Isune, Irillia, and Zouviqil: A Colourful Solution

Zouviqil

Ministry of Information.

Banks of clouds roil about here. Surrounded by forks of white lightning, a 

scintillating gold thunderbird spreads his white-feathered wings here, grey eyes

alight with a considerate intellect. Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's 

Renaissance is here, surrounded by clouds. She wields a delicate crystal staff 

in her left hand and a porcelain tea cup embellished with golden feathers in her

right. You may enter the NEWS from here.

You see exits leading northeast, southeast, southwest, and northwest.

You give a dark red cinnamon cup cake to Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's

Renaissance.

Irillia blinks.

Irillia curtseys gracefully before you.

You raise your hand in greeting to Irillia and say "Hi!"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Greetings. Thank you 

for the unexpected confection."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "The unannounced 

giving of sweets must be a tradition within your family."

You beam broadly.

You say, "It is, practically!"

You say, "I remembered your name and smelled you here, so I came to give you 

one."

She is a feathered cloud trill and is tall and slender in build, with the long, 

delicate bones and streamlined frame of one sculpted to soar through the skies. 

A quality of airy grace, unconscious yet harmonious, suffuses her appearance, 

from the form and flow of her hands to the lines of her figure and the patrician

dignity of her bearing. Wide, immaculately groomed wings sweep majestically 

outward from between her shoulder blades, their smooth, glossy plumage a gentle 

shade of cloud-grey. Echoing the colour of her wings, a downy cap of spun-silver

feathers crowns her head, with lustrous wisps curling across her high forehead 

and over her ears. Her skin is surpassingly fair, sheathing her aquiline 

features in an almost moonlit pallor. In contrast, her wide-set eyes are a 

cloudless, crystalline sky-blue, made all the brighter by the silvery lashes 

encircling them and feathery eyebrows arched above them like wings spread in 

flight. She is wearing the Medallion of Beauty, a thin amethyst band, an etched 

beryl ring, elegant slippers of dove-grey silk and feathers, delicate dress 

gloves of pearl grey velvet, a frost flower with petals of ice, a feathered hat 

of iridescent dawn-silver samite, a high-necked gown of iridescent dawn-silver 

samite and a thin cloak of white silk.

Blinking in consternation, Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance 

says, "I...I see. You smelled me here? All the way from your forest?"

You blink.

You giggle happily.

You shake your head.

You say, "I went through the forest, then I went to Celest, then I came here. 

When I came here, I smelled you."

Comprehension flashes across Irillia's face.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Well, I appreciate 

the cake, I suppose. Even if it is rather...Gaudiguchian in style."

You blink.

You ask, "Really?"

You ponder a dark red cinnamon cup cake thoughtfully, looking it up and down.

You say, "Just looks like cake to me."

Dark red frosting tops this cup cake, carefully piped onto the top to

resemble small dancing flames. A light dusting of cinnamon coats the top

of the frosting flames, and a copious amount of cinnamon has gone into

the construction of the frosting itself. The cake body is squishy and

white, decidedly nondescript next to the vibrant frosting. A dark red

wrapper surrounds the cup cake, keeping it safe and clean before

consumption.

You ask, "If it's no good, though, I could maybe get a different one for you?"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Ah. The frosting 

looks rather as though it were shaped like flames, to me. Perhaps that is merely

a result of your long journey."

Irillia waves her hand dismissively.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Never mind. I 

appreciate the gesture all the same."

You ask, "Flames are Gaudiguchian?"

You stare implacably at a dark red cinnamon cup cake.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Yes. You may have 

heard that Gaudiguch is the home of the Pyromancers, the elemental mages of 

fire?"

You say, "I just thought flames were a natural phenomenon and an unfortunate 

side effect of lightning..."

You say to Irillia, "I've heard of them, but I never-... ohhh.."

You say, "Pyro..."

You say, "Like... fire..."

You say, "Erm.."

You shift your eyes suspiciously from side to side.

You say, "I'm sorry!"

You say, "I didn't realize!"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Yes. There are 

natural flames, and then there are...their flames."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "It is all right. I do

not mind."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance smiles impishly and says, 

"Though you should know that in Hallifax, ignorance is punishable by law."

You say, "... right. Well."

You put 3 dark red cinnamon cup cakes into a dark green leaf pack.

Irillia gives a trillingly melodic laugh.

You say, "I have no cakes left, I'm afraid."

You shift your eyes suspiciously from side to side.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "For citizens, anyway.

And truly, we do not really punish it."

You ponder the situation.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "It is quite all 

right. Your gesture was meant in generosity and kindness, not to give offence."

You nod your head at Irillia.

You say, "If I wanted to offend you, I'd come here and tell you you get no cake,

and then leave."

Stopping for a moment to ponder, you say, "I feel like Mommy had mentioned she 

would talk to you for me, and someone else, I think Zyphora, but I forget."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I rather think I 

would be more bewildered than anything."

"Oh?" Irillia exclaims quizzically.

You nod your head emphatically.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Talk to us about 

what, if I may ask?"

Lifting the mask on her face so that it rests atop her head, you say, "Colours."

Pausing again, you say, "Well. She called them auras. They're not like healing 

auras, though."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I'm afraid I do not 

understand at all."

You blink.

Looking at you and gesturing with an outreached hand by your heart, you ask 

Irillia, "Colours?"

You say, "I can see them. All the time. For everyone. Some can be very bright, 

and it's distracting."

You say, "It keeps me from going in large groups. Masks work... a little. Or 

this one works a little, I haven't tried others. It was Mommy's idea to try a 

mask."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance opens her mouth, then 

glances down at your outstretched hand, instinctively steps back a little, and 

closes her mouth.

Zouviqil pulls her hand back after a moment longer, and then 

lowers the mask back down, eyes partially covered by it.

In an undertone, Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "This

has something to do with Lady Maylea, doesn't it."

Come now, you don't really mean that.

You tilt your head curiously.

You say, "It's something that's affected me since... for as long as I could 

remember."

A flash of light erupts at the location of the city of Hallifax.

Irillia tilts her head back and looks up at the sky.

Curiously, you say, "I asked Lady Maylea about it, though, and She said it is 

a--..."

You tilt your head back and look up at the sky.

Quietly, you say, "... gift."

Her brow wrinkling, Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I

see. So, you see colours about everyone?"

Affirmatively, you say, "Everyone."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance looks thoughtful and says, 

"I would ask if you have tried faeleaf, but I suppose if your Lady calls it a 

gift..."

You say to Irillia, "I took up healing because I thought it was a cureable 

thing."

You say, "I could eat faeleaf like it's candy, it doesn't go away."

Showing that she understands, Irillia nods her head slowly.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I see. If I may ask, 

what did your mother think that Zyphora and I could contribute on this puzzling 

topic?"

Facing you once more, you say to Irillia, "We're trying to find a way for me to 

be able to control it, and... you two are Lady Isune's, aren't you?... Colours 

might potentially be right up your ally. It's hard, not being able to be around 

groups of people because the colours can be so vibrant or bright when there's a 

group."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I'm afraid I have 

nevr heard of anything like that. I would have thought Lady Maylea would be able

to assist, caring so much about painting and shaping flowers into the proper 

colours that suit their floral souls."

Shaking her head, you say, "She thinks it a gift that doesn't need altering or 

removing of any sort."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Yes, you said. I was 

wondering why She could not help you control it."

You say, "I think that would fall under the "doesn't need altering of any sort" 

part."

You shake your head.

You smile and say, "But no matter. We've established you and Zyphora can't help 

me with this."

You say, "Saves my mom the trouble of the awkward topic breaching."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "It may be that 

Zyphora would know more of this than I, as she stands so much closer to our Lady

and knows Her heart best."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Or perhaps Lady Isune

Herself could assist you. I am only mortal, after all, and such phenomena are 

beyond me."

You laughingly say, "Well, I'm a mortal too!"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance smiles and says, "Well, of 

course. And we both have no idea what to do about your colours."

You say, "Is Zyphora currently awake, hiding away somewhere? I'd prefer not to 

bother your Lady directly if possible. I don't know how much She'd enjoy being 

bothered by a random forestal."

You laughingly say to Irillia, "Yes, that's absolutely correct, we're both 

clueless!"

You say, "At least on this matter."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "It appears that while

Zyphora is not awake, my Lady is."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "You are most 

fortunate. Shall I take you to Her Fulcrux where we may discuss your...colourful

condition?"

Rubbing the back of her neck, you ask, "Would I be much of a bother for Her?"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I do not think She 

would find you a bother. And I think She would be interested in offering what 

help She can."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

You begin to follow Irillia.

You ask, "If I'm a bother, please let me know before I get zapped?"

Irillia's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I do not think She 

would sear you with morning fire merely for asking for help and telling your 

tale. But I'm sure we will all let you know."

You nod your head emphatically.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance laughingly says, "Besides, 

Her zaps are a most beautiful phenomenon, or so I have heard. A marvellous 

display of light and glory. You would be most fortunate to witness one so 

closely."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Now, let us visit Her

Fulcrux."

You follow Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance to the Fulcrux of

Isune.

Zouviqil

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. Shimmering with a dreamy gossamer, a strange, vegetal 

feather lies here. An enormous falcon nervously talons the ground, wings 

mantling. A wiccan broom floats here, vibrating with energy. Surrounded by forks

of white lightning, a scintillating gold thunderbird spreads his white-feathered

wings here, grey eyes alight with a considerate intellect. Archmage Irillia 

Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance is here, surrounded by clouds. She wields a 

delicate crystal staff in her left hand and a porcelain tea cup embellished with

golden feathers in her right.

There are no obvious exits.

Irillia curtseys gracefully.

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, 

"Greetings, My Renaissance. What an intriguing offering you bring before Me."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Greetings, my Lady. I

bring to you a supplicant from the Serenwilde, afflicted with a most unusual 

condition and seeking knowledge."

With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "What a

strange thing to bring to a Goddess of the Fourth. Truly this 

new...Valtreth...ought to have retained some of the Lord Exalted's knowledge of 

healing. Why come to Me? Is she afflicted with some strange form of blue 

sunrise?"

Zouviqil's ears move slightly from beneath her long hair at the

mention of a 'blue sunrise.'

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

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "My Lady, I bring her 

to you because she came to me seeking help. From her tale, she sees a constant 

miasma of colours around everyone she meets, which she seeks to control."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "And as she put it, 

"Colours are up our alley.""

A star twinkles far above, shooting across the sky, and the fountain flares 

faintly in response.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Surely

such is the common complaint of the artist, suffering the endlessly daunting 

spectrum of emotion and creativity."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says to you, "Perhaps you 

could describe it in greater detail for the Lady's ears."

A scintillating gold thunderbird glides in a precise arc, causing the aether to 

spark and crackle with atmospheric instability.

The horizon glows with burnished shades of orange and red, heralding the 

imminent arrival of Father Sun upon the rim of the world.

Streaks of violet light snake across the morning sky, colouring it a deep 

purple.

Speaking up just for a moment, you say, "The colours are not... consistent. Not 

wholly consistent. Many times there are people I've met, like my brother, whose 

colours start out as one thing and over time change to another. It originates 

from around where their hearts are. Even when I close my eyes, I can see them."

Lowering her head, you say, "Some colours are so bright I can't look directly at

them. Groups are unbearable to be around from all the colours."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Would 

you prefer the opposite, then? A life devoid of colours completely?"

You shake your head.

You frown and say, "Just one where I can be around more than five people without

feeling like I'm going to be blind from the collective brightness."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "How 

have you dealt with such a problem in the past, may I ask? Self-enforced 

solitude?"

Sadly, you say, "I've tried meditations to try and narrow it down, and focusing,

and looking away, but the best solution so far has been to separate myself from 

groups, yes."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Does 

this solution satisfy you?"

You shake your head.

Voice soft, you say, "It leaves me alone."

You say, "I'm not... fond of being alone."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Are 

all the colours you encounter equal in their degree of pleasantness?"

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

Shaking her head, you say, "No. I wish they were. Dark, vibrant reds, like fresh

blood, often do not look too pretty to see, nor are they foreboding of good 

things to the one who has them, in my experience, unless there's another colour 

trying to overtake it."

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.

Glorious rays of morning light burst forth from Father Sun's crown as it peeks 

over the world's edge, announcing a bright and shining new dawn.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says to you, "Has this 

happened all your life? Or did it occur suddenly as the result of some 

significant event or change?"

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "What 

you are suggesting to Me is in fact the simple fact that not all colours belong 

on the same palette. Surely the soft pastels of dawn are not to be marred by 

bolder, harsher streaks of colour, no? Perhaps it is the same with the auras you

seem to perceive around people. You must merely find people who complement one 

another."

You say to Irillia, "For as long as I can recall, even my pre-portal days, and 

those days are sketchy, but I remember the colours. Always remember the 

colours..."

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.

After considering Isune's statement, you say, "But to do such a thing, I would 

have to actively look for those sorts of people... I suppose it's a possibility,

that I didn't consider..."

You lower the hood on gauzed forest-green robes.

You remove a gold and silver lyrebird mask.

Glorious grey wings arch behind Irillia, wrapping themselves about her with 

iridescent feathers glimmering with starlit silver.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "It is 

a choice, really. You can actively seek to be alone, or actively seek to be 

around enjoyable companionship."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "That is one means of 

controlling your condition that I had not imagined, yet it is quite logical."

You nod your head at Irillia, showing your acceptance.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I 

suppose it is similar to avoiding those who bore you. Simply avoid those who 

blind your sight irreparably."

You say, "It's just unfortunate that of the two whose colours I know do not 

bother me at all, outside of my family, are one who's rarely awake, and one who 

I've bothered enough for the rest of eternity and no longer wants to deal with 

me..."

Inhaling, you say, "Thank You, Lady Isune."

You say, "You have provided a solution I hadn't thought of, and my mother was 

right to suggest You for a solution."

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

You chew on your lip thoughtfully.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I am 

flattered to be thought so highly in the realm of colour psychology. However, I 

note that the Lady Maylea of your commune ought to also have expertise on this 

matter. Surely She was consulted?"

You say, "I did consult Her, but when I did, it was hoping for a cure."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Cures 

are too simple to be easily given. More often than not, obstacles exist to be 

overcome, rather than removed."

Nodding in agreement with Isune, you say, "She advised me that it was a gift 

from the Fates, not a thing to be cured, but a thing to be worked with and to 

learn to accept."

Zouviqil

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "The 

Lady Maylea speaks wisely, and this, I assure you, does not surprise Me in the 

slightest."

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

land to bask in his shining golden rays.

Mood seemingly lifted, you say, "Thank You again, Lady Isune. And thank You also

for not showing Yourself. I am willing to bet your colours would be very bright,

like Lady Maylea's, and hard for my eyes to handle."

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, "The 

Lady Maylea has always had a very serene aura. She seems to favour rich colours,

I believe, such as indigos, and violets."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says to you, "I suppose in a

way you are most fortunate. You must see the world in such a different way than 

we with ordinary vision, and with it I am sure you perceive far different 

insights than we could ever attain."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says to you, "Even if you 

must also master obstacles that we couldn't even imagine."

Agreeing with Isune, you say, "Many rich ones, but also a great many pastels, 

and it's Her pastels that shine brightest."

You say to Irillia, "I... I guess so? It's a little hard to deal with. I see the

colours and I draw conclusions before a person even speaks sometimes. It's not a

good habit to have."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, 

"Intriguing indeed. Though generally speaking, I advise you to avoid making 

assumptions with Divine. Simply because Divine fire may be more than too much 

for you to handle, dear."

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

You nod your head in agreement.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Some 

of Us, such as, say, Shikari, may not favour being fancied as a dainty shade of 

pink."

You give a trillingly melodic laugh.

Irillia's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

You say, "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Him yet, face to face, but I'm 

sure He's no pale pink."

Smiling softly, you say, "Maybe a soft lilac, though, in there, that He would 

hope no one ever sees."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "It may

not be a pleasure, but He so rarely entertains social visits, you know."

You say, "I know..."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Now 

you are simply entertaining death."

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

You give a trillingly melodic laugh.

You say, "I almost did once before! He zapped me."

You say, "I lived."

You say, "He has His own kindness."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "You 

are lucky you speak such things in My Fulcrux, and not of He called Predator's. 

But I suppose all mortals may fancy what they will of the Gods."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance leans forward slightly, 

listening to the exchange with evident interest despite her efforts to keep her 

expression unreadable.

You say, "Oh, definitely. I'm sure if He were to have heard me, I'd be dead. Or 

near dead. Or holding my own head."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "He 

fancies death by ripping out one's jugular, if you wonder at His methods. I 

would take care of Mine, were I you."

Zouviqil touches her neck and shudders a little at the thought.

You look skeptical and say, "Yes, I'd like to keep that in my neck, where it 

belongs."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Now 

that I have successfully instilled the fear of the Gods in your mortal soul, is 

there anything else you wish of Me, dear?"

Irillia hides a grin behind her hand.

You ponder the situation.

You say, "Yes."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Speak 

your mind. It does not do to let Goddesses dwell in curiosity."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "But 

know My time grows short."

A scintillating gold thunderbird glides in a precise arc, causing the aether to 

spark and crackle with atmospheric instability.

Smiling serenely, you say, "My final thing I need of You is that You keep 

content, safe, and continue sounding of the pleasant, bright blues and yellows I

imagine You must shine."

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

Irillia smiles softly.

Volucer flutters his wings, dislodging loose feathers which drift to the ground.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "I 

cannot promise to shine any one colour, as it would not do to wear colours out 

of season, but I shall endeavor to keep well, as you wish Me to."

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

You smile and say, "That's everything I could expect, then. Keep safe, Lady 

Isune, and well."

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Then 

we are both well-pleased."

You beam broadly.

You say, "I won't bother You farther. Thank You a million times."

With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "You 

are welcome fifty-seven times."

The corners of Irillia's mouth turn up as she grins mischievously.

You giggle happily.

Motes of light around the caldera pulse brightly as a soft voice echoes, "Take 

care, dear ones."

You say, "You too!"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "In thanks, I suppose,

we shall do our best to honour all the numbers equally."

You nod your head at Irillia, showing your acceptance.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Fair winds, my Lady, 

and may Your rest be sweet."

You follow Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance to among 

outcroppings of crystal, stone, and metal.

Irillia flashes you a joyous smile.

You smile broadly and say to Irillia, "Very pleasant, your Lady is!"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "She is indeed. I 

cannot imagine a Goddess more charming or thoughtful than She."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance smiles and says, "And I am 

glad She was able to guide you so well. Truly, it was a problem that a Goddess 

could see to the heart of far better than us mortals."

You nod your head enthusiastically.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I hope that Her 

advice will help you. And that, while you find these individuals whose colours 

harmonise well, you will also grow stronger against the...the visual effects of 

those whose colours don't."

You nod your head in agreement.

You say, "Her advice was EXTREMELY helpful."

You laughingly say to Irillia, "Thank you for leading me to Her. Now I just have

to figure out the none-too-exciting world of social interactions to get myself 

around those whose colours harmonize with me."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I am sure it will not

be an easy voyage, but I do hope that it will lead you to interesting people and

places during your journeys."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Shall I lead us back 

to Hallifax? Or would you rather return to your forest?"

You say to Irillia, "That answer depends on how tired of me bothering you, you 

are."

Irillia looks about herself, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Alas, I, like my 

Lady, should also be seeking my rest, or I would be pleased to converse more 

with you. Assuming that my colours do not assault your senses, now that I know 

of them."

You shake your head.

Light shifts and reflects from the surface of the crystalline walls.

You say, "Your colours are bright in places, like your pinks, but a single 

source of very bright colours is manageable compared to say... five. Or. A 

deity."

You slip into a gold and silver lyrebird mask.

You raise the hood on gauzed forest-green robes.

You smile and say, "And when in doubt, the mask helps a little!"

You say, "But if you need to rest, you really should."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance gives a slow, hesitant nod 

full of clear uncertainty.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I see..."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Yes, I'm afraid I 

must. But thank you for a most enlightening interlude."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I trust that you will

be able to find your way home from here?"

You beam elatedly and proffer a chipper "Yep!" to signify your input on the 

matter.

You say, "If not, I can cry to my family to help me, like when I ran into 

Estelbar when it was owned by... I think it was Gaudiguch."

You beam broadly.

Looking very briefly askance, Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's 

Renaissance says, "Very well."

You ask Irillia, "Do you do hugs?"

You tilt your head curiously.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "In that case, I shall

bid you fair winds and clear skies. And may you find the...the colours that... 

What?"

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I do not, not 

really."

You nod your head emphatically.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "I do appreciate your 

asking."

Irillia coughs softly.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Where was I."

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance says, "Oh, yes. Fair winds 

and clear skies to you in all your journeys."

Irillia curtseys gracefully.

Light shifts and reflects from the surface of the crystalline walls.

Archmage Irillia Shevat, the Aesthete's Renaissance has lost you.

You smile broadly and say to Irillia, "Be safe, be happy, and keep well."

Irillia, riding a scintillating gold thunderbird, leaves to the northeast.

Spreading his white-feathered wings, a scintillating gold thunderbird soars off 

to the northeast.