Sweetly, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Then teach me, Takhre."

---> look me

They are a feathered trill titan covered with black feathers, standing at a proud five feet and five inches, their frozen feathers gleaming with a sleek iridescence. Stern, pomegranate eyes peer out beneath a fringe of smaller, softer feathers that frame their round, youthful face. Their lips are thin and white, pale with frost that creeps across their mouth that is held in an ever-present frown of disappointment. Slender shoulders are weighed down by their large wingspan, the appendages tucked neatly at their back when not in use. Each wing begins ebony black in color at the connecting shoulder joint, slowly fading to a ghostly silver at the tips of their longest flight feathers. Icy fog clings to their wings, falling in a steady stream that billows out at their feet. Their hands are tipped with long, sharp talons, dutifully honed to a deadly edge. Covered in a soft coat of shiny feathers, their bare chest smooths into a rounded form. Wiry and graceful, they hold a subtle, constant tension in their limbs that implies great speed at a moment's notice. Their face is painted with an intricate spiderweb and a bone nose.
Wait timer expired.
They are wearing:
a twilight blue rose
a twilight blue rose
a twilight blue rose
a twilight blue rose
a twilight blue rose
a twilight blue rose
a blackened wreath of twisted ravenwood
an amaranthine night lotus tucked behind an ear tuft
a blood-tinged icy stole hanging scandalously below their shoulders
haze-filled prayerbeads of the Lord Nightmare hung loosely around their neck
noose-like beads of cracked and ruined alabaster
a pair of black trousers bearing silver stars
the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree

---> look tirah

While on the shorter end of their race at not quite five feet tall and slightly human looking they are a fierce dracnari defiant vernal ascendant. Their pale skin is covered in inky, iridescent scales below their waist, on their arms and along their back, with a few sprinkled across their chest, shoulders and cheeks. A pair of large, forward pointed horns grows from their skull, right about their elongated, elfin ears, matching the darkness of their scales and giving them a menacing appearance. Loosely falling over their forehead and the sides of their head, their jet-black locks have been arranged in a thick braid reaching down to their lower back. The androgynous features of their heart-shaped face soften as long, dark lashes frame luminous, crimson vertically slit eyes, which lead to a small, slightly upturned nose above a wide mouth filled with many sharp, pointed teeth and an impressive set of fangs. They strike a generally athletic, lean figure, with little in the way of curves save for their noticeable hips and possess a long, whip-like tail, entirely covered in scales. Their slender arms and strong, plantigrade legs end in dainty extremities tipped with sharp, obsidian claws. Their face is painted with an intricate spiderweb. Frigid winds swirl effortlessly around them, while rime forms thick ice crystals upon their body. Hysterical laughter and sibilant whispers follow in their wake, marking the truefavour of Manteekan, the Nightmare. Shadows cling adoringly to them, reluctant to surrender their grasp on one with the truefavour of Nocht, the Silent.
Their mirror-like surfaces catching the light, a smattering of scales trails down from the sides of their brow to the cheekbones.
They are wearing:
Tribal Prayer Beads of the Predator wrapped around their left wrist.
stygian wraparound sandals
the Helm of Slaughter
the Gleaming Coronet of Effulgent Glory
an onyx spider stud through their left ear
an onyx spider stud through their right ear
a short gown of midnight satin and tulle
a twilight blue rose
a cloak of crow feathers

In a melodic quaver, you say, "So... we are allied with the city that stinks, now?"
You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Sharp jerking notes hang in the air, reminiscent of Crow's caw.

The horizon glows with burnished shades of orange and red, heralding the imminent arrival of Father Sun upon the rim of the world.
Streaks of violet light snake across the morning sky, colouring it a deep purple.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Not quite yet but soon."
In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Also the stinky one is Magnagora surely."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "Gaudiguch's overuse of perfume and those wretched herbs does not escape me. I think an earthen note would suit them better."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Magnagora reeks."
Folding your wings so that you can reach them properly, you begin to preen them in a soothing motion, straightening out the disheveled feathers.

Tirah idly twitches their tail.

Anorak arrives from the north.

Tirah inclines their head politely to Anorak.

With a flourish of his arm, Anorak bows deeply.

---> honors anorak

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath (Male Viscanti).
He has recently stepped through the Portal of Fate.
He is 21 years old, having been born on the 21st of Dvarsh, 653 years after the Coming of Estarra.
He is ranked 219th in Lusternia.
He is an extremely credible character.
He is a Night's Tender in the Free Forest of Glomdoring.
He is a Proselyte of the Awakening in the Auguries of the Dark Heart.

You tilt your head curiously at Anorak.
You incline your head politely to Anorak.
In a melodic quaver, you say to Anorak, "Congratulations, Proselyte."

Tirah nods their head emphatically.
In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Indeed."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Many thanks, Proselyte, K'ahe'mor."

---> look anorak

He is a fiendish viscanti. Standing at a lanky 6 foot even, his posture is somehow both rigid and careless. His skin is a dull purple, like a lavender field in a rainstorm. Silvery eyes flit about, stuck in a frame so angular that the sharp movements look almost natural. His hair is a dull black, which would be called raven if its undertones were blue instead of the deep green that really only comes through if it is incredibly bright out. His hands are carry the slender build of a surgeon, complementing the rest of his elongated stature.
He is wearing:
a canvas backpack
an ornate black lab coat
a cloak of crow feathers
high-waisted black trousers
a simple gold ring
a pair of glassblade gloves
a silver torc

In a melodic quaver, you say to Anorak, "... Crepuscular?"
You ponder Anorak thoughtfully, looking him up and down.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says to you, "Active in the twilit times, ostensibly. I think it suits me, do you not?"

You have emoted: Takhre eyes Anorak suspiciously. "... I suppose."

Anorak cocks his head.

The sound of wings flapping heralds a screeching murder of crows flying overhead.

You have emoted: Takhre holds Anorak's gaze with a polite, if neutral expression.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says to you, "Why, do you have a better adjective in mind?"

Politely, you say, "I believe the Haruspex has given you a title to grow into."

Respectfully, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Aye, I said as much myself earlier."

You have emoted: Takhre's gaze narrows by a hair.

Anorak's mouth turns up as his face breaks into a smile.

The rich scent of earthy loam overwhelms the senses, emanating from Tirah accompanied by the lingering scent of elder ravenwoods and piles of composting leaves.

(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Sorry tirah you get to see the boys catfighting."
(The Shadow Kindred): Tirah says, "Its ok."

You think to yourself: Uncouth bastard.

(The Shadow Kindred): Esei says, "/puts my GL pants on."
(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "They are being SO POLITE."

Earnestly, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath asks, "So, Proselyte, how go your studies?"

A vicious, spotted grey crow caws loudly, sending a shiver up your spine.

Tirah hides a grin behind their hand.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "I am set to prepare for my Awakening, soon."
Folding your wings so that you can reach them properly, you begin to preen them in a soothing motion, straightening out the disheveled feathers.

Anorak thinks to himself: Hmmm would it be out of line to give them a comforting pat on the head and a pitied look? We are the same rank now...
Anorak thinks to himself: Nah better not push it.

Politely, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Wonderful work, the process does seem quite arduous and I've only just begun, how long must it have taken you?"

You think to yourself: Less time than you will, I'm sure.

In a melodic quaver, you say, "It took long enough. I am glad to be prepared for the next step."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "If you prepare yourself adequately, I'm sure you will finish it at your own pace."

Sagely, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Aye, fair enough, one supposes. I can only hope to complete it in as timely a manner as you, Proselyte."

Tirah idly twitches their tail.

Anorak thinks to himself: No shot less than 2 years.

You narrow your eyes to thin slits.

You think to yourself: You're just being polite in front of the K'ahe'mor, you blasted know-it-all.

In a tone of helpfulness, you say, "Oh, if you would like some assistance with your tasks, I am more than happy to educate you."

Anorak bows respectfully to you.
Anorak yawns suddenly and mightily.
Respectfully, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "I would rather enjoy that, I think."

You narrow your eyes to thin slits.
You mutter discontentedly.

Unsuspectingly, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Yes, Proselyte?"

After a short pause, you say, "You need to sleep. You should do so."
You glance askance.
Folding your wings so that you can reach them properly, you begin to preen them in a soothing motion, straightening out the disheveled feathers.

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says to you, "Fair enough."

Anorak's eyes close suddenly as he falls asleep.

You stare blankly at Anorak.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "In a bed, you fool."

Anorak huddles into a tight ball in his sleep.

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

A wry smile spreads across Tirah's face.

Anorak opens his eyes and yawns mightily.

Brightly, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Good enough for me."

You have emoted: Takhre gives Anorak a bland, unimpressed stare.

Anorak flashes you a joyous smile.

Dropping the pretense of politeness, you murmur, "You clearly still have much to learn as usual, Proselyte."
You have emoted: Takhre sighs heavily, irate.

Sweetly, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Then teach me, Takhre."

You blink.
You narrow your eyes at Anorak in an unnerving manner.

(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "The girls are fightinggggggg."

Tirah swiftly moves their tail through the air behind them, producing a sound not unlike the crack of a whip.

You have emoted: Takhre flinches, looking to Tirah with wide eyes.

Anorak bows respectfully to Tirah.

You blush furiously.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Surely we all get along well on such a fine evening, yes?"

You curl your nose up and grimace awfully.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Of course, K'ahe'mor."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Good, good."

With a smile, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Most certainly, K'ahe'mor! I was just asking if my senior in the Auguries would be my Mentor"."

--> mutter Maybe I -should- teach you, blasted fool

In a melodic quaver, you mutter, "Maybe I ......d- t.... ..u, bl.s..ed ...."
You blink.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "What was that, do speak up."

Anorak thinks to himself: I could high five K'ahe'mor so much right now.

(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Tirah i love u."
(The Shadow Kindred): Tirah says, ":>."
(The Shadow Kindred): Anorak says, "Absolute yes moment (:."

With a tone of clearly restrained malice if only in deference to Tirah, you say, "That perhaps I should teach him. If he is so eager."
You have emoted: Takhre exhales. "I would be, of course, following decorum."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Ah, how wonderful, Proselyte. I am sure you can both teach each other much, for as we teach we learn in turn."

Anorak bows in deference "If you would allow me the honor of learning from you I would take it, Proselyte".

A light wind whips the cloying scent of roses and congealed blood into your senses, reminding you fondly of home.
As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

You have emoted: Takhre glances askance to Anorak, suddenly looking much more tired. "At the very least, I will teach you how not to die. You have plenty of manners, but not enough knowledge of survival. Perhaps we will, as the K'ahe'mor says, teach eachother."
You curl your nose up and grimace awfully.

Tirah nods their head sagely.

(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Takhre is canonically Bad At Manners."

The rich scent of earthy loam overwhelms the senses, emanating from Tirah accompanied by the lingering scent of elder ravenwoods and piles of composting leaves.

You offer to take on Anorak as your protege, and await his answer.

Respectfully, Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Many thanks."

You are now Anorak's mentor. Read HELP MENTORS to ensure you know what you are supposed to be doing for him.

In a melodic quaver, you say to Anorak, "Do not make me regret this."
Folding your wings so that you can reach them properly, you begin to preen them in a soothing motion, straightening out the disheveled feathers.

(The Shadow Kindred): Tirah says, "Tbh i been waiting for an opportunity to use the tail as a whip."
(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "That was sick as hell."
(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Thank you tirah."
(The Shadow Kindred): You say, "Very fun scene."
(The Shadow Kindred): Tirah says, "Thank you <3."

Proselyte Anorak, of the Crepuscular Wrath says, "Of course, K'nar."

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

(The Shadow Kindred): Anorak says, "Mmm lovin some blorbus scenes."

Haltingly, you say, "You are welcome, k'alya'a."

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

You warble thoughtfully, clicking your tongue.

(Glomdoring): Esei (from the Ethereal Plane) says, "How are you all faring?"

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Perhaps a short prayer to one of the Idols is appropriate to this situation as well."
Tirah clears their throat.

In a melodic quaver, you murmur, "Like what, Spider for patience?"

You glance askance.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Hallowed Weaver, be my guide to the center of the web, to introspection. Grant me patience over rashness, control over recklessness, preparation over neglect. May I find peace in learning and understanding in contemplation."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "I am... joking."
You glance askance.
You give a pained sigh.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "No, no. You were quite correct."

In a melodic quaver, you say, "I will pray, then."
In a melodic quaver, you say, "... alone. In the temple."
With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.
In a melodic quaver, you say, "Be well."

---> RUNNNN

ANORAK POV:

You ask, "Should I attend, K'nar?"

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Most likely, yes."

You scent at the air, your skilled nose picking up the faint traces of others in the surrounding area.
You make out the scent of Tirah coming from before the Master Ravenwood Tree.
You make out the scent of Takhre coming from encircled by the revered Idols.

You say to Tirah, "Good evening, K'ahe'mor."

--> go north