What is a Home?

Edhain

Trigger warnings for suicide, fillicide, abortion, language, etc


Context:

[[ Last time I played, it ended with Edhain killing himself with bleeding. Quit out in the Underhalls after talking to some Akkari on Mostyn about the soul index and how Varian's recycling of souls made the Cycle and Dhar's promises either superfluous or lies. So the backstory is that he was wandering as a ghost in the Halls for a long time, seeking 'answers', for long enough that his mental fabric got frayed and his grasp on reality was a vague blur. ]]

Log:

With faith and righteous fury burning in his voice, Benedicto tells you, "Old friend, be more
careful."

Your teeth clatter together as the cold takes a sudden, biting edge.

Occasional raindrops fall on your head as the drizzle continues.

You tell Benedicto, "Old friend."

You tell Benedicto, "I saw a strange vision and thought I might see it again. What does it mean?"

You place your fingers to your mouth, and focusing mentally on your trusty steed you blow hard,
creating a sharp, carrying whistle.
A pale warhorse trots in, beckoned by its master's call.
You swiftly swing up onto a pale warhorse.

You rub your hands together, trying to stave off the cold.

[[ Wandered aimlessly for a minute looking for a close-by less-cold spot, thought maybe this temple was less cold. ]]

--- A modest temple -------------- 5:-7:0 ---
Dazzling magical light illuminates the area. The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick,
black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. A marble basin resides here, its aureate flame
consuming all shadow its light touches. A smooth, circular basin resides at the center of the
temple, exuding an herbal aroma. Kron loiters here at the temple's center, his gaze caught upon the
entryway. A white pearl butterfly beats its delicate wings nearby.
You see a single exit leading north.

With faith and righteous fury burning in his voice, Benedicto tells you, "What was your vision?"

You tell Benedicto, "Uh... it struck me with such a blow that my memory is but flashes, I fear. Red
illuminating her, Red... radiant. Beacon? Serpent hopes... something like that."

Cold creeps over your fingers, toes, and ears, settling into your extremities.

With faith and righteous fury burning in his voice, Benedicto tells you, "The Light calls to one who
still holds a spark of it within their heart."

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

The ebon of the night hugs close, obscuring your view.

You tell Benedicto, "Is that what it is? How can the Light call me when... ah, I thought this cold
was only the cold of the night. But I can hear the forgotten memories again."

You ask Kron, the shrine guardian, "Is this a temple of light?"

You have emoted: Edhain glances around. "Strange to have found myself here. I thought I was going to
the Tear of Lleis..." He shakes his head, pressing his mouth into a line.

With faith and righteous fury burning in his voice, Benedicto tells you, "Your dissatisfaction was
not with your beliefs, nor did undo your years of service and dedication to our cause. You are - and
remain yet - a warrior of the Light. A Templar Knight. At least, that is what I believe."

Thinking: I babble too much.

Your teeth clatter together as the cold takes a sudden, biting edge.

You tell Benedicto, "You are probably right, old friend. I have been told many lies, but not by
you."


With faith and righteous fury burning in his voice, Benedicto tells you, "Never, old friend. I have
always respected you and held you in the highest esteem. I was saddened by your departure, but I
understood your reasoning." There is a brief pause. "However, time can heal many rifts and bring new
understanding."

You tell Benedicto, "The glyphs glowed red. It felt like destruction. I want to see the vision
again... and not forget this time."


A warbling hobgobbler shouts, "GOBBLE!"


A chilling gust sweeps over you, causing a short-lived shiver.

[[ Here, Edhain rode into the city and tried to go home. ]]

You tell Benedicto, "Have you time to unseal my house?"

With faith and righteous fury burning in his voice, Benedicto tells you, "That would be a decision
for the Commander of the Watch, however, I would hazard a guess that he will refuse unless you
choose to return. It would be viewed as a security concern."

Echoing throughout the land with confident authority, Benedicto roars, "VICTORY IS OURS FOR WE ARE
THE LIGHT THAT BANISHES SHADOW! AMAQNI ANAKAYYI QAT ANA INRA SA-IANURMASHAI USHID!"

Lirith's voice resonates across the land, "What he said! And EVER FORWARD! UNTO PARADISE!"

The sun, symbol of the triumphant light, rises upon the eastern horizon, casting its first timorous
rays.
It is now dawn on Gosday, the 11th of Severin, year 8 after the Creators' Monomachy.

A rush of color fills the skies of Enorian as paradise birds take wing, descending from their roosts
upon the Temple into the city below.

A ringing chime sings out from the Ascendril Lighthouse, announcing that breakfast has been laid
out.

The Gods' bells sing out from the Temple, with the bell of Ethne, the Rekindled at the forefront,
heralding the coming dawn.

The bell of the Unbound Lord rings out low and sonorous, beckoning the citizens to morning prayer.

The tones of the Gods' bells fade away, leaving the dawn sky silent.

Drops of rain fall to the ground from a sky grey with pregnant clouds.
A growing din emanates from the Templar Vigil as men and women begin the day's work.

Garden path behind the arena.
Rain pours down from the sky, the dawn's light filtering dimly through the cloud cover. These
secluded gardens cut through a gap in the War District between the arena and the Palace - the former
lying east, the latter curving off to the northwest. The marble gleams beneath the light, falling
from the sky as well as glowing out from orbs of fire placed upon the apices of tall granite
pillars. Shade trees grow in abundance, and vines curl up both the marble pillars of the streetlamps
and the trunks of the trees. Colorful blooms are visible in every direction, scattered along the
ground and growing between the cracks in the cobblestones. A small pool is set back from the road,
hidden by a ring of trees. Motes of hallowed light anoint the air with heavenly splendour. A sigil
in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A glowing red flame-shaped sigil has
been left here. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. Edhain's house is built here.
You see exits leading north, northeast, south, and southeast.

[[ this is where he was when hearing the bells, and then went on to the Temple ]]

The Altar of Fire and Water.
Rain pours down from the sky, the dawn's light filtering dimly through the cloud cover. Motes of
hallowed light anoint the air with heavenly splendour. The Grand Flame blazes brilliantly atop the
dais, taller than mortal and Immortal alike. Padding about on six legs, a sabre-toothed abosvi
snarls as it prowls for game. A thickly-furred albino tiger prowls here. A lunar platform is here,
shimmering with ethereal light. A curved, symmetrical moat encircles the base of the Grand Flame,
its pure waters a glimmering barrier between the platform and the fire. Humming with energy, a
crystal aegis has been attuned to this location. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular
monolith is on the ground. The flame-bright eyes of a studious Djinn take in the surroundings with
interest here. A glyph cast in serous silver encircles the Grand Flame. A Chaos cultist lies
crumpled here, still and devoid of the eerie energy it once exuded. Snorting and pawing at the
ground, a sullen war ram stands here. An open tome is displayed here sitting atop a white marble
pillar. A marble basin resides here, its aureate flame consuming all shadow its light touches. Pale
fire courses about the body of a youthful Djinn here. A simple deposit box has been left here. A
shimmering ruby is placed here before the Grand Flame in sacrosanct votive. An imposing Utari
Tidesage looms here, a vicious selkachoar clutched in one of his webbed hands. Calling upon the
latent arcane, an Ascendril battlemage lazily draws a glyph in the air here. An ascended Golban
duamvi stands sentinel here, his massive hands clasped around the hilt of his sword. Eyes watching
his surroundings closely, an imposing Luminary stands guard here. Standing loosely in stance, a
Zealot firebrand is constantly scanning her surroundings. There are 3 defensive catapults here. A
glowing red flame-shaped sigil has been left here. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver
sigil. Chiming notes ring out with the presence of a synthetic elemental abiding here. The ethereal
form of a guardian angel hangs in midair, cloaked by a pale shimmer. Zarranik is here. He wields a
steel shortsword in his left hand and a steel shortsword in his right. Serara is here. She wields an
iron mace in her left hand and a buckler in her right. A cloaked figure is here. He wields a twin-
bladed manta in his hands. Lirith is here. The Idreth wields a seafaring shortsword in their left
hand and a barbarous selkachoar in their right. Benedicto is here. He is riding on a war turtle. He
wields an engraved boarding axe in his right hand.
You see a single exit leading down.

Visions of the dead and departed drift through the fire in ghostly, sable hues, as if a glimpse has
been given through it into the Underhalls themselves.

The Basin casts itself in hues of gray and black, and beyond, the souls of the departed can be seen,
moving toward Judgment and the Underhalls.

Benedicto turns at your step upon the altar; "Well met, old friend. It has been a while since we saw
you at morning prayer." His smile is warm for his former comrade. "The Light calls to you still."

The Grand Flame gives a slow, steady ripple, as if inviting further worship from those gathered.

Kneeling before the Basin, Zarranik dips his hands into the waters of the Basin and lets it stream
over him, cleansing himself of grime and stench and making himself ready for the Grand Flame through
ritual purification.

You have emoted: Edhain moves to stand on the outskirts of the gathering, distractedly staring at
the fire. Then he blinks and focuses on Benedicto with a vague nod.

Visions of nature, severe and wild, ebb through the Grand Flame as it casts itself in vivid hues of
rainbow, the heights of immense green trees suggesting themselves in the depths of the fire.

The waters of the Basin take on a reddish cast, suggestive of blood, and the ferocity of nature
echoes the Grand Flame above.

Kneeling before the Basin, Lirith dips their hands into the waters of the Basin and lets it stream
over them, cleansing themself of grime and stench and making themself ready for the Grand Flame
through ritual purification.


Lirith looks up from their fervent prayer and says, "Thank you, Lady Slyphe!"

Respectfully quiet, you say to Benedicto, "Hard to resist the call of the bells, old friend."

Visions of purgatorial punishment flicker in the Grand Flame's conflagrant depths, the promised fate
of all the wicked ensconced within its raging heart.

Lirith turns their gaze from Benedicto, shifting their eyes from side to side suspiciously.

You have emoted: Edhain lets his gaze pan back to the flame, brow furrowing.

Lirith says, "I thought they didn't understand the common aetolian you shouted, heh."

"You are of Enorian. It is in your very bones, old friend." Benedicto replies with an amused look,
the lambency of his gaze warm as he regards you.

Half-remembered, eldritch images, like unto dreams, spill out from the heart of the Grand Flame in
fiery hues of crimson, purple, and blue, offered up to the sky.

The dreams of the city and the lands swim within the Basin in a near-impenetrable tangle, an
unending chain of joy and nightmare that soon melts away into a dull, quicksilver glow.

Lirith approaches you with some amount of interest playing their features, "Hi, I'm Lirith Taziyah.
A member of the Ascendril Order, and one day maybe one of Her Heroes. How do you do?"

You have emoted: "Is it?" Edhain asks Benedicto, more a bland curiosity than a challenge, and then
he exhales a weary sigh that appears to surprise even himself. Lifting a hand, he stares at his palm
for a long moment of distracted silence that is probably awfully rude to Lirith, but at least the
lack of courtesy seems unintentional.

Thinking: Am I tired? What am I tired of?

Lirith bites gently at their lower lip, and nods, then nods at Benedicto.

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

Thinking: (A memory of Irra's one eye rises to mind. And a small voice, raised long ago, in Ta'lionu's choir.)

Benedicto's smile fades somewhat, replaced by a look of concern that cause his eyebrows to furrow
slightly. "When one is away from home for an extended stretch of time, one becomes weary. Only
returning can bring true respite. The feeling of safety, camaraderie and warmth from the cold that
exists outside."

A synthetic crystal elemental Acts with little warning- in a deft movement, it swoops Lirith up in
its arms, carrying them to the city proper.

Lirith gives a gentle 'eep' and is swept up, and carried away.

Burning high with white-hot intensity, the Grand Flame rises high to meet the coming dawn, reaching
forth toward its sister sun as though it were a pillar.

Warmth returns as Lirith turns away to the down and the surroundings begin to thaw.
The Idreth is followed by a synthetic crystal elemental.

Visions of Fire swim within the Basin, images of rebirth, of purification, and of the forge casting
the waters in hues of orange and red.

Serara says, "What was that?"

Serara tilts her head curiously.

Folke leaves to the down.

Occasional raindrops fall on your head as the drizzle continues.

You have emoted: Edhain tilts his head as if listening to something, and glances upwards at the
rain. "Cold even here," he mutters aloud, and belatedly seems to recognize that someone was talking
to him.

A soft clang echoes above the Vebae Hialearo, announcing that breakfast has been set out for the
Illuminai.

Benedicto steps forward to reach out and give your shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Edhain, are you
well?" He asks with concern.

Zarranik marches off to the down, intent upon continuing his crusade against heresy.
A baleful horn resounds from the depths of the Hunting Grounds as Zarranik enters.

You see Benedicto raise his voice and shout, "Better than being a hobbling gobswabbler."

Serara gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

Serara says, "Well said, Grand Crusader."

Claw, sword of the Hunt has been claimed in the Hunting Grounds by Zarranik.
Zarranik has relinquished control of Claw, sword of the hunt.

You have emoted: Edhain blinks at Benedicto, taking a long moment to respond, and finally issues, "I
am not unwell, that I know of."

Serara turns towards you and allows a spark to form in her hands. "Tidings. It is a pleasure to meet
you."

A warbling hobgobbler yells, "GOBBLE GOBBLE!!"

Benedicto's hand remains where it is, as though his connection to you will both provide further
insight and steady the man. "You seem vague, distracted. Beyond the more mundane concerns of day-to-
day life." His webbed hand contracts, applying a reassuring pressure once more.

You have emoted: Edhain seems anchored to the present by Benedicto's touch on his shoulder, and
returns Serara's courtesy with a bow of his head. "Well met. I am, uh, an old friend of your Grand
Crusader."

What was my name again? Oh, right.

With an apologetic nod, you say to Benedicto, "I was in the Underhalls for a long time."

You say, "...seeking answers. Someone told me..." His statements are rife with awkward pauses.
"...that the Underking lied. About something..."

Finally, you say, "...important."

Benedicto follows your gaze to Serara. "He is a knight. A warrior of the Light. He has just been..."
He pauses for a moment, his head tilting as though he listens to something inaudible. "Edhain." His
effulgent gaze returns to the former knight. "You concern me." In a firmer tone. "Come home."

A pale warhorse blinks into existence and falls into line behind you.

You have emoted: Edhain lets his gaze fall, like a wayward elder struck by some vulnerable senility,
and takes a breath to speak -- likely docile acceptance of Benedicto's wisdom, if his stance and
expression are any clue -- but then he stills, and a tension seems to grow.

Serara nods her head at Benedicto.

(A deep simmering builds, coming from almost nowhere. Resentment and rage stretched like thin skein
across a well of boiling, eternal sorrow.)

Serara turns to you with a gentle voice, "If you ever wish to speak of paths or being lost, I am
here. Speaking of our faith and Lady Dauntless are my calling as it were." Her warm eyes flicker to
Benedicto as she nods. "Sometimes people get lost. Whether at home or abroad matters not."

The loud sound of thunder rolls through the skies, rumbling heavily above you.

Speaking downwards at the rain-wet white marble platform even as the warhorse comes up behind him,
you say, "Warring loyalties and fear. What is a home but a place that tells you who to hate, and how
to hate them..."

Drops of rain fall to the ground from a sky grey with pregnant clouds.

You have emoted: Thunder interrupts Edhain, as well as the gentle nose-butt to the back of his head
by the warhorse. He quiets, and looks over to Serara.

Drops of rain fall to the ground from a sky grey with pregnant clouds.

Thinking: Is it not better to be homeless? To be lost, as well as... confused. They will only tell me what to
do when I understand nothing. I have no answers. I am tired of... being a soldier, for causes that
lie to me.

Serara ponders the situation. "I cannot speak for other places, merely what I have noticed in the
Hammer." There is a pause as she gathers her thoughts. "People who live here hate those they deem
worth hating. Some are vocal about it. Others, quiet. Still others harbour no hate at all but rather
a desire to see Paradise manifest." She gestures with a slender hand. "In the end, each of us who
lives here does their best to serve the Light. If your path is one wherein hate lies not but you are
truly resolved to see Paradise come, then you would be welcome as well."

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

A flash of cerulean light whips around the altar and Flame, its presence lingering like a watchful
gaze that calmly settles upon the gathered.

You have emoted: Edhain studies Serara for a span, simply listening, and at the end he glances up as
if listening to something else as well.

Thinking: The cold is almost reassuring now.

(Duiran): Axius says, "..I was told it was a greeting, a good one to replace my old one from my
Illuminai days, which was the Illumine "Raheno"."

(Duiran): Tulle says, "It is, I believe."

(Duiran): Axius says, "Aye, Yesufa shared it with me after my first jagged waking almost had me
greet the entire city with Raheno, haha."

With a grim softness, you say, "...Paradise."

(Duiran): Arista says, "What language is it? And I ain't heard anyone else speak illumine in a long
time. I used to be in that guild, not much has changed with the way Enorian presents itself even
after over fifty years."

(Duiran): Axius says, "...The entire council."

(Duiran): Tulle says, "Lord Haern's runic language is less widespread here in Duiran than Esmari."

(Duiran): Tulle says, "And I believe that is the language from which it is drawn."

(Duiran): Arista says, "Huh, I will have to hunt Him down and ask Him for a book on it."

(Duiran): Axius says, "I still speak Illumine quite fluently. I even have my records on the
translations of most of the terminology on hand."

(Duiran): Tulle says, "Might be one in our library, Arista."

(Duiran): Tulle says, "Or else the Watcher might have one lying around."

(Duiran): Arista says, "Fortunately none of us much care for Illumine language. I can speak it, I
just do not unless I want to be cheeky with Mina."

(Duiran): Axius says, "Aye. I've abstained from speaking it unless I was speaking to my wife, who
also knows the language as a member of the Illuminai."

Serara nods slightly. "Paradise is not some mere dream, some ideal that is off in the distance." She
lowers her mace and her fishing pole. "It is something which we make with our own hands. There are
times when it may seem the darkness rises as an overwhelming tide. Yet, in the end, you, I, the
Grand Crusader, the children in the temple... each of us brings it forth." There is a slight pause
as she takes a breath. "Scout. It is not easy. It is not without trouble, pain, or anything. It can
be devastating. Yet, in the end, we make that future happen. You, I, the Grand Crusader, the
children in the Temple."

Thinking: ((Thoughts swirl in vague, bewildered caution. Something is darkly worrisome about how she said that
word, but focusing to understand why is difficult.))

(Duiran): Arista says, "I am surprised they have not tried forcing her to choose you or Enorian
yet."

(Duiran): Arista says, "Random aside any of you apothecaries?"

You have emoted: Edhain lifts a hand to stroke his warhorse's nose as the animal rests its head
heavily over his shoulder, atop Benedicto's grip. He may or may not be ruminating upon Serara's
words.

(Duiran): Axius says, "Ah, she's already made abundantly clear her choice in the matter if they
did... and considering what -she- does is things that they can't readily find replacements to just
dump the work onto in a moment's notice, they're remiss to lose her just because she's still married
to me."

((All emotions evaporate into bubbles that drift off into the void of distraction, evading any
efforts to snare and contain them. Unfocused, they pop, leaving no residue in the mental
atmosphere.))

(Duiran): Arista says, "Mmh, I am sure it will come sooner versus later."

Serara continues in a soft voice, "Have you any questions? I shall do my best if so."

(Duiran): Axius says, "Aye, and she knows that those who invited me also extended the invitations to
her as well."

(Sentinels): Arista says, "Hm so planthoppers too small, novice area corpses seem too big."

Still petting the horse's nose, you say, "... many questions, unanswered..."

Serara looks at you with her entire focus. "Please ask. I promise I shall not judge."

Heat ripples from the Grand Flame, distorting the marble platform like a mirage.

You have emoted: Edhain distractedly mutters, in a wandering tone, "Did my lord lie to me? Did He
know He lied? Am I the steel or the slag?" A long, awkward pause. "Is there steel and slag when a
soul is smelted?"

Fingers pausing on the warhorse's nose as his gaze moves to focus again, you say, "...is Varian a
smith?"

You have emoted: As soon as Serara may attempt to speak, Edhain happens to interrupt with another
question, this one strangely intent upon her. "Is the Age of Dawn already here?"

Serara asks, "Whom was your Lord? As far as steel or slag, it may be better to think of it as this."
Her angel hovers near as she looks at you with a thoughtful look in her eyes. "While both have their
place, I would say that you define which you are. Are you going to step forth and do something to
bring forth the Age of Dawn? Are you going to fight for a better future?" Her gaze flickers up to
the sun rising higher then back to you. "Or are you going to stand to the side and exit? One leads
to being the steel. The other, the slag. As far as when souls are smelted, I lack the knowledge in
that area but I would surmise that the soul is something more than those two. Our souls are ours to
define our lives with. Whether beggar in Bloodloch or Vanguard in the Hammer, each of us decides
what we will do with our lives. No one, no Varian, none decide that for us but ourselves."

Wrathful waves are heard crashing violently, echoing from a Slyphian astrolabe carried by Benedicto.

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

The Gods' bells sing out from the Temple, the God Slyphe's most prominent, welcoming high noon.

A ringing chime sings out from the Ascendril Lighthouse, announcing that lunch has been laid out.

The tones of the Gods' bells fade, giving way to afternoon.

After a breath, Serara answers the second question. "The Age of Dawn is not yet here. Shadow still
remains. Corruption does as well. Until such a time as their excess is cleansed, we are still called
to fight." She extends a hand towards you. "Will you join us in this fight? Will you rise, step
forth, and bring about a world that the children will be able to thrive in?"

"We have witnessed it. Felt the warmth of the Age upon our face as we turned to meet It's gaze upon
the horizon." Benedicto declares, suddenly fervent and impassioned by the memory. His gaze is
distant with the memory before he refocuses it upon you. "We have seen our dreams made true. The Age
of Dawn is not just some fancy. It is real. It can be achieved."

Serara murmurs "Thank You!" To her Lady as she continues to gaze at you.

(Sentinels): Arista says, "Edhain how are you doing?"

You have emoted: Edhain studies Serara with the mistrustful, soulful eyes of a kicked hound. Rather
than moving forward to grasp that extended hand, his own fingers attempt to wrap the muzzle of the
horse as if he's clinging to the animal's loyalty.

Serara says to you, "May I ask a few questions?"

With a wan uncertainty that sounds more dead than alive, you say to Benedicto, "...a fever dream,
like she... radiant Red, beacon. Serpent hopes."

(Sentinels): You say, "Uncertain."

Thinking: I want to see the vision again. What if it answers all my questions? ...what if it does not?

The shadows briefly lengthen as light exerts its influence upon physical space.

"No. A dream no longer." Benedicto presses you, taking a step towards you. "I have felt it's warmth
upon my skin. A touch as real as the one you felt upon your shoulder." He looks meaningfully towards
the place where his hand gripped your arm. "A beacon, yes. A beacon of hope. A guiding Light,
showing us the path forward, banishing the shadows that would obscure the dangers ahead."

(Sentinels): You say, "...yes. The scout guide reads I must... have an understanding of our guild
Patron."

(Sentinels): Tor says, "Have you started with HELP DHAR?"
(Sentinels): Tor says, "You can find a number of books on that topic in the council libraries as
well."
(Sentinels): Tor says, "And the best way to learn is to talk to one of His representatives."

You have emoted: "I saw Rayne's son," Edhain tells Benedicto abruptly, then nods to Serara and
mutters, "Yes."

(Sentinels): Arista says, "I would suggest Aelir or Iyana."

Serara says to you, "Am I correct in that you doubt as well as are hurting?"

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

Benedicto clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Irra." He grunts disdainfully. "First of
Bloodloch, then when he couldn't stand losing anymore, went to join the force that was doing the
kicking." He contempt resonates throughout his words. "The true paragon of 'if you can't beat them,
join them'."

You have emoted: Edhain looks up as if listening to something. "Do you hear the chains rattling,
too?" He asks Serara, which isn't exactly an answer to her question -- and then he focuses intently
on Benedicto.

(Sentinels): You say, "My thanks."

The concern returns to Benedicto's features as he worriedly regards you. "Chains?" He echoes. "No, I
hear no chains, old friends."

(Sentinels): Arista says, "Or Traice, he seems to have just woke."

(Fatalists): Traice says, "Now I haven't seen you before."

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

(Sentinels): Traice says, "Traice what?"

Serara laughs quietly though without mirth. "It is more that those of us who do see the Light of
Dawn are not without our own pain, are not without having had doubts in the past." She excuses
herself for a brief moment to get something. "When I return, I will show you what guided me through
my darkest times when I truly thought about leaving the Hammer if not worse."

Serara leaves to the down.

(Sentinels): Arista says, "Edhain is lookin to know more about the Underking."

You have emoted: Edhain lifts a hand to touch his temple, wincing briefly.

Serara arrives from the down.

Benedicto sharply inhales, maintaining the force and pacing of his battlechant with another shout.

Thinking: ...Traice. Why does that name sound so familiar?

(Sentinels): Arista says, "Edhain why ya in Enorian? I'd be careful there, they don't much like us
these days."

(Sentinels): Traice says, "Oh... Underking representative."

Serara arrives then hands you a firework. "It is a brief tale if you would hear it."

Serara gives a firework of the dawn to you.

(Sentinels): You say, "An old friend. The bells called me. But he does not hear the chains."

(Sentinels): Traice says, "We can speak."

(Sentinels): Arista says, "Some never do."

(Sentinels): Traice says, "Edhain."

(Fatalists): You say, "Traice? Arbiter."

(Fatalists): Traice says, "Yes."

(Sentinels): Nerissa says, "Speaking of, please do make sure if you haven't to look after the
sapling."

(Fatalists): Traice says, "Do you want to meet in His temple?"

(Sentinels): Nerissa says, "It'll need some smallish creatures as offering, we found that 5 to 7
pound weight works fine at the moment. Smaller centipedes work well."

You have emoted: Edhain seems distracted, holding the firework. After a moment, he seems to
automatically cradle it, as if it were a baby. "Traice," he murmurs. "I named you. Or Sal did. And
then I... killed you."

The simple tube shaped firework with a conical top has alternating gold, white, and blue stripes on
the exterior. Small starburst symbols have been painted in gold along the white stripe. Tridents,
swords, and maces have been painted in gold along the blue stripe. Only the gold stripe is left
plain. At the flat bottom, a long, thin block of wood allows the firework to be stuck securely into
the ground before being lit.

Thinking: ((Tears sting, and then the feeling erodes.))

You have emoted: Edhain blinks once, then lifts the firework to look at it. "What did you say?" He
asks Serara. "What is this?"

(Fatalists): You say, "...yes."

Benedicto remains silent as he watches his friends suffering, apparently unable to reach you.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "If you would prefer not to and talk to
someone else I wouldn't take it personally. Apparently I come off as talking down to people."

You tell Traice, "Where is the temple nowadays?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "Oaken grove."

You tell Traice, "Alright. Someone just gave me a baby. I must give him back carefully first."

Serara says gently, "There was a time when I struggled. My parents were lost to Corruption. I had
difficulties understanding people. My progress in the Guild as well as anywhere was abysmal. I
thought my mother should have aborted me rather than carry me to term." Her eyes are dark with
sorrow which fades as she looks at the firework. "It was in my darkest time that I read the
teachings of Lady Slyphe. Heroes are not people who rise up when things are easy." She looks down at
her hands then up again. "Heroes face forks in the road a lot. Sometimes life is brutal. There are
times when they do not want to go on. Yet, we persevere. We are resilient because the problems of
today only defeat us if we let them." Then the light in her eyes brightens considerably. "That is my
first firework that I ever crafted. It speaks of all my faith in Her as well as how Her teachings
showed me that where there is life, there is hope. Where there is hope, we can rise and turn the
warm rays of Paradise into a reality."

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

You have emoted: Edhain looks back down at the firework as Serara speaks, carefully shifting his
grasp on it as if he needs to support the conical top with one palm. "Your first," he says to
Serara. "Your hope..." Very gently, he hands the object back, as if it were alive.

You give a firework of the dawn to Serara.

Solemnly, you say, "I must go to speak to my last, my dread..."

You have emoted: Edhain turns to Benedicto. "Old friend," he says. "Thank you for your kindness, and
welcoming me here." Then he turns for the warhorse.

You swiftly swing up onto a pale warhorse.

Serara says to you, "Ever Forward."

Thinking: Time to go. But I dread it. I will remember what she said, this wise lass...

You give Serara a solemn nod.

"I will be here, always." Benedicto replies as he watches you move towards a pale warhorse.
"Waiting."

You have emoted: Edhain looks to Benedicto again, waiting a moment before giving another somber dip
of his head.


[[ Movement ]]

You squint your eyes and look out toward the south.
A prayer room.
A faceless anaxagorite and gold statue stands here. A glowing golden crown bound by chains sits atop
a marble pedestal here, armaments scattered about its base. Traice is here, shrouded. He wields a
needle-pointed dirk in his left hand and a buckler in his right.
You see a single exit leading north.

You cease to wield a shining steel longsword in your left hand, securing it conveniently on a war
-torn baldric with a navy scabbard.

A prayer room.
A faceless anaxagorite and gold statue stands here. A glowing golden crown bound by chains sits atop
a marble pedestal here, armaments scattered about its base. Traice is here, shrouded. He wields a
needle-pointed dirk in his left hand and a buckler in his right.
You see a single exit leading north.

He is an Azudim of Mhun heritage with a lithe form that stands just slightly taller then the average
mhun. He has striking green eyes, framed by long brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail, with loose
strands adding to his disheveled look. The most notable features are his ice-blue dragonic wings,
which emerge from his back to dwarf the rest of his frame with their size. Starting just on the
lower right side of his face his skin is adorned with elaborate scaled tattoos that coil down his
neck, shoulder and arm.

(covering his eyes) : a draconic mask of silver and ice
(covering the body) : a suit of scalemail
(worn on the back) : the Staff of the Arbiter
(displayed on one arm) : a masculine armband of silver and gold
(wrapped around his right wrist) : a heavy length of anaxagorite chain
(around one wrist) : a flickering elemental brand
(burned into the right hand) : a blackened Spiritmark
(worn on a finger) : an obsidian and platinum ice crystal ring
(worn on the legs) : a pair of patchwork leather pants

Stalking around Traice with the quiet whisper of death's chill touch, a fading fog trails every
movement - tattered ribbons of sepulchral essence.

Traice turns to face you clenching his right fist and pounding his chest thrice in rapid succession,
symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.

You have emoted: Edhain walks into the room, looking around, and then focuses on Traice.

Traice says, "Be careful in Enorian... they have laws about where you can go when you aren't a
member or don't have an escort... you probably know that but I just worry since I was threatened
before just for going to their commodity shop."

You have emoted: Edhain clenches a fist, and knocks his own chest a few times back, but the motion
is vague and distracted -- if that's a heartbeat, he's dying.

With an odd inflection, as if it's an echo of something he said, you say, "What is a home but a
place that tells you who to hate."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across the lips of Traice.

Traice says, "It was my home once... the only reason I am not their now is because of the falling
out with the Underking."

You have emoted: Edhain looks at Traice for a long time, then nods. "Me too," he says, and then,
"You are not the Trace I knew."

Sighing, Traice says, "I don't know the Traice you knew anymore, time changes people."

Thinking: Not my last, not my dread. Or am I deceived?

Quietly repeating the phrase, you say, "...time changes people."

Traice says, "I remember your name but, I don't recall us having many interactions."

You have emoted: Edhain gazes on Traice again, as if drinking in his appearance with the thirst of a
sunstruck man in an endless desert.

Thinking: Those are her eyes.

Traice lifts a hand up to lightly scratch at his chin, his masked face still seeming to peer your
direction. "You've been asleep for awhile but you clearly are a member of the order... well ranked
and Exemplar. Tell me what you remember and ask... I won't pretend like you know nothing."

You have emoted: "What I remember," Edhain repeats, his expression as bland as ever, unchanged since
he entered, vague and flat and subtly grim -- and then, abruptly, it crumples into a heartbroken
grimace and he looks away, half-turning to hide his countenance from Traice.

Thinking: What if he is? Have I gained and lost? What fell fate is at work, o Varian? Slag and steel, steel
and slag...

Traice shifts his stance, the half masking hiding much of any expression he makes as he seems to
hold a gaze still on you. "Take your time, we are taught to reflect before speaking after all."

Taking a moment before speaking, in as stiff tones as possible given an underlying current of
terrible feeling, you say, "...I remember being... angry, hollow. My blades were a part of my hands.
They were made of gold..."

You say, "...her birthing pangs were worse than ever before. Kordun, Brant, Rayne. And the last..."

Stalking around Traice with the quiet whisper of death's chill touch, a fading fog trails every
movement - tattered ribbons of sepulchral essence.

You have emoted: Edhain goes silent for a long minute.

Traice opens an ironwood smoke box.

Traice hums softly, he didn't have much to offer here as he had not known much of your history
himself. He simply tugs a cigarillo out now as he lets you speak.

Traice closes an ironwood smoke box.

Traice grunts noncommittally.

Traice mumbles incoherently.

Traice sighs, lacking a tinderbox he simply lets the cigarillo rest between two fingers.

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

Finally, you say, "...we named him Trace. Traice? Trayce..."

Traice suddenly sputters.

You have emoted: Edhain looks away, as if hearing something. "Forgotten memories," he whispers, and
blinks hard.

You close your eyes and begin to focus on your haven.

Traice says, "I ... I am fairly sure I am not your child."

An unseen wind whistles around you, blurring the surroundings. When your vision returns you stand
within a vast mire.
Amidst a grim swampland.
There are no obvious exits.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "Do you need time?"

You tell Traice, "...yes. I am." There's a heaviness, a deep weight to the next word. "Sorry."

Edhain

Follow-up!

[[ Context: Like the next week or something, Edhain is wandering in the scoured lands around Mrenadh. When Traice talks to him, he rides back to Ithmia but doesn't actually find Traice himself, just hangs out in the forest. ]]

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "Ah... how are you?"

You tell Traice, "... uncertain."

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I believe we were suppose to discuss the
Underking but we can wait until you are ready."

You tell Traice, "...do you hear the chains?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "What did they do?"

You tell Traice, "Rattle reminders."

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I hear them."

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "Gentle reminders that the Underking
always watches. I find it comforting."

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I am an oprhan... they told me in
Enorian. My parents died fighting in one of the cities conflicts."

You tell Traice, "..." There is a long silence in the telepathic connection, held for an awkward
time. "..."

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

Thinking: Perhaps I will not see the vision again.

Thinking: Perhaps it means nothing. An errant arrow, flung by the far-off hand of fate.

Thinking: Perhaps as my old friend claims, it is the Light calling me back. But will I answer the call...? I
meant it. I am tired of soldiering for those who lie to me. But do they lie to me?

You have emoted: Edhain glances over at the dryad for a long moment, then looks away again.

An alluring dryad disappears into the forest.

You tell Traice, "...does a soul choose to be born? We are metal on Varian's forge, melted and
hammered out anew. When do we rest in the Halls? Is it all a lie?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I would say the soul has a choice to
decline or not if given the opportunity to be reborn."

You tell Traice, "I cannot remember."

You tell Traice, "...what do you remember?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I don't recall most my childhood... not
my parents at all. Only that I grew up an orphan or are you referencing something else?"

You tell Traice, "I am not sure..." There's a sense of cringing from something, then steadying.
"...Traice."

Thinking: ((Awful waves of guilt slam through.)

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "...I am an orphan."

You have emoted: Edhain leans forward in the saddle, grimacing at nothing.

Thinking: Strange. Is this guilt the responsibility of a commander? As once I felt the impact of orders given
in war, lives lost. Did I?

Thinking: Or is guilt for.... doors slammed. A little boy at the end of my blade. A demon, I thought. But... a
boy.

You tell Traice, "...if you had a father, what would you have wanted from him?"

With acrobatic grace, you quickly hop off of a pale warhorse.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "The only thing I had ever wanted from my
parents was to know who they were. I grew up healthy and safe."

You tell Traice, "You did..? Good..."

Stars glimmer into visibility one by one, filling the night sky with effulgent pinpoints.

The temperature rises as a red snake slithers almost silently into the area.

You have emoted: Edhain blinks, focusing.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I did."

You tell Traice, "My s--" There's a sudden interruption, a loss of focus. "..."

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

You have emoted: Edhain looks around.

The temperature rises as a red snake slithers almost silently into the area.

The massive snake is covered with thick scales along its entire length, and emits an unexpected heat
from its body as it slithers about the area.
A red snake appears to be extraordinarily strong.

You say, "Red. A snake."

You have emoted: Edhain coughs quietly once after speaking aloud, and stares raptly at the red
snake.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "I started as an ascendril eventually
becoming a full mage, during that time I joined Lord Dhar's order... the Underking... it took me two
tries to get in as my first attempt it was determined I wasn't ready. I stayed in Enorian until they
took on the Akkari and at that point... as hard a choice it was I chose to remain devoted to the
cycle and left Enorian."

You have emoted: Edhain follows the snake at a distance, watching with somberly intent eyes.

Your pose is now set as:
Edhain follows the red snake, watching it.

You tell Traice, "The commanders never told you who your parents were?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "They died fighting for Enorian."

You tell Traice, "When I..." A vagueness. "... would have told an orphan child of heroes..."

You tell Traice, "...unless they were not heroes at all."

The temperature drops as a red serpent slithers away to the east.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "What do you mean?"

Thinking: I am no hero. Perhaps the boy was lied to. But... why? I did not die fighting for Enorian. Though
Salacia may have... I do not know.

You tell Traice, "My apologies, Arbiter. Pray pay my foolish rambling no mind. Certainly your
parents were heroes if they died fighting for Enorian." The words come quickly all of a sudden -- a
great difference from the awkward halting distance of the stranger's previous communication. If
those were rambles, then this is a rant. "To save you, no doubt. Because that is what parents do.
Protect their children."

A pale warhorse blinks into existence and falls into line behind you.

Thinking: What am I thinking? Insulting his parents? When I commanded men, if a boy's parents had died, I
would tell him the tales of their great deeds -- but nobody told him anything. Perhaps it was the
fault of the commander. Why should I take his dream?

Thinking: Even if he is my Trace, somehow ... better for the boy to think himself an orphan, with parents who
were heroes, rather than know me and remember how shamefully I fathered him...

You have emoted: Edhain shakes his head, looking away for a time. Belatedly, he recognizes that he's
lost sight of the red snake.

You give a pained sigh.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "Mmm."

The shadows cast by nearby trees lengthen momentarily in an eerie expression of light and dark's
interplay.

Beneath the sycamore trees.
Many of the stars are disguised behind looming clouds, tracing their slow paths across the sphere of
the heavens. The sycamore trees continue their dominance of this section of the forest, casting a
cool shade over the forest floor, their wide leafy boughs spread like a parasol overhead. The forest
is at its most verdant here, a variety of shade-loving shrubs and small plants growing beneath the
canopy, dense packed ferns and flowering broad-leafed plants. All about you are the sounds of the
forest floor, whirring insects, hoots and barks, from the multifarious forms of life which call this
sylvan place their home. The air is electrified with vibrant Dia'ruian energy. Going to mulch to
replenish the soil, sprawling lupin fills the air with the damp scent of decaying vegetation. Blood
has been spilt here to sanctify the ground to the wilds, fresh growth quickly overgrowing the
location. A small bush grows low to the ground here. A diligently worked totem of wood and gold
stands vigil here, depicting the wise visage of Srahda, the Seer. 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. Armed with blackened
trappings, a pale warhorse stands tall and silent guard.
You see exits leading east, northeast, south, and west.

You have emoted: Edhain glances at the shadows, then lifts a hand to rub at his face.

You mutter, "I a. ..eing t..ngs."

The totem's base consists of an enormous, circular trunk of stripped oak, its diameter rivaling the
height of two, fully grown men. Twice as tall as it is wide, the upper half transitions into an
immense carving of a raven perched nobly atop her annular foundation. Staring out at the world with
startling realism and attention to detail, the Seer's painstakingly rendered visage makes the most
of the oakwood's sturdy flesh, accentuated by brush and point to create a vivid figure whose realism
very nearly defies the truth of its make. Her plumage shows of the palest grey, with each and every
feather preened and presented in perfect unison with its twin both before and after. A third eye
adorns her brow, slightly above and between the two normally found upon the avian species, that
projects the unearthly feeling of distant focus and untold secrets. Various types of golden jewelry
have been inset the wood at her feet as if haphazardly strewn about, each piece a shiny trophy
claimed by the three-eyed Seer.

Srahda, the Seer
|\ +X+ /|
\X+X/|:
\ /|:
: | :
_/ \_
/| |\

You have emoted: Edhain turns his gaze on the totem.

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "You had a task you were doing...."

You tell Traice, "..." A sense of near-senile befuddlement provides a wordless query against that
statement. "..?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "It was why we were trying to speak
earlier this week... you needed a representative of the Underking and I serve as His Arbiter
currently."

You tell Traice, "...in my last life, I was a milkmaid..?"

His voice sharp-edged and frosty, Traice whispers to you, "Soul index?"

Traice says, "I think it said I was a...baker?"

You tell Traice, "I know little of cows or bread. But I know when I commanded armies, I made sure to
share the heroics of the slain with the bereaved."

Shining with a blazing light, Benedicto strides in from the west.
He is followed by a war turtle.

As Benedicto strides out to the south, the surrounding light dims slightly.
He is followed by a war turtle.

Traice clears his throat, "We can speek here."

Traice uses Racial Scent.
Traice tilts his head back, inhaling sharply several times.

You have emoted: Edhain focuses on Traice.

Stalking around Traice with the quiet whisper of death's chill touch, a fading fog trails every
movement - tattered ribbons of sepulchral essence.

He is an Azudim of Mhun heritage with a lithe form that stands just slightly taller then the average
mhun. He has striking green eyes, framed by long brown hair tied up in a messy ponytail, with loose
strands adding to his disheveled look. The most notable features are his ice-blue dragonic wings,
which emerge from his back to dwarf the rest of his frame with their size. Starting just on the
lower right side of his face his skin is adorned with elaborate scaled tattoos that coil down his
neck, shoulder and arm. Shoots and flowers are left in the wake of his steps, showing he walks with
the Hunter's blessing.

(covering his eyes) : a draconic mask of silver and ice
(covering the body) : a suit of scalemail
(worn on the back) : the Staff of the Arbiter
(worn on the back) : a buckler
(displayed on one arm) : a masculine armband of silver and gold
(wrapped around his right wrist) : a heavy length of anaxagorite chain
(around one wrist) : a flickering elemental brand
(burned into the right hand) : a blackened Spiritmark
(worn on a finger) : an obsidian and platinum ice crystal ring
(worn on the legs) : a pair of patchwork leather pants

Traice says, "I spent a time as Duiran's war minister... I was removed from my positions for a crime
though."
A pale warhorse prances restlessly a step to the side and paws at the ground, white mane flung into
the air as he tosses his dark-armored head.

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

You have emoted: Edhain instictively lifts a hand to the warhorse's head, grasping a lock of mane
and shushing the beast. He keeps his eyes on Traice. "A crime?"

Traice sighs softly, his hand reaching down to his own a ferocious icewyrm to smooth over the top of
his head. "I shared the akkari cure with Enorian so they could find a safer version."

Stalking around Traice with the quiet whisper of death's chill touch, a fading fog trails every
movement - tattered ribbons of sepulchral essence.

Eirwan tilts his head, gaze fixed on Traice with an understanding warmth. Leaning into the soothing
touch as Traice strokes his icy scales, he rumbles softly, conveying a sense of approval. The
protective stance he adopts emphasizes his loyalty, subtly guarding Traice against any worries
regarding the cure shared with Enorian.

You have emoted: Edhain studies Traice solemnly, then looks away in silence. His expression is grim
and relatively unreadable.

Thinking: What is a home...

Traice says, "It has always been my primary focus to do what is right by the Underking and the cycle
and if Enorian has a safe way to remove Duamvi then more of them will return to the cycle."

Thinking: ((Memories rise of warmth and safety, a house in a city, with children and young knights. Music.
Toys. A warmth not shared with a shadowy squaller closer away in a liquor cabinet.))

Finally, you say, "...the Akkari told me on Mostyn."

Traice says, "Told you?"

Traice lifts a brow, tilting his head a bit. "What I did or something else? You haven't been...
entirely clear at times."

You have emoted: Edhain exhales, keeping his gaze away from Traice, looking off into the woods with
a sort of vague distance. "That the Underking's promise to me could not be true." Whatever about
that promise, the accusation that he isn't entirely clear... couldn't be more true. But then he goes
on: "We do not rest in the Halls, we are forged anew. Our souls are..."

After setting his jaw for a moment, you say, "...recycled."

Brow knitting as he continues staring off between the trees, you say, "And the warring creators,
they..."

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.
Midnight swallows up the land, the darkness absolute as a new day begins.
It is now midnight on Tisday, the 13th of Severin, year 8 after the Creators' Monomachy.

You have emoted: Edhain tilts his head as if to listen to something, falling distractedly quiet.

Stalking around Traice with the quiet whisper of death's chill touch, a fading fog trails every
movement - tattered ribbons of sepulchral essence.

A pale warhorse's dark eyes gleam with intelligent recognition as he lifts his great head, turning a
soulful gaze towards the mention of his master.
Traice frowns, "We are reborn yes but the akkari... the duamvi aren't from our realm... but Edhain.
Remember that the Underking is only a sheperd and protector of the souls that end up remaining
there."

Traice says, "Are you having doubts about the Underking then?"

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Edhain."

After a long minute, you say, "...I do not know."

Lifting his gaze towards the canopy and the dark swathe of sky beyond, you ask, "... our reality
belongs to none of Them, does it..?"

You tell Sekeres, "... that is I."

Its head swinging about erratically, a warbling hobgobbler pecks at your eyes wildly!

You pull a shining steel longsword from a war-torn baldric with a navy scabbard fluidly.
You start to wield a shining steel longsword in your left hand.

You use Weaponry Attack on a warbling hobgobbler.
You neatly slash a warbling hobgobbler with a shining steel longsword.
Damage done: 10, cutting, brute
The final blow proves too much for a warbling hobgobbler, who expires, pitifully.
Experience Gained: 82500 (Bashing) [total: 331881700]
Having slain a warbling hobgobbler, you retrieve the corpse.

You have emoted: Edhain cuts down the attacker abruptly in a spray of blood, and looks at his sword
blade afterward.

Traice sighs softly. "Even the Underking teaches not to follow blindly. It is okay to have doubts
and question what is right. I understand that what we know of creation is different but I know and
trust for a fact that the Underkings duty remains the same. He guards the realm of those who remain
dead. This you can trust." He offers you a warm smile.

Traice says, "This is why adhering to the cycle is so important."

The adumbrative night stretches onward, ever elusive of dawn's grasp.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "." A quiet stirring of silence,
wefted together by the mist-like brass of her voice, "You have been gone for long."

You have emoted: Edhain looks to Traice, and something changes in his flat expression. "Such a sweet
smile below that mask," he murmurs, and then his tone turns colder as he looks away. "I felt the
truth of what they said. The lack of power. The uncertain grasp on reality..."

You tell Sekeres, "I was in the Underhalls..." There's a cold dimness there, a vague distance.
"...seeking answers that I already knew."

You have emoted: Edhain glances back at his bloodied blade, and slowly sets about wiping it off on
the edge of his tattered cloak. "Only twice in my life have I hated truth enough to vomit."

You cease to wield a shining steel longsword in your left hand, securing it conveniently on a war
-torn baldric with a navy scabbard.

Traice begins to intensify slowly until he appears flesh and blood once more.

With a heavy sigh, you say, "I do not want to make you vomit. Traice..."

Traice lifts a hand up, adjusting the mask. "...I've a strong consitution. I assure you."

Hesitant at first, a herd of ten stags meander in from the west.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "." An echo of a reverberation,
but ultimately holding a singular strand of voice. "What was imparted there, down, in the soulful
dark?"

Spooked by a sudden sound, a herd of ten stags quickly prance away to the west.

Hesitant at first, a herd of ten stags meander in from the west.

You have emoted: Edhain lets his focus wander, seeming to fix on everything in the grove of forest
other than Traice. He watches the herd of stags for a while. "Why are they together?" He wonders,
softly and distractedly, and then swallows. "...Family, maybe. Those who otherwise would be enemies,
bonded by blood."

Thinking: The first time was when my father told me I was his son. The second, when I was taught the
limitations of the Underking's power.

You tell Sekeres, "That Gods squabble like children, and nothing matters save that we choose it to."

A flicker of ghostly mist coils around Traice, drifting hazily there for a moment before dissipating
in a cool breeze.

Stalking around Traice with the quiet whisper of death's chill touch, a fading fog trails every
movement - tattered ribbons of sepulchral essence.

"Safety in numbers." Traice comments, glancing over at the herd. He moves to tug the mask off,
lifting a hand to comb fingers through his hair. "You seem to have a lot to unpack still... but I
will try to answer what I can as long as I am asked." He glances upwards at the stars, "I can't
force anything on you but, I myself still trust in His purpose and the orders duty."

Traice slowly fades into view, returning to the realm of perception.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Some of Them are dead. This is
a new Age." Her voice is dim, thoughtful, piercing, as if it was part of your consciousness rather
than another voice at all. "What will do you?"

You tell Sekeres, "Yours... what did you do?"

Cleave through until ranks throat. Throat. His enemy spear spear pierces powerful throat.
The vision of death gradually fades, leaving you momentarily mentally drained but physically intact.
Health Lost: 384, psychic, none

Traice winces in pain.

You have emoted: Edhain flinches at something unseen, then fixates on Traice. "You saw it too," he
accuses abruptly.

The deepening night settles in as the moon traces its path across the sky.

Thinking: ((The finality of a decision being suddenly made cuts through vague and scattered thoughts.))

Thinking: I recognize the truth of it, when I was told. If he does not recognize the truth of what I say, then
it cannot be true. Otherwise, it is. Somehow...

You have emoted: Edhain clears his throat. "Traice," he starts, then halts awkwardly.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "I keep on living. It is what
She would want." The whispers return, very quietly, some coursing over directions in your hearing
that seem improbable. "I thought of you, and where you had gone."

After a moment, Traice says, "I did... yes?"

You tell Sekeres, "Living..." There's a long, distracted pause. "...I was not. For a long time.
My..." Another pause, this one more pensively confused, almost with a senile befuddlement. "...
perspective. Skewed..."

Jarringly resuming speech, you say to Traice, "-- the first time I was told a truth I hated, it was
my father. I hated him too much to bear that truth."

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "I can only imagine, what it was
like, to linger there. Why then, did you choose to live?"

You have emoted: Edhain stands stiffly next to the head of the warhorse that watches soulfully. "And
I recognized him, what I had from him, in you." He reports almost militaristically, dry and looking
into the verdant distance somewhere past Traice's shoulder. "Not a child. But a demon."

Going on with that same rough speed, you say, "A monster who caged my wife is what I saw when --
when a boy simply wanted a father to see his talents. Even then, the shadows..."

A light rain wets your surroundings, falling pleasantly around you.

You have emoted: Edhain flounders with his words for a moment as his gaze meets Traice's own,
through the mask. His voice half-hushes under the whispering background of falling rain. "...Could
shroud you."

You tell Sekeres, "...I know not. Perhaps something called me. For when I woke, it was to see my
grandson's one eye..."

You have emoted: Edhain looks down then, tearing his gaze away from Traice to gaze at his own palm -
- the hand which just recently held that bloodstained blade.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "I ensured he was living before
he saw you." Her voice remains a whispering pulse of sound, but there are others too, in tandem and
not, that scatter of like flutters of wings. "Do you remember me?"

Traice lifts a brow, his green eyes staring back at you in a moment of silence as he slowly moved to
slide the mask back on. He mumbles something to soft to be heard before speaking up louder.
"...Dwelling on the mistakes of the past is not how we do better for our future."

You tell Sekeres, "... he was living?"

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "He was not, before you knew of
him."

You tell Sekeres, "I thought I saw a vampire..."

You tell Sekeres, "... my memory is far from reliable. Though I remember you."

You mutter, "...I killed you. Did .. .he th..... you got awa.."


You have emoted: Edhain continues to stare at his hand for a span, then seems to belatedly realize
that Traice spoke up. He blinks.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "." There is a breathy, wild
-tossed twist of sound, but it does not enter her voice, "As I remember you."

Traice smiles faintly.

With faintly confused curiosity that mingles with wistfulness, you ask Traice, "Do you recognize the
truth of what I say, Traice?"

Grimly soft-spoken, you ask, "...as I did once, and hated it?"

Thinking: He is not vomiting.

Reluctantly, Traice says, "I have summarized what you have said and not said."

You tell Sekeres, "... my own name escapes my memory sometimes. But I have been recalling things I
never wanted to, and things I never hoped to recover."

You have emoted: Edhain slowly furrows his brow at Traice, as if waiting for a report of this
summary. He says nothing.

A warbling hobgobbler snarls angrily at Traice and moves in for the kill.

Traice uses Assassination Backstab on a warbling hobgobbler.
A warbling hobgobbler's face grimaces as it suddenly spasms in pain from a backward attack. As a
warbling hobgobbler turns to face its assailant, Traice slips into view, bloodied dirk in hand.
The final blow proves too much for a warbling hobgobbler, who expires, pitifully.
Having slain a warbling hobgobbler, Traice retrieves the corpse.

You have emoted: Edhain gazes on Traice more clearly for a moment, as if recognizing something, but
then he blinks once more and gradually knits his brow again.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Tell me more."

Traice looks up at the gradually lightening sky, seeming like he might not summarize at all the
conversation. A brief moment to very quickly pull a dirk out and fell an unruly hobgobbler, he wipes
the blade on his pants and tucks it away as he drops his gaze back to you. "Disorderly as your
comments have been... you believe I am a lost child of yours... whom was... mistreated?"

Thinking: He still moves with the shadows, as he did before.

You have emoted: Edhain lifts a hand to pass over his eyes, scrubbing roughly in sudden confusion.
The grimace he suddenly wears is entirely at odds from the relatively-neutral blank mien of before.

Thinking: He does not recognize the truth of it. It is not true, then.

Traice says, "You seem.."

Traice pauses, "You seem to be struggling with the idea I might be or not... or perhaps dreading if
I am? I am unsure out of context."

You have emoted: Edhain rubs at his face violently with both hands, as if he could scrape off the
outward manifestation of emotion, and finally appears to somewhat-succeed.

You have emoted: Edhain clasps the opposite wrist of one hand behind his back and bows his head
slightly, features reddened by the rough treatment. "My apologies, Arbiter," he murmurs, looking
down. "The insane ramblings of a confused elder."

Thinking: ... I will find my mind, in time. Or will I? Perhaps never again...

You tell Sekeres, "For a moment, I could have sworn it was true. But nay, I am wrong. He did not
recognize it."

Traice grunts, "Insane... the last insane ramblings I was subjected to ended in... betrayal and
disappointment." He lifts his gaze over you. "I hope you aren't making a habit of insane
ramblings...."

Thinking: I cannot promise to find it if I am not sure I ever will, then. All I can do is... go away. Death's
Arbiter ... has given me fewer answers than the Underhalls did... he is a child of hope and warm
smiles, not my cold dark Trace.

You have emoted: A muscle ticks at the corner of one of Edhain's eyes, as if he's suppressing a semi
-cringe at something internal. "I cannot say, Arbiter," he manages to grind out, with quiet shame
and a stiffening expression. "Judge me as you will."

Thinking: I cannot say, for I do not know. Am I insane now? Is that what happened in the Underhalls?

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Who did not recognize it,
Edhain?"

You tell Sekeres, "..." There's a sinking quietude, like a drowning man who sleeps rather than
struggles, and then a soft phrase flung out like an outstretched hand. "... I have lost my sanity,
Sekeres."

Traice abruptly chuckles, "Judge you? Perhaps you do need a lesson on His ways. Exemplar... the only
person who can judge is the Underking... what you have done well, what you have done poorly... its
all judged in the end. It is not my place to. Mine is to give those who seek it a chance to do
better... else I could not be His Arbiter."

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

Traice says, "So... if you feel you have done wrong. Do better."

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "." Whisper after whisper floods
along the suddenness of the words, and then, cut off, until it is a singular voice that responds:
"Things take time, they do, after all that you've been through. Your struggles, the Underhalls..."

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "You must rest."

You have emoted: Edhain tilts his head, listening to something, and then watches the very air for a
long moment. "...I see not how," he says quietly at last.

You tell Sekeres, "Would that I could truly rest forever and be gone..."

Traice moves to rub at the back of his neck lightly, "Be direct... what is it you are seeking...
what are you dwelling on?"

You have emoted: Edhain turns his eyes away, but maintains his stiff posture. "Sanity," he murmurs
first, but then appears to doubt it. "Nay. Do I want sanity?" There's a moment that he seems to be
debating with himself, weighing the merits of such an attribute, and then he glances swiftly to
Traice before looking away.

You mutter, "... I cannot loo. .. you ..thout ....ng him i. .. mind's e... Oh, .. Trac.... you are
gone and I am sorry."

You have emoted: Edhain mumbles to himself a little, like a madman, and then seems to recognize what
he's doing vaguely, and presses his own mouth into a flat line.

Traice says, "Sometimes one should embrace Silence to reflect on themselves that they better know
how to act and react."

Traice shifts his weight between his feet with an awkward uncomfortableness.

You have emoted: Edhain shuts his eyes briefly, bowing his head in a silent dip of a nod to Traice.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "." There is another hushed
moment, and then a trickle of sorrow breaks through. "I had made peace with it, your death. Now that
I know that you are living, I only have a wish to see it remain so. But, if you wish to die, then,
the choice then, is for you, and He."

Traice uses Assassination Backstab on a warbling hobgobbler.
A warbling hobgobbler's face grimaces as it suddenly spasms in pain from a backward attack. As a
warbling hobgobbler turns to face its assailant, Traice slips into view, bloodied dirk in hand.
The final blow proves too much for a warbling hobgobbler, who expires, pitifully.
Having slain a warbling hobgobbler, Traice retrieves the corpse.

Thinking: ((A forlorn ripping echoes through a heart tugged in multiple directions, held back and squeezed in
a fist of confusion and pain.))

You tell Sekeres, "Is it?" A wash of forlorn pain hangs at the end of that wistful sentence,
hovering, and then twists into the sullen grumble, "I will only be recycled on the index of souls."

"Tch." Traice sounds softly, moving to walk away. "I am an orphan of Enorian... best not to dwell on
it." He offers, though there is an edge to his tone that suggests he might not entirely believe that
himself now.

Traice says to a ferocious icewyrm, "Time to go, say goodbye to Edhain."
A pale warhorse's dark eyes gleam with intelligent recognition as he lifts his great head, turning a
soulful gaze towards the mention of his master.

Eirwan bows his massive head towards Traice, eyes bright with loyalty and mischief. He nudges Traice
affectionately, then raises a large claw, offering a gentle wave goodbye to Edhain. His demeanor is
both playful and respectful, embodying a magnificent creature's gentle heart as he prepares to
leave.

You have emoted: Edhain is silent, looking at the leaves strewn across the forest floor. He doesn't
even fidget, just standing there morosely, and makes no move to follow Traice or to stop him from
going.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Edhain..."

A chilling wind snakes around you, carrying with it the echoes of forgotten memories.

A quiet howl in the distance echoes through the trees, signaling the hunt of a predator in the
night.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Such a soul I would know, even
if I too, was met with Renewal's wake, we know not even if Dhar will practice this now, in this age,
without Varian."

Iko arrives from the west.
The Yeleni is followed by a grey-furred direwolf and a majestic white stag.

Iko reaches out and carefully harvests some herbs.

Iko reaches out and carefully harvests some herbs.

Iko reaches out and carefully harvests some herbs.

You have emoted: Edhain sadly looks at leaves, not noticing Iko.

Iko leaves to the south.
The Yeleni is followed by a grey-furred direwolf and a majestic white stag.

Iko arrives from the south.
The Yeleni is followed by a grey-furred direwolf and a majestic white stag.

Making a clicking sound with their tongue, Iko leads their stag near you. "Why look sad?"


Mayah tells you, "Hello again, Edhain!"

Without looking up, you say, "The leaves go to feed the earth, and they do not cry about it... not
like the sky does."

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "." The echoes of your name
uttered and spoken come suddenly, many emotions reverberating in them, but all at once your name.
But her voice moves through it, silvery, and soft, against the ears, "Let your grief be naked, feel
all there is to feel, do not be hasty in such final choices. Life cane be made anew again, after so
much hardship."

Iko says, "Is part Cycle."

You tell Mayah, "...hello."

Mayah tells you, "Success - I get a hello. I had this plan, you see, to greet you whenever I see
you. And then, one day. I would hear it back. And this was the week. How does it find you?"

"Iko found, need find joy in each season. Nothing can do stop it." Iko looks up at the forest around
them. Humming a soft tune, "Is all feel sad bout?"

You have emoted: Edhain lifts hands to cover his face and abruptly drops to both knees in the
composting leaves.

Light stretches from horizon to horizon as the sun ascends further, commanding the morning with its
incandescence.

Your pose is now set as:
Edhain is kneeling in the composting leaves, covering his face with both hands.

Unseen chains rattle softly, a haunting reminder of the Underking's grim purpose.

Iko shifts their view to look upon you, studying your features. "Would like be left alone?" Their
voice is soft and quiet.

Thinking: ((Tears don't come. Just a blur of violent emotion, rampaging fiercely. Sorrow and guilt preside,
paired with anger. Resentment at the Gods, at life. A terrible loneliness, hatred of hard truths and
desperate yearning for a loved home, a loved girl with copper hair, a missing child and a child who
is wilfully lost, and the horrible fault of all those mistakes.))

You have emoted: Edhain throws back his head abruptly, hands coming down to clench into fists
against his knees.

Your pose is now set as:
Edhain is howling senselessly at the rainy sky.

You shout, "AAAaaaAAAUUuuUUuuURRRGGHHHHH! RRrrrRRAAAaaaAUUuuHhhHH! nnnNGGRRrrrRAaaaAAaaAHHHhhhh..."

Ghavin's voice resonates across the land, "Oh no the hobgobblers have gotten someone else!"

You have emoted: Edhain stops and abruptly scrambles to his feet.

You close your eyes and begin to focus on your haven.
Equilibrium Used: 5.00 seconds

The haunting chords of her voice blast across the landscape as Lin cries, "De Verdigris?"

Mayah tells you, "Oh. I hope I wasn't the one giving rise to that anguish.."

With a susurrant, grave-like rasp, Traice echoes, "If only."

An unseen wind whistles around you, blurring the surroundings. When your vision returns you stand
within a vast mire.
Amidst a grim swampland.

There are no obvious exits.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Edhain..."

You grow still and begin to silently pray for preservation of your soul while you are out of the
land.