Short Seren Encounters

Aramel

A place to keep all the shorter logs of people being accosted for RP in Serenwilde. I debated a while on whether to post these, but I'm hoping this will draw more people to post their own logs!

1. Tristanna and the Avatars

You have emoted: Aramel tilts her head back, gazing at the midnight sky. "Quiet 

night," she offers in observation. "At least we are past the time of the New Moon,

though."

Tristanna nods her head sagely.

Tristanna Myeras says, "Hey, I was up on Ethereal with Remm and Kendra, 

introducing them to the avatars..."

Tristanna Myeras says, "Speaking of new moon, and Luna seems to be more new 

moonie now than waxing. I thought it was odd."

You have emoted: Aramel tilts her head as she emerges from her momentary reverie. 

"Oh?" she asks. "What do you mean when you say Luna is the New Moon?"

Tristanna beckons you to her.

A stand of fruit trees between spring and summer.

Jagged arcs of vivid red light pierce the air, cast from a war shrine of Maylea 

nearby. Thick dreamy cotton clouds are spread across the firmament. Luna, the 

First of the Maidens kneels on the ground and plays with a squirrel. There are 2 

Ladies of the Sterling Light here. A birch sapling clings tenaciously to the 

ground here. Garbed in a shroud of shifting moonfire, a Ward of the Silver 

Trinity stands guard, eyes blackened with storm clouds.

You see exits leading northeast, south, and northwest.

You curtsey gracefully before Luna, the First of the Maidens.

Luna, the First of the Maidens cackles hellishly.

With long, black hair woven with flowers, Luna is a young elfen just entering 

womanhood. Thin and petite, she is dressed in a simple yellow shift that sparkles.

She is barefoot, and upon her brow are two silver crescents on either side of a 

circle that glows with a bright silver light. Luna is an aspect of Moon Spirit 

herself and encompasses all the youth and freshness of the new moon. Flowers 

bloom at her feet, birds flock around her and all of nature rejoices in her 

presence.

Luna, the First of the Maidens exudes an aura of overwhelming power.

Comprehension flashes across your face.

Tristanna Myeras says to you, "When I look at her, I get a sense of the new moon, 

I could have sworn it used to be waxing."

You say to Tristanna, "I do not recall, in truth, but the new moon and the waxing 

are not so different. A mere sliver of silver in the night sky is all that 

separates them."

Tristanna nods her head at you.

Lightly, you ask, "What's in a name, after all?"

Tristanna Myeras says, "I remember, not long after I cam through the portal of 

fate, Ryylaet and Lleuke had a big discussion about Albion being as fierce as the 

dark moon instead of waning."

You say, "And yet, you know that my belief has always been that Albion is both 

the strongest and weakest of the three."

You have emoted: A faint smile crosses Aramel's face as she says, "Luna is the 

Maiden, who brings growth and renewal, and nothing changes her nature. And Selene 

is the Mother, who teaches the young and keeps our history, and she too is 

unchangeable. But without the Maiden and Mother to defend, Albion turns into only 

destruction instead of protection."

Tristanna Myeras says, "I'm just concerned that mother night is gaining in power.

"

You have emoted: Aramel regards Tristanna for a long moment, her grey eyes 

seeking yours. "So we all fear," she murmurs, "Especially in times when our 

enemies walk emboldened among these woods and strike at us with our blades." She 

looks away from you then, up at the crescent moon in the sky. "I used to be 

terrified of the New Moon, when I was a novice," she says, in a seeming non-

sequitur.

Tristanna tilts her head towards you, "You're not terrified now? What happened?"

You have emoted: Aramel ponders for a moment, and says, "The new moon is the one 

night when Mother Night reigns - or so I thought. But does that not also mean 

that for all the other days of the month, Mother Moon shines in the sky? By 

thirty to one she prevails against the darkness. And every new moon we know that 

soon the morning and evening will come again, and there, in a bright sliver, the 

moon will rise."

Tristanna smiles softly, "What was old, is made new. Everything comes due again."

You have emoted: Aramel smiles at you, her gaze steady. "As it is above, so it is 

below," she says quietly, looking around at the verdant green of the forest in 

the morning light. "So it is with you and I, who hold this forest in our keeping. 

As long as we still live here and do not abandon these woods, they cannot prevail.

All else is just details."

Tristanna glances at the sun and the passage of time, "Alas, I need to return my 

rest. Will likely be a quiet month for me."

Aramel

2. Sylari and the Serenguard

Burial mounds.

It is quite cool. A cairn has been raised here amongst the burial mounds. 

Reaching up as high as the eye can see looms the awesome presence of a living 

totem. A mature birch tree stands proudly here. A purple, elegant pony with 

feathered wings stands here quietly. First Blood Sylari is here, shrouded.

You see exits leading northeast, south, and northwest.

Sylari smiles softly at you.

You lay a hand on the forehead of Sylari, who glows with a sparkling silver light.

Turning more fully from her totem, Sylari cants her head slightly to one side, 

her flaxen tresses falling over her shoulder. "Thank you, Aramel," she offers. 

"Was I unwell?"

You have emoted: Aramel's face softens into a smile as she looks at Sylari. She 

shakes her head, though the soft silver aura still sparks around her fingers. 

"Much of our powers of healing ourselves have been lost to us of late," she 

murmurs, "but it is good to know I can still heal another."

Sylari lets her antlered head bob, relaxing slightly. "Well then," she says with 

a small laugh, "it's good to know I've not developed quite that level of 

tolerance to pain just yet."

LOOK SYLARI

She is a graceful elfen lady with antlers and is a small, fey woman whose willowy 

build lends a nimble grace to many of her movements. Piles of flaxen hair soften 

her milky complexion, tumbling partway down her back in artfully mussed tresses 

cut through by twin upswept ears. More round than they are narrow, her large, 

teal green eyes sparkle with vitality, flecks of grassy motes brightening the 

pools of her gaze. Delicate cheeks swiped with bone white warpaint and a button 

nose lend her an aura of fragility belied by the smile which never seems too far 

from her plump and rosy lips. Hanging from her neck on a leather thong, an othala 

rune can often be glimpsed. Her face is painted with an image of the greenman and 

red stripes. She is wearing a lovely green dress of gold-stemmed roses, a golden 

oak tree brooch, a braided leather anklet, bulbous oaken prayer beads redolent 

with elderflowers, a thick cloak of forestal hues, a cavorting wooden dreamer's 

fetch earring through her left ear and a cavorting wooden dreamer's fetch earring 

through her right ear.

You have emoted: Aramel looks Sylari up and down, taking in the warpaint on 

Sylari's face. "Do the Serenguard then train their young with true blades?" she 

laughs. She quietens a little before saying, "I had not thought that would be the 

life for you, in truth."

Laughter quieting, Sylari's cheeks flush with reddened colour, and her teal gaze 

lowers. "That's part of why I joined," she admits, one hand lifting to rest on 

the pommel of her secured rapier. "Everyone tells me it's fine to occupy myself 

with little things. To never worry. That others will protect me." Her shoulders 

inch upward - not quite a shrug, but nearing it enough. "I didn't fit in with the 

Spiritsingers at all. The Serenguard are like a family to me."

You have emoted: Aramel's gaze holds only the smallest hint of reproach as she 

says, "Song and story are important too. They tell us why we fight." She looks 

away, rueful amusement on her face. "Then again, perhaps that is myself being a 

storyteller at heart." A small lull ensues, before she looks sidelong at Sylari, 

a teasing smile on her lips. "Only -like- a family, hmm? And there is no one 

person who is more like family than the others?"

"Of course they're important," Sylari says firmly, her gaze darting up once more, 

very nearly interrupting your second question with her insistence. "But one can 

be part of the tribe and still keep stories. High Chief Everiine does." Her lips 

press together, and she knits an uncertain frown across her painted, rain-

streaked brow. "If you refer to Neftarys," she ventures as an afterthought, "our 

attachment to one another's no secret at this point. As to everyone else in the 

tribe, we are all Brothers and Sisters." Her hand releases the pommel of the 

rapier, spreading outward with the words for emphasis, revealing a rather freshly-

healed scar upon the palm.

You have emoted: "I don't mean to suggest that you don't," Aramel says, "Simply 

that I have felt the call to the bards, if nothing else. But the Coven has its 

stories also, hidden high in the chambers of the Tower." She turns to the north, 

seeking the white tower atop the cliffs. "As for Neftarys," she continues wryly, 

"You might recall that it was never a secret to me, from the very beginning." She 

quietens a moment, inspecting the scar on your hand. Her fingers still spark with 

faint silver light, but seeing the obviously intentional nature of the wound, she 

does not offer to heal it.

Sylari nods slightly, her teeth finding her bottom lip. As she turns away from 

you once more to study her totem's many engraved faces. Her hand lifts, shifting 

over the grooves and bumps which comprise them, and she returns their watchful 

stare in quiet for some time. "I'm glad things have turned out the way they have,

" she quietly admits. And then she hesitates a moment longer, before adding with 

a slight smile, "I should really meditate now. Thank you for visiting me, Aramel.

"

You have emoted: Aramel nods slightly. "Certainly," she says. The barest hint of 

a pause, before she continues, "I may do so again, if that is amenable to you."

Sylari bobs her antlered head brightly in agreement, before she bows it forward 

and allows her eyes to drift shut.

Sylari grows still and her lips begin to move silently.

Aramel

3. Tending the greenhouse

Atop the Seren Greenhouse.

Superimposed over this location, an ethereal forest reaches up to the sky. There 

is a very light rain shower. A trapdoor leads up through a tile floor to this 

precariously positioned top floor of the Greenhouse. Only a select few plants 

grow here, enjoying as they do a spectacular view over the decorative gardens 

that surround this glass building. A large trough has been placed at the centre 

of the room, ready for whatever prize plant needs to be placed within it. Clearly,

this area of the greenhouse has a perfect position, warming to a perfect humidity 

in the day, and retaining its heat in the moon-filled nights. Pushing up through 

the soil is a moonglory plant, displaying a delicate flower. Pleasantly plump, 

the mother lounges here smiling. Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart is here, sprawled on 

the ground. He wields a golden sickle in his left hand.

You see a single exit leading down.

You have emoted: Aramel enters the greenhouse, her shawl drawn around her head 

against the rain. As she steps into the shelter of the glass building, she 

unwraps it and shakes her hair loose, before seeming to notice Tayn. "Ah," she 

says with a smile, "Are you tending to the moonglory, then?"

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "I was watching it."

Growing here is the moonglory plant, its velvety leaves are a soft shade of 

silver. A single flower blooms on the plant, its petals sparkling with silver 

dust and releasing a subtle scent that fills the heart with joy.

It weighs about 200 pounds.

It has the following aliases: plant, moonglory.

You have emoted: Aramel steps close to the plant, brushing her fingertips lightly 

across the velvety leaves. "I have always been fond of these flowers," she says, 

"no less than the moonflowers, but it is the fruit of the tree that is sacred to 

us."

<people coming in for poteen spam/healing sacrifice>

You have emoted: Aramel casts a glance at the unconscious man, before 

peremptorily laying a silver-sparking hand on him.

Tayn peers about himself unscrupulously.

Wryly, you say to Tayn, "I'm afraid I run a sort of healer's ward for people who 

have drunk too much ale."

Comprehension flashes across Tayn's face.

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "What was with the critters coming from his 

mouth?"

Shaking her head, you say, "Side effects, I'm afraid. Poteen ale can be very 

potent!"

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "Well either way, I got a seedling from Tokota, 

the Centaur up the hill. I tried at one point giving it to White Hart, but He 

didn't seem interested. So, I came to Abeytu, since he seems to know a lot about 

plants. And so, here I am."

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "I'll watch out for the ale. Seems a little... 

Unpleasant."

You have emoted: Aramel says, "Yes, Abeytu is the correct person to give it to. 

Beyond that, I'm afraid I've forgotten much about it. I know that the guardians 

of the spirits use the moonglory in their rite." She reaches out, her fingers 

trailing through the soft earth in which the moonglory is planted.

A touch of mirth in her voice, you say, "And do not worry about the ale - the 

people who get so drunk generally do not enjoy it either."

Tayn's mouth turns up as his face breaks into a smile.

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "How long until the Full Moon?"

You have emoted: Aramel tilts her head back, inspecting the rising moon through 

the glass. Her lips move silently as she counts, before she looks back down at 

Tayn. "By my reckoning of the communal calendar," she says, "It will be at 

midnight."

Tayn ponders the situation.

You have emoted: Aramel settles down on a nearby bench, taking in the warmth of 

the greenhouse despite the impending nighttime chill.

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "Are you waiting for the fruit to bloom, or the 

plant afterwards? Or just enjoy the greenhouse?"

The flower of a moonglory plant shimmers and wilts, but from the center of the 

blossom a round fruit expands, as though filling with the light of the moon.

A shaft of moonlight shines down from the heavens and bathes the Ellindel 

Arboretum in soft light.

You have emoted: Aramel says, "Oh, I have no need for the fruit - you may have it,

if you wish. But there are many flowers and fruits here in this greenhouse 

besides the moonglory itself, and sometimes I like to tend them."

Tayn picks up a moonglory fruit.

Dedicant Tayn, of the Hart says, "It was nice talking to you."

Tayn inclines his head politely to you.

You say, "Go well."