Omei has Arbre

Arbre was talking with Diancecht and her last comment to him was to f-bomb the Gods.  She then goes to the Pillar of Auresae.

[spoiler]
The bank of a marshy island. (Peshwar Delta.) (22497)
The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. Rising as an indisputable bastion of Fire, the Pillar blazes skyward, an impressive testament to the power of the Goddess. Flickering candles lit by the faithful surround a large golden bowl, comfortably set in an opulent ruby pedestal.
 A shrine to Auresae is here.
You see a single exit leading west.

You have emoted: Arbre moves forward, dropping to her knees when she comes about a man's height from a pillar of flame. "Lady Auresae," she says with a tight voice, closing her eyes on her hands and knees, "Raleha I need You... please..."

"Except this one, right?" Omei asks. Where and when She got here is unclear - She leans against the pillar as if it were nothing more than granite, Her arms crossed, acting cool as a cucumber. "This God's alright, right?"

You have emoted: Arbre looks up sharply, barely managing to stop from jumping in surprise. She stares and breathes heavily for a moment before relaxing back on her heels. "I am in love with Her," she says, "In spite of everything. I wish I were not."

Omei's fur crisps, spits, and burns in the heavy flame, growing anew, only to be consumed again. Haunted lights emanate from Her eyes, from Her belly, and in small peeks whenever the orifice of an ear comes into view. "Do you think you are the only one who misses Her? She and I made a pact. A PACT. FIREFLIES WERE INVOLVED."

You have emoted: Arbre furrows her brows at Omei in confusion. She's calm and collected, but if you pay attention, she's just a bit too still, her breathing too metered - small signs that she's trying hard to conceal her fear. "What was Your pact?" she questions, one ear twisting back. Her eyes flick to the burning with a slight frown though she says nothing of it, bringing them back up to Her eyes.

When Omei steps off of the flame - again, pushing, like it were solid - She takes a corona of fire with Her, the embers cavorting in Her fur, bubbling and charring Her back. She glowers at you sourly, bellowing, "They drank of the nectar! We watched, as they coupled! It was a PACT! No one in the woods would have Me but She, She saw the good in Me! And here I go, ten feet tall! Untouchable! Totally in control! What good does it do Her for you to sit there and blubber, you stupid girl?"

You have emoted: Arbre shakes her head with a release of breath. "I do not know what else to do for Her," she says. Then, after a pause, "Or You."

"What does Arbre want?" Omei drops into a crouch, steadying Herself with claws spread into the grass, close enough to you that She could reach out, could touch. "Who loves Arbre? Why are they not here?"

The flame works in slow motion, roiling down Omei's arms. It leaves burnt, ruined skin in pink hues, standing out against Her black fur like disease. It pains Her not, even as the char of burnt Godflesh churns in the air.

You have emoted: "Why do You care?" Arbre spits more violently than intended, collecting herself before continuing, "A few love me, sisters, mate. They are not awake, and it would not be them I sought right now anyways." She wrinkles her nose at the smell of burnt flesh, finally pushing herself forward and reaching toward Omei's arm as if to tamp out the flames.

Omei offers you Her arm, if you dare touch it. The skin bubbles at the edges of the burns like hot pitch, and flames too small to realistically continue eating still gnaw at Her fur, slower and slower as they reach Her hands. "I love Arbre too, you know," She whispers. Her voice is a secret thing, an excited conspiracy between only the two of you. "In My stolen eye, I see her fight. I see her love. I see her rage at herself. Like fire, she fizzles and gasps when she loses her fuel."

You have emoted: Arbre pauses at Omei's words, right before touching Her. "No You don't," she says, a single contraction belying her emotions before she focuses back on the arm, reaching for the flames without further hesitation.

The fire bites at your hand, ever so briefly, but the pain is gone in a snap, put out beneath your palm.

You have emoted: Arbre winces at the brief pain but doesn't pull away until the flames are put out.

Omei's mouth opens as if in pain, but a gasp never comes. Instead, she growls, without threat, just a moment's exertion. Already new skin has pulled over Her burns, seeking like new flesh and weaving into healthy form. Black fur returns, growing like grass over Her arms and shoulders. "But I do," She says, finding it very hard not to smile. "Your sudden rages, your strangeling way you carry yourself. These moments where you seek -solitude-, but show -need-. You are so... -human-. Breathtaking."

You have emoted: Arbre's hands lower slowly as her eyes meet Omei's again. "I.." she tries and fails. She sits back on her heels, looking away from Her, her fear seeming to have faded with Her words. "I tried to leave Her, to move on with my life. I couldn't," she says, contractions lacing her speech, "I thought I could learn to love You as I do Her, leave Her behind, forget Her. I'm not certain how, exactly, I feel about You - conflicted - but I am trying to accept that I will never stop loving Her as I did some of Her Sisters."

"You never have to," Omei says. Carefully, as if to avoid startling you, She traces her clawtips over your head, scratching a little, fondly. "Never lose that place in your heart. Hold on to it. KEEP it. That is your fire, and no one can take that from you. But it's no excuse to mire in regret. You must keep moving. You can NEVER stop!"

You have emoted: Arbre closes her eyes slowly, allowing Omei to touch her without withdrawing. "I usually can," she says, "I thought provoking Diancecht would make me feel better, but he just cowered below me pathetically and it gave me no comfort. Sometimes I just.. cannot continue burning everything in sight; and She is no longer here to give me strength."

Omei veers back, as if struck. "Give you strength? -Give- it to you? You HAVE strength, if you'd only give it a look, girl!" The claws press in like the teeth of a comb, drawing your hair back in a rough, attention-grabbing tug. "You are going to stop your indulgent misery right this second-- look at me," Whether you are or not, Omei uses Her mechanical advantage to give your head a tilt back, "And you are going to take control of yourself."

You have emoted: Arbre blinks her eyes open, looking frightened for a moment before she forces it down. "Yes," she says after a swallow, "I am being ridiculous. I am sorry, Lady." Her words aren't quite sincere - she knows in her head that they're the truth, but she has a hard time believing it in her heart.

"It doesn't matter," Omei retorts, letting go of your hair. She reaches into Her shirt, and produces a small, purple stone, which she puts into your hand. "Perhaps you only need to take your mind off of things. I can't give you the old flame... but I can give you something to do. Think on it. You'll know how to find me."

Omei leaps backward, into the fiery column, and vanishes into its crackling brilliance, nowhere to be seen.

You have emoted: Arbre opens her mouth, confusion clear in her expression. "Something to do?" she repeats.
[/spoiler]

A few illusions give her the thought of a lake, so the next day (month) she goes to Omei's temple (which is in a lake).

[spoiler]
You step through a shimmering lake.
Near a lakeshore. (Garden of Dreams.) (22524) [-Haern-]
The shimmering waters of the lake lap against the shore invitingly. Standing to the north and silhouetted against the moonlight above is a tall, dark monolith, the words of blood upon its surface glittering with a silvery sheen. A large, blood-splattered totem has been erected here, formed of obsidian, ivory and red-wood. Facing outwards and surrounding the totem are a large ivory bear, an obsidian raven and a red-wood serpent.
 A shrine to Haern is here.
You see exits leading northeast, south, and west.

Eyes peer out from the garden, staring at you hatefully. You feel the dream shift, attempting to trap you.

With acrobatic grace, you quickly hop off of the celestial mountain screamer, Ruush-ka.
I obey.
The celestial mountain screamer, Ruush-ka obediently falls into line behind you.

You have emoted: Arbre furrows her brow at a shrine of Haern standing in Omei's temple in confusion, her lycan tail swaying slowly behind her, tattoos glowing dimly.

A deluge of birds squalls overhead, blotting the lakeshore in shadow as they move en masse to another part of the woods.

You are no longer moving so quickly.
Centering your wild mind, civility floods your thoughts. Gasping in pain, your form contorts and shrinks, and fur clumps away to nothingness as you forcibly become Azudim once more.
Hooking the white chiffon behind your neck, you cross it over your breasts before tying it in back.
You are now wearing a feral chiffon skirt.
You adjust a pair of djerite claws slightly until it seems more suitable.

Pressing her skirt down absently, you say, "Lady Omei?"

You realize that nothing is as it seems. Nothing is to be trusted, not even yourself, you think. There is too much at stake to risk trust.

Eyes peer out from the garden, staring at you hatefully. You feel the dream shift, attempting to trap you.

A warm, violet light appears in the depths of the lake, pulsing brightly before disappearing again.

You have emoted: Arbre holds the stone in her hand in front of her, bouncing it lightly. "I felt a lake, so I came to the lake," she says loudly, looking around.

You give a pained sigh.

A dusky purple moth twirls lazily in the air, less like a moth, than a bird. It lands by the lakeshore.

You are swiftly conquered by anticipation. The future seems bright and promising, abundant with fresh opportunities and experiences.

Translucent and almost ethereal in its shape, this moth flits to and fro through the air with what seems to be effortless ease. Its form, while round and overly large, is nonetheless sleek and smooth, its wings wide and darker than the rest of its comparatively pale body. The faintest of glows seems to surround it, causing it to stand out even in the dimmest of light.
A dusky purple moth almost glows with nearly god-like power.
He is strangely weightless.

A dusky purple moth says, "Come to me, lacinier. I'm just around the corner."

A dusky purple moth's head snaps, twists, and mutates, until you are looking into a miniaturized version of Rivas's face.

The sight of the garden is repulsive to you. The abhorrent self-importance, the typical grandiosity, the supposed perfection. You feel sick to your stomach with disgust.

You have emoted: Arbre blinks hard, staring at the moth for a moment before shaking it off. "Lacinier is a name between lov-" she begins to correct moth, then steps back as it shifts form. "Because -that- is not creepy or anything," she mumbles, walking in the opposite direction.

(movement)

The edge of the garden.
Small flakes of white float through your field of vision here and there. A figure stands here, its appearance malformed and bulbous at paradoxical odds. A starry-bodied mountain screamer blends silently into the shadows.
You see exits leading north, east, and southeast.

Mumbling, you say to the celestial mountain screamer, Ruush-ka, "I do not know what I am doing here."

Eyes peer out from the garden, staring at you hatefully. You feel the dream shift, attempting to trap you.

You shake your head.

(movement)

Every time you blink, you see it. A veranda. You see Rivas there, though you know he can't possibly be there - it has to be a trick.

You have emoted: Arbre clenches the stone in her hand and shakes her head. "Lacinier is Illumine for, ah, like best, or most important," she says.

A quartet of deep ruts pock the earth by your feet, growing longitudinally, like some terrific, invisible beast scratching its claws along the ground.

"IF YOU ARE GOING TO COME, THEN COME."

You have emoted: Arbre huffs a breath. "Come -where-, (dangit)?" she spits, but starts walking anyways.

(movement)

You suddenly feel weary and tired.
Your exhausted mind can stay awake no longer, and you fall into a deep sleep.
[ Afflicted - asleep ]

An unusually vivid dream swirls through your sleeping mind, and you have the distinct impression of movement.
A dark and lonely veranda.
A simple chair stands here. A wooden bench rests nearby, heavy legs balanced. An imposing oak door stands opposite the stairs here, cloaked in shadow. A battered iron cauldron sits here upon its squat, clawed feet. Its violet wings fading into blackness at their edges, a moth hovers here, making lugubrious circuits of the area.
You see exits leading east, southeast, and northwest.

You open your eyes and yawn mightily.
[ Cured - asleep ]

A dusky purple moth says, "Y- you found-- YOU FOUND-- you found."

You have emoted: Arbre startles when she wakes up elsewhere, but composes herself swiftly.

A dusky purple moth sputters out of sight, like a clap of dust blown away in the wind.

You say, "...-what-?!"

(movement)

A dark and lonely veranda. (lost)
A simple chair stands here. A wooden bench rests nearby, heavy legs balanced. An imposing oak door stands opposite the stairs here, cloaked in shadow. A battered iron cauldron sits here upon its squat, clawed feet. Omei, the Artist is here, awash in violet light.
You see exits leading east, southeast, and northwest.

You place your fingers to your mouth, and focusing mentally on your trusty steed you blow hard, creating a sharp, carrying whistle.
The celestial mountain screamer, Ruush-ka trots in, beckoned by its master's call.
I obey.
The celestial mountain screamer, Ruush-ka obediently falls into line behind you.

Omei growls at you, Her hackles raised, tail bristling and stiff.

You have emoted: Arbre breathes out a breath of relief, forgetting for the moment her fear of Omei. "-Found- You," she says with a short laugh.

"Who are you? Where is Arbre?" Omei demands, Her muzzle slick with foul-looking saliva.

You have emoted: Arbre blinks at Omei dully. "I -am- Arbre," she replies, shifting her weight to one foot.

Omei circles you, casting a massive shadow over you. Each footstep, every scratch of claws in dirt and grass, each of the deep sniffles probing into your back and shoulders carries with it, somehow, the tang of magic. "LIAR."

You have emoted: Well. She remembers her fear of Omei NOW! Arbre winces away from Her hard, closing her eyes and ducking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest tightly. Her tail wraps around one leg and the glow of her tattooing dims nearly to black as she breathes heavy and slow, struggling and failing to calm herself.

Omei circles around your front again, Her lips peeled back in a noiseless growl. "Look at Me. Look Me directly in the eye and tell Me that you are Arbre Aquila."

Tiny moths of all shapes and sizes, running the gamut from violet to red to blue, flutter about in the air, too far for an archer's reach. However distantly, several of them cry, "Lacinier! Lacinier!"

You have emoted: Arbre takes in a deep breath and slowly brings her head up. It's clear it takes everything in her to force her eyes open and meet Omei's gaze. "I am..." She begins, but something stirs inside of her. That is not a phrase she is capable of saying placidly. "I am Arbre (effin) Aquila," she spits out hostilely, "And -that- is not a name You are allowed to use with me. You certainly do not mean it, for starters."

Omei looms away from you. The great wolf, the night-colored matriarch, smiles like a skull, an expression not possible in lupines. "You don't -look- like Arbre (effin) Aquila," She mocks, and without another word, steps through the door.

You step through an imposing oak door.
A devouring nightmarish cell.
Omei, the Artist is here, awash in violet light.
There are no obvious exits.

She is an Immortal in the visage of a wolf, terrible and black as a moonless sky. Thin traceries of purple light stream from Her claws and mouth, the latter of which menaces with saliva-coated fangs. Her dim, violet eyes flash with cruelty and intelligence.

You say, "I have trouble communicating properly when I am unmutated, but I will take claws if it pleases You more."

Omei frolics about in the chaotic space like some maddened devil's minion, moonstruck with the urge to dance. It is not dirt Her paws kick up but crumbles of reality itself, discrete chunks that break off into spatters of color, or sometimes emotion, making you feel things when you set your eyes to them.

"That is what I want!" She cries. "Dance with Me! Let us be ghosts together."

You have emoted: "I do not know how to dance," Arbre says, though she pulls off her clothes in a graceful and practiced motion as she leans forward. The mutation takes over her body, her legs bending repulsively inward, face elongating, ears shifting shape as she lands on all fours, fully lupine. She shakes out her grey pelt before stepping forward toward Omei.

You reach behind you to undo the knot in the chiffon, allowing the material to fall free from your chest.
You remove a feral chiffon skirt.
A feral sneer passes your lips as you lapse from concentrating on your Azudim self, and allow your true nature to take hold. Your back curves, and thick fur grows forth from your skin, covering every inch of you. The curves of your muscles snap and grow, and your face loses all semblance of your former self as you fully transform into a Werewolf. Shaking your head comfortably, you stand erect and aware.
You adjust a pair of djerite claws slightly until it seems more suitable.

As soon as your paws touch the ground, the world drops out from beneath you, the whirling colors of the cell growing distant. It feels very much like you are flying upward and upward, far too quickly. Omei is gone, everyone is gone, and there is nothing now but a yawning expanse of emptiness beneath you.

A fish hops out of the dirt in front of you and flaps around on the ground before it digs its way below the surface again.

You have emoted: Arbre opens her mouth and howls wildly, her legs thrashing, scrabbling below her for purchase on a surface that doesn't exist. Fear causes her howls to rise in pitch, afflictions beginning to lace them though she does not have the attention to rattle bones.

Rivas says, "Standing above it all? Or standing aside perhaps?"

A devouring nightmarish cell.
A starry-bodied mountain screamer blends silently into the shadows. Its violet wings fading into blackness at their edges, a moth hovers here, making lugubrious circuits of the area.
There are no obvious exits.

You yell, "NO! NO! Not mate! Fake! Not mate! Goddess! Stop!"

A dusky purple moth flies through unseen currents, though they must be quite treacherous, for its tiny body jerks and spasms about in the air.

Rivas says, "This doesn't seem to be your milieu, lacinier. That's for GODS(darn) sure."

A sound reminiscent of a pair of boulders crashing together echoes from below you.

You try to recall your Illumine, but the exact words to express your feelings right now are difficult to remember.

You have emoted: Arbre isn't even sure what her feelings at the moment even -are-, beyond her terror, and speech is difficult for her while mutated.

You say, in a feral tongue, "Stop! Goddess! Not mate! Mad! Insane!"

A spark of light blinks suddenly in front of your eyes then fades away into a subtle afterimage.

Rivas whispers from behind you, "It's okay, love. Put this on. Put this on and be yourself, you alienated loser lone wolf bemused distant meta-izing rationalist cur."

A mask hangs in the air next to you, close enough to push your face into, if you wanted.

You have emoted: Arbre's tattoos are pure black in her fear, and she shakes her maw wildly.

Desperation clear in her howls, you say, in a feral tongue, "No! Can't!"

You have emoted: Arbre looks at the mask and even through her fear the temptation of safety she imagines to be in it is clear.

An astral storm rumbles quietly in the distance.

The void spins around you, its momentum growing by the minute. The abstract twirls of color mash together into an indistinct blur, and the emotions they elicit blend together mindlessly - it feels that your heart might tear apart, for all the noise in your skull.

You have emoted: Arbre can't keep her thoughts together any longer - all she sees is the mask, Rivas' voice telling her to take it, the voice she trusts most in the world... So she does. She hefts her body forward, shoving her face into the confines of a twisted mask of Nightmares.

This mask is simple and grim, little more than a stuff layer of black, bloodstained leather makes an unbroken sweep from forehead to chin, concealing the nose and mouth. Flaring downward, with little more than slits to allow for the wearer's eyes, it seems designed for neither visibility or comfort, and is fastened to the head by way of two braided strips of leather that tie just above the ears.
It can only be worn in the following location: face.
It weighs about 1 pounds and 0 ounce(s).
You are now wearing a twisted mask of Nightmares.

A purple moth flutters by, every movement of its violet, translucent wings resounding like dull heartbeats in the comparative silence of the area.

Things slow down around you; even the moth's wings move in slow motion, compared to the dizzying torment before.

You are transported by the power of the Divine.
A dark and lonely veranda.
A simple chair stands here. A wooden bench rests nearby, heavy legs balanced. An imposing oak door stands opposite the stairs here, cloaked in shadow. A battered iron cauldron sits here upon its squat, clawed feet. Omei, the Artist is here, awash in violet light.
You see exits leading north, east, and southwest.

You have emoted: Arbre heaves in breaths, nearly paralyzed in her fear.

Standing over you, lovingly stroking the leather over your face, Omei, the Artist says, "Shh... shh... calm yourself. Relax. Relax."

"Everything is ooo-kaaay," Omei whispers.

You have emoted: Quiet whimpers slowly come as Arbre begins to calm, though her body trembles.

A stray leaf falls from the branches high above and lands on the heavy layer of compost at your feet.

"Look, you're seeing everything so much more clearly, now. I'm not a -wolf-, silly!" Omei goes from stroking the mask to caressing your fur with Her palm, smoothing the coarse tufts. "You were out for so long... I thought you would never wake up."

You have emoted: Arbre trembles, but doesn't pull away from Omei, her whimpers beginning to calm as well though her tattoos show no sign of Auresae's essence.

You say, in a feral tongue, "O-out?"

Your voice sounds so odd, muffled through the mask.

Omei, the Artist asks, "Sleeping, little gosling. I was impressed - I've never seen someone keep down their absinthe like that. Did you remember what I talked to you about?"

You say, in a feral tongue, "N-not drink abs-sinthe."

You have emoted: Arbre tries to argue the point with Omei, confusion clear in her every expression.

You say, in a feral tongue, "Talk?"

Omei heaves herself down into the grass with you - Her body is long, radiant, and distinctly Rajamalan, nothing like the wolf in your dreams. She continues to pet you as one would a favored dog, running the length of your back. "Oh, you know, it's not every day someone of your prominence comes to My garden with problems, but it happens. I saw a soul who needed clear vision... it's what My Sister would want. After all, She trusts Me to look after you."

You have emoted: Arbre closes her eyes and breathes slowly, not seeming to mind the way Omei pet her. After a moment she lowers herself down onto her haunches and breathes out, and when she opens her eyes again she's much calmer.

You say, in a feral tongue, "Made me drink. Understand. Look.. after?"

You have emoted: Seeming to notice the mask again for the first time, Arbre shakes her head roughly as if to dislodge it, but doesn't otherwise mess with the leather binding.

"Our Pact," Omei whispers. "We're close, She and I. I consider all of the fireflies to be My children, just as dear to Me as to Her..." Outstretching a hand, she extends her finger into the air, and a blazing ball of light appears on the clawtip. It is this that She offers to you.

Omei gives a blazing purple firemoth to you.

Bearing itself aloft in perpetual flight, this firemoth is translucent and highly luminous, its innards and surface alike bathed in a strange, heatless flame of a dark purple hue. The thing is very like a moth, save for long, whiplike antennae and jagged claws extending from its superfluous legs. Even despite these strange, menacing features, the insect still possesses no small measure of grace in its streamlined form, dipping and weaving with effortless aplomb.
A blazing purple firemoth looks weak and feeble.
He is strangely weightless.

You have emoted: Arbre hesitates for a moment before raising her paw and turning it over to take a blazing purple firemoth, her eyes drawing down to it.

You say, in a feral tongue, "Pact? What?"

The curious insect steps along the surface of your paw, flapping its wings slowly, testing them against the air. It lifts off of your appendage and flutters away, off to join its cousins, the moths, in the air.

You have emoted: Arbre lowers her paw back down to the ground, looking at the group of moths for a moment before back to Omei.

Omei is silent for a length of time, then softly, She asks, "Do you remember My Living Nightmare?"

You have emoted: Arbre lowers her head, pawing at the mask in an attempt to remove it before giving up and looking back to Omei.

Almost apologetically, you say, in a feral tongue, "No."

"Mmm... not many people do. Those were fun days, fun days..." Omei says, a little wistfully. "Well, now. I think I promised I'd give you something to do, yes, yes, yes. Ah, I've got it." Twisting Her arm, she reaches around and gives you a poke, right on the mask where your nose is hidden. "My little gosling, you're going to learn how to look at things."

You have emoted: Arbre stammers awkwardly for a moment, each word a bit more confident and coherent before she manages to spit out her question.

Eyes squinting to look at Omei behind the mask, you say, in a feral tongue, "What -give- me?"

You say, in a feral tongue, "What -make- me?"

You say, in a feral tongue, "-Worth- it?"

Omei shakes Her head ever so subtly, smiling in Her secretive way. "That sounds an awful lot like doubt. What do you mean, -worth it-? You said it yourself, did you not? You're Arbre (effin) Aquila." Her hand returns to your back, sinking in unkindly, less of a caress, more of a sharp-tipped raze along your spine. "A magnificent wolf if there ever was one. You just need a little help."

You have emoted: Arbre bristles at the touch but still doesn't pull away. This time she gives a growl but the noise is forced and insincere.

In almost a snarl, you say, in a feral tongue, "-Worth- -it-? She left me. If left, You be -worth- it? Losing -Her-?"

Omei laughs mockingly, shaking Her head deliberately, bringing Her mane to shake. "You are one of My favorite mortals. You always know to look for a rotten deal. Don't you worry. Be good, now, scamper off and do as I said."

Putting her paw down as her voice raises in nervousness, you say, in a feral tongue, "N-no! Want loved; might give, like Raleha. Might put aside, like Mystery. Who are -You-?!"

"You want to be loved, little whelp? Is that what you're trying to say?" Omei's eyes turn on you, their pupils mere pinpricks.

Centering your wild mind, civility floods your thoughts. Gasping in pain, your form contorts and shrinks, and fur clumps away to nothingness as you forcibly become Azudim once more.

You have emoted: Arbre releases a heavy breath before unmutating with no sign of grace and no attention to clothing. "I want a point in existing!" she snaps at Omei, her voice a bit too high pitched in her fear of the Goddess, "I want my life to have meaning like it did when She loved me and gave me position and child! I do not need You to adore me or worship me, but I know what You want - if I left Her Order, what would I become under You?"

"You would become blackened, broken, A WRECK, A DISASTER," Omei bellows. Her voice fills the air - it is the only thing here, now, blasting away all other sounds for several seconds. The visions that come, borne by fierce sorceries, are almost too fast to comprehend.

A red-haired Mhun tumbles from a cart. Her legs are broken. She sits in a pool of her own blood.

There is a girl with one eye. She is constricted, screaming silently into the air.

Yet another woman - they are always women - drowns, though there is no water in sight. You can see her lungs, glowing and ghostly, squeezed to death.

The chattering of small animals echoes through the branches a moment, their rustling and movement hidden by the darkness.

You have emoted: Arbre winces back from the noise but keeps her eyes on Omei, and then the visions. "That is bull(poo)!" she replies, and anger begins to overtake her fright.

More scenes from their life play before your eyes. The little Mhun wears a mask, almost like yours. The undead cower before her terrible aura. The one-eyed girl stands atop a great monolith and howls into the air - you recognize her. Perhaps her name doesn't come right away, but you have definitely seen both of these women before. The last is unrecognizable, long hair, a kimono, hooves for feet. She gazes at you with smoldering violet eyes, before she too disappears.

Hung from the air, touching the earth with only an outstretched foot, Omei, the Artist says, "THIS IS LIFE. YOU MEAN NOTHING WITHOUT THE GODS. YOU CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THE GODS. WE GIVE YOU YOUR HISTORY."

Omei, the Artist says, "DO YOU SPEAK TRULY TO ME, ARBRE? DO YOU WANT A REASON TO EXIST?"

You have emoted: Arbre lips twist up behind the mask, but You can't see it. "I think You have nothing to give me," she snarls, "I think You are not so much as Her." Lowering her head, she reaches up and curls her fingers at the seam of the mask, pulling on it in a bid to remove it.

Omei's voice cools. She whispers, but Her words reach your ears regardless. "Is that so."

Omei, the Artist says, "Then take it off... and walk out."

You can't find any possible way to take a twisted mask of Nightmares off!

You have emoted: Arbre digs her fingers in and tugs, just her hands mutating into claws that slash into her own skin and pull out tufts of fur. She snarls, this time in sincerity, and looks back to Omei with a glare. "Tell me why I should leave Her Order for You," she commands slowly, her voice a hiss.

"You little TWIT, you don't understand," Omei says. She walks toward you, leaning forward, fists pressed into Her hips. A posh stance, even Her body language subtly mocking. "I don't care if you're in Her Order or if you give worship to some Liruman field-god... I HAVE YOU."

Omei touches the mask again. This time, where Her claws make contact, your face warms, then comes alive in brief, shouting pain, a heat that bursts and cools again.

You have emoted: Arbre's shoulders tense, her fingers curl, her lips pull back from her teeth before the contact makes her grunt in recognition of the pain. Despite her constant attitude of fear toward You, she doesn't seem particularly bothered by this pain, reacting more to the surprise of it, though she now pushes herself to her feet. "Worthless (female dog)," she spits out the first insult she can think of before turning and stalking off aimlessly.

(movement)

Omei, the Artist yells, "Learn to see, little wolf. LEARN TO SEE."

You step through a shimmering lake.
A soothing glade. (Morgun Forest.) (801)
The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. The shimmering waters of the lake lap against the shore invitingly. Guthrim, the reveler is here, enveloped in a cloud of myrrh smoke. Plants having grown within and upon it, a barely-legible wooden sign stands here.  A giant monolith lies to the southeast, its octagonally-shaped height bordering the lake.
You see exits leading southeast and west.
[/spoiler]