The Wyrd and the Storms

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "How are you all faring?"
(Glomdoring): You say, "Well enough, presently."
(Glomdoring): Gabe says, "I cannot complain thank you. Yourself?"
(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "For the moment there is no rain on my head. I suppose that is an improvement?"

[path track glomlibrary]
Arcane Library.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. The smell of incense and candle-smoke is engrained into the very being of this room. A tall table stands in the centre of the room, a thick oak slab covered in melted wax and ink stains. Papers are rolled up on its surface, many in the process of being written. All around the walls stand tall bookcases, filled to the brim with ancient books and scrolls. A small window provides the only light, shining down onto the wooden floorboards through glass panes covered in dusty spider-webs. A library catalogue rests here on a pedestal. A library catalogue rests here on a pedestal. There are 2 elegantly carved ravenwood armchairs here. A wicker rocking chair sits comfortably here. A low, wine-red velvet couch stands here, its elegant frame fitted with plush, pillowy cushions. A dark onyx rocking chair here is shaped like an open-front egg. Fanning out an impressive frill of silky orange lily petals, a spore-laden vinestalker twitches curling fiddlehead fronds here. A leopard lurks in the shadows, curiously watching anything that moves. Nothing more than a puffball with cerulean eyes, a seal lynx point ragdoll kitten lies here lounging languidly. Clad in matte black leather, a golden-eyed savage lingers here like a living shadow. Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator sits here upon a plush, elegant couch upholstered in wine-red velvet. He wields an octave mandolin of wyrden flora in his left hand. You may use the LIBRARY commands here.
You see exits leading east (open door) and in.

You blink.

Gael inclines his head politely to you.

You incline your head politely to those around you.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard blinks.

You pet Ilistala, an enormous leopard ingratiatingly.
A loud rumbling emanates from Ilistala as she rubs against you.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard inclines her head politely to you.

Gabe raises her hands and clouds form and darken overhead, releasing a heavy rain that drenches the area.

You glance askance.

Gabe doffs the Holy Helm of Avechna cordially.

Gael blinks incredulously at Gabe.

Glancing down at his book, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says, "...my book."

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "Alas, the lack of rain was short-lived."
(Glomdoring): Gabe says, "That makes me sad."
(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "But you were the cause."
(Glomdoring): Gabe says, "Oh! Then I am happy once more."

You tilt your head and listen intently to Xenthos.

Gripping his copy of 'The Elder Wars' by the spine, Gael shakes it out, flinging fat droplets of water around the library.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard shakes herself vigorously, coating Gael and Gael's book in water once more.

Lifting her head, Ilistala looks at Gabe hopefully.

Gael sighs before reaching out to pet Ilistala, an enormous leopard, apparently unable to be mad at the graceful hunter.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard rubs her soaking-damp body against Gabe, purring softly.

You pet Ilistala, an enormous leopard ingratiatingly.
A loud rumbling emanates from Ilistala as she rubs against you.

Gabe reaches over and ruffles Ilistala, an enormous leopard's hair fondly.
A loud rumbling emanates from Ilistala as she rubs against Gabe.

(Glomdoring): Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "A...Akuuko! What is this!?"

You blink.

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "Mm?"

[zooming to see what's up with best cousin]

The Stables of the Wyrden Thorn.
The shadows violently writhe and twist along the ground here, indicating a war shrine of Nocht nearby. The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. A rainstorm pours down from the heavens. Wyrden trees hunch over each other here, forming a canopy overhead. The twisted branches from each tree clash together, writhing about each other and blurring together in an unending battle of foliage. Beneath the twisted canopy, a sturdy stables has been erected, crafted from the wood from several ravenwood trees. Viciously thorny vines spread out across the ground, wrapping around the stables and spreading outwards. Midnight black roses grow in patches amongst the abundant plant life, their heavy blooms threatening to snap the stems they grow upon. Tucked away in the corner of the stables is a carefully wrapped bundle, the corner of a pitch-black tunic and the shimmer of silver and gems visible within. Filib Shee-Slaugh hovers in the air here with a pair of daggers in his hands, wings beating rapidly. A solstice stocking has been hung here. The shadow of a crow circles around the ground like an inky shade. A sign suggests you can use STABLE commands here.
You see exits leading north and northeast.

[Xenthos, Gael, Gabe coming along]

You tilt your head curiously.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "What is wrong?"
17:56:19 Filib Shee-Slaugh is huffing as everyone enters, looking over several sheets of papers. As he notices your entry he suddenly clutches the papers to his chest, looking as if he was caught.
17:56:42 Gabe lifts her eyebrow slightly, curious.
17:56:51 In his whispering voice, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Ah... Hello, everyone. I did not mean to be so loud..."
17:57:06 Ilistala, an enormous leopard steps closer to Filib Shee-Slaugh, sniffing curiously at the papers clutched to Filib Shee-Slaugh's chest.

Filib Shee-Slaugh clutches the papers close, wary of both the rain and the prying eyes of giant leopards.

[look filib]
The complexion of this shadow faeling's skin is rough and weathered with a murky greyish tone. An untidy mop of pitch black hair sits atop his head, with gnarled locks of hair falling down around his head. His pale blue eyes are partially obscured by the locks of dangling hair and his face is heavily scarred by hollow pockmarks and a massive number of freckles. Pale wings of dull shades of varying colours grace the back of his slender build, protruding from the dirty smock adorning his form. Besides the smock, he is clad in a pair of tight fitting pants and a pair of fingerless gloves over his hands. The only other adornment he wears is a finely crafted brooch of ravenwood, pinned to the front of his smock.
Filib Shee-Slaugh looks to be crushingly strong.
He weighs about 60 pounds.
He is loyal to the Free Forest of Glomdoring.
You cannot see what Filib Shee-Slaugh is holding.
It has the following aliases: filib, shee-slaugh, faeling.

You have emoted: Esei places a gentle hand on Ilistala, an enormous leopard's head as they also step forward, head tilted slightly as they look curiously at Filib Shee-Slaugh.

Soaked enough by the rain to hardly seem effected by it anymore, Gael's good ear gives a tiny twitch as he watches Ilistala, an enormous leopard and Filib Shee-Slaugh.

Ilistala, an enormous leopard steps over Filib Shee-Slaugh's head, her back arched high to keep the water off of the paper as her head bends down to stare at the papers intently.

Filib Shee-Slaugh clears his throat, attempting to look unbothered as he whispers, "Aku-Akuuko sent me a letter with some notes. I think it's supposed to be ideas for helping shield the forest from the unending storm." He lowers his voice as he mutters, "...among other things."

You tilt your head and listen intently to Filib Shee-Slaugh.

Gael's ear perks upright, and his eyes snap to attention at Filib Shee-Slaugh's words.

A jagged violet lightning bolt arcs through the firmament, the bright light searing the outline of the Black Tower momentarily into your eyes until you manage to finally blink it away.

Gabe pulls the hood of her cloak further over her head and watches silently. "Other things?" She murmurs in curiosity.

Filib Shee-Slaugh glances askance.

You think to yourself: ...best if we do not pry into that one, I feel.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "I see. Are the ideas at all feasible?"

Gabe tilts her head and listens intently.

In his whispering voice, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "I am not sure... I'm not really a ritualist. I... I listen to him sometimes as he goes on about these things. He should have written these out for someone smarter than I."

The morning sky churns with storm-grey clouds, their bellies lit up by the sun's radiance.

You whisper, "Perhaps you are not, but some of us are. Would you be willing to say what he wrote regarding this?"

Ilistala, an enormous leopard continues staring intently at Filib Shee-Slaugh, water dripping down her sides around him but not touching the faeling below her.

Filib Shee-Slaugh pats Ilistala as he flips over the notes in his hand,  hunched forward slightly to guard against any stray rainfall. "Um..." he whispers as his eyes scan the letter. "It looks like he thinks an altar of proper make and enchantment could channel the wyrd into protection of some kind."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And this would differ from the Altar to the Wyrd..?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Or, perhaps, might that be a base with which we could start?"

You have emoted: Esei's black eyes are thoughtfully blank as they clasp their hands behind their back, as if contemplating the idea.

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn asks, "Can it be enchanted?"

Reading more of the papers, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Yes. Very narrow in focus and purpose."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Mm. I see."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "What would need to be gathered for this altar's construction?"

You think to yourself: ** a jumbled array of thoughts, carefully smoothing out as they consider each piece of information that tumbles through their mind - colors, corpses, correspondences... **.

Filib Shee-Slaugh, reading aloud as if to quote, says, "He says that one of the most important decisions is location and that...." he narrows his eyes as he seems to skip several lines before giving up on reading the text verbatim. "We need a suitable location that is not too close to other centers of power for the Forest. Like the Master Ravenwood or the Drums."

You hum thoughtfully.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And, presumably, not the Altar I just spoke of?"

Staring off to the south, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says, "Perhaps the clearing where we made our offering before.."

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods his head emphatically.

You whisper, "I was thinking where we can overlook the whole of the Glomdoring."

Mulling over her words, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "Perhaps the stage area?..or the top of the tower?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "What precisely makes a 'suitable' location?"

You whisper, "Not the stage - that would be too close to the Drums."

Gael nods his head at you.

Gabe nods her head at you, showing her acceptance.

Filib Shee-Slaugh furrows his brown as he whispers, "He was frustratingly unclear... I would trust any true ritualist's intuition though."

Xenthos purses his lips thoughtfully, the red flame of his eye swirling as he thinks.

You have emoted: Esei's eyes turn to the east, a pensive expression flitting briefly across their face.

Slowly, Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "The place you are thinking of is quite close to the Larder, which is also a center of power. We have used that often."

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to Xenthos, "The spot overlooking the Glomdoring would still be soaked with the blood of offerings."

You nod your head at Xenthos.

You whisper, "The top of the Tower feels like the best place."

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator asks you, "The Night's Needle?"

You purse your lips, deep in thought.

You whisper, "Not standing atop it, no."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And why not? We have used the Black Tower for such things... very, very rarely."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And if we are seeking to quell the storms, right atop the tower would seem an ideal place."

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to Xenthos, "Close to the storms themselves, so high up."

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "It does appear to draw down the lightning."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "As well as being protected from any who might wish to disturb it, should such come to pass."

You have emoted: Esei simply bows their head for a moment as Xenthos speaks.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "The only question is if the Black Tower is considered a focus of power - I would not think so, given that we tend to use it solely for crafting, but it is possible that much lingers there from the days of old."

Filib Shee-Slaugh finally speaks up in his whispering voice, "Perhaps... We could go there and see if it seems suitable in person?"

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "Well, it is where things are created and with much enchanting...it has a presence? A life within its walls."

You nod your head at Filib Shee-Slaugh.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Aye. Let us."

Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Worth investigating at least."

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "We will be venturing to the top of the Black Tower, for any who wish to join."

Filib Shee-Slaugh flutters over behind Gabe to follow, looking slightly nervous.
Filib Shee-Slaugh begins to follow Gabe.

You whisper, "Crafting by itself is, at least in my mind, a creative force. Not to mention lingering energies from the Tower itself, any spirits that may still reside there that may lend their power..."

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "We are, apparently, looking to construct an altar to diminish the power of the storms."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Gael, "Shall we?"

Gael nods his head at Xenthos.

[pathing to the top of the Tower, and then onto Night's Needle]

Standing upon Night's Needle.
18:20:27 The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. A rainstorm pours down from the heavens. Crafted from red chitin, and perched on the top of the Black Tower in a manner eerily reminiscent of the crown of the King of Redcaps, this structure clearly dates from a different time to the building beneath. No walls enclose the space, which is unadorned except for a engraved circle in its centre divided into segments. Around its edge, eight pincers rise from the points where the chords which delineate the segments meet the circumference, their tips raised in wicked salute. A circular brass astrolabe stands here atop a pedestal, inscribed with a ring of degree markings. Filib Shee-Slaugh hovers in the air here with a pair of daggers in his hands, wings beating rapidly. A leopard lurks in the shadows, curiously watching anything that moves. Nothing more than a puffball with cerulean eyes, a seal lynx point ragdoll kitten lies here lounging languidly. Fanning out an impressive frill of silky orange lily petals, a spore-laden vinestalker twitches curling fiddlehead fronds here. Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn is here, limned in an aura of inky, shifting calligraphy. She wields a silver jeweller's hammer in her left hand. Clad in matte black leather, a golden-eyed savage lingers here like a living shadow. Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator is here. He wields an octave mandolin of wyrden flora in his left hand.
You see a single exit leading down.

Xenthos nods his head emphatically.

You hum thoughtfully.

You think to yourself: ...I performed my ritual for Him here, so long ago. I wonder if energies linger from it still?

Chewing on her lip in thought, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "If only we could harness the storm, or at least the lightning to really put some power behind the altar."

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

[Illyria arriving]

You whisper, "I believe we would not need the lightning at all for this."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Gael's lips as he glances at Illyria.

Xenthos glances up at the sky, staring at the storm raging all around the tower, before casting his one-eyed gaze in Filib Shee-Slaugh's direction.

You nod your head at Gabe.

Filib Shee-Slaugh takes a moment to look out at the scene below, mouth parted ever so slightly in awe as water still drips off his messy hair. "All this time in the forest, and I don't remember ever coming up this high..." he whispers thoughtfully before shaking his head, droplets of water flying everywhere. "Can any of you sense anything about this place?" He kneels and places a hand on the floor, closing his eyes to concentrate.

Illyria crosses silently to Gael's side, glancing around inquisitively.

Gabe kneels and places her hand on the ground momentarily. You cannot help but notice her form subtly change colour as for a moment it matches the environment around you.

You whisper, "...I do believe so, cousin. Albeit, it is fairly faint."

Giving Illyria a tiny nod, Gael lifts his head to the sky, eyes shut, and listens closely..

A faint hum rises up from the floor, so faint in comparison to the raging storm around the tower. The hum carries with it whispers of centuries of vigil over the Glomdoring Forest - of countless rituals and creations.

You think to yourself: ** something sharp and clear, like cold wind seething around something- **.

Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun nears the world's edge, the sunset basking the stormy horizon in smouldering light.

The sounds of scurrying animals fill your ears, emanating from the Wyrden foliage below.

You have emoted: Esei kneels near Filib Shee-Slaugh, both knees resting against the floor as they press their hands flat against it. They close their eyes and steady their breath.

Gabe partially closes her eyes from beneath her hood, her face in shadow as she pays close attention to the slight undercurrent of murmuring.

Gael gives a small hum as he opens his eyes again, glancing to the the others with curiosity, "You all felt it as well?"

Seemingly lost entirely in thought, a shadow-wreathed figure of utter tranquility, Illyria nods once to Gael, her eyes closed.

You think to yourself: ** a call, at first soft and yearning that grows steadier with each breath and each beat of their heart - "Will you come?" they ask softly. "If you are needed?" **.

Filib Shee-Slaugh stands, papers still clutched in one of his hands looking frustrated. "Do you all sense something? I can only hear the storm..." he whispers softly.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "A very faint thrum, echoing up from the Tower below, nearly drowned by the storm."

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

Whispering, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "A garden watered with blood, offering up its fruits in protection. A hum of power, of history, of ritual..."

Xenthos raises an eyebrow, looking around at the others gathered nearby.

Gael nods his head at Illyria.

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn whispers to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "There is a presence here, a lingering energy left over from many a passage in time."

The terrifying beauty of Mother Night lingers above, embracing the Black Tower in her shadows.

You tilt your head back and look up at the sky.

Filib Shee-Slaugh listens as each person as they speak before nodding towards Gabe. He kneels down once more, hands placed upon the ground with his face twisted into an odd grimace of concentration as he whispers, "I want to hear it too. To be useful. Maybe if I listen harder..."

Gabe tilts her head and listens intently.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.
You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "Not like that. You are trying too hard."

Illyria opens her eyes and tilts her head, suggesting softly, "Perhaps if you give it a gift of your blood, Filib, you might hear the echoes of others who have done the same."

Dark clouds shift overhead, their inky expanse blotting out the stars as darkness and storms rule the heavens.

Shadows swirl around your arm as the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree digs itself more painfully into your finger.

With a small smile to Filib Shee-Slaugh, Gael gives a shake of his head before saying, "You do not hear it with your ears, exactly."

Filib Shee-Slaugh creases his brow in a frown.

A chilling breeze caresses your face as Mother Night's shadows swirl about the forest below the Black Tower.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "If you focus so intently, you will drive out all you wish to hear. Close your eyes. Breathe. Listen for the sounds of the Glomdoring. Not even the storm can quell them all. Listen for the music of the Forest."

Filib Shee-Slaugh glances at Xenthos, "Too hard?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Let it come to you."

Gael nods his head at Xenthos, showing his acceptance.
Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Do not attempt to seize it."

In a genteel voice echoing slightly, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "You hear and feel.it with your soul, your mind. Relax and close your eyes."

You have emoted: Esei remains silent, eyes flicking to observe Filib Shee-Slaugh in a calm, measured manner.

In his whispering voice, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Hmmm."

Filib Shee-Slaugh inhales with a deep breath before exhaling sharply through his nose in a loud snort as he closes his eyes.

Shadowfire flickers within Xenthos's eyes as the skulls hanging from a shadow-limned wreath of stygian feathers sway of their own accord, like macabre wind chimes without wind.

The pouring rainclouds above you turn a deep grey, and the droplets grow larger and fall more forcefully.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And, yes, blood is a powerful connector - but it is meaningless if you cannot hear the beat of Glomdoring's heart first. It can strengthen, and bind, but you must first let it in."

The storm rages even more forcefully, wind whipping at those gathered mercilessly and even [redacted to a False Memory].

You think to yourself: "Hail, Night, Mother of Darkness, attend to us in this, our hour of need... guide us down Your trifold path, and grant us strength in Your shadowy embrace. May Sun never find us unawares and Moon ever hide from Your Might..."

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "You must let it flow through your veins, weaving its web."

Filib Shee-Slaugh keeps his eyes closed and breathing steady as he withdraws one of his daggers from his smock. Without hesitation, he slashes the opposing hand. Bright red slowly stains the palm as he returns the dagger and breathes. In and out. In and out. A rhythm take ignores the wildness of the rains outside.

Illyria watches in silence, approval entering her eyes as she watches.

listala, an enormous leopard curls herself around Filib Shee-Slaugh, purring softly, the sound rising and falling in a pattern with Filib Shee-Slaugh's breathing - and with the beat of the Glomdoring.

Filib Shee-Slaugh places his blood-stained hand on the ground, focusing in the collective silence of those gathered.

A jagged violet lightning bolt arcs through the firmament, the bright light searing the outline of the Black Tower momentarily into your eyes until you manage to finally blink it away.

Gabe scents the air and smiles, "Feel that history, rich with creation and offering, the flow and ebb of this tower," she quietly muses from beneath the hood shadowing her features.

The night-time skies open, and drenching rain comes pouring down, leaving no spot untouched by the splattering drops.

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 10th of Roarkian, 594 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 12 days until the New Moon

The steady hum is heard once more - the pulse of the wyrd that flows through the entirety of the Glomdoring. A deep and ancient hunger that has powered the Dark Forest for centuries. You can feel it creep its way around you in the tower with whispers of all the violence and joy, and creation and destruction that has occurred below over the many years.

Filib Shee-Slaugh tilts his head suddenly, eyes still closed, "Is.. is that it? Can you all hear or er... feel that?"

Unblinking roseate eyes are fixed on Filib Shee-Slaugh, the pupils slitting to razor slivers at the sudden flashes of lightning. The shadows of the Night pool at Illyria's feet as she witnesses, lapping around her legs and skirts as if eager to please. The faeling listens, to the physical and not, to the present and the history behind it.

In a whisper barely audible over the storm, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "Yes, Filib. You begin to sense, to hear."

Rising from their position on the ground, you say, "I can."

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "Yes, I can feel its history."

With a slow nod to Filib Shee-Slaugh, Gael's scars pulse to steady humming of the wood, the sensation bringing a faint look of contentment to his face as he murmurs, "Aye...the song of the Wyrd."

Gabe continues to focus on Filib Shee-Slaugh and nobody else.

Filib Shee-Slaugh stands suddenly, eyes snapping open with such swiftness that the persistent hum seems to recoil in shock - fading into the background once more. "Do you all hear things like that all the time?" he whispers, eyes wide in wonder of the power that still lingers in the air.

The terrifying beauty of Mother Night lingers above, embracing the Black Tower in her shadows.

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "One would hope all of the time...it is the sound of Glory."

Illyria's hand brushes Gael's at his comment, but she does not look away from the wakening faeling, a smile touching her lips now as she nods, a fierce and feral joy inn her eyes. "Isn't it beautiful?" she murmurs.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "The strength waxes and wanes, but it is with me always. We are a part of it, too. The heartbeat of the Glomdoring lives within us, and the beat of our own hearts echo it."

With a dream-like echoing resound, Disciple of the Tah'vrai, Gabe Ladyn says, "From that very same heartbeat are we interconnected like the webs weaved around us, ready to bare the fruits of creation, death, life, the Wyrd."

Filib Shee-Slaugh manages to subdue his initial burst of exuberance though he still looks quite pleased with himself. "Glory be to Glomdoring," he whispers softly at everyone's words as he moves to look through his gathered letter. He pauses, remembering the blood that now stains his hand, and attempts to wipe it off on his smock, leaving a streak of red behind which he ignores as he whispers, "Do you think this may be a suitable spot to try?"

Gabe nods her head sagely at Filib Shee-Slaugh.

"Glory be to Glomdoring.." Gael echoes, almost automatically, though the words ring with truth. Staring around the top of Night's Needle slowly, he gives a tiny nod as he says, "The Wyrd answers for us...I think it is suitable, if all else agree."

Shadows swirl around Xenthos's arm as the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree shifts and turns around his hand.

Xenthos doesn't reply, but simply stands still, water sluicing down his face and slicking his hair flat to his head as he watches without disagreement.

You whisper, "I believe so, myself."

"Glory be to Glomdoring," Illyria repeats in turn, quiet and clear. "This is a place of power. I find it suitable."

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "We are still atop the Black Tower, for any who wish to join us."

Gabe gingerly plucks a dream mote from an elaborate dreamcatcher of silken patterns.

Gabe purses her lips and nods slowly.

The sky lightens as Father Sun approaches the horizon, revealing a maelstrom of dark grey clouds wreathing the firmament in a funereal shroud.

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods, looking over the notes as he moves to clear a space on the ground, laying out some cloth and loose materials to mark out the space for the future altar.

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods his head at an incomplete wyrden altar as he whispers, "I suppose it's a start..."

Illyria's gaze sharpens with interest, and she lifts a hand to twirl into the edge of her shroud, studying the materials in open fascination.

You whisper, "Cousin, did the Rewoven ever note what the altar might best be constructed from?"

Gabe studies the altar closely, remaining silent.

"Now let's see..." Filib Shee-Slaugh murmurs to himself as he looks back at the letter. "The most important feature is what the altar will be made of..." he recites. "Wait... I thought location was the most important..." he murmurs in confusion. "Akuuko is not very good at writing instructions. But it looks like the point is we must decide what will go into crafting the altar. The materials it's made from will influence what power it brings and how intensely.." He looks across several other pages as he seems to follow the writer's intent with some difficulty. "Hm... It requires corpses as well, pieces of once-living creatures in offering to the Wyrd. And materials for its base, whether it be wood or stone or bone or something else entirely."

The perception of time momentarily slows to a fraction as Lachesis studies the Tapestry of Fate, carefully measuring each strand before making notations in a great tome. Time rushes forward as the memory fades, yet the feeling remains that your history in Lusternia is recorded in the great annals of fate, for better or for worse.

You hum thoughtfully.

Nodding along to Filib Shee-Slaugh's explanation, Gael quietly takes Illyria's hand in his own, glancing once to her before looking about those gathered as though for confirmation as he murmurs thoughtfully, "Maybe...The Black Idols?...Beetle, for endurance. Spider, for creation and innovation...would those serve a suitable starting point for what we seek?"

Illyria kneels and reverently places a palm on the ground. A small crevice opens up in the earth and an athame dagger floats up and into Illyria's hands.

Illyria begins to wield an athame dagger in her left hand.

You whisper, "I believe it may be best to build the base first? And then adorn it."

You hum thoughtfully.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "When you say it requires corpses - would you say that it would feed best on those who are enemies of the Glomdoring, or a sacrifice of that which the Glomdoring calls its own?"

Shafts of pale morning light pierce through the gloom from Father Sun's crown as it peeks over the world's edge, announcing a new day.

In his whispering voice, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "We could gather the materials for both and then begin building based on what you all envision, perhaps?"

You purse your lips, deep in thought.

Tilting their head, you whisper, "I can gather ravenwood for the base, if that is agreeable?"

Frowning, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "He is -exceptionally- vague on that point. The way he writes makes it sound like the intent is what carries the power. So long as it is true and not an attempt at a shortcut."

With a slow nod to Filib Shee-Slaugh, Gael shows his understanding.

A wry smile spreads across Gabe's face.

Illyria listens quietly, her hand in Gael's, and nods once to you and Filib Shee-Slaugh each.

You whisper, "Such is technically true, but every material generally has a correspondence that may amplify or reduce the intent."

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to you, "So long as the purpose, the meaning in the decision is strong enough...I think that should suffice."

In a hushed, melodic murmur, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "I like the idea of using a blend of enemies, with the intent of harnessing their essence as a ward of targeted protection, as well as our own creatures, to form a foundation and solidity of defense."

A look of understanding crossing his features, Filib Shee-Slaugh nods his head slowly.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "A solid base of loamadores, then. Perhaps mixed with the chitin of kepherans used to solidify it more firmly? Those who declared war on the Glomdoring broken by it, and swallowed."

Gabe nods her head at Xenthos.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And then above that - the symbols of the Glomdoring."

Nodding thoughtfully to Illyria and Xenthos, Gael asks the gathering at large, "And perhaps the nereids again...they played no small part in assisting the storms creation."

A sudden crack of lightning startles a nearby murder of crows from their perches, their raucous caws nearly drowned by the boom of thunder that follows.

Filib Shee-Slaugh settles down on his knees as he begins thumbing through the papers. "If you all could gather the supplies, I will try and divine the true meaning to Akuuko's... notes." he whispers. "You can put them in the altar, or rather the space where it will be, and then we can focus on the construction once you feel we have enough?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "A sealant of some kind made out of crushed chitin and nereid flesh to bond the loamadore soil together even in death, then."

Xenthos tilts his head and listens intently to Gael.

You whisper, "Perhaps the blood of the nereids instead, rather than flesh?"

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to Xenthos, "That could work, aye...and I do think it appropriate for them to lay beneath the symbols of the Glomdoring. Cast down in their collective defeats."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "We will have to make sure not to bleed them too much as they die, then."

(Glomdoring): Afollia says, "Nothing matters but Glomdoring."
(Glomdoring): You say, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."
(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."
(Glomdoring): Gael says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."
(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "Who will hunt with us?"
(Glomdoring): Gabe says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."
(Glomdoring): Glitterna says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

Xenthos nods his head emphatically.

You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

[They go hunting while I tromp around in Glomdoring for a little longer]

(Glomdoring): Afollia says, "To all that professed the words just now, will any of you share the reason why you spoke them? The meaning behind your professed devotion?"
You blink.
(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "We are somewhat busy with this altar, Afollia."
(Glomdoring): Afollia says, "Ah, will table for later then."
(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "You are, of course, welcome to join us."
(Glomdoring): Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Um... I would, if it is okay. The others helped me hear... no, feel rather... the Glomdoring in a way I hadn't really before. It had a t-terribly beautiful power to it, rushing through the forest like a swift current. It was glorious, and it was Glomdoring."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

A darkened vapour enshrouds you, and when your vision returns, you are somewhere else entirely.
Standing upon Night's Needle.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. It is quite mild. Crafted from red chitin, and perched on the top of the Black Tower in a manner eerily reminiscent of the crown of the King of Redcaps, this structure clearly dates from a different time to the building beneath. No walls enclose the space, which is unadorned except for a engraved circle in its centre divided into segments. Around its edge, eight pincers rise from the points where the chords which delineate the segments meet the circumference, their tips raised in wicked salute. A circular brass astrolabe stands here atop a pedestal, inscribed with a ring of degree markings. Filib Shee-Slaugh hovers in the air here with a pair of daggers in his hands, wings beating rapidly. The beginnings of an altar are assembled here.
You see a single exit leading down.

You purse your lips, deep in thought.

You hear a rustling and turn to see Netra emerging from the undergrowth.
Filib Shee-Slaugh turns in the air to glance at the new arrival before going back to his chores.

Netra blinks.

You tilt your head curiously at Netra.

Netra peers at Filib Shee-Slaugh unscrupulously.

You whisper, "Drone."

Gesturing to an incomplete wyrden altar, you whisper, "We assist in the construction of this altar."

"Auspice," Netra returns, fingers gently lacing together. "I see."

Filib Shee-Slaugh starts in surprise at the entry, nearly falling over to cover one of the pages of a letter that appears to have a rather elaborate drawing of which you can barely catch a glimpse before the faeling has secreted it away. "Ah... Hello, cousin. And Netra," he whispers with a polite nod towards Netra.

You whisper, "I've some loamadores, grotesque ravenwoods, and a black rose. Shall I simply lay them here?"

You tilt your head and listen intently to Filib Shee-Slaugh.

Drone Netra D'Cente, One of Many says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "How come no one but Esei has offered to help build the altar?""

You whisper, "Uncle and the others remain on the hunt."

Filib Shee-Slaugh looks over towards Netra as he replies, "Many came, but they are hunting for materials now."

You nod your head at Filib Shee-Slaugh.

You hear a rustling and turn to see Glitterna emerging from the undergrowth.

Filib Shee-Slaugh inclines his head politely to Glitterna.

Netra narrows his eyes at Glitterna in an unnerving manner.

Drone Netra D'Cente, One of Many says, "Excuse me."

You hum thoughtfully.

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "We have some kepheran corpses and a number of nereids, now. Let us gather some creatures of the Glomdoring."

You carefully set out the corpse of a grotesque ravenwood tree before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction. [x2]

[Glitterna and Netra have both left at this point]

(Glomdoring): Afollia says, "How might I help? Apologies for the late arrival."

Filib Shee-Slaugh blinks in confusion at the departing figure before returning to look over his notes.

You carefully set out a glittering black rose before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction.

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "Mm - either join us, or collect creatures of the Glomdoring. We have some kepherans and nereids. We are going to collect loamadores to use as our base, and then we need other creatures or items of meaning and power that can be used to craft this Altar."

You carefully set out the corpse of a crumbling loamadore before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction. [x4]

(Glomdoring): Afollia says, "Lovely, I'll help with loamadores."

Filib Shee-Slaugh rises and hovers over to look at the corpses gathered. "So swift at gathering, cousin. I hope this works..."

You have emoted: Esei's eyes lower to the ground below, black eyes thoughtful.

You whisper, "...yes. Do you... hm..."

Filib Shee-Slaugh tilts his head curiously at you.

Shadows grow longer in anticipation for the return of their dark mistress as Father Sun nears the world's edge, the sunset basking the stormy horizon in smouldering light.

You whisper, "The Black Tower is where the grand majority of our items are crafted. Do you imagine it might help if we set out to select some to create for this?"

Filib Shee-Slaugh drops down to the ground as his wings come to a stop, biting at a finger as he thinks. "If you all feel and hear what I did earlier so often, I think you should trust your instincts, cousin. The wyrd is surely guiding you." he concludes with a nod of his head.

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across your lips.

You whisper, "Wise words. I will have to remember them."

Leaning forward, you gently press a kiss to Filib Shee-Slaugh's brow.

[zooming to create some clinkies and shinies and taking some from my personal stash]

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "We've collected a number of nereids, loamadores, kepherans, wasps, and bats now."

A darkened vapour enshrouds you, and when your vision returns, you are somewhere else entirely.
Standing upon Night's Needle.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. It is quite mild. Crafted from red chitin, and perched on the top of the Black Tower in a manner eerily reminiscent of the crown of the King of Redcaps, this structure clearly dates from a different time to the building beneath. No walls enclose the space, which is unadorned except for a engraved circle in its centre divided into segments. Around its edge, eight pincers rise from the points where the chords which delineate the segments meet the circumference, their tips raised in wicked salute. A circular brass astrolabe stands here atop a pedestal, inscribed with a ring of degree markings. Filib Shee-Slaugh hovers in the air here with a pair of daggers in his hands, wings beating rapidly. The beginnings of an altar are assembled here with a pile of 8 corpses and a second pile of 1 materials. Fanning out an impressive frill of silky orange lily petals, a spore-laden vinestalker twitches curling fiddlehead fronds here. A leopard lurks in the shadows, curiously watching anything that moves. Nothing more than a puffball with cerulean eyes, a seal lynx point ragdoll kitten lies here lounging languidly. A black widow spider with bat wings scuttles about here, clicking her mandibles together. Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator is here. He wields an octave mandolin of wyrden flora in his left hand. Clad in matte black leather, a golden-eyed savage lingers here like a living shadow. The shadowy form of a Daughter of the Night stands here, exuding wyrden power from within swirling black robes. The shadowy form of a Daughter of the Night stands here, exuding wyrden power from within swirling black robes.
You see a single exit leading down.

[various offerings to the altar]

You incline your head politely to those around you.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "Three should do, they are rather large."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And there, some loamadores."

[to specify: Afollia gave grotesque ravenwoods, and Xenthos gave kephera, loamadores, and nereids.]

Illyria pulls off her crow cloak, draping it out over her arms and holding it out. "And one of these, as well, for Brother Crow's power."

You think to yourself: ...it feels as though I am missing something...

Xenthos nods slowly at Illyria in understanding.

Illyria carefully sets out a cloak of crow feathers before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to you, "And you had offerings to add, as well?"

You whisper, "I do."

You carefully set out an onyx feather pin wreathed in delicate knotwork before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction.
You carefully set out a faceted pendant of midnight skies before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction.
You carefully set out a black cloak reminiscent of shadows before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction.

Xenthos smiles softly.

In his whispering voice, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "The Idols and Brother Crow and Mother Night all represented... that seems a wise move."

You purse your lips, deep in thought.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And what of Mahalla?"

You nod your head at Xenthos.

Illyria glances at Gael.

You whisper, "And the Dark Spirits, as well..."

Xenthos purses his lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as he carefully gathers his thoughts.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "One moment."

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to Xenthos, "I know what to get."

Xenthos spreads his arms wide, and the air between his hands begins to warp and twist, dancing with brilliant multicoloured light as he bores a hole through the fabric of the planes.

In a hushed, melodic murmur, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "Perhaps... Mahalla could be incorporated in the building of it. In song, and rhythm?"

Filib Shee-Slaugh watches after the departing group with curiosity in his eyes.

Filib Shee-Slaugh looks at Illyria and comprehension flashes across his face.

You murmur softly to yourself.

Nodding thoughtfully, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says to Illyria, "That could work, as well..."

Xenthos tells you, "Would you flow to me for a moment, please?"

You shed wyrden demigod changeling form and flow as a spirit through the verdant leaves, embracing the physical once more and arrive at before the Master Ravenwood Tree.

Xenthos eyes you warily as he begins to stuff handfuls of rancid meat and carrion into his mouth, gulping the putrescent filth down hungrily. You fight the urge to gag as he coughs and hacks violently, grasping at his throat. Suddenly, a bulge begins to form in Xenthos's throat, growing larger and larger as he attempts to clear the obstruction.

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 11th of Roarkian, 594 years after the Coming of Estarra.
There are 11 days until the New Moon

Xenthos begins to swoon and blink widely, a glazed and distant look in his eyes. Locking his hands together, Xenthos begins to slam against his breast and, with a terrible hacking noise, clears the obstruction from his throat. Picking the object up, Xenthos considers it for a moment, its slick surface and oval shape composing a rancid black egg. Suddenly it leaps from his hands, landing in your arms. A terrible presence pulses and beats against your flesh, quickly adapting to match your own heart beat.

Xenthos nods his head emphatically.

You blink.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "May I have that egg, please?"

Comprehension flashes across your face.

You give a black egg to Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist.

You begin to follow Xenthos.

[Going back to Night's Needle]

Filib Shee-Slaugh bows respectfully to Xenthos.

Xenthos pats a black egg in a friendly manner.

A wry smile spreads across your face.

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Gael's lips as he glances at Illyria.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "What better an offering of a Dark Spirit... than a Dark Spirit itself?"

Xenthos carefully sets out a black egg before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction.

Afollia's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Unending bolts of green and violet lightning streak across the blackened sky, casting ominous shadows along the underside of the roiling stormclouds as peals of thunder reverberate ceaselessly through the night.

You hum thoughtfully.

With a nod, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Is that everything, you think?"

You whisper, "Just one more thing, I think..."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Did Gael bring a deathwatch beetle?"

[me running to grab shadow essence and gael on deathwatch beetle duty]

You carefully set out a bit of shadowy essence before an incomplete wyrden altar, an offering to its construction. [x7]

Gael ponders for a moment and says "Hrm..."

You tilt your head and listen intently to Gael.

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says, "Moment longer."

A chilling breeze caresses your face as Mother Night's shadows swirl about the forest below the Black Tower.

Evette watches the beetles produced from Gael's hand, glancing curiously towards an incomplete wyrden altar.

Gael nods his head sagely.

[Gael putting the 8 deathwatch beetles in the altar - they're all unique in color so I won't spam here]

Xenthos nods his head emphatically.

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says, "Apologies, I did not know they needed to be sedated before they could be handled."

(Glomdoring): Xenthos says, "And with that, I believe we are done, Filib. Unless you can think of more that we need?"

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "We do the best we can dear."

Filib Shee-Slaugh smiles softly.

Evette blinks.

Evette greets Filib Shee-Slaugh with a sincere smile.

Filib Shee-Slaugh looks up at Evette. "Good morning, Scourge" he whispers before bowing politely.

Emotionlessly, Scourge Evette Stormcrow, the Heartless says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "Tidings."

Filib Shee-Slaugh flips over one of the pages of his letter, making a few notes as he whispers, "Now... Hmm. The base was going to be ravenwood, right? What shape did you each picture it taking? What about the other materials?"

Xenthos draws a long, slow breath, regarding all the materils arrayed around the altar with satisfaction.

You hum thoughtfully.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "I envision it being a framework, ravenwood to confine the rest, to cradle - or control - it."

You whisper, "A rectangular shape, in my mind, with curves that sweep inward to cradle the loamadore, nereid, and kephera base..."

In a quiet, lilting voice, Umbral Evoker Gael, Wyrden Idolator says, "I was thinking...something shaped like the Ravenwood. With the defeated foes laced about the roots, while the glorious symbols of the wood reach up to the sky, towards that we wish to be protected from."

Filib Shee-Slaugh makes a few quick notes as all speak. "How would those form the base, cousin?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "A nest, perhaps? That which nourishes new life - and also holds the nourishment?"

Filib Shee-Slaugh looks at Gael and comprehension flashes across his face.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "An altar that is a Ravenwood, atop the Black Tower?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "An interesting choice, but it could work."

Softly, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "I like it."

Afollia smiles pleasantly before a whisper slips free from her silence " I rather like the symbolism evoked..."

Evette purses her lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as she carefully gathers her thoughts.

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods his head as he whispers, "And the idols and deathwatch beetles? The cloak and other gifts?"

You whisper, "Perhaps the cloaks to drape its surface or branches?"

Gael considers that before offering, "If the base has enough branches, each object could hang from a separate limb, like a charm, maybe."

Emotionlessly, Scourge Evette Stormcrow, the Heartless says, "What if the images were reflected in the way the Ravenwood's bark weaved throughout? The creatures would never decay."

Filib Shee-Slaugh tilts his head curiously at Evette.

Evette tilts her head and listens intently to Filib Shee-Slaugh.

You whisper, "Ah, like the pattern of a tree's bark?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "The loamadores will form the soil which holds the roots firm, and the corpses of the vanquished enemies - the nereids, and the kepherans suffused within it as nourishment. And I would place the egg of Dark Spirit directly beneath the tree itself, as the Dark Spirits lived beneath the Glomdoring for so long."

Evette nods her head affirmatively at you.

Gael nods his head at Xenthos, showing his acceptance.

Filib Shee-Slaugh ponders the situation.

Filib Shee-Slaugh looks up at Evette and whispers, "So we would use some of the offerings as models to craft their image in the bark of the ravenwoods?"

Emotionlessly, Scourge Evette Stormcrow, the Heartless says to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "If we allowed the creatures to reside within, perhaps they could press their own image outwards. Forming it as they would wish?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Make the Ravenwood grow to contain them, then?"

In his whispering voice, Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "Do any druids here think they could get the wood to mold around the offerings?"

You think to yourself: Perhaps that rose might grow into a vine... hm...

Filib Shee-Slaugh says, "I doubt I am gifted in that kind of magic at all."

Emotionlessly, Scourge Evette Stormcrow, the Heartless says to Xenthos, "Contain doesn't seem the correct word."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "To.. exhibit?"

Xenthos tilts his head and listens intently to Afollia.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "I suspect I might be able to help."

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods with a smile and hunches over to the floor as he begins to attempt a sketch of the proposed altar with ideas from those assembled. "A moment, please." he whispers as he focuses on the drawing.

Afollia closes her many eyes for a few moments, before turning towards the gathering "If I understood everyone's desires for the altar. The ravenwood will grow to contain the spirits of the creatures entrapped within? Nourishing it with their essence as a form of living altar?" she pauses for a moment and gazes in the distances " Beginning with the loamadores upon the roots and strong spirits residing higher upon the trunk?"

Filib Shee-Slaugh finally finishes his work and shows off the sketch on the back of one of the pages of his letter: Delicate lines show the wood of the felled ravenwoods being bound together and up into a mimicry of the larger trees below. Faux roots wrapped protectively around a dark egg that sits upon a macabre bed of chitin, mud, and nereid bones and scales. He has drawn a zoomed in portion of the wood along the false trunk and several of the larger branches, idols of the Glomdoring frozen in place, immortalized, beneath the striped bark. A cloak dark like the shadows and a second made from the feathers of a crow have been draped across the branches, their cloth hanging like strange leaves upon the tree. Pendants and pins of fine craftsmanship also dangle from the branches in offering, their materials reflecting the nearby light. Before the dark egg cradled within the altar lies a single black rose.

Filib Shee-Slaugh holds his finished work up, looking slightly embarrassed as he awaits an assessment of his imagining of the altar.

With a faint smile, Gael nods his head appreciatively to Filib Shee-Slaugh, "Aye...that will do quite nicely, I think."

Illyria nods a silent agreement, offering a wraithlike hint of a smile.

Evette nods her head affirmatively.

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods, an excited glimmer in his eye at the project before him. "If... if everyone agrees then..." he whispers. He glances up at Afollia. "Spinner. Could you attempt to your work magic on the idols and wood?" And then turning to Xenthos and Evette, "Scourge and Spirit Warden... could you help arrange the ravenwood? We can try and stand it up and shape it into the appropriate form." He continues on with his directions, looking towards Gael, Illyria, and you. "Gael, Illyria, and cousin Esei? Could you help with arranging the other offerings upon it? I will work on preparing the corpses for the base."

The sounds of scurrying animals fill your ears, emanating from the Wyrden foliage below.

With several beats of her wings, Evette alights upon Xenthos's shoulder.

As if their very heart has become audible, the pulsing beat of the Drums of the Dead thrums through Xenthos's form.

You nod solemnly.

Illyria nods a wordless agreement, looking up at Gael.

Gael gives a nod to Filib Shee-Slaugh before striding over to an incomplete wyrden altar, pulling out a spool of cloth and slowly working at the offerings meant to hang from the upper boughs of the Altar, using a sweeping, knotwork onyx dagger to puncture small holes before threading in long loops of the cloth.

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

Filib Shee-Slaugh nods his head, producing one of his daggers from inside his smock as he sets to work cutting at the bodies of loamadores, nereids, and kephera - unbothered by the gore of his task.

Following in Gael's footsteps, a quiet song wordless on her lips as she hum, Illyria bends down and picks up the crow cloak, setting it down to loosen the threads and feathers and replait them into a loop from which it might hang securely.

Xenthos scoops up the massive ravenwoods without apparent effort, standing them upright before Afollia. He arranges each leaning against the others so that they are all together- though they are a bit wobbly. He pulls some rope out of his rift to lash them all together temporarily. He ponders the result for a time longer, then pulls forth his bardiche from his scabbard and uses it to prop the trees up, letting it hold their weight. He nods with satisfaction, then waits for Afollia's work to begin.

Evette tugs and turns a few petite branches that have just begun to sprout towards the top of the tree, righting their direction upwards.

Perusing the design presented by Filib Shee-Slaugh, Afollia inclines her head in acknowledgement. Her Spinner of webs gently removes a single black petal from the magnificent rose upon her nape and crushes it within her golden brown fingers. A flicker of wyrden power slips within her six eyes for a mere moment before she lays her hands upon the twin trunks. A faint aura glowing across her form, letting the power of Her wyrd flow through her druidic arts, Afollia guides the altar's growth as agreed upon.

You have emoted: Footfalls silent as they move to their task, Esei gathers the egg and rose, carefully cradling the first in the crook of one elbow as they balance the second in their hand. Their black eyes observe the ongoing work for a moment, waiting for the right moment before placing them together roughly in the altar's center. They adjust the rose's position, so that its petals face up and outward, before stepping back.

Shadows swirl around your arm as the Fingerblade of dha'Wyrden-cree digs itself more painfully into your finger.

Xenthos purses his lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as he carefully gathers his thoughts.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says to Illyria, "I believe that you had suggested song to accompany the building of the Altar, yes?"

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "That it might know the Shadowbeat from its very birth."

As the assorted tasks are set to motion, Gael gives Illyria a small smile, his gaze rising up to the darkening twilight of night before he picks up her tune, running long lines of cloth across his hands as he sings softly, "The sunlight wanes, the shadows bloom, in dark the forest sleeps. Coarse threads snarl upon Fate's loom; for death, the forest weeps." Picking up several of the dead black widows, prying large plates of chitin free before looping cloth lines through them, he continues, "Farewell the silken spiderwebs, begone the shade-graced tree. Go soft, ye birds, and beasts, and life; I mourn, I mourn for thee."

Xenthos nods as Gael follows through, not interrupting the song as he listens.

Filib Shee-Slaugh closes his eyes as Gael sings, nodding along with the words and melody.

The hum that never truly left returns in force as the altar begins to take shape and the lyrics of song laced with the Shadowbeat fills the air. You can feel the wyrd twisting through the air, its magic heavier than the humidity in the air and stronger than the winds that rage around the tower from the storms.

The crow cloak set to the side, the second cloak is carefully slit across the hood with Illyria's athame. She looks up in surprise when Xenthos addresses her, blinking, then nods. "Yes, Fang," she whispers, then falls silent, tilting an ear to listen to Gael. She takes a cloak in each arm, flitting up through the air to hook one each onto a branch as she picks up the tune in a clear, honey-sweet contralto, "Farewell the silken spiderweb, begone the shade-graced tree. Go soft, ye birds, and beasts, and life; I mourn, I mourn for thee." Returning to the earth, she leans down and takes a white deathwatch beetle into her hands, singing to it as she holds it to her face. "Fear not, ye who may hear My song, dare not harbour despair. Fear not, for though you die today, thy world shall not be bare."

You tilt your head back and look up at the sky.

Illyria continues as she works, smiling over at Gael as something tender glitters in her eyes, "Though air grows still, though colour wanes, though beauty dies, and art. Absolved you are of mortal stains, for you have done your part."

Filib Shee-Slaugh places his work within the altar, careful not to disturb the singers. He steps back to watch as the last bits of the altar come together and the air itself seems to shimmer and twist with the might of the ritual being enacted.

 A particularly powerful lance of crimson lightning splits the seething, spite-filled sky, the peal of thunder that follows shaking the ground and rolling ominously long after the phantom light is gone.

Xenthos appears to not even notice the bolt of lightning, focused entirely on the ritual in progress.

The storm clouds turn a deep, dark black and the downpour batters you with the force of a waterfall.

Still working diligently at the assorted adornments, creating a steadily growing pile ready to be hung beside him, Gael sings out, voice a little louder as he harmonizes with Illyria, "The forest stands, the forest thrives; The forest, dark, is hale. Though you shan't see another day, the beetles tell the tale." Rising with his offerings, beginning now to hang them from the upper boughs, he continues, "If darkness comes, if death is near, a beauty shall it make. For life is given, yet, when sheared, life can also take."

Something seems to spark to life as the song echoes throughout the tower, and you sense that the wind has begin to blow more softly. The trees tremble in joy far below in the forest as the magic of the altar begins to take effect - it is nearly complete.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

Her higher voice blending in perfect harmony with Gael's, her spirit soaring alongside and entwined with his, Illyria picks up the primary thread of the song in turn. "In shadow's grasp, in death's embrace, when life has lost its lure, Joy is stolen, gone is grace; The forest, still, is pure." She sets the beetle in the crook of a melding branch, then bends and lifts another in each hand, depositing their somnolent forms across the branches. "For beauty lies in its dark heart, untouched by mortal hand. At nature's bosom lies true art, no life upon its land."

Sparks of violet light dance along the surface of the altar, and you can feel an energy suddenly radiate outwards from its branches. Similar flickers of energy raise up from the Glomdoring - shooting upwards into the skies and almost immediately the rains begin to relent in their intensity though the power of the storm means they do not vanish entirely.

Arcs of wyrden power suddenly raise up from the Glomdoring Forest, like violet flashes of lightning that lash out at the storms above it causing the ominous clouds from the unending storm directly above the Dark Forest to diminish slightly in their intensity though they do not vanish entirely.

Aftering hanging a few more of the deathwatch beetles, spread evenly about the branches, Gael steps back from the Altar to survey it. As the wind begins to slow down and the trees begin their trembling, adding a quiet susurration of rhythm to the song, his turns his gaze to stare out off over the Glomdoring as the violet light plays along the surface of the Altar. As the glory of Night slowly recedes, heralding the coming dawn, he sings out, "Fear not, ye who may hear My song; The forest, dark, is hale."

Evette leaves her perch upon Xenthos's shoulder, fluttering her wings to land higher up within the tree. Tediously she untangles wronged vines and branches, her feet almost dancing in time to the beat of the song as she works.

Illyria places the last few beetles into spots on the tree, where they watch and click contentedly. She slips her hand into Gael's, turning to sing to the bodies built into the altar, their blood seeping out around its roots. "Fear not, for though you die today, the beetles tell the tale," the shadow faeling sings, the final words echoing out across the rain-swept towertop, the puddles reflecting the vivid violescent energies.

Filib Shee-Slaugh watches in awe as the others work and the magics clearly begin to affect the ferocity of the storm outside the tower. "Glory be to Glomdoring," he whispers so softly it goes almost unheard.

Quietly, you say, "Glory be."

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

Afollia smiles sweetly as she joins in "Glory be to Glomdoring ".

Singing still, Reader Illyria, Listener of the Silent Knell says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Fluttering back to the crowd, Evette whispers, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

Giving Illyria's hand a small squeeze, watching as Evette tugs the last few branches and vines into place before fluttering down, Gael sings out with the rest, "Glory be to Her Glomdoring!"

[probe altar]
Felled ravenwood trees have been expertly molded into the likeness of one of the mighty growhts below. Faux roots snake out from the altar, several greedily coiling around a dark egg that has been left in offering before it. The dark egg sits atop a macabre bedding, the twisted remains of loamadores and kephera gentle cradling the egg, while the polished bones and scales of nereid encircle it. The branches are held aloft and bound together in several places by strands of sturdy rope - offerings hanging from their limbs - pendants and pins of outstanding craftsmanship that glean in the available light. Cloaks also hang amongst the branches, loops of shadowy cloth and crows' feathers that dangle from the grasping branches like strange leaves. The striped bark of the altar's false trunk has wasps, beetles, and bats immortalized along its surface as if they were crawling just beneath the wood. A soft humming noise radiates from the wyrden altar, thrumming in time with the heartbeat of the Dark Forest.
It weighs about 31 pounds.
A wyrden altar in the guise of a mighty ravenwood is holding:
Nothing.
It has the following aliases: altar.

You forecast that:
Small particles of dust fly through the air, caught up in a moderate gale.
There is a very light rain shower.
It is quite mild.

You close your eyes and inhale deeply, absorbing the scent of your surroundings.

Filib Shee-Slaugh hovers over to the edge of the tower, peering up at the skies as a gentler rain falls upon him. "I think it may have worked." he whispers as he studies the skies for any sign of return of the previously raging winds and torrential downpour.

You let loose a long breath from your lungs, exhaling slowly.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "It does seem to have, Filib."

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Perhaps you could convey some appreciation to Akuuko when you have words with him about his note-making abilities?"

Filib Shee-Slaugh does not look away from the skies despite his face turning a shade darker from slight embarrassment. He nods with a slight grin as he whispers, "I most certainly will, Spirit Warden."

The heady scent of roses and congealing blood resonates from Xenthos, carried on a light wind.

The morning sky churns with storm-grey clouds, their bellies lit up by the sun's radiance.

Evette twists her long white hair in an elegant braid together, dripping the collected rainwater from it.

With a soft exhalation, a slight smile on his face, Gael glances from Filib Shee-Slaugh to Xenthos before lifting his head to the softened storm, murmuring, "It worked out in the end. The Wyrd adapts and finds a way."

Tilting her head back to study the more subdued clouds above, her damp hair falling away from her face, Illyria smiles softly, squeezing Gael's hand in return. "It was well done, Filib. And you've come far this day."

Afollia's mouth turns up as her face breaks into a smile.

Filib Shee-Slaugh blinks in surprise at Illyria. "Ah... You think so, miss? Ahem... I still think Akuuko should have given instructions to one of you..."

Illyria looks back down from her study of the sky to Filib Shee-Slaugh, nodding once, but firmly. "Why, you have opened yourself to the wyrd," she whispers. "Heard its dark rhythm with your own spirit, served it directly with your hand. You did wonderfully."

Gael nods his head at Illyria, showing his acceptance.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "And why is that? You grew, too. Perhaps he gave it to exactly who needed it most."

Illyria nods a quiet agreement with Xenthos.

"A-Ah. Hm" Filib Shee-Slaugh manages to splutter out before collecting himself and bowing to each of those gathered in turn. "Thank you all for helping me figure out his... instructions. I don't know what it will take to end the storms for good, but I hope this helps..."

Stray rays of sunlight reflect lazily off the surface stone of the Black Tower while the cool shadows swirl within the confines of the Tower.

Glancing at the stray beams of sunlight, Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Indeed."

You whisper, "Thank you, dearest cousin, for your work and help."

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "It was a small pleasure to participate, thank you for reaching out to us."

Filib Shee-Slaugh smiles softly.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "I fear I'll slip away to the temple once more, have a blessed month everyone."

Evette inclines her head politely towards Filib Shee-Slaugh, letting her hair free from her hands.

The caw of a reclusive crow draws your attention toward Afollia, who whispers a barely audible prayer. She lays a palm on her heart, invoking an intoxicating scent of roses that suffuses your surroundings.

Gael inclines his head politely to Afollia.

Filib Shee-Slaugh exclaims, "I should return to the stables as well!"
Filib Shee-Slaugh waves goodbye.

A black widow spider with bat wings scuttles sideways off to the ether.

Filib flits out towards the down, his wings fluttering steadily to propel his movement.