Nightlotus

[at the start of the second day of the festival]

(Glomdoring): Kiyan Darkeye says, "Skendelly, might you be able to visit me and your monument, perchance?"

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

(Glomdoring): Skendelly says, "Hmmm?"

The altar to the Wyrd.
It is warm and quite pleasant. This wide clearing is ringed with trees, black and imposing against the sky. Around the perimeter are seven entry points, each marked with cairns of varying heights at the compass points, with a space directly south noticeably empty. Directly overhead is only open sky. Towards the south is a low altar wreathed in living shadow, its dark pall casting a gloom around the area even in the daylight. Upon the altar's surface a symbol of five interwoven loops overlaid with a single circle is deeply carved, and flowing within the symbol an oily substance, glistening and shining, the essence of the Wyrd itself. Beyond this, a blackened haematite vessel, wide and round and shallow is filled with the same oily substance, black as tar, but emitting the heady smell of rose and musk. A faint purple mist hangs low upon the ground here. Hidden deep within the environment lies a mystic pathway. A marjoram bush flourishes here, spreading its delicate scent. A sedge of galingale is firmly planted in the forest floor. Sprays of chervil cover the forest floor. Lovely coltsfoot carpets the forest floor. At the edge of the clearing, a large stone dais spanning four tiers has been erected. Wisps of pale smoke drift from the earthen bowl placed atop a plain rock altar. A mature rowan tree stands proudly here. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. Surrounded by an eerie silence, an unfinished monument of black stone has been erected here. Kiyan Darkeye stands here, his grey eyes pensive. Scratching incessantly at dirt in his whiskers, Skendelly loiters here, looking for interesting scraps to scavenge.
You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, southwest, west, and northwest.

PROBE SKENDELLY
Only a few feet in height, the furrikin Skendelly unmistakeably bears the heritage of a raccoon. A splash of black fur covers his eyes, surrounded by stark white, whilst what can be seen of the rest of his body is a mixture of greys and browns. The very ends of Skendelly's wiry fur have lost their colour, indicating that he is getting on in years. He wears a grimy tunic that may once have been a shade of green, but now - like his trousers - is lost beneath layers of crusted mud and muck. Only his hat seems to have been spared the acquisition of the forest floor, its grey tweed a very neat contrast to the wiry mess of his ears as they poke out from it. He wears several packs, pouches and belts, each bulging in strange ways and emitting smells both curious and unpleasant.
Skendelly looks to be crushingly strong.
He weighs about 32 pounds.
He is loyal to the Free Forest of Glomdoring.
You cannot see what Skendelly is holding.
It has the following aliases: skendelly, furrikin.

PROBE KIYAN
With sharp grey eyes and strong features, this elfen's gruff exterior is a steep juxtaposition from the grace beholden to his species. Scars line his face, left behind by untold battles, giving lines of colour to the otherwise snow white pallor of his skin. Long, dark hair, swept back by a piece of black fabric tied at the nape of his neck, matches the thin brows and thick, well-groomed beard that further delineates his enigmatic nature. A simple grey coat and black trousers comprise his clothing, form-fitting and well-tailored, and although he moves without the lithe agility of others of his kind, acting instead like a common ranger, he wears no shoes, preferring the comfort of the earth beneath his feet.
Kiyan Darkeye looks to be crushingly strong.
He weighs about 93 pounds.
He has a slight resistance to psychic damage.
He is loyal to the Free Forest of Glomdoring.
You cannot see what Kiyan Darkeye is holding.
It has the following aliases: kiyan, darkeye, elfen, researcher.

His tone somewhat haughty and exasperated, Kiyan Darkeye says, "So how... exactly... have you done this?"

Kiyan Darkeye glances at your arrival, nodding sharply, before drifting his attention back to the furrikin. Skendelly only smiles in return to the elfen.

"No one shares Great Night's secrets," the raccoon-kin proclaims, his smile widening into a feral, toothy grin. "One simply needs to know how to sift through the past and the future," Skendelly continues, a seemingly characteristic wink, surreptitious in nature, flung in your direction.

You tilt your head inquisitively.

Kiyan Darkeye's brow cuts a crease, frustration blooming upon his face though he tries to control it.

Kiyan Darkeye exhales slowly, allowing a long fluid breath to creep from his lungs.

You hum thoughtfully.

Taking a different approach, Kiyan Darkeye says, "Do you think I would be able to do what you do? Am I not graced with skill in the Wyrd's great magics?"

Kiyan Darkeye gives something greater than a shrug, his arms raising up as do his shoulders, his furry paws upturned to expose his palms. A perfect picture of cluelessness.

Skendelly gives something greater than a shrug, his arms raising up as do his shoulders, his furry paws upturned to expose his palms. A perfect picture of cluelessness.

To Esei, Kiyan Darkeye says, "Auspice, might you be able to help me, then?"

You whisper, "I do not suppose why not."

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

You ask Kiyan Darkeye, "What would you wish to attempt first, then?"

Nodding, the elfen man points to one side of the monument as Kiyan Darkeye briskly moves to the other. "Stand over there," he requests, as Skendelly just idles by, his hands now pressed palm-to-palm, fingers twitching with excitement. "Now," Kiyan's voice is an edge uncertain. "It is Autumn, I think perhaps we can use what little I understand of Skendelly's methodology to our advantage. Reaping the past for our present and future needs."

Skendelly attempts to grin, but something goes terribly wrong.

Calling out to you from the other side of the monument, Kiyan Darkeye says, "Simply clear your mind and try to channel the forces of Autumn. You are well-trained in Low Magic to do so, yes?"

You have emoted: Esei takes long strides to stand at one side of the monument, tilting their head thoughtfully. "I am, yes."

Kiyan Darkeye says, "Good. Simply clear your mind, think only of Autumn and its metaphors, the powers of the Wyrd. The Scythe of the Lady."

You have emoted: Esei draws in a slow breath, then exhaling it, closing their eyes and rotating their wrists so their palms face down towards the earth.

Skendelly becomes briefly distracted as the ritual work begins, turning to pluck an old shard of quartz from within the mulch.

Kiyan Darkeye does not remark further, letting the silence take the pair of you. He too takes a slow, deep breath: his hands outstretched, palm down, as he begins his own spellwork.

You think to yourself: ** darkness unfurling, muddled watercolors becoming clearer... autumn leaves whirling, the toil of Beetle, the sound of a singing blade as chaff falls to the ground... **.

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 25th of Juliary, 628 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 23 days until the New Moon.

As night descends in its cool balm, the wind tickles against your cheek: a shift as the trees speak in their ancient, unknowable tongue to greet it.

What vision you had in your head boldens, becomes more vivid, your mind's eye straining and strengthening to focus upon a particular image.

You have emoted: Esei's eyelid twitches faintly, but they remain motionless, breathing remaining steadfast as they continue.

Even Skendelly glances up as there is a shift of power within the clearing. He takes a few steps forward - not to interrupt or interfere, but to examine each party closely with gleaming ebon eyes.

Though you cannot see him, Kiyan Darkeye begins to move his hands in gentle gestures: flowing with the breeze, but soon becoming more forceful--the drawing of a blade down upon soil, movements of a farmer plowing their field, digging into the softness of the earth.

The feeling of something sticking into you, like you were the very soil that was being broken by a shovel or blade, this feeling juts into your stomach.

You think to yourself: ** and the Shadowbeat pours forth too, with the force of the Carrion Requiem, the low, sharp beats like arrows piercing flesh- **.

Like a farmer, or perhaps an archaeologist, that feeling grows and swells, as if the magic were digging deeper into your being, your heart, your thoughts. Instinctively, your heart races, the pulse of Shadowbeat becoming the music of this feeling, this rhythmic motion as if the spell were finding its harmony with the forest and its history.

At this point, Kiyan Darkeye's motions have ceased, his arms held in pose: the elfen man digging into the soil of spell and memory.

The sound of a distant scream echoes between the trees, only to be suddenly cut short.

Unseen and unnoticed by the ritualists before them, Skendelly produces a wand of spiralling pyrite and granite. With this he traces a shape - many pointed, many layered - in the air before the monument. There is a thin trail of shadowfire where his wand passes, but it - and the wand - are gone before any might notice.

You have emoted: As sweat beads on their brow, Esei sets their jaw, fingers curling as they endure the discomfort of that feeling, evidently focusing entirely on the magic of the ritual.

As that beat continues, as the digging feeling persists, there is a break. As if something were unearthed. Suddenly, abruptly, the music and feeling stop, as a new song of the forest emerges, its slow and delicate tendrils coiling up from the dark and rich soil of magic and history. A flash of color, greyish lilac, as soon, the velvety finish of flower petals caresses your skin.

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

You think to yourself: ** ...an odd, tickling sense of relief as [the digging] fades... **.

The air begins to hum, vibrate even, as the magic that you both were conjuring seems to swell... and then burst, like a bubble, or more exactly, unfurl like a flower. The caress of those petals continues for a moment more before the song, the song of its magic, exhales and communicates throughout the forest.

Glorious rays of morning light burst forth from Father Sun's crown as it peeks over the world's edge, announcing a bright and shining new dawn.

A single note rings out from the Altar of the Wyrd, the voice of the forest recalling and giving birth to a memory.

Skendelly nods his head sagely.

The music, the magic, everything seems to fade, as the ritual becomes, seemingly, complete.

Kiyan Darkeye exhales slowly, allowing a long fluid breath to creep from his lungs.

Kiyan Darkeye eyes the monument suspiciously before turning his attention to the furrikin. "... what happened?" he asks, uncertain, a frown pulling at his lips.

You have emoted: Esei lifts their head and rolls their shoulders, which had become hunched at some point. They slowly reopen their eyes, gazing at nothing in particular for a moment.

A large shadow flits across the edge of your vision for a bare instant, vanishing between the trees.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

"Success, yes," Skendelly says, approvingly, clapping his hands together as if he had personally orchestrated the whole thing. "A point connected between past, present and future. Will make an excellent assistant for scavengings." He wags a finger in Kiyan's direction.

A distant scent tickles your nose, amidst the smell of distant river water.

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

Kiyan Darkeye blinks.

To Esei, Kiyan Darkeye says, "Do you understand what he means?"

You whisper, "I am unsure if you felt anything, Master Kiyan, but I certainly did."

"I did feel something," Kiyan Darkeye muses, still with some hint of uncertainty. "But -what- that something is, I don't know."

Arms finally relaxing at their sides as they step forward, you whisper, "Perhaps not exactly, as my perspective is not his. But Time is more malleable than one may expect, between the Timequakes, Hallifax's study of it, Vernal Isikathi..."

Skendelly nods his head sagely.

Kiyan Darkeye gives a slow, measured nod as he takes a deep breath. It is then that his brows perk up, as if he caught the whiff of something elsewhere.

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

Cupping their chin, you whisper, "And there are a few other things, as well... Mother Night mentioned a prophecy, once, decades ago..."

Softly, almost doubting himself for asking, Kiyan Darkeye says, "Auspice, but do you smell that?"

You whisper, "...I did smell something, yes. River water, and something else."

Skendelly surreptitiously sniffs himself before realising the comment was not directed at him.

Kiyan Darkeye begins to follow you.
Skendelly begins to follow you.

Kiyan Darkeye says, "Let us go to the river, then."

[movement]

Under the bridge.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. It is warm and quite pleasant. The swift river runs underneath a stone bridge from east to southwest. The bridge itself has been constructed from many grey rocks, now coated in a layer of dank slime and moss. Drips fall constantly from above, splashing down into the river below with great ripples. Although it is dark beneath the structure, it is still possible to make out carvings and etchings on the bricks. Some are faded names and dates, no longer legible; others are swirling spiral patterns and detailed pictures. Cradled by deep green leaves, an amaranthine night lotus floats here along the surface of the waters.
You see exits leading east and southwest.

You tilt your head inquisitively.

PROBE LOTUS
Two layers of slender, pointed petals form overlapping circles around the ebon core of this beautiful night lotus. Each petal is a rich, deep purple at its base, fading to a greyish lilac at the tip. Some innate magic that lies within the flower keeps the core glowing, a shimmering of power that makes it seem as if the petals are perpetually rippling to some unheard pulse. In sunlight, the petals fold in upon themselves, making the flower resemble a heliotrope bulb - whilst night sees it open and resplendent. Whether open or closed, the flower emits an intoxicating scent, light and heady all at once.
It is strangely weightless.
It has the following aliases: lotus.

Kiyan Darkeye's eyes fix upon the lotus blossom, which bobs and floats with the current of the river.

Skendelly taps his fingers together and murmurs, "Excellent..."

Velvet petals. A flash of greying lilac.

Kiyan Darkeye says to Skendelly, "Is this what you mean? Is this a memory or a wish of the forest?"

You murmur softly to yourself.

Skendelly nods his head firmly, whiskers aflutter. "Yes, yes!" he exclaims with something between delight and intense curiosity. "Symbol of rebirth, the night lotus. Very powerful, ancient. Not like filthy light lotus." He wrinkles his nose. "Blooms at night, see. Precious to Mother."

Not sure if he does see, Kiyan Darkeye says, "... ah."

You have emoted: Esei curiously circles the flower for a moment, tapping their chin as they consider it.

Kiyan Darkeye watches you as you move around the flower, his own eyes soon drifting to the flower and then back to Skendelly. "A symbol of rebirth. A symbol too, perhaps, of the Wyrd's ever-shifting potential?" He pauses.

You hum thoughtfully.

Idly, lightly, as if it were a suggestion of no consequence, Skendelly says, "...given time, could grow more, now you have opened the way. Perhaps many, for celebration of Supremacy to come."

Kiyan Darkeye tilts his head inquisitively, not unlike how you did before. "Oh?"

"Not a simple thing to do," Skendelly admits, padding over the river, his claws barely dipping into the water thanks to the enchantment that gleams upon them. "But possible, yes. Very possible." His eyes begin to gleam again with that same delighted curiosity. "Would be a great challenge to pull out its heart and grow two in its place." Then, with a cough, he adds, "Safely, of course. They are sacred flowers."

Kiyan Darkeye says to you, "Shall we then, Auspice? Perhaps this would be a fitting memento of the festival..."

You have emoted: Esei's expression remains neutral as their gaze finally lifts to Skendelly. "So long as it is done with respect, certainly."

"Of course. Many gifts from great Mother. Would not disrespect something of Hers." Moonlight glints off Skendelly's sharp teeth as he grins gleefully. "Will begin at once," he says with predatory intent, before - incongruously - diving into the river and vanishing within.

You hum thoughtfully.

Kiyan Darkeye says to you, "Let us return to the Altar, Auspice? To give our friend some time to do his work."

You nod.

[back at the altar]

Kiyan Darkeye says to you, "Strange, with stranger knowledge and magic."

Kiyan Darkeye's lips purse in thought, but he shakes away whatever ideas are coming to him.

You whisper, "Mayhaps... but he follows the Wyrd, as we all do."

Kiyan Darkeye gives a sharp nod.

Kiyan Darkeye says to you, "You must have many things left to do for the festival, Auspice. Feel free to attend to them."

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

Kiyan Darkeye smiles softly.

You whisper, "Hmm... It is about time, aye."

You incline your head politely to Kiyan Darkeye.
With a flourish of his arm, Kiyan Darkeye bows deeply.