Webs

Promenade of roses.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Small paths of loose onyx stone
wind throughout the area, forming symmetrical loops. Lining each pathway are well-trimmed
rosebushes, an abundance of dark, red roses, bloom year-round upon each. In the centre, where each
looping pathway both begins and ends, resides a large fountain. The pool at the base of the fountain
is wide, a broad flat-topped boulder rising from its depths. Across its surface is an intricate
forest of trees crafted from dark marble, each sculpted in exquisite detail. In the centre stands a
statue of Lady Viravain, Her gaze turned down towards the forest and Her hand outstretched. A small
stream of water pours from Her palm, this source of life raining down upon the trees. A black widow
spider with bat wings scuttles about here, clicking her mandibles together. The shadowy form of a
Daughter of the Night stands here, exuding wyrden power from within swirling black robes.
You see exits leading out and through a clear pool.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "We are slipping to the comfort of my webs for a
few moments, since you are in my presence you will exceptionally be granted access to Her Divine
gardens."

Afollia performs a deeply devoted curtsey towards the fount of the Mistress within the center and
guide you with reverrence through the sacred waters.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "Please do excuse the stench, I fear the nest is
a bit of a mess. Venomia needs to tidy after herself when she gets a chance."

Rhalkyr lifts a single, massive shoulder in an indifferent shrug. "Do not, mind."

The parlour of the mistress.
Glancing about, your gaze is arrested by walls of flesh that rise from your surroundings; each
covered in a translucent film of blood. They quiver to the beat of the Maelstrom's heart, a
resonance that echoes within the depths of your soul. Surrounded by the grim cavities of it's body
in every direction but one their hungry depths beckoning you forward. Upon the north-west archway is
fixated a black reinforced door, bolted clamps woven into the algontherine's wounded flesh; a seal
from what lays beyond. The floor itself is a crafted from scarlet ooze that drips below a gossamer
lattice of white filament. The tangle of complex fibers, sticky & squishy below each step, covers
the entire surface in various states of decay. It's fresh threads draping down from the ceiling far
above as they lay upon to the nest below. A glowing light draws your gaze to the western side
towards an expansive ancient ravenwood shrine. The altar itself rises three feet in height, draped
reverently with a stygian shawl, as it bears it's burden : a small platinum burner fashioned in the
shape of a black rose upon which thrones a vibrant shadowflame. Upon a white filament dangles a
sketch of a bumblebee, swaying to and fro at life's grasp, as the hunger of the rose's incandescent
tongue threatens to consume it. Your gaze climbs upwards the spider's thread towards a web of
illusionary moments woven into a series of circles around an ancient merian dialect carved into the
moist wall. For a mere moment, a crystal clear vision of a young blue-eyed merian girl scribing
dutifully in a sinister black tome guided by the Mistress of Night comes into being upon the
center's silvered scar; surrounded by wicked fae in a hall of conquering darkness. Flickers distract
you once more and draw you towards a beautiful bay window in the east, displaying the unnatural
panorama of Aetherspace. It's transparent membrane formed around the framework of pulsating veins
serving as a barrier against the vacuum of the void. It's existence permits light to pour within the
room. A glowing, alien pulse feeding the seething shadows that threaten to submerge the sight from
your eyes. Soft black velvet covers this low-lying couch, its plump cushions appearing quite
inviting. A tapestry embellished with crows is hung here, their mighty forms captured flawlessly. A
spherical chandelier of myriad rose blossoms wrought in shadowy gemstones and iron hangs low in the
room, the petals sending prism points of twinkling light across every surface. A black widow spider
with bat wings scuttles about here, clicking her mandibles together. The shadowy form of a Daughter
of the Night stands here, exuding wyrden power from within swirling black robes.
You see exits leading north, southeast, southwest, west, northwest (closed door), down, and out
(closed door).

Afollia gestures gently to the velvet couch as she dismounts from Venomia, one hand upon a stray
filament for guidance.

Afollia steps down off of a black widow spider with bat wings.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "Feel free to seat yourself dear."

Afollia gently pats the widow of Ebonrose's red hourglass as she skitters off to her nest.

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

Rhalkyr's eyes are bright with interest as he pans his gaze about the room,
evidently unperturbed by the unusual nature of the decor - the sole sign of him even having noticed
it is when he lifts his left foot to flick some of the ooze from it, the gesture absent. "Will
crouch." So saying, he does so, padding over to the couch and sinking into a comfortable crouch just
to one side, head cocked.

Afollia black lips part in a tender smile " You are most welcome to ".

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "It has been a little while since last we spoke
dear, did you find the answer you sought?"

Rhalkyr's eyes flick to Afollia briefly, then away again, traveling aimlessly over
the surroundings. His answer is short, his voice harsh as an abruptly snapped branch. "No."

Afollia closes her six eyes for a moment, holding silent for a moment...

Afollia's chevelure trailing behind her, the most beautiful black rose you have ever seen adorning
her name, she turns her back to you and steps towards the bay window. Gazing in the distance she
speaks " Did you discover anything of interest in your hunt ? ".

The moment Afollia's back turns to Rhalkyr ,the sensation of his eyes falls upon
Afollia, his intent absolute and unwavering. "Many, things. Have spoken, with, Xenthos? Knows,
much."

Afollia voice resonates with an invisible smile as she responds to your words " But not enough, yes
? ".

There is no trace of such a smile within the ragged bass of Rhalkyr's voice as he
replies, "Yes. Focus, shifted. Forest, pursues, Betrayer. Seeks, to persuade, Night. Origin, of
Greev, judged less, important, think, by others."

Afollia sighs softly and turns once more to face your, her features lit by the alien glow from
beyond the window. Her six eyes alight with cold determination as she gazes upon your form. One hand
holding a thread in an iron grip, she speaks once more " That is....unfortunate." She gently twirls
a white filament between her thumb and index finger as she reflects on your words.


Afollia gestures towards you with her left hand and entwines her own words " When did you first
encounter information on this Betrayer dear ? ".

The painted stripes that adorn Rhalkyr's immense form ripple and flow as he lifts
his monstrous shoulders in a slow upheaval of dense muscle and bronze flesh. "Blackpetal's anger, is
priority." In response to the question, he cocks his head in a distinctly animalistic fashion, the
carved, painted teeth of his mask tilted at a steep angle. "Mm. Think, Xenthos, mentioned, many
months, ago. Believe, current candidate, is known, but not, verified."

Afollia mutters softly under her breath before responding to your words " I frustrate myself for
having slept during momentous events and missed the Mistress's presence. Would you be so kind as to
recount what has occured ? ".

Afollia sighs softly as she finishes her own words " I woke to a forest abuz as if I were to strike
a wasp's hive, and people that normally take time to reflect upon their acts rushing forward in
ignorance throwing caution to the winds. " She turns to the window once more, gazing in the
distance, as if searching for something " Too much is occuring too quickly, I do not like it. Will
you share what you know so that some light may be shed in this darkness? ".

Rhalkyr utters a low sound of acquiescence, the noise ripping from his throat like
claws dragged across dried bark. "Much, summed up. Many, of the forest, hunting, for answers, to
Greev. Became, apparent, was, important. Grand Librarian, from, Festival, involved. Hiding, behind
Veil, of Night. In areas, of, the Glomdoring, hidden, from, Blackpetal." He lifts a vast hand and
curls it into a fist, the craggy knuckles jutting up like jagged, battered peaks. "Much, angered.
Speaking, of shadows, hiding things, from Her. Secrets. Betrayal. Intent, on killing, Khasur. Silent
One, intervened. Soothed. Advised, patience."

Lowering his hand, Rhalkyr rests his forearm across his knee, allowing his wrist to
go loose. "Reluctant, to speak, of name, of suspect. Cautioned, to be sure, before Blackpetal, is
told." He lifts a chin, jerking it to indicate the surroundings. "Do not wish, Her, to hear."

Afollia gently turns around, all traces of cold emotions vanishes like water from her features.
Approaching you she speaks " Would you feel more comfortable if we were away from the Mistress's
realm as we spoke ? It is certainly possible to do so".

Rhalkyr blinks mildly at Afollia, absently brushing the calloused pads of his
fingers across the flat bone of his shins. "Am not, uncomfortable. Simply, unwise, to speak name,
before certainty, achieved. Do not wish, to call down, Her wrath, unwarranted."

Afollia eyes sparkle with genuine amusement " Far be it from me to question when I do not know all
that has occured. However..." her lips part in amusement " It strikes me as a little late to calm
Her wrath if it has come to pass to such an extent and to expect more secrets to accomplish as a
healthy way of life."

Afollia gently waves in the air with her golden brown hands in a dismissive manner as she continues
" but I disgress, do you wonder perhaps why I chose you out of all others to speak to this month ?
"

Rhalkyr dips his head aside, his left shoulder rising slightly as he does so.
"Wrath, forestalled. All, still live. For now. Do not think, secrets, will make, Her happy - Not
Rhalkyr's choice, to make. Silent One, instructed. Will not, gainsay." At the question he lifts a
hand and draws his fingertips down along the side of his head in a peculiar gesture. "Least likely,
to lie, or, misdirect. Am, simple." A very slight tinge of humour colours his voice, as he remarks,
"Do not think, for, eloquence, of report."

Afollia inclines her head politely towards you " You are right, I do not seek eloquence on your
part." A smile parts upon her black lips before she continues " Out of all of us within the forest,
even if the Mistress sparked your question, you are the only one that sought the truth of the Greeve
itself. You are the one that spoke the right words at the right time"

Rhalkyr lifts his shoulders in a brief, jerking shrug. "Her words. Rhalkyr, just
pebble, She cast. Ripples, Hers. Just, tool."

Afollia stares at you with genuine surprise, a smile still etched on her lips, as she replies " A
tool ? Perhaps. We are all tools for Her garden, it is the oath we swore upon being permitted to
enter the realm of Her resplendant beauty. However, make no mistake, not all tools have the same
use." She makes a small gesture towards herself " We shared words yes ? Was our moment memorable ?
"

Rhalkyr dips his head in a curt nod. "Yes. Rhalkyr, has played part. Time, for
other tools, think." The violent green of his eyes flicks to Afollia, glittering like cut emeralds
as he regards Afollia for a long moment, before allowing his gaze to slide away again. His response
is simple, his tone matter-of-fact. "Yes."

Afollia inclines her head and gestures towards the doorway to the nest " If you wish to walk away
dear, I will not hold you in place. However, I do not believe you part has come to an end just yet."
Gaze focused upon you, she finishes " Shall we continue or do you wish to step out ? None have ever
been forced, and I will not begin now."
-

Rhalkyr does not so much as glance towards the threshold, instead letting his gaze
drift about the interior. "Wish, does not, matter. Only, what, can do. What, is expected." He
twitches a hand towards himself, brutish fingers curled inwards. "Rhalkyr, cannot do, what is
needed, for this. Will be, Xenthos, or, Auguries, that will solve. Rhalkyr, is just, witness.
Nothing, significant, to contribute." He allows his hand to fall flat against his thigh once more,
his tone untroubled. "Do not have, knowledge, or abilities, for this. Was just, spark. Fire burns,
unaided, now."

Afollia sighs softly as she entwines your words " Indeed the shadowflame burns, a flame sparked by
your inquisition. Yet as I wander the forest, I hear no one who is able to satisfy my need for an
answer. I hear secrets, I hear whispers of fears and the gnashing of hungry mandibles through the
eaves of the canopy." Six eyes blink as one, in disquietting symetry, as she holds silent for a
breath before continuing " Why is it that we tetter upon the brink, for it must be so to witness the
hustle of the forest, and none question the accusations they make ? ".

Afollia brow furrows as she turns towards the window and holds her peace for a moment of composure.

Afollia speaks in a calmer tone as she picks up her own words " Shall we take a moment to review
what has occured properly ? If you would lend me your mind, tool of the Mistress."

Stretching his arms out before him, Rhalkyr flexes his fingers slowly, head canted
at a peculiar angle as he watches the play of shadows across his skin as tendons shift and jut
beneath the flesh. "Dissatisfaction, mirrors, Blackpetal's. Will be sated, when, She is. All,
hunger, for answers." Lowering his hands, he dangles them from the edge of his knees as he tilts his
head back to stare upwards. "Yes. Will do this."

Afollia inclines her head, her back turned to you as myriads of miniature spiders wander across Her
spinner's chevelure of needles. Speaking in a soft voice she begins " Please speak of the events
your hunt has led you to encounter, the individuals that crossed your path - be they Divine or
mortal - and the grand lines you discussed with them. Perhaps we can begin to piece this riddle
togheter."

Afollia lays a single hand upon the member as she finishes " And dear, I will not force you, but I
would dearly appreciate you not withhold any secrets from me. I fear what mistakes will lead us to."

Afollia lays a single hand upon the membrane of the window as she finishes " And dear, I will not
force you, but I would dearly appreciate you not withhold any secrets from me. I fear what mistakes
will lead us to."

In a very mild, faintly distracted tone of voice, as he inspects the floor with
only vague interest Rhalkyr says, "Could not, force." Trailing the fingers of his right hand along
the sticky tapestry of webbing, he continues, "Already know, of first meeting, with Blackpetal.
Spoke, with many, to ask, of Greev. Bore, little fruit." He taps his thick forefinger upon the
sodden filaments. "Auspice, showed, vision, of wreath. Perspective, of entity. Was afraid, of being
seen, as 'fae horror', Greev. Beautiful, Khasur, found Rhalkyr. Offered three questions, boon, of
Blackpetal."

Rhalkyr cocks his head in Afollia's direction, but does not lift his gaze. "Have
seen, vision, from wreath?"

Afollia inclines her head.

Rhalkyr dips his head in a slight nod. "First question, was of identity, of entity,
in vision. Khasur answered with questions." Abruptly, the voice that emanates from his mask is not
the harsh, guttural one that he speaks with naturally, but an uncanny match to that of Khasur
herself. "Is the subject of that vision the Greev? Or someone else?"

Afollia folds her hands upon her waist and waits patiently, the silence tantigle as she focuses upon
your words.

"When asked, who, Khasur declined. Then, amended. Another, question." Rhalkyr
continues in his native tones, before swapping back to Khasur's as easily as another man might
change hats. "What shape did the Greev take? - So a giant spider, is that what you're saying? It
looked like a giant spider, to me."

Rhalkyr gestures at Afollia with a small, swift motion of his left wrist. "Spinner,
should know, of giant spiders. Yes?"

Afollia turns her head in your direction, a small smile etched upon her black lips in answer to your
words.

Grunting at the silence, Rhalkyr continues, "Had theory. Blackpetal, is,
Glomdoring. Greev, is Glomdoring. Greev, possible aspect, fragment, of Blackpetal. Asked, Khasur, if
Blackpetal, was, the Greev." The eyes ensconced within the deep shadow of his mask thin with thought
as they track down the walls, tracing the myriad lines of filaments that span the floor. "Reaction,
was, unusual. Stepped forward. Asked, if Blackpetal, was Summer Song. When, confirmed, looked up,
thought, for long time."

Afollia reply echoes your words with but a whisper " Indeed..."

Rhalkyr brushes his fingertips along the floor, tracing a particular strand as far
as he is able, before it dips beneath more of its fellows, or is subsumed by ooze. "Answer, was
'No.' Only, that. Unlike, her. Likes, to talk. Said, much. Except, then. Was, odd." Shrugging
abruptly, he switches his finger to another line of thread. "Spoke, with Xenthos, again."

Rhalkyr's voice grows rougher, hoarser as he speaks, clearly unaccustomed to
forcing so many words out in such a short period of time. Absently, he lifts his free hand to rub at
his throat, but makes no other sign of discomfort. "Mentioned, Grand Librarian. Woman, from
Festival, asking, of books. Glamoured, to appear older, than in truth. Is the one, forest, hunts
for, now."

Afollia smiles sweetly and leaves the room for a moment by one of the many corridors. Silence
stretches onwards as the moments pass before she returns with a small glass of water, passing it to
you.

The path that Rhalkyr traces takes his finger behind the thick trunk of his calf,
hiding his hand from sight as it is enfolded in shadow. "Hiding. Traverses, Night's Veil. Areas, of
Glomdoring, thought lost, also, hidden, in Veil. From, Blackpetal. Source, of anger. One, suspected,
of betrayal, also, can slip through, Veil." The knuckles of his hand emerge from the umbral screen
as he slowly draws his hand out, lifting it to accept the glass with a rasping grunt. The vessel is
dwarfed by the vast size of his hand, the curled fingers nearly eclipsing it in its entirety as he
turns his face away so that he can tip his mask up enough to permit the act of drinking - Which he
does swiftly, furtively. Lowering it once more, he hands the glass back, and forges on. "Blackpetal,
very angry. Demanded, answers. Intent, on killing, Khasur. Close, think, to killing, Night. Khasur,
saved only, by Silent One. He bade, patience. Told, mortals, to persuade Night, for means, to pass,
through Veil. Pursue, Librarian. Pursue, traitor."

Rhalkyr spreads his hands out, conjoining them so that they possess the rough
silhouette of a spider. "Also, book, in vision, Xenthos shared. Pertains, to Greev. Fae horror.
Suspect, woman reading, of using knowledge, within. To tamper, with Greev. May, be from hidden,
library, in other, vision. All, interconnected. Greev, not-Greev, Librarian, Betrayer. Veil."

Afollia turns towards you, six eyes focused upon your form as her hand reflexively toys with a
filament of web. Speaking she replies " Is there anything else dear ?"

The broad expanse of Rhalkyr's shoulders swell as he shrugs slowly. "Not, that
aware of. Have, been sleeping, much."

Afollia closes her eyes and begins humming a soft calming melody as she reflects on your words.

At the onset of the humming, Rhalkyr's head twitches about so that his ear is
cocked towards Afollia. Slowly, be begins to sway back and forth in time to the melody, tapping out
a quiet rhythm upon the flat bone of his shin in accompaniment.

Afollia's hummies fades and vanishes, her inner self waking from the waking dream. She speaks in a
soft voice " You have slept long, and so have I. I believe we have slept long enough have we not
dear ? I am....concerned...that the Greeve itself could be tampered with by presumably mortal hands.
A greater concern still that the Greeve is not a part of my Mistress Herself. But most of all, I am
concerned that all have focused upon the tresspass of Mother Night, yet all seem to have forgotten
the importance of the Greeve itself."

Afollia continues to speak in a soft voice " Taking these event in perspective, Delmoir, is aware of
the tresspasser, but perhaps not her identity. I have met her myself as well, and I am no closer to
discerning her identity. I can however state these facts, she is not Rowena nor her daughter. "

Rhalkyr utters a low, rumbling sound, a brief and ragged ripple of bass notes,
before he says, "Deemed, less, important. Or only, fragment, of current, situation. Have tried,
asking, Queen Lhiannan, of history, or myth, of Greev - Important, to fae. Unanswered." Cocking his
head in a curious gesture, he asks, "Delmoir? Know, not. Mm. Rowena, still, pertinent."

Afollia gestures gently towards you as she finishes her words " If I were to ask you dear, not the
commune, where would you begin unraveling the mystery of this abuse of the Greeve that Delmoir
permitted witouth the Mistress's knowledge. For, if something is hidden from the Mistress Herself,
it could not possibly be from Her Glomdoring."

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "We are no closer to knowing the nature of the
Greeve itself, only that it can be used by others. Do we even know the the Greeving truly occured
for the reasons it was perceived to?"

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "It feels like we are threading on dangerous
waters and I for one would like to know what is under our feet, slumbering to be used agaisnt us by
this stranger that has the power to veil themselves from the Mistress's sight and cross the veil
guarded by Delmoir."

Afollia inclines her head towards you " Speak your mind, dear, you have unveiled much that I desired
this Night. Your thoughts and your reasoning unlike any other may give you sight where the world is
blind. ".

There is little hesitation before Rhalkyr answers, his voice level, if typically
rough. "Believe, Greev, was altered, to act awry, by possessor, of book. Find book. Ask, fae, for
myths of Greev, and, of the not-Greev, that shares, shape." He gestures at the webbing the spans the
room. "Weaver - Not-Greev - senses, with webs. Is likely, giant spider. Hiding, somewhere. May, be
through, Veil. May, not." He flutters his fingers as his hand drifts down through the air, the
motion reminiscent of a falling leaf buffeted by winds. "Commune, will pursue, Night, and Librarian.
May, possess book. May, have copy. Should wrest, answers, from Khasur. From Rowena."

Rhalkyr pauses, and adds, "Pursue, Frozen One. Much tied, to fae. Greev, possible
Awakening, of Glomdoring. May know."

Afollia eyes fill with a certain sadness as she speaks " I mourn for Her herald if she has hidden
anything from the Mistress Herself." she gently grasps your hand in her own as she continues " Will
you lend your ability and find the answer to Her question ? ".

You think to yourself: The abrupt, overwhelming urge to squeeze down with all of his might, to feel
the fine bones of her hand crack and splinter, tendons rending and flesh rupturing.

Rhalkyr's hand twitches in Afollia's, spasming faintly before growing still. The
glittering light of his violently green eyes glitters with a feverish intensity as he stares at the
contact. Dragging his gaze away with visible effort, he grinds out, "Has, hidden. Has, secrets." A
pause, and then, as if he had been asked a question of which there is but one, painfully obvious
answer, "Of course. Anything, for Her. For, the Glomdoring."

Afollia smiles pleasantly, her hand cupping your cheek in a tender caress as she leans forward to
your ear and whispers " Nothing matters but Glomdoring ".


You think to yourself: Her neck is vulnerable, her center of balance off - Seize the chance, seize
her throat, bite down on the jugular, rip it free, feel the warmth of her blood slicking jaws and
teeth and tongue, grasp her head and twist, feel the snap of her spine and-.

Rhalkyr grows unnaturally still, a slow tension building throughout his immense
frame, an air of nascent violence crackling about him as Afollia leans close. His response is not
immediate, as cascades of rippling, spasming twitches flow across his form, muscles jerking and
writhing beneath his skin. When he does speak, his voice is taut, harsh as the rending of flesh and
cracking bone. "Glory, be, to, the Glomdoring."

Afollia's caress ends as her fingertips slip away from your skin, she stands once more before you
eyes focused upon your seated form. Her voice, twinges with bad omens, as she replies to you " Let
the commune do as it will, none has the answer to Her spoken words. Follow the trail of smoke and
wander off the beaten path as only you may do so. Find the answer to the nature of the Greeve, the
horror of the fae. You will fulfill the task She has given you ? ".

Rolling a shoulder, as if to loosen it, Rhalkyr rises in a fluid motion of
singularly feline grace, coming to stand at his full height. Looking down upon Afollia, his mask
tilted so that the predatory span of its carved, white-painted teeth face Afollia, he utters a
single word, his voice calm, his form still as a hunter lying in wait. "Yes."

Afollia inclines her head towards you "...and dear, the fae are not only in ethereal Glomdoring.
Where one may not speak others may know far more. Let not mortal hands hold you from this purpose
and when you have found Her answer seek me out understood? "

You think to yourself: A flicker of roiling, maddened rage, sparked by the repeated questioning of
his willingness to serve Her - Of /course/ he would do what She willed. The doubt grates upon his
temper like rusted metal over a raw wound. It vanishes, swift as it comes, leaving a languid
indifference in its wake.

The ferocity of Rhalkyr's gaze flares in intensity for a brief moment, a fey,
feverish light blazing within the vivid green for but a moment before it vanishes as he stares down
into Afollia's sixfold gaze. "Understand, yes."

Afollia black lips part in a smile that never reaches her eyes, themselves seething with fury, and
she speak " ...and none are to know the finer points of what we discussed this month; save my
Mistress Herself." one hand held on a filament she finishes " I have had to twist arms to get the
barest of information out of others, the Mistress will have Her due secrets or not."

Promenade of roses.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. Small paths of loose onyx stone
wind throughout the area, forming symmetrical loops. Lining each pathway are well-trimmed
rosebushes, an abundance of dark, red roses, bloom year-round upon each. In the centre, where each
looping pathway both begins and ends, resides a large fountain. The pool at the base of the fountain
is wide, a broad flat-topped boulder rising from its depths. Across its surface is an intricate
forest of trees crafted from dark marble, each sculpted in exquisite detail. In the centre stands a
statue of Lady Viravain, Her gaze turned down towards the forest and Her hand outstretched. A small
stream of water pours from Her palm, this source of life raining down upon the trees. The shadowy
form of a Daughter of the Night stands here, exuding wyrden power from within swirling black robes.
You see exits leading out and through a clear pool.

Spinner Afollia Ebonrose, the Wyrden Haruspex says, "Go now forth upon your hunt as Her Brother once
did. May those who stand in your path find nothing but death in your wake."

Rhalkyr flicks a glance at Afollia, tilting his head aside briefly, before he
prowls off on silent feet, his gait the rolling, liquid grace of a hunting feline.