Forum Home Lusternia.com Lore Wiki Vote! Forum Rules VOTE ON TMS!

Best Of

Re: Gurashi Draws: An Autobiography

Parhelion

Re: Lack of Raves VI: Rave Today, Tweet Tomorrow

New people designing things makes me happy.

Jolanthe

Re: My beast may or may not be better than your beast!

Behold; Turtle.

A grand onyx dragon turtle with ebony wings

The female dragon turtle is huge and the wide shell is patterned in shades of grand onyx hexagons. Having an

extremely short neck, the round head is protected by rows of sharp ridges, especially thick around the face, and

she has ebony wings. The legs have large claws, capable of tearing through the flesh of the largest sea beast. For

all the trappings of ferocity, the dragon turtle is a majestic and noble creature, whose dark eyes are filled with

a knowing wisdom. She is called 'Rover.'

Tridemon

Re: Gurashi Draws: An Autobiography

TIL I look like a ghost from Scooby Doo.

Orael

Re: Gurashi Draws: An Autobiography

Image: https://us.v-cdn.net/5020142/uploads/editor/on/fdq2cwo5ivvz.png

Gurashi and Xenthos are very sorry for breaking the aetherplex please forgive us.

Image: https://us.v-cdn.net/5020142/uploads/editor/xx/t1kwueeio1pm.jpg

(Orael wasn't there but you can't draw one without the other I guess. By the way their descriptions are hilarious. Go look them up.)
[edit] I got the date wrong, heck!!

Gurashi

Re: General Dissatisfaction

So today was crisis day:

My 5year old son has school on Tues and Thurs. He gets picked up from Daycare in the morning and taken to school.
Picked up from school at 3:20pm and taken back to Daycare.
After work I pick him up from Daycare anywhere from 4:30pm to 5:30pm. Today I arrived at 5:20PM
He was not there. Daycare did not know where he was. The bus not only did not drop him off it did not even stop there.

My wife calls the bus company while I race to the school to find out if he is there. The bus company says the driver is already gone home but they will try to get a hold of her.

The school luckily was still open, due to a volleyball tournament.

They get a hold of the kindergarten teacher and confirm he was indeed escorted to and put on the bus after school.

The school immediately starts procedures to call the RCMP and file a missing or abducted child report.

The daycare calls my cell phone to inform me that my son was just dropped off (this is 2 hours after he was picked up from school) at the daycare.

I race back to the daycare, where my wife is also racing to. We find out that:

Son fell asleep on bus.
Driver did not properly check for children on bus before going home.
Driver lied about checking for children on bus (we found this out 2 hours later)
Driver took bus home, locked bus, and left a FIVE YEAR OLD ASLEEP ON HER BUS

Once he was found by the driver being alerted to the fact there was a missing child the bus driver instead of informing anyone just drove him to the daycare and "apologised"

The Daycare told us when we found our son that they were immediately changing their policy for bus drop offs and no shows.

The school called us within 30 minutes of getting home and told us they were informing the school board superintendent, the director of transportation and filing a complaint with the bus company

The bus company... didn't call us for 2 hours. Not even when they found our son to say "We found him and are taking him to the Daycare"

To their credit the company immediately suspended the driver pending investigation and told us the result will most likely be the loss of her job as she could not explain how she missed seeing a child on her bus when their policy is to check every seat before locking the bus for the night.

So tomorrow I have to go to a "round table" with the school principal, the Daycare supervisor, the school board superintendent, a representative from the Transportation department, and the manager of the bus company...

Pysynne

Re: A Session with Doctor Ehc'zi

1 Shanthin, 536

Trahey tells Daraius, "It seems I'm unable to find proper help for my wings anywhere. Somebody will turn up, I suppose. But I can't deny it can be frustrating sometimes."

Daraius tells Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard, "Mm, I did promise to assist in whatever capacity I could. I don't suppose you've made any breakthroughs since we last spoke on the matter?"

Trahey tells Daraius, "No. A combination of sleep and conflicting schedules."

Daraius tells Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard, "If you have the time, I will see what expertise I can bring to bear."

Trahey tells Daraius, "Aah, it's wrong of me to complain. Plenty of people who don't even have wings, and I've lived without using them my whole life anyhow. I won't be holding you to that promise, Grandfather. Not if you have other work to see to."

Daraius tells Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard, "You wouldn't make a liar of me, I trust."

Trahey tells Daraius, "Not a chance. Just checking that I wasn't interrupting anything."

Daraius dips his bewhiskered canid muzzle to Trahey in greeting, his tail swaying placidly behind him.

Trahey: Long, thick feathers of a rich brown sheen freely cascade down Trahey's back, reaching almost to his waist like a protective cloak. He stands at a little over seven feet, the apparent absence of wings not changing the fact that he is a feathered trill. His eyes are a sunlit, smoky grey, his cheeks ruddy, and his bushy eyebrows are often raised with mischievous curiosity. The youth is lithely built and slightly tanned from frequent hours in the sun, but the slight flecks of ink on his fingers as well as the unexpectedly intense gleam in his eyes suggest other facets to his character.

A lingering sense of being disgruntled is visible on Trahey's face as he enters, but the look melts away to leave only relief in its place.

Trahey bows respectfully to Daraius.

Daraius says, "I hope you've been well, dear Trahey."

Daraius places one paw firmly on the beak of a tawny gryphon with grey-feathered wings and makes meaningful eye contact with the regal beast before sending him off.

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I've had the generators to focus on, not just my wings, which is a good thing indeed. I hope *you've* been well too, Grandfather?"

"All in all, yes," Daraius replies, swiveling his ears and gaze towards Trahey. "Despite a rather fraught discussion or two, I have been."

Tilting his head, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "Miss Aruokei again?"

A subtle sparkle in his eyes, Daraius says, "That was one of them, yes. Before that, even, there was a public spectacle by your goddess, followed by a fairly intense dialogue among my thrice-great grandpups and myself."

Daraius places a paw over his heart, an amused growl touching his voice as he states, "An emotional couple of months, I daresay."

Trahey pauses a little, trying to decipher who they might be. "Minister... Alexandria and the Overseer?"

Daraius says, "Alexandria and Nelras, to be precise."

Trahey pauses.

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "Yes...?"

Canting his head quizzically, Daraius says, "Yes?"

Something he himself likely does not recognise shadowing his face, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "What... sort of emotional..."

Humbly, Daraius says, "It is hardly my place to disclose the contents of another's heart. Lest you worry, I can say, at least, that there is no disharmony between us -- either between me and my grandpups or between me and Czixi."

The older man's words have evidently not soothed Trahey. "I see," he answers, gaze growing distant and worryingly cold - but not at Daraius.

Flatly, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "We are growing distracted. Please, do tell what ideas you had in mind."

Daraius's ears stand attentively atop his head at Trahey's shift in demeanor, but his expression remains otherwise placid. "Mm, of course. As I understand what you told me," he begins, his tone touched with a warm growl, "You suffer from severely limited mobility in the wings, and it is evident in most of your movement that you carry a great deal of tension."

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "Unfortunately so."

Dipping his muzzle humbly, Daraius says to Trahey, "I am no physician, but I can share something of what I've learned in centuries of meditation and physical conditioning."

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I'm listening, sir."

Daraius says to Trahey, "Come with me, if you would. I think it is a topic better discussed indoors."

Trahey nods his head at Daraius.

Stepping over flowers, Daraius says, "Don't mind the flowers, please. I'm afraid I've let them get out of hand."

A tranquil meditation chamber.

A sense of stillness and peace pervades this small chamber, the walls of which are hewn from cool, smooth grey stones. Underfoot, two large mats of tightly woven rice straw cover the entire floor, their dark cloth edges dividing the room into equal rectangular halves. Rich silk banners of amber and beryl hues stream from the vaulted ceiling and hang graciously along the walls, muffling the sounds of footsteps and conversation, and lending a sense of cozy privacy to the room. Set in the northern wall, a quiet fountain rests within a small alcove. Consisting of no more than a wide shallow bowl perpetually filled from beneath by a hidden spring, the fountain offers quiet reflection in its mirror-like surface. A single golden lotus blossom floats upon the placid water. Plush seating pillows the same colours as the wall hangings lie about the centre of the chamber and near the fountain, but the floor is otherwise uncluttered. Indeed, no particle of dust, strand of fur, or any other debris disrupts the consummate cleanliness of this space. Its atmosphere is one of tranquility, comfort, and order. A stately mahogany throne stands here, humbled by its ornate tripartite backrest. An unassuming cedar tea table rests here, a humble exemplar of balance and utility. Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard is here, shrouded. He wields a white platinum klangaxe of aurora borealis crystal with both hands.

His lips turning up in a semblance of a smile, Daraius says, "Could I ask that you place your boots by the door, please?"

Trahey kneels to undo the fastenings, and rolls up the hems of his trousers while stepping out of his boots.

Trahey removes armoured boots of dark leather.

Trahey gently places the roses he accidentally picked up upon the mat, looking into the swirling depths of the paler flower for a moment.

Ignoring a triptych mahogany throne depicting Tosha's ascension in favor of a humble seating cushion, Daraius settles onto the floor and adopts a relaxed cross-legged position and gestures to another nearby cushion with an upturned paw.

As Trahey finds his place, Daraius asks, "How aware are you of your own body, Trahey, apart from being continually displeased with it?"

An errant draft brings with it the faint redolence of cedar and parchment.

Trahey silently takes his place on the proffered seat. His eyebrows rise at the question. "Aware... in what way, sir?"

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard asks, "Where I'm developed and where I'm not? What physical activities I'm good at, that sort of thing?"

"Not quite," Daraius replies, folding his paws in his lap. "The monks practice a certain intense awareness of every sensation and system of the body, from breathing, to position and posture, pain and discomfort, digestion..."

Daraius says to Trahey, "Do you attend to physical sensations consciously, or do they only rise to the level of consciousness in moments of pain or pleasure?"

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I don't pay too much attention unless I don't have anything to occupy my attention, or if I'm actually uncomfortable... and vice versa."

"Mm," Daraius hums in acknowledgement, though as ever the sound is really just soft growl. His tail sweeps the floor behind him in a tranquil rhythm as he continues, "That is perfectly natural. Being neither a psychometabolist or practitioner of kata, you have no real need to attune yourself to the energies and processes of your body. Nor do I suspect you'd have the capacity to attempt any great feats of self-repair by commandeering your own internal systems."

Daraius says, "But sometimes the simplest lessons can be illuminating, so I'll share one of the first Toshan techniques under the doctrine of Form." [I meant to say Clarity. >.<]

Trahey's eyes snap open, the cloud hanging over him dispelled for the moment. "If I could manipulate my own body to fix itself, that'd be amazing. I'm ready."

A sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl rumbles briefly in Daraius's chest. "Glad to hear it," he says with a benign nod. "It begins, as so many worthwhile things do, with Air. Allow yourself a centering breath, taking in whatever is comfortable, and keep it with you, attending to the sensation of breathing."

A pervasive sense of peace accompanies the far-off warbling croon of a lone aerial.

Daraius demonstrates the simple miracle of breathing, inhaling deeply and calmly, holding for a moment, and then exhaling a contented growl.

Now with some uncertainty, Trahey follows suit. The air is quiet, no barriers to hold back thought and worry and emotion - the trill's bushy brows knit sharply, and he stammers his intent to try again.

"Alright, alright." Trahey closes his eyes, the faint line not yet gone from his brow. He inhales far more slowly, and wills himself to let go.

A subtle warmth emanates from Daraius's aura as he repeats the cycle, this time saying softly as he exhales, "Focus only on the breathing, but don't punish yourself if your mind wanders."

Daraius says, "If you meet an intrusive thought, acknowledge it and let it pass."

Trahey sends a helpless look Daraius's way, an odd tremor in the grey of his eyes. He nods, swallows, and tries again. His eyes close, and he paces his breathing - trusting in order to wash all things away.

With a nod, Daraius says, "Some monks recite the doctrines to guide the pace of their breathing." Intoning in a regular rhythm, modeling the inhale with a gesture of his paw, he continues, "Form, Heart, Spirit, Clarity."

Daraius says, "For others, a simple count will do. What matters is the rhythm, and the focus."

Observing carefully whether Trahey's technique improves, Daraius repeats the gestures, "Inhale - Form, Heart, Spirit, Clarity. Hold - one, two, three, four. Exhale - Order, Balance, Precision, Stability. Hold - one, two, three, four."

Trahey is quiet for a while, focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest. Eventually, a soft chant falls from his lips. "Form, Heart, Spirit, Clarity."

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard murmurs, "Order, Balance, Precision, Stability."

The muffled sound of footsteps and susurrus of fabric bespeak the ceaseless activity of the estate's dutiful and discreet staff.

"Form, Heart, Spirit, Clarity." Trahey's eyes do not open. His voice is equally tight, not quite comfortable with the sound of his voice when not engaged in conversation with another. "Order, Balance, Precision, Clarity..." [He meant to say Stability. >.<]

The sound of his tail happily swishing against the stone floor reaches Trahey's ears before the sound of Daraius's voice, laced with a contented growl. "Very good," he says. "That pattern of breathing alone, well practiced, can allow you to intercede upon your natural stress response and assert your will over your physiology."

"Form," Trahey answers, adding a little nod as he goes on with the mantra.

Daraius allows Trahey a moment of silence, his own placid breathing mirror and model to Trahey's. After a time, he says softly, "When you feel you have a grasp of the rhythm, we'll move on to the next technique, which builds on it."

Daraius observes Trahey quietly and with unmitigated patience.

Trahey is not free from occasional distracting thoughts, but whatever pauses that puncture his rhythm is smoothed out by the next round. He allows four cycles to pass before timidly opening his eyes and giving Daraius a nod, ready to try the next step.

The tranquil resonance of singing bowls echoes in the distance.

Daraius's own golden eyes brighten at seeing Trahey's response, and a number of shimmering pinpoints manifest about his aura. Resting his upturned paws on his knees and tilting his muzzle slightly upward towards the silk hangings above, he says, "With your inward focus, while maintaining the rhythm of breath and - if necessary - employing a mantra to divert and sublimate external thoughts from intruding, turn your attention to the sensations within your own body."

"Depending on your need and experience," Daraius continues, "You might attend to the rhythm of your heart, or the churning of your stomach, or the growth of your very cells."

Sparing Trahey a sidelong glance, his muzzle still slightly inclined, Daraius says, "For our purposes, look inward for the tension you carry in your spine and the muscles of your back."

Trahey's chant begins again, tone rising a little in a desperate attempt to block out all thought. This is often a counterproductive measure, and after another sharp grimace the boy scrabbles to undo the front of his jacket. He claps his hands above clean white cotton, above his heart, seeking refuge in blood. His voice slowly settles, and his back straightens. He is careful here, tracing along his damaged muscles with thought rather than hands.

As he observes Trahey's frantic gestures with detached curiosity, Daraius's breathing follows the uncannily steady rhythm of his earlier instructions, proceeding with mechanical, inexorable regularity.

"At this stage," Daraius says in a voice hardly above a whisper, yet managing a certain authority, "You needn't try anything to relieve the tension. Simply find it, acknowledge it, validate it as you would a thought intruding on your mantra."

Daraius adds, punctuating the instruction with a brief swish of his tail, "And let it pass."

"This is no miracle cure," Daraius warns. "But in training yourself to find the pain in your body, recognize and accept its presence, and then allow it to subside from your attention again, you will prime yourself to heal it."

Another grimace, but from pain of body, not of mind. A certain weight falls upon Trahey's next "Stability," and the silent inhalation that follows comes a breath late. His face, however, does not show the same frustration that had visited him before.

Daraius says, "Do this as often as you need, attending to wherever the tension is hardest to access. As with the breathing, it is a cyclical process, and the more readily you can bring your attention to your body's discomfort, the more readily you will be able to let them go."

Daraius falls silent again, observing Trahey's efforts with careful scrutiny.

An errant draft brings with it the faint redolence of cedar and parchment.

Trahey's chants are interrupted here and there with pauses, puzzled frowns, and sometimes near inaudible whimpers of pain, but he does not stop. A rustling sounds beneath his coat, and he briefly breaks concentration to pull it off and let his wings hang free.

Trahey removes a full grain leather coat of midnight black.

Trahey: Long, thick feathers of a rich brown sheen freely cascade down Trahey's back, reaching almost to his waist like a protective cloak. He stands at a little over seven feet, the crooked, frail-looking wings attesting that he is a feathered trill. His eyes are a sunlit, smoky grey, his cheeks ruddy, and his bushy eyebrows are often raised with mischievous curiosity. The youth is lithely built and slightly tanned from frequent hours in the sun, but the slight flecks of ink on his fingers as well as the unexpectedly intense gleam in his eyes suggest other facets to his character.

Each feather stirs very feebly with Trahey's breathing, whatever tension that fills it as he seeks out the pain showing. Hesitantly, carefully, one wing stretches out and stays that way while Trahey's chant grows a little sharper, and when he relaxes it so does his voice grow soft again. He allows the same for his other wing.

Daraius's eyes brighten and a warm growl rises in his chest at the movement of Trahey's wings. "You needn't push yourself too far, just yet, dear Trahey," he says, his aura aglow. "But I daresay this looks a little like progress."

As Trahey continues chanting, Daraius gets quietly to his feet and steps behind him, crouching down to get a closer look at his wings.

"Don't be alarmed," Daraius warns before placing a single padded fingertip between Trahey's shoulders. His touch is so light it is barely felt, his pawpad as smooth as though his hands in three centuries had never known coarseness. "This may ease the discomfort as you practice."

Daraius stands still and focuses for a moment, a sense of calm overtaking him and a wave of energy flows out from him.

The wave washes over Trahey and he feels his vitality swell with renewed strength.

Despite his nonchalant words before, hopeful impatience gets the better of Trahey, and he stretches his wing a little too far. A yelp breaks his chanted "Order," and he gingerly lets that wing sag. It is a sad little appendage, resembling his father's in colour and sheen for the most part.

Daraius emits a soft huff of a growl at Trahey's overextension, casting an appraising glance over his wings before resuming his place on the cushion across from Trahey.

Trahey's expression clears after a while nonetheless, Daraius's ministrations having clearly taken effect. Eventually, after some cycles, he is able to stretch his wings out fully, though not for very long.

With caring patience, Daraius says to Trahey, "Don't expect to fly out of my chamber, greatest grandpup. These techniques will take practice and dedication."

A pervasive sense of peace accompanies the far-off warbling croon of a lone aerial.

"I've a ways to go before that," Trahey murmurs. His smile is as wide as his voice is quiet. "I didn't think I'd manage, this. Keeping my wings all open. I'd been too used to not thinking about this at all, but now..."

Daraius acknowledges the suggestion with a knowing nod. "When you shut out what is uncomfortable to confront, you allow it to strengthen. Turning your attention to the discomfort instead allows you to strengthen yourself".

Daraius says, "Lest I encourage you to attempt more than you should at this stage, I think it best to call an end to this session." His tail flicks happily behind him as he continues, "Practice these techniques in a peaceful place, and try not to put too much of a physical strain on your muscles."

Daraius says, "When you have reached a certain level of mastery at attending to the areas of tension, we can work on the next lesson under the doctrine of Form, physical conditioning."

"That shutting out part... might have gotten in the way when I was last treated." Trahey takes a breath. "I will, I most definitely will. Thank you so much for this weave, Greatest-grandfather, and I will come ready for that next bit." He looks at Daraius a little shyly, opening more than his eyes. "You know... I was afraid. Of flying, as a child. I hated heights. When I got hurt, I remember... relief."

Daraius swivels his ears towards Trahey, listening with rapt attention.

"I didn't have to practice flying, not while I was hurt. Didn't have to think about disappointing anybody. My wings were... this weak from the start, and I never really... felt comfortable with them." Trahey exhales softly. "As long as I could call in sick, Mum and Dad wouldn't force me to go out and fly. I was the one that got tired of hiding, but then something happened, and another injury - worse, this time. My wings were small from the start, but that day got my wings actually crooked. And now there was no pretending... just very real pain, being less happy with my wings."

"There was therapy. Mum sang." Trahey's face changes once more, a longing so deep one might be able to touch it overtaking him. "Dad must have, as well."

The muffled sound of footsteps and susurrus of fabric bespeak the ceaseless activity of the estate's dutiful and discreet staff.

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard whispers, "And I... misdirected them, I think. Played down the pain left. I didn't want to see my wings again."

Daraius's ears and whiskers droop pitifully, and some of the golden light leaves his eyes as Trahey speaks, but he remains attentive and gives an encouraging nod.

"Asked them to care for my back, all the bunched other-muscles more. Didn't quite help my wings, but it enabled me to hide... and she spent more time with me. Singing the grazioso each night for me." Trahey's voice trembles. "I don't know how she never tired of it..."

Exhaling the softest sighing growl, Daraius says, "I have no trouble imagining a parent's tireless dedication to his or her child."

Trahey whispers, "There's so much more we must have done, so many memories for me to find. It's all I've left of her. Whatever happens..." He takes a breath, and beneath his softness something grows steely in his gaze. "Whatever happens, it's she that I'll miss. My mother. Nobody can replace her; nobody will."

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard whispers, "And I won't run. Whatever it is I fear, and what I think. That lesson I won't forget."

Daraius offers only a humble nod at Trahey's resolution, though something remains unsaid in his hesitance to meet Trahey's steely gaze. "Indeed," he says instead. "Draw your attention to it, acknowledge it, validate it, and let it pass."

Daraius says, "Do feel free to rest, Trahey. There are plenty of cushions."

The fire slowly leaves Trahey at that, and he nods gratefully. "The practice was more tiring than I thought," he murmurs, before letting himself slide into sleep.

A low, contented growl arises within Daraius's chest.

Trahey leaps to his feet, the rest clearly not a peaceful one in terms of dreams. His eyes dart around wildly before finding you, and his face grows soft.

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I... Oh. You stayed."

Daraius raises one paw in greeting, silver words of benediction visible upon his padded palm. "Of course," he says. "It is my chamber after all."

Trahey runs a hand through his headfeathers, pushing his beret up a little in the process. "This is the place you spend most of your time in, when you're at home?"

"Mm," Daraius offers in confirmation. "Here or in the stockroom of the stationery shop, which is also comfortably appointed."

Daraius says, "But outside of Tosha monastery, I've found no better place for introspection."

Daraius says to Trahey, "Of course, you'll be granted a place of your own on the grounds of the estate, should you wish it."

Daraius says, "I'll be happy to give you a tour of the manor someday."

Softly, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "That place really is your home as well. And I... I'd be honored to have a place... here. I truly would."

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "Same for the tour, too."

A low, contented growl arises within Daraius's chest.

Warmly, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I'll be off to my own place for a bit, find some food, and all. And one day I'll show you where I grew up, Greatest-grandfather."

Baring perhaps too many teeth, Daraius says, "I'd quite like that."

Daraius gets to his feet an spares a moment to smooth out his garments.

Looking around, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard asks, "Now, erm, where was the exit again?"

Daraius says, "I'll escort you back to the city. Be sure not to forget your boots."

Comprehension flashes across Trahey's face.

Trahey slings his coat over himself and makes to re-boot himself. He gives a nod, now ready.

Erudio Papercrafts.

A painting of a Flutter's Dream is proudly exhibited on a nearby wall.

Painted mist, in so many tones of grey and aquamarine, spreads itself

over the canvas to create a gently disorienting reverie. Soft patches of

white seemingly wink into view - the faint lines inherent in all

canvases somehow soften them, no doubt helped by the tender brushstrokes

that produced those patches. Colours are layered and layered again in a

slightly rougher hand, forgoing any recognisable background in favour of

an unnamed void whose lone occupant is a double-toothed kite. The orange

hues that would, in the natural world, have brightened the bird's single

visible eye, breast and feet are gone, leaving only a silvery-white in

their place; yet the kite's gaze is all the more striking for this

change. Its posture is still, contemplative; not even a single wing is

raised or a feather ruffled. But the spirals of cloud-white paint rising

up around it reveals the subtle tension thrumming within the small

raptor - the instincts of a predator, ever watchful.

It bears the distinctive mark of Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard.

Trahey blinks incredulously at a painting of a Flutter's Dream.

Indicating the nearby painting with a tilt of his muzzle, Daraius says, "What do you think of that display?"

Eyes boggling a little, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "Who bought this?!"

A sudden sound somewhere between a bark and a laugh escapes Daraius's muzzle. "I did, of course," he says, eyes sparkling.

What is visible of Trahey's ears immediately heat up. "I'm honoured," he stammers. "That was my first try doing something... something serious."

With a hopeful little look, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "Fits surprisingly nicely, when it comes to colour, with the room. If I might say so."

With an appraising glance at the portrait, Daraius says, "A truly successful effort, I should say. Whatever connection to divinity it has is lost on me, but the subject appears to have a certain, ah... determination I find quite admirable."

Shyly, Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I wanted to show qualities the Order prizes with a symbol that wasn't the dagger or cyclone. Ambiguous presentation, maybe, but hopefully a fresh one."

Daraius says, "Appreciated by its buyer, most certainly."

With a flick of his tail, Daraius says, "In any event, I was pleased to have won, and pleased that the many patrons who pass through here will have a chance to see your work."

Trahey laughs, a soft, joyous sound. "It means a lot that you would hang this right there in your shop, and that you like it." With another smile, he sketches a deep, energetic bow - taking care not to bend too hastily.

Temporal Procurator Trahey, Sergeant of the Guard says, "I'm glad we could talk, Greatest-grandfather. I won't forget about the next arrangement."

Daraius nods approvingly. "Of course, dear Trahey. For whatever help I can offer you, it is my honor and pleasure."

Earnestly, Daraius says, "I hope before too long I'll see you cross the skies of Hallifax with your father."

Trahey does not hug the being of motes before him, but his expression says he could have. "Thank you," he says quietly. "I will. I most certainly will." [Oops, he didn't notice Dar was fully tangible this time.]

Trahey searches the air in front of him, then tugs upon an invisible strand of force.

Daraius says, "May you be well, and your efforts fruitful."