"...Meddling with what is Mine." - Nocht
[during Darvellan's return]
(Order): You say, "It has been well to see and hear You again, my Lord, however brief."
(Order): Nocht says, "I am never far, My little one."
(Order): You say, "I know. But still."
[immediately after]
You find yourself engulfed in a swirl of scintillating lights, drawn to your Patron's Master Shrine.
The Fulcrux of Nocht.
The image of a beautiful nighttime sky has been stretched across the fulcrux. Dim stars struggle futilely to compete with the terrifying beauty of Mother Night. The ethereal image wavers on occasion, the sky rippling like water in a pond. A lonely hill covered in tall grass leads up to a single shrine. Behind the shrine stands a large blackthorn tree. The tree is taller than most of its kind, extending upwards rather than outwards. Delicate blossoms shower down from its branches, creating a flurry of white petals and filling the air with the pungent scent of wyrden foliage. A complex series of stones orbit around a stygian orb here. A rippling image of a beautiful night sky has been magically wrapped around the fulcrux here. Reverently laid before the shrine in a sheath of starlight and shadow, the Sidereal Mantle of Ailustris emanates Divine power here.
You see a single exit leading through an image of the night sky.
The boughs of the large blackthorn moan loudly as they shake, sending a new shower of petals cascading across the fulcrux.
You drop one knee to the ground, genuflecting in sheer reverence.
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "It seems your Silent Lord and the Lord Navigator have a most curious relationship."
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "It tends to be such with siblings, of Elder or mortal variety, no?"
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.
You have emoted: Esei creeps up the hill to settle 'neath the blackthorn tree, allowing themself to settle in.
Soft whispers travel with the cold wind as it whips through the fulcrux, "And what do you think of Him, little one?"
The image above wavers and ripples gently as a cold breeze howls through the fulcrux.
You have emoted: Esei settles their palms on the earth near the roots, tilting their head back. "He reminded me much of the Lady Empyreal," they say. "Albeit in a slightly different way. I couldn't quite place it." They frown slightly, rolling their head forward now to stare at the rippling grasses. "I fear I cannot glean much from one interaction, but He seemed to have a cunning in response to my question, if a bit set in the Light, as Your encounter proved."
You shake your head.
The branches above your head sway gently, in time with the hollow murmurs of the disembodied voice, "Blessedly, He has, so far, been far less interested in meddling with what is Mine."
The boughs of the large blackthorn moan loudly as they shake, sending a new shower of petals cascading across the fulcrux.
You tilt your head inquisitively.
Curiously, you ask, "What, or who, would that be exactly, my Lord?"
"I only meant in comparison to Our... Sister." the voice whispers, seeming to snag on the word.
You have emoted: Esei quietens, wings fluttering as they turn to curve sideways into the blackthorn tree. When they next speak, their voice is quiet. "...would You tell me?"
"What is it you wish to know?"
Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you say, "She meddled with what was Yours, You said. Would You tell me what happened?"
The image of the night sky grows terrifyingly dark as an icy breeze cuts across the lonely hill, spiralling patterns dancing across the tall grass.
Soft murmurs dance along the branches above as if conferring between themselves before finally the voice whispers once more, "There is no need to worry over Her or any of My siblings. We need only keep our focus on the Glomdoring. The Wyrd..."
Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you say, "Of course, my Lord. Yet I am willing to listen all the same, if You should wish it."
The image above wavers and ripples gently as a cold breeze howls through the fulcrux.
The image of the night sky grows terrifyingly dark as an icy breeze cuts across the lonely hill, spiralling patterns dancing across the tall grass.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.
Darvellan, the Navigator has bestowed His divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 7 months.
You have emoted: Esei stands fluidly, moving to hover near the Sidereal Mantle of Ailustris, tilting their head as they gaze down at it. And then they pause, suddenly surrounded by stars as well as shadows.
LOOK ME
With richly tanned skin covered in constellations of freckles, they are a nimble shadowcaster faeling winterborne demigod changeling. Their eyes are the most disarming thing about them, wide and liquid dark with black feathery lashes to frame them. Their nose is straight, turning up slightly at the tip, while their lips contain a multitude of sharp teeth. Their black hair frames their face, spilling to their waist in a sleek, ebon curtain. Twin braids have been pulled into place behind their ears. Their body is willowy, with an easy dancer's grace. They stand at no more than three feet tall, with strong, elegant limbs. Their hands are delicate, each finger tipped with a black claw; their digits abruptly darken to pitch black at the tips, leaving it difficult to discern where they stop and claws begin. Their ears are rather short, tapering to an elegant point, darkening to black at the very tips. Carrying the beauty and obscurity of omniscient shadows, their bisected wings are vaguely insectoid with their tapered tip and inscrutable appearance. The wings are oddly silent as they move, barely making a disturbance of the air with each beat. Tattooed on their chest is an illustration of a cadaverous ribcage overgrown with ravishing black roses. Shadows cling adoringly to them, reluctant to surrender their grasp on one with the truefavour of Nocht, the Silent. Twinkling pin-pricks of star-like motes shift gently around them, indicating Darvellan, the Navigator's truefavour.
Lending their face a youthful aura, their cheek dimples craft a look of innocence.
They are wearing:
a circlet of the Shee-Slaugh house nestled firmly against the crown of their head
a phantasmal shroud of shadows worn loosely around their shoulders
the Medallion of Nature hanging on a chain around their neck, resting lightly against their chest
a sweeping, aphotic robe swishing lazily with every movement
Ebon Prayer Beads of the Silent Lord looped around one wrist
an intricately woven belt of wyrden willows tightening their silhouette at the waist
the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree attached to their left forefinger
elegant black boots exposing their heels and toes
You wrinkle your nose and sniff.
You reach out and touch the Sidereal Mantle of Ailustris.
In your mind's eye you see [redacted].
You reach out and touch the Sidereal Mantle of Ailustris.
A soft, whispering voice fills your mind, [redacted], "[redacted]..."
It is now the 9th of Dvarsh, 654 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 26 days until the New Moon.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.
You nod.
You give the master shrine of Nocht a respectful bow, one hand clasped over your heart.
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Alas, it seems my attempts to see you questioned by your Silent Lord while bearing the Lord Navigator's favour was seen through."
Lilting in a dark, ethereal voice, you whisper, "Thank You, my Lord. May Your Refinement come ever closer."
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "Hmm. Not quite."
You stand before the wavering image of the night sky, your arms spread wide. In an instant, shadowy tendrils shoot out and wrap around as they forcibly drag you into the image. All fades to black before you are suddenly hurled into a dark cavern.
Beneath glimmering veins of amethyst.
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Oh?" The aethers glimmer with ill-contained glee. "Oh, dear nieph?""
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "My Lord was already done with His questions by the time I was favored. Even so, He would have seen it, being in His Fulcrux and all."
[pathing]
A stone bridge.
The shadows violently writhe and twist along the ground here, indicating a war shrine of Nocht nearby. One or two light fluffy clouds drift lazily through the sky. This small bridge provides a crossing point over the Glomdoring River. Constructed of grey stone, its edges are built up to form a low wall, whilst the centre is a well-trod path from south to north. Small symbols of birds and stars are carved deeply into the stone, some barely visible below the lichen and moss, others still clear and vibrant. Along the river, it is possible to see some distance to the west and northeast, as the ashes and willows drop back from the murky waters. To the south, a dirt track leads away into a dense ash forest, whilst the way to the north is dark and shadowy, bordered by blackened, twisted trees. A sedge of galingale is firmly planted in the forest floor. A marjoram bush flourishes here, spreading its delicate scent. Lovely coltsfoot carpets the forest floor. Sprays of chervil cover the forest floor. A mature hemlock tree stands proudly here. Casting darkness all around, a shadow totem thrusts up from the ground, chilling the air. A glittering black rose pushes up from the ground here.
You see exits leading south and northwest.
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Oh my. Well. That would be some timing. My... condolences?"
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "Whyever so? They are Siblings, after all."
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Aside from the Lord Navigator calling Him Brother, Their voices turned cold rather quickly."
You have been recognised by Xiran for: Joining the search for the beacon in the Grey Moors and testing its reaction to essence. (occurred 2023/07/23 00:30:31)
You just earned 5 daily credits. You can earn 15 more.
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "Alas, such are the differences in views and circumstance, no?"
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Whyfor such differences, Haruspex?"
The sound of a distant scream echoes between the trees, only to be suddenly cut short.
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "Perhaps you ought to ask One."
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "I am sure They could describe it far more accurately than I."
The soft voice of Xiran tickles your ear, "Alas, I tend to find They favour Their Own. Hence my appeals to you, dear nieph."
Your soft voice reaches out to Xiran Stormcrow, tickling their ear, "Mayhaps another time. Meditations are sorely required."
You grow still and begin to pray silently for preservation of your soul while you are out of the land.