A Spider in the Frost

Salome

Salome, who is a rising servant of Viravain has been commanded to 'assist' the Order of Mantaray, I mean, @Manteekan.
As I absolutely adore Mister Ghosty, and his wonderful RP, one day I decided to wander into His Fulcrux with an opening proposition. 
@Phulbelishi , was painted as Salome's first heir but unfortunately that didn't turn out too well given the current atmosphere.

This was the result. Enjoy!

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The Fulcrux of Manteekan.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Dark water fills the majority of 
this expansive chamber, a haunting mist settled over the still liquid. Within the centre of this 
massive lake, an island of frost-rimed rock rises, the jagged stones piercing through the haze that 
fills the air. Frozen remains cling to the sides of these icy crags, clawing at the surface of each 
as they try to escape the pool below. A massive arch of roughly hewn stone rises from the ground, a 
ghostly haze drifting lazily in its centre that coats the rock in a thin layer of frost. A tomb of 
icy stone rises within the centre of the room, statues of innumerable twisted fae poxing its sides.
You see a single exit leading through a frosted stone arch filled with haze.

Salome turns her steely, phlox-hued eyes across the expansive lake.

Dozens of pale eyes flick open within the mists that surround you, staring at you unblinkingly.

Salome tilts her head with regard to the eyes, staring back with a fathomlessly 
curious gleam upon her visage. She strides carefully along the dark waters to the island, among the 
stones and at last to the cold tomb.

Salome slides her long, slender fingers about one of the rime-kissed sides, before 
inclining her head in respect to the edifice.

The waters about you begins to bubble, each bit of trapped air releasing a shrill laughter that 
rings through the air about you.

A haunting chill fills the air as eerie whispers flit away from the tomb which murmur, "A visitor, I 
see."

Unmoved by the disharmonious sound, you say, "I am often drawn here, Lord. One of Your disciples led 
me, and I have returned since."

A haunting chill fills the air as eerie whispers flit away from the tomb which murmur, "How 
interesting. And you enjoy your time spent here, I presume?"

Salome exhales in a vapor which swirls visibly from her mouth as the shadows surrounding move to embrace the mists.

You say, "Perhaps, Lord. Though, I do seek to speak with You perhaps on a matter that may please, 
and on another that I have heard has caused the opposite."

A ghastly figure begins to slow rise from within the dark depths of the lake before you, strands of 
ghostly alabaster hair whipping behind it, revealing the Manteekan, the Nightmare who slowly drifts 
towards you.

Salome lowers to one knee with a sweep of her small arm, her wings batting together in emphasis.

LOOK MANTEEKAN
He is a radiant immortal and He rubs His needlelike fingers togther as He gazes sternly from behind 
His icy, pale eyes. Hanging in the air like a veil of fine mist, His presence is nothing more than a 
chill upon the skin. Transparent flesh is pulled taut over His frail, bony frame, while alabaster 
strands of hair billow behind Him, whipping frantically through the air as if caught in a constant 
gale. Chin tilted to the sky, He stands with an arrogance not afforded to Him by His form. A ghastly 
aura hangs about Him, manifesting in a cool fog that gathers at His feet, the miasma roiling like an 
impending storm. He is wearing billowing robes of a chilled mist and a torturous noose of thorn and 
vine.

Lowering Himself to sit just atop the icy tomb, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Let us hear what you 
bring, then."

You say, "My Lord is most gracious in His allowance of an audience. I come bearing tidings of an 
idea, to grant strength to Your hand and Your disciples, it would be of great interest to me and 
those that I care of within Your Order to see it thrive. And in doing so, I will be arranging an 
essence contest directly to benefit Your own."

Echoes of a stolen laughter trailing His voice, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "I would be a fool to 
say no, would I not? You may offer My favour as a reward in addition to whatever prizes you had 
planned, child."

Her eyes lifting to the tethered edges of the noose about the Elder's neck, you say, "It shall be 
done soon. And on the heels of such an idea, it is my belief that the Lady Viravain would seek the 
same for You as well. I am sure that the Bower would be most interested in making contributions, so 
that the Wyrd thrives within Your holy vessel."

Curiosity flashing over His haunting features, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "How interesting. And 
here I thought Viravain had forgotten that I now haunted Her woods."

Her eyes softening, you say, "Oh no, great Lord. As I am Her servant, and as many are, we care for 
all of the Dark Pantheon. And as You have come to us in Your need, I would see such gifts of 
righteousness bestowed upon Your Hand."

You say, "Such is the way of the Wyrd, we lift up those who require it - So that paradise remains 
eternal in the Perfection of the Wyrd's grace."

Shifting slightly atop the tomb, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "I shall have to remember to thank 
@Viravain next I see Her, then. Now, you had something not as pleasing that you wished to share?"

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

Rising from atop the shrine and drifting slowly down towards you, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "I 
do hope it isn't too awful. It has been far too long since I have been angered, and I would hate for 
it to boil over on someone who has been mostly pleasant thus far."


Her striking eyes centering brazenly upon the Elder, you say, "Yes, Lord...How true that would be." 
She nods thoughtfully for a moment before continuing. "I have only had hearsay of the events 
revolving about the brand of Maeve, that You had shown displeasure upon certain times and actions 
that had happened within that event. I was wondering what had occurred, and your thoughts as to what 
me might do to remove it. I know You to be the Creator of my most favored fae, and with Your 
connection, I pondered this."

You say, "With my son-to-be Phulbelishi absent, as well as the one whose name is Xanward - I know 
that the Lord has few disciples upon which to call to do as He wills."

Reaching out to run His hand through your silver-white hair, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Ah, the 
Maeve again I see. This brand is rather curious, and rather... unexpected of the half-formed. I have 
been studying it closely, and yet Viravain steps in to work with that traitorous witch Lisaera. I 
shall continue My work, for it intrigues Me. Not many have been able to alter the fae, and fewer to 
force something upon the Maeve. Even I had... trouble getting the Maeve to use My fae."

Dropping His hand to His side once more, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "For now, learn what you can 
of the half-formed who created it. I will need to know as much as possible if I am to discern how it 
may be removed."

His upper lip slowly curling as He speaks, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "I refuse to work with 
Lisaera, but I have My own methods. Let us hope Viravain isn't too... displeased with them."

Curiosity lingering upon her face, the rosiness of her cheeks rising against the chill of the 
Elder's hand, you say, "I have also heard whispers, my contacts within the weaker forest...They have 
told me that the Silver Witch is to make a talisman to protect against Your mist."

A slight laughter in His tone, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "How amusing that Lisaera fears Me so. 
She was always such a coward. Let Her try. I have other ways of harming everything She cares for."

You intone, "You must tell of Your great stories of Creation some-time, Lord. How the fae came to be 
under Your hand, how Maeve took them in. It would be most fascinating..." Her lips purse, then she 
smiles. "I merely wished to notify You of the plot. I, being a little spider do quite enjoy the 
mists...They create beautiful patterns of dew upon my web."


Cupping your cheek softly with His icy hand, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "All in good time, child.
Perhaps even sooner than you realize. I thank you for your knowledge. Perhaps the northern forests 
needs even more encouragement for their Mistress."

You say, "I do not doubt the idea shall supply You with many thoughts, Lord."

A wry grin growing upon His face, Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Most definitely, child. Was there 
anything else you needed of Me?"

Her mouth wavering, you say, "Nothing else, save to hope that Your mists shall come to visit more 
often upon the canopy - To hear the sweet silence of Night among the crow-song."

Leaning down to place His frigid lips upon your forehead before murmuring His whispered words, 
Manteekan, the Nightmare says, "Then do be well, child. I shall be sure My mists continue to haunt 
the Wyrden woods."

The incorporeal form of Manteekan, the Nightmare, dissolves into a cool mist which creeps hauntingly 
away into the distance, leaving behind naught but an eerie silence and an unsettling chill.

Salome rises from her stance near the tomb, and exits without a sound.