<span class="bbc_u"><strong>Winter Moon</strong></span><br/><br/>You amble for a few minutes more in pleasant surroundings, before a bright flare marks itself out on the horizon, seeming to be approaching ever closer to you at considerable speeds, descending from on high to come into clearer view as a plume of red gold fire, within which you can make out the form of a woman, beautiful and strong all at once, dressed in a sculpted bronze breastplate and leather warrior's skirt, her wild flowing hair the same red gold as her fires, her eyes ablaze with a similar colouring. She looks down to you and calls out.<br/><br/>"Aaah, Winter Moon I do hope? I'm otherwise about to feel quite foolish."<br/><br/>The amiability in her tone a contrast to the sense of force and power projected around her.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Fauna</strong></span><br/><br/>"Your worshippers are a vast presence. It says impressive things that you can still weep for them. They who share in the heart of their god will no doubt find the strength to endure through their coming ordeal."<br/><br/>The words seem to come out of nowhere, the voice a richly gentle one, a quiet comfort somehow for the hearing of it. An attempt to follow the source reveals a reflection in the pond not your own. Instead a stylized, jackal headed mask of polished obsidian looks back to you, of the sort worn by Anubis.<br/><br/>"I apologize for this intrusion, but there is a mild reluctance for some to interrupt the active head of their own faith about their duties. And so they turned to another such figure to do so for them. Strangely showing no such reluctance to interrupt me, mind you. Perhaps my holiness is slipping."<br/><br/>A wry hint in tone at the last, such that you would almost believe the jackal mask shifted into a smile.<br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Caitriona</span></strong><br/><br/>You have a sense as you spar that the floating form of your celestial mentor has moved into your field of perception, watching you at work with a slight approving nod. Which, from the familiarity you have developed with the man, is no small gesture as far as Caelestis and what could come off as positivity.<br/><br/>He waits until you've finished at your immediate instructions before gliding over to you in full.<br/><br/>"It would seem," he begins in his measured tone, "that you are being called away from the front to the Capital for duties of an unspecified nature."<br/><br/>His lips shape a scowl around his discourse. There is a brief effect of starscape energy that radiates through his body, making him seem formed of starlight, void and crystal rather than flesh, just for a brief moment, that substitutes for him expressing emotion more deeply.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Kometa</strong></span><br/><br/>Some sputtering, deferential recovery from the poor clerk of a man, who manages after a while to produce a box of carved, lacquered oak.<br/><br/>"Actually, this seems to have been left for you."<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Nandi</strong></span><br/><br/>The applause for your performance is deep and awed, though eventually boisterously, raucously drowned out by what must be the most enthusiastic appreciator of your workings in some time, considering his cheers feel like they almost shake the stage.<br/><br/>"Glorious! Glorious! Sing another!"<br/><br/>You take in the tall, powerful form of what can only be Lir, from his legendry. Deep blue eyes with the life and strength of a storm, a wild shock of dark brown hair around a moustachioed face, wearing little more than a pair of trousers and an intricate, golden, wolf headed torc around his neck, his bare muscles painted up with blue designs of woad. A barbarian presence within a more refined audience, yet one whose strength and cheer feels freely offered to all around him.<br/><br/>He then pauses, thoughtfully.<br/><br/>"Wait, no, probably don't, we should talk."