They followed the call, winding and dedicating their travels to the mercy of the Tallsun splendor, coaxed and cajoled by the thunderous demands of a new King. In truth, the nymph didn’t know what to think or prosper from the rise of their General, the fall of their Lady. Too silent, too reticent, too stoic and reclusive, she’d never been truly in the presence or mindset of the Reaper’s maelstroms and upheavals, chaotic enthrallments or malicious yearnings – but she’d known of his dedication, his loyalty, his strength and deadly art. How else could he have come into such a role? The Basin, with all its beauty, with all its majesty, with all its wild, vivid spirits, could not be tamed by poison and treachery alone, and as she drifted into the mouths of cataclysms, the distorted resonance of anger and hostility, the sylph and kitsune chose to say nothing at all of the incident. Even as the GildedBlade tore into Deimos’s command, even as Arah offered her support, she remained silent, a nymph ghosting and gliding into the chamber of the valley. Instead of voicing anything, she wondered and prayed. With the nefarious demon in charge, what was to become of them? Would they be led down the road of war again, after this time of peace had passed? Would they entomb their legacies into oubliettes and dungeons, crypts and catacombs, feasting on the ides of their enemies? Would they be laced and woven into their villainous splendor over and over, rolling into the tides of damnation? Would she acquiesce to her charge once more, sing and enthrall into her heart burst from the laments, sonnets and requiems? Would they ever claim the victory they sought? Would they ever emerge from the bulrushes of treachery and deceit, covet the ambitious claims they’d so longed for? And when, after the storm settled, would it all end?

She approached along Huyana’s blue side, dipping her head prior to the creatures she knew, familiar Leovan, antlered Arah, to the newfound leaders, bestowing respect amidst the avaricious tirades, and her eyes widened only slightly upon the appearance of a child along the nestled coils of the Scholar. Mysteries and surprises abound in triumphant glimmers, culminating in a title and daughter of her friend – and the sylph furnished a heavenly smile for mother and youth. “Congratulations,” she whispered into her comrade’s ear, honeyed and sweet, conspiring and whimsical. Huyana had achieved so many things, and it was a shame Lena hadn’t been there to view the revelations in the present, granting more gifts and jubilation. She harmonized again, allowed a dulcet wink to slide across her left eye. “It seems we have much to discuss, Haruspex.” The femme leaned down towards the babe, offered a soft cajoling of her maw across her stubby horn. “Hello, little one.” Imogen followed suit in an archaic dance, sliding amongst lithe, limber towers and legs, attempting to brush her tail against the filly’s petals and blossoms.

Only after her greetings did she return to the current circumstances, listening and capturing the words echoing over the waves of icy boroughs. Her interest piqued over a ghostly, intertwining, poignant evocation: the restoration of Emissaries. In another time, another life, she hadn’t been the warbling, trilling nurse, but the singsong diplomat, attempting to pluck souls from dungeons and bestowing offers of treaties and pacts. Was this a chance, an opportunity, to become the reverent, serene envoy again, healing and imparting tranquility in dual form? Or had she been lost to those ages, enameled and lacquered to her current role? She mulled over the sentiments, and after Leovan threw his hat into the ring, she followed thereafter, crooning the armaments of her restored aspirations, once thrown, tossed asunder, now reformed and renewed. “I would also like to be considered for Emissary. I have experience in the position, and perhaps, if I am not chosen, I can aid in offering my support to the appointed.”