[General][Waydren] I will be at the Ancient Tree near the Cougars out the west gate of the Crossing for the next 30 roisaen or so if any wish to discuss the visions from last night's Beseech.

You say, Be back shortly. Want to check in with Waydren, get his perspective on whatever happened.

[The Grove, Ancient Tree]
Creaking limbs and branches intertwine to form a makeshift floor.  Within this airy landing, the cured hide of some long dead beast sways between two leafy boughs.  Scattered upon the floor, in several haphazard piles, lay mounds of various pelts.  Dangling from overhead like some macabre wind chime, a collection of skulls sways in the shifting breeze.
You also see an ironwood drink cart with several things on it, a dark hole, a lifesculpted ironwood sideboard with several things on it and a tree trunk.
Also here: Druid Waydren.
Obvious paths: none.
Room Number: 17121
Room Exits: climb tree trunk

You wave to Waydren.

Waydren smiles.

You see Druid Waydren Amlir, a Human.
Waydren's flesh is covered by a magical coat of protective scales.  They swirl swiftly through vibrant hues of all the colors of the spectrum.
Waydren has a square-jawed face, silver-flecked steely grey eyes and a straight nose.  His dark brown hair is short and wavy.  He has tanned skin and a deeply cowled cloak of dark jadeleaf cloth partially obscuring an athletic build.
He is a bit over average height for a Human.
He appears to be venerable.
Six long horns crown the skull headdress resting over his forehead.  Black, cruelly spiked bricklebranch twigs coil around each curving point, gathering in a morass over the frontal bone.  Articulated jawbones trail to skim his cheeks.
Razor-like claws extend from his fingertips.
Waydren has unnaturally dark tiger stripes criss-crossing his skin.
He has faint scuffing to the head, tiny scratches to the left arm, tiny scratches to the skin.
He is in good shape.
He is wearing a six-horned skull headdress twined with bricklebranch twigs, a deeply cowled cloak of dark jadeleaf cloth inked with a shadowy gloomwood tree, an off-white tunic wrapped with a wide leather belt, an azurelle-hafted throwing axe with a honed silversteel dragon-wing blade, a rugged yeehar-hide herb pouch, some grey linen pants with small bone buttons and some rugged leather traveler's boots.

Waydren says, Hello Nawain.

Waydren gets a viridian lirisan staff branded with druidic symbols from inside his oilcloth gamebag.

You ask, Hullo! So, what happened? Something about Elanthia speaking?

You ask, Or.. .showing?

Waydren laughs!

You are Pilgrim Nawain Augtaire, Sfarns del Dzive of Siksraja, a Rakash Cleric.
You have a high-cheekboned kite-shaped face with laugh lines, delicate ears accented by some Ilithic applewood-carved gatekeeper butterflies dangling upon leather cords, kind grass-green eyes and a freckled nose.  Your honey-streaked ginger hair is hip length and frizzy with stark white streaks at the temple, and is worn in a tousled mass of locks that tumbles over her shoulders.  You have dew-kissed skin and a deeply cowled cloak of dark jadeleaf cloth partially obscuring a coltish figure.
You are tiny for a Rakash.
A luminous lavender butterfly graced by prismatic lilac moonsilver wings floats lazily around your head, glowing with a lustrous sheen against your skin.
You appear to be a pack hunter.
Your nose is pierced with a slender hoop connected to a vine-like chain that trails across your right cheek, draped with delicate thealstone wisteria that rest against your face.  The vine terminates in an earring that resembles a wisteria bloom.
Your right palm has a tattoo of a stylized butterfly sketched in thick inky black lines.
A luminous orb formed by a starry murder of crows hovers like a will-o-wisp, following you diligently.
You are in good shape.
You are wearing a rolled brim thornweave hat with a decorative green jaspe band, a billowing uaro's'sugi of fine leaf-green silk, a slender goldenglow glaes txistu embellished with a dragon-shaped mouthpiece, a dark green choker of muracite leaves dotted with passionfruit beryls, an ethereal butterfly fetish spreading wings of verdant moonsilver, a shimmering forest green knitted scarf banded with pairs of gray stripes, a pair of leaf-green spidersilk wings kissed with gold, a heart-shaped loveglass token festooned with spun rainbow ribbons, an emerald-green winter coat fastened with snowflake obsidian toggles, a mossy green thornweave bodice edged with copper-infused Gnomish kochos, a glitzy nielloed gold wristlet dusted with crushed lush viridian estrildite, a gold turinstil ring, a polished asini oath ring graced with a large glittering avene, a substantial ka'hurst signet ring set with a goldenglow glaes intaglio crest, a wispy woodland tutu composed of swamp moss and adderwood twigs, a blue-white mistglass anklet encrusted with chunks of cheery yellow ismenite, a delicate gold anklet with dangling butterfly charms, a pair of stylish forest green knee-high boots with low ironwood heels and some pale ivory silk hose accented at the ankles with golden butterflies.

Waydren smiles.

Waydren says, Much.

Waydren asks, Let me recount to you?

You nod to Waydren.

You exclaim, Yes, please!

Waydren says, We engaged in the ritual. Elanthia drew us down into the earth, and then we were given a vision.

Waydren says, Rangers and Empaths both.

You nod to Waydren.

Waydren says, I became distinctly aware that Elanthia perceives time on a scale unfamiliar to me, as layers of sediment each sing their own song of epochs and days from before the rise of humanity on this world.

Waydren says, To interject, these guardians. I believe these to be the Heralds from common religion texts. I also believe these to be the Sun Dragons of Kather myth.

Waydren says, But the vision continued.

Waydren says, I felt a distinct time when these gardeners sustaining the balance could no longer entirely fight off outside influence.  As each civilization learned to harness the flowing streams of mana, it crumbled beneath a localized extinction, leaving a bleeding wound where no life could bloom.  What was an embrace of wholeness now twists into a litany of trauma, as unnatural blights spread from festering eruptions long forgotten.  I felt the overwhelming loss of Life within each wound, as disease propagates alien, twisted life from outside of the plane in each laceration.  As portions of Elanthia have died, outsiders have planted their seed and begun cultivating to expand their own presence through new pathways into existence from elsewhere.

You say, Ahh, was going to ask who was cultivating if there was no civilization.

You nod in agreement.

Waydren says, Again, these Gardeners are the Heralds and Sun Dragons.

Waydren says, And the alien, twisted life? I believe these to be those that we now call Immortal. The Interlopers from the Kather myth.

You frown.

Waydren asks, But not just the Immortals. Demons and other extraplanar beings perhaps?

You nod.

Waydren says, But to continue with the vision again:.

Waydren says, As new pathways came to take what was here, lesser guardians attempted to assist the caretakers.  They attempted to contain the wounds, and to cultivate life, but their impact was severely limited, as it was dependent on a connection to the outside, as if drawing from a well some distance away to put out a raging fire.  The wounds continued to fester and bleed.  The primary guardians, who were reliant on the balance of life to continue cultivating, focused on what good they could do, leaving the outsiders to attempt to contain the blights.

Waydren says, Here, the Lesser Guardians may be those Interlopers who chose to stop their fight against the Heralds, and instead assist them. the Immortals, assisting the Caretakers.

Waydren says, I find it fascinating that the vision called out that the Immortals draw their power from the Outside.

Waydren says, Imagine an Island with its own native species.

Waydren says, The Interlopers, Immortals and Demons alike, are an invasive species upon that island.

You nod.

Waydren says, However, they can only survive on the Island with a regular flow of supplies brought in, as they are not native to the Island and did not evolve there.

Waydren says, Cutting off a damaging outside influence would mean they themselves are cut off.

Waydren says, I digress. To continue with the vision.

You grin.

Waydren says, Within each of these wounds, Elanthia has never recovered.  Only unnatural life, blighted and cursed, can thrive in these conditions.  They are no longer part of the balance within Elanthia -- and they take more from Elanthia with every iteration.

You frown.

Waydren says, The pain now grows, welling to an unsustainable level, and I found yourself feeling the weight of Arhat's crumbling tower above me.  My senses focused on this location, and my connection with Elanthia helped guide the memory of the nature surrounding this tower to the specific point in which our compatriots disappeared.

You lean forward.

You eagerly ask, And?

Waydren says, Pushing out the influence of everything outside of this focal point, my senses sharpened.  I witnessed the flash that rent many into the Null Prison, and the return of all but five.  Curiously, I felt the influence of their life in this very moment in time and in this very space.  All five beings strangely appear to be here within the vicinity of the Tower -- but entirely out of reach, as if in a space that is not tangible in any meaningful way.

Waydren says, And then the vision faded.

You nod to Waydren.

Waydren says, I take from this that they are alive, yet out of reach. They are here, but they are not.

You say, That fits with our current understanding, I think. They're at the Tower, but not, still. Adjacent, somehow.

Waydren says, I have less concrete ideas around that than the origin myth.

Waydren grins.

Waydren says, As strange as that may sound.

Waydren bows to Aerilia.

Aerilia bows.

You say, Sometimes the walls between us are thin enough for them to pierce, notably while or after mana turns off.

You nod to Waydren.

You wave to Aerilia.

Waydren nods to you.

Waydren says to you, I believe your experiment demonstrated that exact premise.

You nod to Waydren.

Aerilia says, Good day, and congratulations on your successful ritual the other night.

Waydren says to Aerilia, My thanks.

Waydren says to Aerilia, It was a team effort. Many Rangers and Empaths gathered to lend their talents.

Aerilia nods to Waydren.

Zynell giggles at Dartwin.

Aerilia says, It was impressive to see so many working together.

Waydren says to Aerilia, Indeed. I remember not a time when that many Rangers gathered in the same place.

Waydren says, For so many to do so, with a common cause. It was moving.

Waydren says, And for Elanthia to respond in the way that it did.

Waydren nods.

Aerilia says, As awful as it has been, this mana mess has certainly brought people together.

Aerilia nods.

You nod at Aerilia, in complete agreement with her views.

Waydren nods at Aerilia, obviously agreeing with her views.

An odd clicking noise eminates from the sideboard, and you notice one of the crabs waving its claws around above the edge of the aquarium and snapping them on empty air.

You prod a lifesculpted ironwood sideboard with the tip of your finger.

Waydren says, I am at the limits of my 30 roisaen, unfortunately.

Waydren says, I must return to the Trails.

You wince.

You nod to Waydren.

Aerilia nods to Waydren.

aydren says, Be well as you wander the trails.

In the blink of an eye, Waydren disappears into his surroundings.

Aerilia says, Another time, then.  Be well.

You wave.