Macavity said:

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  annoyed that HELP files are not updated in game!!  Seriously, how are we, as a community, suppose to have new players if the information they are reading in HELP files are not correct??  

You tell Annoying, "..." The only thing that comes through the connection is a frosty aloofness, and then it cuts off with a pointed snap. "..."

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."

This tall and lean Kelki sailor possesses a weathered countenance, bearing the marks of his maritime journeys. With eyes that are a mesmerizing near-white blue, his attention is given and maintained with confidence. His hair takes the form of numerous thick tentacles, cascading from his head with a graceful undulation. Marked rarely by the occasional scar, his skin displays captivating hues of mottled blues, reminiscent of the ocean's depths. Delicate white speckles adorn his muscular arms, blending harmoniously with his aquatic nature. A subtle flush of deeper purple accents his cheeks, lips, and the tip of his nose, lending an air of distinction. In this Kelki sailor, the wisdom of his experience is etched upon his face and reflected in his captivating features, yet in his movements he carries with him a certain audacious swagger. A darkly inked tattoo marks his exposed chest depicting a downward pointed dagger with twin serpents coiled about its blade. (left slightly opened) : a simple, dark purple sailor's vest (kept fastened with a thick leather belt) : loose fitting, off-white trousers (dangling from his weaponbelt) : a sharp, steel cutlass (well-traveled) : a pair of sturdy brown leather boots

Note: I don't recommend setting stuttersPerLine to anything higher than 2 or 3, unless you want people to start claiming PK on you.