Hunters Gathering

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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* W03: Druid Grove *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The silence of the woods is only broken by its wildness. The clamour of squawk and the scratch of claw becomes almost hushed, only to erupt again and prove that this sacred place is at its heart, untamed. The great branches of Ygdrassil's Sapling rise from the center and then outwards. Its limbs hold every sort of wildlife, from the hooting owl to the forest leopard, and are broad enough to provide shade for Gilead's wild hounds. It would take more than a dozen giantborn to surround its base, with arms stretched broadly and limbs straining.

Here is Wild, with the roar of beast contrasted with the solitude of the forests. Surrounding the tree lies open ground composed of dirt and a mixture of wild grasses, rocks. Along one side of the grove is a place where the shamans and hunters craft bonfire and rest after an evening's gathering and gossip. A multitude of races may be seen here, though in particular those of the shamanic followings--many humans, sildanyari, oruch, and sith-makar among them. Shamans, however, are not the only number--hunters shelter here, or come here for gossip, ritual, and social exchanges. The Grove becomes a place at once both sacred and a community's heart.

Some of these hunters serve as silent, armed guards around the perimeter. Hedges composed of thorn and bramble add to the border's enforcement. Though Nature perseveres, it is also peaceful and wild, kind and savage, and those of the Green must from time to time stand their ground against the Blight and Unmakers.

EXTRAS: +view

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Durrankar Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes 21m 25m

Ga'Elian A tallish Sylvanori male with a griffon 1m 2h

Svarshan Demons: Another name for spicy BBQ 0s 3d

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Out <O>

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You go IC!

Flying into the grove on the back of an armor-clad griffon with white feathers and white fur is the Elunite ranger, Ga'Elian, looking excited to get this Hunt going. As they come in for a landing, the rider hops off his steed. He first says, "Well buddy, this'll give you a chance to use those enhanced claws of yours... At least I think so."

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* W03: Druid Grove *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The silence of the woods is only broken by its wildness. The clamour of squawk and the scratch of claw becomes almost hushed, only to erupt again and prove that this sacred place is at its heart, untamed. The great branches of Ygdrassil's Sapling rise from the center and then outwards. Its limbs hold every sort of wildlife, from the hooting owl to the forest leopard, and are broad enough to provide shade for Gilead's wild hounds. It would take more than a dozen giantborn to surround its base, with arms stretched broadly and limbs straining.

Here is Wild, with the roar of beast contrasted with the solitude of the forests. Surrounding the tree lies open ground composed of dirt and a mixture of wild grasses, rocks. Along one side of the grove is a place where the shamans and hunters craft bonfire and rest after an evening's gathering and gossip. A multitude of races may be seen here, though in particular those of the shamanic followings--many humans, sildanyari, oruch, and sith-makar among them. Shamans, however, are not the only number--hunters shelter here, or come here for gossip, ritual, and social exchanges. The Grove becomes a place at once both sacred and a community's heart.

Some of these hunters serve as silent, armed guards around the perimeter. Hedges composed of thorn and bramble add to the border's enforcement. Though Nature perseveres, it is also peaceful and wild, kind and savage, and those of the Green must from time to time stand their ground against the Blight and Unmakers.

EXTRAS: +view

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Durrankar Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes 4m 52m

Ga'Elian A tallish Sylvanori male with a griffon 38s 2h

Svarshan Demons: Another name for spicy BBQ 0s 3d

Un'eth An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar 2m 3h

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Grove Gathering Description

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Out <O>

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Fazahd has arrived.

Silmeria has arrived.

Grimael has arrived.

Ga'Elian keeps Erithamiel close to him, but walks around the area seeing who all are gathering to the grove. He acknowledges greetings, but continues to circulate amongst folks, finally stopping when he approaches The Tree where Durrankar is rubbing his forehead against the trunk. He says, "Greetings, Durrankar, and peace on your nest. Communing with the Spirit of the Tree, are you?"


Astraea has arrived.

Grove Gathering Description(#1956)

The sound of politics breaks the silence of the Druid's Grove. Whispers, meaningful looks that speak on their own and the quiet undergrowls of woodland companions permeate its space. Various groups have gathered around the great Sapling, that reminder of the great World Tree. Among them are hunters, druids, priests, oruch, sith-makar. The wild community gathers here in this time before the Hunt to discuss the issuance of Gilead's Hunters. His priests.

War.

Beneath it branches, sacred Hounds rest. They lay massive heads upon their paws, their ears a-twitch to the slightest breeze. They live here much of the year, though the Hunt will be an active time. Soon, they will wake and ride with hunters. Course with them, with Heth in their sights.

Far from the Sapling burn two small fires, a reminder of the treaty between local druids and the sith-makar. Some representatives from local Pointe village are also here. They look slightly nervous, and to those with the scent, smell it as well. The village is tied to the Grove in ways few villages in Alexandros are. They have sent community members for word, to keep up with the latest goings-on.

In general, there is conversation. Groups of similar interest and inclination are easy to find, though the druids encourage mingling. 'Social' isn't in every ranger's playbook, but if someone needs 'help,' they may find Gilead's folk pushing them towards groups, with a growled, 'Flap yer gums and say hi, already.'

With that in mind, there is also some feyale.

Un'eth enters the grove as undergrowth, branches, and even the protective brambles lightly part to allow her unimpeded passage. Her comparatively delayed arrival compared to others is neither a insult to the gathering nor fashion-related. Tribal and people communal egg-sitting or not, some can remain rather particular with their nests. The quantity and variety gathered cause her chest to inflate and her tail impacts the ground solidly.

Durrankar doesn't look up.....still rubbing his forehead. However, his staff does speak to Ga'Elian. "he's not communing with the spirit, Elian.....something else is happening. he extends his greetings, otherwise."

Fazahd has partially disconnected.

The Grove is full, tonight. Packs stand together, talking and conversing about the latest news. Some lay plans. Others, compare notes. Regardless, there is much to say, and more to share.

"...it's what I heard," among a smaller group, a rangy man speaks up in response to something said. He turns to the side, mouth working as though he'd spit, but doesn't.

Those nearby nod.

That isn't the only group of hunters, druids, oruch and sith-makar here. Though the sith-makar are typically clannish, some have spread out at the urging of the shamans. Animated keeper-caste speak avidly in varied groups.

"Do you think the ssity will get involved?" asks one.

Among the rest comes Fazahd, perhaps the least likely of attendants - for now, at least. The adopted Khazad arrives quietly, lingering at the edge of the grove as he scans the crowd, and then steps into the clearing. Hands in coat pockets, belt hung with hammer and a pair of hand-and-a-half swords. Very tall, very swordy dwarf who isn't a dwarf at all. That's Fazahd.

Ga'Elian looks a trifle startled as the staff speaks, as if he's still rather unaccustomed to this. However, he says, "I frankly believe a great deal is happening here tonight. Although what particularly is happening with the shaman, is certainly as mysterious as anything else." He smiles. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a few other familiar faces come into view. He bows.

Another entrant lingers at the side of the grove for a moment, gaze twitching slightly as he observes the rather varied crowd arrayed before him. Grimael turns away to look at and up at one of the trees edging the grove, as if for a moment considering climbing up into its branches and camping out there not only for the better perspective, but just to be out of the way. Instead, he takes a deep breath, gives his wings a slight flick, and steps into the grove, taking more time to gaze hawkishly at the gathered faces.

Svarshan arrives a while after Un'eth does. He looks content. Alert, though content, and stops by Un'eth briefly. "Vthria ssends word. Sshe is oversseeing the. Warriorss," he says. He nods then to Durrankar, before looking out to familiar and new faces, alike.

GAME: {()} You invite Sebropert to join you. Offer will expire in two minutes.

Sebropert has arrived.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* W03: Druid Grove *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The silence of the woods is only broken by its wildness. The clamour of squawk and the scratch of claw becomes almost hushed, only to erupt again and prove that this sacred place is at its heart, untamed. The great branches of Ygdrassil's Sapling rise from the center and then outwards. Its limbs hold every sort of wildlife, from the hooting owl to the forest leopard, and are broad enough to provide shade for Gilead's wild hounds. It would take more than a dozen giantborn to surround its base, with arms stretched broadly and limbs straining.

Here is Wild, with the roar of beast contrasted with the solitude of the forests. Surrounding the tree lies open ground composed of dirt and a mixture of wild grasses, rocks. Along one side of the grove is a place where the shamans and hunters craft bonfire and rest after an evening's gathering and gossip. A multitude of races may be seen here, though in particular those of the shamanic followings--many humans, sildanyari, oruch, and sith-makar among them. Shamans, however, are not the only number--hunters shelter here, or come here for gossip, ritual, and social exchanges. The Grove becomes a place at once both sacred and a community's heart.

Some of these hunters serve as silent, armed guards around the perimeter. Hedges composed of thorn and bramble add to the border's enforcement. Though Nature perseveres, it is also peaceful and wild, kind and savage, and those of the Green must from time to time stand their ground against the Blight and Unmakers.

EXTRAS: +view

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-- Contents --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Astraea Slim, half-sil with brown hair and gray-blue eyes. 14m 16h

Durrankar Silver Sith-makar with blue eyes 10m 21m

Fazahd A brawny youth with a hawk nose and grim expression. 1m 20m

Ga'Elian A tallish Sylvanori male with a griffon 3m 2h

Grimael Tan and white feathered, hawk-like egalrin. 4m 1h

Sebropert A black and copper Sith'Makar with burn scars. 27s 3m

Silmeria A sweet-looking blond human in a long black dress and 4m 2h

Svarshan Demons: Another name for spicy BBQ 0s 3d

Un'eth An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar 2m 4h

Whirlpool I am stinky! 1m 16h

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Grove Gathering Description

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Out <O>

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"You have an idea of the perspective, but not the scope, Elian. This is much bigger than any of us, and Durrankar realizes it." The staff then looks to the arriving clans and people. "Much bigger. Dran is simply trying to sate their bloodlust. They are too far gone to realize that they would not survive if they bring down Rune."

And still more come to the grove. The shubbery parts, admitting a small blond woman in a black cassock, with the thin glint of fine mithril chain peeking out from beneath her sleeves. Pausing to smile and nod her thanks to the greenery -- just in case, after all -- Silmeria steps into the Grove proper searching for those familiar to her.

Gossip is everywhere. Packs stand in various places, talking about what they'd heard, or hadn't. An egalrin had just alighted to the gathering, and Fazahd ahad arrived shortly after. A trio of sith-makar had as well. Everyone looks to be getting situated.

In the meantime, conversations continue: "...damned if anyone knows what the Walled are up to," says another, referring to Alexandria. Which, to be fair--is known for its walls. An older lucht, she wears the colors of the forest, and the disgusted face of someone tired of national politics. "All you hear about is Dran this, or Dran that! It's no wonder the priests--"

The words come from a group of mostly-lucht, though some sil and half-sil, a few humans roam that knot as well. They're talking about Alexandria, Dran, Rune and the khazad.

"Someone tried murdering the khazad king, and queen, I heard."

Fazahd's hand grips the pommel of his hammer at that, his expression flat and blank as he makes a circuit among the groups here. Very diplomatic. Stone shows more emotion.

There is another of the ranging type that arrives. With a griffon in tow. Astraea has a hand upon Thistle's shoulder, allowing her companion to largely lead the way. The young half-sil has the hood of her cloak up and, in spite of any urging that comes her way upon appearing... seems to be well-suited to just drift and observe. There's no leap into any conversation, nor does she linger by any conversational circle for very long.

Ga'Elian says, "Well, you can feel the grandeur of scope, as you say, thrumming in the trees. When Mahal calls for a Hunt, all nature heeds. Ever since word of it has come forth, I can feel the anticipation in my very skin, especially in the tattoo He put upon me, like the air can feel when lightning is about to strike."

Fazahd finds a spot to sit down, unbelting his swords and laying them over his crossed legs as he lowers himself to the earth. Again, grim statue.

Fazahd has disconnected.

Svarshan offers a thump of his tail at familiar faces. "Peasse to you!" he says, waving over Silmeria. A curious look is given to the griffon, the egalrin. He isn't the only one--others step forward. Tonight, the Green opens its arms. Spaces are made at gathering-spots, and near the two small fires.

Ga'Elian has reconnected.

Ga'Elian has partially disconnected.

"Peace on your nest, Svarshan," Silmeria answers merrily, lifting her hand in greeting and trotting toward the paladin. "I see that few are ignoring the shadows looming in the back, now that this Dran mess has been beaten back." Resting her hand on her hip, behind the butt of a well-secured pistol, she grins at Svarshan. "And how's your cihuaa and children, then?"

Ga'Elian says, "Excuse me" to Durrankar's staff, then accompanied by his griffin approaches Grimael. He offers a polite "Hello. I am Elian." <auran>

EVENTS: Hunter's Gathering is scheduled to start RIGHT NOW!

...Svarshan's eyes light up as though someone had opened the gates of Heaven, and Daeus' warrior-angels had come forward. "They are...beautiful," he says happily. "They are learning to sshare words, and are being claimed in-casste. Little Palti iss joining the sshamans. And Matlalihui," he says, with a gesture of the jaw towards Durrankar, "...iss growing. Plantss." A pause.

A LONGER pause where he swallows, and visibly manages to NOT go on, for some time, about the rest of them. "And how faress your. Workss?" he asks Silmeria.

"What's this going to have on our farms?" asks someone from Pointe. There are small groups all around. "Heth sent people here, once..."

"They didn't go after the farms, did they?"

"No, but they went after them--" the farmer says. He nods to the sith-makar. "--and their eggs. If Heth's willing to go that far, what about us?"

"Hey! Do you know anything?" one asks, calling over to the newly-arrived egalrin. "Your people have good eyes, doncha?"

Grimael seems relatively unconcerned by most of what's going on around the grove, more occupied by taking it all in than bothering to single anyone out. At least until someone decides to approach him. He fixes Elian with his yellow gaze for a pregnant moment, not saying anything in return, other than making a clipped click with his beak. All in all he just seems unsure of this person before him. Then finally manages to speak a brief, "<something you don't understand in auran>"

The egalrin's attention remains fixed on Elian for a moment longer before being pulled to the side by the gossipers. "I only arrived in the area." He shakes his head, maybe that's supposed to be apologetic. Beaks are not the most expressive facial features.

"Well enough," Silmeria answers, bobbing her head. "Though the mess at Rune made a busy time for *all* of us, and likely will for some time yet..." The blond lifts a shoulder, letting out a quiet breath. "In truth, I was rather glad when the Union started talking about this... All the post-war cleanup in the world won't amount to much if Heth is allowed free rein for much longer. Not to mention it's long past time that Dragonier was cleansed, even if it has to be an inch at a time."

"You either, eh?" says the shaggy man who'd spoken to Grimael sympathetically. He has the stout, honest look of a farmer which well, of course he is. He turns partly around, "Hey, anyone else know? Will all this draw Heth towards our farmlands?" he asks. "I mean--he already tried killing your Empress, didn't he? And your egg...places, right?" he asks the sith-makar, though his questions are directed towards everyone in general. His look at length, settles on Silmeria. She...just sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and he looks pretty scared.

The others that speak in their groupings -- or shout between groups -- are given brief glances. Here, there. And those that speak in languages she doesn't know, well, Astraea barely pays them any mind at all. The dranger seems content to let the griffon she's with lead the way. So far, he's made no move to try to bite at anything. Not even a nibble. Must have had a fresh, ripe baby just before arriving. The two largely seem to aim for the fires. Perhaps to settle down and enjoy the warmth.

Knowing full well that he would not be allowed to skirt the edges of the group, Svarshan found a place in the middle and sat down like a massive black rock. He preens copper tendrils under his chin, and strokes the bony plates that give him the appearance of a beard.

Burn scars mars Sebropert's face and arm, still fresh, puckered, and healing. A single blue eye shifts between the conversations as he listens intently, finding silence for now the wisest course.

Ga'Elian looks at the man who spoke directly to Grimael. "Sir, we are not waiting for Heth to come to us, this time. The Great Stag has called us to hunt him down."

"I look forward to Rune. ...going quiet," Svarshan says underneath his breath. He looks over at the question, suddenly focused. But, he is no shaman. He looks to Durrankar, to Un'eth, and others there. Takes in a slow breath. Lets it go.

Durrankar has disconnected.

Durrankar has connected.

Turning to the grizzled man's question, Silmeria notes the fear in his eyes and smiles gently, approaching him with hands out. "I can't say for certain, sir, and I'm sorry for that... but if left unchecked, sooner or later I've little doubt his corruption will spread as far as it can. But be at ease." Taking his hands and squeezing gently, she turns, gesturing toward the gathered throng of druids, rangers, warriors, and assorted irregulars gathered in the grove. "You're looking at a war council, gathering for the purpose of *stopping* that very thing from happening."

The farmer frowns and looks around him. Apparently, he had not considered that. "A war council?" he asks. But, "...I'm a farmer! What can I--what can any of us do?" he asks.

Sebropert's voice finally rises up in the crowd, low and rumbling. "Dig. You can dig. Sharpen. Build land for war. Store food for those that will need. Ride mounts to pass messages." His clawed hand grabs the ground and lifts a clump up. "Care for wounded, house the needy. Army marches on its stomach. This you can do."

"Light iss stronger becausse we sstand together," Svarshan says in low tones, backing up his friend. "Heth hass sstood for too long unchecked. Hiss agents are disguissed among nationss, as advissors to nations. He is not the idle and fattened beasst we had thought him to be."

Of course, this does not help the farmer. At all. The sith looks for a moment discombobulated. "...which iss why we are taking the Hunt to hiss borders. Not here."

This doesn't help.

Grimael returns to idle wandering, seemingly more interested in just taking in the people than the subject at hand, even though his head does tend to tilt towards whoever is speaking at the moment. He scratches a talon at the base of his beak as he stops in his track, eyes darting between the various sith'makar as they speak of Heth, his expression mostly unreadable, for the moment.

Un'eth has connected.

Sebropert's advice, and then Svarshan's, make the small blonde grin... which turns into an indulgent chuckle, when Svarshan tries to be inspirational, and misses his mark. SHaking her head, she turns back to the farmer. "You're worried about your lands, your livelihood, your families. I understand, sir. It'll be equally important, to make sure you're as well-protected as both the city and the Union can make you. Another thing you can do, sir, is talk to those around you. Let us know which among you has the greatest need for defense. The elderly, the sheepherders, people whose work requires them to be alone or those who can't take up arms in their own defense."

Silmeria dips her head, searching to meet the poor, frightened farmer's eyes. "I know you're worried, sir, and I'd be lying if I said you didn't have reason to be. But you're helping *tremendously,* just being here to voice your needs, and those of your fellows."

"We can cut out the cancer," Fazahd says. He has moved to a rock, and it's from this that the not-Khazad speaks. "Sir, Dragonier is a sick land - like any good healer, we shall fight infection as close as we can to the sit, like one would apply maggots or salve to a festering wound. It is true; Heth is a tremendous disease, and it may be that this will not be the treatment that ends the sickness - however, by our efforts will the sickness be mightily curtailed, so you need not have to deal with it." He looks to Silmeria and nods. "We are not merely here to wage war. We are here for the people. What you need, we shall hear. We shall do the best for us to provide and protect you."

Sebropert nods his horned head, and setting his burned arm against the ground he pushes himself to standing, unfurling his frame up. His frills lift and his tail thuds heavily against the ground. "Wise, we strike first. But foolish not to plan defense. Fear will bring failure," he tells the farmer. "Have heart. Fortify homes," he looks to Svarshan and steps to stand behind and to the right of the scarleg warrior. "I stand with brethren. Tell more of this creature we face. What is expected on field of battle?"

"...The horned guy's right. What do we know about Heth?" asks one, a gnome. A hunter familiar to some, she steps forward. "Some of you have tangled with him, yeah?"

"Yes. An excellent question." This voice belongs to an older man. "My name is Shaman Moana! Some of you know me, some do not. And, many of you have asked very good questions. Why haven't nations acted sooner? Why haven't we acted sooner? ...the question is not THEN, but NOW." The old oruch straightens as he steps forward from the small group he'd been speaking with. His eyes are stormy, though at once wild, and wise. He nods to the many who have spoken up. Some of the Hounds sit up, and begin to stir.

"I recognize many of you here, today. Some...are new faces. Welcome! Welcome to our gathering. We are here tonight because the Stag has spoken! He has declared our Hunt against Ea's greatest Wound. As the Hunt rises, we will course our way to Heth's borders, and harry what we can. We will retake land where we can, and lay rest to souls."

"As the...stout man there said, this is to cleanse a wound. Yet, we cannot win alone. Our goal is to challenge others, and remind them of this Wound. We must inspire the world with our acts. The world has sat on its hands, and played its 'politics' too long," he says, with a deep scowl.

"Now, our sister and our scaled ask a good question. Thankfully, we have heroes among us. What is known about our prey? Share it, that hunters here may sharpen their claws!"

"You say 'why'," Fazahd says, frowning faintly. "I would think that is obvious. The various governments have been busy dealing with demonic incursions of their own - Rune deals with the Dran, backed by the Binder. The Myrrish have had to bend themselves in half to deal with his work at Versis, where a great many champions were slain. Still other scenarios await to boil over, if not contained. It would surprise me not if Heth were the author of these conflicts to contain and prevent just the cure that we seek to administer."

Astraea goes OOC.

Astraea has left.

Un'eth could offer her insight on why nations have not yet acted, why many have not acted. Yet the Shaman speaks the truth. The focus is now, on what must be done, not before and what was not done. Her tail thumps the ground and she steps forward.

"Heth is the greatest threat to all upon Ea, to Ea, itself. One that makes battles with tribes, nations, even fiends and abominable horrors from elsewere nothing but petty squabbles.

"Heth cannot be stopped by any one nation alone... but his corrupted abominations and his wounding of Ea can be reduced. Thinned. Healed."

Sebropert listens intently, but a few choice words cause his head to tilt and his brow to rise. His tail thumps the ground heavily and he gives a grunt to call attention. "Understand the Hunter has called us to move. But need more to grok our path. Say retake. Show inspiration." He lifts a claw, palm up and fingers splayed. "Retake for who?" He asks. "Inspire how? The Hunter calls, not nation. Do we claim for th Hunt? The Green? Replant and teach lesson to all not to infringe the wood?" He balls his hand and drops it to his side. "Or do you want to retake and give back to nations, and they allow this to happen again?"

"...I would not be ssurprised of an alliansse between Heth and Assumit, the Demon Binder," Svarshan responds in low tones, in response to Fazahd. Then, backing up Un'eth: "Or hiss influence on Arendt, although Arendt actss out of hiss own greed, alsso. Neither Arendt or Assumit would be difficult to. Convinsse."

Slower, deeper breath. "Heth'ss agentss are everywhere. Sshapeshifters. Void dragonss. ...but hiss biggesst basse of power iss former Dragonier. It iss the mosst vissible territory, and where the Green hass been the mosst corrupted."

Ga'Elian has listened to the various questions and viewpoints, then speaks out "So where and when do we start?"

"Woooo...I'll never get used to this." Durrankar's staff says with a strange echoing quality to him.

It is then that Durrankar stands up. "the easiest way to stand against Heth, is to continue to grow your crops. That alone is a defience against Heth." He voice is not Durrankar's....it definitely echos, but his voice sounds.....almost elven in dialect.

"Arendt will soon have a fight on two fronts before long. An ancient enemy, long sent into legend, has slumbered in secrecy." he says looking to Fazahd as he explains....before his attention is turned towards....and singles out the Oruch tribes that are standing near the fires.

"The Sleeper has Awakened......"

He pauses for a few seconds, before he looks towards others. "Heth is.....as Un'eth said, a great threat to all of us.....we need to push his influence back....." He then looks to Silmeria. "For that.....we ask for the help of the grey lady."

"In fairness," Silmeria says, patting the farmer's hand before turning to face Sebropert, "it doesn't *matter* for whom this scourge is erased, sir. What matters is that that the corruption *must* be cut away, and the souls in Heth's grip be freed to seek their final peace." She falls silent as Un'eth, Ga'Elian, and Durrankar speak their pieces, and nods once. "And you will have it, I promise you. Heth is an enemy to all the peoples and *all* the gods, and the Hunt will not want for support."

"The Hunt is within each of us," Shaman Moana says. The aged shaman gives Durrankar a concerned, thoughtful look before continuing. "The Hunt is a holy rite, given to us by the Green, itself. Where do your talents lie, hunter? Take the battle there. Against his agents, as this one said--" he nods to Un'eth and Svarshan, "Or against his borders, where it will be most visible and we hope--inspire nations! Wherever we Hunt, the Hounds and our allies will course together!" he says, as Silmeria speaks up.

Ga'Elian says, "I realize I have just probably put the cart before the horse, asking when and where to begin, for I realize that I'm not entirely certain how to know the quarry. In this Hunt, what sorts of quarry will we actually be hunting?

Un'eth blinks and her snout snaps around to Durrankar. She steps back slight and towards him. Concern? Support? Likely both. Once relocated, her attention shifts to the oruchs which drew her cihuaa's.

"Heth'ss agents are dragonss, touched by the Void that iss within him. Their breath ssuffocates, and they possess sstrong sshapeshifting. Abilitiess that they usse to take on other. Identitiess. Their draconic drive to hunt," Svarshan says, with a look towards Sebropert, back. "Iss...corrupted. If you bait them, they musst resspond. It iss one way to flussh them. Out."

When Un'eth moves towards Durrankar, then do his shoulders relax. He reaches up, the rub at his face. "The borderss. ...I hear he challengess Thul in hiss command of undeath. However, I have. Never been there, only heard the. Legendss."

"Am not sir. Am Sebropert of Ukekla. Have lived with the Sith. Amongst the Greenskin wardens. Even the softskins of the Walled. To us it may not matter. But does matter. Wipe land free of plague, and watch vultures take its place. Nation fall upon land to claim. Am not smartest Sith, but know there is good and evil in people. The Green is balance. Swings far one way," he says by making a throat cutting gesture. "Other way gains foothold. Pendulum always swings back. Harder swing one way, harder swing back. Have been to Charn, sister, though long ago. Consider Charn then. Sweep Heth with no plan. Charn will send legion. Walking death." The large Sith sits down, his hand resting the blind side of his face in the palm of his hand. He gave his part. Now he would listen.

"Dragonier is a nation of the walking dead now," Silmeria says, voice grim. "If there are survivors who never managed to flee, I've not heard of them..." She falls silent as Sebropert speaks, and inclines her head in respect to his words. "You do make a good point, Master Sebropert, and it will be worth keeping to heart."

"We shall have to pick him apart," Fazahd says. "Like an eel does a saberwhelk. Until we are inside him, and he cannot be rid of us."

"Heth iss pissing off Thul," Svarshan says wryly, with a quiet, brief lift of the teeth. "Ssilmeria bringss good words. Hiss landsscape--he sslew the dragon king of Dragonier, and laid wasste to hiss counssil. Then he sslew the people there, and the Void in him. Turned them to undeath."

Deeper breath. Finding words again. "It iss possible. ...he iss the Firsst Born of dragonss, made sso by the godss, themsselves. As we Hunt hiss borderss, we musst sstudy him with every ssense. I ssuspect he cannot be desstroyed with blade or axe."

...nooooooot helping the farmer.

Astaren has arrived.

Durrankar says, "Which we will need Rune for....." he says finally."

Svarshan looks over, and thumps his tail. "Ssa," he says to Durrankar, though he still looks worried, from earlier.

"So this guy is...the First Born among dragons," one of the hunters says, speaking up. "And he's taken over all of Dragonier, killed everyone there. ...then turned them into undead. THAT's what we're going to Hunt?"

Ga'Elian has disconnected.

Un'eth's tail sways to Durrankar's as she stands beside him. Her voice raises again, but she remains in place. "Heth's minions, hidden dragon or undead, are what we can hunt. Heth, himself, is bound too tightly to The Void. He cannot be destroyed. Not yet... but he can be weakened. We can strip him of his armies and agents! We can drive him and his corruption from Ea!"

A brief pause as snout and eyes turn across many faces. "All can work to do this. Sith-makar. Softskin. Shaman. Warrior. Hunter. Farmer." Her eyes slip back to the questioning hunter. "Ssa. Yes."

"Worse has been slain," Fazahd says from his rock.

Granit has arrived.

Astaren is sitting in the back rightning in one of his books and taking notes. For the most part he has been quiet and listening. He hmms a moment and shakes his head, making another note.

"That is why they are heroes," the druid from earlier says, speaking up. He raises his hands, momentarily. "And why I suspect, the Stag dedicated His Hunt to such an enemy. It will take all of us to defeat him, and cleanse this threat from Ea's surface."