Dreams and Games

Tacita

Isune is amazing I was laughing so much during this.

--

[Our protagonist is in the middle of cutting gems for Ciaran. Ciaran has just timed out because cutting 300 gems is SO BORING.]

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Apologies for interrupting your riveting labour."

You have emoted: Maerad looks about in confusion, furrowing her brow slightly.

Uncertainly, you say, "That's...quite alright?"

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "However, in truth, I believe an apology is warranted from you as well, Maerad of Mine. I am not accustomed to being worshipped by strangers."

You have emoted: Maerad's viridian eyes widen and she clutches at the clusters of gems in her hands as if looking for support. "Oh. Oh! I - I am sorry, then. I did not mean to offend, not at all," she says haltingly. "Is...there something I can do to make recompense for that?"

The body of Ciaran appears in a flash and his soul descends to fill it, causing the previously expressionless face to fill with emotion.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Perhaps an introduction will suffice. Ah, your client has returned."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Let us play a game, Maerad of Mine. You and I will converse, but only you shall hear My voice."

The tang of ozone fills the air as Shedrin, riding a great black hippogriff with black wings, enters from the north, wreathed in crackling bolts of lightning.

Shedrin shapes liquid globes of power from the air and hurls them towards Ciaran. He screams in agony as they splash across his burning skin and hungrily devour it.

The hum of energy fades away as Shedrin, riding a great black hippogriff with black wings, leaves to the north in a cloud of icy white sparks.

You have emoted: Maerad glances about in confusion at the sudden flurry of flame, but nods her head - seemingly at nothing at all - and continues her monotonous task.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "If you and I are to play charades, I suppose My questions ought to be simpler. Am I correct in assuming that My High Scion has played a role in your recruitment?"

Ciaran leaps about the room and laughs with delight. A great wind blows in with a great whoosh, sending clouds spinning in its wake.

You say to Ciaran, "Thank you. Whatever do you use all of these gems for? I'm not sure even mama could get through so many with all of the things she crafts."

Blushing, you say, "Oh! Provost Zyphora, I mean."

Ciaran says, "Powerstones mostly."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Ah, so you are the daughter that Zyphora has spoken of to Me. High expectations are dangerous things."

You remark, "You could make ever so many beautiful things with these. It must be a little overwhelming to have so much potentially beautiful things around you, and all the possibility in the world."

[Gemcutting spam finishes, gem handing spam ensues.]

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

Ciaran says, "It all looks like gold to me."

You have emoted: Maerad smiles broadly, ruffling her plumage slightly and rocking back and forth on the spot.

Ciaran smiles softly.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Though I can already see the resemblance, and I reward cleverness, Maerad of Mine."

"Ok!" Ciaran exclaims.

Ciaran says, "Better go stock these."

Ciaran waves goodbye.

Ciaran says, "Thank you!"

You smile and say, "You're welcome."

Ciaran leaves to the north, emanating an aura of immense power.

Pleasant laughter chimes throughout the area, sparkling with crystalline light.

You have emoted: Maerad lets out an audible rush of breath, her cheeks darkening with colour as she conceals a small grin behind her paint-stained hands.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I am ever fond of games, and fonder of those who compete well in them. Well done, dear."

You have emoted: Maerad clasps her hands together in front of her face, ruffling her feathers in embarrassment.

You laughingly say, "Oh! Oh. Thank You. It was - well I'm trembling all over, but I think it was fun."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Quite so. I quite enjoyed it as well. And you needn't tremble, dear, unless you believe you have angered Me. Then tremble all you like."

A slight sense of bemusement ripples about the aether like watercolour.

Sobering slightly, you say, "I hope dearly that I shall never anger You. Not just because of Your wrath, but..." Pausing, she trails off and shuffles slightly. "I wouldn't want to disappoint You."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Then that is a good start to avoiding that fate. Though know you would not be the first to do so, and that, I suppose, is a strange sort of comfort for the mortal mind."

With a slight frown, you say, "I don't know, my Lady. I think the comfort of it would depend on what happened to the person who let You down."

You fold your wings around yourself's body, wrapping yourself in a feathered embrace.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "There are fates worse than perishing in the flames of the blazing dawn, dear, and those fates are largely self-imposed ones."

You have emoted: Maerad shivers slightly, her wings trembling. After a moment she shakes her head, and smiles awkwardly into the empty room - her eyes not quite knowing where to settle.

Apologetically, you say, "Oh! I'm sorry. I haven't yet managed to say how lovely it is to meet You."

A slight sense of bemusement ripples about the aether like watercolour.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I do hope I meet all expectation."

Eyes widening, you say, "Oh goodness! I - I hadn't dared to make any. Or if I had, I must've hidden then somewhere."

You furrow your brow in thought.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Gracious, it is curious where worries go to wander when they aren't being tended to."

You say, "I do hope they don't all get stored up somewhere. One day it would surely explode, and that would go quite terribly for all of us."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Though until that moment, perhaps the Basin would exist in a perpetual sense of ignorant bliss."

You frown and say, "I would find that quite lovely, my Lady - only I am told by people whose opinions I trust that living wholly in an imagined world of perfection would be quite bad for me. That I ought not to turn entirely away from the things that are painful, or in some way horrible, because...well, that does not stop them being there."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "It does not do to dwell in dreams, no. Those you trust speak words of wisdom indeed."

You have emoted: Maerad clutches her hands together in front of her, picking nervously at a stubborn paint stain on the back of her hands.

Glancing down slightly, you say, "Sometimes I do wish that I could dwell there, though. The colours aren't so deep, but the world is at once smaller and larger, and - and there in my dreams I am not quite so...incidental. I can be in the foreground, and as beautiful as all the things I could ever hope to paint - instead of behind the canvas."

You have emoted: Maerad colours deeply, her face creasing in the manner of one who has confessed more than they intended.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "An artist is not merely the shadow of her work, dear. When you look upon the Basin of Life, and you behold all of the Beauty in its frosted mountaintops, in the waves rolling across the sea, in the splash of pink against the sky - you see a vision once beheld only within a dream. And no matter how lovely a dream may be, it can only have one dreamer."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "An artist brings dreams to reality. It awakens them, and brings beauty to a place that sorely needs it."

You have emoted: Maerad raises her head slightly, green eyes gleaming with hope. "Oh!" she exclaims softly, a wide and deeply genuine smile spreading across her face. "I had not thought of it like that. It seemed to me as if others were saying that dreams were bad, and yet I could not countenance that. It felt wrong, but I did not know why. I - thank You."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I had wondered what drew you to My order, Maerad, but I see now it is more than idle curiosity that leads you to seek Me. Intriguing indeed."

Hushed light flickers about the area, as if muted in contemplation.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I have only one question left for you."

You tilt your head and listen intently.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Is your mother feuding with you?"

You have emoted: Maerad's face creases in abject confusion, the expression accompanied by a concerned look in her eyes.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I note that she has failed to induct you into the Order's jewelry cartels. Which is either carelessness or due to some strange familial issue that I know nothing of. And it would not do to call My own Avatar careless."

You exclaim, "Oh!"

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Shall I remedy this oversight?"

You have emoted: Maerad settles down from where she had risen anxiously to the balls of her feet, her face relaxing slightly.

You say, "I would like that very much, yes."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Your mother is the trademistress of the first, White Wind. The latter still lacks a trademaster, I am afraid."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I am under the impression that My order has an abundance of tailors."

You smile and say, "Papa was ever so excited when I took up jewellery - I suspect that might be why."

Pleasant laughter chimes throughout the area, sparkling with crystalline light.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I look forward to seeing your potential unfold, Maerad of Mine. But as I have asked you many questions, I give you leave to ask Me one before I depart."

You have emoted: Maerad smiles and nods, her expression turning carefully thoughtful.

A little shyly, you say, "What's Your favourite flower? If You have one."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Gracious, it sounds as if you are performing a bet between Zvoltz and Maylea."

Pleasant laughter chimes throughout the area, sparkling with crystalline light.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Do I choose the flower Maylea painted for Me, or the one Zvoltz coaxed into being at the Aviary gardens? What a conundrum."

You have emoted: Maerad smothers a small giggle.

You say, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to ask such a difficult question."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Nonsense, dear, social games are some of the finest games to play. The stakes are higher."

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

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "The bird of paradise was a gift of apology, and the flower of precise angles was a gift of love. In this, I must say the latter, as I prefer an impossible world where no apologies are necessary."

You smile and say, "I do not know either of Them well, but I would hope that neither would be disappointed in that reasoning."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "But, I do harbor a quiet fondness of the rose, in remembrance of a friend long past reaching."

You have emoted: Maerad's face turns curious and she opens her mouth as if to ask a question, but stops - recalling that she was allowed only one, she closes it again.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Oh, certainly they would not have minded that reasoning in the slightest. To offend Maylea with frivolity is difficult, and to flatter the Architect is easy."

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "I observe, however, that I have taken much of your time, and it is best to leave with some aura of Divine mystery surrounding oneself."

You smile broadly and say, "If anything, my Lady, You are all the more mysterious and intriguing than You were before today. I think there is a greater anticipation in having opened the first page of a book, rather than simply gazing at the cover."

A slight sense of bemusement ripples about the aether like watercolour.

A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Then another chapter, I have no doubt, shall await you."

Banks of rolling mist, redolent with the heavy scent of rosebuds, languidly drift past, just barely obscuring the silhouette of a single white falcon grazing against the sky.

You smile softly.

Shedrin

I like my part in this log.

Ciaran

Haha, I was wondering why you were getting all eloquent talking about gems.

This makes much more sense.  Isune is so sneakkky.

Shaddus

I noticed that Papa has no real part in this log, and barely a mention