Exeryte Ascension Rite III

Originally dated: 9/4/2023

13:12:52.045 Tirah clears their throat. "We have gathered here today to witness the final rite preparing Exeryte for his rebirth as a Wyrden Ascendant and I would like to thank you all for coming to witness this important moment in such numbers."

Azo tilts his head and listens intently.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Having been anointed already by the Auguries and the Swarm it now falls to the fel'Greev of the Thornwatch to finish what has been started by the Haruspex and continued by the Scourge."

Tirah steps back and gestures towards Xenthos.

As those of the Glomdoring arrive, Xenthos stands entirely motionless, staring at the Master Ravenwood. What he sees there is not easily discerned, but it appears to have captured his attention nonetheless. Eventually, he moves, raising a hand in a gesture calling for silence.

At the motion, a sudden silence descends upon the Forest. A heavy sensation falls over you, almost as if a thick blanket has been thrown over the Glomdoring.  Tension builds, a hungry anticipation.  Demanding.

Demanding Blood.

Exeryte licks his lips.

As the ominous silence continues to build, a sudden sound breaks through.  The caw of a crow, ripping through the air, piercingly loud.  It glides its way into the branches above and perches there, staring down - to be followed by more of its brethren, many loudly announcing their arrival.  They jostle for position, the numbers ever-growing, until it seems as if there is not a bare spot left for even one more bird - which now seem to outnumber the leaves of the mighty Ravenwood itself, a shifting mass of feathers and a cacophonous riot of sound.

Looking up to the crows above, Xenthos merely raises an eyebrow at the murder. Within a few moments, they too fall silent, staring down. Each and every one of them has their gaze fixed solely upon Exeryte - and their gaze, too, is full of hunger.

Xenthos nods to the crows above, acknowledging their arrival. He then reaches forward, grasping at what appears to be empty air - then pulls. In his hand, a cloth made of sheer, shimmering material appears, still nearly invisible. Spiked into the Forest floor, just before the Master Ravenwood, a tall torch is revealed. It is not, however, lit with any sort of comforting, cheery flame. Instead, the flame is of purple hues which emit shadow and absorb the very little light that makes it this far into the depths of the Glomdoring - a fire which draws the heat from the air, leaving behind only a crushing cold.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "From the Thornwatch, we bring some of the Shadowfire from our Pyre. I dare only bring out this much, for this flame is potent - as expected of any creation of the Glomdoring. But the power... the potential..."

Without moving his gaze, Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Azo of the Thornwatch, I task you to guard this flame."

Azo nods his head emphatically.

Xenthos gazes at the flame a few moments longer before he breaks away, turning finally to look at Exeryte, and then at the others of the Glomdoring gathered nearby. "Tah'vrai. This word, above all others, describes what life is like for those of us who live here. We know that the Glomdoring matters more than our own individual wants and needs. Whether we be nearly as old as the trees themselves, or as young as the newest sapling, we all serve."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Sometimes, our service requires that we offer of ourselves. Giving to the Forest that which is most important to us. We as individuals may be weaker, but if the outcome is that the Glomdoring grows stronger, then that is a sacrifice we -must- make. Without hesitation."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "As we all know... Nothing Matters but the Glomdoring."

A brief outburst erupts from the crows above, the sound clearly intended to glorify the Glomdoring.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "One thing that defines us is our sight. Our site gives us our focus, allows us to direct our actions. With it, we can hone in on our prey, or find our way through the most difficult of hedges or hidden forest paths."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Exeryte, "Would you offer your sight to the Glomdoring?"

enthos curls into a ball at the bottom of the nest and a black shell forms over him. After several moments, the black egg wobbles and cracks apart, and Xenthos rises up, covered in black oily feathers and with a red gleam pulsating in his eyes.

You almost gag watching Xenthos casually chew upon the rotten flesh stuck in the nest in the trees.

In a cold voice hoarse from disuse, Exeryte Stormcrow says to Xenthos, "Without hesitation."

With blinding speed, Xenthos darts forward and pecks out an eye of Exeryte, leaving a bloody socket behind. The eyeball plops messily to the ground.

As the eye plops free, Xenthos reaches out to catch it mid-air. He holds it aloft, blood dripping from the stalk dangling down through his fingers, presenting it to the crows above. "Do you accept this sacrifice, freely made, as the demonstration of Exeryte's tah'vrai?"

Immediately, derisive caws explode from above - a clear rejection of this offering.  Face devoid of expression, the large faeling clenches his fist around the eye which *pops* in his grip.  He casts aside the mushy mass that remains, which immediately attracts the attention of a wyrden squirrel.  The squirrel dashes out from the bushes nearby, then flees with its prize, gone in a flash.

Taking a deep breath before continuing, Xenthos regards Exeryte, blood still seeping from his empty socket. "Our hands are our instruments with which we exert our will on the world. They bear our weapons with which we strike down our foes, or our tools with which we create. Your hands, especially, are key to who you are - a warrior."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Would you offer a hand - offer who you are - to the Glomdoring, as demanded?"

Exeryte extends a meaty hand towards Xenthos. "Without hesitation."

Xenthos steps forward, grasping the outstretched hand in his fist and bringing up a wicked dagger with a keenly sharp blade in the other. He saws at the limb - despite the blade's sharpness, the thickness of the wrist requires several swipes to fully detach it, and by the end both Exeryte and Xenthos are thoroughly coated with the red spray gushing from the stump. The area around them does not remain unscathed, either - red droplets fly through the air in all directions.

Xenthos reverently sets aside the blade, then reaches back to pull the torch of shadowfire from the ground. He brings it forward, pressing the flame to the wound - and the flame eagerly attaches itself to the limb, leaving the torch extinguished. It does not act as normal flame, cauterizing the wound and then engulfing the flesh in fire - instead, it almost seems as if it begins to burn its way inside Exeryte's body, burrowing its way into his flesh. The bleeding, at least, seems to be staunched as the stump begins to exhibit signs of frostbite, before deep shadows gather around, obscuring it from sight.

Once the wound is sealed, Xenthos presents the hand to the crows in the branches above. Then, he waits, blood streaming down his arms in tiny rivulets.

The crows caw to each other, as if debating.  One particularly large crow spreads its wings and glides down, circling around the hand held high above Xenthos' head.  It angles closer, appearing as if it is about to grab the hand in its talons - but then veers away, cawing to itself.  The other crows immediately quiet, and the verdict becomes clear.  This offering, too, has been rejected.

Exeryte murmurs softly to himself.

In a cold voice hoarse from disuse, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "Smart creatures, they are."

With a flip of his wrist, Xenthos flings away the hand. It flies away deep into the Forest, and he pays no further attention to it as he ponders the now-mangled form of Exeryte once more.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Exeryte, "You have made two enormous sacrifices of yourself for the Glomdoring, yet the Forest has not deemend them to be enough to prove yourself. What, then, will you offer our home?"

In a cold voice hoarse from disuse, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "I have given my sight without hesitation. I have given my hand without hesitation. I would give my heart, were it not already buried in the Glomdoring's swamp."

Hot breath hissing through clenched teeth, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "My life, then."

Immediately, sound erupts from all around, so loud and intense that it thrums through the very bones in your body.  Raucous caws announce the approval of the crows, and a few chittering squirrels peer out from behind the bushes.  Spiders crawl into view, congregating on the side of the Master Ravenwood itself.  Despite the noise, each creature is eagerly watching.  Waiting.

Xenthos nods in Exeryte's direction. "Very well, then. This sacrifice is accepted."

With a flourish, Xenthos slips a ritualistic dagger of Shikari into a crimson baldric of the eternal warrior.

Drawing a black avian hilted katana out of a crimson baldric of the eternal warrior fluidly, Xenthos thrusts it high above his head, saluting all around him before slicing it back down through the air to a ready position.

Xenthos raises a black avian hilted katana over his head and begins to swing it in a wide circle, gaining speed as he goes.
Xenthos begins to bear down on Exeryte, whirling a black avian hilted katana.

Xenthos roars with triumph, and brings a black avian hilted katana speeding towards Exeryte to slice his head from his shoulders. Exeryte's body collapses, fountaining blood.
Exeryte has been slain by Xenthos.
Having been too much for the mortal threads of Exeryte, he screams in agony as flames engulf his body and burn it to a crisp.

As the headless body begins to fall towards the forest floor, Xenthos strikes out with a hand, pinning the corpse upright against the Master Ravenwood. "But death is not always the end. Not in the Glomdoring. For those who serve, Rebirth can be found here. The Glomdoring does not easily give up those who wholly embrace their tah'vrai - for these are its instruments, its greatest weapons. Instead, it will take a weapon which has worked well and sharpen its blade. Instead of being cast aside, Exeryte will find a new life here, in a new body. No longer mortal, but instead contained within a form born of the Glomdoring itself."

You detect the flaws in the following illusion: Just as the final words are spoken, shadowfire bursts forth from the neck of the headless corpse, having burrowed its way through its entire core.  Just as it emerges, however, Xenthos twists his head to look at Tirah.  "Now," he says, the one simple word expressed with urgency.

Exeryte steps towards the Master Ravenwood Tree and places his hands on it, causing it to creak and groan wildly as he drinks of its shadowy essence. Thrumming power fills the air and pours through his mortal coil, swathing his body in oily shadows. The ethereal, haunting forms of the Great Spirits briefly fill the air around the Master Ravenwood Tree, chief among them Mother Night and Brother Crow, as Exeryte is suffused by incredible powers, and rises as a Vernal Ascendant!
A new Ascendant rises! By decree of Dark Regent Tirah and with full support of the Shadow Court, let it be known that the Free Collective of Glomdoring has this day imbued Exeryte with the energies of the Master Ravenwood Tree, raising a Vernal Ascendant!

The body of Exeryte Stormcrow shimmers briefly and returns to life.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Azo raises a balled fist into the air and proudly shouts out, "F'ai Glomdoring!"

As the body forms around Exeryte, the shadowfire is sealed away, securely bound within a new Ascendant of the Glomdoring.  The creatures of the Glomdoring finally begin to quiet, watching with respect, before fading back into the Forest, leaving only the gathering on the ground before the Master Ravenwood behind.

Exeryte emerges from the Master Ravenwood, small tongues of purple shadowfire burning away the spidersilk garment previously adorning his body. He eyes those gathered coldly.

In a cold voice hoarse from disuse, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "I pledge my continued service and loyalty to the Wyrd. My existence is a means to spread and serve the glorious Wyrd. A world culled of weakness, swathed in the dark embrace of Mother Night and the great wings of Brother Crow...this is what we strive to make a reality."

Eyes glinting with the promise of violence, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "I vow to keep a steady stream of corpses flowing down the Glomdoring River. Anyone who would slight us. Their bodies shall wash upon our banks to be picked clean by the crows, and their blood shall seep deeply into the soil to feed the roots of the Master Ravenwood."

Ilistala, an enormous leopard nuzzles her face against Exeryte's side, purring softly.

Laina flashes Exeryte a joyous smile.

In a cold voice hoarse from disuse, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "I will continue to do what I always have. Aide our fellow commune mates in whatever way I can. Protect our borders from enemies. Learn more of my tah'vrai. Bolster the strength and reach of the mighty Ravenwood's dark boughs."

Exeryte looks at everyone gathered in turn, though you swear his eyes seem to linger on you. "Thank you all. I will serve the demands of our Dark Forest."

Tirah smiles softly.

Laina flashes Exeryte a joyous smile.

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "I know you will, friend, you have well earned this."

Dipping their head for but a moment, you whisper, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

In soft, soothing tones, Proselyte Wrynn Mzithrei, of the Somber Lament says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

In a raspy, androgynous voice, K'ahe'mor Tirah Mzithrei, of the Haze-Wreathed Ebon says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

In a cold voice hoarse from disuse, Exeryte Stormcrow says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Nascent Laina Mzithrei says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."