Just a few logs of Pieri navigating her way around the Chromatic Court and making her way to floristry. And cosplay, to an extent.Loam Baguar Pt. 1
Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Your artwork is quite good, if I'm not mistaking the owner of this mark.”You tell @Flinn , "Oh - " Faded colours briefly rise. "Thank you. Which one did you see?"Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "I have seen two, petrels and one that is called father, I believe."You tell Flinn, "Petrels - Ohh. Ah, yes."Loam Baguar Pt. 2
You tell Flinn, "It... became a little too engrossing, after a while. I needed a change."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "I can understand that, I suppose. When I first learned the way I don't think I left the temple for three weeks."You tell Flinn, "Well... it was more along the lines of wishing not to be held by what the landscape reflected. It was not the most pleasant thing."
You tell Flinn, "At least now it reflects something less... bleak.”Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Mmm...That's the trouble with such things, I suppose. It doesn't do to dwell on them, but it is just so bad to forget. They were well done, both, I look forward to what else you may create."You tell Flinn, "Thank you. Sometime I would ask to see some of what you've shaped, if you'd be willing to show me."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Mmm...all there is that I am proud of at the moment is a statue, by the stairs near the Lady's throne. There is a landscape, too, but I very much wish to make it something else. Perhaps you'll see that."Atop the seven-petaled flower.Fashioned entirely of bronze, this statue depicts a large creature captured mid-stride atop uneven terrain. A short, stout muzzle topped with a vaguely heart-shaped, feline nose hangs open in a pant, large, wickedly sharp teeth on languid display. Thin ribbons of silk are unobtrusively riveted into place at intervals along the statue's length to create the illusion of long, wispy, transparent tendrils emerging from where one might expect whiskers and drifting in the animal's wake, so light that they do not graze the ground. The muzzle leads into the somewhat narrow, heavy head of the animal, too-small feline eyes stare ahead, half-lidded. Above and slightly to either side of the eyes are roundish, bear-like ears that are nearly lost in a regal mane of grass-like fur. The beast's shape is an odd collision of bear and jaguar: the graceful lines of its body nearly foiled by an overly stocky nature, heavy musculature rippling along almost too-slender legs, wickedly sharp, retractable claws emerging from short, heavy feet, a long, whip-like tail emerging from sturdy hindquarters. The whole threatens to fail to be cohesive at every step, in every measure, but never quite does. To add to the oddity, the creature is covered in something like a loamy carapace, grassy fur erupting through it and allowing peeks at its true flesh here and there while the majority is home to a small ecosystem all its own. Luminous, carnivorous flowers, depicted with careful use of polish and purposeful tarnish scatter over its back, drawing insects to be devoured. Meanwhile, mushrooms have cropped up amidst hanging mosses, devouring whatever the flowers may drop, along with themselves when they inevitably wither. Tight, thorny brambles run the length of roughly the center line of the beast's sides, twisting arounds its tail to end in a severe point. For all of the activity on, and ferocity of, the creatures form it walks in a lazy, lumbering prowl; a placid, sleepy expression on its features.
Engraved on it are the words:Loam baguarIt has 269 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 187 pound(s).You tell Flinn, "There are words here, as well. What do they mean?"Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Oh, they're it's name. Or, well, the type of creature's name."You tell Flinn, "The details draw one in." Her mind is quiet, only a few tendrils of colour rising while she observes. "You must be familiar with these baguars."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Hmmmm...in a way. It is an imagined creature. I unforgot it, and now you have, too. A question that always has answers that interest me. What do you think of it? What do you think a day in its life is like?"You tell Flinn, "It feels..." She has to stop to think, and faint splashes of colour float in and out of view. "It's... It feels like it couldn't be as... kingly as it looks, if it was without a hand that was ready to love it, as well as shape it."
You tell Flinn, "Things so... disparate, put together... I feel as though they would not last long, unless something, or someone, willed them all to remain together and be something greater."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Oh, how very interesting. You're the first to answer in such a way, everyone else only remarks that they believe it is a predator and the like. But you raise good points." A considering hum resounds for a moment or two, "Isn't it a little glorious, though? It did have that hand, and so it is, despite all reason that it should never have been, that indication that it should never last. It makes one wonder, if they dream enough and believe enough and wish aplenty, if they might discover one wandering the world in the flesh, someday. If imagination can give ideas shape, can belief give shapes life?"You tell Flinn, "That... would be just a little bit frightening." She could have worded it differently to a follower of the Imago, but she chooses to be honest. "If... even if it took a hundred days' prayer, if what we wish to see yet cannot be could simply become..."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Mmm," they hum, a content sort of sound, a fae mischief in the colorbound whisperings of their mind, "It would be such a glorious, terrifying thing. Shattered skies and broken lands overrun with mischief-makers, faeries long banished from mortal ken, plants and animals of air and light and whispers and all of it, all of it new. Some of it would be a danger, some of it would be a tragedy the likes of which we have never known. And some of it would be soft, and kind and comfortable. But all of it would be a -wonder-, don't you think? Imagination run -rampant-."You tell Flinn, "Hm." As much as your descriptions may set her mind to stirring, at its very back a patient, drumlike beat like the shadow to every little thing in the light: Unsafe. Alone. "Is the Chaos Plane like that?"Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "I'm told it is that and more, but I have never been, myself. Sekeres could paint you a picture of it with her words, I'm sure. Iesid, even, if you could catch him in the mood. Our Lady, certainly. It is terrible, but wonderful. The two are the same more often than one might think."You tell Flinn, "Thank you. I will know who to speak with." She does not reach out to probe into the matter of the Plane further, not at this time. "As for what I imagine your beast might do - I think one thing it would do is nap. In a cavern, with plenty of stalactites and stalagmites, and hanging vines that live off only a little light... or perhaps whatever energy that keeps it alive."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Hmmm...what about its temperament, do you think it is a ferocious thing?"You tell Flinn, "When it needs to be, it certainly would."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Ahah! I like that answer better than the others! They all think it spends its time finding little woodland creatures to chomp."You tell Flinn, "Not all things with teeth and talons kill every waking moment." Brambles run painlessly across the surface of your minds, just the one the baguar wears. "It would do what it needs, to be happy, not just to live. I... couldn't say if it would be happy just to live, and nap, and move in its dancing way."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Hmmm...my thinking is that it is what it appears to be. A lumbering thing, content to share its space and carry its tagalongs. I think it would guide you to its favored things. It would take only the softest paths to walk, lead you through only the sweetest fields and point your way to only the tastiest fruits. I think those things are what make it happy, finding new things to share with what may follow it. And I think it would defend those things ferociously, too, yes."You tell Flinn, "As long as those tagalongs will not betray its trust."Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Another fine consideration. You are interesting company, little bird, even only in the mind."You tell Flinn, "I..." The youth's cheeks come to mind, always bearing their ruddy patches. "Someday it won't be just in the mind, I am sure."
Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "I am seldom hard to find, if the fancy ever strikes you. I look forward to it."
In which the flowers first make an appearance.You tell Flinn, "Each time I look upon your beast I wonder." She offers no platitude greetings, you can tell. "The flowers, the plants. Where did these come from?"
Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Oooh, another good question. What do you think? How do you believe it may happen?"
You tell Flinn, "My guesses could hardly change what has happened before, I think, but I could try. Hmm..."
You tell Flinn, "I have not lived where bears and jaguars usually roam. You could either have taken these plants from where either live, or have thought of something that grows close to neither beast, to offer a contrast. Another different piece of the puzzle that you knit, and if it all feels... in place, it would show your skill."
Your pose is now set as:
Pieri paces around the beastly statue, deep in thought.
Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "Oh! I think I might have misunderstood. I thought the question was how they came to be upon the beast. As for where they are from themselves, I think there may be some carnivorous plants where jaguars tend to roam, but truthfully, it was entirely a whim. Some of them may be just as imagined as the baguar itself."
You tell Flinn, "That too, to be honest. There are many kinds of flowers in Sapience, yet the ones you chose have teeth of their own."
Night falls, the darkness banishing the sun's last rays beneath the western horizon.
It is now dusk on Closday, the 23rd of Lanosian, year 492 of the Midnight Age.
Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "I have a small fascination with them. Even roses have teeth after a fashion, but some go even farther, so very close to being an animal instead of a plant."
You tell Flinn, "Would these be the crown to protect the baguar? The one who watches, ever vigilant, so their host may roam content and happy?"
Vivid colours fill your mind as Flinn communicates to you, "They would surely help! No nagging mosquitoes and other pests for our noble friend, though it isn't likely on purpose."
But what flower would suit the baguar with its special crown?
You have emoted: With a few flap of her wings, Pieri carries herself into the air to look upon a large statue of a lumbering beast from a different place. Once she circles, slowly over its head, and then she hovers.
So very bright. I wouldn't want the offering to lose its lustre.
You have emoted: Having made a decision, Pieri lands, and straightens.
Surely my costume could be of use. Yes.
A glistening sheen of water sticks to the innumerable scales that seem to resemble that of a fish's or a suit of armor. Hued an entrancing, pale blue and sea green hue, the iridescent nature of each scale accentuates its shimmers when light plays upon them. Thin, membrane-like material, seemingly as delicate as a spider's silk, separates the sleeves of the costume from the main body of the scaly robe and gives off a distinct smell of saltwater. The amphibious Slyphe costume is complemented by a
wig made from slimy knots of seaweed.
It can only be worn in the following location: fullbody.
It has 13 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 1 pound(s) and 2 ounce(s).
It bears the distinctive mark of Unknown.
Dumping the wig made from slimy knots of seaweed upon your head, you move to putting on this scaly robe of this amphibious Slyphe costume. It molds perfectly about your body, sticking close to the skin while an odd sensation of weightlessness surrounds you.
She is a normal Atavian, slim, apple-cheeked and of a mild countenance. Earthy brown hair falls in wisps high above two bushy brows before being pulled into a chest-length braid whose colour pleasantly contrasts with her lightly sunkissed skin. Her downturned hazel eyes are lined with thick lashes, long enough for each blink to seemingly send them sweeping the tops of those ruddy cheeks, adding to the inherently gentle air of the Atavian. Thickly feathered wings the same colour as her hair sprout from her shoulder blades; the time she spends grooming is apparent from their neatness. While being unfurled, they add another six inches to her 5'6 frame.
a thin, beaded silver hairtie : (dewdrops clustered at the braid's end)
an amphibious Slyphe costume : (sweeping robes aglimmer)
a silver star tattoo : (coiled around the forearm)
a pair of reinforced black leather boots : (laces double-knotted)
a slender, smoky scrap ribbon : (violet-indigo cutting into brown hair)
You pay 35 gold sovereigns and receive a vine of bleeding hearts.
You pay 35 gold sovereigns and receive a phosphorescent glow flower.
Stone bridge over a spring
You have emoted: In one hand, Pieri holds a wet-looking kelp wig, slightly bunched; in the other she holds a vine of bleeding hearts and a phosphorescent glow flower as she makes her way to Flinn.
They are an intelligent Yeleni of Atavian heritage. They stand at a height just under six feet. Vibrant hair in shades of red ranging from bright scarlets to near blackness in a chaotic scatter frames soft, womanly features in a display of careful disarray, flowing in ever so slightly frizzy curtains down to their waist. Beneath long bangs hide delicately arched eyebrows of scarlet, adding expression to the strange eyes that rest beneath them. Their eyes are a teardrop shape, the rounded end turned at a subtle angle toward a button nose. A void of black where whites might be expected contains scintillating pinpricks of shifting color, seperated from a faintly glowing green pupil by a roiling mass of golden vines that twist over one another in an endless, looping knot. Poutish pink lips lie below their nose, above an elegantly contoured jaw and chin. A slender neck expands to narrow shoulders and a modest bust, their torso tapering inwards about a trim midsection to flare outward again at the hips. Their arms, legs and hands all slender, dainty and soft. A loose lattice of vines erupts from their back, creating two pairs of wings, much like a dragonfly's. The spaces between the flowering vines are filled with a murky smoke, occasional flashes of myriad colors bursting from within like a captured, eldritch thunderstorm. Supple, deeply tanned skin is stretched taut over their body, muscles occasionally ramifying beneath to betray the illusion of weakness. A golden vine-like pattern meanders over their skin, shifting and writhing over their form as it periodically emits brilliant shafts of light. On occasion a verdant, ethereal tendril of vine lifts itself from the pattern, blooming in multicolored flowers of light before wilting and receding back into their skin.
a skysilver Year 480 ring : (worn on a finger)
a many-slotted vocal fob : (around one wrist)
a four-leaf clover : (tucked behind their left ear)
an oil-treated, vine-etched pack : (worn on the back)
a silver star tattoo : (coiled around the forearm)
a suit of ringmail : (covering the body)
a supple loincloth : (worn on the legs)
Flinn cants their head to one side, expressionless glow of their gaze on you as they raise a lantern laden staff of renewal in greeting.
The branch of this vine-like plant is a dark purple, hanging from which are a series of sanguine-hued petals. An almost tear-shaped petal of translucent white hangs from the middle of the heart-shaped, sanguine petals. The rich, red of the flowers bear the colour of blood, the purple branch bearing resemblance to blood-filled veins pumping the bleeding heart flowers full of their vibrant colour.
It can only be worn in the following location: ears.
It has 5 weeks of usefulness left.
It is strangely weightless.
This flower is ordinary-looking during the day, comprised of petals that are a pale mint green, a vibrant yellow center, and darker leaves. At night however, after a day of sun, the flower glows with natural phosphorescense, the flower's petals a softly glowing green.
It can only be worn in the following location: ears.
It has 5 weeks of usefulness left.
It is strangely weightless.
You have emoted: "Your baguar would have seen many visitors come and go." Pieri's words are unhurried and soft. "I wanted to leave it a gift, to let it know someone looks upon it, from time to time, with curiosity." Hanging, luscious buds with their velvety reds and startlingly clear pendulum, and a starry flower only luminous as the statue's at night. "But I wasn't sure which would suit it best."
Flinn's wings flicker with gold and silver lights as the emit a quiet string of giggles, "Sweet little bird!" they croon, their features splitting into a too-wide, sharp-toothed smile as they investigate the plants, "I haven't seen these before," they admit, their honey-sweet tone languidly curious, "Where do you find them? I do enjoy the glowy one, I am partial to things that glow..." they muse, tapping a long claw on their cheek, "But I wonder if it is..."
You have emoted: In reply, Pieri holds up the wig. With her hair as long and brown as it is, you can tell it would have taken work to tuck it all away under it. "I went to Bloodloch to find them. Out of uniform, to make things easier."
Flinn's attention flicks from wig to you several times before they giggle again, "A grand disguise!" they enthuse, "I am sure no one was the wiser," they assure. "I think it would enjoy either. Pretty vines to decorate its brambles so they are not so fearsome, a luminous little beacon to tuck upon its tail so its companions will not lose it in any dark twists and turns," they conclude. "What do you think, little bird?"You have emoted: Pieri blinks when the beast's tail is mentioned. "I will be very careful to place the hearts where the brambles won't pierce them," she says, hazel eyes already growing wide just imagining the ticklish work that would take. "But the tail..." A split-second passes before she looks to Flinn, faintly hopeful. "Please, if it proves difficult for the baguar to keep this flower where it's tied, could... would you be able to make it so that it stays? With..." She offers her right forearm where a silver star tattoo glimmers in indication.Flinn nods easily. "I am sure we shall find a way," they assure. "Would you mind, terribly, if I came with you?"You have emoted: "Oh, no," Pieri says. "I was going to ask you to accompany me, in fact." She falls in line with Flinn. Flinn's statue is their statue, after all.Shaman Flinn says, "Off we go, then!"Atop the seven-petaled flower.You have emoted: Pieri sets the wig down on the ground not too far away from a large statue of a lumbering beast, and splits her flowery load.
You have emoted: Pieri's left hand takes on the vine of bleeding hearts, while a phosphorescent glow flower she hands to Flinn.Flinn inspects a phosphorescent glow flower curiously, bringing it up very close to the glow of their eyes.You have emoted: Dark wings aflutter, Pieri is airborne now, swiftly passing the sculpted terrain the beast stands upon to reach its proud head. She looks at it this way and that, the flowers and the brambles, pondering.Another day ends, the darkness of midnight reigning unchallenged across the land.It is now midnight on Tisday, the 24th of Lanosian, year 492 of the Midnight Age.Today is one of the days of the Second Month of Mourning.Flinn flutters their lazy way to the tail of the beast, tapping at their cheek as the survey the work before them, "It seems doable enough," they muse softly, gently, gently using a claw to cut a portion of vine from the many that pour forth from a lantern laden staff of renewal, the plant stubbornly regrowing only a moment later.You have emoted: Pieri pauses in her hovering at Flinn's voice, and swoops lower down to watch the cutting fall into their hand. She does not ask, but merely watches with wide hazel eyes, waiting to see what the Yeleni would do with it.Flinn hums quietly as they sink to their knees, a portion of their cutting cut away again and stripped rapidly into smaller pieces with deft talons. These pieces are set aside for the moment and the longer section is wound carefully amongst the twisting, biting brambles of a large statue of a lumbering beast, near its tail. One end pressed snugly into a natural crevice to help prevent its sudden termination looking out of place while the other is brought along the length of the tail to just near where the point is, left to hang as they return to the cast aside pieces, beginning to weave them into two sets of makeshift twine.You have emoted: A soft clatter of boots bring Pieri to Flinn's side, keeping enough space for them to work. The younger Atavian plays with a vine of bleeding hearts while she watches, admiring the feel of each bloodred petal and sending the lengthy vine swaying lazily with each stroke.Flinn glances up at you, not ceasing in their humming as their lips part to display sharp teeth a little smile, turning their attention back to their work they gently, but securely lash the tucked away end of the vine to the rest of the statue, evidently confident enough in their measuring to believe it needs no further assistance until the opposite end. Here they split the end of the vine, shredding it into fine slivers that remain attached to whole, using these slivers they gently weave a phosphorescent glow flower into the vine itself, the other makeshift twine used to secure it all in place. When all is said and done, phosphorescent glow flowers clings proudly to the statue’s tail, even leaving enough room that its point can still be used, if necessary.You have emoted: Pieri watches the flower's stem be swallowed up by the longer vine's tendrils with some fascination. So it did not quite take mothly powers to graft a plant at all. Very carefully she reaches out with her free hand to give the blossom a slight push, as though to test how securely it is held.Flinn extends a pointer finger into the midst of the lantern of a lantern laden staff of renewal, withdrawing it now freshly moistened with some glowing, sweet-smelling liquid that they paint the vine with. "There now, it should last a little while." they offer, looking to your examination with a small giggle. "Careful, now, little bird. To tell you quite the truth, this statue wasn't made with oneironautics, and I can only be so clever with my attachings."You have emoted: "If She was willing, could She make these gifts a part of your baguar?" The word is still foreign to Pieri, oneironautics. She does not take off just yet, attention claimed even as a vine of bleeding hearts slants in her hand once her fingers leave its occupants.Flinn cants their head, looking to a large statue of a lumbering beast, "A good question..." they muse, "I will ask Her for you, unless you would like to do so yourself."You have emoted: Pieri declines her head. "It is your companion, this baguar," she demures. "And speaking of which, I really should leave it my offering." Two steps back, and she is in the air again. Her flight is swift, and no doubt the magic-laden air of Seer's Wood is adding a spring to her movements. The vine she has chosen is lengthier than the others on sale, but she still has to take a few moments to consider where would be the best spot to place her gift. At last she moves off from the flowering back of the beast, now gazing down at it a foot away from the top of its head. "A circlet for the baguar?" she calls down to Flinn.Flinn shakes their head gently, "It is a companion for any who wish to share their time with it." they correct gently, though your suggestion causes them to smile their sharp-toothed smile. "That sounds a fine idea!" they enthuse, their insectoid wings chattering noisily as they too, take to the skies to watch you. You have emoted: A vine of bleeding hearts does not hold particular thorns, despite its sanguine colorings. Carefully Pieri flutters close to the statue's head, holding the vine at both ends. You can tell how she admires the sculpting that has gone into the work when she finds an appropriate spot to slip both ends in between the grassy strands of mane. The flowers slant a little by necessity, the vine upturned to make its pretty red fruits-to-be look like the spokes of a true crown, though it lies back a little lazily against the beast's fur. The Atavian makes minute adjustments here and there, but does not quite appear satisfied.Calling down once more, you say, "Oneir - Oneironautics would certainly suit this crown. Make it look right and have it be secure."Flinn nods gently, "Perhaps! I will certainly ask." they agree, "But you make fine work of it, with your hands, little bird."You have emoted: Pieri gingerly reaches out to make one more adjustment, then scrambles to undo it, finally deciding the first try was indeed the best. "A being made with such love deserves the best offering one could give," she says, once she has fluttered down before Flinn once more. Her tone is far from flattering; the little Atavian is so very earnest when she speaks, with a slightly shy smile to temper it. "Something pretty for a miracle just not woken up yet."Atop the seven-petaled flower.The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. The Imago's throne serves for a stark contrast to the pyramid below, as the ground itself is lush and living - the flesh of some immense flower growing forth from the sandstone at its base. Its seven magnificent petals, wide as dragons' wingspans, each grow in a variety of vivid hues. Beneath night, the very veins and capillaries of the greenery glowing with the power of the Wood. Within the bowl the seven petals, verdant grass and colorful wildflowers are spread, sheltered from the worst of the wind and cold by the protection afforded from without. Podiums and plinths dot the circular space, fashioned in bronze to resemble the animals of the wood below. Pillows are scattered through the concentric frenzy of art, some alone and others in piles, providing a panoply of places to rest. At the center of it all, shining such that it draws the eye before long, sits a throne of many colors, seemingly the source of all the great bloom's chaotic energy. A chromatic column commands the area, chaotic candescence churning at its core. The Imago's many-hued throne stands here, replete with sundry colors, shapes, and symbols. A large statue of a lumbering beast rests here. A brass telescope is here, angled towards the sky. There are 13 prismatic moths here. There are 3 colorful cushions here. Contained within a black bag, a set of dig site tools have been abandoned here. A phosphorescent glow flower has been lashed to a statue of a lumbering beast's tail with living vine. A vine of bleeding hearts lay upended across the statue's head in a makeshift crown. Shaman Flinn is here. The Yeleni wields a lantern laden staff of renewal in their hands. Violescent candles burn beside the podiums, illuminating the strange statues in ethereal luminescence.You see a single exit leading down.Flinn's smile is less severe this time, the edges of their closed lips curling up gently at the edges, "I am sure it will count you as one of its most beloved, when it does," they offer softly. "You are a good, kind thing, little bird."You have emoted: Pieri bows her head slightly. The lack of her kelpy wig improves the sight more than those who haven't noticed the wig's existence could know. "Thank you for your words," she says softly, the sentence catching at the end as though at a loss. "Ah. How - shall I call you?"Flinn giggles softly, "Flinn will do, though the Painter I have been newly masked." The offer, "I will respond to most things that are not rude." they admit with a small roll of their shoulders. "Does it trouble you, what I call you?" they wonder.Streaking the dark sky with dim, fiery rays of orange and magenta, the sun begins to rise in the east.It is now dawn on Tisday, the 24th of Lanosian, year 492 of the Midnight Age.You have emoted: Pieri shakes her head, blue-streaked braid lying patient and still on her shoulder. "No, not in particular. It is a name I've been given, and not too far off from what I am." Her hands go to rest at her back, vaguely reminiscent of soldiers, yet here the air about her is a bit too soft to be fully Templar. "I don't know what bird I would be, yet. Or if a bird is all that I am."A capricious Liruma paksivale shimmers into existence before you.
Flinn cants their head, whistling a strange, breathy sort of sound to call for a capricious Liruma paksivale, "How exciting!" they say, "There are so many kinds of birds to be. Petrels and paksivales and owls and orels." They giggle out, "Only do not forgot that it is vitally important that whatever bird you are is still a Pieri."
This creature is unique, resembling the form of a falcon with its large wings, feathery-like tail, and even down to the features of eyes and a beak. However, it is fairly ethereal - being made up primarily of bits of floating debris and traces of smoke throughout its airy form. Wispy tendrils extend outwards from its wings and other feathers as it moves, losing traces of airy materials that it had gathered into its form when flying around. The 'animal' tends to not ever simply stay in one place, playful rolls and flits carrying it about any place it resides. He is called 'Paksy.'
A capricious Liruma paksivale does not look particularly dangerous.
It can be worn in the following locations:
He is loyal to Shaman Flinn.
A capricious Liruma paksivale opens its beak, borrowing sounds from around it to make out a cry like a falcon.You have emoted: Pieri starts a little at the mention of petrels, which Flinn has already seen. Where the Yeleni had summoned the bird with a whistle, the Atavian opens her mouth and emits a bird call, the sound quite different from her usual husky softness. "I couldn't be, otherwise," she acknowledges, and there is something a little more pensive, yet accepting in her smile when she says it.
A snow petrel shimmers into existence before you.
A small white, seagoing bird from the northern shores, this snow petrel is a diminutive creature. Its feathers, a pristine white, are offset by its coal black eyes that peer about with a keen curiosity and its black, hooked beak.
A snow petrel looks weak and feeble.
He weighs 5 ounce(s).
He is loyal to Squire Pieri Yara.Flinn nods gently, "Just so." they agree, "It is good you know it already, I only learned it not so long ago." they offer, the strange glow of their expressionless gaze fixed on a capricious Liruma paksivale and a snow petrel, their lips only just managing to speak of a quiet fondness, "I was an Atavian boy, before I was what I am now." they inform you suddenly, "Small and soft. It wasn't unusual for me to be called similar things."You have emoted: Pieri's eyes travel the face of them in response, taking in each feature with a carefully observing gaze that speaks of curiosity, without haste or shock. "All that a decision like that would entail... I have not known, to tell the truth," she says quietly. A little shyly, again: "Did it... hurt? Not simply physically, all about that change..."Flinn taps a long claw at their cheek, considering with a quiet hum, "It hurt to become Tekal. Quite a lot." they admit, "Brambles split my skin and wound tight about me, puncturing and pinching and constricting, but I did not let it last very long." they explain, "I became Yeleni! I was still a boy, for a little while, and a few great triumphs and heartbreaks later I changed one more time, and now I am only Flinn, whatever a Flinn wishes to be at the time." they say with some amusement, "I always did look like a woman anyway, to tell the truth. My sister and I are identical twins. I've always preferred the feminine shape." with a glance down at their scantily clad self they conclude a touch vainly, "I think I've crafted myself a fine specimen of one."You have emoted: "Changing a body... so much could go wrong, yet here you stand." Pieri's words come out hushed, even as a snow petrel bobs rather imperiously about her feet. "You've shaped yourself well." It is an observance, and an awed one more than anything else. "Who is your sister? Having a name on hand when I run into her ought to be good."Flinn's mouth splits much, much farther than it seems it should, a crescent-moon shaped grin full of needle-like teeth displayed as they offer, "My thanks, little bird, your form is pleasing, too." their wings flicker with pinkish light as they answer, "Eirenne. A sentinel of Duiran. She does not return to us often, at the moment, but she is a wonder." they assure.You have emoted: "Does she follow Her as well?" Pieri asks, still looking up at Flinn even as she kneels to scoop up a snow petrel.Flinn considers that a moment, "Not that I recall..." they admit, "She has gone to find herself." they explain, "So even if she did, I do not know if she still would, when she is back with us properly."You have emoted: This is an idea Pieri has evidently only considered in the back of her mind, but she nods at that. "I do hope that goes well. I don't think it's always an easy thing, to go looking for who you really are when everything always shifts about." She looks sidelong at the room itself. Where else would change dwell if not the throne of Omei? As she does, she notes where the sun lies, and looks back to Flinn, straightening. "Thank you for coming with me, Painter. I'm glad you did."Flinn nods gently, "As am I, little bird." they assure, "Though I think it is time I find someplace soft to tuck myself away."You have emoted: "Go safely," Pieri says, inclining her head deeply. "In a moment I'll be off myself."
Shaman Flinn says, "Dream mightily, little bird."A flurry of wildflower petals fly up into the air as Flinn leaves to the down.
The Yeleni is followed by a capricious Liruma paksivale.Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.You tell Flinn, "And may your rest be peaceful, Painter."