shoes and clothing in. A door leads to the south, the sound of trickling water bouncing off the stone. The air is slightly humid, but cool with a fresh breeze.
You see exits leading south (open door) and out (open door).

With a respectful nod, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "It is as you say."

In a melodic quaver, you say to Anorak, "If... you wish to wait here, you are welcome to. You also also welcome to enter the baths. I intend to submerge while clothed."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Very well. If you would prefer company, I do not mind. Otherwise, I will wait."

Glancing away, you murmur, "Company is preferred."

Anorak nods his head sagely.
Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "As you wish, k'wala."

The baths.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. The domed ceiling has been painted a dark blue, like that of the night sky, while the rest of the room has been covered in dark tile. Metallic gold stars cross and wind over the ceiling, thrown into warm contrast by the low fires burning in the room's sconces. The baths are filled with clear, clean water, kept at a perfect temperature by carved sigils around the rim of the pool. Surrounded by a faint, emerald halo, an ethereal cat romps playfully about the area.
You see exits leading north (open door), east (open door), south (open door), and west (open door).

Wading amidst a floral pool.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Stepping beyond the bathhouse into the outdoors, this area is tucked away behind tall walls, where none but the very tallest of individuals may see over. A pool has been carved into the natural stone, filled by virtue of an underground spring with refreshingly cool water. On the other side of the southern wall, a flowering blackthorn tree towers overhead. Occasionally, a stiff breeze blows its white blossoms down into the pool, adding more flora to the water.
You see a single exit leading north (open door).

You have emoted: Takhre steps quickly down into the pools, expression visibly relaxing as the water reddens.
Anorak follows Takhre into the pool, submerging to just less than eye-level.

You blink.
You glance askance at Anorak.
Your eyes sparkle with amusement.
Up to their neck in water, you say, "I did not think you'd... join me fully. It is not an issue, of course."

You think to yourself: Cute. Wait. Nil.

Tilting his head so that he is audible above the water, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "It was requested, was it not?"

You have emoted: Takhre gives Anorak an uneasy look, but does not reply, instead producing a bar of soap of which they use to clean the blood and scum from their feathers.

Anorak produces a fine particle brush, which he uses to clean the cracks in his horns.

You have emoted: Takhre glances over curiously, but keeps a respectful distance and tries not to oogle. At least, not too much.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath mutters, "O.., damned s...."

You have emoted: Takhre laughs quietly.

Anorak does not visibly take notice.

You have emoted: Eventually, the water runs clear and Takhre sighs in relief. They turn and rise out of the water, their feathered wings trailing behind them like a iridescent cloak. Stray flower petals cling to them and have begun to freeze in place, but they haven't noticed yet. They then turn expectantly to Anorak and wait.

Anorak dunks his head under one final time before exiting the bath.

You nod.

--->nyoom

A crossroads within an old wyrden wood.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. A subtle beat perpetuates in the air, resonating with the natural sounds of wildlife. The sky above the crossroads is a pale, dusky purple during the lightest of times and pitch black during midnight, leaving a sense of a sky with neither sun nor moon. A single lamp post has been erected here, its lantern glowing with a pale lavender glow. Purple loropetalums grow in clusters around the path, all but blocking some and leaving others open for easy travel. The forest beyond is made up primarily of ravenwoods, hemlocks, and rowans, with the occasional flash of birch or ash. A black direwolf is here, blending in with the shadows. Solid gold forms a long forearm, frozen mid-grasp to serve as a knocker. You see a sign here instructing you to use the PORTAL command to enter the aetherplex system.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, and out (closed door).

You glance askance.
In a melodic quaver, you say to Anorak, "Do you... wish to return to the gardens? We could also go to the withdrawing room. If you are comfortable with such an option."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "I would follow you to whichever is the most comfortable with you. I have no true preference, k'wala."

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

You pet a black direwolf ingratiatingly.
A black direwolf glances about her surroundings, a ravenous glint in her eyes.
This room has not been mapped.

A pomegranate-hued withdrawing room veiled in shadow.  (#AYANIYA_104)
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Dark and shrouded in shadow, this withdrawal room has an aura of quiet contemplation. The carpet is a deep, earthen brown, complementing the pomegranate purple wallpaper whirled with iridescent shades of grey to invoke the illusion of smoke. Sitting cushions and backrests litter the plush carpet floor, as well as a few low tables that one might rest their feet under to keep them warm. Scattered on the tables are a number of scrolls and books left open, as if someone had abandoned them mid-study, soon to return. The northern wall holds a curtained window looking into the forest canopy, lit only by a shadowfire candle on the windowsill that steadily burns. The window is slightly ajar, allowing a quiet breeze to filter through along with sounds of the night. A collection of jars sits upon another table, filled with feathers of varying shades of black, oil-slick, grey, and silver. Neatly folded by the door, a stack of blankets sit ready to ward off a chill.
You see a single exit leading west (open door).

You have emoted: Takhre sweeps in, settling in a corner of the room. Their wings stay open, drying and freezing over time.

You glance askance at Anorak.

Anorak sits near a desk.

In a melodic quaver, you murmur, "Feel free to make yourself comfortable, Proselyte."

With a respectful nod, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Thank you, k'wala."

You have emoted: Takhre purses their lips, displeased. But they just sit and sulk like a wet creature in the corner, not saying anything.

Anorak glances at Takhre.

You have emoted: Takhre watches back, expression dour.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Is all alright, k'wala? You seem displeased."

Anorak thinks to himself: Fuck. fuckfuck. Why did I ask? I know what it is."

You scowl miserably.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "It is- augh. Fuck."
Your eyes raise to the heavens as a look of hope flashes across your face.

Anorak bristles, as if bracing for impact.

Scowling, you say, "It is not fine. Why are you so Nil-damned -polite- now?"
Voice raising, you exclaim, "You're so-so- augh! -Obedient-, and you never disagree with me! You aren't a dog, Proselyte!"

The barest hint of emotion creeping into his voice, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "Is... it not apt to be agreeable to one's teacher?"

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Is this not what you asked me to be? Despite my prior actions, I was listening. Unless I have understood the directions incorrectly?"

You have emoted: Takhre makes a frustrated clicking noise in the back of their throat, throwing up their arms with exasperation as they attempt to start a sentence and just warble instead.

Anorak flashes a few hints of various emotions before squashing them, awaiting something to respond to.

Between gritted teeth, you say, "You are my -protege-, no an - a- Nil and Oathbreakers I swear to Night herself-."

Standing up and beginning to pace in the room, you say, "Fine. FINE. If this is the game we are playing, so be it."

Genuine confusion in his tone and genuine hurt flashing in his eyes, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "...what game?"

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

Wheeling around to stare the viscanti down, you say, "I- I don't like you just- follow along with what I say. Are you mocking me? I want you to have an opinion that isn't just 'yes'. You and I argued constantly, you were ridiculous, and it was frustrating but enjoyable before you-" they cut off, paling and looking rather guilty. Quieter, they start again, "I- nevermind, Proselyte. You're fine. I'm speaking out of turn."

You think to yourself: Night help me.


Anorak reaches towards the scar on his torso, as if on instinct. "Ah. My... my sincerest apologies, k'w- ... I fear I may have misstepped in my carrying out of your requests." He takes a grounding breath, removing the emotion that had made its way into his voice. "Prior, I was treating your mentorship too lightly and placed undue qualifiers on the nature of our... association, an error I sought to correct. If this, too, was an error, k'wala, let me know so I may work to rectify it as well."

You have emoted: Takhre's eyes flick to the wound, and they suddenly look as if the wind has been knocked out of them. They quickly hide their hands and subsequently their talons in their wings, looking away. Exhausted, they murmur, "Just do what you want Anorak, without worrying about pleasing me or my... 'requests'."

Anorak thinks to himself: Fuck was I... wrong? Did I fix it the wrong way? Go the wrong direction?"

You think to yourself: Wrong. This is all wrong. This is why Spider teaches patience. I am a fool. I want him to just be normal.

Anorak is visibly upset and, despite his best efforts to quash it, on the verge of tears. Without making eye contact, he mutters, "W..t .l.. .s th...?"

You have emoted: Takhre glances back to Anorak's face, blinking in shock at his expression.
You open your mouth to say something, but speech fails you.
With effort, you say, "Anorak, I..."
In a melodic quaver, you murmur, "I didn't hear you."

Anorak blinks hard, as one would to fight exhaustion. Or tears. "It was... nothing of import, I assure you." He takes a shaky breath, probably just concealing a yawn, before continuing. "I think... I have to check in at a shrine of my Lady. Tasks and all that. Apologies, k'wala".

You open your mouth to say something, but speech fails you.

Faintly, you say, "If you must."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Do as you want."

In a measured tone, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "I would phrase the apology better if I could, if I had the right words. So instead the one will suffice. Good evening, k'n- k'wala; I hope to see you tomorrow."

Anorak stands, bows respectfully, and walks out robotically.

You have emoted: Takhre's expression crumples as he walks away.
You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

Voice thin, you murmur, "I just want to be normal with you again."

You have emoted: Takhre lets out another shaky breath, staring at the candle that burns upon the windowsill.

In a melodic quaver, you whisper, "Why did you have to actually show interest? It was fine when it was just a joke."

Your eyes raise to the heavens as a look of hope flashes across your face.

Shadows flicker in and out of the corner of vision, waiting for the return of Night.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Gods. I don't want it to be a joke."

You lick your lips in anticipation of your next delicious meal.

You have emoted: Takhre rubs their eyes, wings trailing on the carpet. "Get yourself together, Takhre. You are of the Great House Shee-Slaugh, and you will not -mope-. You will be better. You will be a good mentor, and get your Nil-damned act together."

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

In a melodic quaver, you murmur, "Night grant me Wisdom."

You portal to the Portals of Glomdoring.

You shed trill titan form and flow as a spirit through the verdant leaves, embracing the physical once more and arrive at meshwork of plants.

Meshwork of plants.
A tiny trail, barely two feet high, runs along the ground through the dense foliage. Broad leaves of saplings and ferns twist together into a knot of clutching undergrowth. Vines and brambles are draped across the path, hanging down and across at the worst moments to snatch at anything passing by. The foliage constantly rustles with the movements of small creatures, and the sound of birds is loud and harsh against the wind. Hidden deep within the environment lies a mystic pathway. Amid the twisting plants, the Drums of the Dead wait patiently here to answer the call of Glomdoring. There are 4866 shadows crawling over the drums. A large skeletal tree's remains stand here erect, covered in a large spider web strung between the tree's finger-like branches. A carved black horn stands here, balanced on a ravenwood stand. A mature hemlock tree stands proudly here. A delicate windchime of silver and bone has been hung here, haunting the area with its melody. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath is here, shrouded. He wields an athame dagger in his left hand.
You see exits leading southeast and southwest.

You have emoted: Takhre appears in the foliage behind Anorak, watching cautiously.

Anorak is sobbing quietly, relying on the Drums of the Dead to drown out the noise.
Anorak is sitting behind a shield shrine of Viravain, leaning onto it for support.
Anorak thinks to himself: Oh, my Lady, what is there to do?

You have emoted: Takhre approaches slowly, their footsteps quiet but not silent on the forest floor. They kneel beside him, expression tired and worried.
Gently placing a hand on his shoulder, you murmur, "Anorak...?"

Anorak jolts slightly at the touch and wipes his eyes.

You think to yourself: *misery, and determination. this is your fault. it is up to you to fix it.*.

With a smile and bloodshot eyes, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Ah, apologies. Allergies, you see. Must have been something in the water."

Anorak laughs weakly.

Ignoring the deflection, you ask, "Do you... want a hug?"

Casting his eyes back to the ground, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "...I wouldn't mind one, I do not think."

You have emoted: Takhre slides the hand over to his other shoulder, pulling Anorak into a firm but gentle hug. Their wing wraps around to provide both privacy and shelter, cool to the touch and surprisingly soft.

Anorak leans into the hug and is still, the way a person who is forcing themselves to be that way would. He is warm and, unsurprisingly, a bit of wet can be felt on his cheeks.

Softly, you murmur, "You need to breathe, Proselyte."

As if joking, but his heart clearly not in it, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Only once a minute, by my measure. Perhaps less with trout and these... allergies."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "My opinion remains the same."

Anorak takes a long pause before speaking again, clearly focusing on leveling out his breathing. "You said I can- should have my own opinions. May I voice a request? By my measure of the past few months it may be... a large one."

You crease your brow in a frown.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "You may."

After a beat and much quieter, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Please don't hate me."

You blink.

You have emoted: Takhre audibly pauses, their own breath catching before they let out a long, soft sigh. The hug tightens in a reassuring manner, the pads of their fingers rubbing soothing circles into his side. "... I do not." For a moment, they lighten their tone, attempting a rare joke. "Despite your best efforts, I never truly did."

A haunting melody sighs through the room as wind passes over the delicate windchime hung nearby.

After a great effort and no shortage of tears, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Thank you."

You think to yourself: **a painful clench of the chest, and a terrible ache in your eyes**.

Anorak visibly relaxes, all tension melting out of his body.

You have emoted: Takhre simply holds Anorak, a constant presence that watches vigil over him as the tears continue.

Anorak starts breathing slower and slower. Over time, it is clear that he has fallen asleep.

You have emoted: Takhre hesitates.

You think to yourself: ... agh. Courage, Takhre. Courage.

You have emoted: Takhre scoops Anorak into their arms, cradling him and shielding him from view with their wings.
The ground trembles before a humanoid shape bursts upwards from its surface.

You portal to Ayaniya.

A pomegranate-hued withdrawing room veiled in shadow.  (#AYANIYA_104)
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Dark and shrouded in shadow, this withdrawal room has an aura of quiet contemplation. The carpet is a deep, earthen brown, complementing the pomegranate purple wallpaper whirled with iridescent shades of grey to invoke the illusion of smoke. Sitting cushions and backrests litter the plush carpet floor, as well as a few low tables that one might rest their feet under to keep them warm. Scattered on the tables are a number of scrolls and books left open, as if someone had abandoned them mid-study, soon to return. The northern wall holds a curtained window looking into the forest canopy, lit only by a shadowfire candle on the windowsill that steadily burns. The window is slightly ajar, allowing a quiet breeze to filter through along with sounds of the night. A collection of jars sits upon another table, filled with feathers of varying shades of black, oil-slick, grey, and silver. Neatly folded by the door, a stack of blankets sit ready to ward off a chill.
You see a single exit leading west (open door).
You curl your nose up and grimace awfully.

You have emoted: Takhre looks around the room, hesitating once more. After a moment, they set Anorak down on a pile of pillows and rummage around for a few items in the stack of blankets.

Dark and shrouded in shadow, this withdrawal room has an aura of quiet contemplation. The carpet is a deep, earthen brown, complementing the pomegranate purple wallpaper whirled with iridescent shades of grey to invoke the illusion of smoke. Sitting cushions and backrests litter the plush carpet floor, as well as a few low tables that one might rest their feet under to keep them warm. Scattered on the tables are a number of scrolls and books left open, as if someone had abandoned them mid-study, soon to return. The northern wall holds a curtained window looking into the forest canopy, lit only by a shadowfire candle on the windowsill that steadily burns. The window is slightly ajar, allowing a quiet breeze to filter through along with sounds of the night. In the northwestern corner of the room hangs a large, wide hammock made of soft cotton rope, anchored to the walls. It could easily fit two larger humanoids, and is strong enough to sleep in comfortably without sinking to the floor. A number of soft, plush pillows rest in it, suspended about two feet above the ground. Upon another table, a collection of jars sits, filled with feathers of varying shades of black, oil-slick, grey, and silver. Neatly folded by the door, a stack of blankets sit ready to ward off a chill.

Reality bends to your will as the room's appearance is reformed.

Anorak snoozes softly.

You have emoted: Takhre sets up a hammock in the northwestern corner of the room, hooking it to anchors in the wall. They then add a number of pillows, and finally, Anorak before tucking him in with a soft, velvety blanket.

Anorak unconsciously wraps himself in the blanket.

You have emoted: Uneasy but nonetheless satisfied with their work, Takhre turns to a table and pulls out a few scrolls, pouring over them wearily.

You warble thoughtfully, clicking your tongue.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.
You think to yourself: ... I am not going to read any of these. I'm just going to stare at them. Hallowed guide me.

Darkness creeps over the ground, sharply contrasting the absence of Moon.
You curl your nose up and grimace awfully.
The ever-present sense of your heartbeat thrums, beating to the rhythmic pulse of the Drums of the Dead.
You murmur softly to yourself.

Anorak twitches in his sleep, one hand moving to grasp at his chest.

Your eyes raise to the heavens as a look of hope flashes across your face.

You think to yourself: Father, just this once, spare him a bit. It's been a long month.

From the dark night, the scent of incense perfumes the air with intense, wyrden aromas.

Anorak makes a soft noise as he stretches, visibly awake but weary.

Pale twilight stretches its arms over the horizon, bathing the air in grays and purples as the dark night recedes.

You have emoted: Takhre is staring tiredly at some scrolls, their body language calm, if exhausted.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "Why?"

You have emoted: Takhre jolts, almost knocking over a quill and ink.

Passing over a wineskin filled with light, floral tea, you murmur, "Ah. Here. You'll need some liquid in you."

Again and with slightly more edge in his voice, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "Why?"

Anorak takes a cautious sip from the wineskin, looking at Takhre.

Wearily, you say, "As I said before, you are welcome to sleep here. I'd rather you did than sleep in less comfortable places."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "You fell asleep. Thus..."
You have emoted: Takhre gestures to the hammock.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "...I didn't want to impose."

You roll your eyes.
Not unkindly, you say, "You're my protege. You are meant to impose. I teach you and thus earn respect, and in return, you get to come to me and 'impose' whenever you would like."

Anorak grumbles softly, no real anger in the sound.

You have emoted: Takhre turns back to their scrolls with a faint scowl. "This relationship not just one-sided for my benefit, and I wish you would treat yourself with a little more pride rather than just deferring to me."

The grumble still in his voice, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "One supposes."

Sternly, you say, "One does not 'suppose'. I am teaching you, as of this moment."

A hint of joviality in his voice, but his eyes still firmly on the wineskin, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "You had to start at some point, k'nar."

You have emoted: Takhre scowls at the joke but also visibly relaxes, their feathers settling back into place.
Dryly, though their blush betrays them, you say, "I believe I already was, but perhaps I was mistaken."

A hint of mischief in his eyes returning, but his tone weary, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "I have been unfortunately adherent to your every word and can very nearly assure you otherwise."

You give a pained sigh.
You blush furiously.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Well, stay there until you get this one through your thick skull. When you ask me for something of actual use, you may leave and continue your studies. Otherwise, back to rest with you."

Feigning outrage, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "My! How terrible, to be consigned to coziness. If I must, as you wish, k'nar."

You have emoted: Takhre is clearly incapable of pouting. There must be some other name for the expression on their lips, currently.
The rich scent of earthy loam overwhelms the senses, enveloping you with the lingering scent of elder ravenwoods and piles of composting leaves.

Anorak smiles wearily but clearly content.
Anorak thinks to himself: It's nice to be back."

You have emoted: Takhre runs a hand through their feathers, and a few more come away in their hand. They sigh wearily and collect them, leaning over to one of the many jars to deposit them by color.

Anorak hums softly as he re-cozies himself.

You have emoted: Takhre's appearance is honestly horrible, despite their earlier cleanings and currently neutral expression. The coat is dull, and their eyes have clear signs of restlessness. But they seem either unaware or resigned, and simply return to their work.

Anorak eyes them quietly.

You murmur softly to yourself.

You have emoted: Takhre rubs their eyes, and absentmindedly cards a hand through their wing, preening it. Perhaps overly preening it.

Anorak throws one of his blankets over Takhre's back before flopping onto the ground near them, if a bit father away than he would once have been.

You have emoted: Takhre lets out a quiet, surprised chirp. They peer at Anorak incredulously.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "If I must take care of my rest, k'nar, so must you. Both ways, as you said."

The rich scent of earthy loam overwhelms the senses, enveloping you with the lingering scent of elder ravenwoods and piles of c
composting leaves.

Quietly, you say, "Alright."

Anorak smiles as if he has won something as he settles down.

Twilight shades to indigo as dusk approaches, darkening for the coming night.

You have emoted: Takhre wraps the blanket around themself more properly, blinking blearily.

You think to yourself: I cannot... rest. If I close my eyes... he will disappear...

You have emoted: Takhre keeps staring stubbornly at their scrolls, but as the night wears on, their face grows steadily closer to the desk. At some point, they curl over entirely, their face almost touching the surface while their eyes slip closed.

Anorak removes an ornate black lab coat.
Anorak tosses his coat in a bundle underneath Takhre's head before it hits the desk.

You think to yourself: *suddenly, relief, safety. a familiar smell.*.

Anorak gives an ornate black lab coat to you.

You have emoted: Takhre inhales deeply into the fabric, their whole body going slack. They breath evenly, slowly, listing to the side that is closest to Anorak and sort of crumpling with the lab coat firmly nestled in their grasp.

Anorak thinks to himself: Cute. I hope I'm allowed to think that again."

You have emoted: Takhre rolls over in their sleep, murmuring softly. Inevitably, they end up closer to Anorak while clinging to an ornate black lab coat like one would a stuffed toy.

Anorak cautiously and softly pets Takhre's head-feathers.

You have emoted: Takhre's blanket falls off in the process of their roll, and they make a face before reaching for Anorak's and wiggle under it. The pets seem to make them relax significantly, and they warble softly in their sleep.

Anorak smiles and pulls out his journal, working diligently in it.


You have emoted: Takhre's body is soft and cool to the touch, and they keep inching closer to Anorak for warmth until they are fully curled into him with a relieved sigh.

In a melodic quaver, you mumble, "Sm..ls good."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "That's a new tune, k'nar~."

You have emoted: Takhre whines quietly and nuzzles into an ornate black lab coat.

Anorak smiles contentedly.

Quietly, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Laya'cha."

You wrinkle your nose in distaste.
You cross your arms on your chest, stick out your lower lip, and pout.

Anorak scratches Takhre's head idly.

You have emoted: Takhre relaxes, the expression warming into a sleepy smile.
You have emoted: Takhre finally falls into deep sleep.