Oh My Omei

This was my first attempt at manual logging so parts are MISSING, but it's pretty long so maybe that is for the best. Enjoy

Teotl asks to visit Tecpatl/Omei's Temple
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Aloud, in response to something unheard, Omei, the Imago says to Iesid, "I invited him."

In self-correction, Omei, the Imago says, "Them."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

You smile and say, in Rajamala, "And I am honoured to accept the invitation, Tecpatl."

"Then I will not take offense," Iesid murmurs in response to Omei's granted clarity. The Seer issues a loud sound from the depths of his throat, clearing a lump from it.

"I will, perhaps, leave you to entertain... further conversation." Omei's grin intensifies a moment, and She reaches out to pat Iesid's shoulder lightly with Her claw. "Come, Consanguine, I want to show you things."

You begin to follow Omei.

Omei shoots a parting smirk over Her shoulder at Iesid, waving a lazy claw in farewell.

You follow Omei to the southeast.
An angular staircase.

A landscape of quicksilver hangs upon the wall, framed in glimmering magewood. Flickering braziers cast their light upwards and into the staircase before you.
You see exits leading east, south, northwest, and up.

You flick one of your ears reflexively.

You follow Omei to the east.
The back of the temple.

A dusty book rests here, settled upon a sandstone podium that gleams with purple runes spiraling about its base. A landscape of quicksilver hangs upon the wall, framed in glimmering magewood.
You see exits leading east, southeast, southwest, and west.

You follow Omei to the east.
Northeastern staircase.

A landscape of quicksilver hangs upon the wall, framed in glimmering magewood. Flickering braziers cast their light upwards and into the staircase before you.
You see exits leading northeast, south, west, and up.

You follow Omei to the south.
A wall lined with pillows.

A landscape of quicksilver hangs upon the wall, framed in glimmering magewood.
You see exits leading north, south, southwest, and northwest.

You follow Omei to the south.
The southeastern corner of the temple.

A landscape of quicksilver hangs upon the wall, framed in glimmering magewood. Flickering braziers cast their light upwards and into the staircase before you.
You see exits leading north, southeast, west, and up.

You follow Omei to the southeast.
A room filled with statuary.

A statue of colliding seasons spans wide throughout the area. A landscape of quicksilver hangs upon the wall, framed in glimmering magewood.
You see a single exit leading northwest.

Teotl eyes a landscape of quicksilver curiously, "this is the work of the moths, Tecpatl?"

"Here is one of My favorite quicksilver statues," Omei murmurs, gesturing forward. "It was shaped by a moth who masques as the liberator."

.You raise an eyebrow questioningly.

Omei, the Imago says to you, "And this landscape, too - the work of the mouse."

(Description of the statue)
Cast from ever-shifting quicksilver, a statue of a gnarled and withered tree rises skywards with barren branches reaching out in every direction to seemingly embrace the world around them. At the base, a bulky trunk supports the weight of the piece like a lone foot soldier preparing for his last battle. Careful attention to detail has been paid to carving individual grooves and uneven shapes, giving an old and decaying feel to the bark protecting the tree like a battle-worn shield to a warrior. Upon closer appraisal, the chaotic nature of the quicksilver readily elects its mutable properties, taking what was once a dying, withering tree and capturing the full scope of nature's true majesty of colliding seasons. What was once a distorted and bulky base has now been cast in new and mottled hues, a delicate splash of brown, orange, and red rendering the newly formed bark in the wake of winter's wrath. Young growth curls around the base of the tree, its blooms of purple celebrating the resurgence of verdant Springtide. Further up along the titanic trunk, the colors swirl and shift into a burnt-orange and muted pink coloring with bright hues of yellow mixed in, shining through like the last rays of a descending sun to close out a warm Summer day. Like a chilly breath, the quicksilver shifts to the left of the sprawling branches, saturating them in varying cool tones of deep green. Small leaves droop from twigs that dance with hues of mint and amber, symbolizing the cooler temperatures and shorter days that the season of Fall ushers in. Shifting colors collide with the right side of the tree, limbs bare and cold, terminating into barely perceptible twigs at the end of each branch. Cobalt blue light dapples this final section of the tree, offsetting the darkness that cloaks it. The vacillating quicksilver that forms this display lends the illusion of falling snow that grants Winter's icy kiss to its weather worn branches.
The liberator's oneiric signature pervades this statue.

(description of the landscape portrait)
This landscape, though flat, consists in a film of quicksilver stretched flat and immobile across a frame of magewood. In spite of its liquid appearance, and the slow shift of color which courses through its confines, it maintains cohesion, as well as the suggestion of some image within.
The image within the frame takes clearer form as you gaze on:
A beleaguered traveller on a shattered road.
A road made of crazed glass stretches from one corner of the scene to the other. Here and there, copses of alien trees stand in formation, eerie in their unfamiliarity. In a swirl of monochromatic quicksilver, massive eagles pepper the sky around the road, intent upon the girl walking alone below. The more the viewer focuses on the features of the girl, the more the details slip the mind. Her face is a bit of every face, her coloring shifting with each passing moment. Chains around the waist of the girl lead back to a village in the distance, and she leans forward stubbornly against them toward some unseen goal ahead. With a broken smile, the girl is reaching into an open cavity in her chest inside which a shredded heart can be seen. The other hand already holds a dripping chunk, extended out toward one of the eagles. Throughout the scene, the majestic birds, both deepest black and brightest white, fight and squabble over the bloody pieces. A trail of blood, glittering on the glass like crimson stars, leads back along the road a distance to where a huge pair of violet wings lie in a shallow ditch, ripped off and discarded.
The mouse's oneiric signature pervades this landscape, silver stars glimmering in the air.


-- BIG CHUNK OF RP EXPLAINING OMEI'S ORDER RANKS AND OTHER COOL THINGS I WISH I HAD RECORDED--



A flicker of light appears as though summoned by your words - in Omei's hand, violet fire blossoms, shining forth with deep, eldritch effulgence. "I," She clarifies, "Am the fire."

Your breath catches in a gasp of surprise.

Teotl instinctively leans inward, eyes wide as their nose nearly touches the flame in Omei's hand. "Whoa..."

Omei lets Her hand drift closer to your face. The tongues of violet lick upward at ?? jawline, though they do not singe or sear. They are no warmer than living fingertips, in fact.

Teotl laughs, open and joyful, and the flickering warmth of violet on their face, the light sending shadows and illuminating the emerald sheen to their fur. "Amazing... how... but this isn't the fire spoken of in the Beacon..."

"No," Omei agrees, letting violet and emerald intermingle in surges of brilliant, chromatic light. "There are all sorts of fire, lost cub. Mine is the fire of the mind, the impetus of emotion and thought - for I was created Instinct."

Teotl closes their eyes, appreciating the play of sensations and story. "Fire of the mind... impetus of emotion and thought... Instinct." They consider that for a moment, "Tecpatl, I struggle with my Instincts. They buzz and rattle and flash... how do I understand Instinct?"

The loud sound of thunder rolls through the skies, shaking the air around you.

"Mm." Omei's claw withdraws, folding closed. In a flash, the violet fire is gone from sight, and She trails forward, seating Herself beneath a statue of a tree displaying colliding seasons. She reclines to one side, Her tail a steady flick at Her back. "Buzz, rattle, flash... come, sit," She pats the earth beside Her, "Tell Me more."

Teotl opens their eyes, face suddenly much colder for the lack of flame. They nod, padding quietly to the tree and sitting in one fluid motion beside Omei beneath the statue. "Well... when someone is much too... much." They frown, tail flicking in annoyance as they seek out the words, "too... wishing to pin me to a place or mark me as their own. Out of Desire or what have you. There is a buzz that grows to a rattle..." They frown at the sudden scream, losing their thoughts for a moment.

Iesid Mulariad, the Imago's Seer's voice resonates across the land, "I am sorry that I do not notice what is differently menacing about your already menacing figure, Lieutenant."

Ser Kanivara Sor'Tirivan, Surgeon General's voice resonates across the land, "He can't SEE, Jetta, cut him some slack."

With manic excitement, Rijetta screams, "Here's a tip, it should have been LESS menacing, you stupid jerk."

With manic excitement, Rijetta screams, "Don't talk to me anymore unless you want impaled."

Omei's nose wrinkles at the further noise and furor amid the sky, but then She waves it off, clearing Her throat. Her claw creeps forward, a warm, violet-tinged touch against your cool head.

Omei, the Imago asks with purrs and near-subvocal intonations, "This is common practice where you are from? To shape others like quicksilver?"

Teotl flexes their claws into the earth, digging for the words, "I am all... coiled and shaking..." they glance up at the question, "not... not quicksilver, no. Marble sometimes, I think?"

"Marble," Omei frowns. "As immutable, yet reducible. This is the thinking?"

Your eyes twinkle enchantingly.

You look thoughtful and say to Omei, in Rajamala, "I do not know the thinking, Tecpatl. I prefer to hold leather, scales, feathers."

You say, in Rajamala, "Bone."

You cease wielding a delicate, spiral-etched athame in your left hand.

You start to wield a blackened folding scalpel of intricate detail in your left hand.

"A ritualist?" Omei questions, even as Her empty eyes flit down to your athame - tucked away in favor of the scalpel.

Teotl blushes, black fur covering evidence save for the thin, reddening skin of her nose and ears.

You say unsurely to Omei, in Rajamala, "Hardly, Tecpatl. There aren't many rituals to know... though I wish there was one to know Dreams now and again."

Omei, the Imago says with purrs and near-subvocal intonations, "We have begun to make rituals among My Court once more, lost cub. Many are those which have been lost across My history. Imprisonment... fractured memory. Yet, in some sense... you can see dreams here. Dreams, made manifest. Amidst the statues, the landscapes, are the deepest and most precious sentiments of the moths who wrought them."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

You exclaim to Omei, in Rajamala, "It heartens me to hear, Tecpatl. Does Your Court use blood in ritual, as mine? Or fire... I have so many questions!"

"We have made use of blood," Omei grins wide. "Fire, too, in rituals of summoning. Why," She boasts on, gesturing expansively with an open claw, "Five years hence, My shell-to-be beckoned much of Me from the far-flung corners of Sapience by the self-same fire which I now wield!"

Teotl digs their claws into the earth once more, rhythmically flexing and retracting, tail lashing with excitement.

You ask Omei, in Rajamala, "What sorts of rituals, Tecpatl? Of hunt, or vision or story?"

"The only one of which I will tell one Uncourted," Omei murmurs, resting Her weight back against the trunk of the tree, "Is that of inscription - the granting of the chaos mark."

Teotl leans back against the tree trunk in sync with Omei, tilting their head back and closing their eyes to listen. One ear flicks as they ask, "what is the Chaos mark, Tecpatl?"

"A mark of Chaos," Omei teases with a laugh - but at the same time, holds up Her arm to demonstrate a silver moon tattoo. "One of these. Many of My moths - the masked ones, at least - wear them."

Omei makes a quick adjustment to a silver moon tattoo, which shimmers with violet light.

The loud sound of thunder rolls through the skies, shaking the air around you.

Teotl snickers, then lifts their head to crack open one eye to see what is being referenced. "A mark... why is everyone always seeking to mark and be marked..." They stare at the mark awhile longer before tilting their head back again. "What does it do, this mark?"

"Not a mark of ownership," Omei is quick to assure you. "This is a mark of communion. A bridge between mortal primality, wildest dreaming, and chaotic possibility. One may will its form to different colors, shapes... in time, it makes instruction in further mysteries possible." She lowers Her arm from their sight.

Teotl absently twirls a blackened folding scalpel between her claws, then balances it on the back of her paw and flicks it off to spin in the air before she catches it by the handle.

You ask Omei, in Rajamala, "...do you think this mark would help me understand my instincts?"

"It's quite possible that it would grant you jhako - unity in confrontation..." Omei trails off, regarding you with uncertainty, "But only the living may wear such a mark, lost cub. You must be able to dream before you can dreamwalk."

Teotl closes their eyes again, paw sinking to the ground and head bowing. "Right," they murmur, "always the divide..."

Teotl keeping their head bowed, they whisper, "Can you still teach me how the ritual is done, Tecpatl? I love rituals..."

"I would venture," Omei remarks aloud, thoughtfully, as She reaches across to lay a claw upon your shoulder, "That your instincts now are a scramble because of your nature. You have had your mortal soul sundered from you, your spirit turned to shadow. A monster, wrought for power. You prey upon the blood of the living - and as such, cannot help but try and claim one another in likewise fashion."

Omei, the Imago asks, "You are made to be predator or prey. What room is there for a mortal?"

You murmur to Omei, in Rajamala, "You think me a monster?"

"...no," Omei admits, after a thoughtful moment, Her voice a low purr. She looks across, empty-eyed, to you, scarlet glimmers caught in the dim sockets. "I think you were frightened of being a person."

Teotl slumps visibly at this, shoulders shaking and tears beading in their fur. They lean forward and bring their knees to their chest, face buried in their paws.

At your dissolution, Omei slips nearer, curling an arm across your shoulder. She says nothing, and does not rise from where She is set.

Teotl chokes back a sob, then sniffs loudly a few times before clearing their throat in an attempt to compose themselves. "I don't... I can't..." They hiccup loudly and wipe at their face. "And now?"

"Now," Omei murmurs, reaching aside into the thin air to pull a violet handkerchief forth, "You have thinking to do, cub. It will be hard. It will be difficult."

Omei presses a violet handkerchief into your paw.

Teotl glances down and stares at a violet handkerchief, dumbfounded momentarily before their incessant thinking commences once more, "It is always difficult. I don't ask the easy questions," they murmur, half to themselves and half to Omei. "Someone has always already answered those..." Lifting their gaze to Omei they manage a weak grin and chuckles, "but this is a token of course... you know that our... well my... kind are perfectly capable of grooming."

Teotl demonstrates their point by casually grooming themselves, and then to honour the intimacy of the moment, Omei.

A crescent smile, bright and moon, marks Omei's nod of assent. "Just so, cub. You may show it within this Wood, if your presence here should fall under question. Many of those who frequent these halls have thinking of their own to do... that is, in fact, partially the purpose of the art about us." She permits your grooming, lowering Her voice a touch in the closeness.

Teotl leans back as they finish Omei's thorough grooming and smiles. "Perhaps my own art will grace Your temple some day, and inspire the thinking of another," they wink one glittering emerald eye with no lack of mischief in the recovery of their composure.

You ponder the situation.

You ask Omei, in Rajamala, "Do you think Quicksilver can be made to sing a song, Tecpatl?"

"May your words be prophecy," Omei murmurs - and then She sits up, back cracking softly as She stretches. A soft growl issues from Her maw, and She looks to you. Her brow rises.

Omei, the Imago says, "...I suppose it might, yes..."

The corners of your mouth turn up as you grin mischievously.

Teotl leans up and springs to their feet, young and lithe, and claps their paws together. "I suppose we will find out in time!"

Omei laughs aloud at your exuberance, Her tail giving a twitch of anticipatory excitement. "I suppose we will," She smiles in turn. "How pleasant to have met you in the flesh, lost cub."

You smile and say to Omei, in Rajamala, "And a generations long honour to have met You, Tecpatl."

Omei, the Imago has bestowed a divine blessing upon you. It will last for 7 days.

"Go, then, with the same blessing which has given your ancestors strength and clarity," Omei whispers - and dissolves away, having spoken so.



Embroidered with moths and poppies at the hemmed edges, this violet handkerchief has been woven from silk and folds into a neat and portable square. A scent of sandalwood and myrrh lingers upon it.
It bears the distinctive mark of Omei, the Imago.

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yup.
licked a Goddess and didn't die.
You're welcome.