The Guardians of Dendara

The entire council of Duiran entreats the Guardians of Dendara for an audience, to ask an enormous favor.

I can't gush enough about how awesome this experience was, to have most everyone from CWHO and all of the Guardians together in one room. Phenomenal, just phenomenal.




You have emoted: A little flustered, Sibatti arrives at the core, seeking out Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale.

Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale's dark eyes turn to regard you, his features offering little aside from his usual flat tranquility. "Voice," he utters in a deep baritone. "The Karnagh have seen some small amount of success in our tria6ls." His nostrils flare wide in an unconscious show before he continues, wasting no time. "Now, we must entreat the Guardians, or find another source of power. We go now to meet with them."

You think:
[ Her mood is a whirlwind, but it suddenly brightens with hope ].

(Tells): From an unseen place, Iesid communicates to you, "I'm on my way."

Iesid enters from the west, riding a mud-coated hippo.

You have emoted: "I am heartened to hear that, Horn," Sibatti says to Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale, her mien brightening visibly. "To the Valley, then?"

Iesid just thought:
He could put plenty together.

(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Illikaal, "Watcher."
(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Illikaal, "We are needed."

(Shamans): You say, "Shaman."
(Shamans): You say, "We are needed."
(Shamans): Valorie says, "Where?"
(Shamans): You say, "To the core."

"Aye," Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale confirms, the braids of his hair clinking together as he dips his head forward in assent. "Bring all that would look upon them, in hope that they realize our plight." He seems poised to turn, but hesitates, adding a moment later, "Warn them that the Guardians will not suffer fools. I will not have their time wasted with the blithering of fools that know not when to keep their mouths shut." With that final warning, he turns to depart.

Rakdor turns southward, stepping away and into the depths of the village.

(Duiran): You say, "Duiran."
(Duiran): You say, "Attend at the core, immediately."
(Duiran): You say, "We must entreat the Guardians for aid."

<< gathering people up, accidentally going to the Shaman GH, then figuring out where in Dendara we're meeting up at.. >>

A wide, overgrown depression ringed by pale stone.
You find the weather around you imperceptible.Clusters of green and purple ferns line the outskirts of this broad, shallow dip in the valley floor, giving way to low shrubs and the occasional tiny sapling towards the center of the bowl. Ten squat, angular pillars of stone spear from the earth, engravings and points long since worn away to nothing, each one perfectly spaced around the depression in a mathematically precise circle. Curiously, no vines or creepers mar the standing stones, and the dark pines give them a wide berth, leaving the clearing open to the empty sky. Rakdor looms here, hands flexing unconsciously at his side. Shifting from side to side, a nimble, heavily scarred simulacrum floats here. Snarling under their breath, a bear-masked ancestral simulacrum waits here. An onyx wyvern stands here silently, turning his fey gaze upon anything interesting. Arms folded menacingly over its chest, a heavily tattooed, sturdy simulacrum waits here. Eaku Redwood is here.
You see exits leading east, north, south, and west.

Looking upon those gathered, Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale says, "I have already informed the voices of the Guardians. As I warned your Voice, I do not know the Guardians to suffer fools. Keep close your words if they have no meaning other than to hear the sound of your own voice."

The soft clink and scrape of her armour heralds the entrance of Narra from the west.

Gortuk walks in from the west with ponderous steps.

Miazi pads in from the south with light footsteps.

The heels of his boots scuffing against the ground, Judoc walks in from the north.

His stout body rocking heavily from side to side, Havar enters from the north.

Vras enters from the south, his movements barely more than the whispered shift of his robes.

Illikaal just thought:
There is no greater honor than to be in the presence of the Guardians.

You think:
[ A loss for words. Never before has she seen them assembled together like this. ].

Each voice arrives in their own time, wordlessly looking upon those assembled as they take up stations before an individual cairn of stone. A show of difference in every one of them, each voice exudes the mannerisms, the aura, of their chosen Guardian. "The Council wishes to speak with the Guardians," Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale's voice booms out suddenly, reverberating on stone as he addresses the gathered representatives. "Will they grant this audience?"

(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Iesid, "I am shaking."

Vras looks carefully across the gathering, features hidden behind the mask that adorns his face. Something unspoken seems to pass between the voices, an understanding, before finally the crisp, strong voice behind the adornment calls out, "They come."

(Tells): From an unseen place, Iesid communicates to you, "I will remain resolute and still enough for both of us, then."

A keening, primal screech threatens your very equilibrium as Takaros, the Fury makes his presence known above. He lands with a ferocity that causes the ground beneath your feet to shudder in protest, surveying the gathering with fierce eyes. The mighty Wyvern exudes an aura of palpable rage, his very flesh quivering with the effort of containing it.

Takaros:
Scaled and fearsome, this wyvern stands tall, his thick supported upon its two pillar-like legs. His winged arms are long and powerful, ending in fierce claws, conveying the ability to fly to the beast. His long, ridged snout and narrowed eyes convey a sense of rage, his long, pointed teeth bared and fierce.

Illikaal stills, raising his quarterstaff in silent reverence.

Rhulvok, the Warden's great heaving frame stalks into the clearing and takes up his vigil beside a cairn of his own. The Warden cuts a stolid figure, the tranquility that emanates from the mighty bear in sharp contrast to the patchwork for scars that mar his flesh.

Rhulvok:
Several times larger than even the largest wild bear, Rhulvok is an immense, spectral ursine, even his great bulk rendered insubstantial. Still he looks every bit the part, muscle and fat rippling beneath his shaggy coat with every heavy motion, his loose lips open as he huffs and scents the air. Five long claws tip each of his paws, possessing both the size and keen edge of manmade steel blades, looking more than capable of causing mortal damage even with the lightest of pressure applied. With each rolling motion, the world distorts further through the vision, settling and unblurring again whenever he stands still long enough. Simplistic symbols have been painted onto his fur, and they glow a faint white-blue.

Padded feet are seen before they're heard as Griash, the Keeper prowls forward, the lithe feline seemingly appearing out of nowhere given the precise silence of his steps. Moving with lazy purpose, the black cougar takes his time in approaching a tall stone. Once he reaches the foot of a cairn, his back arches and his clawed paws splay in a mighty stretch of indifference. A yawn follows, revealing stained teeth and a pink tongue. Eventually, he sits, ensuring everything is done on his time until those bisected, yellow eyes fall on the gathering before him.

Griash:
This massive, translucent cougar stands, calmly observing everything around himself. His fur is sleek and black as shadow, his muscular, rippling body filled with the predator's grace. The mighty body tapers into a long tail, supported by large paws that nonetheless rise and fall with complete silence. The feline's eyes are deep and piercing, golden bright and bisected.

Aisling lingers at the back of the gathered council, still and watching, perhaps too stunned to even bow her head in deference.

Iesid just thought:
Awe, to stand in the presence of the Guardians. Solemnity. A surge of pride sings within his heart upon the Keeper's emergence especially, his attention rapt.

Kree-sa, the Broodmother's bulbous frame arrives upon the delicate framework of her eight legs. Each appendage moves her forward like a dancer, carrying the massive bulk of her abdomen up and over the very cairn that she arranges herself before. A multitude of eyes all flicker wildly, each one focusing as if with a mind of its own.

Kree-sa
An arachnid of immense proportions, this translucent spider stands poised on each of its eight, spindly, chitinous legs. Her bulbous abdomen is the largest part of her, thorax and head small in comparison, and the geometric patterns marked upon her spectral exoskeleton glow of their own bioluminescent accord. Eight fathomless, glossy black eyes take in the world around the aspect, a sentient weight to her predatory gaze. Kree-sa's mandibles constantly shift and click together, her fangs visibly flexing, adding an ominous overtone to her already unnerving appearance.

Ardaun comes bolting in, already pulling forth an elegant, forestal greatspear of reclaimed wood, simply to ready himself, though the upsurge of Takaros, the Fury grinds him to a halt, nearer to the cluster of the Pride.

Srahda, the Seer arrives with the pumping of heavy wings, her white-grey feathers stirring all manner of dust and debris across the gathered area. She lands with a light touch across her own cairn, talons crunching loudly into the stone that flakes away with the strength of her grip. Three eyes stare down upon the gathering as she folds her wings carefully to her side, calmly surveying the gathered.

Srahda:
Towering above most mortals, this enormous raven is an imposing silhouette. Her white-grey feathers are immaculate, a smoke-like, spectral pall pouring from her being and chilling the air around her presence. The material world touched by this aura is affected curiously, as though it loses some of its lustre, some of its very realness, and warps to something fundamentally similar and indescribably different, only to return to its natural state so soon as the wisps dissipate. Although she appears largely similar to other members of the corvus family, there is something altogether knowing and uniquely sentient in her piercing gaze; even more obvious is the third eye in the center of her forehead that does not blink and almost never wavers in its distant focus.

Warily, as if trying not to disturb the air with his voice, Hunter Ardaun ath el'Harsan murmurs to Eaku with elegant syllables, "...Isnae it bad if'in ye're here tae long?"

Illikaal turns a sharp and piercing gaze toward Ardaun, staring long and wordlessly.

Eaku Redwood says, "He means me specifically. It will be fine. Should my presence be an issue, I will remove myself or, I suspect, be removed."

Valorie just thought:
[Full of awe, reverence, at the sight before her, coloring the starscape of her mind in gold-touched hues, the murmurs of the other Councilors barely registering.].

Srahda, the Seer's three eyes carefully scan those gathered, as knowing a gaze as can be discerned upon the Guardians features. A voice that is not a voice suddenly rings throughout your mind, implacable and knowing.

"ALL HAVE GATHERED."

You have emoted: Sibatti glances around as if waiting for something yet.

You think:
Where is the shadow?

Miazi's lips split into a knowing grin, a calculating coldness momentarily broken by some internal jest.

The foliage underfoot begins to shudder and move, a circular motion begining to encircle the ring of stones. Vo'acha, the Shadow's great head appears from seemingly nowhere, its winding body moving with a powerful, deadly intent. Seizing upon one great stone in particular, the Serpent's great form winds its way up the outside of the stone, encircling it tight within its choking grasp. Its head finally reaches a point where it capstones the cairn, yellowed eyes staring out across the gathering.

Vo'acha:
Every inch of it coated in overlapping scales, this great serpent towers above most men when it rears its head; slitted eyes, a wide mouth, and a slender tongue define its visage, tasting the air at frequent intervals. Its body is massive and strong, winding with sinuous, powerful intent; light seems almost to go through and around its shape, and the shadows cling to it, making it difficult to make out detail even under the strongest illumination.

You have emoted: Sibatti is well and truly awed, the anticipatory look cast around finding ease at the entrance of the Forestwalker. She lifts a thin split quarterstaff bearing shrunken heads in solemn reverence, clattering bone against fetish and shrunken head.

(Speakers of Duiran): Iesid says, "I've news from the Prime. The empire marches troops to Sterion."
(Speakers of Duiran): Iesid says, "We can discuss after."

Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale watches as each Guardian arrives in their own time, six of the Cairns now occupied out of the remaining ten that stand proudly in the ring of stone. As all comes to a still, he turns to fix a stoic gaze onto you, braids rattling as he tips his head forward once more. "The meeting is yours, Voice."

(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Illikaal, "I would have you stand with me, Watcher. Tiarna an-Kiar."
(Tells): Illikaal's voice echoes in your ears, "And so I will, Fang."

Illikaal just thought:
Alshek. Balamag. Valakris. Kaarn. If only things had been different. What a blessing it would have been.

(Tells): Stine whispers into your consciousness, "We believe in you."

You have emoted: Giving Rakdor, the Horn of the Vale a firm nod, Sibatti steps up to stand near the minotaur and face the gathered Guardians. There is a pause, and the sound of her taking a deep breath. "Our Guardians, most sacred. Blessed pillars of Dendara and all of her greatness. Your council.. your Praadi .. your sacred dedicant, Tiarna an_Kiar--" At this, she turns her gaze in Illikaal's direction. "We gather here to entreat you in a time of great peril." She pauses, swallowing quietly, blinking once. "We have mourned with you, for Dendara. We have despaired, and we have prayed."

Takaros, the Fury seems to roil in near uncontrollable motion, every ounce of his muscled frame shaking with the sheer, overwhelming intoxication of his rage. Loud crunching underfoot echoes as his claws churn into the stone underfoot, rendering it into dust. Impatient, is the Fury.

Dipping her chin low, you say, "We have struck and killed for her."

A low voice resounds through the air, rumbling and deep--Rhulvok, the Warden, roars into your mind, each word a painful scrape: SO FEW PRAY NOW.

Illikaal steps up in perfect stride beside you as you approaches, granting the Speaker the allowance the Hand affords. His gaze remains rolling across the various Guardians with a mixture of awe and respect, hands relaxing against a blooming Heartwood quarterstaff.

Kree-sa, the Broodmother works her mandibles in contemplation, the slow motion of her jaws a rhythmic clicking which forms an odd, if strangely comforting backdrop to the solemnity of the exchange. Your reflection stares back at you from within the depths of those glossy black eyes while she lingers, still and unmoving, and observes with a predator's limitless patience.

You have emoted: "We hold fast to faith, and to the gift the horizon might bring - rebirth, to this sacred plane," Sibatti continues, wincing at something inwardly heard. Another deep breath, another exhale, and she shakes off whatever it was once she is joined by Illikaal. "That which plagues you is our quarry. We seek your strength, our Guardians."

For a moment, Griash, the Keeper busies himself with an idle licking of one great paw. He takes his time cleaning each sheathed claw, the cougar even going further into his indifferent cleaning by dragging a tooth over the concealed weapon, trimming them. A slow blink, then another.

As a low rumble begins to silkenly intrude on your thoughts, coy and fleeting at first, you find yourself nearly brought to your knees by the sheer intensity of the Keeper's voice: YOU SEEK OUR STRENGTH, BUT OFFER US NONE.

Aisling's attention shifts, eye finding you, and she straightens somewhat where she stands.

You have emoted: Sibatti shifts her tone, stepping up one pace closer. "You deserve your price, as every Praadi who swears their oath knows. You will have it, my kin."

(Tells): Stine whispers into your consciousness, "Esry-."
(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Stine, "This is their way."
(Tells): Stine whispers into your consciousness, "Send me. It is owed."

Marin plucks at the edges of her cloak, pulling it closer to her body.

"How many come to this place in this day? How many young hold to the ways of the Guardians?" Judoc's voice cuts fiercely. Arms crossing his chest he adds, "I see precious few outside of the Praadi."

You think:
[ Her thoughts are mixed. There is truth there, no matter how much it pains ].

Iesid just thought:
... he had been up here not too long ago, begging the Keeper's guidance. Of course, he would admit to himself, he had not been up in a long time since before that.

Aisling's mask shifts as her jaw sets.

(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Eaku, "If you have any words of wisdom to that, I would hear them, Prideleader."
(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Illikaal, "If you have any words of wisdom to that, I would hear them, Watcher."

"Many have fallen into despair." Illikaal comments quietly. "The way of the Praadi is not for the light of heart. Too many are unable to bear the burden." The giant exhales with rumbling growl, tilting his head to the dwarfed Speaker beside him. "But there those that have served as the roots to the Oak. Long lasting, and ensuring it gets all it needs."

Watcher Illikaal Aresti, Kin of Takaros says, "We may be few. But we are fierce. We are unrelenting."

With determination, Watcher Illikaal Aresti, Kin of Takaros says, "We are Praadi."

The clear yet overwhelming peal of Sradha's voice threatens to shatter all equilibrium: THE SEER KNOWS WHAT YOU SEEK, AND THE SEER KNOWS WHAT YOU WILL SACRIFICE TO ATTAIN IT.

Eyes partially glazed, Gortuk drags his attention over each of you in silent judgement. He is as still as his Guardian until finally, on a low rumble that mirrors the tones of a quiet cougar, he asks, "You suggest weakness. We suggest laziness. Too few to bear the burden, or too few taught?"

You have emoted: This gives Sibatti pause, bringing her staff to center in front of her, held in both hands. She listens to Illikaal's piece, and then her shoulders tighten at the voice of the Seer. She turns all three eyes - as well as the four from her feathery wings - to Srahda, the Seer.

Eaku squares his shoulders, scarred visage turning to each Guardian in turn. His is an even voice, full of resolve. "The Pride does not visit Dendara as much, it is true. Our path - our eyes, and our deeds - focus on the Prime. This is where we focus our defense and our honoring of Dendara. In the poacher's blood that runs down our hands, in the undead skulls we claim or shatter, the aberrations that we have put down - our oaths are kept." He pauses, each wing spreading out one at a time. "If there is more you would ask of us - a sacrifice, a commitment - we will swear to it."

Illikaal turns his gaze to Gortuk, the baritone still resonating despite the softness in it from the commanded respect of the an-Kiar. "Many have come and gone in the years, Voice Gortuk. Some have been as leaves. Blown away by the weight of their burden from the lightest blow of the wind. Others are branches that may appear sturdy, but they too crumble under the weight of the tide." Balling up both of his left hands into fists, he pummels them against his chest and locks them in place as the same time he raises his staff and jabs it forcefully into the ground. "The Praadi may have stumbled in spreading our teachings, but they are not easy ways to embrace, and so many do not care to. The roots are few. But we are here. That is all we can offer."

Watcher Illikaal Aresti, Kin of Takaros says, "Whatever it is the Guardians will ask of the Council, of the Praadi. They shall have it."

You nod your head at Illikaal.

Aisling steps forward much the same, hands clenched into fists at her sides, her voice ringing clear despite the barrier of stone that her mask provides, "The Sentaari have sought endlessly to serve and resolve what ails you, that Dendara may bloom in rebirth." She calls, "Whatever is necessary, it will be given, without pause or hesitation."

Valorie just thought:
[A silent weight rests upon her shoulders. Unspoken, but heavy.].

Srahda, the Seer shifts atop her great perch of weathered stone, white-grey feathers ruffling in a momentary breeze that cuts through the valley. Three eyes watch with an unblinking resolve, weighing each word, and its source.

Like the crystalline peal of a bell: WE WILL GIVE WHAT YOU DESIRE, BUT THE COST WILL BE GREAT.

(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Aisling, "I am glad for your presence here."
(Tells): Aisling dur Naya tells you, "It must be done."

You have emoted: Sibatti nods her head once, gravely. "It will be done. It must be."

You think:
We have no choice. We will do, or die.

Illikaal once again glances toward you, giving a single nod of wordless agreement.

Takaros rages within your mind, a clear and stark difference to the overwhelming purity of the Seer: YOU WILL AGREE, KNOWING NOT WHAT WE ASK. IN TIME, YOU WILL BE HELD DUE. DO YOU ACCEPT?

Marin shudders violently.

(Speakers of Duiran): Iesid says, "No."
(Speakers of Duiran): You say, "Yes."

Watcher Illikaal Aresti, Kin of Takaros says, "That is our Oath, my Kin. Whatever the cost."

You cease to wield a thin split quarterstaff bearing shrunken heads.
You start to wield an obsidian knife etched in runes in your right hand.

Illikaal releases his grip on a blooming Heartwood quarterstaff and it swiftly withers, appearing to be nothing more than a normal, unassuming staff.
Illikaal starts to wield a jewel-encrusted sacrificial dagger in his left hand.

Illikaal draws the sharp edge of a jewel-encrusted sacrificial dagger across his palm, blood beginning to trickle from the new wound.

Illikaal raises his bleeding hand toward the Guardians, for all to see. "By my own blood. Whatever the Guardians ask."

You think:
.. not like I haven't made a similar bargain before.

Aisling just thought:
[Her thoughts buzz with anticipation, though there is no dread to taint it. Resolute.].

(Speakers of Duiran): Iesid says, "We are in this mess because we did not look forward properly, Esrytesh! What harm is there in knowing what is due?"
(Speakers of Duiran): You say, "This is their way."
(Speakers of Duiran): You say, "I do not expect you to understand. I ask you."
(Speakers of Duiran): You say, "To trust."
(Speakers of Duiran): Illikaal says, "I will not debate this with anyone."
(Speakers of Duiran): Illikaal says, "I am in full and unshakeable agreement with the Fang."

The words of Kree-sa course like spun silk in your minds, the gentle, crooning notes of her seductive predation leaving you rapt: SO LONG SINCE THE GIFT OF LIFE WAS FREELY SACRIFICED. HOW FAR WILL YOU KEEP THE FAITH?

Illikaal just thought:
I gave my life already. Another few times couldn't hurt.

Rhulvok rears back onto his hind legs as the blood is spilt, every inch of rippling apex muscle towering over you as the ancient entity reaches his full height. Havar, his Voice, steps forward, his intonations echoing off the sides of the depression, "I am Havar, Claw of the Warden; hear us now. The path before you is more tumultuous than ever. Listen to the heartbeat of the Rhythm, and holdfast the Warden's tranquility. Within it, you will find the strength to do what is necessary."

You have emoted: Sibatti joins Illikaal in the ritual spilling of blood, striking an obsidian knife etched in runes clearly across an old scar through the center of her palm. Both Tiarna and Azudim blood strikes the earth. "We are your faithful, unerring," she responds, her voice taking on the nature of a chanted prayer.

You have emoted: "Whatever the cost," Sibatti echoes Illikaal's oath.

A lustrous tongue flickers out from the great maw of Vo'acha, the Shadow as it tastes the air and tightens its grip about the stone perch its claimed, patiently poised to watch. Powerful muscles flex and shift with a serene confidence beneath the dark scales glistening under the waning light of the afternoon. Deep, yellow eyes fixate upon those gathered in judgement. Its attention is that of an unbridled intimacy fettered to a predator used to observing and studying its prey.

An oscillating cadence grating to the nerves fills your mind: HEAVY. PRICE. DUTY. YET CONSUME WE MUST. BARGAIN. STRIKE. KILL. CONSUME.

"Whatever the burden." Illikaal utters in perfect follow with you, as though their words came from the same source.

IT IS AGREED.

Aisling turns her attention, briefly, to the gathered Council. One wrapped hand rises to pull at her mask, tear it from her features to reveal the disfigured, myriad teeth she sports, and she moves forward to join those bleeding, reaching to grasp at the outermost fangs of her visage and tear them out without hesitation or flinch, her blood and the teeth to join that of the Shaman, "Whatever the cost." She repeats.

(Tells): From an unseen place, Iesid communicates to you, "I trust you."
(Tells): In a deep, gravelly voice, you impart to Iesid, "Good."

The thud of a falling tail echoes something of finality and Griash's golden eyes lower to his voice, Gortuk, who's fleeting smile is accompanied by the rumbling of a cougar, "With blood spilled, an oath is made."

Without anything more, Srahda, the Seer leaps skywards, her wings spreading wide to catch the gust beneath them. She pumps hard, rising into the skies above, before disappearing from side. As she departs, so to do the other Guardians begin to make their own way, disappearing further into the valley.

Launching up with a single beat of her wings, Srahda, the Seer dissipates, the ambient warmth slowly bleeding back in her absence.

Takaros, the Fury launches himself to the west.

Rhulvok, the Warden gives a bellowing roar that shudders the very air around you, then he too departs along with his voice.

You have emoted: As the Guardians begin to depart, Sibatti lowers her dagger and begins to ritualistically wrap her left hand. Her gaze cannot help but shift in the direction of Vo'acha, the Shadow, eyes gleaming.

You cease wielding an obsidian knife etched in runes in your right hand.

Disappearing as silently as the Keeper, Gortuk walks with a lazy purpose on silent steps that carry him away until neither Guardian nor Voice are visible.

Aisling watches each Guardian drift from the room, reaching as to wipe at her bloody visage with her forearm, smearing red upon her sleeve.

You think:
May your gaze trap those who wander alone.

Vo'acha, the Shadow unceremoniously loosens its grip upon the stone and lowers its hulking form to the ground before melting away towards the shadows.

Vo'acha, the Shadow winds away to the east.

As the Guardians depart, their voices moving away soon after, Vras steps forward, his intent to stay obvious. Voice muffled behind his mask, he utters, "You will now be able to anchor each Guardian's power within Sapience for your use, though the effort of doing so may prove long and arduous."

Judoc walks to the west with a long, easy stride.

You have emoted: Sibatti listens to the an-Kiar in earnest.

Watcher Illikaal Aresti, Kin of Takaros murmurs to you, "Do inform me of this process immediately."

Ardaun tilts his head and listens intently to Vras.

Illikaal inclines his head politely to those around him.

Marin sucks on the starstone labret on her lower lip in idle thought.

Illikaal leaves to the south.
He is followed by an immense, flowering toad.

Shuddering off a chill, Marin turns on a heel, nodding her head decidedly and walking away into the Dendaric wilderness.

"You must create within Prime an anchor point for each of the Guardians," Vras continues, hoarse behind the impediment adorning his face. "It would be well to space these anchors as evenly as can be provided. To raise a totem to a specific Guardian, you will first sanctify the ground underfoot with blood -.." Something in his words there hints at a smile hidden behind the mask. "From what I understand, the ground there is already well set to receive a new bounty."

"After you have prepared the ground, construct a totem for the purpose of focusing their power," Vras continues to explain. "From there, each totem must be empowered." He pauses, head cocked to one side in an eerie display. "It will take no small amount of offering."

Vras says, "Once every totem has been thoroughly empowered, the Karnagh will be free to perform whatever magics they have a mind to, the full power of the Guardians at their back."

"I can not stress enough," Vras adds, voice severe. "Place these anchors across this... Sterion... as evenly as you can."

Vras tips his head forward in the slightest showing of acceptance. "I will remain here for some time should you have questions."

You say, "When will we know that we are ready?"

"You will know," Vras replies flatly.