Welcome to Gaia! ::

I am lost. I have not left my department in an age, why did they make me leave?

I do not understand why my Goddess has forsaken me. Perhaps she has done what I once did - become so wrapped up in her duties that she neglects others.

I am still lost.

There is so much that is new, that I have not seen, and I am lost and scared, and oh how I wish I could go back to my rooms and my lecture halls and pretend this had never happened.

But all my things are gone, reclaimed by the school. Even that which was not theirs, they have taken, though they had no right, and I should reclaim my belongings, the books and scrolls, the souvenirs my friend brought back from her travels, and all the accumulated detritus of several centuries worth of life.

What has happened to cause such change? There have been no hints of this in the history written as present becomes past, no echoes of discontent sent rumbling through the tomes I study, no overtones of discord in the lectures I gave. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention to the whispers in the halls, and less to my studies. But I fear that it is too late for such, as change and discord now run rampant through my beloved school.

Why then this change? Change for change's sake alone borders on the domain of Chaos, and She does not rule here.

Perhaps I have been looking in the wrong places for these hints; after all, the history of the Gods is not always the best indicator of trouble from the people.

And yet, I am still lost.

I need to find her. It was whispered that she was banished, but that does not feel right, does not seem like something She would do, even at the behest of the priesthood, who were ever jealous of her standing with the Four.

I do not know where to begin my search, but if she has truly been banished or sent away, there is only one room to search.

Idhren set her journal down, the only thing she had been able to take with her, beside the clothes she was wearing. Staring up at the doors before her, filled with apprehension, she did not notice the lurkers in the shadows next to her. Firming her resolution, the willowy elf took a step forward, shaking hand outstretched to open the door in her first act of defiance towards those who had ruled her life for years beyond counting.

The door swung open at the barest touch of her finger, sending the elf stumbling through in surprise. The room was dark, but grew gradually lighter as Idhren stood frozen next to the door, already regretting her action. She turned to dash out again, but the door had already closed behind her, and would not open to even her strongest efforts. Slumping down against it, Idhren finally looked around and the sight that met her eyes took her breath away.

The room was circular, but much larger than the last time she had been in here, huddling on the floor, desperate to escape those who had hunted her merely because she was Other, an elf. The doors ringing the room were large enough to march armies through, six men across, and stretched upwards, nearly disappearing in the gloom that lurked at the top of the room. They were each made of some exotic wood, with jeweled representations of each destination's Region or Realm inlaid upon the center of the door. Smaller such symbols adorned the frame, and there was one set at the right height for an average elf or human to reach easily. Idhren pushed herself upward and walked slowly around the room, running her hand over the Gate symbol, murmuring the name and ruler of each place. None lit up for her, but she did not take it amiss. Legend had it that unless one was destined to Claim and Rule a Region, it would not light up, or sometimes even appear for others. Stopping at the symbol for Nowhere, Idhren paused. This one, at least, should have lit up for her, allowing her to step through the door to the Region of Chaos, home to the lost. But it did not, and the elf continued on, stopping once more at a door decorated with a symbol she did not know. Idhren examined the door closely, looking to see if this was already claimed. Oddly, it had the same signs as that of the Portal to Earth - a mix of the symbols for claimed and unclaimed dancing along the Gate marker. It's markers, symbols, and Gate signs, however, were not shattered and charred, broken in the mage blast that had saved the fledgling Goddess of Magic, as well as those elves she had managed to bring with her in the last dash for safety from their destroyed world.

As Idhren ran her fingers over the markers, they lit up under her hand, culminating in a flash of light as she rested her hand on the center symbol. She gasped and stepped back as the door opened, revealing darkness beyond. This was not right, all the histories she'd read stated that Portals, once opened, showed a view of wherever that Portal was located. She took another step back, bumping into someone. Before she could react and see who it was, they gave her a shove that sent her roughly tumbling through the Portal, which shut behind her.

The person who had shoved Idhren sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I know You think this is necessary, and I know You have some sort of plan for all of this, but that doesn't mean I have to like it, and it doesn't mean that Your plan is going to work." The elven woman sighed and headed out of the Portal Room, which dimmed itself back down to darkness, leaving no trace of Idhren.

"Now will you look at that.." Aislin murmured to herself as she finally arrived in front of the Edelsteine 'shop'. She hadn't lost her way this time, but she had taken some detours because she just couldn't get rid of the feeling someone was stalking her. "This place sure has changed since the last time I was around. It looks like.. I dunno, like some sort of Evil Overlord took over?"

'You may be right, in a manner of speaking. I believe Destruction has now shaped this place to meet his tastes.'

"Well, some of Hell's Dukes have worse taste," Aislin muttered dryly and shifted the weight of the bag she was carrying over her right shoulder. Carven obsidian. Stained glass windows. This reminded her a tad too well of the place she'd grown up..

There was a stench in the air too, which she knew all to well. Smoke. Ash. Death.

Right, hadn't there been a back door or something? Curious, she circled around the building until she halted her steps in front of what had once been a green and thriving garden.

Lava flows, huh.

"Ain't that a homey sight!" the woman exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fire and brimstone - I almost feel at home. I'm sure the neighbours were delighted when it happened.. I would have sued him."

'You cannot sue a God.'

"Ah, well, why should they?" Hm, looked like the back door she'd seen last time had poofed as well with the little reconstruction. Fine, this 'garden' didn't exactly look inviting anyway. She dug her hands deep into the pockets of her coat and made back for the front door. "I'm sure this place would be great for a barbecue in summer. Hell, it's so hot here, you could even hold one in the midst of winter~! Only, I'm not quite sure I'd like my steaks to taste like ash.." She knocked against the heavy door and then turned the knob. Unlocked, as usual, it seemed. "But you know," she continued, irony fading from her voice now, "I find it hard to believe someone like Gaia would enjoy staying here." She pushed the door open, wondering how the inside might have changed.

'Seems like I'll have to agree with you for once..'

The sound of the door opening caused Idhren to freeze, spoon full of soup paused halfway to her mouth. Her body language practically screamed 'deer in the headlights' as her eyes stared at the intruder, not daring to blink.

Daft woman, say something, Tilion said, his voice a mix of amusement and annoyance. Either that, or finish eating.

Slowly, Idhren placed the spoon back in the bowl from which she'd been eating, still staring. She hadn't been out of the library for more than half an hour, which was usually long enough to grab something to eat, without anyone seeing her.

"Um, hello," she said quietly, finally dropping her gaze to stare nervously at her hands, which now rested in her lap, tightly clamped together.

"Hello," Aislin replied cheerfully, glancing curiously at the unknown woman. She seemed quite nervous and tense, but who wouldn't, in a place like this?

She set her bag onto the kitchen table, and reached out her right to Idhren. "Aislin Thabara," she introduced herself. "I'm just here to bring some stuff, and to hopefully see Gaia, if she's around. And you are..?" She tilted her head to look at the strange woman with a slight frown, the silver charms in her braids giving off a slight jingle with every move she made. There was an odd familiarity in her looks, but she couldn't quite place it.

Timidly, Idhren took the other woman's hand, offering a weak handshake. "I'm Idhren," she said in reply. "Or Wren." Cocking her head to the side in thought, Idhren shook her head, her heavy braid barely moving. "Who?"

"Pleased to meet you.. Wren. You may call me Ais then, if you want to." She shook the woman's hand, her grip firm as usual.

'Careful, she seems rather fragile..'

Oh geez, it's not like I'm going to break her or something.

"Gaia," Aislin repeated. "Not sure if she goes by any other na--" She furrowed her brows, as she remembered something. There was another name. "Persephone?" she tried instead. "The Great Mother of All, the Goddess o--" She interrupted herself mid-sentence. "You do know what kind of place this is, do you?" Aislin asked, motioning around. And catching a glimpse of the throne for the first time.

Oh. Hell.

Idhren nodded jerkily, releasing Aislin's hand as soon as the other woman let go. "Doesn't sound familiar," Idhren said with a frown, her head still cocked to the side.

Don't start with the history. Again, Tilion said dryly.

"Mm? Oh. Yes," Idhren said, rolling up the sleeve of her dress on her right arm to reveal a series of rough looking blue patches sticking up above her skin.

Temple or no temple, the changing times shift along with Melanctha's mood, or at least as of late. She could try to blame it on the silence in the air, Wind's lack of interaction with all grating on her borrowed nerves. She had long been without her airy sister, and now she finds herself feeling incomplete without her.

The Temple of Whispers has served as her grounding point long enough. Aptly named, the place reeks of the times of old, times best forgotten in her case. She is no longer as she was once, and likely never will be again if she can help it.

So where does an ancient soul trapped in the mortal coil go when they've decided their port of harbor is no longer appealing? Back to the beginning, of course.

Wisps of near nothingness gather at the foot of the throne. To go elsewhere would seem a mockery of her origins, the call of He who is her Father too strong to ignore, even if his conciousness is not focused upon her. Shifting in a dance of the immaterial, the shadows yawn into a fanged maw between dimensions, and the lithe form of a woman rises from its murky depths. The darkness travels with her, coiling up and around her legs like snakes. Once her bare feet are revealed, there is none left but what clings to her. Indeed, the very room seems shades gloomier on her side of it, all but for the glint of green in her eyes. Legs whose grey flesh seem composed of what she just arrived within, she steps to be to the side of the throne, sitting down upon one of its arms to look about the room. Physically she's never been within the halls of this place since being trapped within her gem, and yet there is a deep familiarity, an echo that demands to be remembered.


"Oh. Hell." Aislin repeated, this time speaking out loud, as she noticed the shadows stir - all too familiar once again. She squinted. No, this one was definitely none of the demonkind, though she did remind her oddly of Sesostris and his kin. Still, she felt like she was having one deja vu after another today, and for a moment she wondered if this was perhaps some deity's sick idea of humor.

Somewhat distracted by the new appearance Aislin glanced at Wren's arm. So she did know what kind of place this was indeed. "Looks like we got company," she murmured softly. "Do you know her?"

Idhren shrank back, her hand dropping from her shoulder, letting the sleeve fall back loosely over her arm. "No," she said softly, wishing she'd just taken the bowl of soup up to the library and eaten there.

And what of the books?

I would have found somewhere safe to eat, Idhren replied defensively. Tilion merely chuckled and waited for the newcomer to introduce herself, or not.

"I don't think I know much of anyone," Idhren said in an even quieter tone.

She should of realized that she wouldn't be alone when she came here. Not that she minds the company, it's simply annoying when one doesn't know exactly who they are looking at when it is known that the body doesn't matter in reference to whom that body may carry within.

She owes it to Eirnae's sensitive ears that she overhears the whispers while giving the throne room its once over. She really hadn't been paying too much attention, too curious about the details found in each bit of her surroundings that reflect what she remembers of Destruction. '... and the age of blood and rain will return in full again. All will writhe and sing in pain, as He rises, as He reigns.' An old rythme, one that she thought she'd forgotten during her sleep, now dominates her thoughts. Just a whimsical little scrap of lore that is easily flung away, like cobwebs swept from the corner of an unused room.

Now that she's taken in all that is inanimate, she focuses her keen eyes upon Aislin and Idhren. Not seeing much of a point in being anti-social, as she's already given them plenty of time to notice her presence, she hops from her perch on the throne's arm and starts to stroll down the steps of the dias. Lips curve upward in a slow and sensual smile, the latter included out of habit rather than invitation. As she moves, the shadows that cling about her become more solid, forming into feathers that branch out from between her shoulders to form a set of black wings that would appear solid if not for their passing through whatever touches them. While she was already garbed in a partial outfit of black leather and silver studs, the shadows add a cloth that trails to one side, its northern end tucked into her belt.

The room lightens to be as before as she gathers her element to her, and as she draws closer her hair's dark gold becomes more evident. She halts when a few feet away from the talking pair. "Greetings," she whispers, her gift carrying her voice just enough to be heard. She gestures with a hand in their general direction, its fingers splayed, "Be you visitors of the temple?"


"Greetings," Aislin replied, her tone wary, and her icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. "You could say so.. I'm here store some things away I might need later on, and to bring some gifts for the Lady Gaia." Instinctively she shifted to a more formal way of speaking.

"I am Aislin Thabara, host to Nergal, Keeper of the Underworld." She bowed her head respectfully, not sure if she should add more, something about her past in the Citadel of Shadows. But no, she had more than enough reasons to be cautious around those of the Shadows.

"I live here," Idhren replied, still in that oh-so-quiet tone of voice. "In the library upstairs," she elaborated, waving a hand in that direction nervously.

Underworld? Tilion mused in the back of Idhren's brain. Hm.

"And I'm not all that important," she added, trying her best to hide behind Aislin.

So childish, Tilion scolded. At least introduce me, he continued in a more whimsical mood, although Idhren said nothing further.

Ah, she'd wondered when Nergal would show himself. Thankfully he hadn't found himself a host before she, as Wind had. Partly due to Eirnae's concept of manners as well as her mutual respect for the Judge of the Dead, she echoes Aislin with a slight bow of her own head, her wings sweeping down low and tucking back right after.

"A pleasure, then." Her eyes glitter as her smile takes on a warmer quality, even as Aislin's own turn cold. Being used to such looks, the fact that this other is wary of her comes as no surprise. "My best known title is that of the Weaver of Shadows, but you may call me whatever you wish. Within reason, of course."

She turns her sea green gaze upon the quieter Idhren. In the past, she would have sought what secrets this slip of a girl holds within her mind, as she's always prized those no one suspects of listening while attending to their work. Now, however, she instead wonders what Idhren does for the library here. "Tis not often I meet a two legged library mouse," she murmurs, intending to tease. "All allowed to stay within this place hold a part of the essence of the gods within themselves. I am sure you are of greater importance than you realize."


"Weaver of Shadows, Trader of Secrets.." She had heard those titles, though associated with someone else, not this woman. "Melanctha." Nergal's tone crept for a moment into her voice.

'I remember her.'

She seems to.. like you. Sort of.

'Well, there are secrets that are beyond her reach - but not beyond mine,' the deity mused.

Oh. The dead -do- speak, eh?

It did not escape her attention that 'Wren' seemingly tried to shrink smaller and smaller behind her back, and with a smirk she made a step aside.

"She is mine, Weaver," Tilion said respectfully, the fact that he was speaking causing Idhren to cross her eyes in an attempt to stare at her mouth.

"I'm a bird, not a mouse," Wren muttered, annoyed now that her attempt at hiding had not only been noticed, but foiled. She sighed. "My name is Idhren. That other voice was Tilion. He claims to be the God of the Moon."

I do not claim to be. I am what I say, Tilion said, unruffled and calm.

She inclines her head once more to accknowledge Tilion. She was not friends with either godling that possesses these women, yet there had always been respect. 'Which has not changed, I see,' she thinks while a soft ghost of a chuckle, little more than her usual whisper, expresses her amusement at Wren's frustration. She would reach out to take a part of the excess emotion into herself, but such familiarity would be unbecoming under the circumstances. Perhaps later, when the shy 'bird' will be less aware.

"I find myself wading in old waters," is her soft reply, the intensity of her slightly tilted eyes turning upon Aislin. He had spoken her true name, one that she rarely shares with anyone. Had she any doubts that Aislin harbors Nergal, such were banished upon its utterance. Of course, she'd have thought the Judge would have more consideration for her privacy than that, given their past dealings. A flicker of anger is all that she can summon, her old rage having been quelched by the healing brush of Wind's kiss on her brow. Her eyes flare into a bright glow, a pulse of green much like a firefly that is soon extinguished as her anger dissolves. Such is a genetic leftover from Eirnae, and one she will be glad to be rid of upon the Fusing.

"Perhaps, then, we can find ourselves a mutual tide. This is my first visit here since my revival, and from what I see much has changed since my host first purchased my freedom. I am eager to learn of what I have missed." Already delving into the old trade. What can she say, some habits are harder to break than others.


Aislin blinked in surprise at the sudden flare of anger in the Weaver's eyes. What had she..? Oh. Right. Names. Tch, she should have known better after all the sermons that had been held to her about the importance of names.

'Do not blame yourself. It was -I- who slipped.'

"My apologies," Aislin murmured. "I guess my manners - both our manners," she rested her right hand against her chest for a moment, where the jewel was embeded, "have gotten a bit rusty." Slowly she started unbuttoning her coat.

"I fear I cannot tell you much. As you can see I have just arrived, and I have been here only once before - to gather information about a certain gem." She slipped the coat off her shoulders, revealing an elegant, chinese style blouse made of silk brocade in a deep rich blue with silver embroidery. As usual she was wearing a multitude of silver and lapis necklaces, most of which she had picked up during her travels in the orient. It was an odd contrast with the style of clothes she peferred, yet it did not seem out of place.

"I've met only two that time.. The Lady Gaia, and Mintaka who carries Insanity." She cast her coat aside onto one of the chairs. "This place looked a lot different the last time I was around. A tad damaged too. I believe there has been a fight not too long ago." She tried to recall what Mintaka had told her. "Something about Lucius attacking Harmodius, and that caused him to become Destruction..?" She shrugged. "I liked this house better the way it was before it changed. I certainly don't plan to move in here, as others have chosen to do." She glanced at Wren, wondering how she could live in this place that reeked of death and destruction. But considering she seemed to be a bookworm, she was probably rather oblivious to it. "It reminds me too much of places I have been to," the woman added, starting to rummage through the bag she had brought.

Idhren kept her gaze lowered, focusing once more on her interlaced fingers as the other women talked. When Aislin had stopped, she looked up somewhat warily. "That's more than I knew," she admitted in her whisper shy voice. "And I live here," Wren added with an ironic little twist to her mouth.

And no, you can't leave just yet, Tilion said somewhat sharply. I find this conversation rather interesting.

A slight smile is Melanctha's reaction to Aislin's initial blink and apology from both her and Nergal. Such suits the Weaver fine, and soothes whatever unpleasantness was stubborn enough to remain as a result of her true name being used in the company of others who had yet to be granted the honor of hearing it. With any luck, the 'bird' would forget it soon enough, anyway.

Listening to Aislin's reply to her question, she relaxes her face to watch Aislin loosen and discard her coat with heavy lidded eyes. Her lips adopt their usual pout, and if not for the sparkle of interest in the depths of sea green and grey irises she would look almost sullen. She nods once as Aislin finishes, canting her head to the side as she whispers, "I have yet to be reunited with either of those you have mentioned. I shall have to seek them out, or at the very least greet our Lady Mother." A corner of her lips gains a cruel ghost of a smirk at the thought of presenting herself to Gaia. The Mother had never been very fond of her. With Melanctha being a product of Destruction's making, a being that Gaia both loathes and fears, the Weaver wasn't surprised nor sought to be one of Gaia's favorites. In this new life, she has to admit to herself that she's rather curious about just how Gaia will react to her.

"I have heard little about the battle. One must wonder what became of Lucius upon Destruction's taking over." She takes a moment to study Aislin closely before continuing, "I was locked away in my gem when this place was in its other state, so I have no recollection of it. I also have no intention of living here. It's crowded enough as it is. It's amazing that we don't rub elbows with the others more often at the rate we are reawakening."

"Your world seems that of the written word," she directs to Idhren softly, her smirk now banished for a beguiling smile. "To have missed such violent events must have required quite the intriquing book. I must insist that you share the title with me one day."

A numbingly cold hand spans the gap between Melanctha and the silk brocade of Aislin's blouse, hovering an inch over the fabric and trailing down a short distance before being retracted so its fingers can once again play with a wisp of shadow trailing up from Melanctha's belt. "An exquisite garment you have chosen, Aislin," she murmurs, "Such is a design I could appreciate trying to mimic. If I may?" Her leather halter top flexes at its edges, as if a living thing testing its body's limits.


Aislin paused her rummaging for a moment to glance at Melanctha when she mentioned 'The Mother'. There was something about her voice, her expression.. It was very subtle, almost not noticable at all, but it gave her the chills.

Nergal?

'I never had much interest in what was going on in the Pantheon.. So even if my memory was without these annoying gaps, I wold not be able to tell you. They may not have been at the best terms.'

Huh.

"I don't know what became of Lucius.. Honestly I don't even know which kind of God he is - I wasn't interested at that time," she confessed, her hands hovering about the contents of her bag. She had brought some of the silk caftans she rarely wore for Gaia, but she'd be damned if she'd mention in front of the Shadowy One that she suspected that the 'Mother of All' might still not have many possessions to call her own.. perhaps not even a room, though she'd rather picture the deity in some sort of greenhouse. Well, she could always come back here at another time.

"I wonder what a library in a house full of Gods must be like," she mused, turning her gaze towards Idhren. "I know some people who would probably be willing to chop off their limbs to get a hold of the books in there. Are you doing research in there?" she asked, not without ulterior motives. Maybe she could find out more about the Underworld, and what had become of it.

"I don't mind," Aislin replied to the Weaver's question. "It's not as if I've come up with that design. It's in the traditional style of one of the lands on my homeworld, called China." She smiled. "I fell in love with those clothes the moment I saw them."

"I came here after the battle," Idhren said somewhat defensively, her fingers twitching slightly in the loosely clasped embrace she held them in. "And I prefer to keep to myself," she continued in a tone of voice more normal for her.

"I live there," she replied to Aislin, the slight hint of acid back in her voice. "There wasn't anywhere else for me to go when I got here, so I strung up a loose hammock. I'm mostly doing some cleaning, but I get distracted by the books," she finished with a weak laugh.

I do believe that is the most I have ever heard you say, Tilion said in a disbelieving and slightly mocking tone. Even in your dreams you are reticent and singularly hard to get a word out of. Idhren flushed at his comments, forgetting for a moment that the others could not hear the god's words and thus comprehend the reason for her embarassment.



A shame that these two do not seem informed over the situation that occured to cause this place such change. She had hoped for more, though she thought she'd long learned to keep her expectations of others at a reasonable low. No matter. There must be something else she can ease out of them, as all information is useful at some point or other.

With a slight nod to accknowledge Aislin's consent, Melanctha looks down to better study the pattern of the other woman's blouse. Her wings twitch in an irregular rhythm, her eyes bleeding themselves free of all green that remains as her top writhes to and fro. The leather becomes a thick mist that barely covers what is beneath it, areas of such condensing and spinning to become threads of deep darkness. Unseen hands swiftly weave these threads into patches of brocade similiar in design to that which Aislin is wearing, yet this version lacks the colors of what it is being copied from. It doesn't take long for Melanctha to be wearing a garment woven from her element that is the black and grey version of Aislin's own. The Weaver shrugs slightly, testing the solidity of her newly spun shirt, and allows herself a brief flicker of a pleased smile. She is still experimenting with her talents, and it feels good to get something right without any repercussions.

"Gaia is a world of many. I would hear more of this China, if you will share it. It is rare that I find myself as taken with a style as I am this," she offers to Aislin's speaking of her homeworld, lightly brushing down the front of her own stomach with shimmering grey fingers.

Her attention then returns to Idren, her previously appreciative smile returning at the bite that has entered the shy woman's words. This one may have spirit after all. "Be it that our Lord knows not of your presence in His library, little bird?" she asks softly. If only she could be within the shadows as she once was, then asking such questions would be unnecessary. She could spy on others in silence, and not have to bother voicing her curiousities as she is forced to now. "That you slipped into this place unnoticed while Destruction is dominant seems unlikely." She finds that she likes the flush upon Idhren's cheeks, though she dismisses the urge to reach out and take such warmth for herself.

"I imagine that access to the library is granted to all hosts," she continues for Aislin's benefit. She fully intends to visit the library as well, so should they head in that direction she plans on tagging along. She might as well have company while walking amongst the dusty old tomes. At least once the distraction of knowledge is nibbling at either of these two's minds she can steal a snippet of emotion without them noticing. Perhaps even some of their heat for good measure.


Mesmerized, but without showing any indication of fear or uneasiness upon the shifting darkness, Aislin watched as the shadows wove themselves into a monochrome copy of her own qipao blouse. Seeing darkness and shadows being manipulated was a familiar sight to her after all, the delicacy and the detail however.. "I have never seen shadows being woven with such skill," she murmured, visibly impressed. "It's probably not the proper thing to ask a Godess, but.. I'm curious. May I touch it?"

'That was indeed very improper.'

Just shut up, will ya?

"Actually I don't know that much about that land," Aislin admitted with a loopsided grin. "I was there for digs a few times, erh, archaeological excavations and investigations of ancient cult sites."

'In other words, you have been -plundering- sacred places,' Nergal snorted.

With a frown Aislin rubbed her forehead. Listen, can't we discuss the whole 'plundering' business at another time?

'Very well, but it -will- be discussed.'

"Sorry," Aislin mumbled. "Internal conflict of sorts. Anyhow, I don't really know much of that land and their people - I never stay anywhere for long - but their sense for aesthetics is amazing. The architecture, the artifacts, the paintings, the jewelry, the clothes.. If you'd like to visit me at my place, I could show you some of it."

She stayed quiet when Melanctha spoke to the elven woman, she seemed tense and nervous enough already.

"Those books," she asked quietly once the weaver had finished. "Did you come across any that dealt with the fate of the Underworld?"

"He wasn't. Destruction, I mean," Idhren replied, closing her eyes to aid in remembering what had been said when she first arrived. "He'd only been wounded a short time before," she said after a moment, opening her eyes to glance at Mel. "I really don't know much more than that. The history of the gods of one world is enough for me to remember," she said sadly and in a quieter voice, as if speaking to herself.

Idhren looked at Aislin with a thoughtful expression on her face. "I don't think so. But," she shrugged, relaxing slightly now that they were talking about books, "I haven't even begun to look through everything in there." Her fingers once again proved to be a fascinating subject to study as Idhren locked her gaze on her hands, her way of staying out of whatever conversation might be going on in addition to the one she was participating in.

You really need to get out more, Tilion griped dryly, paying attention even if his host was trying her hardest not to.

Well, this is proving to be more advantageous a conversation that she was beginning to think possible. Not to mention that the compliment on her weaving skills has her looking to Aislin with a small smile curving up full and rosy lips. Tilting her head slightly downward in what could be taken as a bow, her silky whisper murmurs, "Normally such would be considered an improper request, but as you are the host of the Judge, I see no harm in indulging your curiosity." A step brings her closer, though she extends none of her body out towards Aislin. It seems if she wishes to feel the fabric, she'll be the one to make the first move.

Her smile turns wry as Aislin continues to explain about her knowledge of China, her eyes darkening a shade or two as her whisper answers, "My, the Judge must be rather annoyed with you for such activities. He's never taken kindly to those who ... How did he put it? Ah yes, 'loot' the tombs of those laid to rest." She avoids adding that she's shielded many such thieves from the Judge's ire with her concealing shadows in the past, though only when the information from such exploits promised to be tantalizingly useful. She nods when Aislin apologizes, then listens with great interest to the litany of tidbits about China's culture. "I would be pleased to make such a visit, Aislin. You are kind to invite me thus." Kind and perhaps a little naive.

"The fate of his old realm concerns him, mm?" is asked, her tone speculative. Nergal isn't the only one concerned over the state of his 'realm'. For too long have the shadows been labeled as a thing of vileness. Without her influence, those who could be protected under her cowl of darkness are instead latched upon and dragged to their doom, many quite grisly. Certainly, she's been known to wreck her own form of havoc, but it was far better than the chaos she's felt take hold. "Perhaps a deal can be struck, as in the old days."

Idhren's emotions are strong, but in her weakened state of mortality Shadow has to touch to take what she needs, and the girl looks as though she would flee outright upon such an act. Suppressing a regretful sigh, she instead puts a slip of warmth into her smile as she addresses Idhren. "Mayhap you will be willing to show us what volumes you have already perused, then we will know which not to look within for such answers."


Aislin hesitated for but a moment before she reached out for Melanctha's shoulder to touch this strange copy of her own blouse. It felt.. weird. Like real fabric in a sense, but strangely cold at the same time, and as if she was touching something that was alive.

Her hand dropped back to her side when Melanctha was able to guess the truth behind her so-called 'archeological excavations' all too easily, and her lips formed into an almost childish pout. "We've had our discussions about my activities, believe me," she muttered. "It was.. quite headache-inducing, and I'm still not sure who actually won that argument."

She simply nodded when her invitation was accepted, vaguely wondering if she should mention anything about her past within the Citadel of Shadows.. But, no. Sesostris' lot had brought so much grief and pain upon her, the thought that she might possibly do them a favor by introducing the goddess to them was almost unbearable. Their paths would cross eventually, but definitely not with her aid.

"Well, yes, it does. He has no idea what happened to his realm, so I guess it's only natural he'd fear the worst. He's trying to keep it from me, but-- Ow!" She flinched and whinced when she promptly received divine retribution in form of a splitting headache for blabbing out Nergal's weaknesses all too thoughtlessly, her jewelry and charms giving off a soft jingle when the woman reached to rub her temple.

"He says it's too early still to strike a deal," she finally relayed Nergal's answer after a little while, when the pain had lessened. "He will not make promises until he's sure he can keep them."

"I'd still like to see the books though," she said, turning to Idhren. Even if there was nothing useful to be found, the library seemed to be her domain and she'd probably feel safer and more secure there than down here. Besides, some of those books might be rather vallu--

A barely stiffled whimper, and the hand which had just ceased to massage her temple flew up once more.

Stop it already!

Idhren largely ignored the interplay between the two women, filing away only the information Aislin had given about China. Similar to a place she'd studied, but this sounded different. Perhaps some additional searching would be best. Even if the knowledge would not benefit her, surely Tilion could. Learning was never wasted.

"That sounds fair," the elf said equably in reply to Melanctha. It wasn't her library, no, but she did feel a certain possessive and protective attitude towards it. "Did you want to see now?" she asked the pair, standing and appearing overall more confident. Conversationalist, no. Curator, Librarian, Teacher, yes.

What a collection of contradictions you are, little bird.

She had not moved upon her blouse being brushed by tentative fingers, studying Aislin's reaction to the texture and temperature of her element closely. The lack of revulsion is encouraging.

Aislin's pout brings a ghost of a laugh to the Weaver's lips. "A standstill can be advantageous if it leads to both sides having to work towards a solution. Let's hope your next intellectual exchange has less painful results."

Catching the pause in the conversation, Melanctha opts to not question it, letting the nod suffice as a proper response. Hearing of Nergal's fear only increases her own concerns. Has the underworld grown to be as chaotic as her realm has become? She can feel the call of her children, mad though they be from their years of searching, like a claw being dragged across her psyche. The need to go to them and heal their fractured awareness festers within her as an open wound that never heals. If Nergal's state of mind is even remotely the same ...

Her eyes narrow at Aislin's soft cry of pain. Ah, so the Judge did not wish his worries to be known. Unsurprised, she inclines her head, murmuring a reply. "Then deals can wait. There is no hurry."

Also turning to Idhren, she nods, glad for this chance to learn more about this age. "While I have collected a few volumes here and there, to see a collection of this quality will be most worthwhile. Would you be so kind as to act as our guide, little bird?"

At Aislin's whimper the Weaver's head swivels in her direction. "I mean no disrespect, but that is quite distracting. With your Lord's permission, I would ease your throbbing before it infests my own facilities."

Up lifts a slim hand, its skin shimmering between looking solid and incorporeal, as if not yet decided which it prefers. "A touch, nothing more."


"I don't need his permission," Aislin muttered, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You may touch Us." Apparently she didn't even notice the slip in her voice and wording as she leaned forward, looking at the weaver expectantly yet at the same time wary. She'd made her experiences with those of the shadow element, and one thing they'd all had in common - they could not be trusted.

Reclining on the couch that had become her regular spot in the shop, Seppa traced idle patterns in the ash on the floor with one dangling forepaw. There wasn't much else to do, at least not that she wanted to do. She'd have to go home and be responsible eventually, but for now she was just fine with wiling away her time.

Not that she knew how much of that she actually had.

Idhren crept hesitantly down the stairs - she'd managed to squirrel away a stash of food so that she could better avoid the lower level and whomever was down there at any given time, but the blasted supply of tea had finally run out. A quick glance around didn't reveal anyone, so she continued down the rest of the flight.

Walking past the couches, her bare feet felt something odd in the middle of her step and she paused there, one foot scant inches above Seppa's tail as she froze, not wanting to step on the appendage, and uncertain if she'd been noticed.

Seppa, entirely too preoccuppied with thinking about nothing in particular, didn't notice that someone else had come down until that someone came dangerously close to stepping on her tail. It was when her tail swayed and brushed up against Idhren's foot that she noticed she had company.

Jerking her tail away in a reflex to curl it close to her body, she blinked up at the woman. "Thanks for noticing," she remarked dryly.

Another voice in her head. Idhren let out a little meep noise and set her foot down after the tail was gone. "I - I felt the fur against the bottom of my foot," she said quietly, ducking her head and looking at the floor. "I didn't think you'd appreciate me stepping on it," the elf added with a hint of humor, looking up again.

"Most people don't notice until it's too late, Illumin included." She was never going to drop that little incident, oh no. The cat's expression lifted into a sort of smile. "I guess gods aren't all they're cracked up to be, hmm?"

"It tickled," Idhren said in a softer voice, blinking a bit. "I don't know how you could miss your feet tickling," she added, wrinkling her nose. "Not like there's grass outside to remind you of how that feels." This was punctuated with a sigh; while Idhren didn't really like being around other people, being outside was nice, especially in such an oppressive place.

"Gods are rarely everything others think they are," the elf replied, warming up to the cat-like creature. Gods and their history had been her subject of study and teaching back 'home', and the topics remained some of her favorites. "I suppose this is a unique perspective on that," she added, referring to the shop and what it offered. Of course, that was assuming Seppa knew what the shop was....

The pard tilted her head, watching the woman curiously, ears pricked forward to catch her sounds. "I think most people don't take the time to notice the tickling. They just step." She turned a paw to look at the fur between the pads. It was quite easy for her to feel something underneath her feet. "Grass doesn't really tickle when it's dead," she noted sadly, "Not the way it should."

"No, I suppose not. I didn't really give them a second thought at all until one stepped on me." Seppa chuckled, shaking her head. "And since then, most of my thoughts haven't been good ones."

"You'd have a better idea than I," she said solemnly, although a ghost of her former humor could be seen in the slight quirk of her mouth. A quick, birdlike nod added her agreement to the statement about grass. "One of the reasons I don't go outside."

"That's why they faded," she said with a pause then another quick nod, "People didn't think about them." Idhren cocked her head to the side curiously, hair falling over her shoulder. "Oh?"

"Not many places to go anymore, seems like," she mused darkly, "Thanks to this Destruction fellow."

The wingzelle unfurled and then resettled her wings, stirring ash from between the feathers. It seemed the longer she was here, the more of the fine, grayish stuff she picked up. "While Illumin isn't as bad as I first thought, he still rubs me the wrong way," she elaborated, "And Yschadeh is an arrogant b*****d."

Green eyes flicked downward. "And Zhijian never so much as asked. Maybe people stopped thinking about them because they don't think about people."

Not that you go many places, Tilion commented with a brief mental yawn, as if the Lunar god had been taking a nap these past few days. Good to see you out of the library again, he added, ignoring Idhren's now annoyed tilt to her mouth.

"I don't have much to compare it to," she replied to Seppa, ignoring Tilion. "I try to stay inside as much as possible."

Head straightened, Idhren brushed her hair back over her shoulders. "I know Ilumin, but who are Yschadeh and Zhijian?"

"Inside is the better place to be, I think." Certainly inside here was better than inside home, in Seppa's opinion.

"Yschadeh is the Arcane, I believe UK called him. Zhijian says he's a Dragon King." She looked away for a moment, grimacing. "I am...his host."

Revei picked his way along the ashen floor, grimacing, The ashes stuck to the soles of his feet. The sensation was disgusting, grimy. It would make the water of his bath grey and murky when he returned to his chambers, and he did not look forward to scrubbing it away.

There were people on the couches, and he paused in the doorway to listen. A ... one-sided conversation? Curious, he put in, "I prefer to stay inside, as well."

Another small noise of startlement escaped Idhren's throat and she whirled quickly to face this new speaker, sending up a small cloud of ash and dust. "Inside is much better," she said, bobbing her head in that birdlike motion before rubbing her arm absently. "Not that we go outside much," Tilion added, expending a bit of strength to annoy his host.

Indeed, Idhren was now attempting to stare at her mouth in annoyance, although the actual result merely made her look cross eyed. "A Dragon King?" she asked Seppa absently while Tilion avoided a halfhearted mental swat with ease. Idhren had become resigned to her condition long before this and only objected to things such as he had done because he never asked first.

Seppa raised her head, ears sweeping in the direction of the new voice. Was this another god? But just as she was considering that, her ears swept back again as she heard what seemed to be the god the woman was host to speak through her. Zhijian was never going to do that, if she had anything to say about it. Never.

"Hello there," the pard ventured, expanding her concentration so that both Idhren and the newcomer could hear her.

After a moment, she answered the elf, "I don't know much about them, but Illumin said there are nine, and he called them princes.."

Revei perched on the back of the couch, nodding to both the pard and the elf. "I prefer my chambers, for the time being," he said. He turned a curious gaze on both of them. Were they hosts? He hadn't met either. "I am Revei, Messenger of Dream," he introduced himself.

"I only came down to get tea," Idhren said, playing with the skirt of her dress a bit out of nerves. "I stay in the library otherwise."

Tilion's interest perked a little more when Revei introduced himself, but faded a bit after a moment's thought. I do not recall the Messenger of Dream, he said to Idhren with the sense of a shrug attached to the thought, But then, there is much I do not recall.

"I'm Idhren," the elf replied, rubbing her arm again. "Host to Tilion, God of the Moon."

You always make it sound so...melodramatic.

"I just like the couches," Seppa added in her two cents with a half-grin.

"Seppa," she introduced then, "Metal mage. My parasite is Zhijian. Fangbridle, whatever that's supposed to mean."

"I greet and welcome you both, and your deities," Revei said. "Not that the house is as welcoming as it was," he mused, and cast a sideways look at Seppa. "Parasite? Was he ungentle?"

"It was much nicer when I first came here," Idhren agreed, looking about with some distaste. "But the roof is fixed now," she added quietly, remembering what little she'd been told about why the shop had been practically destroyed when she'd been brought here.

"Fangbridle? That doesn't sound familiar," she said after a moment's conference with Tilion. "I greet you as well, Dream," the god added in a solemn, yet welcoming, tone.

At least you didn't go all bug-eyed on them again, he added in an aside, which caused Idhren's cheeks to pink slightly.

Seppa could feel the dragon stir in her mind at Revei's welcome, but she smothered him back down again. Don't you even, dragon.

"'Ungentle' is an understatement," she griped, "And I don't want him there, eating holes in my soul so he can fill them in with himself. Yes, he's a parasite."

"This place was nice once?" The pard quirked a brow.

"Outside, there was once a garden, full of living things; and within,here, it was comfortable and welcoming, when Harmodius was Creation. The pendulum has swung." Revei shuddered faintly. "There must be balance, but I do not have to like it."

He tilted his head at Tilion's greeting. "I do not recall you. I hope we shall not be at odds."

"Some of us ask, rather than simply taking," he said, disapproval in his voice.

"This is an extreme way to make a balance," Idhren said, tapping a finger lightly against her thigh. "But having Creation rule solely was not balance either," she added with a shrug.

Idhren's blush deepened slightly. "He, ah, he doesn't remember you either. But that doesn't mean much," she continued, a teasing jab towards the Lunar god.

"Tilion asked, although I did have second thoughts afterwards." Another shrug. "But he needs me, which is something I thought never to see in a god."

"Since when is there balance in extremes?" Seppa flicked her tail with a frown. "Doesn't he have some kind of in-between?"

"So I've been told," she grumbled then, "But apparently he's not 'some of you.' He regrets it, maybe, but it doesn't change that he did it."

The pard looked to Idhren again, head tilted. "You chose this?"

"He is two in one, and I do not know if they can coexist." Revei shifted uncomfortably, recalling his conversation with Morpheus. What must be done to bring back the other aspect? Destruction would, if left to his own devices, destroy the world, he thought. It was his nature.

He looked to Idhren for her answer, curious as well.

Gideon wandered the halls, stiff limbs showing his aggravation as his nails clacked against the surface of the floor. Kishara had shooed him out the moment he'd set foot into her room, citing his matted fur and the scent he carried from the outdoors as reason enough to deny him entrance. The wolf snorted through moist nostrils when he recalled Gaia's stern words to clean up if he ever planned to set foot in her quarters again, ears flattening against the thick fur along the back of his neck. He might have suggested using her bath, simply in an effort to frustrate her, but he'd been too stunned by the door shutting in his elongated face to bother remarking. As it was, the man-made passageway only had so much room for a canine of his size to pace, and the wolf recognized that watching the whorls in the floor was hardly conducive to anything other than igniting his short temper. Mother to All or not, Kishara had been fervently hygienic ever since her stint with the god-napping crowd. He had tenuously linked her wild mood to the way she had disposed of one of the intended killers, but the werewolf had hardly given it much thought besides. It was her disturbance to mull over.

He could smell others in the halls, through the burning pitch-like scent of the Old God's hulking presence that singed his sinuses and made every old vendetta he'd ever initiated scream terrifyingly in his head. There were fewer deities lingering, the greater number of them having chosen to dwell in peace far from what Gaia referred to as the Pantheon.

The silvery dog rounded a corner and came to an abrupt halt, his ears perking and his pupils widening as a familiar feeling rushed into his barrel-shaped body, like half melted ice pouring down his throat and flowing within the cavity of his chest. He stepped forward, then back, head tilting as a low whine echoed in confusion when he couldn't pinpoint where it was that he was receiving the muted encouragement toward primal instinct. He cantered quietly down the halls, every sense heightened for tracking and his steps high and proud in case the one he was searching for viewed him first. The wolf finally arrived at the door where the evocation was strongest, scratching meekly at the wooden frame and forgetting for a moment that his human form would have had little trouble opening the barricade.

I'm telling you, you're doing it wrong, Idhren huffed mentally from the back of her own mind, stretching out the tendrils of her thought to reclaim her body. "See how I do it?" the elf asked out loud, taking a quick stroll down one of the aisles of books. "You're far too jerky," she continued scoldingly.

You are hardly the most graceful of beings yourself, Tilion countered, finally tired of being criticized by his diminutive host. And - were you expecting a guest? the Edelsteine asked, abruptly changing the direction of his query as the sound of something scratching at the door registered. You didn't leave Elenath outside the library again, did you? he persisted, although Idhren was actually better about remembering the 'pets' than he was. Before the strengthening god could wrest back control to make his own way over to the door, Idhren was halfway there, and Tilion's vague sense of unease was growing stronger the closer they got. I think I should get that, he suggested firmly, with no response or relenting from Idhren.

"It's probably just Illumin again," she replied, at a point where she was mostly comfortable with the other god. The bare handful of times she'd ventured outside the library after meeting Melanctha and Aislin, Idhren had quickly gone scurrying back, well before ever heading to the lower level, and certainly before she could speak with Destruction about perhaps acquiring rooms of her own. Or at least some for Tilion, who was beginning to feel that the 'pair' had overstayed their welcome. "And if it's not," Idhren continued her train of thought while Tilion had his own, "What's the worst it could be?" Destruction, the two thought in unison, right before Idhren pulled open the door, looking about for whatever was causing the noise.

A scream echoed briefly through the hallway, Idhren's body sagging slightly as she fainted, then straightening as Tilion's consciousness surged into control. "Oh, great, now she'll have nightmares for a week," the Lunar god said crossly to Gideon, dismissing his feeling of momentary familiarity. "Well? Come on in, but don't get on anything. This isn't my library. The delicate looking elven woman waved a hand, gesturing for the wolf to squeeze through the doorway as best he could.

Surprise squiggled in a quizzical fashion across his dog-like facade, momentarily leeching away his previous excitement. It was a woman at the door, a spindly, underfed and pallid female of some sharp-featured race with which he was unfamiliar. They regarded one another in the half-second it took for her to recognize that he was not the most typical of her visitors, and he did not bother to shrink back from the trill-like shriek that ricocheted terribly in the tiny hall space. The canine watched her slump in the beginnings of a fainting spell, wondering at the weakness of the woman’s constitution before she straightened up once again, springy as a blade of grass bent underfoot.

Gideon's ears perked immediately at the new voice - despite the rebuking tone contained within and clearly directed at him, his dirty tail showing the vaguest hint of a friendly wave. He followed through with the order, neatly leaping into the room and coming quickly around so that his rump was not the first bit of him presented. His claws scrabbled on the wood as he halted, fur already thinning out and eyes losing their golden haze while several joints reversed their positioning and numerous bones lengthened and altered. There was a fair amount of crunching and growling in the short process, but by the end he stood unabashedly and nakedly human before the one he'd mistaken for a simple woman.

Pride and poignancy mingled briefly in the confines of his reworked throat and across his brow, causing him to hesitate in executing the tedious process of reverence: the bowing and scraping that were demanded in the lunar god's presence. Judicially cautious, the Were settled for falling to one knee and inclining his head in wary but profound veneration. He touched two fingers to the curved scar that spanned just underneath his collarbone and gently held out his other hand, palm up to show his unarmed status.

"I am Gideon, alpha to the Silouanos pack. I bring no gifts or material offerings, but I was determined to see you alive and well after I discovered the circumstance of your rebirth."

He could admit to being caught off-guard by such an effeminate mask peering back at him, but the wolf remembered well Kishara's remarks about her own host, and so did not think himself mistaken in assuming that the Pale One had sought out a similar vessel. How strange that he had chosen this form, though perhaps he could see where something so frail would have attracted the Moon's attention.

He raised his eyes marginally, making no conscious effort to force them into appearing more timid or kind than they truly were. "My family worshipped you for generations, and I have kept the faith despite the changing times. You were Turahu then, Yarihk, and Sin," Countless names, but only that one, brilliant countenance of the moon's face. "I had felt your return many months ago, but your energy had been eclipsed forever after by the evil in this House... I come to you now, and I submit a pledge of assistance, should you require or have any want of it."

One eyebrow arched upward in surprise as Gideon began his shift; it was, soon enough, followed by the other, leaving Idhren's face with a look of stark shock. "How unexpected," was Tilion's first comment as he struggled to school the elf's features into something more resembling his more familiar calm and impassive one.

"But not unwelcome," the god continued after a beat, nodding his head in acknowledgement of Gideon's statements. "You'll forgive me if my response lacks the weight of ritual and tradition, yes? I have forgotten much in my long slumber," Tilion said with a faintly mocking tone; not mocking Gideon, but rather himself. Much of Idhren's research in the library had been aimless studying early on, with more of her recent efforts directed towards finding what records still existed in regards to his history. She hadn't found much, which was what inspired the tone of voice.

"Such as those names. One I remember as true, out of the many I once wore and have lost. Tilion." A melancholy look passed over his face as he paused for a moment, as if he was reflecting on everything that had vanished in the Fading. "The knowledge of other names is offering enough. Perhaps there are books here with those inscribed upon them that will offer further hints into my past, which would be a great gift indeed."

Tilion splayed one hand against his chest, long, tapered fingers spread wide, then offered Gideon a bow - not too deep, but not shallow either. "I accept your pledge, and hope only that I will not require it too often," he said with a half shrug of his shoulders. It would be dishonorable to suggest that Tilion would hope to never have to call on Gideon, and certainly unlikely given the times they currently lived in. "How fares your pack?" he asked out of a sense of courtesy, as well as honest curiosity.

Knee aching faintly from continuous exposure to the floor, Gideon pulled the kneeling pose short and resumed a more comfortable, crouched position. His arms relaxed, hands dropping down so that the squared-off fingers brushed his shins, and the entire posture seemed somehow wrong, muscles a little too at-ease while his bare buttocks stayed defiantly away from the floor. Even firmly settled in a non-threatening fashion, the man was still dangerous, a piano string so taut that the barest touch could shatter the quiet and cause the offending contact no small amount of distress. Only the assurance of his vow and an age old belief kept the menace stirring in the solid lines of sinew from extending to Tilion as well.

His sharp ears caught the bitterness in the other's tone when he spoke of the succinct reaction to his offering, but the werewolf kept it from the stoic draw of his features, burying it with the collection of bones and scrolling information he could never forget. The Pale One was as lost in this new realm as Gaia had been, longing for a past that had vanished, covered in brambles and thorns so thick that the heart of it had rotted out without necessary sunlight. He understood all too well that it was impossible to accept the knowledge that there was no going back. Human frustration coupled with godly aspects might have made swallowing acceptance that much more difficult.

The bow was the signal, and he rose with purposeful unhurriedness to avoid startling Tilion, seemingly unaware until that moment of the patches of dirt clinging to his skin or the debris in his fair tresses. Moving to untangle a brown bit of foliage from the tail of hair draped over his shoulder, a faint frown marred his features when mention of his pack reached his ears.

"Dead, save for myself and my grandson." His voice was deliberately flat to spare the god another of his rages, the personal hell locked inside his chest bubbling spitefully as his mind raced back to the tatters of his domain. Dark eyes connected with the Moon's, mirthless and tired but with tiers of fortified steel bent on keeping him from falling apart or rending around him to pieces. "Destruction's reign has been unkind to my people."

Paying no mind to Gideon's crouched posture, dark and distant memories dancing about in the recesses of the god's mind made the unnatural seeming acceptable. Whatever else the memory contained was hidden in shadow not of the mind, but of the memory itself - a too dark night with only the flash of teeth and fangs and on occasion skin to light it. Leaving off teasing more out of the memory, Tilion stifled a chuckle. If Idhren had not fainted before, she certainly would have done so now! A naked man in the library was an offense to her sensibilities.

Making a mental note to keep the memory of this from his host, the god firmly shoved all of his longing for the past to a corner of his shared mind; it would to him no good to fall into bitterness in front of this one.

Bowing his head as a pang of grief shot through him at the news of the pack, Tilion looked back up and met the Were's gaze with a mirthless quirk of his mouth. "I do not think His reign has been kind to many, save those who revel in unbalance and chaos." A moment of condemnation there; the Moon held strongly to balance and indeed, many of the traits humanity had noticed (and later reassigned to Solar deities) had to do with the balance and cycles that the Moon followed.

"You live here now, I assume?" Prying, perhaps, but curiosity, as well as a sense of duty and obligation forced him to ask.

If he had noticed his deity's sudden jaunt into some old and cherished memories, Gideon said nothing of it. The wolf stopped trying to untangle the unkempt and dirty knot of his hair, determining that it was inappropriate to drop the leftover bits of wilderness onto the very same floor that the Pale One had claimed as his own: A library, of all places, dusty and infrequently visited. It hardly seemed the chosen location for a god to reside, and he felt a p***k of anger that Tilion had not been provided with his own residence, supposing he had even asked. It seemed as though they were both somewhat out of practice in the field of decorum, scrambling blindly in a new world where ancient rules had been replaced with senseless ones. Kishara would have thrown a fit if she'd known the awkwardness and informality treading lightly between them, gently levering open doors that might have otherwise been closed between faith and faithful.

When Tilion finally spoke, the bright green of Gideon's gaze was already focused on him as though it had never and would never stray. He gave a short nod to the comment directed at the Unmaker, not the least bit dismissive of Tilion's opinion but acquainted enough that he'd known the general idea behind it before the other had spoken. It was a bit of a relief to realize that despite the change in appearance and the somewhat timid approach to protocol, his god was still much the same as he had envisioned. The loss of life was made less crushing, the relief more willing to sink down into his bones. Perhaps the old ways could be resurrected along with their forgotten, godly counterparts. At the very least, it was worth trying for.

The question caused a brief splash of disruption in the pool of his thoughts, but it had been direct enough and held no shimmer of hostility, giving him little reason to keep information from the Moon. "Yes. With the Lady Gaia in her inner sanctum. I housed one of her Aoide before she was reborn, and she permits my presence out of a sense of debt to be repaid." He did not mention her tendency to adopt any pitiful vagrants she found wandering; Gideon determined that the implication was obvious enough without being bluntly voiced.

All too aware of how his hospitality was lacking - or at least that this was not truly his residence to welcome others into, Tilion stilled the impulse to fidget nervously while Gideon replied. Making yet another mental note to coerce his host's body into cooperating long enough to pay his respects to Harmodious and request lodgings of his own, the God retained the presence of mind to not fade into introspection. It would do him little good to appear scattered and forgetful, even if that's what he truly was.

Everything within him was screaming that something was wrong, something was missing, that some miniscule violation of protocol had occurred, but as Tilion couldn't remember the simplest facets of ritual, let alone every minute variation, he stubbornly ignored the instinct and instead focused on the why of it - why was it so important that ritual be complete? The Weres, in general, were not regarded as civilized and prone to such things, and in a flash of insight, Tilion understood why this was so important to him and his nature. This was the how balance had been struck between the wild and the tame, tightly controlled ceremony on the one hand and feral abandon on the other.

"Neither my host nor I have met the reborn Lady, I believe, but," he said, waving a hand dismissively, "My host does not enjoy leaving the library, even when I am in control." A slight tilt to his head as he pondered the implications in the rest of Gideon's statement. "There is no dishonor in that," Tilion finally said, mildly reproving. After all, Gaia was likely following the impulses brought on by her very nature, and to deny that would be to go against everything she was, even now.

The Moon's distraction was not glaringly evident, but the wolf was perceptive enough to pick up on the appropriate markers, his mouth closed against the unwelcome suggestions furling across his tongue. Gideon's previous vow had been intended as a promise of primarily physical nature, but it was not limited specifically to fighting Tilion's battles for him, and the Were was eerily compelled to ease any and all troubles that marred the temporarily female features of the one he worshipped. It had been a long time since he had felt dedication of such magnitude toward anyone but those of his bloodline, even his loyalties to Kishara surpassed by the overpowering allegiance that had sunk into his very marrow the second the Pale One had accepted his oath. It unnerved him less than it should have, autonomy suspended and behavior carefully altered for this one creature, for this god he had craved to know in the countless centuries since he'd been bitten.

Any other man would have stood awkwardly in the silence while Tilion gathered whatever thoughts were eluding him, but the battle-hardened man remained unruffled, attentively awaiting orders and whatever else the emerging divinity required. The motionless state of his body was tempered by the vigilance of his gaze, the stare flicking only rarely from the host's angular face to examine the inadequacies of the room more closely. It was not until Tilion arrived at further words to issue that he returned to ignoring his surroundings in favor of watching the reborn deity, expectant that he had arrived at some suitable command. The intensity dwindled when it was merely further mention of Kishara, something in him restless, impatient for reasons he could not name.

The reproach that followed made the man bow his pale head, unashamed by what he had not said but willing to part with a measure of his pride if Tilion felt it expendable. The eagerness was still there when he straightened his neck again, but it had become muffled and oddly forlorn, almost as though it no longer anticipated fulfillment.

"You should not stay here," He said finally, touching on something else that troubled him since he did not know what name to give to the other frustration. "You're entitled to far more, even if your host doesn't wish to leave." And you should not be alone. The wolf added internally, yet another thing that he would not have considered without the press of his pledge forcing his thoughts into foreign patterns.

Tilion shrugged fatalistically at Gideon's reproaching comment. "I have few options left to me. My host sought sanctuary here, among what she found familiar. I am comfortable enough for the time being, although admittedly our temporary residence has taken on a familiar air I would do best to shake." A small sigh punctuated the remark. Why had he not already sought out Lord Harmodius and requested his own rooms? If asked, the god would likely become defensive, but not answer, beyond a weary sounding exclamation how the things attendant on such an action were complicated."And I impose already on the library's keeper, and do not wish to accrue another debt of gratitude to one of the others." Oh yes, this reborn godling felt quite strongly about debts and repayment - although probably not as strongly as certain other dieties being reborn.

Idhren was beginning to make grumbling noises in the back of their shared mind as she recovered from her earlier fright. Not wishing to deal with the histrionics likely to ensue in the event the skittish elf woke fully, Tilion spared a moment to submerge the woman in unconsciousness once again.

The Were's expression remained largely indecipherable as he listened, the only indication of his focus in the minute narrowing of his pupils when Tilion sighed. Something in him moved strangely at the sound, some unsettling shift in the thoracic cavity that demanded without words he take measures to eliminate whatever was causing the Moon unhappiness. But there was no visible source, nothing and no one to blame, and he felt his cheek twitch in irritation for his own uselessness. The thought that another of his pack might have provided a more suitable attendant grated at him, stinging his pride for so many reasons that he found his fists clenching unconsciously. But there was no one else, Milo too young and the rest buried at various depths near the carcass of his home. Mismatched though he was for duties beyond battle, he was the only Silouanos left.

"I would locate another place, upon your command," He said gravely in the ensuing pause, disliking the simplicity of the option but unwilling to let the subject drop unless he was ordered to do so directly. "Somewhere uninhabited, and unclaimed where debt would not be an issue." In all truthfulness, he would have preferred to build the Moon a more suitable residence with his own two hands than to leave him among the dusty shelves and moldering books of the library.

He dropped his gaze after a moment, fighting the sensation that he was overstepping boundaries with the argument that it was all in Tilion's best interests. The wolf hated the restrictions, despised the thought of censoring himself, but the Moon's previous words of reprimand had unknowingly placed constraints on his tongue, and the clawing depth of his devotion would not allow him to speak so freely in Tilion's presence again unless a pardoning command was issued. And then there was the muted disturbance in the back of his mind that would not abate, the one that was still waiting for something to take place despite the utter absence of knowing what to expect.

There was a thought - move out of the Pantheon. Why hadn't that occurred to him before? Probably, Tilion mused, it was coupled to Idhren's reluctance to leave the Library, as well as his own want to stay and learn of himself. But perhaps distance would be best. Here, everything was too close, too immediate.

"Already your service proves valuable," Tilion said in an oblique reply and praise to offset the censure from before. "I would appreciate such assistance, as my host and I would not fare well searching on our own in these times." He nodded once, as if to set the Were firmly on this track. This was awkward yet, the god still unsure of himself and what he should be doing. Presented with such a challenge, to see what lay beyond memory told him, Tilion felt he wasn't doing that poorly. In the beginning, it was likely much the same. Feeling their ways into roles, learning what was right and what was wrong...All the steps danced all over again.

The selective words of commendation caused an imperceptible but noteworthy change to the Were's demeanor, approval granting full control again as the conditions of his chastisement were overruled. The exchange had been well performed and effortless on the Moon's part, perhaps an indication of some remembered influence; an acknowledgement of the sway he held over those devoted to him. "My services are what you make of them," The response was dry but not discourteous, echoing the lesson learned from his last outspoken mistake. "It is within the scope of my function as your attendant, and because of that alone I will see it done. Such a menial task does not deserve your appreciation."

Gideon touched the crescent engraving over his flesh with two fingers, performing yet another act of obeisance in the god's presence as it seemed required. He was still not accustomed to regular displays of deference, of feeling the need to follow through with them even against his natural, dominant impulses. This petite, largely uncelebrated version of his god at once challenged and secured the wolf's authority, striking some delicate balance that did not leave him writhing in unwilling surrender. And yet he found the progression awkward, his naked presence accounted for but still somehow unbefitting of the station granted to him. It might have simply been his domineering personality balking, though he couldn't help but wonder if it was further consequences of the acceptance of his service without ritual.

The wolf decided not to pursue the troubling thought too fiercely, instead focusing on the diminutive deity, awaiting dismissal or further orders as Tilion saw fit to give him.

Idhren stirred again, grumbling slightly but subsiding as Tilion sent a wave of peace and calm washing over her. "Would that we had found each other earlier," he remarked, once the elf's personality was properly subdued. "No matter, though; I await the results of your search, which I have no doubt will be fruitful." Too much, there? Too late now to call the words back and leave them unspoken and to perhaps be regretted for not having been said.

The god could think of nothing else to say, no other command to give the Were, and yet could not find the words to properly dismiss the loyal follower. "I would, perhaps, like to meet your grandson." A dismissal, to bring the boy here? Tilion wasn't sure that was what he had intended; Idhren was still stirring towards wakefulness, and the still weak godling would prefer to have such a meeting when she was firmly asleep and unlikely to cause a disturbance.

He listened to the praise with downcast eyes, not so much basking in the heavily laden honors as letting them sail neatly past the immediate flow of his thoughts. The Moon was trying to make him feel useful, to imply that he was needed and that his spoken ideas had value. The result toed at the hair-thin line of extravagancy, a detectable exaggeration that would have made him bristle had it come from anyone else's lips. Tilion did not intend it as a way of belittling him, of giving gravity to small things as a subtle way of accepting the fact that the wolf's services were sorely limited. If he did, Gideon would have known, would have felt the veiled disappointment beneath the ornate language. He was almost certain such a perception would not have been beyond the bond he'd laid out and had accepted, a link forged from authentic worship that had lasted over the centuries he'd been alive.

It wasn't until the unusual request was spoken that his gaze snapped up, attempting to read the fey features that persisted in baffling him by being nothing that he expected. Evident surprise flickered in the green-yellow depths of his eyes, expression verging on curious before it was muted and replaced by steadfast compliance, the wolf already working out the details in the back of his mind. He knew better than to question.

"I will bring him to you." He made swift reply, bowing his head and holding the respectful posture for a moment before exiting with silent steps on old floorboards to do as the god had commanded.

This was awkward and exhausting, this dancing about. Accepting into service one newly acquainted was one thing, but to renew bonds of fealty that had been in place for time uncounted? It was another thing entirely and one Tilion felt he was only barely adequate at.

And then he was gone - gone to bring the grandson here. Tilion sighed, and relxed a bit. A chair? Would a chair be fitting, be within the acceptable bounds? To hell with it all, he was tired, and standing took more of his energy than sitting. Fumbling awkwardly for a moment, Tilion managed to drag a chair out and seated himself, arranging the folds of Idhren's dress - never mind that, it wasn't important - to better display himself. What there was of him to display.

Idhren stirred again, more forcefully. She hadn't been asleep, truly, merely having fainted from shock. Instead of forcing her back to sleep, Tilion made another decision. He had so far refrained from interfering too much with his host, preferring to let her gently slip away. This, however, was too important, and so he tapped directly into Idhren's very self to bolster his faltering strength. A small sigh escaped his lips as he waited at the sudden influx of vitality. Tilion remained seated, though, not entirely trusting how long this would last.

Footsteps on the floorboards outside the door heralded Gideon's return not long after he had left, his heavy tread causing the lumber to creak while a second, lighter being followed at a diminutive pace just behind him. It had taken little bullying to wrench his grandson from the Mother's care once he had successfully invaded her rooms, Kishara's evident displeasure manifesting only in the way that she had demanded he clothe himself before stepping out again. She had requested no explanations for his sudden urgency, but then he had offered her none, and it was by tacit agreement that the two dissimilar beings decided it would be discussed later. The complacency might have irritated him had he cared to stop long enough and consider it, but the soldier was in a hurry, and Kishara was endlessly, infuriatingly patient.

The Were stepped inside the god's now temporary residence, his gait speaking of official purpose even as he stopped at a suitable distance from the seated Tilion to glance impatiently behind him. The child had hidden the moment he'd spied another being in the room, peeking out from around his grandfather's hip to peer shyly at the womanly figure, openly curious but reluctant to venture forward on his own. The boy yelped out a sound reminiscent of some startled pup's when he found a hand planted between his shoulders, the firm contact leading him out into the open where he could be better examined. Gideon kept his hand there to allay the quivering uneasiness he could clearly sense and also to demand that the younger beast hold to his place, intent on the idea that the willowy god's first impression of his blood be a favorable one.

"Milo Silouanos." Gideon announced gravely, again touching his fingers to the crescent-shaped scar along his clavicle, as though obtaining permission to speak from the etching before addressing the Moon himself. "He is the son of my son, and the last in our line. He is not... ignorant to the old ways." But neither was the youth well-versed in them, the rituals and rites stamped into his mind with only the verbal promise of importance to back it. His grandson was learned, to be certain, but too young to fully understand the gravity of what he had been so freely given. In this new presence - confined to this dusty room but already shining brightly with ancient attributes and future promise - perhaps he would begin to learn.

With the sting of his wounds removed by the warm hands of his Master and the Aoide, Xedre, at his side, Endiovar had very little trouble making his way up the stairs to the Library located beyond a heavy, ornate set of double doors. Granted, the stairs had caused a few minor twinges, but he said nothing and ignored them; pushing those inconsequential things to the back of his mind.

If he were to find information regarding either his past self or the Forest that was calling to him so strangely-sweet.....it would be here. In this massive, labyrinthine place.

As Endiovar went to open the door, it opened for him, revealing a tall, skinny female, a stack of books in her arm. "Oh!" she exclaimed, looking a little surprised and taking a step backwards involuntarily. "I, um, haven't seen anyone up here in a while, hello," she babbled, shifting the stack to a better position. At first glance, she could easily be mistaken for a devotee of the God of Knowledge, who's library lay behind her, but for the subtle hint of something else, something more powerful than the mere favor of a god.

Stop that, Tilion scolded sharply. Idhren had gotten over much of her social anxieties since the fusing, but an unfortunate side effect was this tendency to ramble on. Then again, the god mused, she had apparently done that when she was a teacher as well. The effect of the reprimand was instant, the elf stopping her speech in mid-sentence with a barely audible click of her mouth.

"Did you need something?"

His hand hung in the air a moment longer; as though his brain hadn't quite processed the idea that this tall woman had opened it for him. He tilted his head and watched and listened while she babbled; the sounds unpleasantly muffling the not-words that came across -- she was nervous. She was shy. This was surprising and uncomfortable for her...and then her manner changed sharply.

Curious...more curiuos was the power sliding off her in silky strands; a gem? Did she house a God or Goddess as his host once had housed himself?

"I am--" looking-seeking-wanting "--trying to find information about a place on map I have." The map that Nergal's erstwhile Aoide, Priya had so graciously copied for his use. Endiovar had it with him, but he made no move to pull it out just yet -- this person may not wish to help though her body language said she might.

There was a bit of a ringing quiet after his words - after the not-words that came across as well. The hush of the Library was still no match for the still-quiet that came with the God of Silence.

Idhren's head tilted to the side as he spoke, her body language implying that she was listening to what the other was saying, that she genuinely was interested in helping. She was, of course. Idhren was not the type to dissemble, it simply wasn't in her nature at all. "There are more than a few atlases in here," she replied with a somewhat shy smile. "Of course, they're all out of order," she continued with a severe frown. Imagine! Someone had gone through and undone the months of organizational effort she had put forth to make the Library more accessible to everyone.

Tilion was quiet and still in Idhren's mind, able to read, somewhat, the nuances of not-speech, of the silence the other wore like a shroud, that Idhren seemed completely oblivious to. It was familiar, but he could not say why it felt so.

The blond nodded slowly; mindful that his wounds would likely be pulled should he bend or move even his head too quickly --thankfully, the loose shirt he wore kept the bandages from view or this kind-hearted girl may have "mothered" him to death (something he couldn't afford).

"You work here?" 'And so I can ask for your aid without guilt?' Definitely there was a power here -- he could sense it. Feel it. Cool and familiar though he knew not why. Endiovar wet his lips a little, not liking the use of so much speech on his part; he would ask her if she housed a god...but those words died before ever being born. It was not the right Time to ask.

At the question, Idhren stilled. "No," she said after a moment, a bit curtly. She would have gladly worked here, become a follower of the God who ruled, rather light handedly, over the Library, but someone else had claimed her in a deeper manner. It was occasionally still a sore subject with her, however resigned she was to her fate otherwise. "I haven't seen many that do. I am familiar with it, though, if you do need help."

The woman's demeanor spoke volumes to the newly changed godling; much of which moved too quickly past him to catch; it was hard to read each little thing just yet, but he could tell his question had bothered her on some level for some reason. That she offered help despite being off-put by his question was very kind.

"Yes...I do need help." Endiovar tilted his head and looked over at Xedre, the Aoide that his lord Destruction had offered into his employ. "I'm looking for...a silent forest." Spoken aloud, it sounded...kind of...infantile. Idiotic. But it was what he was searching for. "Information about it..." 'So it will stop calling to me... If such a place exists, I must know.'

Idhren was quite good, now, at ignoring things, and although Tilion felt that ignoring the Aoide who had accompanied the other was not, all things considered, a good idea, Idhren continued to do so. A brief, slight movement of her head was all the acknowledgment Xedre was likely to get at this point, unless he made the first move.

Impolitic, Tilion murmured quietly. You don't know who's service he's truly in. Idhren ignored him, though that was certainly more difficult.

"There are," she said, hesitating a moment as she marshaled her thoughts and knowledge of the Library's contents, "Atlases, at least. If you can find, say, a general area where this forest is located, I may, may, be able to find more information." She gestured with her chin, hands having shifted to hold the books in both arms. "Please, come in." Assuming the other would follow, Idhren began to backtrack through the Library, leaving her own stack of books on an out of the way table where, hopefully, no one would disturb them.

Idhren's studious dismissal of Xedre did not go unnoticed by the godling; he simply doubted that the spiderine Aoide cared...especially since Xedre had shortly ducked out to fetch those things needed to care for Endiovar's wounds; leaving him with Tilion's elven host.

"I have a map...perhaps that will help." He murmured and was soothed by the quiet that both existed in this grand Library and was created by the silky tones of his own voice. The blond would follow his new guide slowly, eyes taking in as much as possible.

'This place...it's familiar...like an old friend or one's favorite chair. I wonder if Gianfar is in...Would she know? Would she take offense-- ?' Endiovar would have questioned Idhren, but he did not want to tax this woman further. Dealing with his preferred muteness and not-words would be trying enough he supposed.

A subtle tension oozed out of Idhren as Xedre left; the spiderish Aoide had unsettled her, a little. She paused, once, to get her bearings and make a reply. "It would, if only to match it to a larger map." Indeed, being able to fit the map Endiovar had with him into a larger would make this quite a lot easier. The journey was fairly straightforward, no more than a few turns from the main corridor, when Idhren stopped to gaze intently at the shelves, then began to pull down volumes. "We'll start with the areas closest to the Pantheon," she announced, setting one such atlas down on a nearby table. Normally, she wouldn't have explained her research methods, but this was different. "And move out from there, naturally. It's best to start with a recognizable area."

Tilion had been silent throughout, his earlier irritation washed away under the general sense of amusement he got whenever Idhren went beyond the nervous woman she still was, even now. He had chosen well, no matter how it appeared otherwise.

Truely, no one would have condemned her for being unsettled by the Aoide on loan from the Twin Crown -- but it was still amusing to Endiovar that she would relax in such a visible manner. It seemed that whichever god had touched this woman had chosen quite the...timid acolyte.

Silently he stood while the woman pulled items from the shelves; jade-colored eyes watching each movement. He was trying to feel out the power within -- to get a clue without asking, but she was as a closed book in that aspect. So many of his questions went unasked, unanswered...curiosity tickled at Endiovar, but he kept his quiet -- the Forest was everything. Once he'd solved that mystery he could return to Destruction...to the Pantheon and the Library and perhaps find out who and whom this girl really was.

"Ah, here...the map." A hand fading to colorless reached into a small bag and came out with rolled piece of parchment - Priya's map. The copy. His only clue about the silent forest; it was marked not only with random notes from earlier travelers (regarding how eerie and silent and still the place was) but also with notes from Priya and Nergal. 'I must remember to visit Nergal when I am done here...perhaps Priya will be able to come with, for a short bit.' Though, with Xedre at his side, Endiovar wasn't certain that he would require the feline Aoide's aid once they reached the forest.

He should not 'borrow' other's Aoide so freely, after all. That was being an imposition...and weak as he was, Endiovar had pride.

"Thank you," Idhren said absently, turning her attention back to the maps she'd pulled out, laying the parchment down. Occasionally, she would glance at it and frown, flipping to a different map as she tried to match the terrain and roads to one another.

"There's no reason you can't sit," Tilion commented dryly as Idhren continued to work. She would remain standing, if only for ease of taking newer volumes off the shelves. "There are chairs," the elf added, pointing at one not far away, never taking her eyes off the maps in front of her, finger tracing along the edges of the marking of a road. She did not seem to have noticed the other voice at all, except that her comment followed directly from it. On the contrary, it appeared that she almost expected such an occurance.

Endiovar watched the slim woman working, his expression curious and interested -- he tried peering at the papers and books stretched out before her as though perhaps he too may be able to identify something (though it was very nearly certain he could-would not).

He blinked twice in quick succession when a voice not Idhren's came forth from her lips. Then twice more when her own followed. She didn't seem to have noticed; she seemed to be used to that...could she belong to another like himself?

There was - at the least - another consciousness there. Curiouser and curiouser. "Lady Idhren?" Silence's thick-silk voice spun into existence, words sliding across his tongue like honey. "Whom spoke a moment ago, bidding me sit?" 'For they were not precisely you, that much I know to be truth.'.

One small mystery could be solved without detracting too overly much from his quest, could it not?

"Tilion, Chariot of the Darkened Skies," Idhren replied, her manner still absent and distracted, but her voice more formal and heavy. She tapped her left shoulder, and Endiovar was likely to pick up that the sound of it was different enough to suggest that there was something other than her own flesh under the sleeve of her dress. "He's rather, hm. Patient," came the follow-up, one voice whimsical, the other more firm. Idhre grinned slightly to herself as she turned to pull another volume down; obviously she got on well with the other, if her intention to tease was any indication.

The book came slightly open as the elf pulled it loose, and a slim volume fell to the floor with a soft thud. "Could you get that?" Idhren asked, setting the new book down to put another away. "I seem to keep my hands rather full."

Chariot of the Darkened Skies? That was quite the interesting appellation and one that would keep the godling occupied and deep in thought for a few moments while he tried figuring out what precisely that meant. The thought that Tilion was the Lunar God came to him as Idhren tapped her shoulder and both spoke: one quiet and cool sounding, the other heavier and distinctly female.

"I am pleased to meet you both--" 'Lady and God the same'. He watched the woman reach up to pull another book down; it seemed as though the elf-host and her gem-caged god had a fairly good relationship - something that Endiovar found refreshing. He had a decent relationship with his host (mostly)...but he had seen a great many that did not (through his former host's eyes; eyes now his own).

The floor? Endiovar simply nodded and slowly lowered himself to retrieve the book; he could not bed from the waist due to his injuries, but she would not have known and he would not trouble another over something insignificant.

"Curious little thing..." His fingers slid across the slim book curiously -- it looked like a journal, rather than something one might typically find in such a place. "Hmm...interesting..." Endiovar opened the book and searched the inside cover and first page for any sort of identifying markings; he found a name: "Hue..."

So familar.

...So strangely familiar...

"Hue..." Again the name dropped from his lips; Endiovar turned the page, jade-colored eyes darkening and narrowing at the volume held in his hands. Something...something was tickling at his brain, dancing lightly along the edge of his memory -- threatening to pour over and be reborn as he was being reborn--

A flash of light, a flash of glimmering memory and time seemed to stand still...

A man. Slim. Strong. Sharp eyes and membraneous wings. A man near to him? Something...something...

As quickly as the image appeared to Endiovar, it was lost to him. Instead of focusing on that, he worried his lip with his teeth and began flipping through the tome, skimming the words written inside; words that seemed to become more and more disjointed and gibberish-like as the pages progressed.

"Likewise," Tilion replied amiably, content to sit in the background of his host's mind and simply let her work. She was the expert here, not he, and any extra exertion made on his part would only interfere in her search, which was certainly not something he desired. No, helping Endiovar was no trouble at all, for god and host alike.

"Find something interest...?" Idhren trailed off, looking at Endi curiously. "I gather that the journal triggered a memory?" she asked instead of finishing her first question. She was familiar enough with the sensation, having been on the receiving end a handful of times. Hopefully, she decided critically, she'd never looked quite so pole axed.

The blond shook his head a little bit as though to clear the lingering cobwebs of memory from his thoughts.

"Perhaps..." 'Though I am not certain.' Endiovar looked to the woman with a strange expression; he didn't know if that had been a true memory or just...a thought, randomly struck from some weird portion of his mind. Whatever the reason, the journal - for that was what it was - had triggered something in his mind.

"Here, it seems...it's a journal, I think." And this 'Hue' person had apparently gone crazy over time; it would take more thorough reading than the skimming he'd done to figure out why (if the reasoning were even in the slim tome held out in his long-fingered hands).
"No, keep it," Idhren replied, shaking her head slightly. "I may have found something as well," she continued, moving slightly to allow Endiovar easier view of the maps spread across the table. Indeed, she'd nearly reconstructed a path from the Pantheon to the Forest, though a few gaps remained where no maps could be found. "Most of the notes regarding the journey," Idhren indicated a few such handwritten notes along the roads, "Mention that the road itself seems to be quieter than the surrounding areas. Like this one, here," a tap on a map closer to the one Endi had brought with, "Says that camping off the road is preferred, for peace of mind among merchants and their guards." The elf shrugged, falling silent to allow Endi to read and draw his own conclusions.

Endiovar simply tucked the slim volume against his body, holding it against his stomach so it would be out of the way while he perused the maps Idhren had laid out for him. Jade colored eyes half narrowed as he read the commentary written at various points along the route -- he wouldn't need a secondary map so much, thanks to Priya's copy (and thanks to the fact that she may be going with him)...but the notes? Those were priceless and the newly-"born" godling tried committing the information to memory.

"I suppose I must pull together a pack for travelling..." He murmured and wondered if perhaps Xedre wouldn't prove even more useful to him than he'd previously imagined; Harmodius had been most generous to loan his services.

The blond looked up at his female companion and flashed a shy smile. "Thank you--" 'This has helped - you have helped...now I know it must be connected to me somehow...'

At the very least, she'd given him the journal...and the slim tome felt hot in his fingers, like he should know this - it was important.

"More than likely," Idhren replied idly, not knowing what else to say. She certainly would have no idea how to help Endi with that; her traveling was limited to places near the Pantheon, and that was rare enough.

"Ah," she said, ducking her head at the thanks. This was, more or less, her passion. She enjoyed this sort of work, even if she was the only one to benefit from it, but being able to help someone put an entirely different spin on the matter. "You're welcome," she said finally, looking back with a bright smile. "When you return, if there's anything else you need to find here, please let me know."
Her words may have seemed a little bit rough on the edges to someone just listening with ears, but he listened to what she didn't say and to what the lines of her body said. Idhren wasn't trying to be distant or anything such thing, she was just...more at home with her beloved books than with others.

Honestly, he couldn't blame her.

"Thank you again, Idhren." Most definitely the new godling would be back to visit the pale woman before him; libraries were wonderful places - so quiet and calming. Endi looked down at the maps and his own map and then sighed a little bit; there was much to be done - but he would have help from Xedre and from Priya and Nergal.

That was infact the next place on his small mental list -- Priya had given him the map that his fingers were now folding back up to go in his pocket along with the small journal written by this 'Hue' person. "I'll be certain to come by again, yes." And with that the young man with the gossamer wings slowly picked things up to put them away - no sense in leaving the woman a mess to clean up before made his way out.

He would retrieve Xedre before leaving and perhaps go by and visit the quarters that Harmodius had provided for him. He wouldn't stop for long, just enough to peek in -- there was too much to be done.

"Come. We visit Underworld."

Soon after meeting the were and his grandson, Gideon located what he deemed a suitable dwelling outside the environs of the Pantheon. Idhren relocated there, though the elf did spend more than the occasional night within the Library. The house was a simple one, with only a few rooms. Idhren, through no insistence of her own, was given the master bedroom, while her erstwhile servants divided the others between themselves.

During the time that Idhren spent within the Pantheon prior to the events of Gehenna, the elf acquired a few trinkets - some of which turned into servants. These include the catgirl Aoide Temis, who tends to mother the elf even more these days than she used to, as well as the somewhat standoffish spirit Cynthia, who was bound to a windchime Idhren found in the backyard of her house.

The start of Gehenna weakened Idhren enough that she fell into a coma, Tilion remaining aware long enough to issue orders regarding their protection and well-being before he too fell into slumber. Temis obeyed these commands faithfully, and it is here that the story resumes...

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