A tranquil, fragrant glade.
The light here is perpetually muted beneath the thick canopy of leaves arching
overhead. Occasional shafts of sunlight break through the mass of interwoven
branches, bathing parts of the glade in sudden bursts of pale gold radiance.
Drifting motes of light weave and turn about the glade, varying shades of blue,
purple and silver glowing amidst the branches of the trees overhead and floating
gently over the grassy ground underfoot. The glade is blanketed in a peaceful
hush, broken occasionally by the songs of birds, and the air is thick with a
rich fragrance of mixed floral and spicy scents, emanating from no particular
source. A large pedestal stands in the centre of the glade, formed from
prismatic crystal of many colours. Motes of icy white light surround a sculpture
of a regal woman, enthroned here in splendour. Dame Dioyne Fairquillion stands
here with cool austerity, hands folded politely upon an elegant walking cane. An
enormous falcon nervously talons the ground, wings mantling.
You see a single exit leading south.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion:
Tall and austere, this hawkish trill woman sums up her surroundings in a quick
glance, her eyebrows ever-lifted with faint incredulity as she presses her thin
lips in a tight line. Though clearly never a great beauty, this willowy trill
has aged gracefully; the palest grey colours subtly thread their way through her
large white wings, barely discernible except when caught in the light. Her
haughty and imposing demeanor is further heightened by her high cheek-bones and
the fathomless blue of her soulful eyes. Her attire is prim, but polished,
constructed from smooth black satin that gently drapes into a fashionable frill
about the neck and bustles dramatically at the waist. A single ebony ribbon ties
back her head feathers in a tight semblance of a bun, its faded ivory plumage
flecked with the occasional shadow of silver. Her no-nonsense gloves cut neatly
at the wrist, and she rests them leisurely upon an elegant walking cane,
clutching an opaline falcon that has been cleverly carved into its crest.
Wide and dialated eyes of gold foil quickly focus and unfocus as the falcon
turns its head with short jerks and bobs to eye anything that moves too fast for
its liking. His nervously clicking beak and talons are a mother of pearl white,
while the scales around his nostrils, eyes, and forelegs are blue quartz, though
all of them are scuffed, dull, and in poor condition. Downy feathers are matted
to the top of his beak and head, leading back to a ragged crest, and the once
long and elegant feathers that tipped his ears have been broken clean off. His
feathers overall are white and patterned with dull grey bars that work their way
across his back, but many are haggard from little care and overzealous preening,
and even more feathers have transparent markings and rusty stains from improper
molting. He holds his wings halfway opened in a permanent mantling stance,
though they occasionally flick open or shut in a jittery twitch.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion tilts her head curiously.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "Why, how funny to see you here."
You have emoted: Zyphora curtseys gracefully, saying, "A pleasure and welcome
surprise to see you again, Dame Fairquillion."
Your mouth turns up as your face breaks into a smile.
You have emoted: Zyphora gently nudges Volucer. "This is Volucer, whom I believe
you have met before."
Glancing about herself, Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "A strange location, is
it not? But a soothing one."
Volucer holds himself up proudly.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion inclines her head politely to Volucer.
Amused, Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "Yes, I had been hoping to see you."
You have emoted: Zyphora gazes about as though soaking up the surroundings. "It
is very lovely."
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "I feel as if I have stepped into a painting. A
melancholy painting, but a lovely one nonetheless."
Volucer fidgets impatiently.
Under her breath, Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says to you, "Gracious, is he quite
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion ponders Volucer thoughtfully, looking him up and down.
Glancing at Volucer, you say, "Volucer has a request to politely beseech of you."
Volucer clears his throat in an attempt to gain everyone's attention.
Volucer says, "I would like a doll, please."
A startled laugh escapes Dame Dioyne Fairquillion's lips, which is quickly
stifled as her hand moves to politely cover her mouth.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "My, I've only showed off one of them thus far! I
see word travels fast in the Beacon of Harmony."
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says to you, "I was rather skilled as a seamstress for
my last employer. I often had to fashion ballgowns and the like for his
You laughingly say, "I myself am a tailor, so I am left in greater awe of your
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion's eyes sparkle with amusement.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "Oh, hardly talents. I am merely competent at the
profession I have dedicated myself to."
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion waves her hand dismissively.
You smile and say, "The doll we saw was quite the specimen! When my cousin and I
saw it, we were simply covetous."
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says to Volucer, "And I was quite taken with this silly
falcon, as well. I have never seen a bird quite like him."
Volucer preens himself proudly.
Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "Though, one thing does bother me, you see..."
You tilt your head curiously at Dame Dioyne Fairquillion.
Volucer tilts his head curiously.
You say, "What is that?"
At length, Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "I finally met the trill who led me to
Hallifax. She is the one I gave the doll to, you see. I find it perplexing that
you should know her, when she seemed quite enigmatic every time I sought her in
Volucer looks up at Zyphora for guidance.
With a glance at Volucer, you say, "Well, she frequents the city quite often,
just as you do. She is quite interested in what cultural works the citizens have
to offer. She has been known to watch plays with some of our citizens at the
Slowly, brow furrowed, Dame Dioyne Fairquillion says, "I find it peculiar that I
have done such service, and been given such generosity, by a nameless patron. A
mysterious benefactor of sorts, if you will."
You look thoughtful and say, "It is quite mysterious that a patron feel the need
to shroud their identity. But she does no harm, does she?"
A gentle, feminine voice laces through the aether, "Perhaps mysteries deserve a
little illumination, Dame Fairquillion."
You feel a stirring within you, disjointed thoughts and unexpressed emotions
beckoning you to the Glade of the Sleeping Goddess.
(The Canvas): Yatrius (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Did anyone else
(The Canvas): You say, "Yes."
(The Canvas): Yatrius (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Do you know what it
(The Canvas): Raikogen (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "Hrm I must have
missed it, what happened?"
(The Canvas): You say, "I felt a stirring, beckoning me to the Glade of the
(The Canvas): Allyrianne (from the Prime Material Plane) says, "I would imagine
that it means we are to go to the Glade of the Sleeping Goddess. You may
teleport to me if you wish."