Site Wide Event Capturing the Sun
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
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MP: 9824
#15
MELITA
She didn’t have long to ponder much of anything – the excitement buoyed, the silliness prevailed, when Jigano swept into her sights, prospering a gentlemanly bow, causing her to laugh, to giggle, a woodland sprite in her best dress. “Likewise,” the youth hastened with her enriched grin, proffering her hand as he asked her to dance – turning to drop her basket on the ground, Fangorn its hardy, stalwart guard, before she twirled and turned into the folds. “Of course!” Her answer was blistering and bright, a luminescent glow, a restless, ardent sprig.

Jigano would likely find her rhythm akin to something bestial and a bit barbaric, savage, untamed, wild and rough, but delightful all the same, a harbinger of enchantment and amusement, indifferent towards the steps and proper nuances; alive to the swing of the music and melodies. The tunes were always different, an art she hadn’t heard elsewhere, not from her mother or sister’s lips, not from the melancholy, haunting dirges of the Rift, not from the pockets of sand in the Dragon’s Throat. But she beat to it, feet a rapid, spiraling motion, laughter on a gale.

Then, her motions turned a tiny more conspiring, leaning in closer to the ivory in Jigano’s hair, on tiptoes with his tremendous height. It was a whisper along the rise and fall of the musical crescendos, but enough where she presumed he could hear. The girl thought the bard to be full of sagacity, wisdom, and the latest gossip – her eyes flickering briefly to the bandaged lion, hurt and blundered against again. “Do you know what happened to Remi?”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#16

Amalia's fingers stretch over Isla's soft muzzle before she suddenly remembers that the unicorn used to be a woman. Flushing crimson she pulls her hand away, unsure of the proper protocol but fairly certain that it is not stroking their medic's nose. Her mother, at least, would have disapproved: and as Rishima is the only healer the girl has been close with, it is there that she must base her knowledge, flawed as that logic may be.

As Remi removes his bandages she resists the urge to inhale a breath, sorrow searing through her at the sight of cloudy eyes. "Of course," she murmurs in response, reaching to guide his hand to her shoulder, gently taking the other against her palm. She squeezes gently at his gratitude, but the thank you is not called for. Even had they not been friends the girl would have helped. The only thing she can regret is not being there to begin.

Amalia takes a careful step, cautiously pulling him along. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer, though, so be careful for your toes." Her sheepish smile is clear in her voice, though there is uncertainty beneath. It is strange to try and meet the eyes of someone who cannot see her, and she shivers despite her efforts not to, heart breaking once again for the blinded man.

Amalia
i've been watching your kindness keep
a lonely company - look at the fire and think of me
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
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#17
Jigano left his cloth-wrapped gift next to Melita's basket in Fangorn's expert care as he swung her into the wild, joyful dance, his feet light and swift in keeping up with the rhythms that swirled through the night. The music might have been new, but a beat was a beat to a bard, and he moved as gracefully as water to match Melita's fire, laughing and glad that there was a night of life and goodwill amidst the difficulties of the human and Fae interface.

He led the dance and then handed it over to Melita, following her exuberant, fierce steps with a challenging grin until their very momentum spun them towards the outside of the circle of the dance and he slowed them both again as they drifted back towards Fangorn's loyal presence by their things. He leaned down when he realized his companion was reaching up for him, but her words faded the smile on his lips and he gave her a slight shake of his head as he brought them back to a standstill. "This is the first time I've seen him in a while. I hadn't realized..." and if Vervain hadn't been able to restore his sight, then something beyond a simple accident or fight must have happened. The bard sighed, reaching down to lift his gift from the ground as he offered it to his dancing partner.

"I hope this can lead your way in the darkness, though, and perhaps you can find a use for it?" He offered hopefully. Within the simple wrapping of cloth was a metal lantern, silvered base and top gleaming with high polish while the wall panels were a bright copper, a pair of stylized suns letting light out on two sides, and a pair of blooming flowers that echoed the shape of the suns on the other two sides.
Remi Taliesin
the Bastion


Age: 31 | Height: 5'11 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 15 - Strg: 68 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 100 - Luck: 93 - Int: 3
ORIA - Mythical - Spriggan (Ghost)
Played by: Odd Offline
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#18
Remi holds Amalia with all the familiarity of a brother, the confidence of a man who actually has danced a number of times before, and with none of the lust that many other men his age likely hold with regards to her. "For all the baking you do and the inevitable taste testing, you are shockingly in shape." Remi replies with a grin.

He does his best to follow along with her, wanting to predict her movements, but given she is not skilled at leading, it is a bit difficult. "I have an idea." He chuckles after she has stepped on his foot for the third time.

"Everyone, kindly watch out!" He calls, and as his voice brightly rings out, a sphere of vines and grasses suddenly rises up and weaves itself around them. Held there by earth magic as much as telekinesis, there is enough space between the vines to let light in, but is dense enough that it should gently push into anyone who gets too close, thus avoiding a collision. Like some sort of strange hamster-ball from a fairytale, the alchemist and the baker are enclosed in their own little budding spherical garden.

With another laugh, Remi places his hand on the small of Amalia's back instead. "Let me see if I can lead." And as it turns out, he can.

Quite well in fact.
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Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
Warden of Halo / Guildmaster

Age: 33 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Hybrid | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Halo
Level: 14 - Strg: 72 - Dext: 72 - Endr: 73 - Luck: 80 - Int: 3
BELIAL - Mythical - Peryton (Blend) ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
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#19
Deimos
It was Jyoti first, swimming through the air, gliding and circling around the Reaper, alerting him to Amalia’s presence. In reality, the little calf didn’t need to – the warriors stares were always watching for her, in and out of crowds, across a distance of throngs and dins. He would recognize her anywhere, gold and onyx, now garbed in ivory and crimson, a stark image along the cloaks of darkness and stars. His hands, now out of habit and ritual, as if it were an old routine, flickered across the starwhale’s skin, affectionate scratches, his eyes going to her, watching, waiting, a statue, a stone, a monolith along the intervals and sea of people.

But she didn’t arrive; sweeping along the crowd, and he was just the lone, desolate witness again – another custom, practice, and tradition, now almost innate and inherent, to linger on the outside looking in. She crossed lines and chords, and finally, nearly there, along his path, until she noticed Remi.

He hadn’t noticed the man at first – too pre-occupied, head too full of sun and moons and stars – but as he shifted his gaze upon him, he noted bandages across his eyes, no pride in his stance, a fumbling of hands and fingers as Amalia led him to dance. Curiosity and inquiry beckoned, a tilt of his head even as he continued tending to Jyoti, pondering all the while how he’d acquired such brutal wounds, layers and lacquer hidden underneath gauze and wrappings.

He missed the removal of the dressing and covering; turning his head and striving to do something other than stand around, looking like a fool. At the last festival, he’d been surrounded by allies and comrades, had felt more than blessed, unworthy and undeserving of the notions and individuals, but accepted, tolerated; they hadn’t done so this time, each going off in different directions, and the whispers of desolation, isolation, stirred against his bones. Just try echoed again, and he didn’t know where to strive, but knew, understood, that the rest of the world wasn’t going to wait on him. How many times had he encountered it? How many times had he forgotten how to chisel allies and forge friendships? How many times had he let it simmer and sink into the dust, ruined and muddled before he’d even noticed? Amalia was a godsend, a blessing, but he had to be able to do this on his own. It wasn’t fair to either of them.

Then she was gone, behind a garden wall, and he chuckled, smiled.

Arching a brow at the calf still close-by, he gently grabbed ahold of one of her fins and tugged her along; impersonating a dance as an air of mischief stole over him again – furrowing his brows and pinpointing his next set of motions and movements. They twirled and spiraled, he rampaged and seared, laughing amidst Jyoti’s croons, taking careful aim on his impending approach. Done purely out of impishness, and some juvenile glee, mixed and coated with infantile spite, he spun the companion along the air, and ended up with his frame, his mighty, colossal figure, on a collision course for Jigano. “Sorry!” He passed by, clearly not at all; the rogue grin settled on his features, before winding along back the way they’d came.
Out of sight and out of mind
Make everything alright
So let the sky and sea collide
Just not in our lifetime
Amalia Chandrakant
the Archangel
Baker

Age: 29 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Stormbreak
Level: 5 - Strg: 49 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 52 - Luck: 49 - Int:
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
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#20

If men lust after her Amalia does not know, the girl herself being rather immune to such feelings (though this has changed somewhat of late). It means that she, too, does not look on Remi with anything more than familial fondness. Indeed, most of her relationships with men are born far from fires of physical want. "For all the trouble you get into, you're remarkably spry on your feet," she replies wryly, hoping the comment is not in poor taste.

She is dismal at leading, something he seems to realize - but not until after she has trampled his toes. At least she is barefoot, soft leopard pads instead of heels to avoid doing too much damage. Abashed, she grins and shakes her head, feeling rather foolish for her unfortunate steps. Her embarrassment quickly shifts to awe at Remi's remarkable plan, a sharp intake of excited laughter as the vines grow around them, making them a little cage. "Brilliant!" More than happy to let him lead, Amalia shifts her hand to his shoulder.

And so they begin to dance.

Amalia
i've been watching your kindness keep
a lonely company - look at the fire and think of me
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
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#21
MELITA
They spiraled back on her flames and his careful, quiet guidance, a stalwart foundation and anchor where she itched to clamber back into embers and infernos. But even Jigano didn’t know about Remi’s case, which meant she’d have to ask at a later time, or merely ponder and never quite comprehend it, out of her prying, grasping hands and talons. “He always seems hurt,” she mentioned off-handedly, as if bad luck moored him down, down, down, when it the world should’ve been twisted and beckoned by his light and graces.

But then there was an alteration, gifts extended and exchanged, the bard leaning down and then offering her something beautiful and wonderful: a lantern, a guide in the darkness, where she ventured, where she roamed, copper, a burning sienna, promising light when she traversed into the deep, vacant unknown, when she regarded monsters, when she tampered with ghosts. The etching and detail of the suns were something all the more special and highly regarded, her heart swelling, tears striving to escape from the back of her eyes – like little wraiths of the past, the beatific glory of her Sun God, of the Dragon’s Throat, of the humid, sultry haze, of the oasis beneath her feet, along her fingers. She noted the blooming flowers too, like her sister, like her mother, and she pushed a heart-wrenching sob down the back of her throat, glanced at the ground to regain her composure. “It’s amazing. There’s no way I’m worthy of such a gift.” But her hands went to clasp it anyway, digits gliding along the smooth, polished panels, Fangorn hissing in delight while her soul intertwined back on everything she’d once had. Her family, her friends, her old home and kingdom, shepherding her through shadows; the way it’d always been, and could never be again. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, in awe, in reverie, and everything else she couldn’t possibly convey.

Then she thought of her own gifts, laden above the flinthopper carcasses, and she ducked down, lantern in one hand, too precious, too sacred, to loosen from her grip, brushing aside some tears that escaped from her eyes and ran down her cheeks, composing herself as she grabbed her own basket. The offerings inside weren’t nearly anything in comparison, but she thought them beatific, grand, and opulent in their own way. She adjusted the basket to linger on her hip, while her fingers grabbed hold of a few precious stones and shells, some red lichen off to the side, holding them aloft for Jigano to view. “You may have these, if you wish. They’re nothing in comparison to yours…” She trailed off, but then kept going, bravery and valor. “I dove down for them in the Crimson Cataract. Perhaps you could find a better use for them than I.” They were in every size and shape, all with a crimson, rosy tinge; like a blush, like blood, like ichor and lifeforces, polished and smooth by the force of the waterfall.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Virion Wolfsbane
Head hunter

Age: 31 | Height: 6ft | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 10 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 10 - Luck: 5 - Int:
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#22

VIRION
i find the pretty things & i put them through hell
Virion stayed on the outskirts of the people crowding around. Some type of festival. More people than he had ever seen in his life. He tensed slightly, body stiffening as a low, inaudible growl left his throat. The male kept far enough away to stay away from most of the crowd.

However, whatever human part was left of him after The Curse had its curiosity piqued. He moved closer, still staying just on the outskirts of the crowd, but close enough that someone may notice a face that did not quite fit in. The beast inside was quiet in that moment. The impulse had not built up yet. That did not stop him from taking in everyone who passed him.

Every male or female who came near, he watched closely. He studied their movements like a wolf watching deer. The raven-haired male then turned his grey gaze to a group of people who seemed to be having the most fun. Oh, it would be easy for him to snatch one of them after the festivities should he choose to. They were so engrossed in themselves and their fun that they did not seem to notice the danger that was stalking them from the dark shadows.
Coding base by Sky!
Jigano Silversmith
the Sage
Provost of the Loreseekers Soul Shepherd
Portal Guardian
Age: 36 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Attuned x Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 30 - Dext: 45 - Endr: 38 - Luck: 42 - Int:
ISUMA - Mythical - Griffin (Venomous)
Played by: Cirago Offline
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#23
"Yes," the bard sighed, but tried to keep his opinion of Remi's short-sighted courage - or was it just self-sacrifice? - to himself. Perhaps he was not the martyr Jigano had once called him, but impulsive? That might take longer to grow past, a lifetime, even.

Curious though he was to know what had happened to the alchemist this time, this night was meant to be one of joy, not sorrow. As Amalia swept Remi into a dance (and he encased them in a flowery globe, showing off enough that Jigano decided he perhaps wasn't so hurt after all), the bard started to slow he and Melita towards the edge of the dancefloor once more--

Only to be bumped by an unexpectedly gleeful Deimos and Jyoti, twirling with wild abandon. "Hey!" he laughed after them, "Watch where you're dancing!" But they had already moved on to assault other dancers and Jigano shook his head, grinning back at Melita as they found Fangorn and he offered his gift.

It was a lovely thing, true, but still only the work of a junior craftsman. He felt a bit awkward as she took it with reverent fingers and looked down with an abundance of emotion in her eyes, too quick for him to understand what had caused it, only to know that his gift had struck a chord, and a powerful one at that. "You are very much worthy, and it suits you," he said gently, instead of protesting his craftsmanship. He had worked hard on it, and he was more pleased than he could say that she liked it so well. Perhaps Caiside's work would have been better, but the smith had helped him and guided his hand on certain parts, making it indeed a worthwhile gift he could be proud of.

His eyes lit up as she offered treasures in turn, shining stones and curious shells and a bit of lichen a fascinating color. Each was an ornament, the seed of a song or a story, and he bowed deeply, touched and delighted at the gifts. "Melita, they are enchanting!" he declared. "A sphinx's eye," he winked, plucking an amber-gold stone from her basket. "A drop of heart's blood from a phoenix," he declared of another as he swept it up as well, each item disappearing from his fingers with a flicker of sleight-of-hand that deposited them deftly into the pockets hidden inside his flowing sleeves. "A shell from a mermaid's bracelet, and a water sprite's hat!" Two of the shells vanished next and he bowed deeply to the girl as he collected the rest of what she offered as gifts. "Thank you, my friend!"

As he rose from his bow a flicker of darkness caught his eye, dark hair against dark branches, and for a moment he began to wave, thinking that Jiao had come to the party as well...

But, no, it was a stranger there in the shadows, dark-haired and watching the festivities silently from beyond the edges of the light. Jigano tilted his head curiously at Virion, noting his presence and then offering Melita another smile. "I think perhaps he's more shy than we are," he murmured, nodding to the stranger in the dark. "I think I'll invite him to dance, if you don't mind switching partners for a bit?"
Virion Wolfsbane
Head hunter

Age: 31 | Height: 6ft | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
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#24

VIRION
i find the pretty things & i put them through hell
The wolf could feel himself being watched as he watched the sheep mill around dancing, ignoring the danger around them. He looked towards the direction and noticed one of them watching him. The man then untangled himself from the woman he was dancing with and began to make his way towards Virion.

This was not what Virion had planned when he had come to the festival. He wanted to seek new prey, but not get noticed. But the male was still a lamb, naive and unsure. Virion still knew how to pretend to be human. He would pretend, like he had done so many times in the past, although he found it a lot harder now than he had in the past.

Now, he pretended he had noticed himself being watched. Act natural.... He continued to walk along the edges, occasionally watching other groups. But he could see the other walking towards him from the corner of his eye. Act natural...

{Continued in new thread}
Coding base by Sky!
Wessex Theskyra
the Wraith
General of the Hollowed Grounds

Age: 47 | Height: 5'8'' | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: 12 - Strg: 61 - Dext: 60 - Endr: 61 - Luck: 58 - Int: 2
LOKI - Mythical - Dragon (Energy Blast)
Played by: Astor Offline
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#25
WESSEX
out of the night that covers me
If Virion thinks he hasn’t been clocked, he’s sorely mistaken. How silly to assume there wasn’t someone watching him, someone as quiet as a shadow when the sun goes down, who can smell there’s someone new in the crowd - one of her own who doesn’t usually show up. His stalker-like behavior elicits a raised eyebrow from the older woman and she does a quick visual check in with ‘her’ people. Everyone seemed fine and having a lovely evening, so Wessex merely puts a mental checkmark on him from her own place on the fringes of the group.

She’d had no intention of bringing attention to herself by interacting with the man, and when Jigano disentangles himself from Melita, she is happy to let him deal with it.  Dancing is not her forte and she doesn’t come bearing any fancy gifts, other than the gift of meat, which she killed herself; there is no expectation that she will receive anything. The venison haunches lie wrapped and tied up at her feet, a new knife with an impressive antler hilt in her belt.

Wessex watches, as she always does.
black as the pit from pole to pole
i thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul
Lily Balfour
Entertainer

Age: 34 | Height: 5'9'' | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Hollowed Grounds
Level: N/A - Strg: 16 - Dext: 19 - Endr: 18 - Luck: 14 - Int:
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#26
Lily
sing me a song of a lass that is gone
Lily takes a pastry from Amalia, biting into it with a soft ‘mmmmm.’ She could eat them all day, she thinks, and flashes the baker a thumbs up to indicate that she very much enjoys the treat. Moving through the crowd, she wonders if she’ll see the little Fae girl, Hazel there, or the seamstress, Jiao. There are so many of them flying about, in and out of the stars and will-o-wisps, that its hard for the redhead to keep track of them all.

But you know who isn’t hard to keep track of? Deimos. The big hulk of a man comes spinning into view, holding the fins of a floating whale calf and Lily can’t help but laugh. It’s adorable, entirely mismatched, and for a moment she’s jealous of Amalia (oh, the rumors fly!). There’s a lingering crush on the warrior that flares up as she sees him smiling and having a good time, but for the most part she’s happy - for them, for the people here, and for summer. And so rather than stand on the edges, she finds a break in the people and begins to dance by herself - arms up and moving around, feet finding their own rhythm.
merry of soul, she sailed on a day
over the sea to Skye
Ronin Taliesin
the Supernova


Age: 34 | Height: 5'10 | Race: Demi-god | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 14 - Strg: 58 - Dext: 70 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 79 - Int: 3
SUGAR - Mythical - Dragon (Ice Breath)
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#27
everything has its wonders
Hugging Bastien back with enthusiasm, Ronin could only laugh at his suggestion of eloping together. "Alas, I'm afraid we'll have to continue to be starcrossed lovers for the time being," he said, stepping back and giving the Ascended's shoulders a squeeze. "It's good to be back," he said warmly, only for an awkward smile to flicker across his face at the suggestion that he had not gotten the other man a gift.

"Well, I baked pastries but as an Ascended I doubt you will want them," he said. "So please accept this gift, instead - you have my word that I will come to your guild soon. And I may even leave a member of it. How does that sound?"
even darkness and silence


Coding base by Sky!
Melita Najya
the Honeybee


Age: 26 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander | Citizenship: Torchline
Level: 10 - Strg: 57 - Dext: 58 - Endr: 58 - Luck: 57 - Int: 1
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd SILA - Mythical - Dragon (Fire Breath)
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#28
MELITA
She watched as a massive beast of a man intentionally collided with Jigano, bounding off before there was any form of reprimand or retort, allowing her a chance to breathe, to intertwine her fingers back over the lantern’s craftmanship, hands gliding along metal. When the bard spoke to her again, it was gentle, and she lifted her head to eagerly await his reaction to her once-buried rocks, ores, and shells. A great portion of her expected curiosity, but then a frown, a pout, when it wasn’t good enough, when it wasn’t as well thought out, prepared, as his artifact, as anyone else’s presents. But the honeybee girl had dived beneath the crimson waves and the ichor’s ripples, uniting fire and water as her palms grabbed hold of the most intriguing things, stuffing them into her basket upon her return to the shore.

When he called them enchanting, her ebullient, ardent smile reappeared, bright like the stars, like the sun, like the beneficent skies, sufficiently satisfied as he combed over them, gave them names, inclined some sort of story in the sprite’s mind of how they’d come to be, how they existed beneath the roar of ruby falls; dreaming of phoenixes (thunderbirds clung to her mind, incapable of erasing, an uproar, a caw, plunged into lightning and storms; turbulence in the heart of the desert), sphinx eyes and their riddles in amber, mermaid’s bracelets, woven tenderly and intricately, and water sprite’s even needing hats at all. “You’re very welcome,” she nodded, attempting a curtsy, but failing to execute it properly; fanciful arts not in her whimsical design.

Melita followed Jigano’s line of sight as he became distracted, to a stranger lingering and crawling amidst the shadows, unknown, foreign, and unfamiliar. Perhaps it was another who’d dropped from portals? Or someone else who’d been here all along, but only just now thought to come out? Jigano didn’t intend to leave them alone, and so the air shifted, her dancing partner gone. “Not at all,” the youth uttered, but the back of her spine had straightened, taut, rigid, pondering if her staff was necessary, left at home. As her stare swept along the grounds, she caught sight of Wessex lurking nearby. With her grin still daring and audacious, she waved to Jigano, and with her lantern and Fangorn beside her, basket in hand, skipping merrily over to the Ascended.

Cheery and exuberant, already clearly wild from her latest dances, she doubled the efforts as she approached Wessex’s stern features. She waved at first, content to swing her basket hand to hand, then along the length of her arm, shifting all of its containments back and forth with aplomb. “Hello!” She called, and then finally arrived before her, laying her basket on the ground and entangling the remnants of her presents away from one another, and a few flinthopper carcasses. “I have a gift for you!” Digging through the vessel, her hands flew over a few deeper red-hued stones (the first beat of blood from an assault, a laceration, something she presumed the warrior woman would appreciate), and sharper shells (weapons in another time, another place), layering them in her arms amidst the vermilion, scarlet lichen. Then she held them aloft, right below Wessex’s nose, bestowing her beneficence and affection.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight


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