I don't usually post logs, but when I do, they mean a lot to me. I hope you guys have fun reading this one! This very lengthy and full of meaty writing, so I will be breaking it up into multiple spoilers.TW: Mild pyschological horror, some mild gore, and distress. Summary:
Sekeres comes to the temple, intending to show Iesid her offering for a ritual. Diantha, a lunar nymph comes to speak with both of them. Sekeres tries to teach her about the simplest question of all: What is love?Things to note:
- Big thanks to @Omei
for this wonderful scene, and a huge thank you to @Iesid
- This log simply isn't the same without the colors and beauty of the actual game text platform. It had magnificent pastels and ombres of every color tucked inside of it. Sadly, I can't convey that.
- Sekeres' thoughts are redacted and some other items are too, because they are very sensitive material that gives more insight than most other characters have. Sorry!The involved:
Diantha, the lunar nymph of Omei's Court.
, seasoned Azudim who is the Imago's Seer.
Sekeres, the stormy, mind-bendingly curious Yeleni who is Singer to the Imago.
Omei's Wood, the breathing, living center of waking dreams.Where it takes place:
Before a roaring of purple flames.
There is finally a break in the forest, the dirt floor melding seamlessly into stone before a great wall rises. Molded within the stone, and seemingly molded by it without crushing or breaking, is a forge that when lit bears flames of a purple hue that create an impressive, ethereal glow to the space. Around the forge, and likewise seemingly pulled from the stone itself, is an anvil, a bench, and a divet filled with quenching oil, seeming to clear itself from time to time. An alloyed forge of chromatic hues stands here. A battlemistress fae statue of quicksilver watches the area keenly, piercing violet eyes illuminated from the flickering fires of the forge.
[Iesid is here doing something, who's to know what he's doing. But Sekeres is on a mission to show him something special.]
You purse your lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as you carefully gather your thoughts.
You say to Iesid, "I thought I'd drop by and show you what I'll be offering."
You say, "If you want to see!"
Iesid tilts his head and listens intently.
[Sekeres shows her sketch to him, and she awaits his judgment.]
A small, silver-haired nymph darts in from the south.
"The sketch on someone's finger showing it worn... it looks a little funny," Iesid assesses bluntly, a slender finger rising to indicate the thinness of the accessory. "Other than that, it looks like a beautiful work. A complete project. Suitable for this purpose, I hope."
Iesid's eyes dart over towards Diantha, a lunar nymph. He flashes a welcoming smile.
Diantha, a lunar nymph creeps closer, her coralline hand held before her in an initially defensive posture. Soon, though, it drops, at spotting the Seer and Singer more closely. She attempts to approximate a smile of her own, but it looks more like bared, awkward teeth, devoid of the necessary impetus. Her lips seal shut a moment later, and she stares in silence, her singular, still, acknowledgment serving for a greeting.
Sekeres nods understandably to him, though she grows distracted by the approach of Diantha, a lunar nymph. Her thin lips smile fondly, her eyes a soft plum shade. "My greetings Diantha," she intones sunnily as she folds the sketch in her hands carefully.
SEKERES THINKS: "She has a name now, I wonder what she thinks of me...Now that she has not come just from my offering what seems as if years ago."
Diantha, a lunar nymph is immobile, almost as though she, herself, were some pale and pastel statue of silver. Her flesh is a hazy swim as she stares between Iesid and you, arms poised awkwardly and unnaturally before she remembers to let them hang at her side. "Your thoughts are noisy," she says. "Should I go?"
Sekeres shakes her head gently as she sets aside the paper in a pouch along her hip. "No, you are welcome, and my thoughts calm when you are near," she utters with a small smile as she turns to Diantha, a lunar nymph. "It's been a long time since we've spoken. How are you?" Her asking comes on the heels of her idly scratching about her abdomen, an unconscious gesture.
"Nonsense, there is no such need," Iesid replies as he shakes his head to clear whatever fog had led
him astray into a daze. "No. I am merely waiting here and might be... boring."
"I. Don't know," Diantha, a lunar nymph admits. Her voice trails off. She's staring at your feet, frozen - the flux of her floral hues and all - for want of words. She wavers, wobbly, worry winding across her frowning face. "I know I'm supposed to know but I don't know."
Sekeres purses thin lips, her charcoal brows winging much more tenderly. She blinks slowly to Diantha, a lunar nymph. "You don't need to know right now," she comforts in a low voice as she glances aside to him (Iesid) and back. Quiet is felt for a short time, and her toes curl as she looks more keenly to the nymph's face. "What have you been doing about the Wood?" The wondering comes without pressure, or consequence.
SEKERES THINKS: She keeps her thoughts quiet, mouse-like. A feeling of motherly stability and nothing more.
"...becoming." This much, Diantha, a lunar nymph is able to volunteer with certainty after taking a few moments to collect her thoughts. The effort of standing overwhelms her as she sinks against the forge wall, sitting, knees drawn near as a silver-dotted palisade against the copper wood. She peers forth, iridescent eyes trained on you. If nothing else, she seems to find some stability in the sight of you. "Hunting. Eating. Drinking."
A final, shy admission, Diantha, a lunar nymph says, "Thinking."
Sekeres nods her pointed chin, dreadlocks swaying about her shoulders as she enfolds her tanned calves done to sit opposite of Diantha, a lunar nymph. The motion slow and idly popping at her kneecaps. A cradle of the back of her hands meets her chin as she slouches, gazing aside - not looking directly to her. "All good things," she smiles. Then a pause as she frees one hand, and pulls the curtain of her hair over one shoulder, an excuse to gaze to Diantha, a lunar nymph and back again. "What sort of things have you thought?"
THE NYMPH: There's a shimmer of tumultuous pastel at this question from the Singer, painting the slate grey of the forge in a wash of colorful hues. Diantha's glow soon subsides, but not before she's averted her gaze again, stumbling - a gulf of silence standing between her and whatever reply might seem fitting. Her clawed, coralline hand trembles and clenches tight, beads of blood dripping forth at the unbidden gesture. Not quicksilver blood, though.
Instead, it's red. Red, mortal, shining like dulled rubies shot through by starry silver.
Diantha, a lunar nymph says, "Sometimes I miss before now. I keep becoming more like mortals. More
Sekeres' skin is bathed in the tempest of those luminous, muted hues and it lingers as imprints on her skin. Like a leopard's camouflaging spots before dissipating, sudden and entire - leaving her pale and ashen. Her breath comes in a slow stream, and the fey of her visage is still. Watching Diantha, a lunar nymph with silvery-turquoise eyes with a flare of her nostrils.
Slowly, you say to Diantha, a lunar nymph, "Why do you miss it?"
SEKERES THINKS: Her heart begins to race. The smell of the nymph's blood. In each pound, grappling with understanding and unsure joy.
"Have you ever felt stretched and dry?" Diantha, a lunar nymph asks softly, lifting her pale palm. There, nesting in pale orange, pools the starlit blood, reflecting her drawn features. "Stiff like any move will make you crack?" She stares upward, flinging the blood against herself. Rivulets draw down her nude frame, soon melting to silver mist and fading once lost from her.
Diantha, a lunar nymph says, "That's what becoming one of you is like. Less dimensions. Less possibilities. Just the order of a single, rarely-changing body."
Sekeres is suddenly up on her knees, her palms scooting her an inch forward near the coppery wall of the forge. Nearer to Diantha, a lunar nymph. She settles on her haunches as they curl in transition to splay along the ground. Her hands clasp, talons enfolded.
"Sometimes, I feel this way. Drained, and tired. Our bodies have bones, and structure that you have not experienced. Some would call it order..." She affirms to Diantha, a lunar nymph as her head bows, though her eyes level with the moonlit face. "But, I disagree. It is just a form. Though we do not have as many dimensions, we try to be dimensionless. Like you, before. I know...That I do."
Though with the weight of his (Iesid) presence here, her eyes drift up then back to Diantha, a lunar nymph. There is vulnerability. "I am afraid, that I'll get stuck forever, feeling one way, stiff, and cracked." The wildling splays her palms over her knees. "That I cannot be one way again, one color, one motion that I had loved in the moment. Sometimes, I am afraid that if I change enough, that I'll forget what made Someone love."
Then she swallows, "But I do not think the possibilities are less. They are different. Different and scary. But just as numerous, with some limitations that you do not know yet."
SEKERES THINKS: [Redacted]
Diantha, a lunar nymph receives all of this from you in silence, staring. There is an attempt, in
those still and worried eyes of silver, to parse all that you is - all that you said. Silvery lines crease her alien brow. Her lips part to speak, but words fail her in her moment of need. Instead, falling back upon what passes for instinct, legs splaying in self-same fashion to you, hand and claw settling upon her knees - mirroring you. Moment by moment, silent thought passes, until some measure of comprehension emerges in her features. It's difficult to say whether her fear has been fully allayed, but it's clear that it has, at the very least, been somewhat assuaged.
Questingly, Diantha, a lunar nymph says, "...do you know what makes Her love?"