A Cataclysmic Sibatti, or, More Hobgobblery

Edhain

Log session starting at 21:49:15 on Wednesday, 27 November 2024.


You are blind and can see nothing but darkness.

You use Tattoos Mindseye.
Touching the mindseye tattoo, your senses are suddenly heightened.
You have gained the mindseye defence.

You have emoted: Edhain stares dazedly at the mire.

It is now noon on Falsday, the 20th of Severin, year 8 after the Creators' Monomachy.

Traice uses Haven Wrest on you.
You feel a horrifying tug as Traice draws you back into your resting body.
Before the bridge to Esterport. (road)
The rain pours down, daylight edging the dark clouds with streaks of silver. Inspector Kleines soaks
up leisure time here, smoking a cheroot on the roadside. A granite monument stands here, its surface
polished to a shine. Cast aside, this bundle of poles and rope seems useless. Rising stark towards
the sky, the spindly frame of the Wheel of Fates is here. Traice is here, shrouded. He wields an
iron-tipped whip in his left hand and a buckler in his right.
You see exits leading east and west.

Traice says, "This is not a good place to go to your haven."

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

A homing pigeon flutters in towards you, gliding over you as it drops an elegant white letter into
your hands before flapping away once more.

You have emoted: Edhain blinks and stares at Traice, in a vague sort of dazed horror.

Traice beckons you to him.

Traice says, "It's a common road route.... anyone could of wrested you and had ill will."

Traice beckons again.

Quietly, after a long minute, you say, "I did not even know that was possible."

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

You have emoted: Edhain stares at Traice some more, probably taking far too annoyingly long to shift
into motion.

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

Hesitantly, Traice says, "...and now I have shown you... come on."

You begin to follow Traice.

Traice says, "Please...."

Traice nods his head emphatically.

You follow Traice to the west. [Movement]

A simple vestibule.
This modestly sized vestibule is primarily composed of stone from top to bottom. It is dimly lit by
a single torch on the southern wall. This square room is generally plain and lacks many unique
features, save some scarce cracks in the stone. Humming with energy, a crystal aegis has been
attuned to this location. Traice is here, shrouded. He is riding on a ferocious icewyrm. He wields
an iron-tipped whip in his left hand and a buckler in his right.
You see exits leading north and south.

Traice gracefully hops off of a ferocious icewyrm.

Traice nods his head emphatically.

Traice says, "Somewhere in Duiran... better if you can be behind some closed door but Duiran is
safer... at least then you only need to worry if some is actually hunting you."

You have emoted: Edhain glances around the plain chamber as if it was very interesting. He
eventually manages to focus on Traice and grants a tight nod, though his gaze slips away soon after.
"...A good lesson, Arbiter."

Traice shifts his weight between his feet, seeming to be looking at you a long moment before turning
to look out the door. "...If you want to go back to your haven I won't keep you." He mumbles softly.

You have emoted: Edhain lets his attention rove slowly around Traice, and finally asks, "Is there
something you would keep me for, if I did not want to go?"

Grunting, Traice says, "Talking I guess... but you seem largely avoiding it and I am not one to
impose."

Thinking: ((A sense of horrendous embarrassment makes it difficult to look at the fellow, in addition to
always seeing Trace there -- an abandoned, abused lad who has somehow found his way...))

You have emoted: Edhain blinks and scrubs at a tattoo, then scratches at some scruff on his jaw.
"You are an orphan of Enorian, and I have lost my sanity," he grumbles, almost sullenly, keeping
eyes still averted from Traice. "... But we could talk about moths."

Traice scoffs softly, "I have one named Boll... if you want to talk about moths I suppose." He lifts
a hand to scratch at his chin.

You have emoted: Edhain furrows his brow thoughtfully. "Boll," he repeats. "Hmm." His gaze travels
upward towards the stone ceiling, as if distracted by his own musings.

Thinking: I wonder what moth would name her moth.


Traice nods his head, "Yes... my moth, Boll." He emphasizes it, the slightest of a smirk tugging at
the corner of his lip as he seems to await a reaction.

Not seeming to understand the joke whatsoever, you ask, "Is Boll a moon moth?"

Traice expresses his opinion with an unimpressed "tch."

You mutter, "Moon...h. That is pre..ier."

A large furry moth shimmers into existence before you.

You have emoted: Edhain mumbles to himself, then tilts his head. He looks briefly disappointed, but
that expression vanishes as his gaze fixates briefly on Traice on its way past to look at the large
furry moth.

This creature is roughly six inches in length for its main body and is covered in fluffy white 'fur'
across every inch, even upon its wings. The wings are nearly triple the size of its main body, the
main extra extension being the lower wings which taper off into thin strips. A pair of fuzzy
antennae extend outwards from just above its black, beady eyes and legs of black hue, similar to its
eyes, extend outwards beneath its thorax and abdomen. He is called 'Boll.'
A large furry moth looks weak and feeble.

Traice summons a large furry moth out, holding his hand outstretched to the moth expectantly.

From the shadows, Boll emerges, responding to Traice's gesture with eagerness. He hovers briefly
above Traice's outstretched hand, then gracefully lands, wings glinting under the light. With a
tender nuzzle against Traice's palm, he shows his delight in reuniting with his companion.


Traice says to a large furry moth, "Who is the cutest little moth?"

Boll flutters enthusiastically at Traice's question, wings glimmering in the light as he moves
closer. He tilts his head in an endearing way, antennae twitching with joy. Performing a charming
spin mid-air, he eventually lands on Traice's shoulder, snuggling against him in a display of
affection.

Watching the small creature alight, you say, "A pretty moth... very affectionate, for an insect."

Traice says, "My first pet."

Traice says, "I was very young when I got him."

Traice says, "Same with Eirwan... I was very young when I got him... not as young as when I got Boll
though..."

Traice says, "Arindalia helped me name Boll."

Traice seems almost pained as he mentions the name.

You have emoted: Edhain nods thoughtfully, observing the moth's affections. "I was in a teashop
earlier with a moth," he explains to Traice. "She was even prettier than Boll."

After a moment, you ask, "Who is Arindalia?"

Traice lifts a hand to gently pet a large furry moth in his hand, "...She was an atavian woman who I
nearly married... decades gone now."

As Traice pets the large furry moth, Boll visibly relaxes, wings fluttering softly in enjoyment. He
leans into Traice's hand, eyelids drooping in blissful contentment, subtly inviting Traice to share
more of his past with an encouraging tilt of his head.

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

You have emoted: Edhain shuts his eyes briefly, and gives a fleeting shiver. "Lost loves," he
mumbles mournfully, then glances at Traice, and this time it seems that the rake of his gaze is
steadier, with less of a flinch in it.

Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "A return to faith, old friend?"

Traice says, "I got this moth and I couldn't think of what I wanted to name him... and she said
Boll... it tickled her that I went with it."

Traice says to you, "I use to do so many things just to indulge her because she was so pretty when
she smiled."

You say, "... always good to tickle a girl you love." An awkward pause. "What went wrong?"

Traice says, "She slept and never woke again."

Traice says, "Right when I had been preparing a ring to propose."

Traice says, "I didn't date another person for decades... why would I? Just to lose yet another
person in my life."

You tell Sibatti, "Simple answer, or complicated answer. Simple or complicated. Simple or..." Those
mutterings seem to be warring with each other, and finally there's one enunciated word sent across
the connection. "No."

Traice says, "Then Bhajal came along... and was a little pocket of chaos that kept making me smile."

Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "A lack of it, then."

You tell Sibatti, "Yes."

After glancing cautiously over his shoulder, Traice makes a few clandestine edits to a legal
document.

You have emoted: Edhain watches Traice for a while, nodding. "That sounds, uh..." He pauses
awkwardly, watching some more.

Not quite certainly, you say, "...nice..."

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

"Heh heh heh," Traice chuckles.

Traice says, "He is strange if you ever meet him."

After glancing cautiously over his shoulder, Traice makes a few clandestine edits to a legal
document.

You tell Sibatti, "Esrytesh, have I gone mad? Do you remember..."

You tell Sibatti, "When we lived in the Beacon of Light..."

Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "I do."

Traice says, "Really hard to get your proper age recorded after using those apparently."

You tell Sibatti, "Do you... do you remember when my wife was alive, and my blades were fused into
my fists, and... do you remember that?"

You have emoted: Edhain knits his brow at Traice, and then looks away, brow knitting hard at the
stone floor.

Traice says, "Sorry... someone teased me about my age difference with Bhajal and I was self
conscious for awhile... I don't believe I am anymore."

You tell Sibatti, "...the child she bore, after Rayne. I would... throw him in the liquor cabinet."

Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "I remember that, yes. It was odd."

You tell Sibatti, "Do you remember his name?"

Traice puts some gold sovereigns in a durable leather satchel.

Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "Do you?"

Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "Was it Traice?"

You have emoted: Edhain sounds a bit dazed and distracted as he mumbles, "Well... perhaps you loved
Arindalia best, after all."

Traice cants his head a bit, then sighs. "That might be a little too true... it took me a long time
to warm up to Bhajal."

You tell Sibatti, "I thought it was... Trace. Trayce? I ... fuck it."

You have emoted: Edhain stares at the floor, a grimace suddenly contorting across his features
before they fall flat again. Rather distantly, he lets some drifting thought escape, "I only noticed
your mother because her hair reminded me of Ema's."

You have emoted: Edhain doesn't seem to really even realize that he's said anything, let alone
something that should probably not be said, not in this situation especially, and probably not ever.

Traice looks over at you with a long and very silent stair at the mention of his mother. He opens
his mouth, nothing comes out. Closing his mouth again he brings his hand up to rub at the back of
his neck lightly.

You have emoted: Edhain blinks a few times and looks at Traice. "Apologies, Arbiter," he mutters
uncomfortably. "My thoughts drifted. How long have you been standing there?"

What am I supposed to do? I am going insane. Am I imagining Esrytesh, too? Or is Traice truly mine,
and only he does not see it?

Traice drops his hand down to his side, "...ah...not long." He mutters softly, "Y...You can just
call me Traice, unless you'd rather call me Arbiter?"

You have emoted: Edhain shifts his stance and awkwardly looks away. He gives a subtle shudder,
without any explanation.

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

Thinking: If I call him Traice, then... no. I do not want to think about it. Just stop. He is not mine, not my
Trace. Why do I want Trace back? To salve my guilt for what I did?

Softly, Traice says, "Whatever you are comfortable with."

Quietly, you say, "That name is the face of my greatest sin..." He swallows, and stares at the
stones again. "...I know you say it has nothing to do with you, but I cannot ignore it."

Thinking: Is it a pain I must face? It is less than I deserve.

After a moment, you say, "...alright. Traice."

You have emoted: Edhain grits his teeth for a second after the word, and takes a step or two in
order to turn away and hide his expression from Traice.

Traice looks out the entrance, then back to you. "At some point you have to stop punishing
yourself... you can't make things better if you dwell on it that way."

Thinking: ((A wrenching pain piles up chokingly.))

You have emoted: Edhain coughs out what sounds, in retrospect, to be a single bitter bark of a
laugh. "And I was just planning to go find someone to vivisect me repeatedly."

Traice shakes his head.

Traice says, "Necromancy is no joking matter... you should just get vanquished instead."

Traice smirks a little.

You ask, "Vanquished?"

Traice says, "A fey art... requires one to be immobilized the same way you would prepare them to be
vivisected."

Traice says, "Then you perform the art of Ka-la-kai."

Traice says, "After that you can extract and consume their memories."

Traice explains all of this with the same calmness one might use to describe making a sandwich.

You have emoted: Edhain lifts a hand to pass across his eyes, still turned away. "That sounds like
the opposite of pain," he mumbles vaguely.

Traice says, "I did it quite a few times the last time I took part in a major fight with Duiran."

Traice says, "It earned me becoming first target every fight after."

"Heh heh heh," Traice chuckles.

You have emoted: Edhain is quiet for a span.

Traice lifts a hand up to brush over his mask lightly, "I spent quite a span of time there war
leading Duiran actually...."

Thinking: I could ask, and he could erase my memories. My pain.... but no. I must face that agony. Why? Why
must I? Because I deserve pain.

You have emoted: Edhain seems to waver oddly, and then turns to face Traice. "Vanquish me," he
requests, but it doesn't carry even a shadow of command -- rather, it stinks of the weak plea of a
beggar, regardless of the low and stiff tone in which the two words are spoken.

Traice stares hard at you, almost immediately answering. "Why?"

You have emoted: Edhain grits his teeth, as if unable to choke out further words, and finally
manages, "Please."

Firmly, Traice says, "If you can provide me with a convincing reason first."

You have emoted: Edhain works his jaw, a muscle ticking at his temple, and then pulls away in a
sudden whirl that almost resembles a child's temper tantrum. He stands there stewing in silence for
a minute.

Thinking: ... I cannot confess my weakness. I have earned no right to surrender my pain.

Traice puts on a suit of ringmail.

Traice slowly tucks gear away as he waits for an answer from you. Not seeming to be in any hurry.

You have emoted: Edhain ejects a long exhale, trembling for a second, but not with rage. Eventually
he says, "My apologies, -Traice-." There's a tension in that spoken word, and a short pause before
he goes on stiffly. "Those of us who deserve the pain of our memories still keep them, and that is
fair."

Thinking: I do not feel as if I can stand them, though. I cannot.

Traice steps forward several steps, "You have nothing to apologize for, I turned down the request
and nobody deserves perpetual punishment but your memories help make you who you are."

Thinking: ((A memory rises to mind, for the second time this week, of a face being torn off by the long metal
thorns of a great crown. Eyeballs ripped out, blood flying, broken eye sockets, a crushed hole of a
nose, no more teeth anymore, barely any gums left...))

Softly, you say, "I do not want to be this insane, tortured shell..."

Traice sighs softly.

Traice beckons to those around him.

Hesitantly, Traice says, "Come with me...."

You have emoted: Edhain takes a breath, then lets it out, and reluctantly moves to plod after
Traice.

You begin to follow Traice.

You follow Traice to the north. [Movement]

You follow Traice to the east.
A glade deep within Duirani limits.
Rain pours down from dark thunderclouds, only the merest hints of sunset breaking through. This
glade, tucked away in Duiran's depths, plays host to a circle of trees that provide a shady canopy
for the packed earth that resides below. Root-riddled and carpeted by dead foliage, the entire copse
possesses the frigid air indicative of liminal space 'twixt winter and spring, serving as the cold
dichotomy of life and death. Ancient power suffuses the gelid emanations that hang in the air,
lending to the surroundings the scent of powerful witchcraft beyond mortal ken. Distant lights
glimmer in the depths of the wood, their fey brilliance teasing the senses and imagination alike. An
ancient obelisk presides over the surroundings, its edges outlined in time's ephemera. Wizened and
timeworn, a stone tablet wreathed in mist rises from the ground. A fairly large moth, carrying a
fluffy white body, flits through the air. Lohsavia is here. She wields a sweeping, polished falchion
in her left hand. Sibatti is here. Traice is here. Slick streams of steaming sanguine form rivulets
that weave through root and soil, daubing the glade in monastic blood.
You see a single exit leading west.

It is raining heavily, pregnant drops of water pouring down onto you.

[[ Lohsavia ]]
She is a Djeirani. With decadently dark, sinfully silken skin the color of violently muddled violets
and bruised blackberries, Lohsavia evokes the velvety vibrance of nights victory over day, that
stretch of sky striated with the resplendency of richly purpled plum before it sinks into onyx. Of a
frame both ferocious and feminine, the woman moves capably, her limbs held with a performers poised
grace. Her height reaches a hand-span shy of six feet, though she holds herself as if she were
taller, the elegant arch of her spine erect in a liquidly lissome posture. From forth her comely
crown cascades a heaven-spun halo of hair, tousled and teased into a tumultuous kaleidoscope of
texture: captivating curls coil into handsomely honed helixes before washing into winsome waves, the
length of her locks lapping over the waning of her waist and waxing of hips before the tendrils tips
touch the tops of her thighs. The shade of her mane is brown, the hue of hearth and home, of heated
havens hewn to hold tightly their charges. Through the parted sea of her tempestuous tresses,
shapely curved brows arch over heavily-lidded eyes. Mulberry irises peer forth from the feathering
flutter of lavishly lined lashes, the wine-dark shade simmering with promises both savage and sweet,
feral and fae. Her facial features are bounteous bends and bows. Beneath the nubile lines of a pert
nose, a finely full philtrum flows fluidly into the charming curve of cupids bow and flirts with the
pomegranate flush of lush lips' petalled pout. Shoots and flowers are left in the wake of her steps,
showing she walks with the Hunter's blessing.

(through the nose) : a tiny silver and ruby nosering
(CRYSTAL AMULET CONCEAL) : a red crystal amulet
(covering the body) : a stunning dress of sanguine silk
(worn on a finger) : a wine-coloured crystal floral cluster ring
(worn on the feet) : fiery-hued high-heeled sandals

[[ Sibatti ]]
She is a Tiarna an-Kiar of hungry Winter, sculpted from the essence of the darkest and coldest
nights. Her form seems to emerge from the very void itself, where light falters and warmth is but a
distant memory, deepest indigo and blacks interrupted only by flashes of bright silver, racing over
her frame in an occasional crack of lightning. Naked curves prove difficult to discern by sight
alone, her dimensionality so challenged by the flatness of void-dark that it would take a daring
hand to truly trace and learn her mysteries. Impossibly smooth and straight, her hair is so long and
abundant that it surrounds her slender form like a white cloak, an endless, seamless wave that
nearly graces the ground in uniform length. A clear, but shockingly alien focal point is found in
her eyes, like painted glyphs against the smooth planes of her face; each one is a bright, abstract
curve of white light that seems to hover just above the surface of skin, making dramatic
transformations in shape depending on her mood - one moment laughing crescent moons while the next
might be a downturned saucer. Theres a provocative allure in the shape of her body as well,
elongated and statuesque, with long limbs sculpted gracefully and tapering into delicate hands
tipped by sharp, onyx claws. This sharpness defines her everywhere, with narrow horns arching back
elegantly from the crown of her head, viciously pointed, and the striking white flash of fangs when
her mouth parts to reveal their hungry gleam. Her torso is smooth and taut, the subtle rise and fall
of her breathing the only sign of life in a form otherwise naught more than an expanse of cold and
shadow. Her bare hips flare into a subtly rounded shape, with a long and slender tail trailed by a
pinprick of star-like dots. The lower shape of her splits into shapely legs, which end in sharp
points speared against the ground, visually resemblant of hooves but only just - the seamless
transition from ankle to foot is one single, unbroken form, as with the rest of her and her body's
strange makeup. Flecks of crimson seethe through her gaze, threads of thirst that thrum with a
steady heartbeat. Shoots and flowers are left in the wake of her steps, showing she walks with the
Hunter's blessing. The steel edge of Tyranny's blessing emanates from her, crushing the atmosphere
itself into submission around her.

(faint echoes evoking witnessed passings) : a pellucid wisp of Aelwen's silent vigil

Traice leans you along, ending at the obelisk. "...Apparently you can surrender memories to this
once a year."

Rain cascades down from the skies, drenching you and your environment.

You have emoted: Edhain trudges through puddles below the trees, following Traice over to the
ancient obelisk, and then looks up from the forest floor to stare at it through the sheeting
downpour.

Carved by the hand of Immortal will and imbued with that hand's incontrovertible essence, this
obelisk stands as a testament to the rigours of time, memory, and mourning. Unknown in constituency,
the edifice possesses a porous property that infests every aspect of its existential limits - as if
it were designed to drink in something upon a metaphysical level and thus had shaped its own
physicality to match. Glimmering wisps of ephemeral power drift from its every edge, the imagery of
haunting recollection and mourning's dwell manifest within its forbidding majesty. Indistinct script
litters each face of the monument, its shift and sprawl changing at a moment's notice as if always
negotiating and compromising upon an accord mandated by the virtue of a deity's influence and a
supplicant's obedience.


Sibatti stands close to Lohsavia in the center of the glade, the two women sharing a rather intense
glare. "After the Weaving, we will gather here," she says to Lohsavia, though with the entry of
Traice and you, her head turns sharply in their direction. "Underking's chosens," she greets to
both.

Traice scoots a very reluctant step out of the way, looking between you and the obelisk. He then
draws his attention over to Sibatti, "...he wishes to forget something...." He explains, very
quietly.

From the west, a warbling hobgobbler flaps in unceremoniously.

You have emoted: Edhain flatly mutters to Traice, "Just one memory is not enough." Then he sees
Sibatti and a glint of shame passes through dark eyes. "Esrytesh." He looks away again.

Sibatti uses Tiarna Savage on a warbling hobgobbler.
Verdant energy spills along Sibatti's arm, expanding its proportions to that of a mighty bear's.
Transformed into an instrument of Her vengeance, she mauls a warbling hobgobbler with gleaming
claws, rendering flesh to bloodied ribbon.
The final blow proves too much for a warbling hobgobbler, who expires, pitifully.
Having slain a warbling hobgobbler, Sibatti retrieves the corpse.

Softly, Traice says, "Come back other years...."

Rain cascades down from the skies, drenching you and your environment.

"A severe desire," Sibatti comments, her attention moving to you with interest. She does not move
from her position near Lohsavia, but a hand comes out to steady herself on the taller Djeirani's
shape, as if moved. "She will take what you give, but I beg of you, my oldest friend."

Traice scoots back another step, looking away with an air of awkwardness as he lifts a hand to rub
at his neck.

Sibatti says to you, "Think hard on if you truly wish to forget it forever. I have seen how such
regrets have irrevocably changed someone I love, deeply, who did the same."

Like a waterfall, rain pours down around you, soaking you thoroughly.

Lohsavia tips her head to the Watcher, her eyes intense and serious. "A place well for celebrating
Winter's transition to Spring, then, for the Weaving." Her eyes skate over the duet of Traice and
Edhain, curiously studying their movements and an ear trained to the quiet speaking. Sibatti's hand
moves over the lavenderash curves of Lohsavia, and the weight of it moves through the Bard, the
severity of the choice clear. She does not speak for now, to allow Edhain reflection.

You have emoted: Edhain looks over to Sibatti again, and Lohsavia for a second, before he looks back
to the former. "I regret interrupting you," he mutters. "But pray, could you tell me the story of
your loved one's regrets..?"

Traice pointedly avoids looking towards anyone present as he attempts to appear distracted with his
own cigarillo.

Traice carefully lights a thin cigarillo.

Thinking: ...how can one change so utterly upon losing only one memory? I cannot think of a single memory I
could lose that would erase my... too many years of too much foulness.

Traice takes a long drag from a lit thin cigarillo.

Traice exhales a delicious cloud of smoke, redolent with cherry scents.

"She begged me to do it," Sibatti says clearly to you, her voice harshened by winter's cruel edge,
like chipped crystals. "And then I carried the grief of it, knowing what was lost. She stopped
crying, but every time I looked at her thereafter, I knew it to be a false peace."

A cluster of scattered fireflies begins to gather from the mists of the surrounding wood.

Traice winces, relieved it was obscured from proper view.

You have emoted: Edhain looks at Sibatti through the rain for some time.

When Traice seeks to avoid the gaze of those around the room, the aversion clear in his body
language as he takes a drag from his cigarillo, Lohsavia's eyes decide to settle there, to face the
face framed messily but auburn hair. She watches intently for a beat. "A sacrifice like this by
Edhain deserves a present witness, does it not? Hiding behind your cherry-scented smoke does not
help him find his path, it only robs him of a pair of eyes to see him and a hand to hold his."

Sibatti nods, slowly but silently at Lohsavia's suggestion.

Thinking: ((Lost. But then the haze abruptly parts in a protective swirl.))

Roughly and suddenly, with the shadow of a war marshall's command, you say, "It is not the boy's
place to help me."

You have emoted: Edhain lowers his head before the obelisk and growls out the words, "It was my
place to see him! My task to hold his hand!"

Traice grunts, lifting a hand to adjust his mask. "...Seems like the..." He pauses with your
comment, pondering the end of his cigarillo. "...Right." He takes a drag, looking over. "I am here
ain't I? You don't get to decide for me now."

Traice takes a long drag from a lit thin cigarillo.

Traice exhales a delicious cloud of smoke, redolent with cherry scents.

Even in the face of a war marshall's growl, Lohsavia does not waver or shrink, her stare intent and
serious as she considers the pair before her. "Is facing the hurt of remembering as painful as the
void that will be left when forgotten? If you have eyes, look with them, if you have hands, hold
with them. Perhaps the pain can be held, can be seen, for it is as hungry and broken as we are."

Like a waterfall, rain pours down around you, soaking you thoroughly.

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

There is surely some history between Sibatti and you, for the woman levels a tired stare in your
direction upon the answer. "He is no boy. He is the Arbiter of your King," she reminds you, the lash
of a star-studded tail cutting through the air and scattering raindrops.

Traice clicks his tongue lightly, nursing at the cigarillo but saying nothing now.

You have emoted: As abruptly as that air of unearned authority rose up from Edhain, it passes again,
and he is just a befuddled humanoid hunched forward in a soggy slump. "Traaaiice," he half-groans
out the name, and shivers dramatically.

Scoffing, Traice says, "If you think I am going to correct the Heir you are sorely mistaken."

Traice takes a long drag from a lit thin cigarillo.

Thinking: I am insane... he did not recognize the truth when I told him... he is the Arbiter, not my son.

Traice exhales a delicious cloud of smoke, redolent with cherry scents.

Thinking: Why do I keep seeing that ghost? Why? I know why... it is because I deserve to.

You have emoted: Edhain leans forward to thump his forehead against the rain-slick stone of the
ancient obelisk.

Rain cascades down from the skies, drenching you and your environment.

Traice snorts softly to himself, taking another drag.

It is raining heavily, pregnant drops of water pouring down onto you.

Traice takes a long drag from a lit thin cigarillo.

Traice exhales a delicious cloud of smoke, redolent with cherry scents.

Thinking: What memory could I give it? If I give it my shame of telling the Arbiter I thought he was my
twisted child, then I would come tell him again, and relive the shame again. If I give it that time
in the anaxagorite mines when I took a blade to the boy, I would still remember every other time I
treated a baby with fear and horror... every time I refused a child's wish to play, every time I
shoved him into some closet or cabinet, his terrible cries...

Like a waterfall, rain pours down around you, soaking you thoroughly.

Silently, with her crimson irises trained on the duet in the glade before her, Lohsavia maintains a
vigil for a memory past, for the act of witness is a grand one indeed, a gift to grant someone in
bearing it proudly. The crimson silk of her dress whips around her ankles as Sibatti's tail flicks
warningly with all of the cold and vengeful promise of winter. Lohsavia's gaze traces over Edhain's
slumped form bent over the obelisk, reading the desperation writ in the lines of his form, the
brokenness of the shape, the way the curves of his body spell grief, and though she does not know
the taste of his, she understands the flavor. When Traice snorts, the exhale sharp in the rainfilled
air, her eyes flit his way but for a breath before returning to the man draped over the earth before
the watching trio.


Deepest blackness falls as another day passes, midnight commanding the skies of Sapience.
It is now midnight on Quensday, the 21st of Severin, year 8 after the Creators' Monomachy.

In the dead of night a melancholic song can be heard in the distance, accompanied by the ominous
beat of a hand drum and chiming bells. Somewhere in the Heartwood a Shaman chants their wild
testament to the spirits beneath the stars.

Rain cascades down from the skies, drenching you and your environment.

Thinking: I could come here every year for fifty years and still have years of memory left. And it is no
justice to forget the ghost of my sins. I must live with them, somehow... perhaps I should forget my
happiest memory, to punish myself. But I do not want to forget that little voice raised in the
choir, so sweetly.

Traice purses his lips, the cover of his mask hiding any further motions of his face as he continues
to gaze on you.

Something about the setting, the circumstance, the tension that heats palpably through the air of
the wintry, enchanted glade gives Sibatti pause, and then she glares, the glyphs of her strange eye-
shapes forming sharp creasing arrows pointing downwards. Fists at her side, close, she breaks away
from Lohsavia and storms closer to you.

Thinking: That is what punishment is. Though if I came here every year and lost every happy memory I keep...
what would happen? Esrytesh is right. I could no longer be myself. I would go the same way as the
voice in the choir went. Rayne... must not have been happy. Even though I was... ahh, a bad father
in every possible way...

Sibatti's steps take her all the way up to the obelisk, fists trembling with the containment of her
fury, and she swings a heavy punch aimed directly for your cheek.

In soft hesitation, Traice says, "Heir..."

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

You have emoted: Lost in his own world of misery and soaked in the noise of the falling rain, Edhain
doesn't even notice Sibatti close the distance. He certainly proves unable to dodge a punch -- and
so the blow knocks him to one side, away from the obelisk.

Thinking: ((Stunned confusion amidst the cold.))

Sibatti is not meant for punching - she is no Tekura master, and she doesn't have her gauntlets for
mauling in the Warden's way. She steps back, shaking out her hand with a distasteful growl, her
steps uneven on the lead-up to the obelisk. A parcel is unexpectedly dropped in her hands, and she
gives it a distracted look, but demands of you nonetheless, "Is he your son or not?"

Traice cringes, looking away again as he clearly fully intended to ignore the glaring question and
let you do whatever he intended.

You have emoted: Edhain blinks several times, reeling -- perhaps more from the mental shock than any
physical damage caused by Sibatti's knuckles. He stares at her owlishly, then lifts a hand to rub at
his cheek, and gradually rights himself.

Her voice echoing with haunting distortions, Sekeres speaks to you, "Do you feel better to-day?"

Devoid of the context despite her her strong opinions on the matter of pain and memory, Lohsavia
watches, her eyes pooling with red, hot, liquid admiration as Sibatti's void-dark fist meets the
slumped form of Edhain. Perhaps Sibatti is not one for punching, perhaps their Watcher possesses
other strengths in the ways of mauling - of course she does, for the onyx curve of her claws
promises sharpness distilled itself - but Lohsavia is utterly enraptured and fiercely proud of the
strike made in the face of grief, for to take arms against it shows great courage and character and
defiance and chaos. *Dance upside down, surprise Her, be Chaos,* Sibatti had told her but moments
before, and here it is, that thrum-hum-heartbeat of *feeling,* in this glade before them. A pleased
proud purr rings forth from her throat, but she otherwise continue her vigil, for she will witness
this exchange, should Forgetting occur or not.

You have emoted: Without moving towards the ancient obelisk again, Edhain faces Sibatti and raises
his chin to speak grimly, "...the Arbiter says he is an orphan of Enorian. I have lost my mind,
Esrytesh --".

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

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 sweeps a quick glance to Lohsavia, and then an even quicker glance across
Traice, and about-faces roughly to point himself away from them all. "My apologies," is what sounds
like a gruff farewell.

You tell Sekeres, "My apologies."

Like a waterfall, rain pours down around you, soaking you thoroughly.

The cold downpour falls on the formless expanse of Sibatti, each droplet vanishing into the void
-dark of a form welcoming of all of winter's chill. "He probably is your son, because you both have
the same sad sack way of moping about," she claims, her tone sharp, her eyes raking over you with
both distance and familiarity.

Thinking: I have ruined a perfectly good evening, as usual. Next time I will find my haven from somewhere more
secret, where no one can wrest me from it...

Traice is well practiced in silence, no verbal response made at the apology but his free hand closes
into a fist at his side. He then takes another drag of his cigarillo, his masked gaze still square
on you.

Traice takes a long drag from a lit thin cigarillo.

Traice exhales a delicious cloud of smoke, redolent with cherry scents.

Thinking: If he says he is not my son, how can he be? Many people get sad. That is a normal thing..!

From forth Edhain's lips comes an apology, but the words are limned with a strange sort of tone of
farewell or goodbye, and Lohsavia does not quite know what to make of it. "What grief wracks you so
greatly that your words come out of your mouth as if you wish you did not have the air to breathe
them, Edhain?"

You have emoted: Edhain pauses just briefly at Sibatti's words, and his features tighten -- whether
at the sentiment spoken, or at something else. He says nothing, not even to answer Lohsavia, though
perhaps Traice being left standing there is silent answer enough. Forcing in a stiff breath, the ex-
knight resumes his departure into the night rain. Being called a sad sack certainly does make that
moody stalk away look more of a show of silly temper than the retreat of a grim warrior, though.

[[ Brief Movement ]]

Drips of water run down your soaked body, winding downwards towards your feet.

You have emoted: Edhain pauses, struggling to breathe for a second, and clenches his eyes shut.


Smoky undertones color Sibatti's resonant timbre, the gravelly texture of her voice crawling into
your mind like a lurking predator: "You can go, but I will find you."

Borne upon a tide of scintillating sidereal light, Sibatti arrives from the west.

You have emoted: Edhain opens his eyes, as they were clenched shut, and gives Sibatti an abrupt
look. He exhales hard, possibly having been holding his breath.

Shortly, you ask, "Why find me?"

Sibatti says to you, "He wants you to tell him he's your son. He doesn't want to be unwanted."

An indignant warble echoes throughout the Northern Ithmia as another hobgobbler falls, heralding the
start of the hobgobbler king's campaign of vengeance.

Ghavin's voice resonates across the land, "Cease at once, all hobgobblery must be eradicated by
order of the Warden!"

Thinking: ((Sour.))

Thinking: ((An abrupt ripping of pain, just remembering that shadow-shrouded little boy, so proud of his
talents and wanting his father to notice him --))

In a dourly stiff way, you say, "I told him, but --."

"Did you?" Sibatti asks.

You have emoted: Edhain grinds his teeth for a second, gaze averting from Sibatti.

Ixmi yells, "Yes? Who is it?"

Lin yells, "You're it."

Ixmi yells, "Yay!"

Finally speaking quietly, you ask, "... do you think it is true?"

Sibatti says, "Yes."

Celestial effulgence unfurls before Sibatti like a scintillating road of cosmic mystery, marking her
unerring journey to the south.

You have emoted: Edhain nods to the shadows. "I will try again," he claims, and sets his jaw
stubbornly for a second before muttering, "One last time."

A cluster of scattered fireflies begins to gather from the mists of the surrounding wood.

Thinking: And if I am proven insane, I will go to my father's wife and ask to be vivisected repeatedly.

You have emoted: Edhain takes a deep breath, and tilts his head back to look at the night sky.

You shout, "Traice, you are my son!"

Didi's voice resonates across the land, "Oo."

With a susurrant, grave-like rasp, Traice echoes, "Th...thanks."

You have emoted: Edhain blinks in confusion.

You shout, "You hear me?! You recognize the truth of your blood?!"

You remove 1 acuity, bringing the total in the cache to 103.

You swallow a pill of acuity.
You now possess the gift of the third eye.
You have gained the thirdeye defence.

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Traice - A glade deep within Duirani limits - v78449
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There is 1 person total online with 0 people that are hidden from you.

Ghavin's voice resonates across the land, "Hobgobblery is never the answer! If you see stuffing, say
something!"

[[ About to go to Traice, but then ]]


Drips of water run down Traice's soaked body, winding downwards toward his feet.

You have emoted: Edhain looks over at Traice sharply.

Drips of water run down Traice's soaked body, winding downwards toward his feet.

In a much quieter voice, you ask, "You hear me? You recognize the truth of your blood?"

You have emoted: Despite his vehement bellowing, there is clearly still a part of Edhain that is
lost and confused, seeking some kind of confirmation from Traice.

Traice sounds a very distinct clearing of his throat, "Perhaps... not shouting it for everyone to
speak their input... but... I..." He pauses, unsure now that it was finally just flat out said, he
lifts a hand up to rub over his neck again. "I suspected on some conversation..." He returns softly.

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

You have emoted: Edhain turns to Traice, opening both arms. "Come here," he mutters gruffly.

Your pose is now set as:
Edhain stands facing Traice, both arms spread wide.

Ghavin's voice resonates across the land, "All nations be advised that some - if not all - residents
of Duiran have thrown in their lot with the hobgobblers! We have traitors in our efforts to stand
against hobgobblery across the continent!"

The haunting chords of her voice blast across the landscape as Lin cries, "I've had enough of this.
I'm going to snap your neck."

The haunting chords of her voice blast across the landscape as Lin cries, "My ears beg for REST."
Traice then simply just nods.

Ghavin's voice resonates across the land, "Aha! The hobgobbler traitor reveals themselves!"

Ser Avrax, Eidolon of the Shadow Keep shouts, "Of course it's L.I.N.! Lying Infiltrator Numpty!"

The haunting chords of her voice blast across the landscape as Lin cries, "What! That's not what
that stood for!"

(Duiran): Morraine says, "What a devastating blow..."

(Duiran): Lin says, "I demand reclassification!"

(Duiran): Sibatti says, "I don't know how you're going to recover, my wife."

It is now dawn on Quensday, the 21st of Severin, year 8 after the Creators' Monomachy.

Birds fly from their roosts as a throaty voice rises from the caverns of the Heartwood. Others soon
join in the lasting sonorous harmony, the forest Shaman's call to morning meditation.

(Duiran): Ixmi says, "A lying numpty? I had no idea..."

Traice takes a deep breath, definitely giving you a hard gaze. If you only knew just how little
contact he tended to make with... anyone really. Nonetheless some inner thought in him drove the man
to finally edge towards you with a reluctant offer of both of his arms.

(Duiran): Lin says furiously, "I'm not a lying numpty!!"

(Duiran): Morraine says, "You think you know a Doe..."

(Duiran): Lin says, "I don't even know what a numpty is!"

(Duiran): Pilar says, "She is a lying numpty."

You have emoted: Edhain stands awkwardly with both arms open for some time, waiting for Traice. He
might have been just about to drop the attempt when he notices that reluctant edging, and then
closes the distance with a rough embrace.

Your pose is now set as:
Edhain is roughly embracing a shadow-shrouded Traice.

Softly, Traice says, "For years...the only thing I ever wanted to know was who my parents were, I...
couldn't...I couldn't remember anything."

You have emoted: Edhain squeezes Traice about the shoulders, not releasing him from that fierce hug.
"I am here now," he says, and his voice breaks on the last word before he brushes a brusque kiss
against the top rim of his mask.

Thinking: ...too little, too late. Can my love salve a wound that regret would never heal?

Thinking: ((Horrible sadness, overwhelming, at the thought of Traice's childhood.))

Traice would awkwardly try to return the hug with all the effort of someone who clearly wasn't
accustom to the gesture. "...Do you want me to take the mask off?" The question comes unsure as he
was held in the others hug, as alien as the situation was he wasn't in a hurry to discourage it.

Thinking: I had forgotten my childhood in the tower, too. Likely for the same reason he forgot his. There I
was, thinking myself a righteous hero, a noble knight. And I committed the same sins upon my son
that my father had done...

You have emoted: "It is fine, Traice," Edhain mutters, still hugging Traice tightly. "Be as you are.
I see you through it." And then he swallows, and repeats, "I see you, I see you," while punctuating
each repetition with a gruff whack on the back.

Traice prays to the Gods for a fresh chance at life, and is reincarnated into an intelligent Azudim.

Traice empties out an elixir of mana into his mouth.

Thinking: I have a second chance here. I must thank Esrytesh somehow -- what is he doing?

Traice jolts just a bit with each gruff whack, not because it was unwelcome but simply bracing
reflexively to it as he tries to straighten up. "I... well... I just don't understand what you want
to forget or why you would... avoid resolving this." He explains back in a low tone.

You have emoted: Edhain goes somewhat still, then releases Traice with a terrible gentleness. He
takes a step back. "I..." There's a hesitation there, a furrowing of his brow. "... Will explain,
someday."

Thinking: ... will I? Can I? It is hard to say... how?

Traice presses his lips lightly before nodding slightly. "I don't want to force anything on you." He
shifts weight between is feet, his gaze drifting around them before settling back on you. "...What
now then?"

From the east, a warbling hobgobbler flaps in unceremoniously.
A warbling hobgobbler snarls angrily at Traice and moves in for the kill.
Its head swinging about erratically, a warbling hobgobbler pecks at Traice's eyes wildly!
Traice jerks to the side, the attack partly dulled.

You thrust your arm out in a quick jab at a warbling hobgobbler.
You connect!
Damage done: 10, blunt, brute
The final blow proves too much for a warbling hobgobbler, who expires, pitifully.

"Heh heh heh," Traice chuckles.

After punching a hobgobbler that dared to attack his newfound son, you say, "...I am not sure. Maybe
I will understand after a rest."

You have emoted: Edhain frowns and looks away.

Traice says, "...ah... I can agree with that...yes."

Thinking: I am already feeling more... together. Less scattered. It is good to know that I was not insane in
mistaking my own child.

Traice nods his head, "I much as I suspected already... having it verbalized means actually
addressing it."

You have emoted: Edhain nods slowly, looking back to Traice. "It feels better," he agrees in a half
-mutter. "Farewell, for now..."

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.

[[ Found somewhere more out-of-the-way to haven ]]