Best Of

Led by the Sentinels, the council gathers to honor the Durdalis in song and memory and to usher safe passage to Dia'ruis.

Featuring: Ulo, Sekeres, Govon, Jhura, Ixmi, Ase, Sibatti, Valorie, Khedoulemouqe.

This was such a joy to participate in, and a fantastic example of the evolution of Duirani culture. This was player-initiated and driven - having Govon show up was entirely unexpected, and only made it even more amazing.

A mist-wreathed altar in the durdalis henge.
The noonday sun shines down, tinged grey by its passage through the thick clouds above. Numerous stone formations surround this open air henge within this sacred location beyond the resting Durdalis. Encircling an altar that is centrally located within, the lush soil of the surroundings breaks where the immense stone pillars break through the loam. A gentle mist blankets the surroundings, curling and twisting around obstacles to ensconce the clearing in its silvered presence. Rising up centrally an altar stands, the wooden surface gently dusted with ash and soot from the firepit which rests centrally. Surrounded with numerous stones that have been chiseled with representations of the Guardians of Diaruis, the firepit itself is large enough to bear a relatively sizable fire within. Draped in viridescent foliage, a ritual altar dwells here. Like a bird-shaped hole in space, a dark raven spirit glides through the air. Imparter Ulo Ka'aukai is here. The Azudim wields a spirit-bound dhurive of Ithmian hymns in their hands. This area has been overgrown with a swathe of seething plantlife.
You see a single exit leading south.

Govon strides in from the south, the clash of stone upon stone heralding its passage.

You smile at Govon.

Ulo turns to face Govon clenching their right fist and pounding their chest thrice in rapid succession, symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.

Jhura turns to face Govon clenching her right fist and pounding her chest thrice in rapid succession, symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.

Govon arrives amidst the low grinding of stone and soughing life, the ancient elemental moving with a slow, ponderous gait that leads the Durdalis to rest a distance away from the altar.

Ulo mixes together a thick paste using some oil, and coats a slender length of wood in the substance. The Azudim waves it through the air a few times to dry it, and ends up with a stick of gradated elderflower incense.

With a creaking sough, Govon says, "The Durdalis have long memories, for few find their end when left to our own devices."

Ulo exhales deeply, nodding and understanding the weight of the words presented by Govon.

Sekeres suddenly appears, having travelled down the beam of prismatic light.
Imparter Ulo Ka'aukai says, "The Prideleader comes."

The grinding of stone punctuating what follows, Govon says, "It is right that the Council remember those that are no more. It is right."

Heralded by a showering of wild light, Sekeres appears and emerges from behind one of the formations.

Imparter Ulo Ka'aukai says to Govon, "We must never forget that which is part of this Council, by their sacrifices they are one with the Cycle, but their memory shall last so long as their story is told."

Ase turns to face Sekeres clenching her right fist and pounding her chest thrice in rapid succession, symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.

Sekeres puts a fist to her left breast and beats it thrice. Though soon, she tends to such things involved in the laying of items most sacred.

Ulo nods their head at Sekeres.

Pulling a weathered ivory rattle set with bronze bars from her leather hip-belt, Sekeres beckons Ixmi with a crook of her finger.

Ixmi flits over to Sekeres' side as she's beckoned, though her attention lingers firmly on Govon.

Govon settles to contemplative stillness, save for the occasional flicker of fel light that emanates from deep within his craggy bulk.

Pressing the rattle into her hands, Sekeres nods solemnly before turning her changeable eyes on Jhura.

Ixmi ceases to wield a crystal-tipped ashwood quarterstaff, securing it to her weaponbelt.
Ixmi starts to wield a weathered ivory rattle set with bronze bars in her left hand.

Ulo ceases to wield a spirit-bound dhurive of Ithmian hymns, securing it to their weaponbelt.

Prismatic coat swishing about her ankles as she moves Jhura crosses to join Sekeres.

Ixmi accepts a weathered ivory rattle set with bronze bars in both hands, the eager instrument making its characteristic noise no matter how gently she handles it. She looks back up to Sekeres then and nods her head twice.

Ulo starts to wield a smoke-finished violin adorned in moonstone in their left hand.

Ulo exhales slowly, allowing a long fluid breath to creep from their lungs.

Inclining her greatly-maned head of blackened dreadlocks, Sekeres' features soften faintly as she gestures her palms flat and moves toward the drums. These, still stained from smoke, and even very faint flecks of dried blood. "Begin a rhythm, my sister," she bids as her eyes trail to them.

Ixmi begins to shake the rattle gently, setting a slow and quiet rhythm that nevertheless pervades the quiet space, each second beat coming a bit harder than the rest.

Sekeres' silent approval drags as splinters of bright, amber-muddled emerald toward her.

You have emoted: Sibatti stands quietly, but fondly, next to where Govon has settled in, lifting a thin split quarterstaff bearing shrunken heads once Ixmi's rattling begins to sound, the rattle of shrunken heads briefly joining in.

The hues shift slightly as the rhythm begins to coalesce in song within the henge, the mist upon the floor parting around those gathered as the Speaker takes up their violin, joining in the sound.

Sekeres just thought:
"So few," Sekeres' thoughts murmur before turning to the new faces. They give her hope.

Jhura rests her hand gently on the the drums as she steps up to them, eyes closed briefly in reverence. Before her eyes open she strikes the drums in a quickly flurry, a triple beat with the third resounding louder, echoing briefly from the stone formations surrounding them before her mossy eyes open and she settles into a rhythmic beat that quickly fills the air.

It begins faintly, only just audible to those directly beside him. A deep hum takes up from within Govon, adding its deep appreciation to the musical notes that begin to fill this place.

Yet, Sekeres is not done. To a kneel, the Yeleni goes to set places of wood before the altar at some distance into a firepit. Once complete, she sways up. Even as you settles in, the wildling steps forth on bare feet. She asks, "Would you do the honors of being the keeper of the flame?"

Ixmi shakes a weathered ivory rattle set with bronze bars just a bit harder, not to compete with Jhura's drumming, but to fill the space between each beat with the softer chorus of jingling discs.

You nod your head at Sekeres.

Ulo speaks through the sound, their tone gentle as they afford it to the beat of the percussion, "The hearbeatt of our lands, the thrum of renewal. Dia'ruis thrives amidst untold destruction, unfathomable loss and furthermore the strength of sacrifice to preserve it all." Their tone somber as they finally declare amidst the music admission to the gathering.

(Tells): Her voice sharp-edged and frosty, Sekeres whispers to you, "You shall be accepting herbs from those who shall have them in a moment. And place them in the flame. You shall ensure that the heat, and light, does not die."

Sekeres bows her head, and then turns to scatter herbs along the gathering of Duirani - each with its own pungent fragrance. She glides to the beat.

Ulo mixes together a thick paste using some oil, and coats a slender length of wood in the substance. The Azudim waves it through the air a few times to dry it, and ends up with a coil of intoxicating opium incense.

Sekeres gives a bunch of sage to Ase.
Sekeres gives a bunch of rosemary to Ulo.
Sekeres gives an opium poppy to Khedoulemouqe.
Sekeres gives an opium poppy to Ixmi.
Sekeres gives an opium poppy to you.

Sekeres pivots, and then scatters bundles of woven yarrow within the firepit not yet lit.

A single sharp, pronounced shake echoes from the rattle at the end of Ulo's statement before Ixmi slows her instrument to a quieter rhyrhm. She repeats that single excited note two drumbeats later, then two after that, filling the stillness where Ulo's voice once was until the Azudim have need

Ulo's words are punctuated by another resounding triple beat, the voices of the drums sent far and wide to call to the memories of those who gave their lives for the Cycle, to call to the spirits that yet awaited their rebirth. Sinking into Instinct and the voice of the wilds that permeates the soul of the Council Jhura sways with the building rhythm of drum, rattle and violin, all supported by Govon.

Descending in a rippling of corded muscle, Sekeres kneels aside the drums; prepared for action and motion as she sets a haunting wind chime of skeletal mourning nearby to stir. Yet it needs it not, as a cool turn of autumn's wind floats to catch its old, forgotten music. Poignant and stirring through the low vibration of the drums, and the smattering copper clash of the rattle. The wildling then lifts an ocarina to her lips, contributing a final breathless sound of the dying and the hollow with her own voice - as the wind through canyons, as water on stone, it flows between and all around. Mournful and morose.

Ulo indulges upon the rattle and percussion, allowing the staccato to infiltrate the surroundings, the grinding of the earth, the timely beat. All sound is consumed and brought to the forefront with the sound of stone rumbling taking precedent and meeting their words as they stand before the altar, "This Autumn, we honor the Durdalis who sought to defend our wilds, to protect the Heartwood, to face the Shadowbound threats in tumultuous war." They intone, their voice complemented by the rumbling as they look upon each face gathered and settle upon Govon, "This Sacrament shall be in offering to their sacrifice, shall be in respects of those who met a premature end, and shall stand this day in memory unforgotten, the Spirit of the Durdalis honored."

Ulo gestures widely before those gathered, and while the rumbling persists, they nod to the firekeeper signalling the Sacrament beginning.

Life's elemental only watches, abandoning words in favor of that ever-growing hum that yet emanates from deep within. As Ulo falls into silence, the creak of stone and the sough of verdure punctuate the slow, inexorable nod that Govon passes them.

Ixmi stills her rattle to near-quietude once Ulo begin speaking again, its subtle rhythm barely audible amidst the other instruments and Govon's deep hum. The sound slowly picks up as the Azudim speak, punctuating their pause with another hard shake, the jingling of bronze discs still resounding as the Azudim continue. At Ulo's gesture and Govon's nod, she resumes her earlier rhythm, but this time two hard shakes join together where once was but one.

You have emoted: Sibatti takes a position over the firepit. Listening to Ulo's cue, he opens his jaws wide to permit a narrow, pointed stream of fire directed at the kindling of herbs and wood. They alight without trouble, and the scent of burning, bitter pine accompanies. The Azudim's great wings spread out into their full, impressive span, creating a bulwark against any errant winds seeking to smote out the newborn flame.

As the fire takes purchase within the firepit, golden light casts upon those gathered and their shadows upon the stone formations which encircle them. The rumbling of stone and percussion dancing in beat with the flames that grow upon the afforded kindling. Gesturing towards the Sentaari, bundles of yarrow are afforded and smolder in the flames, the aroma of burning herbs fills the surroundings. Spirits calming and trauma being quelled. The Sacrament begins.

Fleeting, keening, skipping air in a slow smear of sliding foreign scales, Sekeres breathes. And once the flame is light her arms fling to the sides to cut the sound subtly, a signal to her and her to cease the delicacy of the rhythm of their creation; of memory, of honor, of sacrifice.

Ulo exhales deeply as the Sentaari afford their Yarrow, their eyes then turn upon the Sentinels gathered, "Pride, may sage now purify and cleanse these surroundings, freeing our communion of impurity and intrusion." Their voice deep and rumbling, stern yet kind.

Ase shuffles forward, bundle of sage clutched in her hands.

Sekeres moves to a stand, and falls alongside Ase as she pulls her woven, braided strands of sage in a hand. Her ocarina in the other. She solemnly nods to the Unblooded, as she steps past you to offer the herb to the flame with an opening of her palm.

At Sekeres' signal the voices of the drums fall silent with neither flourish nor fanfare, coming to a simple end as the final notes of the mingled rhythm fade away and Jhura's hands rest atop the instrument.

Ase settles with the presence of her Prideleader, and reaches out to lay the bundle into the flames.

As the sage is afforded to the flames the tell-tale aroma fills the henge and an auspicious lingering smoke filters through the surroundings. Neutrality comes forth from the offering and the Ritual Leader nods through the smoke at those gathered.

You have emoted: Shaded gaze moving to Ase, Sibatti dips his chin in a nod towards her.

Sekeres steps backward, and returns to her place; quietly slipping her the opium of a poppy bloom.
Sekeres gives an opium poppy to Jhura.

Ase steps back as well, tucking into a out-of-the-way spot.

Ulo speaks now upon the Shamans gathered, attention brought forward and earnest request as their tone bellows once more through the smoke, "Next the offerings of the Shamans shall come, to open the minds of those present, to welcome the spirits and ancestors to in, and to accept what they may afford unto us." Their palms are displayed openly as they nod and state the time is ready.

The sound of the rattle stills to where it began, its sole rhythm seemingly magnified by the stilling of Jhura's drums. Though it takes her longer, Ixmi moves by foot for once, stepping carefully across to where you tend the flame. She nods once to you as she kneels down and places the head of an opium poppy into the flame, before tipping the stem in as well with a flick of her finger.

Khedoulemouqe casts an opium poppy into the flames.

As the offerings are made, Ulo begins tying up their own bundle of herbs upon the altar and quietly nodding as each individual offers theirs in turn.

You have emoted: Sibatti waits until the others of the Praadi have cast their herbs, and then releases the poppy clutched in his own claws to the firepit just below. A few twirls, and the flower joins its sisters in a smolder of burning petals and its particularly strong odor. His eyelids fluttering to a close, he murmurs his own prayer to the spirits: "Forever, we listen to what you speak to the earth in your sleep, what secrets may you whisper from your ancient wisdom during your rest."

As the opium poppies are brought forth unto the flame, the invigorating aroma comes forward and excites the air from the neutrality and cleansing of the previous offerings. The flames flicker in hues of pink ever so slightly as the flowers burn away into the basin of coals joining the offerings prior.

Quietly exchanging herbs, Sekeres genuflects her eyes down to her as she offers a sprig of rosemary. Then she exchanges a brief glance with them. Through the heady smoke, her electric blue eyes seem to smolder and lid at the prayer which you offers.

Sekeres gives a bunch of rosemary to Jhura.

Ulo now steps forward from the altar, their own offering coming to be shared to the flames. Taking a single knee before the flame they murmur unto the fire itself, "We offer now the final herbs in symbolism of memory, may those who sacrificed themselves for the cycle, accept and join us in this time of remembrance." And as their words conclude, their bundle of rosemary is cast into the flames, and they nod to Jhura.

Jhura curls her fingers about the offered rosemary, cradling the herbs gently in her hand as she steps forward towards the flames. With eyes lidded she gazes into the pink tinged conflagration and lets the bundle fall to join its brethren in the hungry fire.

As the final herbs meet the flame, the heady aroma of rosemary fills the henge with a brightness and excitement. The smoke joining together with all the aromas to bring those gathered together

Ulo raises a stick of gradated elderflower incense slightly as the Azudim lights it, allowing it to smolder for a moment before puffing the flame out in a short breath.
Ulo drops a lit stick of gradated elderflower incense.

Govon just thought:
Though they are gone from us, it does not mean forever. They are kept safe as long as one Durdalis yet lives and is willing to carry their memory back to our home.

In a raspy, whispery keen of sound, Sekeres Dark-wing, Singer of Dia'ruis chants, "What is gone, is born again, the Cycle turns to remain."

As the stick of gradated elderflower incense burns, a strange musty-spicy aroma wafts in the smoke. While abruptly pungent, as it lingers, the aroma softens to something sweeter and fresh, reminiscent of death and renewal.

Govon just thought:
Home...

Ulo exhales deeply and nods to Sekeres, taking position on one portion of the perimeter of the flame, "In life, so comes death, and in death, comes renewal." They intone aloud following Sekeres words in earnest.

Sekeres lowers her sharp, angular chin; her eyes downcast into the center of the rising flames. All but high and brushing beyond the reach of the pit. She falls into a silent, solemn contemplation as she breathes in the mingling of scents.

Govon just thought:
They can feel it rising within them, that compounding urge of instinct slowly building to a crescendo.

Jhura just thought:
Gone, but Unforgotten, forever with us in memory and song.

Ixmi jolts her rattle to emphasize Sekeres' chant, filling the silence between her and Ulo. She keeps up a quiet and continuous rattle then, foregoing her established rhythm for a new one touched by anticipation.

Ulo joins back in the song and speaks aloud, "The beat of the cycle thrums with our offerings, with each of us, we represent that which shall honor the Durdalis memories, by our stories, by our words today, we share their story and ensure that it joins the song of creation." The words are punctuated by the rattling and drums, the sound of the winds and stringed instruments, "We begin.." And with that their dhurive in hand, they draw symbolism around the flames representing the elements themselves, Fire, Water, Earth and Wind joining together and being connected by lines with their blade, "Rattles and drums, the Earth listens." They intone gesturing towards the aforementioned parties.

You have emoted: As the fire takes on its own life, Sibatti steps away so as to give it room to breathe and expand, as necessary. His voice is guttural and pitchless as ever, though here it is accompanied by a softness. "We will remember your primordial sound. Your hum of ancient, storied battles. Your voices, tuned to the song of creation. Sing your sonorous songs of deep time. We will be here for you; we will listen."

Allowing one moment of heady air through her lungs, Sekeres listens to the melding of her rattle. By the beckoning of Ulo at the apex head of the firepit, she lifts a carved magewood ocarina to return into a layered suddenness of music, and the ever-living snare of a heart-beat like sway of cacophony. She turns on her one knee and bends her head before tossing it back to eye Jhura, her look wild and full of hope. Her breath buzzes, throatily through her chosen instrument; giving voice to the dead.

Ulo exhales aloud as they gesture to the other instruments, "And so does the wind rush through the boughs, the whistle through the foliage, the creaking of the wood." Their eyes settling upon the ocarina and affording a nod in earnest to accompany the song. They speak further, "So does the waters nourish the lands and help restore life, so too do the fires keep balance upon that which would grow unruly and bring new life."

Again the voices of the drums sound out, the fervor of their beat greater than Jhura drew out before. With the scents of the fire about her she sounds not a call nor entreaty, but a song of ancient Earth, the heartbeat of caverns untouched by sun or light of mortal yet remembered ever by those birthed from Life Herself.

Ulo intones aloud, "All parts bear vital importance, be it Life or Death, all must remain so that our Cycle can thrive." Their voice lowers and rumbles with the sound of the stone, "She exists because of our sacrifices, She revels in our victories, She grieves in our defeats."

Rather than still her instrument while Ulo speaks, as she has previously, Ixmi shakes just a bit harder with each passing syllable, quickly building up her rhythm to where it was and then rattling even more once Sekeres' ocarina and Jhura's drums join her anew. With the silence filled, her sharp notes ring out freely, chasing each drumbeat with their ringing claps.

Ulo nods towards Sekeres, "So as the Durdalis gave unto the Cycle so we could continue forward, this day we will give back part of ourselves to honor them."

Cutting off the ocarina's powerfully empty, haunting wheeze of sound, Sekeres swiftly draws a dagger from it's sheathed place at her hip. And offers it palm up to them.

Sekeres gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Ulo.

Ulo accepts the dagger, taking it in a firm grip in their right hand and slices across their left palm, allowing the blood to run freely into the bowl upon the altar, "The Durdalis have served the wilds long before any of us, their duty is founded as ours. We shall never forget our oaths, never forget our ancestors, never forget our kin." They clench their palm "..for Dia'ruis." And the blood is afforded, they then nod to Jhura inviting next, "Afford your offering, speak your words, select that which follows."

Ulo steps away from the altar and hands the dagger off to Jhura.

Ulo gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Jhura.

As the stick of gradated elderflower incense burns, a strange musty-spicy aroma wafts in the smoke. While abruptly pungent, as it lingers, the aroma softens to something sweeter and fresh, reminiscent of death and renewal.

Letting the voices of the drums echo and fade slowly as she takes the knife in hand Jhura approaches the fire again, laying the blade against the palm of her left hand and laying it open with a practiced slice. As the blood wells from the wound she cups her hand so it pools before she lets it spill into the bowl upon the altar. "The Durdalis rose to fight for us knowing what it would cost them," she begins. "They fought for the same reason we all do, and have paid the price that all of us must be willing to. Let their sacrifice for the Cycle guide you, and may their songs never be lost." Splaying her fingers she bows her head over the altar. "...For Dia'ruis." Turning then to Ixmi she offers the knife before she returns to her drums, and fresh blood joins the dried that marks its surface as she takes up her place in the joint rhythm once more.

Jhura gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Ixmi.

Ixmi's rattle finally stills as she sets it aside to accept the blade from Jhura with both hands. She steps up to the bowl and hums a single thoughtful note before voicing, "Patience is a frightening virtue. As important as it is, it's also pathway to indecision and hesitation to act." She nods twice as she slides the dagger across her palm, clenching her hand around it and withdrawing the blade, then opening her wounded hand up just above the bowl, letting a fine, golden powder trickle out to mix with Jhura's offering. As she does this, she continues, "The Durdalis never hesitate, though. For all their infinite patience, they're always ready to do what needs to be done at a moment's notice. It's really amazing." That said, she nods twice and turns to you, offering the knife handle to you.

Ixmi gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to you.

You have emoted: Sending Ixmi a brief, secret of a smile, Sibatti draws the knife over an old scar in his left palm, a motion speaking to old and rote practice. His blood joins with the others', and he mutters a refrain of his earlier prayer: "We will remember your primordial sound."

The flames of the pit smolder and crackle, the ever intermittent *POP* of something releasing within incorporating with each of the offerings afforded

You give a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Ase.

Ase removes her gauntlets quickly in order to accept the knife from you. "I am still new to Duiran, but I owe my life to those that fought in the Second War. May you rest in peace, and your memory carry forever." Quickly, with unpracticed hand, she slices the knife across her palm and lets her blood drip in with the rest. Stepping back, she hands the knife to the next.

Ulo nods their head at Khedoulemouqe.

Ase gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Khedoulemouqe.

Khedoulemouqe slices a handful of dark leaves that sprout from its shoulders and places them on the alter. "For Dia'ruis."

Khedoulemouqe gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Ulo.

Ulo smiles and sees that the offerings have all come in earnest from the Councilors afforded thus far, with severity in their tone they gaze into the flames as the final coals smolder. Seeing now Sekeres, they gesture them to the altar, "Prideleader." The words finally come and the dagger is handed off.

Ulo gives a hunting knife with a bone-carved handle to Sekeres.

Lowering her ocarina, Sekeres accepts the knife humbly as she makes her way to the altar; marking a new half-moon scar across the flat of her palm. The very tip of the dagger audibly scrapes up the flesh, branding it with the smear of gory red that is blood. With a slow hiss, it is done. "Stone is constant," she voices in a dark, smokily luminous sound, this ringing through the misty air. The great sound of the fire. Her hand tips, and sanguine falls, "Stone, erodes," she states. "By wind, by water," the wildling's eyes lift to the henge. "By fire," her gaze falls, and shimmers in an emblazoned reflection of the pit. "By earth," this uttered to the beginnings of ash falling across her skin. "And by shadow." She exhales this, reverent as she looks to Govon. "Your spirit. Your lives. We remember. The song, it shall remain as long as one is there to sing it." Her blood fills the bowl, and she clenches her fist. The knife she lifts, and points it to Govon in offering. "For your brethren," she hopes.

The defiance of the flames that are nearing their conclusion, naught left but coals and ash that curls through the air as the words of the Council speak in turn where the once roaring fire persisted amongst the heartbeat of Creation. Silence takes over the henge and a moment of remembrance is afforded to those as the twilight takes over the land surrounding.

The earth heaves in response to the ponderous steps of the ancient elemental, stone and life intertwined protesting the heft of Govon's bulk as they move closer towards the altar. The ever-deepening thrum that emanates from within them still carries throughout this place, the vibrations of their call seeping into the very earth underfoot.

For what is offered, Govon pauses in review, the fel glow of their eyes casting a verdant light across the proffered life with no hint to what the primeval being might feel within.

Still holding the bloodied, glinting knife aloft to the tall edifice of stone, the evening light dims on Sekeres as she becomes shadowed by Govon's faceted shadow. The wildling is respectful, in her silence.

You have emoted: Sibatti takes a step to one side, yielding the firepit and altar altogether to make room for the towering Durdalis stepping forward.

And then the hum begins to deepen further, Govon's vocalization sinking to depths unnatural. The song of the Durdalis begins.

It begins with a faint soughing on the wind, a lone voice arising from the depths of dale and dell to drift as though a northern's breeze's gentle, yet inevitable rush.

Ulo instinctively lowers their head, the alien sound taking over the henge and their respectful desire to listen and experience takes over.

Across bough and branch sweeps the mourning song of mornings come and gone anew, waking that which 'neath the loam and leaves still sleeps.

Neither done nor still just one, a sough becomes a heady thwoom, the realm of green awoken new.

And from the depths of woodlands old come voices many, hale and true.

In sonorous unison the reverberation of ancient voices spur the Heartwood into newfound enterprise, and unbridled Life stirs throughout the primordial grounds.

Like the ripple of a stone dropped into a still pond, vigorous life stirs across the land in response to something at its focal point; the Heartwood moves in time to a song that breathes its tune with wistful effervesence.

And the Durdalis stir. As their song continues on without falter, the long immobile elementals of Life begin to shirk free the decades of earth and debris that long choked their mighty frames.

The sound of cracking stone and creaking verdure overwhelms all other sound within the Heartwood as dozens - nay, hundreds - of these sleeping giants stir into momentary action.

And as the song begins to drift away, growing ever fainter, so too do many of the Durdalis settle back to their dreaming wakefulness, ever ready to answer the call to defend that from which they come.

You have emoted: As thunder and sonorous reverberation - by song or storm - echo throughout valley and grounds, Sibatti's eyes dart towards the mountains of the sheltering Hollow at the overture of their movement.

With the angling of an elbow, Sekeres lowers the knife as it drips down her thigh. She sways subconsciously, her eyes locked to the multitude of visions of renewal. The scouring thunder, alighting the sky in a terrible flash as all are bathed in a chiaroscuro of white light.

Ulo raises their head, eyes wide and stormy as the sound drifts until anon, the rumbling earth joining in the silence that pervades the henge once more as the final dregs of flame linger in the memory of the Durdalis.

Though the majority of the mighty defenders of Life fall still once more, their promise renewed, some yet move with an urgency not seen in centuries gone.

They pass through to the primal demense, to Dia'ruis Eternal, woken from their slumber to embrace She that now lives anew - and find their lost home once more.

Govon's voice cracks with the last fledgling remains of their song, replaced now with words spoken in utter solemnity. "The Durdalis do not forget their duty, nor will they forget those that gathered for this remembrance."

Ulo swallows at the severity and intensity of the songs conclusion, a single tear rolls down their cheek that they quickly brush away and afford a nod unto Govon in understanding.

The last remnants of the song settle down upon you like a protective blanket, swathing your form in the fel glow of unbridled Life.

Jhura bows her head at the song's conclusion, feeling the notes of Life reverberating in the depths of her being.

Dark ropes upon ropes of Sekeres' mane fall as she heeds the words of Govon; though her face is shielded her mouth is not. A wavering line of emotion.

You have emoted: Sibatti's chin remains lifted, his eyes scanning his peripherals for detected movement and song alike. The passage of Durdalis returning to Life Eternal has seemingly rendered him speechless; only his eyes move, darting, while the rest of his form is still and statuesque.

"My kin move to find that which we had thought lost, guided by instinct that lives within each and every Durdalis." Govon's inexorable gaze moves across the faces of the gathered, impressing their words with a stare that seems alive with rekindled hope. "They carry with them the memories of those that fell for this land. When they find our home, those that gave their lives will yet live once more - as is the way of the Durdalis."

A sudden influx of chill breathes into the air around you, crisp and sharply refreshing as a winter morning. The temperature seems to hover in this new, frigid place for a moment before vanishing, returning the ambient air to normal.

Sekeres just thought:
Sekeres' racing heart is cradled by the Durdalis and their words. She understands. And in this moment, is renewed herself. All of the memories, they shall begin again.

Ulo is almost frozen in awe, the Sacrament culiminating beyond expectation, Dia'ruis and Durdalis alike having their being wrought in emotion. Though with an adjustment to their posture they step forward and claim the bowl which bears proffered blood. "The Council will always remember their sacrifice, that our duty is entwined, that theirs will always be honored, and that we shall see to them for guidance as their spirits may come to us openly. This very henge the connection between Dia'ruis and our lands forevermore."

You hear the faint echo of lone howl just at the back of your mind as a presence larger than yourself is felt nearby. The fleeting moment passes, and the sound is heard no more.

Govon retreats back into solemn silence as they return to their original position, away from the altar.

Sekeres slides away from the altar to return by her side where the sacred drums of a ritual before rest.

The final logs smolder and crumble, ash curls through the air filling the surroundings and coating the surfaces. The Kelki steps forward before the flames and affords a final prayer, offering in hand

You have emoted: "Welcomed home, to gentle She." Sibatti's coarse rumble is evocative of the sound of gravel against rock. He tucks his wings close to his sides, his profile greatly diminished.

Ulo speaks before the remnants of the fire, "The final remnants, the herbs the flames. The smoke before us symbolizes the passing of the spirit, and thus, we give our offering unto the earth in earnest." With their head lowered the blood extinguishes the remnants of the flame, "From this ash, from these flames, so too shall life come anew. The Cycle our duty, made known within this henge. So that Durdalis and mortal shall commune."

A grey-furred direwolf bounds suddenly into view, carrying a shadowy figure upon its back.
She is followed by a luminous, star-bound glimmercrest.
Valorie gracefully hops off of a grey-furred direwolf.

Valorie clenches her right fist and pounds her chest thrice in rapid succession, symbolizing the vibrant heart that beats within.

Ulo exhales deeply and nods to Sekeres, "May the seed bearer plant life anew within the ash, and thus the cycle continues."

You think:
She must be overjoyed, to welcome you. Was your journey good? Was it worthy?

"A new face, a new beginning, thus is the way of the Cycle, for all, for Durdalis, as we are cradled by the hope of She Who Lives Anew," Sekeres states as she steps forward to you with hands out-stretched for the vine. "A seed becomes a vine, a vine becomes the land, and our land, and our hope, rests with those that are young." She commands, "Those that bring balance to the Rhythm." The wildling bows her head to Govon, and then speaks to all, "The seed bearer shall be chosen. And with the offerings of our time, to enrich where they rest their new life in the earth - all shall be." The Yeleni's bough-like horns begin to spout with new green buds, even against the frost of autumn. "Spend time in reflection, listen to the chimes of our fallen, as you depart from this place. Know what what was wrought, was meant."

Govon just thought:
They are stirred into further hope for what is to come, trusting their kin to find the path that leads home.

Ase bows her head in silent contemplation.

Govon just thought:
[Amusement] May they return with our kin, that Govon might not be titled the youngest any longer.

You think:
[ Complex emotions stir and move him. The memory and instinctive protectiveness of motherhood, the earnest tears that threaten to form at how deeply this feeling of empathy runs ].

Sekeres hands over the seedling to her all of a sudden, gently cradling it with her hands. "Unblooded," she hopes. "Choose a place."

Sekeres gives hallowed flame vine to Ase.

Ase startles, fumbling the seed for a moment before gently clasping it in her hand. "An honor, thank you." Looking about, she chooses a spot near the altar still flecked in ashes that escaped from the fire. Carefully she kneels, and digs a spot free to place the seed into.

As the seeds are placed within the loamy soil, vines grow with expedience along the stone and climb across the crevasses and cracks in the surface. Verdant spear-shaped leaves curl open and fiery orange flowers cluster as the vines take root in the memories of sacrifice within the durdalis henge.

Sekeres scatters the bloodied ash around the beginnings of the vines where they continue to grow and grow. Finishing, she drags her charcoal-covered hands down her hips.

Numerous clusters of vibrant flame-like flowers sprout amongst the vines, the memory of the Sacrament growing anew within the henge for generations to come

In a quiet, reflective timbre, Sekeres Dark-wing, Singer of Dia'ruis says, "Leave silently, or spend time in contemplation. But go, in hope."

Ulo speaks solemnly, "We have witnessed the memories of Sacrifice, of Renewal, and of newborne life. Dia'ruis has opened Her arms for the Durdalis once more, our connection to the Durdalis spirit forged in the song of creation." Their head lowers in humility and humbling presence unseen in the Speaker as they look upon those gathered and Govon.

You have emoted: The lantern held in Sibatti's hand droops low to the fertile earth, a prayer whispered quietly under his breath as the flame vine sprouts with empowered, lush growth. "May Her love grow in our hearts. May Her hope thrive. There is no end, there is only tomorrow."

A low, sultry voice resounds within the depths of your mind, "My Cultivator. I require
your presence at My audience chamber. Come to Me, Kadiliti."

Audience chamber - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Gleaming brilliantly in the flickering light, a wide, shallow brazier rests in the middle
of the chamber upon four clawed feet. Malice and fear are a palpable aura that radiates
from the statuesque form of Chakrasul, Goddess of Corruption. A massive sandstorm
threatens to choke out the life in this area. Hazy tendrils of jade mist stretch up from
the ground, reaching for any unwary passers-by.
You see exits leading north (open door), northeast, and south.

You catch Chakrasul's eye and lock gaze before dazzling Her with your regalities in a
long, low curtsey that demonstrates your schooled elegancy.

Beckoning to you with a languid flick of Her wrist, Chakrasul purrs in a sonorous and
melodic as She inquires ever so gently of you, "What would you do to truly find the very
depths My Spiral, Kadiliti? To earn My love everlasting?"

Jasmine and nightshade twine in heavy swathes of perfumed air to cling around the form of
the Goddess as She stands imperious, awaiting a response.

Tina keeps her customary pose of deference before you, speaking without
pause or hesitation, "Anything and everything of course, as always. I exist solely to
descend the spiral and find what is at its deepest depths."

A solemn countenance gracing Her features, Chakrasul listens attentively as you speaks,
folding Her hands together calmly at Her waist. She nods slowly, idly, the image of a
content and serene Goddess cherishing the adoration of Her devotee.

The air about you manifests an oppressive weight, a palpable aura of fear raising
gooseflesh as the sweetly floral decay that clings to the Goddess invades your personal
space.

Tina shivers as the gifts drift over her, embracing each one as it comes
with willful greed, absorbing every lingering feeling into her mind as she lives for the
experiences of the moment, saving the memories to saver in the future.

My Gifts, Chakrasul muses aloud, Her expression fleetingly distant before She refocuses on
you. You speak of existing to descend, and I sense the truth to your words. Will you show
Me how you embrace them, accept a Harrowing by My very own hand? She croons the words in a
rhythmic murmur as She lifts one palm to press it to your face, exquisitely sharpened
nails etching thin trails of blood across you cheek at the lightest caress. Will you face
each in turn, descend My Spiral, and find Me once more at its core?

Tina gazes up as you caress and pierce the skin of her face, the greedy
look filling her eyes as she smiles. "A harrowing, another torture by your hands. How
would any refuse such bliss. And the grace that awaits at the other side."

As Her words fade away, so too does the Goddess, leaving you alone to face your Descent. A
single funereal duskywing butterfly flits up from where She had stood, vanishing long
before it reaches the distant ceiling of the chamber.

As you approach a wide, shallow basin of gleaming gold, the surface of the languid liquid
within shifts and swirls, sliding up to meet and grasp your flesh. As it leaves the
brazier, it climbs up your arm, slithering ribbons of corruption that twist and cling in
an unctuous embrace.

Leaving a moist, oleaginous chill in its wake, the essence of the Goddess snakes up across
arm and shoulder, then redirects to cup your chin from both sides.

The slithering Corruption embraces your neck like a jealous lover, spilling up onto your
cheeks where - with startling precipitance - they invade your mouth, leaving no room for
air to pass through.

It invades you forcefully, and you feel its chill embrace as it seeks your unbeating
heart. And as it strikes its target, a blinding spray of coruscating jade light erupts
from your body. Nothing can be seen for long moments, until your vision finally clears,
and you are somewhere else.

You are moved by a wide, shallow basin of gleaming gold.

The beating heart of Fear - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Fleshy. Viscous. Blood seeps from the grotesquely flesh-hued walls that enclose you:
above, below, behind, ahead. There is barely enough room to stretch arms out to either
side, and the glutinous fluid is ever-present, a danger that somehow seems predatory. And
yet it is the ever-present staccato rhythm that overwhelms the senses, a loud "thuh-thump"
that permeates the enclosure insistently.
There are no obvious exits.

Thuh-thump.

Thuh-thump.

You tilt your head and listen intently.

Thuh-thump.

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump.

Thuh-thump. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump. Thuh-thump thuh-thump thuh-thump.

Tina glances about as the heartbeat grows louder and quicker, reading her
weapon in a sweaty palm as she waits to see what arises.

The beating that started so steady steps up in pace, a rhythm that echoes with something
dead and only mostly forgotten inside your body.

Racing, racing, beating. The ever-present sound echoes around you - or is it inside you?
Thuh-thump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump. The smallest tendril of some visceral memory emerges
in your mind.

Despite the overwhelming insistence of the rhythm, you adjust. It hammers at your mind,
and yet already it is normal, it is life. It simply is.

And in the new normal of life, you see something in front of you. A seed. A tendril of
something erupts from the fleshy cage that holds you.

The beating heart of Fear - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Fleshy. Viscous. Blood seeps from the grotesquely flesh-hued walls that enclose you:
above, below, behind, ahead. There is barely enough room to stretch arms out to either
side, and the glutinous fluid is ever-present, a danger that somehow seems predatory. And
yet it is the ever-present staccato rhythm that overwhelms the senses, a loud "thuh-thump"
that permeates the enclosure insistently. A tiny seed lies here, its vibrant jade hue a stark
contrast to the fleshy surrounds.
There are no obvious exits.

Despite the unnatural calm of your own dead heart, you feel something quiver within you at
the sight of the seed. Skin crawls, goosebumps rising sharply in between the sections of
bone that pierce your flesh.

A throaty whisper drifts in, somehow audible despite the incessant volume of the heart.
How do you embrace Fear?

The tiny seed calls to you, beckoning you to pick it up once you have answered Her.

You say, "You feel it with every fiber of your being, as the gift it is. You let it tell
you what it is there to say. Cherish it, as the helping hand it is warning you. Then, if
it gets in your way, of what you are after, you crush it, like anything else in the way of
your desires. However you must enjoy the moment you are in its throws, the delights it can
bring, the torments it can bring upon you as it MAKES you descend."

Tina reaches out for the seed to pick it up, feeling it in her palm,
letting the sensations pass through her, shivering in delight. If nothing else further
happens she holds the seed up and opens her mouth, preparing to drop it in, as all seeds
need fertile ground for growth.

Her throaty whisper drifts to your ears again, still audible despite the incessant volume
of the heart. "How do you embrace Fear, Tina?" The tiny seed pulses in your palm,
quiescent for the moment.

You say, "By welcoming it, keeping it in you always, where it grows and motivates you to
greater heights. Never shying away from it, a gift from mother is always embraced without
hesitation, with open arms, and open heart. By not being afraid of being afraid."

Tina drops the seed with that into her mouth, attempting to swallow it
whole and let it take root in her depths.

The tiny seed pulses even within the confines of your mouth, though it refuses to be
swallowed. Perhaps it is simply a gift... for now.

"Accepted."

Her voice is calm and eerie, and yet you know in your heart that you have claimed Fear as
your own. One step upon your truest Descent.

The fleshy folds part, viscera and all, to reveal an exit to the southeast.

Tina looks around with a last look of apprehension, fear eating at her if
she could have done more, been more, before embracing what has happened and the fresh
fear, and marching on towards the new opening with confident steps.

Everything evaporates into jade as you move, a hazy film that sweeps over your vision and
eradicates the visceral imagery that just released you.

A tiny blanket of ruffled peach and cream gingham rests peeks out from beneath your folded
legs, and with a start you realise you are seated.

The gleaming facade of Despair - AREA: the Isle of Despair
The silence that hangs in the air is palpable, a welcome change from the din of Fear. Lush
grass of vibrant, healthy green sprawls the length of a vast lake-front meadow, the
picture of a perfect day. Somehow you are certain that the weight of the atmosphere will
prevent any true movements. A gingham blanket of ruffled peach and cream sits beneath you,
spread carefully along the grass. A quaint picnic basket rests atop the gingham blanket.
There are no obvious exits.

Ruffles adorn the edges of this old-fashioned blanket, its peach and cream hues forming a
typical gingham pattern. It rests atop the vibrant grass, ready for adventure.
It can be worn in the following locations:
shoulders fullbody
It has 58 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 8 pound(s).

Crafted from brightly polished, flexible strips of wood, this basket is obviously intended
to hold a wonderful picnic feast. A simple cover of gingham-lined wood conceals the
contents.
It has 123 weeks of usefulness left.
It weighs about 2 pound(s) and 0 ounce(s).
It is closed and you can not see inside of it.

Everything is perfect for a picnic. Lovely atmosphere, a basket and blanket, and you:
sitting neatly, waiting for something.

Waiting. It shouldn't be long.

Waiting.

Surely it cannot be much longer. The basket looks inviting. Perhaps you should peek.

Yes. Yes. A peek couldn't hurt. As you approach the basket, something seems off.

Tina sits on the blanket, fingers reaching off to curl into the grass,
waiting. As nothing happens, she looks towards the closed basket, curiosity rising as she
looks around, still seeing nothing, reaches forward to lift the lid of the basket.

As your fingers brush the flexible wood that cradles its treasures deep within, a frown
comes to your face. Something is not quite right.

The gleaming wood darkens at your touch, rotting and disintegrating in tiny puffs of dust.
And yet, your mind is still elsewhere. Something not right, something not right.

You shift on the blanket, thoughts grasping for that elusive something, seeking what it is
you've forgotten. It must be important, and yet why have you forgotten?

Unconsciously, your fingers still quest for the hidden treats. Unthinking, you cling to
the first item you sense, and bring it mindlessly to your lips.

Blood. Blood, blood, and more blood. Blood flows, from your hand, from your lips, from the
basket. It dampens the blanket, dying it a vibrant, bold red. You frown. This is not the
problem. No, no, there is something. Something else.

Tina tries to think about what is bothering her about the situation as
her hand rests on the basket. As it rots and, she pays it no mind, focusing on what is
needling at her mind. Something is not right. Why is she waiting, for who. Something is
missing. She continues pondering as the first item is plucked from the basket and brought
to her lips. As the blood flows over everything, her mind continues tackling the problem.
No stranger to being covered in blood with her proclivities in life, it barely raises a
response as she struggles to clear her mind and find her focus.

As the blood pools on the blanket, trickles in rivulets to fill the space between blades
of grass, rot consumes the basket. It blackens, curls up, vanishes in fragrant puffs of
mist that carry blood and sweet decay, and suddenly you remember.

It is you. You are no more, you are lost, as lost and gone as every part of the moment of
simple perfection that crumples around you more and more by the second. Soon there is no
lake, no grass, no blanket, only blood in rivers that consume everything you are and were,
and leave in their place a weeping sore of agonised Despair.

A thick, jade mist floats into the area before a crackle of dark energy reaches for a
ruffled peach and cream gingham blanket only to slowly drag it back into the depths of the
fog, which then dissipates.

A thick, jade mist floats into the area before a crackle of dark energy reaches for a
quaint picnic basket only to slowly drag it back into the depths of the fog, which then
dissipates.

She whispers again, and this time the sound rings like an accusation, a cursed counterpart
to extend the agony of life consumed.

"How do you embrace Despair?"

Tina thinks to her herself as she is lost in the currents of blood,
consuming all of her as she floats as the blood itself through the room, the words
reaching her core and making her think, to respond, though she is unsure if it only her
thoughts or actually speaking as she floats. "Despair is us, it's what awaits us at the
core. Cutting through or illusions, our lies, are self deceptions. You embrace despair by
embracing yourself, who you really are. What you really are. Every time I claw for the
truth, I seek understanding of myself and those things I cherish and hate. Despair is
embraced, my guide, my self, the light to guide my steps down. I embrace Despair with all
I have, for it is the only way forward. The only way to see. The only way to be." She
floats in the blood, flowing throw it, being the blood, seeing where it pumps, where it
leads, what truths it has to reveal about her.

Tina holds no hope of escape or getting out, she simply exists, embracing
the moment and what is happening to her.

"Accepted."

Her voice barely overcomes the constant, intimate presence of blood and agony in your
mind, and yet you know in your heart that you have claimed Despair as your own. Another
step upon your truest Descent.

The bloody facade crumbles, melting away to nothingness as an exit is revealed to the
southwest.

Tina stumbles towards the exit, looking like she was walking on land
after getting off a ship for a long voyage for a bit, before she quickly adjusts and
regains equilbrium from her time as blood, her crimson footprints and form moving through
the room to the new step of her descent.

The wicked temptation of Avarice - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Row after row of shining silver trays adorn the ebony banquet table that stretches out far
beyond the end of sight. Upon every tray, a handful of plates each bear a singular slice
of cake, perfectly cut to provide a portion only slightly too large for its vessel. Every
single treat is decorated with precision, and every imaginable flavour is laid out in
careless disarray. Chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, saccharine fruits, tart aromas,
frosting and icing and fruits and candies, perfectly crafted flowers and rocks and trees,
intricate words and elaborate swirls, glazes and drizzles, an eternity of delicious aromas
that mingle and mix and never overwhelm. Every speck of the ebony banquet table stretching
out endlessly here has been etched with innumerable ornate details.
There are no obvious exits.

Before you can even register the change in your surroundings, your nose twitches
unconsciously. Twitch, twitch, twitch, sniff, sniff and then it slams into you.

Innumerable details have been etched with painstaking care into the surface of this table,
floral, bestial, whimsical and so on. Here a flower, there a tree, a bear on its hind
legs, a massive, tangled bramble thicket, thorns, blood pooling, altars, faces in smiling
rictus'... the details persist in their randomness and complete lack of theme, as far as
he eye can see.
It has 299 weeks of usefulness left.
It is strangely weightless.

Like a wall of scent, decadence flowers in your senses, an array of scents that sets your
mouth watering. Hunger roars to life within you, disregarding your lack of need, your
previous disinterest. Suddenly, a voracious appetite sweeps away all else but an
overwhelming need to sate yourself.

Parting your lips to wet them, your mouth is suddenly a parched desert, and nothing will
do but to devour the wealth of delectable desserts exhibited as an endless feast before
you.

Rushing to the nearest tray, you reach forth with no regard for flavour or appearance,
picking up a piece of cake and cramming it into your mouth. Sweet decadence dances over
your tongue, and though it is an exquisite experience, you cannot help but crave the next
slice.

Tina long since used to simply going for what she desires, embracing them
and running full tilt towards them wastes little time. She quickly hones in on her desire
for the delicious foods and cakes littering the table, taking one after the other, eating
them voraciously as she seeks the one that will fill the bottomless hunger she has inside
her. While each one fulfills her desire, it leaves her longing for the next, and the next,
and the next.

The burst of tartness that replaces the saccharine delight of the first piece is a marvel
that defies comparison. Every bite you take only makes you more desperate to sate
yourself, and you find yourself reaching for yet another and another and another slice.

And then another, and another, and another sweet, tart, savoury, bold, delicate, every
slice is a superlative sensation. Need consumes you even as you nigh inhale cake, crumbs
flying, icing smearing, and you just.

Keep.

... eating ...

And your avarice is so great, you must keep eating. Piece after piece, careless of how
little you actually consume, whole sections falling in your footsteps as you seek the
next, and the next, and the next. You must. You MUST. And even as your pursuit continues
unflagging, the cake begins to crumble, disintegrate. Soon, only ashes line the floor
where you have walked, the piles growing larger the further you progress down the table.

Tina continues eating dessert after dessert, the pillar of plates before
her growing higher and higher as she continues desperately searching for one that will
sate her desires, even as each just leaves her desiring more and more, a bottomless pit of
avarice, despite any protests of her stomach. She continues her search, never satisfied,
hunger, craving for more, For the next sensation.

Mounds of ash flourish in your wake, and though it registers somewhere in the back of your
mind, you cannot bring yourself to care. Mindless necessity compels you, even as the cakes
you hoard in your clutch begin to disintegrate too. And still, you eat.

And there it is again. Her voice. Patient even as you swim in a decadent haze of
uncontrollable need and insatiability.

"How do you embrace Avarice?"

Tina continues her journey, caring not for the ashes left in her wake as
she speaks around a mouthful of cake, the voice of the Dark Mother piercing through the
other desires, with the desire to serve and please. "Corruption is in everything,
everything belongs to you, and through your grace us. I embrace it by wanting everything.
Needing everything, Claiming everything as mine. Ever hungry, never satisfied. Not content
till I have anything and everything. Letting nothing get in the way or distract me from
what I desire. The sensations, the desires, the longings, a fragrant bouquet none should
have any trouble embracing. I embrace it by never having enough, always craving more so I
can always dance in the decadence of desire." Her eyes seem go glow with her lust for
more, not just the cakes, but everything. Anything in her domain, her overwhelming urge to
claim it all.

Accepted.

Everything that remains crumbles to ash, the entire world turning to bone-white ashes even
as a small opening appears to lead you to the northwest.

Nothing around to further Tina's desires, she stalks out towards the new
direction, seeking new desires to claim.

The iniquitous bliss of Malice - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Smug satisfaction seethes in the very air around you, emanating from a free-standing
mirror that dominates the space. As your eyes are inextricably attracted to stare at the
aureate-bound mirror, the surroundings are not entirely clear; however, it seems the
reflective glass is the only feature in a hazy, blinding white void.
There are no obvious exits.


As you approach the mirror, a spike of Malice creeps along your flesh, sending shivers
that ripple across your entire body.

The jade haze that lines the inner edge of the frame draws your eyes for a fraction of a
moment, and yet is only of passing interest, as you begin to see movement within the
depths of the glass.

The pervasive feeling of malignant intensity smothers all but the smallest note of
curiousity, as the images in the mirror begin to clarify. Within, you see caverns,
streets, familiar passageways and faces that you have seen before. Your eyes scan as the
familiarity hits home, and you lean in closer, seeking something, someone in particular.

Tina looks into the mirror, the hate seething inside her as she seeks
something in the mirrors, perhaps a focal point for the feelings welling inside her, a way
to satisfy them. Her irritation growing the longer it takes to find it, the malice
reaching out to embrace her as she gazes back into the mirrors, seething energy from the
mirror and her mixing.

Twisting at the corner of your mouth, a vicious smile parts your lips, as you search for
the one you must inflict your will upon. The mirror responds to your will, seeking and
searching, twisting through the depths that remain tantalisingly just beyond reach.

Mocking laughter rings from the air, Her voice surrounding you as you seek the one you
must impart Her Malice on, as you seek the one you crave to distress.

"How do you embrace Malice?"

Tina glares at the mirror frustration building as she searches for the
one she wants to vent her feelings on, as she imagines all the tortures and various pains
and cruelties she can possibly inflict on them, a rough smile gracing her lips briefly
from the fantasies as her search continues, responding to the voice. "I embrace it by
being willing to do anything. There is nothing that is too dirty, too foul, too low, too
mean, too nasty, too cruel. These are excuses by lessers that have not embraced
corruption. Malice is a gift, a tool to break down excuses, to tear away the false
moralities the world would place on you. I embrace Malice by using it, and being willing
to do anything, hurt anyone, by any means possible, to further my descent and approach
what I need. And I embrace it by enjoying using it, hurting others, waking them up to the
gifts of corruption, furthering my own descent by pulling them down. Malice is a sister in
arms, one I embrace on every journey I embark on." As she finishes speaking, palpable
waves of hatred and lust for violence rolling off her as her contained malice threatens to
boil over.

"Accepted."

Like wax heated too far, the mirror drips away one splashing streak at a time. Molten
glass and glutinous gold melt together in a puddle that trails across the floor, revealing
an exit to the north.

Tina stalks angrily to the north, hatred seething from her pores, though
it seems to become a controlled rage again as she takes her leave of the mirror.

The inevitable descendancy of Might - AREA: the Isle of Despair
The sun beats down mercilessly, the heat jarring despite your undead flesh. In a buzzing
morass, flies swarm about the corpses of the dead, limbs askew as they lie strewn at
random, death blurring their appearances to something more uniform. Already, your might
has won this day, and yet... something more remains to be done.

Death is everywhere, and you are its mistress. Head held high and shoulders back, you
stand superior, proud, and survey the remnants of a battlefield that you have already
quelled. An absent lust for battle clings in the back of your mind, but it is mostly sated
as you inspect the carnage.

A frown creases at your face, and you cannot quite tell where it came from. This was a
clear victory, a moment of triumph. What could concern you? And yet, the frown stays
etched on your lips, and you turn your head, seeking something nebulous.

Tina frowns as the bloodlust fades and the thrill of victory is lacking,
as she searches for what more she can do, how she can establish her dominance, her might,
and showcase what she needs the world to know. She looks through the battlefield, myriad
of thoughts rising and failing as her mind races for the answer.

Lifting your face to the sky, a thought occurs to you. This scene, this moment, it isn't
Hers. The sun is too bright, the day too quiet. It needs something more, something of
Corruption to paint it with Her touch. To alter it with your own might, make it something
truly fitting of the Spiral.

You lift your arms up to the sky and beseech Her to join you, implore Her to aid you with
Her blessing upon this place and time, to bring Corruption down in a way that venerates
Her and showcases your own Might.

A reedy whisper, a thread of sound that carries on the lightest of breezes: "How do you
embrace Might, Tina?"

Tina nods her head, thinking to herself. Any proper battlefield needs a
monument to Corruption, to its might, to the victory achieved. So all may know and pay
homage, those who fight against it may wallow in their fear and despair unending. She
draws upon those familiar arts taught by the Dark Mother. Of Necromancy, of Alchemy, of
foul deeds and great might. She goes about the bodies, severing and dissecting them, the
hours wearing on until she has assembled a massive pile of parts of all shapes and sizes.
She begins stitching them together, thread and essence, though not into a careless blob,
but with almost an artist's deliberation. Constructing an ungodly large conglomeration of
parts in the most horrific configuration she can think of. Eyes and ears and noses and
hair coming out where you least expect it. Limbs and legs and feet and claws everywhere, a
monstrosity as beautiful in its horror as it is demented. Taking the broken weapons of war
around her, she forges their shattered armor and weapons into a collar and chain,
collaring the beast with the symbol of the failure of their might that led to their death.
With a prayer to corruption and the Dark Mother she funnels essence into it, willing to
animate, and stand over the field. A guardian of this now consecrated site of corruption,
as well as a warning to the folly of those who would oppose it. She makes her attempt to
venerate might, answering the question, "Might, I embrace it by following corruption.
Corruption is Might, nothing surpasses it, nothing is mightier. All gifts lead to it,
might is required to harness them all. Each of the gifts link together, and combine. Every
success I have, every step I take down the spiral, every revelation and glory had through
Corruption, they are all achieves by embracing might. My own might, and that of the
Corruption in me and the world around me. My might gets me my desires. My might enforces
my malice on others. My might keeps me on the path of despair, from varying too far above
or beneath it. Might allows me."

Tina makes her attempt to venerate might, answering the question, "Might,
I embrace it by following corruption. Corruption is Might, nothing surpasses it, nothing
is mightier. All gifts lead to it, might is required to harness them all. Each of the
gifts link together, and combine. Every success I have, every step I take down the spiral,
every revelation and glory had through Corruption, they are all achieves by embracing
might. My own might, and that of the Corruption in me and the world around me. My might
gets me my desires. My might enforces my malice on others. My might keeps me on the path
of despair, from varying too far above or beneath it. Might allows me to face my fears
without hesitation. Might is me. I embrace corruption. I embrace might. I embrace me.
Every victory made, every achievement, is a glorious statement the one true might,
corruption, and I embrace and cherish them all, fueling me to ever greater displays of
might." With that she falls silent as she focuses on the monument.

Darkness falls at your words, a balm that soothes the tedious brightness and heat that
lingered. The sweet scent of decay rises from all that remain on the battlefield, and the
monstrous guardian you created stands in testament to Corruption's Might here this day.

"Accepted."

The battlefield simply begins to fade as your heart lurches, leaving you in a heavy jade
-hued fog as one final exit appears below, precisely-cut marble stairs leading the way
into darkness.

Tina takes one final glance at the battlefield and monument, before
putting it behind her, descending down as she seeks further opportunities to spready the
glory of Corruption's Might.

Spiralling stairs of clashing marble - AREA: the Isle of Despair
Glossy marble of onyx black seeps down from above, sweeping to clash and swirl with
lustrously opalescent white marble from beneath. Spiralling stairs aid the transition,
fingers of both streaking into each other as they meet amid the staircase. The only light
on the stairs comes from two braziers that light the very top of the descent, and beneath
a jade tinge colours the pale stone.
You see a single exit leading down.

A faint glow persists from below, obviously leading somewhere further.

A jade-lit chamber of ghastly perfection AREA: the Isle of Despair
Lustrous marble of opalescent white lines the chamber throughout, gleaming perfection
unmarred by veins or blemishes. At the exact centre of the flawlessly circular space, a
thirteen-pointed star crafted from exquisitely pale jade has been embedded into the floor.
Looming above it and facing the door is a curious statue, its sweeping lines more an
impression of a person than a depiction as it dominates the room. Drifting and roiling in
an intangible breeze, the pale statue that looms here emits an adulterated glow of muted
jade upon its surrounds.
Malice and fear are a palpable aura that radiates from the statuesque form of Chakrasul,
Goddess of Corruption.
You see a single exit leading up.

Commanding attention as it leans slightly over the thirteen-pointed star below, this
statue is atypical in its fashioning. Rather than solid and clear, it bears soft, sweeping
lines, the vaguely humanoid shape drifting and roiling as if caught in an intangible,
eternal breeze. Perhaps intended as an incarnation of soul manifest, its pale form is lit
from within by an adulterated glow of muted jade.
It weighs about 187 pound(s).

Crooning in a pleased murmur, Chakrasul draws you into an embrace for the merest breath of
time as She says, "Ah, My Cultivator. You have endured your Harrowing with a steadfast
devotion seen so rarely." She steps backwards gracefully without looking, pausing next to
the star on the ground so that one of its edges nudges against the very edge of Her boot.

Tina makes her normal low curtsy upon seeing the goddess, before being
swept up in the swift embrace. As she is released she gazes about the room, gazing at the
statue and the star, before returning her gaze to the Dark Mother, saying "I am here for
corruption, and as I had been hoping a harrowing from your hands awakened such exquisite
sensations and realizations within me. Thank you for the gifts, as always."

Bestowing an eerie smile upon you, Chakrasul folds Her hands together at Her waist calmly
as She speaks. "There is one more thing I require of you, Kadiliti. I wish you to empower
this star with your own flesh and blood." She gestures to a thirteen-pointed star of
gleaming jade with a nod of Her head, and offers quietly, "If you wish to summon your
brethen, My Chosen, to assist you with this part, you may. I do not require it of you."

You say, "The more to bear witness to the glories of Corruption, the better, we do not
hide and sulk, we declare it proudly for the world to see our might. If they desire to
bask in it, even aide they can. The mightiest will dominate, as is their right."

With a cryptic smile, Chakrasul says, "Call them then. Let them witness the glory of your
Might."

(Chosen): You say, "Who will aide in a rite to show the Might of Corruption to the world.
Who will join me in offering flesh and blood to the glories of Corruption? Those who have
the will, find me."

Rijetta arrives from the up.

Ishmar arrives from the up.

Tina kneels in the center of the star. Her claws extend, digging into her
thighs as she shreds flesh and copious amounts of blood, letting it fall into the star she
kneels in as she offers her body and blood to appease the Dark Mother's wishes, empowering
the star with her blood and flesh. As the others enter the rooms she nods at them,
motioning for them to proceed. "Offer of yourselves to the star, that which you will."

Rijetta watches you quietly for a moment, single eye gleaming faintly in the eerie
lighting. Wordlessly, though, she moves to join in the self-flagellation, no stranger to
physical sacrifice: her cyclopean visage is living proof of that. She begins with blood,
and copious amounts of it - drawing forth a knife from her own Malice, she slits a wrist
and lets exalted vitae flow freely, a crimson river to feed the jade star.

Dreww arrives from the up.

Ishmar's fangs flash as she speaks, "For you, Mother." Then she pierces her vein in her
wrist and lets the blood pour out into the star. The blood flows freely to join that in
the jade star.

Arm after pointed arm of the stars begins to light up with a lustrous jade hue, three
lines of thirteen already glowing.

Dreww takes up their sacrificial dagger and slits their wrist allowing the blood to pour
out and join the star.

Legyn arrives from the up.

Tina one by one the other blood enters the star. Each time a new offering
is made, Tina moves to a new part of her body, freshly maiming it and adding new pounds of
flesh and blood to the star. For Rijetta her other leg, for Ishmar the left arm, for Dreww
the right. Blood and flesh flow freely to consecrate the thirteen pointed star.

Merely watching with avid intensity, Chakrasul stands calmly collected, making no effort
to avoid the fluid that pools on the thirteen-pointed star, slowly absorbing into its gem
form. As the bone joins the gruesome display, another four of the star's arms radiate the
same pale jade light as the statue above it.

Pulling his armor up, Legyn stabs into his body with his athame. Blind, he feels his
organs with the blade and crudely cuts out his liver, offering to the star.

Ishmar continues to watch the blood flow from her wrist, swaying slightly from the smell
which is part of her own desires by her nature.

Bloody rents to the bone covering most of Tina's limbs now, she looks up
as Legyn adds fresh offering. Moving a hand to her neck, she slices with a single clawed
finger, expertly finding the artery with experienced precision, atrial blood spraying out
over the star as she slumps down lower in the center, refusing to lay down however as the
ritual goes on, her eyes burning with jade fire as she pours herself into the star.

Dreww watches the blood flow from their wrist as the ritual continues.

Three more arms illuminate, blood seeping into their depths and colouring the centre of
the star for a time with its acrid lustre. The organs and bones stay where dropped, and
yet they seem to shrivel, losing what life remains within them to the power of the star.

Tina looks at the three points of the star still not glowing. Crawling to
each point she stops at the base of them. Holding out her right hand, she wields a
familiar spiraled athame in the left. At each unglowing point of the star, she hacks off a
finger. At the first her forefinger, the second her middle, and the last her ring. At each
point she lets the blood from the flesh wound poor freely, her body growing pale with
blood loss, before moving back to the center, awaiting further offerings and what may
come.

Two more arms alight at the offering, leaving only a single arm still dull. The star is
luminous, lighting up with the chamber with an eerie glow that reflects back from the
opalescent white marble.

In a singsong voice, Chakrasul says, "Only one arm of the star remains unaffected. Surely
one of you has some final gift to display the Might of My Chosen at this most important of
times."

Ishmar quickly rips into the flesh of her right wrist, adding more blood into the jade
star. Her eyes turn black with the scent of blood filling the chamber, but she focuses on
Tina to keep herself from going into a frenzy.

As Ishmar's flesh and blood fall in slow motion, the world seems to hang in the balance,
waiting for one more breath from you.

Ishmar unable to keep herself from not reacting to Mother's words, she pulls out her
scythe with her left hand and slices through her right wrist, letting her right hand fall
at the last arm of the star and then falls on both knees as her scythe clatters to the
floor.

Tina gazes around the room, gaging if anyone else is preparing to offer
more. When things seem settled, she shrugs her shoulders, not in any kind of signal but to
shrug the clothes free from her top, exposing her torso. She switches her blade to the
other hand, saying softly, "The heart may be gone for past needs, but flesh remains." With
that, her left hand cups her left breast, over the ragged scar between them, and her right
hand brings the athame to bear again as she removes her left breast cleanly, adding more
pounds of flesh to the the star before exhaling deeply, not much blood flowing from the
wound as much was already drained from her body at this point.

As the last arm of the star lights up with gleaming viridescence, Corruption's essence
flares within the thirteen-pointed star, condensing to a spectacular jade beam that flings
itself violently at your chest, knocking the breath that no longer sustains you from your
body.

A jade haze bathes Sapience in a pall of abject despair to mark the apotheosis of Tina
Cardinalis, Corruption's first true Adherent arising from her exquisite, perilous descent.