Threads of the Tapestry

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Over the years, the individuals shown in Cordir's temple and Office has changed. (She's had multiple temples, and has changed the threads from time to time even when a new temple wasn't being installed.) Here is a compilation of those individuals shown within the Threads. Where multiple threads were written for an individual, only the most recent is included, unless a major change occurred.


Abender Stormreaver: Storm-blue
Lightly touching the storm-blue Thread within the Pattern, your sense of this place is swept away abruptly, almost dizzyingly. Before you appears a vision of a powerfully built, god-touched warrior, striding confidently through the Haon-Dor forest. His well-tended, well-used armor [the much-commented upon token of a Goddess's personal favor] gleams in the moonlight, and his weapons are ready and eager in his practiced grasp. Pausing, his emerald gaze intently scans the still woods. An odd scent, carried to you both upon a sudden gentle zephyr, makes him pause. Vanilla and rose... how out of place in this stand of pines, you think. Perhaps carried from distant Loth-Llorien? The Stormreaver closes his eyes momentarily, and smiles, the slight movement of his head reminiscent of the unconscious yearning forward when accepting a gentle caress. Bowing formally, reverently to someone unseen, he continues on his tireless journey, intent upon his Lord's work.

Abe Stormreaver: Storm-Blue
The power and fury of a spring storm rages within the storm-blue Thread. The commanding figure of a thrice-born warrior appears, the dark copper of his hair like the final shades of sunset. His piercing hazel gaze scans the environs unceasingly, ever vigilant. As he travels swiftly through the rain-lashed forest, he moves with both confidence and stealth, quite unusual in one so tall and powerfully built. Heralded by a deafening peal of thunder and blinding lightning flare, a Pattern of shimmering light appears in his path, but his hands do not seek his weapons. Instead, they grasp the waist of the curvaceous, silver-haired woman who steps through the portal and he effortlessly lifts her off the ground. Raising her to his passionate kiss, his arms mold her body to fit his. She returns the embrace with matching hunger and joy. This vision fades, giving the two lovers their privacy.

Adso (Mortal): purple
As your senses flow over the purple thread within the Great Tapestry, you witness a vision of a proud, tall Minotaur, his etched and burned garb and accoutrements marking him as a mage-warrior with a penchant for danger, but yet god-touched as well by the honor of Ordainment. He holds his head high and his massive shoulders squared as he travels the roads of his homeland by night, pausing to give aid to a youngling lost amidst the dark, twisting maze. Even while aiding the trembling child, his eyes scan the shadows, aware and prepared for trouble. "Hurry home," he councils the lad. "The Anathema are bored tonight, and yearning for an easy target, cowards that they are." Setting the child on its way, warded against the casual eye or attack, the Weaver's servant disappears into the night.

Adso (Immortal): Purple
As your senses flow over the purple thread within the Great Tapestry, they are singed by the intensity that only an Immortal's Thread can contain. The image of a proud, tall Minotaur warrior burns into your mind, like the fiery breath of the dragons he so enjoyed sparring in his mortal days. Kneeling so as not to tower over the youngling he seeks to teach, the first Ascended of the Chosen continues to guide and instruct and set an example for others. He turns and looks at you, somehow seeing you through the Tapestry. Your eyes lock, and he gives you a toothy grin. As his image fades away, you would have sworn he winked at you...

Ananasi Aleitros : Cobalt
The cobalt Thread glows richly. You become fascinated by how the light interacts with it, throwing off hints of blues, greens, and purples. Slowly you begin to imagine you see a pair of hands moving through the light. Somehow the hands seem to be sorting through the light, picking and choosing among the jewel-bright colors, moving and changing them... Gradually the intangible light takes on the appearance of a gauze-thin, shimmering tapestry. A voice behind you murmurs, "Sombra taught me this much. Someday the Lady will help me learn more." The tapestry billows in the lightest of breezes, and you could almost swear you actually feel it slip across your hands. Then you once again are drawn into contemplation of the glinting colors, and see no more.

Aslan T'Sarran: Fuming-Blue
Touching upon the fuming blue thread, the scene of a mystic shuffling a deck of brightly painted cards with her slender hands fills your mind. She turns over the first card, revealing a woman resting beneath a tree, a lion sprawled with it's head in her lap. Both seem to look up at you from the card with a serene, trusting expression in their eyes. The mystic whispers with affection in her voice, "Strength - the Arcana I believe Aslan T'Sarran embodies" The image of Aslan smiles gently down at the fierce creature. Her golden-red hair is lit by the sun, creating a halo around her face. Her large, dark blue-green eyes are tender as they gaze at the beast, the light dusting of freckles upon her pert nose giving her an air of innocence. The mystic's voice catches your attention from the scene on the card as she continues, "Of all the souls I watch, hers is perhaps the most gentle and openly caring of others. She's always one to be the peacemaker, the one to hear the other side of an argument, my friend Jyslin's adopted daughter is as much unlike her mother in many ways as they are twins in their passionate natures. I have watched as she long sought a worthy mate, and along with many others, I pray Talyn will prove himself worthy." Aslan, the Lion, the card and the mystic fades from your mind leaving you holding the fuming blue thread in your hand.

Boromir (mortal): Diamond-White
One fingertip brushes the diamond-white strand within the Pattern. At once, you hear a soft chuckle in your mind, followed by a male voice accented in an old dialect of Northern elvish. "You realize, Lady, that I'm going to keep up the puns until I see you smile today? Lord Foolkiller charged me with the task of not letting you get too somber." The voice softens, and takes on a more serious tone. "And to be your friend, as I was - and am - Him. Though that duty is more pleasure than obligation." You feel a touch, as if upon your arm, providing support. "Milady, I will always be here. Your jester, your Taoiseach, your Councillor of War, but most of all, your friend until the bitter end. Never doubt that." The voice and this vision slowly fades.

Boromir (Immortal): Diamond-White
One fingertip brushes the diamond-white strand within the Pattern. At once, you hear a soft chuckle in your mind, followed by a male voice accented in an old dialect of Northern elvish. "You realize, Lady, I'm never going to stop the horrid puns or the teasing? Even if we are both much changed from those ancient days? I understand now, why you did not laugh as much, now that I bear the same duty, and responsibilities. But still: there is always room for laughter." The voice takes on a more serious tone. "And I will always be your friend, even unto the bitterest of ends. Never doubt that." The voice and this vision slowly fades.

Cirth the Pale: Pale-Gray Scribe
Darkness meets your gaze as you touch upon the pale-gray Thread. Only the barely heard sound of a quill scratching upon parchment can be discerned. But what manner of creature can see in these conditions? And what tales could such a being be recording in this still, black chamber? Perhaps only the Weaver need know...

Cirth the Pale: Colorless
This nearly colorless thread is hard to discern amidst the other more vivid Strands on the Loom. It is tightly woven with many other strands, and it has a long history back into the Tapestry, touching many others. Often, though, it separates from the weave, and runs a long and lonely path. The strangest element of it, however, is that near to the Loom, it appears to have been cut and then tied together again. Suddenly all darkens, and before you stands a tall and slender figure shrouded in a dark hooded cloak. He holds a large book in his hands, and the hood leaves most of his pale face in shadow. He slowly raises his head, and weary gray eyes meet yours... No ... His hands are empty and the hood rests upon his shoulders, and as he turns to face you, piercing clear blue eyes lock your gaze. He smiles slightly and reveals his fangs...
The vision fades.

Cordir: crimson
A thread of the past... a puny woman-child stands in a cave of colossal proportions, facing a serpent that fills the room with its endlessly shifting coils. A single spell is cast by her, before the Dhole's acidic bite shreds the lass, rending her flesh. A shadowed figure smiles, gestures, and the corpse is restored to life with a scarlet aura about her. Welcome is then given to the newest Ebon Hand...

Cordir: indigo
You stagger as your senses touch against the Indigo Strand. No mortal marker, this, but rather the place within the Tapestry of the Weaver Herself. Thousands of images flood your mind, which buckles under their weight. Lifetimes, Incarnations, moments that have shaped the woman-who-became, the Incarna-that-Is, the Weaver-that-will-be. ~ A Bard kneels in silence, soul-keening, amidst scrubbing-pools of her own blood. Her hair as a cloth, she scours clean the black glass panels of an ancient temple, now lost. ~ A woman at the moment of oathing is torn from her pledged husband, plaything and lure for a rotting corpse ~ A Paladin and Witch battle one another, love turned to hate amidst stolen memories ~ A Bard is lifted up out of slavery by the Justicar and given new sight and purpose within a Fellowship ~ A lover awakens in the arms of her demon-lover, a seed is planted, a life kindled. ~ A child is born, soul called from the Pattern itself, and Named before the Three. ~ A dwarf, glowing with power, rips asunder the mortal coil of the devout petitioner, calling her spirit into a higher service. ~ The first Voice of the Three binds Incarna and Vampire with bonds of spirit, flesh, and blood. ~ A Shadow kneels within the darkness of Black N'Kai, pledging in solitude to the Weaver Herself, forsaking even his first Liege. ~ A near-widowed goddess stands alone in Her garden, recalling with tears the love that crafted it and mourns his long absence. ~ A proud warrior-priest kneels before the Lady of Fate, and captures Her hand, drawing her near. ~ The Goddess instructs, teaching another of the Laws and ways of Immortality. ~ Web upon Ward is laid in willing flesh, marking each of those who seek their Fate.~ With a shudder, you are once more in the body you had nearly forgotten.

Cordir: indigo
As you touch the Indigo Strand, images crash over your mind: ~Hair used as a cloth, a bard scours clean the black glass panels of an ancient temple, now lost. ~ A bride is torn from her pledged husband by the Lich~ A witch is freed by the Justicar and given new sight and purpose within a Fellowship ~ A girl-child is born, soul called from the Pattern itself, and Named before theThree.~ Tynian rips the mortal form of the devout petitioner, summoning her toa higher service. ~ The first Prophet of the Three binds Incarna and Vampire with bonds of spirit, flesh, and blood. ~ A Shadow kneels within Black N'Kai, pledging his service to the Weaver. ~ A widowed goddess stands alone in Her garden, mourning his loss. ~ A mighty warrior-priest kneels before the Lady and lovingly kisses her hand.~ The Lady teaches three others of the Laws of Immortality.~ Cast down for a wrong act with kind intent, the penitent Weaver struggles to regain what was lost. Wandering through the Darkness for a time, the faith of her folk and the love of her Champion are her only guiding lights until the moment of renewal and rebirth~ With a shudder, you return to the body you had nearly forgotten, and release the Thread of the Weaver Herself.

Clue (Mortal): fuchsia
As your eyes flow over the fuchsia thread, the image of a graceful and lovely elven woman comes to your mind's eye. Strong and fiery, yet friendly and womanly, she is both priestess and warrior with a ready smile and a healing touch. You marvel at the interconnectedness and length of this strand: truly, this is a life that has touched many others. Wound about it is a glittering thread of silvery-green, which departs the fuchsia thread mid-weaving, and fades into eternity. A soft whisper in elven, tinged with sorrow and loss * Rigel * As if his name called them forth, images of their life together flash before your eyes: explorations of new lands, their merry and joyful wedding, many days spent fighting evil, firelit evenings speaking with their Lord, Cerebus, many more nights of entwined passion. Then, there is only she, facing her future without her mate, but surrounded by friends and well loved.

Clue (Mortal): fuchsia
As your eyes flow over the fuchsia thread, the image of a graceful and lovely elven woman comes to your mind's eye. Strong and fiery, yet friendly and womanly, she is both priestess and warrior with a ready smile and a healing touch. You marvel at the interconnectedness and length of this strand: truly, this is a life that has touched many others. Wound about it is a glittering thread of silvery-green, which departs the fuchsia thread mid-weaving, and fades into eternity, only to rejoin it some time later with a brilliance that is joyful to behold, reunited in love and faithful service.

Clue (Immortal): fuchsia
As your eyes flow over the fuchsia thread, the image of a graceful and lovely elven woman comes to your mind's eye. She has the pale skin and crimson eyes of a vampire, but her smile - though fanged - is warm and friendly. An aura of power surrounds her, glowing with an Immortal's strength as she tends to those in her care.

Daelin : Onyx
As your awareness touches the onyx strand, an involuntary shiver flows over you. While the setting is that of an open storytelling amphitheater, the sole occupant is no kindly talespinner... Sitting in silence on one of the stone benches is a still figure, glowing with the intertwined auras of scarlet and white. His face is shrouded by a dark cowl, and his scarred, strong fingers never stray far from his weapons and spiked shield. Something about his hands catches your attention; movement, where no movement should be. Something creeps over his flesh – something dark, with many legs. You shiver, repulsed. Even that tiny movement is enough to alert him to your presence. Instantly spinning to face you, he mutters a harsh-sounding syllable, and suddenly, you feel unclean…

Deamhan An-Shalach: silver beloved
Lightly touching a finger to the silver strand within the Pattern, you somehow sense that it reveals a moment trapped in time from some years in the distant past. You see a moonlit elven garden, curtained off from the rest of the Realm by a delicate wall of spider-webs. As you scan the area a second time, a preternaturally still figure gradually becomes visible: a vampire, standing gracefully tall, looking up at the night sky. He turns, and a slow, sensual smile lights up his face. "Love? I hadn't expected you this ear-- You're not her." The smile disappears instantly, to be replaced by chilling menace. "Who are you? What are you doing looking among my Lady's private things? You are _not_ welcome here." He makes an abrupt, angry gesture with one pale hand. There is a sudden flash of darkness, and your eyes sting; this vision of the past fades from sight.

Ebonie: faded-violet
As you look at this thread, the world around you begins to shift as another reality takes over. A soft melody captivates you, and you strain to hear it better. Sitting beneath a tree near a rushing waterfall, a woman plays upon a silver lute. As she gazes up to the sky for inspiration, the flash of her mismatched blue and green eyes is intriguing. Her short dark hair is slicked back, but an ill-mannered wisp falls forward into her eyes. Instead of appearing boyish, her short locks draw your attention upwards to the almost innocent expression behind her knowing, two-toned eyes. What a dichotomy! Innocence in her expression, sensuality in her full lips, blushing cheeks and blooming figure and knowledge in her gaze. This one's future lies unset... but what potential she must hold... only she or the Weaver truly knows.
As this thread-vision fades from sight, you catch a stanza of the song she sings:
"Oh, what a dream beyond the realm of why
"Pretty little beings beneath the yawning sky
"Speaking of God as if they could define
"Music to the deaf, and color to the blind."

Foolkiller: avatar-blue
An Eye appears before you, bright and terrible. Your mind is suddenly filled with visions and sounds of people and things from the past, present and future. Finally, one vision fills your mind, chasing away all others... that of an elysian glade. It is so utterly peaceful and perfect, that you know it for what it must be; the final reward given a true Avatar of the Trinity. You spy two figures reclining under the shade of a tree. One is the easily recognized figure of an Immortal now gone from the Realm, and the second, what must be a simulacrum of his lost beloved, provided as a gift by the Three masters he served so well, to grant him full joy in this place of reward.

Garvax: bright-white
A brilliant flash of light blinds you. As your vision slowly returns, the only thing you can see is a figure against a shining background, like sun on snow. His frost-pale hair blends with his icy skin, and he is robed in purest white. In one strong hand he holds a glowing staff, and as your eyes rise to meet his... There is another flash. As if revealed by lightning you see the same man, now a figure of gray against the darkness, younger, searching. Dark eyes gaze at you, and in them echoes pain and mystery and longing. The image slowly fades, leaving you once more at the Loom, touching the bright-white Thread.

Gwyrdain: Grey
A simply garbed man strides through the forest, diligently attending the tasks his Lord has set before him. His grey eyes are an unusual blend of joy and sorrow, contentment and restlessness. He brushes back shoulder-length auburn hair with a hand that is callused from weapon hilts but still eloquent and graceful in its movements and fades into the woods.

Isolas: shroud-gray shroud-grey
An icy power radiates from the shroud-grey thread. With that aura of cold, a complex swirl of emotions cascades around you: Love. Loss. Pride. Hurt. Tenderness. Jealousy. Hopefulness. Hopelessness. Friendship. Hesitation. Acceptance. Abruptly, the Weaver's presence veils this thread, severing your contact with it, and all you sense is gentle reproof at your curiosity.

Jahiliya of Veladorn & Zrie : Gold heart-kin
Glancing at the glowing gold thread, you observe as a dark-skinned, lithe woman lays her twin weapons aside and pulls out a small harp. As she begins playing, you notice a luminous rune on the back of her right hand. Behind her stands a quietly joyful man, garbed in comfortable travel-worn leathers and wearing a silver crown adorned with a flawless raven's feather. The exquisite falcon on his wrist is as watchful as he, as the man guards his beloved lady.

Jahiliya of Veladorn : gold heart-kin
As your finger brushes the golden Thread, you see trees, and a woman clad in comfortable, worn leathers leaning casually against one of the largest. She smiles at you, and as she lifts a hand in greeting, you see a glowing golden rune on the back of it. Her dark skin and darker eyes speak of a life on the road, and her mace and rapier look well-used. Oddly, there are raven and owl feathers tied to the hilts of both weapons, to the harp slung across her back, and braided into her hair. She brushes her fingertips across one of the raven feathers, unfocusing her eyes to stare briefly through you, then says, "If you are here, then you must be friend to my heart-sister, and so friend to me as well. Walk well in the world and call on me should you need help." A falcon's cry sounds somewhere in the distance, and she looks in its direction. "I must go; my mate is nearby looking for me." She grins, hands you the gloves you thought you'd had on your hands a second before, winks, and melts into the forest.

Katrana: bloody-crimson
The moment contact is made with the bloody crimson thread, a chaotic swirl of emotions overcome you - love, sorrow, loneliness, hate, passion, anger, more than you can comprehend or identify. They seem almost tangible, like haunting ghosts draining your strength, and the world begins to fade to gray around you. Something or someone intervenes, and vision returns. You see the petite figure of a gnome shamaness with briar roses braided into her ebony hair, kneeling in deep meditation with Lin-Tra in N'Kai. The aura of power that surrounds her is unlike any you have seen before. It is quite powerful, and as changeable as a summer storm: raging one moment, still the next. She seems bound in a dichotomy, blessed with a joy and great reverence for life yet wracked with a knowledge and undeniable thirst for destruction. Cradled in her hands are bloodstained cutting shears that call to mind a shuttle and spindle you have seen in the Weaver's temple. You hear a soft whisper: *Now you see what she endures daily, and see the struggle I endured in the span of Becoming. May the Three guide, bless, Ward and keep her. May she have the strength to endure the Reaver's rebirth.*

Keller Amberlin D'Augustine: scarlet
A thread of the present: Sir Keller D'Augustine, blood dripping from his blade and spattered on his armor, stands over a Nashite corpse and murmurs a plea to Tel for forgiveness. Then, strangely, the thread changes color to amber and the scene shifts before you, as if the individual leads almost a double life... now you see a tall, brown haired man in comfortable garb relaxing back in a rocking chair, warming his toes by the fireplace. The room is cheery and homey, the only oddity the well-tended long sword that hangs above the mantle, the flames painting it scarlet.

Keller Amberlin D'Augustine: Crimson
A middle-aged warrior with steel-grey eyes stands bathed in starlight upon a windy Southern hill. He seems to glow with an ambient light, as if lit from within by his blinding Passion and Faith. From behind him creep orcish figures, creeping closer hoping to overcome this silent sentinel. With a dark smile the twin of any upon a Conclave murderer's lips, the man lifts his bloodstained blade and the battle is joined.

Keller Amberlin D'Augustine & Natalie Rose D'Augustine: scarlet
A middle-aged warrior with steel-grey eyes stands bathed in starlight upon a windy Southern hill. He seems to glow with an ambient light, as if lit from within by his blinding Passion and Faith. At his knee is a young woman with eyes the twin of his. Her head lays against his knee, and her expression is that of someone who has gained a treasure long sought. Beside them, half hidden in the tall grass, is a simple stone grave marker.

Kelton Trap D’Augustine / Caillte Sturdivant: Azure
Viewing the azure thread, you see a tall, broad-shouldered young man garbed in silver and white squire’s garb practicing swordplay against a dwarven weaponsmaster. A powerful buffet from the instructor sends the gray-eyed lad tumbling, only to scramble back up with a carefully concealed wince. The two return to a ‘ready’ position, the youth brushing sweat-laden brown locks from his eyes. His bearing speaks of determination and courage, and his movements, though tired, are those of one born to the sword. With a clash of blades, this vision ends.

Khore: ruby
A shimmering drop of blood is pooled here along the edge of the ruby Thread. In it, you see reflected the Ascended Vampire Lord, Khore, looking back at you, quite aware of your gaze. There is a sharp flash of pain in your heart, soul and throat... and the image vanishes.

Lanfear Daermon N'a'shezbaernon Scarlet
As you reach for the scarlet thread, a silver lock of hair falls across your shoulder. Turning to see who stands so close to you, your eyes meet violet irises gazing intently at you, set in a face of incomparable elven beauty. The drow woman's eyes narrow and you feel her within your mind, poking about, prodding into secrets, provoking hidden desires. With a smile she dances a step back, only to draw her eyes slowly up and down your form before smiling seductively. Her intentions clear, you begin to speak, even if only to ask her name... But your vision suddenly goes white as a melodious voice fills your mind. "Naughty naughty... no touching... just watching... even with my thread. I might drop by in your dream... to fulfill one of those unfulfilled desires..." Slowly, her image fades, and you realize she was but another vision of the Threads... or was she? Troubled, you wonder what your next dream will be like...

Madman : destroyer
There is no marking-rune to call your attention to this strand, no bright jewel tone to catch the eye, yet here your gaze was summoned. You witness a vast room with high, vaulted ceilings, guarded by an unholy creature in the form of an emerald-eyed panther. Bookshelves cover the walls and several desks are littered with strange glowing boxes. A small broom stands unobtrusively in one corner, tucked behind a massive object that could only be some sort of perch. Then suddenly a blast of air hits you with the force of a cyclone as some invisible entity appears within the chamber, and your contact with this thread is abruptly, painfully shattered.

Mireya An-Shalach: argentine daughter
“Yes, Mother?” As you touch gently upon the argentine strand, a young woman looks up immediately, intelligence and curiosity shining from her sapphire-bright eyes. Her dark hair lies over her back like a mantle, and it flows over one shoulder as she tilts her head to one side, waiting. After a moment, she snorts inelegantly, and mutters something about “Snoopy people in Mother’s chambers again...” and goes back to reading her book, dismissing you altogether.

Mireya An-Shalach: argentine daughter "Yes, Mother?" As you touch gently upon the argentine strand within the Pattern, you see nothing but darkness that somehow gives the impression of movement, and hear only that soft voice. ‘I know, Mother. I have been gone long. But the Three have work yet for me to do, here. Fear not. I’ll return... someday.’

Molo: Black / Bone
The Arch-Lich, enshrouded in His final resting place, watches over His Conclave. As if annoyed by the buzzing of an insect, He gestures, and contact with this thread is broken.

Nameless Demonspawn: sapphire
Eyes, filled with pain, filled with sorrow, beasts eyes.... A flash of shadowed wings passes before your gaze as a wall of fire bursts up, blocking your view of the son of Ebencaleneezer.

Nash: Opaline
A shimmering opaline thread overwhelms you. You cannot comprehend it – only stand in utter awe of its utter and complete Perfection. A shadow passes between you and the Thread, and a gentle voice whispers, *Nash. We cannot truly perceive Him. But we can look at him as an example of embracing one's Fate and Destiny. We praise him through seeking our own Fates, and helping others achieve all that they can be.*

Nash:
A shimmering opaline thread overwhelms you. You cannot comprehend it - only stand in utter awe of its utter and complete Perfection. A shadow passes between you and the Thread, and a gentle voice whispers, *Nash. Mortals cannot truly perceive Him. Nashites within the Chosen praise him through seeking their own Fates, and helping others achieve their destinies, as well. Sadly, there has been much blood shed in His name. I, named Outcast, Heretic, excommunicate, and those who follow where I lead are the focus of their wrath. It takes a brave soul to seek Him outside the bounds of pain and death.

Nash:
A shimmering opaline thread overwhelms you. You cannot comprehend it - only stand in utter awe of its utter and complete Perfection. A shadow passes between you and the Thread, and a gentle voice whispers, *Nash. Mortals cannot truly perceive Him. There has been much blood shed in His name. I, Outcast, Heretic, Excommunicate, and those who follow where I lead are the focus of their wrath. It takes a brave soul to seek Him outside the bounds of pain and death. I can no longer speak His truth - a truth forever drowned out by the shouting of the Lich's servants - and have those words heard for what they are. I will speak of it no more.* You sense the speaker's lasting sorrow as the thread fades from your perception.

Noctus: midnight-cyan
As with many threads within the Tapestry, the midnight-cyan thread reveals only darkness at first. As your eyes strain to discern detail, you slowly recognize the outlines of the hideous subterranean caves sealed below the Sigil Draktha. By the still waters of Lake Hali, a powerfully built gnome kneels in communion with the One who Sleeps below. Sacred ritual garments shroud the worn mail that glints beneath, and around his throat dangles a delicate dove-gray feather bound in a drop of crystal. Above him, warding his safety, a lovely Aara swan glides in circles upon the powerful winds of the Hurricane's Eye. As if summoned by the cherished priest's devotion, the Dhole appears, rising up out of its home. To your shock and surprise, the hideous creature does not instantly devour the priest. Instead it dips in a formal acknowledgement of Lady Fate's Ordained Blade and Taoiseach, then continues to flow out of its home. Coil after sinuous coil emerges, blocking your view of the gnome.

Nyx : midnight
As your gaze brushes the midnight strand, you catch a glimpse of a city silhouetted by night. Frowning, you look closer, for there must be more...Straining your eyes, you finally see what the Weaver has taken note of already: Standing on a wire stretched taut above a shadowed alley is a dark, lean figure, his outline barely visible in the pale starlight. His arms are held out to the night sky and his head is tipped back, as if watching the infinity above. A feeling of calmness radiates from him, and despite the powerful chilling wind he seems unrushed, undisturbed. He is waiting, but for what? Suddenly a cat dashes across the rooftops, catching your eye, and when you look back, the figure is gone...

Okk Orthrakai: blood-red spirit
You stare intently at the blood-red thread and a tiny flame appears. You can feel its warmth and hear it crackling pleasantly. You look around. Behind you and to your sides, you see many trees and beyond that, blackness. In front of you, behind the flame, is a red sandstone wall covered with mystical marks and symbols. Shadows cast by the trees dance on the wall like living spirits, and the writings seem to writhe and change before your very eyes. You shudder and look away, only to find yourself staring into a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. Frightened, you look away. Another pair of eyes. Another, then another. Suddenly you are surrounded by hundreds of glowing eyes. You hear a loud screech behind you, then the whole clearing erupts with hundreds of cries. Without warning, the noise stops. The eyes stare at you silently for a moment then slowly, one by one, fade away... except one pair. These are different than the others - a large brilliant green. They over close by the fire, staring, appraising you. You can barely make out a small figure accompanying the eyes. The creature blinks, and crawls closer to you, becoming visible. He is a tiny ogre, gangly and dressed in motley leathers. He pokes at the fire with a stick and grins. "I see you go here alright. That is good. It is dangerous to travel the spirit-world alone and inexperienced... so, you came all this way just to see _me_? I am really quite flattered. You caught me at a bad time, though." The ogre cocks his head to one side slightly as if listening to some distant calling. He looks back at you, saying, "Well, I would love to stay and entertain you, but...other duties demand my attention. Go well with the spirits, and my blessing. Good bye, now." He waves his hand in a magical gesture. The strange clearing melts away, revealing the familiar cathedra walls enclosing you once more.

Palin D’Henoke : Fiery-Red Apprentice
A mage, his hair bleached pure white from centuries of manipulating energies, studies ancient manuscripts and new maps in a tall tower overlooking a wave-tossed shore. Around his throat hangs a powerful talisman that is shrouded by dancing, crimson flames that do not scorch or burn his rune-inscribed robes. The sorcerer's brow arches slightly, as if aware of your gaze, and he utters the word, "Darkness". This vision fades from view.

Polnevdra Zrelendar: Scarlet
The scarlet thread of the Web: The past? present? future? A Drow priestess hangs beaten and tortured from a massive tree, animated only by her Mother's will, bereft of life, yet still aware... Lolth pronounces the woman's doom, and moves to fulfill it. A soft voice murmurs, "No. This shall not be. The test has been passed and the Handmaid's Mantle accepted." With a heartfelt prayer and the rush of great wings, the thread of the Drow's life is intertwined once more with Her Sisters' and returned to the Tapestry restored to what it was, is, shall ever be... Atropos, Macha, Wyld...

Polnevdra Zrelendar: Scarlet
The scarlet thread... A Drow priestess hangs from a massive tree, animated only by her Mother's will, bereft of life, yet still aware... Lolth pronounces the woman's doom, and moves to fulfill it. A soft voice murmurs, "Polnevdra. My sister-in-spirit. An Incarna of the Wyld, but still bound in mortal flesh she could not transcend or escape. But lessons were learned in her span of life... lessons that may make the difference in the future, for the Ascension of the Wyld."

Ptarchyzk: sarcastic-gray sneak
The busy swirl of late-day traffic through the West Gate of Midgaard appears as you touch upon the sarcastic gray Thread within the Pattern. You note the Mayor bustling about, Slue standing watch, fidos sniffing through piles of garbage the janitors have missed, guards, citizens, and all manner of folk going about their business... but no one remarkable, no one of heroic stature or flashing armor and weaponry. Only that nondescript fellow slouching in the shadow of the archway between the Guild and Poor Alley, observing passers-by. But what could be of interest to the Weaver there? No defining aura swirls about him, and his garb, while of good enough quality, shows evidence of hard use. Suddenly, as if sensing your notice somehow, the figure looks up. You'd swear he winks audaciously. As you blink in surprise, he fades into the crowd, hidden in plain view.

Salem: onyx Mentor
Allowing your eyes to drift along the sable strand, you see an ancient, gnarled man warming his hands -if not the icy stone of his heart- at a marble hearth in a grand Tower. Strangely, the shadow cast upon the wall behind him is something other than human... something massive and winged.

Silonch: pale-rose
A troubled young woman is revealed when you touch upon the pale-rose Thread within the Tapestry. Bound about her throat is a necklace of briars, and within its clasp is a heart-shaped jewel. Her dark hair, curiously streaked with crimson and white, falls over one shoulder, cloaking her. As if sensing your gaze, she blushes, murmurs an arcane phrase, and fades from view.

Solaron: Forest-Green
The vastness of a huge, ancient forest surrounds you, lush and mysterious. Light filters down from the distant, lofty treetops, and the breeze carries the sound of elven song. In a small glade, an elven warrior is kneeling upon the leaf-strewn ground, hands empty of weapons, attempting to calm a VERY large spider whose territory he has unwittingly entered. The spider flicks its barbed forelegs in a clear threat, and the elf leaps back, fear on his face. Though his swords have drunk deeply in his Lady's service, this foe is simply too great. Suddenly, the spider chitters mockingly, dwindles in size, and disappears in a flash of shimmering light. The warrior grumbles with good humor, as a strange mark upon his face shifts over his features. Muttering to himself, he slips into the forest, vanishing from sight. The same spider reappears, and looks right at you. *The Acolyte is learning. The Three are well proud of his progress. Far he has come, far yet to go. But the Path and the Journey are the catalyst, not the destination.*

Spayde: amethyst
Spayde, laying beaten in an alleyway's trash and filth, smirks through his bruises as he tucks a pouch into his boot.

Talmud: Storm-Gray
It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness as you lightly brush your fingertips against the storm-gray Thread. You gaze into a stunning cathedral. Stained glass windows, abstract in pattern, seem to glow even in the dim light. A still figure stands studying a large tome inscribed with the symbol of the Triat Wyrm upon its heavy cover. His lips move in a quiet prayer.. or chant? Although aware of your presence from the first, he finally looks up, seemingly searching the stained glass patterns in the ceiling. You sense he smiles at you, although his face is hidden within the cowl of his robe. Closing the tome, he makes an arcane gesture, and suddenly, by the magic of the Pattern, you stand before him. Shrouded from head to foot in a strange gray cloak, he bows, and again... the sense that he smiles at you. With an abrupt movement, he bows his head and lowers the cowl. As the cloth slides back, dozens of tiny black braids pour forth. He lifts his gaze to meet yours and your heart skips a beat. Where there should be nose, mouth, ears, and the contours of bone and muscle, there is only a pale, smooth expanse of skin and eyes of crimson hue. Again, the odd sense of expression, yet the flesh before you does not change. This time, you feel a sad, wry smirk, and a nod of acknowledgement at your expected horror. With that, he makes a deft gesture with both hands, and this vision ends.

Thaygar: blackfire Master
Gazing into the blackfire strand upon the Loom, you witness swirling, black, oily sea, flanked by an obsidian beach. On the shore stroll two giants, one a female surrounded by mist, the other a male with His right hand enveloped by black fires. The male raises His fiery hand and scrawls a sigil in the air with it. A gate opens, the pair step through, and this vision draws to a close.

Thaygar: blackfire
Gazing into the blackfire Strand within the Tapestry, you become surrounded by the lightless Void. Searing, unseen flame licks at you as you vainly try to find something other than endless black silence around you. The fires make no sound, the burning of your flesh makes no sound, and your ongoing efforts to find any point of reference make no sound. As your possessions begin to ignite and smolder soundlessly, you hear a calm, measured voice calling from everywhere at once, in perfect old Thoras. It says, "It has been this One's observation that few enjoy visiting Him in these environs. Worry not. This One will find thee, in time." And with that, the fire ends, light returns, and you now stand once again within the Tapestry.

Tirayel: amethyst
Shifting arorae clear as your senses brush the amethyst thread, and a figure comes into focus. She is graceful, rising from the ancient tomes she has been studying to greet you with a formal bow. Her clothes are both way-worn and rich - elven finery and ancient weapons, her chamber shadowy and close. Dark tones still shine in the ancient tapestries that hang on walls, and the single window shows fog blowing through the dark redwoods of Cillidellia outside. The fresh smell of the sea mingles with arcane incense, the scholar's musty tomes and melted wax, and the sharp ozone of magical energies. "Your will, M'Lady?" she asks as her attention is drawn to answer a voice you cannot hear. She nods acknowledgement and smiles, fading from view as she flies through the window to track down her Master and the youngling he shepherds.

Trakker: Emerald Emissary
Mortal eyes could not have seen him, this elf that stands so still in the forest, his garb a perfect blend for the woods about him. But aided by the emerald Thread within the Tapestry, he is revealed. His mien is watchful and protective, his pale hand close by his weapons. You search the surrounding environs, and see a trio of elven children playing in the trees nearby, oblivious to their protector. He pauses a moment in his intent scanning of the area and bows. “Milady.” Then he returns to his cherished duty.

Tranquility Rose: dove-gray
The dove-gray Strand shimmers beneath your regard. Many other tones are reflected along its length, an indication of how closely woven it is with so many others. It appears integral to the stability and strength of large sections of the Pattern. You hear a soft, familiar woman's voice in your mind: *My Handmaiden, of whom I am well proud.* For a moment, an image flashes in your mind of an Aara maiden upon Vision Quest, amidst the sands of the desert. The scene shifts to reveal the maid released from her Geas to stand within the circle of the arms of her love, the Lady's Blade, then reforms a third time to show the same swan curtseying low as she accepts the weighty mantle of Ordainment. * The past, the present, the future... all entwined, all dependent, all truly one. She grows, daily, and only she can shape what she will become. *

Tripper: Tiger-eye
Touching the tiger-eye thread, you see the strong visage of the Immortal leader of the White Tigers as He sits within His Den, surrounded by His folk. His is a kind and wise face, one that inspires respect and trust. Arching one brow, the Weaver's Ally glances in your direction and meets your gaze. His blue eyes look directly into your innermost being, and you feel yourself assessed. As some unseen creature at His heel growls, you get the impression of something very large, with disturbingly sharp teeth. As you step back alarmed, contact with this thread is broken.

Typhon: Charcoal
Barely touching upon the charcoal thread, you are swept down a wind-blasted passage into a vast cavern, partially filled by the dark waters of an underground lake. A silhouetted figure kneels in meditation before an octagonal doorway, silently accompanied by a Shaman garbed only in the sigils and runes that declare his allegiance to the Dhole that coils endlessly below. Although neither figure moves, the sudden prickling on the back of your neck advises you that they are aware of your intrusion and are greatly displeased.