Mr. Grumpy Tree Gives Advice

Selenity

The Nemeton of Hoaracle.

Its bark dark and shimmering, a warden tree erupts from an altar of stone - a triumphant sapling 

amongst its kin. A flurry of leaves rains down from the mighty trees overhead. Shrouded by an aura 

of mist and modulating stars, a winged unicorn stands here with a serene countenance.

There are no obvious exits.

You have emoted: Selenity curtsies before the master shrine of Hoaracle.

A winged unicorn of moonfire and starlit mist shakes his head at you.

You ask the master shrine of Hoaracle, "Are... You terribly busy at the moment?... I mean, You're 

ALWAYS busy, but, do You have perhaps a minute or two to give me advice?"

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Why, mortal, do you think I care to give advice? 

Is it not always the case that your kind ignores it?"

Blinking a few times in response at the surprise, you say, "I am grateful just to know You hear me, 

Lord... I will take Your advice on this matter instantly, if You are feeling enough pity for this 

mortal just long enough to give it."

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Speak straightforwardly, Siar'luin. What is it 

that you seek from Me?"

Inhaling, you say, "Straightforwardly. Okay. The Divine I used to follow will not respond to me, and 

I heard He no longer accepts anyone from our Forest. I am lost and confused without a Divine to 

follow. Should I keep trying to convince Him otherwise, or look elsewhere?"

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Who did you follow?"

You say, "The Lord Navigator."

You say, "Sixty years ago."

Overhead, the boughs of the trees here shudder and shake, their rustling a language only shared 

between them.

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

shining golden rays.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Darvellan's presence within this world has been 

thin as of late. If you attempt to plead your case to Him, I imagine it would fall upon deaf ears."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Or perhaps, un-present ones."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

You say, "Then the advice is to not bother, Lord Oak Whacher?"

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Did I say that?"

Shrinking a little, you say, "Well, no, you didn't." She gives a small squeak, "I just want to... 

make sure I understand You, the Divine can be cryptic."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "In the end, it is only you can decide if you wish 

to expend the energy there. While I find mortal faith fickle, when it is genuine, it can last you 

lifetimes."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Perhaps I would be cryptic in another age, in 

another time. But at present, I am quite blunt with My words."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Dreaming should be esoteric, words should not."

You have emoted: Selenity, being the transparent girl she is, sighs with a pout on her face. "Thank 

You for Your answer. If it had been a yes or a no, for the record, I would have taken that direction.

" She gives a small nod. "I understand. You as You are currently are not cryptic when it comes to 

matters of common mortals."

Inhaling, you say, "I hope my offerings made up at least in part for bothering You. Thank You for 

taking time out of Your very busy, hectic life for a very stupid, clueless little elfen, Lord Oak 

Whacher."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Why do you belittle yourself, mortal? It is 

unbecoming."

Frowning slightly, still pouting, you say, "Because it's true. I've come back after sixty years and 

remember nearly nothing. I don't even have a Divine to follow. I just feel..."

You sigh, "... lost."

A winged unicorn of moonfire and starlit mist stretches out his large wings, tossing his head and 

shaking his mane about.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Being lost is not stupidity, however. You simply 

lack direction."

In a gentle voice, you say, "Lacking direction can make a mortal feel very stupid."

You see faint, blurred figures dance past you, their figures devoid of colour - but as soon as you 

turn to follow them, they fade from view.

Continuing the hunt for his dark mate, Father Sun presses forward in his journey, lowering himself 

in the sky yet still casting even, full light upon the land.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Perhaps, but I think otherwise."

You have emoted: Selenity tilts her head to the side, curiously. "If... You have the time, and feel 

like having someone listening... how so?" she asks quietly.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "There is no philosophical statement to be said 

here, Siar'luin. I have known mortals who have very little direction and are quite keen, and others 

who had all the direction and resolve in the world and do very stupid things. It is that simple."

A winged unicorn of moonfire and starlit mist stretches out his large wings, tossing his head and 

shaking his mane about.

You have emoted: Selenity's face offers a pout yet again as she, once more, seems to wear her 

emotions on her sleeve. "Ah," she says. "I was expecting something philosophical." After a moment of 

silence, she says, "I am sorry about my grandfather. He used to love You. I don't know what happened 

to him. You fascinated me, too, when I was younger. I would get lost in Your temple a lot."

Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun's chase 

brings him closer to the world's edge.

You have emoted: "Willingly lost," Selenity adds.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Of course you were. Much like every other mortal 

in existence, you expect Me to be the same being as I was many, many years ago. When your 

grandfather was but a new buck, before he turned himself to Lisaera, before his own heart turned 

against him and others."

The sound of shifting feathers precedes a winged unicorn of moonfire and starlit mist giving his 

wings a light ruffle. A single stellar feather gets loose and falls. It immediately begins to turn 

into tiny motes of silver and starlight, which float back into the unicorn's form. Before the 

feather has a chance to reach the ground, it is gone.

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, 

spreading darkness across the land.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Rather than turn to Me as Myself now, most, if 

not all, mortals expect Me to be what I was like then. Fatherly, full of words and opinions, 

philsophical, esoteric with a realm of weird creatures of dream."

Lowering her gaze to the ground, her voice very quiet, you say, "Sorry..."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "I don't accept your apology. You don't need to 

give one."

You have emoted: Selenity blinks a few times at the Oak Whacher's words. She looks to the master 

shrine of Hoaracle, confusion plain on her face. "But... I am a mortal, and I did come to you for 

advice, and did what You said, expecting You to be as you were before, and that bothers You," she 

says slowly.

You ask, "If you bother someone, mortal or God, and You do not wish to offend them or bother them, 

is that not reason enough to apologise?"

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "You are assuming that I am bothered, Siar'luin."

Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar 

constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.

Trying to wrap her head around the idea, you ask, "So You... mentioned it... just because it is the 

way things are, without further meaning to it?"

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Exactly. I said this as fact. Did I not say I 

speak bluntly?"

You say, "You did. You did say that. But I'm having trouble... I guess, most people I speak with do 

not speak bluntly aside from me. There's always some other thing hidden away, some other meaning."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "I would believe it. But having spent most of My 

time in the realm of Dreams, where every vision has a multiplicity embedded within its core, I know 

that simple statements are appreciated and desired."

Nodding in agreement, you say, "They are appreciated and desired. But take time getting used to!"

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "As most things do."

Unsurely, you ask, "Is there... anything I can do to help You in anyway as a thank You, for what 

advice You've given?"

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "No, not yet, anyway. Simply be as yourself and 

search for something that will sate that lack of direction."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Preferably, in the Serenwilde, of course."

A rumble of laughter shakes the trees.

You have emoted: Selenity smiles a little and gives a small laugh. "I'll remain a member of the 

Forest for all the lives I may live, should the Fates grant them, Lord Oak Whacher. And one who 

encourages the strength and growth of the Forest. When it comes to the Divine though..." She trails 

off, and then says with a small smile. "... I guess a large part of it is finding a God or Goddess 

who could tolerate me. I'm..." She pauses. "I was going to say chatty, but no. No, I'm annoying."

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.

It is now the 12th of Roarkian, 468 years after the Coming of Estarra.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "To be fair, mortal, most of your kind could be 

considered as 'annoying.'."

You ask, "Do you mean 'mortal,' 'elfen,' 'bard,' or 'female'?"

You laughingly say, "I am different kinds of different things."

Again, another booming laugh shakes through the glade.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "I mean mortals generally, but good try in making 

it be you specifically."

You snap your fingers.

Cheerfully, you say, "It wasn't my direct goal, actually! But the direct goal was accomplished."

You say, "Ah, right, bluntness."

A happy smile on her face, you say, "My direct goal was to make You laugh."

You say, "That much worked."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Then you have accomplished it."

You hum a happy tune.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "And to return to something you said earlier, if 

you need to, feel free to get willingly lost in My realm once again. My temple no longer resides, 

but perhaps a new one will stand in its place."

You say, "Thank You. I appreciate it. I... actually was wondering how You felt about all those 

Celestian shrines in Tolborolla, so near Your realm. I know the old-You would have been alright with 

it, but as You have said, You change, too, just like all other things naturally do."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "I have no reason to be concerned with them. 

Unless, of course, My Celestian kin decide to move against the forest."

You nod your head emphatically.

You say, "Seems very unlikely to happen. But I was curious, and You are being very kind and patient 

and conversational with me."

Nearly flailing her arms and rushing to explain herself, you say, "Not like a father though, 

definitely not like a father, more like an older mentor with many wise words and things to say who 

is free to tell me to go away at any point and holds no obligation to me precisely because He is not 

fatherly!"

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "As long as I am not fatherly, I suppose that is 

good enough."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "In any case, Siar'luin, I must attend to other 

matters. Dreams and things."

You nod your head enthusiastically.

You say, "Thank You for helping me and talking with me, Lord Oak Whacher."

You smile broadly and say, "Keep strong."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "You as well, Siar'luin."

You curtsey gracefully before the master shrine of Hoaracle.

You step into the flurry of falling leaves and your body shivers, a sinking displacement dwelling in 

your stomach. When the feeling passes, you realize that you have been removed from the grove and 

returned to the innards of Mount Avechna.