Wreaths and Visions

DakhamunzuDakhamunzu Member Posts: 52 Capable

These are form the Serenwilde wreath

You reach out and touch a pigwidgeon on a twig.

The sounds of thousands of hooves stepping recklessly over the forest floor rings through the area. You turn your attention to the heart of the wood, where hearty male voices ring out in joy and laughter. All around you, you see centaurs capering joyously around a ceremonial fire, their gaiety matched by hundreds of fully grown stags that leap and bound through the flames. One by one, men, women and children of all races join the festivities, their bodies becoming a tangle of spiritual bliss as they dance under the full moon. A rumbling laughter alerts you to the figure of a proud centaur God Who oversees the celebrations, His keen hunter's gaze protecting His people while they dance. As the vision shifts, the bonfire explodes with a wave of the God's hand, sending sparks of emerald light winging into the night sky, to the roaring cheers of the Serenwilde people.

You stumble forward into a broad clearing, the stench of cities suddenly nonexistent. The air is clear and the sky is blue, and all around you, nature spirits dance and sing in blissful, unabashed abandon. Two smiling Goddesses step easily from the forest, approaching the clearing with Their arms outstretched, ready to welcome nature into Their embrace. One, a tall woman of ethereal grace and pointed ears, stoops to hold a nymph in Her arms, joyous laughter spilling from Her voice. The other, a tall, slender woman with raven hair and skin tinged with silver, looks on at the scene with a wise countenance, the smile of a maiden's youth, the mother's love, and the crone's careful guidance playing across Her features. Together, They watch over the natural world, in peace and harmony. As the vision shifts, you feel a terrible longing for this moment of happiness to return, and you realize in your heart that this is what the fae wish for, too. Always.

Slipping past branches and greenery, you find yourself before the Tree of Trees: Her titanic trunk scraping against the firmament and filling the air with the deep scent of loam and sap. Resting upon the Spirit's gnarled roots sits a quiet man of pale skin and coppery hair, His eyes closed in contemplation. Time passes - minutes, hours, days, aeons - and you watch the man transform before your eyes: what was once pale skin becomes hardened bark, His coppery hair crinkling like leaves. As the vision shifts, you feel your body pull away from the scene and your ears ring with a sonorous, almost mantric 'hoom.'

Your vision clouds, and is quickly replaced by a riotous mass of bodies. Blinking your eyes to regain focus, you slowly come to realise that the teeming horde is in fact a chaotic group of fae: several of every kind, in fact, from pixie and pigwidgeon to sprite and sylph. Each one wears a jauntily set crimson hat trimmed with fluffy white fur, and many carry half-unwrapped presents in their hands. Indeed, the presents seem to be the source of the anarchy, for the fae are squabbling over them incredibly passionately. As one triumphant leprechaun tears the paper from his present, you burst into understanding laughter - held aloft in his hands is a sticky shard of golden honeycomb.

Kneeling, you brush your fingers gently about a curiously grey flower. Delicate blooms in the shape of bells hang drooping from its stem, the tips of their petals curling upwards, as if reaching for the sky. The soft heads are velvety beneath your fingertips; they remind you of a gentle lover's touch. Melancholy fills your chest at the thought, but as the feeling begins to cause you pain, the grey blossoms fill with vibrant colour. The bells become a peerless blue, the stems and leaves verdant. At once your heart lifts, sadness replaced with a deep and abiding ardour that shall never fade so long as bluebells grow.

A forestal breeze, enriched with the smells of autumn, billows past as you find yourself lost. In all directions, you find thistle and tree, flower and herb; subconsciously, you dig deep into your pockets and retrieve a golden compass - its arrow flicking back and forth in alignment. You begin to walk, watching as the woods fall to branch with winter's embrace and revive again with springtime resurgence. Each step is heavy and determined; each step feels like you span the world and back. As the vision begins to shift, you find a tall, burly man in the distance: pointing beyond the horizon with a massive tree trunk in His hand.

The bitter chill of a cold wind thrums through your bones, leaving your joints weak and shaking. Just as you begin to buckle under the weight of it, the distant sound of a crackling hearth meets your ears. Stumbling through snowdrifts, you come at last to a sheltered grove and bask in the blistering heat of the fire. Soon others have joined you, and merriment warms your heart along with your limbs, the harsh winter making you appreciate the cameraderie and comfort all the more.

And this is what it looks like!

The pointed leaves of this cheerful holly wreath have been carefully curved away from its centre, protecting the wearer from their sharp points. Thick and verdant, it is bedecked with countless red berries that sparkle with a liberal application of diamond dust. Their festive appearance is completed by the sweet scent of oranges and kafe, which rises from a viscid coating on the leaves. It is strangely weightless.

It bears the distinctive mark of Princess Dakhamunzu, Keeper of Cadence.
It has the following aliases: wreath, holly.


  • EnyalidaEnyalida Nasty Woman Member Posts: 4,384 Transcendent
  • LavinyaLavinya Former Queen of Snark AustraliaMember Posts: 3,354 Transcendent
    Magnagoran wreath:

    Spindly vines have been woven to create this stunning wreath, its small, delicate leaves sprouting outwards to shroud the complex knotwork in their latticework shadow. Fragrant amaranth blooms open their pristine white heads about the length of the wreath, lighting perfuming the air, while the polished, ashen faces of rune-inscribed bone shards peak from underneath, strung upon the vines. The entire ensemble is adorned with a festive silken ribbon, blood-red in honour of Solstice, which wounds about the wreath in eye-catching contrast.

    You cross beneath the sculpted archways of the Palace of Prophets, gazing about the walls at the bountiful artwork displayed for all to see - the beatific visages of the Holy Emanations, the Three Fates, the sigils of the Great Houses, some paintings done by the y'Bolgari. A particularly lifelike landscape catches your eye, its canvas, however, bearing the signature of Vit n'Rotri, as you continue on. Hurrying on their errands for the Fatalists, people of various races pass you by and you ponder at the true amalgam of cultures to be found only in Magnagora in those bygone days - a diversity from which the best was chosen, and everything else discarded. A cheerful cry from below pulls your attention to a balcony overlooking the preparations about the gleaming Stone of Truth at the heart of the Palace. The air about it thrums with power and you, yourself, thrum with anticipation of the transformation that has been foretold and which brought you all here.

    You stumble into a small plaza, dirt roads leading away in every cardinal direction. The unique smell of industry is gone, instead the air is fresh and carries the salty scent of the sea. Overhead, the sky is a pristine, halcyon azure, devoid of the smog and darkness that shrouds Magnagora and allows but only greyish rays of light to filter through the protective dome. A group of mugwump fishermen strolls past, carefree and joyous as they make it for the seaside. As the vision begins to fade, you briefly entertain the notion of longing for the brightness and ease of those days before Magnagora joined the Holy Celestine Empire, but as your sight clears, the reality that welcomes you back is magnificent beyond compare and you smile with satisfaction.

    Your thoughts drift as the smell of amaranths lulls you into ruminations. You gaze at the pristine white petals, as silken and flawless as the white stone of the spring before you. Frezies of white marble carved with amaranth blossoms rise against the cathedral wall: a curving depiction of the Blessed Emanation Nifilhema, Queen of Illustrious Beauty, rises out of the flowers. Her hands are cupped in benediction, lips curved into a soft smile as tiny larks swirl about Her hands, their beaks open in trill praise of Her form. You close your eyes and inhale of the spring's fragrant waters and when you open them, the vision is no more leaving you wondering if such a spring still exists and what secrets it must hold now.

    A merian woman strolls past, undeniably beautiful with her platinum scales and golden crests cascading to her shoulders. Her red robe trailing behind her, she floats by a group of ladies who point and whisper of how she turned down a proposal from the Emperor himself for her devotion to the church and spiritual needs of Magnagora had no equal. Their lilting whispered voices carry to where you stand as the gathering muses on how the teachings of Shallamar propelled the Empire into a spiritual renaissance and that Truth shall surely soon overshadow the teachings of Light, elevating Magnagora to usher the Basin into a new era. You snort with amusement at the irony which stirs you awake from the fleeting daydream.

    A wisp of white smoke rises from silver-edged azure teaware, cloying the air with the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms mixed with the refreshing sharpness of black tea. In the background, an irritated voice, his owner a man clad in the insignia of the House of Prophets. He paces about the study gesticulating fervently with the Magnagoran Chronicle in hand: "Optimistic and confident in this prophesy?" he mocks a piece of an article, "Is this a joke?". Those gathered in the room murmur their agreement and displeasure but uncertainty mars their features. There is too few of them to be heard, you realise, and the stakes are too high for the other side. "But the Verses..." a lilting voice offers in counterpoint but you are already gone, never having to contemplate a reality in which the Project would be cancelled.

    A sudden ruckus pulls your attention to the side, a gathering of viscanti arguing in broad daylight at Atropos Plaza. You wade into their midst, instinctively recognising the white-clad and gold-embellished viscanti for their alliance to House y'Bolgari and their opponents in red and orange as the i'Xiia. Threats are made, demands set, they continue to bicker about y'Bolgari's gold mining rights in Angkrag until a d'Murani rushes into the plaza. The collected i'Xiia sneer but fall silent, respective of their status, and disperse while casting a handful of warnings over their shoulders. Curious, you turn your gaze back to the y'Bolgari but only one of them remains, sprawled in a widening pool of his own blood. The Bell-Tower rings for midnight in the distance, startling you from the shifting vision.

    The scent of the sea wafts past and you turn to smell at the sudden freshness only to find yourself lost in a dark corridor. A sliver of light beckons to a doorway which you push as you step into a solarium overlooking the Crystal Sea. The waves mesmerise you briefly, the aquamarine waters a stark contrast to the tempestuous Sea of Despair. The murmuring of men pulls your attention from the sight and you witness a handful of mugwump mystics gathered in a circle in the middle of the room. Some are casting runes, some are meditating, while others pour over copious parchments. As if ensorcelled, you approach those with the papers, their like somehow familiar, and as you realise, your lips dry and breath held, that these are the Verses of Magnora... the vision casts you back out into the world violently, your curiosity unsated.

  • TarkentonTarkenton Traitor Bear Member Posts: 2,555 Transcendent
    edited December 2014

    Ravenwood twigs have been twisted together into a vaguely circular wreath, the jagged ends of which 

    have been sharpened to dangerous, thorny points. Dozens of black berries, their skin decayed beyond 

    an edible range, collect on its protruding limbs like clusters of insect colonies, and the small 

    cobwebs that across the centre of the wreath act like an adhesive for rotting rose petals and 

    flaking bark.

    As the scent of roses and spilt blood fills your nose, you glimpse an indistinct corridor in which a

    golden-haired, green-eyed Goddess waits. In the shadows, a tattooed, scowling God waits, His eyes

    glittering with feral, pleased focus. As the Goddess beckons a third figure forwards, a figure whose

    eyes are lips are stained blue and whose eyes show nothing but lust, Her Brother descends from

    behind, knife upraised and a feral grin on his lips. Blood splatters across your face, and the

    laughter of the siblings echoes out as the vision fades.

    A darkness tinged with red overwhelms your vision , and through this haze of shadows and blood, you

    can vaguely make out the shapes of crooked trees rising in a perfect circle around a clearing. The

    sounds of a whimpering animal reach your ears from somewhere in the clearing's centre, and your

    predatory becomes sharpens into focus around one thought. As you charge forward, you hear the

    satisfied chuckle of a powerful being. As you sink your weapon into the whimpering beast's side, you

    know in your heart that you have passed His test.

    Fingers stained with blood, you press the dark rose against the cocoon's skin, causing it to tremble,

    glow, and eventually crack, spilling violet light from this open wound. Wider and wider the cocoon

    breaks open, revealing the gargantuan creature, Mighty Crow, Mother Night, and the two Goddesses.

    The trees around you spew darkness as the creature soars over the forest, consuming the omnious

    brume with deep swallows; fine, mauve mist releases from its pores, blanketing the forest in a deep,

    violet glow. In your ears, you hear a cacophony of fae: 'Fai! Fai! A wyrd has been created!' You

    stare in exultant awe at the scene, knowing full and well that the course of history has changed.

    Everything buzzes around you as you break into the Ethereal Realm, your skin thrumming with power

    from the Coven's ritual. With each gesture you make, the shriek of the fae fills your ears like a

    cruel symphony. 'D'or glom! D'or glom!' they say: leprechauns hiding behind pots of gold, willowisps

    blinking dark. Mercy? They want mercy from you? A terrible laugh spills from your lips as you

    squeeze out their essence. 'F'ai Glomdoring!' you shriek back. You have no mercy.

  • DaraiusDaraius Shevat The juror's taco spotMember Posts: 4,321 Transcendent
    edited December 2014
    Halli contingent reporting in. Ours is all stuff for @Selenity's shipping chart.

    a pellucid wreath of cygnine plumes:
    Countless miniature plumes of iridescent crystal have been woven into this glistening wreath, a 
    slightly ovular headpiece designed to add festive sparkle to the wearer. Each feather has been 
    perfectly sculpted from a cloudy crystal that shifts from hue to hue as the wearer moves, the vanes 
    realised in exquisitely precise detail. They tessellate against one another just as in nature, 
    creating an entirely symmetrical likeness of a swan's smooth plumage. Embedded within the wreath are 
    several marquise-cut gems, their cerulean forms only just visible beneath the layered quills.

    You alight upon a cushion of cloud, the very aether around you aglow with the newness of Creation. 
    Two young Goddesses trace the firmament with rosy-fingered dawn, Their wings iridescent before 
    Spirit Sun's light. Laughing, Isune and Trillillial chase one another with streamers of pink and 
    gold, casting ribbons of prismatic light across the blue canvas of the sky. A flock of colourful 
    birds follows Them in this happy pursuit, their newly-painted feathers brushing against the snowy 
    cirrus and causing it to pinken in hue. You feel yourself yearning to soar after Them as well, a 
    terrible longing overtaking you as this joyous sight begins to fade.

    A chill settles upon you as you behold a cavern in the Plains of Ice, so bereft of warmth that you 
    feel the beginnings of frost begin to settle upon your skin. A Goddess of cool, glacial beauty 
    settles Her impassive gaze upon Her companion, a tall, slender God garbed in white. Four spheres of 
    ice float about Them both as Their hands remain entwined. Intruding upon this strange moment of 
    intimacy, you suddenly meet Jadice's gaze and startle at the sight--for you see naught but eyeless 
    sockets gazing back at you. All at once, Her hand abruptly releases Manteekan's, and you retreat 
    into the blanket of white snow surrounding you...

    In the distance, you spot two tall figures standing atop a towering spire of peerless architecture - 
    and yet you can see Them as clearly as if They stood right before you. One is formed of translucent 
    crystal, whilst the other sports an impressive wingspan and a brilliant smile. Despite the Goddess's 
    warmth, however, the Elder God before Her seems hesitant. His crystalline form clouds with swirls of 
    rosy quartz that are interspersed with an erratic pulsing of jewel tones. In His hands, He cradles 
    something - a single snowflake of perfect beauty, glistening in the dawn light. Reaching out, He 
    offers it to Trillillial, whose face lights up with rapturous love. As countless symmetrical 
    snowflakes begin to fall around them, Xyl's form settles on a vibrant roseate hue, illuminated by 
    the reflection of Her smile.

    'She's dying,' you whisper. The beautiful swan, whose head lies in your lap, thrashes about, her 
    voice breaking as she attempts time and again to reach seemingly impossible notes. Something aches 
    within you, and you turned away to avoid seeing this poor creature in such suffering. Then suddenly, 
    a miracle happens. An aria rings out clear as a crystal bell, resonant and mesmerizing. You feel the 
    swan in your arms tremble, and as you turn to look, you saw her trumpeting her first and last song. 
    Finally her eyelids flutter, and she lays her head down to rest in your lap, going still. The 
    lingering notes of the melody ring in the air like a warning, and you look up to see amazement 
    dawning on Crys's face.

    Dignified mountains of polished onyx break through the clouds with austere height, regal and 
    towering before the dark-haired Goddess sculpting their beauty. Her expression calm and composed, 
    She commands the rise and fall of the earth with a single sweep of Her slender hands. The Artist's 
    focus is shattered only by the thundrous arrival of a handsome God wreathed in stark bolts of 
    lightning, whose presence causes Her previously snow-white face to redden with blush. Grinning, 
    Zvoltz draws Her close to Him, the quiet rumble of thunder resounding as He surrounds Them both with 
    a curtain of storm clouds. 'My beloved Arimella,' you hear Him whisper as the vision fades to black.

    As you turn, you find yourself deep within the Akashic Records, where an Elder God mediates in 
    silence on the memory of the world. His eyes are shut, and his ebon-wings remain still, but the 
    distant laughter of a Goddess echoes through the vicinity as a mote of glistening memory swirls 
    about Him with hazy images and prismatic colours. Fantastical visions shimmer about Lacostian's 
    meditating form, illuminating the faint outline of the Lady Isune painting a new sunrise. As She 
    delights in Her work, the silhouette of another God alights behind Her, watching Her in bemused 
    silence before She finally sees Him, letting out a gasp of surprise as She falls back onto a nearby 
    cloud. As the vision vanishes into the ether of the Akashic Records, a quiet smile spreads across 
    Lacostian's lips - the memory gone, but never forgotten.

    (Even if these aren't related to any ongoing or upcoming event, and even though my character simply could not possibly give fewer shits about the contents of these visions, these are so so awesome. Immense kudos to everyone involved. :x )
  • AltreaAltrea Member Posts: 193 Gifted
    Gaudiguch here:

    an eclectic wreath of odds and ends
    Shaped in a circle, the wreath is formed with an exceedingly odd assortment of odds and ends. Pungent cactus weed has been woven as the base of the wreath, and decorated throughout are colourful scraps of ribbon tied in elaborate bows of various sizes. Affixed between the bows are tiny bells, bottle caps, diamond rings, wooden spoons and wakabi feathers. Despite the remarkably hodgepodge nature of the wreath, it is delightfully whimsical and can bring a smile to even the most taciturn of humbugs.

    You laugh uproariously at the fool drenched in beer, banging your tankard upon the table in appreciation of the jester's antics. All around you, partygoers feast and drink upon a lavish spread set up in the shadow of the Great Pyramid. A rhythmic and flowing propulsion of bodies, stripped bare, made up a crowd of dancers, their sinuous movements drawing the eye of all nearby. Presiding over the feast, bloodshot eyes tearing with laughter, sits an armourclad Goddess with brilliant red hair.

    You stand atop the Great Pyramid, blazing heat of the desert sun beating down upon a body glazed with sweat and dust. You gaze out over the sprawling metropolis of Gaudiguch; warm, russet hues of the city proper providing stark contrast to the brilliant gold of the pyramids. Even from this high vantage, the squealing laughter of children, the tribal beat of the drums, the roar of countless revelers floats upon the steady breeze. Eyes ablaze with Love and fervour, you clench your fist high in the air and proudly scream, 'For Freedom!'

    The taste of liquor and bitter resins lingers on your tongue as the night gives way to dawn. From your perch atop the sand-eaten walls of Gaudiguch, you glimpse the shimmering of a vast, illusory market as it fades away with the stars into nothingness. Chants of victory and worship both rise from the city as you take a deep, dizzying drag from your long, ivory pipe. Curls of coppery smoke float upwards into the morning air as the sun begins its climb into the sky, and for a moment, you glimpse an alien sky through which something massive, something serpentine with star-riven black eyes, dances in the grasp of a crystalline sandstorm.

    You lay on your back upon a low roof in the market, the scorching heat of day having finally given way to the gentle chill of the desert night. Though the shops and stalls have closed for the evening, there is still a steady murmur of voices and the soft sizzling of meat coming from below. Whiffs of a sweet incense or a pungent weed tickle your senses as small curls of smoke rise into the air. Far above, a pair of dragons twist and dance through the penumbral sky, their intricate synergy mesmerizing to behold.

    You steadily pump at the ornate bellows, sending stream after stream of air rushing into the blazing forge. With each push, the flames flare and spark and shift colour, individual tendrils dancing through orange, to crimson, to emerald, to violet. Behind you, the deep *CLANG* *CLANG* of metal striking metal reverberates through your entire body. You pause for a moment to wipe the sweat from your brow and the flames change form... looking enticing, looking beautiful. You hurriedly begin working the bellows once more; there is no time for rest, there is still work to be done.

    Turning the warm confection over in your hand, you glance over it with wonder and excitement. Hesitantly, you nibble at its edge, and are met not only with a warm spice, but also a delightful sweetness, a mixture of flavours not yet seen before. You hurry out of your kitchens, and rush over to a group of patiently waiting guests, who eye the tiny cookie with intrigue, and with a snap of your fingers, their plates are loaded with the treats and you step back, eyeing your creations with pride and joy. Your guests hesitantly dig in, but once the first crumb touches their tongue, they are drawn in by the bite, and they quickly devour the plate before them.
  • KazelKazel Member Posts: 107 Adept
    you know...Adasser said they will only be good for a short time, that is very sad because they are adorbs.

    Any chance we might be able to keep them *flutters eyelashes*
  • ShaddusShaddus , the Leper Messiah Outside your window.Member Posts: 7,761 Transcendent
    We didn't get told anything like that, so I dunno.

    Bob Junior says, "I had a party hook onnce. Lost it iNsiDee of soMe buxsm dracnari maiden, I thiik."
  • KazelKazel Member Posts: 107 Adept
    Ohhh, yay!
  • LisaeraLisaera Gods Posts: 171 Divine
    Adasser has been given a lesson in telling fibs. He won't do that anymore (for this promotion, anyway). 
    Do you love my adorable avatar? I have the wonderful Feyrll to thank for that! See if she's still taking commissions so that you, too, can be rendered as a baby!
  • VivetVivet , of Cows and Crystals Member Posts: 2,223 Transcendent
    Daraius said:

    Dignified mountains of polished onyx break through the clouds with austere height, regal and 
    towering before the dark-haired Goddess sculpting their beauty. Her expression calm and composed, 
    She commands the rise and fall of the earth with a single sweep of Her slender hands. The Artist's 
    focus is shattered only by the thundrous arrival of a handsome God wreathed in stark bolts of 
    lightning, whose presence causes Her previously snow-white face to redden with blush. Grinning, 
    Zvoltz draws Her close to Him, the quiet rumble of thunder resounding as He surrounds Them both with 
    a curtain of storm clouds. 'My beloved Arimella,' you hear Him whisper as the vision fades to black.

    Ooh, so that was Her name all along!

    If you don't know what I'm talking about, go to Zvoltz's god realm and look for the carved mountainside at the very end of the waterway, all the way east.

  • MaligornMaligorn Windborne Member Posts: 2,763 Transcendent
    I knew about Arimella before Vivet?! :O

  • KaimanahiKaimanahi The One True Queen Member Posts: 719 Transcendent
    Celest's shimmering wreath of seashells:
    Seashells of pure white have been arranged into a star-shaped wreath. The outer seashells are spiral
    shells pointing outwards and dusted with silver flakes. The inner rows are scalloped shells covered
    in gold plate. Scattered about between the shells are tiny pearls that glitter with an inner


    Gripping the horned ridges of a dragon turtle's shell, you whoop with wild abandonment and delight.
    A crash of shimmering elemental water causes you to duck and laugh, soaked by the crashing waters
    but no more wet than you were before. You glance back and several more turtles race down the rapids
    as well, those closest to you clinging to their shells, grinning. Looking forward, you whoop once
    more, urging your companion forward, down the turbulent rapids of the Mystic River. This is a race
    you intend to win.

    Rippling, unending blackness washes across the ground about you, an endless nothingness painting
    your surroundings, drinking in all colour and life and leaving naught but a pitiless and eternal
    void that yawns into the infinite cosmos. A distant twinkle of light - far away, unfathomable in
    distance, yet sparkling still. Within a moment a second blinks into existence, and then two more,
    and then four. Ever-doubling, the pale pinpricks of light bring stars into the infinite nothing, and
    the darkness becomes inviting and peaceful. A great star alights beneath your feet, shining and
    resplendent, ten times the size of any other across the sky. It pulses twice before stilling, and
    then thrice more. With a fluid quiver, the great star takes on the form of a brilliant woman of
    starlight and, with her hands, pulls at the starlit night about you. With five great pulls the
    darkness is all but gone, draped about the woman of light as though a shawl.'I am with you,'
    whispers a voice, soft and feminine, piercing and eternal.'I am with you always. In your childhood
    dreams I played alongside you, ever guarding them from fear. In your youth I challenged you, ever
    urging you to grow. In your life I have loved you, as a mother loves her child. In your eternity
    shall I embrace you, and ever shall your fair soul shine as a star upon my mantle.' Brushing one
    fingertip across your breast, just over your heart, the Star Deva vanishes, though you know she is
    never gone.

    The soft chiming of a distant alto keens at the edge of hearing, gradually growing. A welling of
    white light forms before you, angelic voices rising out of it from across the spectrum. One of the
    figures takes shape, an elegant deva, her shining voice the source of the song. Soon, a tenor angel
    joins her, his deeper voice underlying hers, entwining in harmony. One by one the figures become
    clearer as their voices join the song, archangels, devas, and angels shining all about you as they
    sing a wordless hymn to the Holy Supernals. At last, a piercing, powerful soprano voice joins the
    choir, emanating from a swaying globe of brilliant white incandescence. At last the cherub takes
    form, a rapturous smile etched across his face, as he begins to sing of the Holy Light and the
    eternal beauty and happiness that wells in the very heart of Holy Celestia and the Lady of Eternal

    The dulcet sounds of rhythmic chanting drifts up from behind you, carried on the same wind as the
    tender scent of incense and sea salt. A gentle sensation upon your cheek causes you to open your
    eyes, taking in the vast and white-capped Inner Sea as it stretches out before you, sprinkled with
    small, gold-hued isles of sand and towering, wooden ships beneath broad, white canvas sails. Another
    crash of the waves sends ocean spray upwards, caressing your face once more. A smile crosses your
    face as the sounds and scents of the city below call at you once more.

    The clear, clarion voice of a celestine priest startles you awake, singing the praise of the Holy
    Light Eternal and Her Highest Servant. The fair-finned singer smiles at you as she passes you on the
    shining streets of Celest, her lithe hand dropping a few shimmering coins beside you. You blink
    twice, confused, gazing up at the towering spires of the Holy City, dwarfed only by the magnificence
    of the Imperial Palace that pierces the sky in the distance. A cadre of Imperial Paladins pass you
    in the street, and, taken aback by their dazzling, angelic wings, you find yourself only further
    befuddled. Trying to get your bearings, you spin about, finally turning your eyes to the building
    you'd been sleeping on the stoop of. 'The Emperor's Chalice Inn', reads the sign.
  • MaligornMaligorn Windborne Member Posts: 2,763 Transcendent
    These wreaths, man. I love how they just kinda...reset your perspective.

    There are literally people walking around in Celest with angel wings and halos on their head. IRL, angels walking among us would be unheard of. So cool.

  • VivetVivet , of Cows and Crystals Member Posts: 2,223 Transcendent
    Maligorn said:
    I knew about Arimella before Vivet?! :O
    @Maligorn I knew there was Someone in His life prior, and She had met some unfortunate end, but that's about it. All the more I've got now is the name, which I couldn't get for nothing prior (the closest was Ushaara, and all he could manage was, "Uh, I think it started with an A?")

    The thing with Zvoltz and most of the bits of His lore is they were kind of fed to us in single instances (the majority of which were not limited to His order members!), so if you missed that instance and no one shared with you, you missed it completely.

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