A delightful little meeting in Isune's fulcrux that cheered me up both ICly and OOCly, followed by a surprising encounter with an emissary from Hoaracle coming to greet Isune. Looking back on it, I probably could have done more and waxed more philosophical about ideas, inspiration, and dreams, but I still had fun and I hope Isune did as well. :wub: Hopefully, she won't mind my posting this, as I found it too adorable not to share.

(Also, my method of "logging" basically involves copy-pasting stuff, often while the event is still going on, so I know I missed some things here and there.)

A soft light winks in and out of sight, darting off into the distance towards what you know, somehow, is the Fulcrux of Isune, the Aesthete.



Mumbling aloud, you say, "I am so lost."

In the centre of a cavernous geodesic prism.
Surrounded by forks of white lightning, a scintillating gold thunderbird spreads his white-feathered wings here, grey eyes alight with a considerate intellect.
You see exits leading north, southeast, south, southwest, northwest, and up.

The light appears again, glowing ephemerally before your eyes.

The Fulcrux of Isune.
Shifting and shimmering in undulating waves, heatless sparks rise in a rippling fountain of light. A solitary iris has sprouted from the glorious terrain here, its petals a palette of gorgeous colours. A mist-emblazoned tablet rests here, glowing with a soft luminescence. The graceful, translucent form of a bird of paradise dances in the air, the insubstantial image shifting through a constant stream of vivid colours. An enormous falcon nervously talons the ground, wings mantling.
There are no obvious exits.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.

You say, "Aha. Yes. I meant for that to happen."

p falcon
Wide and dialated eyes of gold foil quickly focus and unfocus as the falcon turns its head with short jerks and bobs to eye anything that moves too fast for its liking. His nervously clicking beak and talons are a mother of pearl white, while the scales around his nostrils, eyes, and forelegs are blue quartz, though all of them are scuffed, dull, and in poor condition. Downy feathers are matted to the top of his beak and head, leading back to a ragged crest, and the once long and elegant feathers that tipped his ears have been broken clean off. His feathers overall are white and patterned with dull grey bars that work their way across his back, but many are haggard from little care and overzealous preening, and even more feathers have transparent markings and rusty stains from improper molting. He holds his wings halfway opened in a permanent mantling stance, though they occasionally flick open or shut in a jittery twitch.
Volucer does not even register your presence as a threat.
He weighs about 134 pounds.
He is loyal to Isune, the Aesthete.
You cannot see what Volucer is holding.

You cough softly.

You say to Volucer, "Greetings, Volucer."

There's a soft titter as the lights flicker about the Fulcrux with soft sunlight.

Volucer inches bashfully over to you and nuzzles you tenderly.

Volucer says to you, "Irillia! What brings you here?"

Volucer bounces up in place with excitement.

You say to Volucer, "You know, Volucer, I am not entirely sure! There I was, sitting in my boudoir and mumbling about my feelings on recent events... and then, a little light beckoned me here!"

Comprehension flashes across Volucer's face.

You say to Volucer, "But, shame of all shames, I actually got lost trying to find my way here. I have never come and visited you in your home, after all, and I did not know the way."

You whisper to Volucer, "I still don't know the way, but don't tell anyone that!"

With dawning realisation, Volucer says, "Oh! The flickering lights."

Volucer says, "Pssshhhh..."

Volucer says to you, "It is okay. Not everyone is as gifted a flyer as I am."

Volucer fluffs his feathers self-importantly.

The tittering appears once more as the lights glow with amusement.

You say, "Ah! There is flying involved! It's no wonder I couldn't manage it."

Volucer tilts his head with a pensive little click of his beak as the lights dance.



Volucer says to you, "If you need to go, I'll tell them to wait for you."

Volucer jerks towards the light, acknowledging their glow are 'them'.

You look about yourself, rubbing your chin thoughtfully.

You say, "I suppose I do not need to go. I could have sworn we had more citizens around just a few minutes ago."

You say, "Not just me, the...the new Magistrate, and Maellio."

Volucer says, "I wonder, am I supposed to call him the Magistrate or Scion? I like Scion better."

Using his tongue and the roof of his mouth, Volucer makes a quiet clicking noise.

You say, "Volucer, I am quite sure that if you called him 'That violin-playing person,' he would answer to it."

Volucer snickers softly to himself.

You say, "Though Scion is probably more appropriate."

Volucer says to you, "I'm not technically a citizen of Hallifax, really."

Decidedly, Volucer says, "I can't vote."

You say, "How dreadful! You really should be."

Volucer says, "Well I don't really keep up with politics."

You say, "But then, I suppose this way you are free of the peskier civic duties. Free as a bird, so to speak!"

A wisp of light alights on Volucer's beak, and he sneezes.

Irillia presses a hand to her lips, trying to hold back a giggle.

Volucer eyes the glimmer of light with faint irritation before it winks out.

Looking upward, you say, "Little wisps and glows of light, why did you lead me here? I must ask."

You say, "Especially as you were kind enough to, well, bring me here when I was completely unable to tell north from south."

Volucer says to you, "I haven't seen them in a long time, actually."

Using his tongue and the roof of his mouth, Volucer makes a quiet clicking noise.

You say, "Oh? Is that so?"

Sparks of light dance along the reflective tiles of the courtyard.

Volucer nods his head vigorously, clearly pleased by his knowledge.

You say, "Then I must really wonder why they appeared all of a sudden now. One made you sneeze, so perhaps they wanted you to clear your air-ways?"

Volucer opens his mouth as if to say something, but pauses.

Volucer paces about you curiously, as if trying to decide something as he asseses you with piercing intellect.

Murmuring to himself, Volucer says to you, "I think it will be okay, if they came to you."

Looking slightly nervous, you say, "Oh, dear. What is this "it" that will be okay?"

Volucer tears a tiny hole in the fabric of reality, jerking his head towards you as he slips through it.

An ethereal glade cloaked in eventide.
There are no obvious exits.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.

You blink.

An ethereal glade cloaked in eventide.
Hushed whispers echo through this secluded glade, flanked by looming trees speckled with shadow. Streaks of sunlight knife through the branches, cutting through the green canopy to highlight the glade's centre like spotlight. Amidst the dappled foliage, white roses entwine about a breathtaking statue with their thorny tendrils, their thick petals heavy with sorrow. Tangled in their embrace, the crystalline woman shimmers with luminous light, pulsing gray and lavender in hue as wisps of perfumed essence flutter about the sculpture like an aura. Before her, a flawless glass tomb lies before her like a shrine before her stony gaze. Faint motes of violet colour spark in and out of sight, accompanied by a melancholic melody that breaks through the silence like a desperate cry. An enormous falcon nervously talons the ground, wings mantling.
There are no obvious exits.

Volucer shakes his wings a bit, chirping.

You say, "Where...where am I?"

You say, "Oh! Volucer. Thank goodness that someone I know is here."

Volucer exclaims to you, "I wouldn't have left you alone!"

Volucer inches bashfully over to you and nuzzles you tenderly.

Volucer chirps happily.

Overhead, there's a sudden wash of colour as various sparks of light twinkle in array, darting about one another with joyous delight.

Looking around herself, you say, "This glade is so familiar. And... Oh! There are the lights."

You smile and say, "They are so beautiful."

Turning to you, Volucer says, "This place is a secret place. And a strange one."

Volucer says to you, "What does it make you think of?"

Volucer sits patiently.

You look thoughtful and say, "It makes me think of..."

You say, "It makes me think of the glade of the sleeping goddess, I believe it is called. The glade in which Inedra lies. But it is different, as well."

One light lowers a bit to your eye level, twirling playfully as it dances around you.

Irillia gasps aloud in wonderment and instinctively reaches out to touch the light with a fingertip.

Wonderingly, you say, "Are they...alive? Is that even a word that can describe an idea?"

The light blurs, tittering with delight as it sparks harmlessly.

"I am alive as long as I am not forgotten," the light echoes with a soft laugh.

"And I shall be something grand, I think!" the light exclaims. "I feel that way, I feel it burning within me."

Volucer says to you, "It is similar to the world of the Dreaming, in a way. The Lady doesn't quite understand at times what She is dealing with, but I think She prefers it that way. She likes mystery."

You say, "I suppose that is what helps drive creation too. Mystery. It sparks the imagination and makes us wonder what could be there."

"And I quite like Her," the light decides. It hovers up and down, flashing gold. "Although She hasn't decided what I will be yet."

"Are you an idea, as well?" the light asks, bobbing.

You say, "Me? An idea?"

The light bobs again curiously.

Looking down at herself, then back up at the light, you say, "No, I am afraid I am not an idea. I am much too confused and contradictory to be anything so clear and crystalline as a really bright, well-defined idea."

Turning up towards the light, Volucer says, "I am not an idea either."

Childishly, Volucer looks for someone to stick out his tongue at.

Tittering, the light leans down as if to kiss Volucer on the beak.

Volucer sputters indignantly.

"So what are you, then?" the quiet light asks. "Are you an artist?"

You say, "I am." Hesitantly, she adds, "Or rather, I wish to be. I suppose I am still an artist's apprentice, after all this time.""

The light considers this, bobbing once more. "What's an apprentice?"

You say, "Hmmm. Well, it sort of means something that is not quite ready yet. Something young and still learning. It is almost there, perhaps right on the threshold, but it is not quite ready to become real."

You say, "Surely there must be ideas among you that are like this."

"You sound like a new-born spark!" the light exclaims. "I'm one, too!"

You say, "I suppose I am, at that!"

The light spins about with great excitement.

Volucer says, "I'm too old to be a new-born spark."

Volucer preens his feathers.

You laughingly say, "Oh, Volucer, you are too quick for me. Here I was just about to make a teasing statement about how you are no newborn."

Volucer starts to snicker then stops, looking bested.

With mock solemnity, you say, "No, Volucer, you are wise and sagacious and hold so much knowledge about the Basin that you hardly need to leave the Fulcrux to see it anymore. That is how it is, isn't it?"

Volucer nods his head sagely.

"It is the best feeling, to be new," the light decides. "We have much time to decide what we will be!"

"Although, sometimes I am terribly afraid that I won't be fulfilled. There are many ideas just like me." The light dims ever so slightly.

Soothingly, you say, "Oh, but I am sure there isn't another idea like you in all the Basin! All the universe, even. I am sure that Lady Isune will recognise your uniqueness and bring you into fruition someday."

"Perhaps so," the light sighs. "It is the worst thing to be an unrealised-idea. You feel quite dusty."

You say, "Dusty. Exactly. Perhaps that is a better way to describe me, after all, than as a newborn spark. I am a spark that has not yet flared into full brightness yet, even after all this time."

The light hovers in place, humming. "Sometimes it takes a long time for an idea to be fulfilled."

"But! That doesn't make the idea a bad idea," the light insists. "And some ideas are sad, but they aren't bad, either."

You say, "I suppose that's true. Perhaps I only need to be patient and not feel so anxious that I have not yet blossomed as I wish to."

You say, "Oh, little light, it is so silly that you should be comforting me, and not the other way around. Unless you are quite a bit older than you appear!"

The light titters again, scattering motes of golden colour.

"I do not know how old I am!" the light laughs. "There is no concept of Time here. Ideas are born from other ideas, and we change, and shift!"

You laughingly say, "I thought that would be the case. I assure you I have been resisting quite valiantly the urge to ask you all this time."

"I like questions. I do not get to talk to apprentices. You must be the first I have ever met, or at least that I remember meeting." The light brightens with obvious enthusiasm. "Oh! You should name me!"

You say, "Considering you did not even know what an apprentice was until now, I am not surprised."

You say, "But name you? I do not know if I dare presume so much. I don't even know what sort of idea you are! What if I name you something dreadful and inappropriate?"

Volucer lowers his head and carefully scratches one ear with a taloned foot.

The light sputters in and out, imitating a flippant raspberry in its voice.

"Then my name can change next time," the light decides. "If ideas can change, then why not names?"

"But then you can be sure you are talking to the right idea, and not another one!" the light concludes.

You look thoughtful and say, "I am not terribly good with names, I must confess. But your colour...if ideas can have a colour... To me your light has a certain golden colour, a brightness to it like the gemstones of my home..."

You say, "Would you like the name 'Beryl'?"

Gleefully, the light exclaims, "Beryl! Beryl, what a name, my name!" It twirls about with a tittering laugh. "Oh, it feels quite good on me."

You smile and say, "I am so glad that you like it."

With finality, you say, "Little light, little Beryl, you are adorable."

"I do, I do!" the light repeats.

"I am Beryl, and I am adorable!" the light says brightly, quite oblivious to the meaning of its own words.

You smile impishly and say to Volucer, "I agree entirely with Beryl. Don't you think so, too?"

With a hint of jealousy, Volucer says, "Beryl is adorable, I guess."


You smile and say, "I am happy to be in such good company. The adorable Beryl and the magnificent, marvellous Volucer."

Volucer puffs up slightly.

"You must come again sometime!" the light insists. "In case I change, I want you to see me!"

You say, "I would love to! Only...I do not quite know how to return here, where I can meet you again."

Continuing, the light says and she bobs, "One of my fellow ideas has recently been fulfilled. So I am slightly lonely."

"I will call you when the timing is right!" the light promises vehemently. "And maybe then I can meet other apprentices, or artists, or ideas! I would dearly love to some. You have a glow about you."

"I am sure it draws the best of them to you," the light decides. "It drew me!"

You say, "I...I do? I had no idea. But thank you!"

You say, "We do have some wonderful artists and creators of ideas in my city, you know. I am sure you would love it there."

"I would love it there!" the light repeats brightly.

You say, "I am surprised that I drew you to me at a time of regret and dejection, little Beryl. But I am glad to have met you. You have raised my spirits and no doubt brightened my glow immensely."

Volucer says, "The Lady works here though, and it wouldn't do to overexcite all the ideas. Sometimes they need solitude so She can muse upon them."

Comprehension flashes across your face.

You say, "Of course. I will be sure to be very quiet and unobtrusive, then. I wouldn't dream of interrupting the Lady during Her creations. That would be unthinkable."

"Regret and dejection are powerful feelings, I suppose," the light ponders. "And in an artist, they are intoxicatingly strong."

"Can I tell you a secret, though?" the light asks, a bit too eagerly.

Looking surprised, you say, "Oh. Yes, of course."

"Of all the emotions, and all the ideas they birth, my favorite are the happy ones. And I think - " Here the light goes still with contemplation. "I think I'm a happy one, maybe."

Looking up at the bobbing light, you say, "I think you are too. You are so radiant and so lively, I think you are meant to spread smiles and happiness someday."

The light nuzzles up against your cheek, leaving you warm with delight.

A bit regretfully, Volucer says, "We ought to go. The Lady will need Her quiet soon."

The light droops, pouting as it sputters and dims.

"Okay," the light relents.

Nuzzling you, Volucer says to you, "I'll take you back, then."

You say, "Thank you. Be well, little light, little Beryl."

The light leans down to kiss Volucer once more upon the beak.

"I will!" the light promises, bobbing about. "I will, I will!"

Volucer exclaims, "Off we go then!"

The Fulcrux of Isune.
Shifting and shimmering in undulating waves, heatless sparks rise in a rippling fountain of light. A solitary iris has sprouted from the glorious terrain here, its petals a palette of gorgeous colours. A mist-emblazoned tablet rests here, glowing with a soft luminescence. The graceful, translucent form of a bird of paradise dances in the air, the insubstantial image shifting through a constant stream of vivid colours.
There are no obvious exits.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.

Volucer shakes his wings a bit to regain his bearing.

Irillia shakes her head about, ruffling her head feathers considerably, as if to clear her mind.

Thoughtfully, Volucer says to you, "The Lady hasn't had ideas that clear and that vivid in a long time. She must be pretty inspired lately."

You say, "I was just about to ask if all Her ideas were like that, or perhaps even more energetic. I wonder what has inspired Her so."

Volucer grins ever so slightly, his wings fluffing a bit.

Pleasantly, Volucer says, "Really? I don't wonder."

Volucer hums a happy tune.

You say, "Hmph! I suppose you just know, without needing to wonder."

Volucer says, "Well." He gazes about surreptitiously. "My Lady has never been one to be opaque, anyway."

With a smug little grin, Volucer says to you, "And She has had a lot to make Her happy, in recent years."

You say, "Well, you are in a far better position to understand Her and know Her motives than any of us. We are not all as fortunate as you are, you know."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I wonder, Volucer, what it is that suggests to you that gossiping about My Divine self is wise in My own Fulcrux."

Volucer opens his mouth as if to say something, but pauses.

A flock of brilliant white sparrows shoot up from one side of the caldera, flap past in a rush, and disappear noisily over the rim and down the mountain.

Muttering, Volucer says, "You never let me have any fun."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "You insist on having questionable definitions of the word. Irillia, dear, I do hope he has not been wasting your time with idle prattle?"

Volucer sulks quietly in his corner.

You say, "Not at all, my Lady. It is terrible, but I must confess I was quite interested in hearing whatever information he had to share. Terrible, I know."

You say, "But I suppose I cannot blame You for not wishing tales to be told."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Honesty is a wise and dangerous virtue to hold in the presence of Gods."

Sparks of colour twirl about the caldera's rim with faint amusement.

You say, "Which must be why Hallifax condones ignorance so strongly. Recklessness would be so very illogical."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Rest assured, Irillia, that you have acted well in confessing such to Me."

Sparkling glimmers of living luminescence move over the caldera in slowly dancing flocks, the tiles of the terraces reflecting their light in the dark night.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Go into your city, Irillia. Listen to your citymates, gaze upon the view granted by your crystalline platforms. Look upon all these, and tell Me whether or not I can help Myself from creating with the reckless abandon of a young and eager apprentice, with such delights to inspire Me."

You say, "My Lady, I do not even have to return to Hallifax. I had only to see it in my mind again to answer your question. I do not think You could, or should, help Yourself from creating."

Isune, the Aesthete has bestowed Her divine truefavour upon you. It will last for 3 months.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I will take good care of Beryl for you, dear. Rest assured."

Sparkling glimmers of living luminescence move over the caldera in slowly dancing flocks, the tiles of the terraces reflecting their light in the dark night.

You say, "I shall look forward someday to see it fully realised and fulfilled in one of Your wonderful creations, my Lady."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "We shall see. A rather feisty idea, this one is."

Dreamstuff suddenly bursts into existence, coalescing into an emissary of dreams.

Acting as an emissary of dreams is this many-armed, monkey-like creature. His limbs extend from a tiny, rounded frame; each limb appears exceptionally like, much like the vines of a very old tree. His head lolls to one side on a neck that is too small, and his eyes blaze yellow, protruding slightly beneath a high forehead. The emissary's snout has a similar distended quality that is not unlike the creature's many limbs, and the whole entity is covered in slivers of pristine hoarfrost fur that is furthermore embellished with a patterning of leaves, vines and dreams. Two circular ears jut out from the sides of the emissary's head, their lopsidedness in equal proportion to his unshapely neck, and a tiny, pudgy tail waggles restlessly from his behind.
An emissary of dreams is quite powerful.
He is strangely weightless.
He is loyal to Hoaracle, the Forest Dreamer.
You cannot see what an emissary of dreams is holding.

A collection of bits of light playfully chase one another through the shadows.

Volucer's ears perk up with a sudden interest.

You say, "Those are the best kinds, I would think... Oh, my."

An emissary of dreams gambles up to the bird of paradise, offering it a strange, awkward bow.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "My tidings to the Forest Dreamer, Emissary. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams exclaims, "Blessings blessings upon the Sky-pain---ach!"

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "Great Sky-painting Goddess, My Dreaming Lord has not offered His gladness of your return."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "He dreamt deep, deep dreams, dreams in-between spaces, hoomhoom."

Isune smiles softly.

Gently, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Ah, Dreaming. I understand how such is, in My own way."

An emissary of dreams twists his body to look at Irillia. "Helloooo," chitters the emissary, as he waves his many-arms at her in greeting.

You say, "I have never seen anything quite like you. Greetings, emissary of dreams."

An emissary of dreams smiles, revealing his golden teeth. "Hoomhoom, yes. I am special, dreamt by My Dreaming Lord - praise be His sleep - specially for this sacred duty."



An emissary of dreams sucks in air and gasps again, astounded by the suddenly influx of mortals.

Isune, the Aesthete says, "How kind of Him. I have yet to speak with Him upon My return to the Basin of Life, but it does Me great joy to hear He walks the First World once more."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "Hoomhoom, He will be glad, Great Sky-painting goddess." The emissary dances about wildly, excited about all the attention. "Yes, this is grand news. He wishes to stay in the good graces of those close to the Soil."

Isune, the Aesthete smiles impishly and says, "I am glad that even in the spires of Hallifax, I am considered close to it, then."

An emissary of dreams nods his head enthusiastically.

An emissary of dreams stands on one foot and ponders, tapping thin, needle-like fingers upon his chin. "I am..." he chitters, thoughtfully. "I am supposed to give something... hoomhoom."

Isune lifts Her eyebrow slightly, curious.

"Ahah!" An emissary of dreams exclaims triumphantly.

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams exclaims, "A moment!"

An emissary of dreams burns brightly and suddenly vanishes, leaving behind a searing afterimage that soon fades away.

Isune purses Her lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as She carefully gathers Her thoughts.

Musing to Herself, Isune, the Aesthete says, "I enjoy guessing games."

Viscountess Zyphora Windwhisper, Capricious Gale says, "Maybe a magical box that reveals the deepest desire of your dreams when opened. And then it could make a hammer."

Continuing pleasantly, Isune, the Aesthete says, "So perhaps a bird of leaves and twigs."

Elleiya Windwhisper, Dawn's Parhelion says to Zyphora, "I approve of your imagination."

Isune nods Her head at Elleiya, showing Her acceptance.

Isune, the Aesthete laughingly says, "Quite a gift to spoil Me with, I must admit. Particularly when I have offered nothing."

Dreamstuff suddenly bursts into existence, coalescing into an emissary of dreams.

Volucer picks his head up and looks around, then relaxes slowly again.

Volucer looks a bit discombobulated as the emissary bursts in again.
An emissary of dreams pants crazed and rubs his head gingerly.

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "The enemies of the Lord Dreamer - may His dreams be sweet - it was veeeeery dangerous, hoomhoom."

With great sincerity, Isune, the Aesthete says, "I apologize then for drawing you from His side then in such a time of need."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "It is all right Great Sky-painting Goddess. The Living Dream knows much of war, but nightmares come."

An emissary of dreams grins darkly.

Isune, the Aesthete frowns slightly, Her brow puckering in thought. "They do," She agrees quietly. "But it does not do to dwell on such dreams."

An emissary of dreams nods at the Goddess, giving Her much of his attention. "Great Sky-painting Goddess, I have been asked to bare a gift to Your most beloved waking ones."

Tilting Her head with innocent curiosity, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Oh? How generous of the Lord Dreamer."

Viscountess Zyphora Windwhisper, Capricious Gale fidgets with curiosity.

(Order): Isune says, "A lady never fidgets, Zyphora. Except internally. There she may fidget all she pleases."

Viscountess Zyphora Windwhisper, Capricious Gale stills herself, looking chastened.

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "Hoomhoom, I thought so myself. But He said to me that dreams are gift-giving things, offering creativity and direction." The emissary withdraws a strange, green feather - seemingly out of nowhere - and waves it through the air. "Which of yours will bare this gift, Great Goddess?"

Isune, the Aesthete says, "You ask Me to choose among My own? How curious! Such a gift seems a bringer of discord."

An emissary of dreams shakes his head, twisting his neck in a full circle. "Hoomhoom, not at all," he chitters as the rest of his body wiggles with excitement. "That would only be true if it were a nightmare!"

An emissary of dreams shrieks with laughter, a weird, clanging sound.

Isune, the Aesthete says to an emissary of dreams, "You speak in riddles, sir! And I admit I was never one to guess their answers readily."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "Alas, such is the nature of dreamings."

An emissary of dreams cracks his knuckles with a pair of free hands, as he then slips into a handstand with another set.

Isune, the Aesthete extends a hand, eyeing the emissary curiously. "May I see the gift?" She inquires.



In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams exclaims, "Crystals? Vibrational twitter? Are you a dreamt thing too!?!"

An emissary of dreams gives Elleiya a horrified gasp.

Elleiya Windwhisper, Dawn's Parhelion considers this, looking askance as she does so.

Elleiya Windwhisper, Dawn's Parhelion says to an emissary of dreams, "Perhaps?"

Eyes sparkling, Isune, the Aesthete says, "If so, then I have been quite fooled by her."

A look of sweetest innocence overtakes Elleiya.

The corners of an emissary of dreams's mouth turn up as he grins mischievously.

In a high-pitched chitter, returning his attention to the Goddess, an emissary of dreams says, "Of course, Great Sky-painting Goddess."

You smile and say, "A thing dreamt by Xyl, pehaps, but I doubt she is a dream."

Isune, the Aesthete fingers the egerias feather with rapt interest, letting the exotic plume tickle Her as its colour shifts and changes in hue.

An emissary of dreams clasps a pair of hands together, looking very pleased with himself.

Musing, Isune, the Aesthete says, "It is unlike any bird's plumage that Viravain has ever willed into being."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams exclaims, "Hoomhoom, yes! For it is from an egerias, Great Goddess." The emissary does a small backflip, landing - finally - onto his feet. "It is a dreamt thing, dreamt by a waking one, one from your city!"

An emissary of dreams rubs a pair of free hands together.

Twirling it in Her hands, Isune, the Aesthete says, "How very strange. The dream is foreign to Me, not one of Mine. It must be a follower of your Lord's, then."

You look thoughtful and say, "Could it be Professor Orventa Onz'Verheu? I remember she did follow Lord Hoaracle."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams exclaims, "You do not understand, Great Sky-painting Goddess!" Again, the emissary flips, landing once more in a handstand - although this time, he holds himself by one arm alone. "While the egerias were dreamt by one of My Lord's ---- ach!"

An emissary of dreams chitters, "Yesyes! You are astute! You know things!"

Holding the feather aloft, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Then if I must decide... I do decide to grant it to My order in its entirety, as it stands."

There is a flutter as the feather floats towards the ground, a dream-like mist settles upon the Fulcrux. You gasp in elation as a thousand images flash before you, one more dazzling than the other, and more perplexing in its strangeness. When the feather finally alights, the mist fades, though you feel somehow more enlightened than you did moments before.

Isune drops an egerias feather.

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "These feathers collect lots of dreamstuff, like dust and moths to old clothes, hoomhoom."

An emissary of dreams gasps sharply and turns to open air. "Alas, Great Sky-painting Goddess and Her waking ones, but the Living Dream calls!"

Gently, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Then let Me give you something to return to your Lord."

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "Ohohoh? If that pleases you, Great Sky-painting Goddess."

An emissary of dreams mumbles to himself, "I hope it is a nice dream, or a tasty one."

An emissary of dreams grins happily, displaying his golden teeth for all to see.

Reaching to pluck the very shade of pink from the iris blossoming in the Fulcrux's care, the Goddess draws forth a shimmering streamer of light that she fashions with deft fingertips into a dreamy wisp of dawn light.

This lovely iris has been wrought by divine hand, each petal a different hue, sparkling with a soft dewy glow as if the colour has been donated from the depths of a beautiful rainbow. Its lower petals dip gracefully downward toward the slender stem, and its upper petals are delicately and precisely ruffled. Thin veins of gold and silver intertwine and glide up from the centre of the iris, gradually turning to a faint sprinkling of the precious metallic sheen.
It weighs 2 ounce(s).
It does not retain any heat whatsoever.

Cupping the wisp of colour in Her hands, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Take this to Him, then. I believe it will serve His dreams well, to colour them."

Isune, the Aesthete hands it reverently to the emissary, smiling.

An emissary of dreams extends his all of his handshands except one to receive the gift, hooting and hollering with excitement.

In a high-pitched chitter, an emissary of dreams says, "The Lord Dreamer, may His slumber be ever-peaceful, will love and be inspired by this oh Great Sky-painting Goddess."

Isune, the Aesthete smiles impishly and says, "Perhaps a sunset or sunrise would brighten any nightmare, hm?"

An emissary of dreams cradles the wisp of colour against his chest, like a baby. "Hoomhoom," he chitters, "Perhaps so! Or deepen its shadow!"



An emissary of dreams burns brightly and suddenly vanishes, leaving behind a searing afterimage that soon fades away.

Mildly perplexed, Viscountess Zyphora Windwhisper, Capricious Gale says, "What is the feather's purpose?"

Eyes alight, Isune, the Aesthete says, "How thoughtful of Him. And decidedly unexpected."

Elleiya Windwhisper, Dawn's Parhelion says, "One wants to see the creature this came from."

Zyphora nods her head emphatically.

You nod your head in agreement.

Isune, the Aesthete says to Zyphora, "It is a gesture of good will, I think."

Pursing Her lips, Isune, the Aesthete says, "And one would suppose the strange creature from which it came is a servant of the Lord Dreamer."

Isune, the Aesthete smiles and says, "You have served Me well, dear ones. I am proud to call you Mine."

You say, "But then, I suppose this way you are free of the peskier civic duties. Free as a bird, so to speak!"

Haha, oh, Irillia. You and your humor. <3

The continuation to Beryl's saga, in which there is a promotion of two apprentices to true Artists: Zyphora Windwhisper and Irillia Shevat.

The cloying scent of rosebuds invades your senses, accompanied by a quiet voice
that beckons you to the Fulcrux of the Lady Aesthete.



Among outcroppings of crystal, stone, and metal.
Shifting and shimmering in undulating waves, heatless sparks rise in a rippling
fountain of light.
You see exits leading north, northeast, and east.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.

You look up into the air for divine inspiration.

You peer about yourself unscrupulously.

Sparks of light dance and flare around you, a momentary sensation of
disorienting disconnection overtaking your senses as the world is wiped out to a
slate of shimmering white. Within moments which feel like an eternity, you find
yourself suddenly within a similar fountain of light, unharmed.
The Fulcrux of Isune. (Transcendental Fulcrux)
Shifting and shimmering in undulating waves, heatless sparks rise in a rippling
fountain of light. A solitary iris has sprouted from the glorious terrain here,
its petals a palette of gorgeous colours. A mist-emblazoned tablet rests here,
glowing with a soft luminescence. The graceful, translucent form of a bird of
paradise dances in the air, the insubstantial image shifting through a constant
stream of vivid colours. Shimmering with a dreamy gossamer, a strange, vegetal
feather lies here. An enormous falcon nervously talons the ground, wings
mantling. Wisps of dark mist waft from the cloudy grey wings of a sinuous
stormeater hovering here. Surrounded by forks of white lightning, a
scintillating gold thunderbird spreads his white-feathered wings here, grey eyes
alight with a considerate intellect. Stormrider Aldani Windwhisper, Scion of
Beauty is riding on a sinuous stormeater. She wields a lightning-wreathed copper
and crystal staff in her left hand. Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery
Skybloom is here, surrounded by clouds. She wields a delicate crystal staff in
her left hand.
There are no obvious exits.
A sinuous stormeater twists into a tighter corkscrew at your approach.

You blush furiously.

You say, "Tidings, everyone. I apologise for my tardiness."

Aldani nods her head emphatically.

Stormrider Aldani Windwhisper, Scion of Beauty says to you, "We only just
arrived."

Irillia nods her head emphatically.

You say, "I accidentally went to the Glade instead."

You look up into the air for divine inspiration.

Aldani's eyes sparkle with amusement.

There's a bright light that shimmers in and out of sight, beryl golden in hue.

You have emoted: Zyphora glances curiously at the source of light.

You say, "What could that signify?"

Aldani ponders the situation.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes,
"Perhaps Irillia would understand."

Sparks of light dance along the reflective tiles of the courtyard.

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible,
shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "I -thought- the colour of
the light was familiar..."

You have emoted: Zyphora turns towards Irillia, her slow-beating wings betraying
her interest.

Sparks of colour twirl about the caldera's rim with faint amusement.

Volucer tenses his talons and draws himself up slightly.

Turning toward Aldani and Zyphora, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom
says, "I am not sure if I told either of you this before, but you might remember
when the emissary of Lord Hoaracle came here to offer a gift to the Lady Isune..."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "That same month, I was
drawn here by a remarkable...creature? Entity? Well, it called itself an idea of
Lady Isune's."

Volucer lays his ears back and relaxes, his eyes lidding halfway.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom smiles and says, "And, of all
things, I named it Beryl, for its colour."

Aldani's eyes sparkle with amusement.

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Volucer preens through the feathers on one wing, carefully attending to them.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I have
been told a funny thing by little Beryl, Irillia. He seems quite convinced that
he is an apprentice now."

Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing
familiar constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.

Slightly perplexed, you say, "An apprentice in what, if I may ask?"

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom lets out a soft chuckle, tinged
with amusement and incredulity.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "I never even thought it
would be possible for an idea to have a gender, let alone an identity as an
apprentice!"

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I
believe even he is not certain of what, but he merely suggested that both he and
the Minister were sparks, and if she was an apprentice, then why could he not
be?"

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "That
is the funny thing about ideas, they often change in so many ways. Perhaps Beryl
will be more feminine or more inanimate the next time I muse upon him."

Sparks of colour twirl about the caldera's rim with faint amusement.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "And whose apprentice is he,
then? Yours, my Lady, or perhaps Volucer's?"

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes,
"Perhaps the apprentice of his own fancy."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes,
"Although I confess I find Myself confused, Irillia of Mine. Why do you so
unkindly place the label of apprentice upon yourself?"

Crackling lightning wreathes Aldani in bolts of incandescent light, a sudden
wind sweeping about her in a furious, but fleeting, gale.

Tilting her head to one side, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says,
"Unkindly, my Lady? I thought I was telling the truth, at least as I see it."

Glancing toward Aldani and Zyphora, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery
Skybloom says, "If nothing else, I suppose I too am the apprentice of my own
fancy. I imagine we all are, really."

You nod your head emphatically.

Stormrider Aldani Windwhisper, Scion of Beauty says, "That is not a way I had
ever thought to phrase it, but I suspect it to be true."

You say, "As artists perpetually striving to improve, I think it a fitting
description."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom looks thoughtful and says, "Indeed,
especially as our fancies will always have so much to teach us."

You nod your head in agreement.

You say, "Or bring light to the areas that we need to work on most."

The distant and distinctive hooting of an owl drifts past.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "All
three of you speak eloquently, with the very poise of an artist. I am well-
pleased with such, and I am certain Beryl would be too, though I cannot see him
fully grasping the conversation at hand."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "I wonder if Beryl might
like to, well, illuminate us with his presence and light? I am sure he would
like to meet fellow artists and apprentices."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "As
such, let My fancy take wing momentarily. For I have observed you, Irillia of
Mine, and I have in turn observed you as well, Zyphora of Mine."

Vibrant feminine laughter ripples about the caldera's rim, twinkling with light.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Very
well. Perhaps he will say what I wish to better than I."

A fold appears in the tapestry of fate, heralding the birth of a new year as the
Fates pen the next chapter into the neverending story that is Lusternia.
Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land
in utter darkness.
It is now the 1st of Estar, 334 years after the Coming of Estarra.

(Hallifax): Synbios says, "Glorious new year, Collective."

A heatless shimmer of sparks bursts into being above the caldera, dissipating to
reveal a bobbing light of cheerful golden energy.

(Hallifax): You say, "Happy new year, comrades."

Bobbing up and down excitedly, "So many faces!"
.
(Hallifax): You say, "May this year be more prosperous and paperwork-filled than
the last."

The light races up around those present, trailing motes of colour in its wake.

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

Smiling fondly toward the bobbing light, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery
Skybloom says, "Beryl! How good it is to see you again."

Aldani takes a deep breath as the crystal surface of her face softens and shifts
in colour, a muted glow appearing within.

You smile and say, "How adorable it is."

The light beams brightly, appearing more brilliant than before.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "We met once before, if you
remember? My name is Irillia. And these..." She inclines her head to Zyphora and
Aldani. "These are my friends and very talented artists, whose ideas no doubt
shine just as brightly as your do.""

"Hello, hello!" the light bursts out in a rush of excited static. "I am Beryl! I
have a name, and it's Beryl!"

Sparks of colour twirl about the caldera's rim with faint amusement.

You have emoted: Zyphora curtseys respectfully, a muted smile touching her lips.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "He's
quite fond of it, I seem unable to call him by any other title."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Ideas,
you know, they can be stubborn like that."

You say, "Tidings, Beryl, it is a pleasure to meet you."

The light alights gently as if to kiss Zyphora on the nose before giggling as it
winks away towards the caldera.

A star twinkles far above, shooting across the sky, and the fountain flares
faintly in response.

You have emoted: Zyphora colours slightly with pleasure, her smile more apparent
than before.

You smile and say, "How sweet you are, Beryl. How are you enjoying your
apprenticeship?"

(Hallifax): Morbo says, "Tidings, Collective."

(Hallifax): Synbios says, "Salutations."

Brimming with excitement, the light exclaims, "Oh yes, very much so! Especially
with the news the Lady has brought me."

(Hallifax): You say, "Tidings, Marquis."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "Oh? And what news would
that be?"

Once again, the light dances about the Fulcrux, sparking with delightful energy.

You have emoted: Zyphora posture stiffens slightly, though her facial expression
remains gentle and collected.

A collection of bits of light playfully chase one another through the shadows.

"The apprenticeship of two artists ends today!" the light says with glee.

Aldani appears to puff up slightly as her entire body glows a cheerful shade of
citrine yellow.

You tilt your head curiously.

You say, "Two?"

Frowning faintly and glancing from the light to Zyphora and Aldani, Minister
Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "Which two artists, little Beryl? Can
you say more?"

"Two!" the light repeats, bobbing its assent.

The light swirls over to Aldani's side, brightening as its colour reflects off
her crystals. "She knows," he sings with a cheeky laugh.

Aldani nods her head in agreement.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom presses her fingertips to her lips,
as though to suppress a chuckle, but her eyes twinkle treacherously with
affection and amusement.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom smiles and says, "Then can you
both share the secret with us?"

You have emoted: Zyphora smiles, though her expression remains as perplexed as
ever.

Stormrider Aldani Windwhisper, Scion of Beauty says, "Go ahead, dear Beryl."

The light looks to Aldani expectantly before bobbing. It rises up to the caldera
once more, and regarding Zyphora and Irillia evenly, declares, "It is you!"

The horizon glows with burnished shades of orange and red, heralding the
imminent arrival of Father Sun upon the rim of the world.

You say, "Our apprenticeship has ended?"

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom glances toward you with furrowed
brow and whispers, "Did you know anything about this?"

You say, "In... in artistry..." Her eyes become thoughtful. "Or the Order?"

You shake your head at Irillia.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Beryl
seems to think that you two are not sparks any longer, and I quite agree. I do
protest, however, that ideas are nosy entities, and unfortunately have the
ability to realize one's other thoughts before one fully completes them."

The light hums innocently.

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

Motes of gentle, clear light blink into life, gradually coalescing into the form
of Isune.
A sinuous stormeater shies away from Isune, its feathered tail swishing through
the air.

Aldani kneels before Isune, swearing her allegiance to Her.

Irillia curtseys gracefully before Isune.

You kneel before Isune, swearing your allegiance to Her.

The light alights as if to kiss Isune upon the nose, glowing cheerfully as it
darts away.

Isune's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Isune, the Aesthete smiles impishly and says, "The realm of the Assembly of
Peers is a construction of mortals, and can be handled however the city sees fit.
However, being an artist Myself, I have whims and fancies of My own that I am
beholden to."

A calming, warm breeze swirls around Aldani as the fragrant scent of roses
suffuses the area around her.

A flock of brilliant white sparrows shoot up from one side of the caldera, flap
past in a rush, and disappear noisily over the rim and down the mountain.

Isune, the Aesthete lays a hand upon both your head, then upon Irillia's, a
gentle aura of calm entering the vicinity as She does so.

The light sputters in and out with obvious excitement, losing shape as it does
so.

Gently, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Walk no more upon the path of the wandering,
for you have both proven yourself to be nothing less than artists."

Tears flow freely from your eyes as Isune, the Aesthete appoints you to Vessel
of Emotion.

Sparks of light dance along the reflective tiles of the courtyard.

(Order): Isune says, "Welcome, Zyphora and Irillia, Vessels of Emotion."

The light whizzes about the Fulcrux like a crackling firework, laughing with
utter joy.

You have emoted: Zyphora bows her head reverently before Isune, humbly murmuring,
"Thank you." She looks up again, smiling brightly.

Her eyes wide with surprise and bright with happy tears, Minister Irillia Shevat,
the Silvery Skybloom says, "Thank You, my Lady. You honour me more than I can
describe with mere words."

Aldani stands up and stretches her arms out wide.
(Order): Aldani says, "Welcome, you two. I am extremely happy to have you among
us here."

Isune, the Aesthete smiles and says, "I honour those who are deserving, and you
are both deserving, far more than you realize."

Sparks of light dance along the reflective tiles of the courtyard.

Isune, the Aesthete smiles impishly and says to Aldani, "I trust you will take
good care of them in their new path, and help them embrace the confidence that
they both ought to own?"

Stormrider Aldani Windwhisper, Scion of Beauty says, "I shall, my Lady."

The light bobs up and down in front of Zyphora and then Irillia, glowing
radiantly. "You aren't sparks anymore," it declares, though it sounds very
pleased.

Turning to smile at Beryl, Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says,
"I hope that someday you too will end your apprenticeship and become a fully
developed idea. Then you might know this feeling of completion and
accomplishment."

You nod your head emphatically.

"It is the best moment of any idea," the light exclaims. "And it is so rare to
be able to see a moment like this one!"

Isune, the Aesthete laughingly says, "I have no doubt that Beryl shall culminate
in something wonderful. What that is, however, I find Myself at a loss to fully
describe."

Turning to the light, Isune, the Aesthete says, "You are too opinionated, you
are."

Sunlight billows across the realm, revealing the full glory of the majestic
sun's luminous presence as he climbs higher into the sky.

Irillia gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

The light sputters indignantly, its outlines fuzzing.

Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "Those ideas often take the
longest to bring to fruition, but they also tend to become one's best and most
beloved creation."

The distant cry of a bird of prey echoes across the volcanic range on the wind.

Isune, the Aesthete smiles and says, "I certainly hope so."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom smiles and says, "So I pray that
You not be too impatient with little Beryl."

The light alights as if to kiss Irillia on the nose, beaming as it dances about
the Fulcrux with delighted colour.

Isune, the Aesthete says, "I shall then be sure to give Beryl the time required
for fruition."

Isune's eyes twinkle enchantingly.

You smile and say, "I cannot wait to see what comes next."

Turning to Beryl now, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Although I observe the poor
dear is about to exhaust himself on all this merriment. I must take him away now,
before he quite bounces himself silly."

You nod your head emphatically.

The light pouts with obvious dislike.

Isune, the Aesthete eyes the light meaningfully.

The light sighs, "Okaay."

The Lady Isune extends a hand, and the light bounds up to reach her palm,
flaring brightly with a cheerful farewell before dissipating from sight.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom looks thoughtful and says, "I
never realised how much ideas are like our children and must be nurtured and
disciplined in turns."

Smiling gently, Isune, the Aesthete says, "You are both now, you understand,
gatherers of such ideas in My order. You have the ability to so nurture and
discipline those who wish to join My fold."

Irillia smiles softly.

You nod your head emphatically.

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom says, "I shall do my best to
identify and appreciate such ideas from others when I see them, my Lady. They
are indeed rare and lovely things."

The sun reaches the zenith of the firmament, pausing in his quest to allow the
land to bask in his shining golden rays.

Nodding with a pleased smile, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Then I have no doubt
you will all three succeed in this, and continue to serve with admirable
devotion."

You say, "I as well. I hope to see great things from our current and future
members."

Stormrider Aldani Windwhisper, Scion of Beauty says, "I have yet to be
disappointed in those who seek to devote themselves to You, my Lady."

Confidently, Isune, the Aesthete says, "Then great things lie before us."

Minister Irillia Shevat, the Silvery Skybloom smiles and says, "Indeed. I have
heard from the Librarian that the great majority of entries in the divine
praises library contest are directed toward You. I hope that these praises will
please Your ears, my Lady."

Aldani takes a deep breath as the crystal surface of her face softens and shifts
in colour, a muted glow appearing within.

Isune's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Isune, the Aesthete says, "I certainly hope someone at least attempted a pun
involving the Architect and Designs."

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

A flock of brilliant white sparrows shoot up from one side of the caldera, flap
past in a rush, and disappear noisily over the rim and down the mountain.

You say, "Perhaps we could convince the Archmage to. She is full of puns."

Isune, the Aesthete smiles impishly and says, "She and her son the Librarian
both. It is fitting that it should be a genetic trait."

Turning to glance once more at Her palm, Isune, the Aesthete says, "However, I
observe I have My own duties to attend to, and ideas to nurture and discipline."

Isune, the Aesthete's lips tug into a bemused grin, Her wings unfurling in a
majestic display of light and colour.

The distant cry of a bird of prey echoes across the volcanic range on the wind.

Isune, the Aesthete smiles and says, "Well done, dear ones. I am ever-pleased
with you."

Isune leans close to Aldani and gently lays a kiss upon her forehead.

Isune's form shatters into a flock of colourful birds, their tiny forms tracing
circles in the air before darting away.

Finally, more Scions :wub: