Like A Scar: Tirah, Manteekan

Tirah fidgets impatiently.

You tilt your head and listen intently to Tirah.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "It is very quiet."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Nobody is even screaming while being eaten alive."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "What have things come to while I rested a little."

Looking downtrodden, Tirah sadly shakes their head.

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Quite unfortunate, that. Perhaps we could change such matters."

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Tis been a few years since Ciardha ate, last I recall..."

Tirah ponders for a moment and says "Hrm..."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Who do we suppose we use as fodder."

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

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "I would gladly volunt- ...yes."

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Unless you might convince uncle, or perhaps an ally, to volunteer."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Well I won't say no to a valiant self sacrifice."

You nod.

[pathpath]

Amidst bones and rubble.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Dense white clouds have spread completely across the sky. Root and vine have overcome this strange hollow carved into the chasm's side, growing over the oddly smooth walls with ease. Beneath these dangling appendages, the space opens up to a musty chamber filled with a murky haze of dust and decay. Bones border the entirety of the room, the remains tossed up against the wall still maintaining some semblance to the long, elegant beings they once inhabited. A statuesque korrigan lurks in the shadows, her beauty masked by darkness.
You see a single exit leading northeast.

PROBE CIARDHA
Though masked by the shadows she swathes herself in, the korrigan is a creature of extreme beauty. Tinged a silvery mauve, her skin is supple and smooth, marked only by the dark inkings that decorate it. Her eyes are empty black orbs, each glimmering behind lengthy lashes that tickle her brow, and she gazes out from within the darkness with an almost lustful look spread over her perfectly symmetrical face. Lengths of silky, ebon hair fall down her back, stopping just above the knee, the occasional strand braided with a blackened vine and carnivorous blossoms.
Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows is quite powerful.
She weighs about 100 pounds.
She has a slight resistance to poison damage.
She has a moderate resistance to excorable damage.
She has a moderate weakness to divinus damage.
She is loyal to the Free Forest of Glomdoring.
You cannot see what Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows is holding.
It has the following aliases: ciardha, korrigan.

Tirah inclines their head politely to Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows.
Running her slender fingers through her hair, Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows says, "Do join me in the shadows, won't you?"

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you say, "Prepare execution for Esei."
Running a hand over the dark inkings that mark her, Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows says, "Soon the shadows shall feast upon Esei. Let us prepare."
The darkness that swathes Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows begins to writhe in anticipation as her flesh turns as black as Night.

The sky above the forest turns dark as the shadows throughout the Wyrden wood begun to vibrate with hunger.

With a flick of her wrist, Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows sends the writhing darkness flying about you. Penumbral bindings wrap around your wrists and ankles and drag you to the forest floor.

Taking slow, precise steps, Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows strides towards you and you squirm against your bindings. The forest grows silent and she takes her place at your feet as the shadows begin to pool beneath her.

Placing a hand upon your brow, the blackness that covers Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows's flesh begins to inch over you, slowly consuming you with darkness. As the final bit of shadow leaves her, your eyes open wide, revealing empty sockets from which shoot streams of inky darkness towards the sky above, draining every ounce of your lifeforce before you go suddenly limp.
Silence pervades the area as beams of shadow pierce the sky above before dying off suddenly.
You have been slain by Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows.
The mortal threads of your being severed, you scream in agony as the Divine spark within you enfolds your body with scorching flames.

Her duty fulfilled, Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows steps back into the shadows, a sly smirk revealing but a hint of the black ichor that fills her mouth.

Composing herself, Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows says, "Your will has been enacted. Call upon me when you wish for my service once more."

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

You nod.

You feel your barely-glowing divine spark suddenly flare back to full strength, ready to bathe you in the flames of the phoenix.
You draw deeply upon the spark burning within you, fanning it furiously until you bathe, bright and radiant, in phoenix flames. You feel the threads of your existence char and fray as you sear a hole through reality, forging a new life for yourself.

[pathpath back to the MR]

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "You did forget to scream."

Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Alas. I am not much of a screamer."

A look of understanding crossing their features, Tirah nods their head slowly.

[a few minutes later...]

Mist pools and roils around at your feet before a whispered voice husks at the back of your neck. "For what purpose do you feed the korrigan, My Shee-Slaugh?"

You think to yourself: Hail, Lord Nightmare. I recalled t'was a while since she was last fed, and the Dark Regent agreed to witness. It is hardly my first time volunteering.

You think to yourself: And she is, in a way, family.

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

Vertigo strikes, and the forest floor rises up to meet you. You perceive that pass through it harmlessly, as though falling upwards into some other Glomdoring. His voice sounds murky, as though underwater. "Perhaps you are unaware, then."

You think to yourself: ** curiosity, prickling like ice water. ** unaware of what, precisely, Lord?

Faceless things are seen between the trees, and the world spins around and around, threatening to swallow you into a violent maelstrom at the center. And still He speaks, as though nothing were amiss. "The korrigan, what they do. The scars they leave on the other fae. Is it the Portal that interferes, or Her shard?"

You think to yourself: Ah, I believe I vaguely recall something said as much, though not the specifics. ** that curiosity again, twisting and curling along unseen paths. ** I cannot say I have noticed aught amiss either now or in the past.

Maniacal whispers come in bursts as a hazy mist chills the air with its cool embrace. Amidst the frigid fog, two pale eyes glow as the incorporeal form of Manteekan, the Nightmare slowly coalesces within.

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

Manteekan reaches out, prodding you forcefully with one lengthy, bony finger.

You have emoted: Esei stills from wing to toe, turning dark eyes up to Manteekan with a faint tilt to their head.

The Nightmare's finger jabs into you as though He digs. It is a painful process. He searches and explores your essence and the experience surely jars you from the dream-like state He had plunged you into in the first place. You find yourself standing, just as you were. "I see, that is why."

You have emoted: Esei's wings quiver and they blink forcefully, the only betrayal of their pain and their state. "What is it? If I may be so bold."

Manteekan focuses His gaze upon you, withdrawing His hand. "You maybe so bold, but the answer requires an understanding of how I made them in the first place, something I cannot give you." He smiles viciously, revealing rows of pointy teeth. "How interesting the passage of time can be upon the things We wrought."

You tilt your head inquisitively.

Musing, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "The result that you probably care about as a mortal is that the korrigan probably cannot leave its mark on you, more than it already has."

Demurely, you whisper, "I believe I wish to know far more than merely that, Lord, but I understand if it is not to be shared with me."

A shrill ringing fills the air as Manteekan bursts into a fit of deranged laughter.

Manteekan floats upwards gleefully, weaving His twisting, spectral form inbetween the branches of the Master Ravenwood Tree. "The korrigan consume other fae." He pauses, considering. "These fae have later been observed to return. Nothing destroyed, nothing created." He ventures, gesturing with His hands as though giving a lecture. A wildly deranged lecture. "And yet, those consumed return changed. Different. Marked. Hunted." He growls, progressively more unearthly with each word.

You have emoted: Esei tilts their head the other way, a clawed finger tapping lightly on their lower lip as they observe Manteekan's movements. "Their essences changed?"

Manteekan cackles with glee, His figure diminishing into a misty haze. "Like a scar. But I'm sure you will be fine." He enthuses, before dissipating altogether.

You think to yourself: Well, if my Lord noticed nothing amiss before... I am sure there would be no cause for concern now.

You ponder the situation.