Two Little Animals

The Grasp patrols have loosened substantially, and you can tell already as you approach this settlement. It's a Grasp camp, the closest one to where you'd been stationed, and within it one of the Grasp's Shimmers, the crystalline artifacts that allow the closest and most swift connection to your mother's network of portals and couriers. Really, they're just enchanted hunks of fine quartz, chosen for your mother's affinity for that particular stone. The Grasp uses this particular Shimmer to move resources in and out of this part of Woodveil, and as an administrative nexus for their agents in this area.

The particular cluster tasked with guarding this Shimmer and maintaining the camp around it is the Ush-weyr Coven, who came up with their own wonderfully ... unique method of doing so: Cloaking the entire area.

Indeed, as you approach, it looks like little more than a hole in the ground with a door. The Ush-weyr are primarily Wildkin, and some even lean on the feral side, but they've graciously integrated with and are fiercely loyal to the Grasp, as with many covens out here. More to the point, they clearly have some very powerful magic on their side, given what they've managed to hide. Faint whispers poke through the fake veneer of trees, and the sunlight seems to scatter just a bit oddly, but you'd hardly notice it unless you were looking for it.

You've dressed yourself in somewhat casual garb, hoping not to appear too threatening. These people will know who you are, but they will also know why you're here, if you know your sibling well enough. Carefully, you approach, knocking on the door set into the hill.

An eye peers through a crack in it, glowing faintly orange. A furred hand begins to pry it clear of the stone that holds it in place, a crooked grin set into the wizened maw of what must be this Coven's matriarch. She's almost elderly, but not quite there—she still moves with a certain grace, and doesn't seem too hobbled by age. Her sharp snout and bright eyes stick out underneath quite a lot of cloth, betraying that she's some manner of wolf.

"Hello, snake. Why have you come to my den? Have you some business with this kindly old woman?" The smile you hear in her voice absolutely implies she already knows full well why you're here. She begins slipping a piece of paper out of one of the many pockets of her robes—or at least the piles of fabric that pass for robes.

"I'm here to... see my sibling, Pallavi of the Grasp." You're trying to seem as polite as you can. Knowing you're a Lantern-Bearer, you're somewhat at their mercy here. Luckily for you, she seems happy to help you—at least, so long as you pass her inspection. She looks around you, even sniffs around you a bit, glancing between you and the crumpled paper in her hands. As you catch your own glimpse of it, you can tell it's a sketch of you. Possibly left by Pallavi.

"Well... you look like the right snake, and you smell like the bird. Hm hmmm. You're the General, yes? The bird's brother." She settles back into her little den, a big, toothy grin on her face. You nod, even though you somehow get the sense she's planning something, but you can't really place what. With a small sigh, she digs into her robes and withdraws a wand, with which she reaches up... and you have to duck down, so that she can tap you on the forehead.

Briefly blinded by a flash of light, the rest of the camp quickly comes into focus—particularly the gate on top of the hill her den is burrowed into. It's much more bustling than you expected, actually, having heard of this camp—but the reason why strikes you almost immediately, and your expression dims a bit. You clear your throat, putting on a weary smile again for the old woman. "Thank you. I'll be on my way, then." She nods, and promptly shuts the door to her den in your face, disappearing back into the depths to do whatever it is witches do.

So, you round the den's entrance and head up the hill, pushing open the gates. A few eyes fix on you, but none linger too long—either they've been told to expect you by Pallavi, or perhaps they're complacent in the idea that anyone who can actually see the gate has some reason to be here. Or, maybe, they're all just too worn out by recent events to really even bother unless something demands their attention.

The image of the Grasp that its detractors have is quite unfair. Sure, the administrator of this camp is a weird old witch, and that would be true of many such outposts, but as you look inside, it's a far more professional affair. Armored and armed guards stand ready, tents with administrators and organizers bustle with activity, and a lot of work is being done to organize and smartly deploy their supplies. They're making the most of a very bad situation out here, under a sky with no sun. It doesn't seem too dissimilar to many of your own camps, really.

Among the guards and Grasp workers are the witches of the Ush-weyr, who appear to be coming up to work with them through tunnels that delve into the same den that old witch came out of. Though you can't help but find their more feral behavior strange, the way some of them walk on all-fours and sniff around, the Grasp guards treat them with utmost respect—and it's clear that they're far smarter than they appear. They must be critical to the operations here, because multiple of them are in deep talks with the Grasp's administrators as you watch. Most important of all, they seem to be just as determined to help the people of Woodveil as anyone here, just by the way you hear them speak.

And in the center among all of this, the Shimmer. You've never ceased to be impressed by these things, such a mundane crystal turned into a powerful artifact. Light shines through the almost prismatic surfaces of the crystal, and things merely come into being around it, glints of light turning into mirages turning into fully defined objects. It's unlike any planar magic you've seen before, and you wonder why—is it more power efficient? Is it simply your mother's flair for the dramatic?

No matter. You step up, gaze self-consciously darting between disinterested guards, to place a hand on the Shimmer. Without words, your mind calls out—to Pallavi.

There's silence on the other end of the line. Almost a minute passes, and nothing seems to happen. Until... a hand reaches out from a slip of light, bearing a distinctive katana. Striking through the air in a tall sweep, the katana vanishes almost as quickly as it manifested, leaving in its wake... a distinct, black slice of planar magic hanging in the air.

You head over, eyes wide, and peer inside. It's Pallavi's 'room'. Their own personal demiplane, presumably a gift given to them by one of the most powerful witches in the Grasp—one of the few people you know to be able to do this. Nomadic in nature, Pallavi can't keep their belongings in a steady home—and so, this is where they remain. You step in, movements slow and cautious, as if you're expecting to be caught in a trap or something.

Looking around, you see more or less what you would expect of Pallavi. A white wireframe defines a small, barely-furnished room from otherwise depthless darkness. It winds itself into a bed with no bedframe, a wardrobe, and a single dresser which... bears the only physical decoration of anything here, perfectly centered on the dresser and looking terribly lonesome all by itself.

A small porcelain figurine of a bird.

As soon as you spot it, you feel tears weighing at the corners of your eyes. You take in a deep breath, and produce what you came here to give Pallavi—a little porcelain figurine of a snake.

You set it beside the other figure, and slip out of the room. Having done what you came here to do, you quietly hurry out of the camp, eager to evade the prying gazes of the guards who are most certainly still not paying very much attention to you, just in case you do start to cry. Somehow, you're both glad and terribly sorrowful to have not actually been able to speak to your sibling, but... to know they kept that...