Rite Of Gathering.

[Geo 1415]

 

((Music))

 

As a dull moon, streaked with dark scars had began to rise high above the horizon, a lonliness washed over the jungle of Ohlokhar like a tsunami - an overwhelming wave of eerie and ambient silence.

The air, cold and bitter, carried only the feeling of dread on its winds, as any signs of hope and joy were absent.  The gloom however, was suddenly pierced by the hallowed song of the signature Va'Khajrian horns, deep and tribal, so loud that the troves of leaves that blanketed the canopy above parted and allowed the moonlight through.

 

Above Tnevdan Pass the Tlatlanni stood atop the Palace rock, a large wooden horn in both hands, blowing into it with strong lungs.   The horn gradually fell in volume until finally it ceased to sing, and with turned heads facing up at the Tlatlanni expectantly, he spoke. 

 

 "Children of the moon and true goddess Metztli, heed the call of her divine chosen.  We stand on a ground of peace and paradise, yet an unholy presence has turned the sacred lands of wonder into a battlefield of chaos.  Children of the moon, both allied to her will and not, have shed blood of brother and sister alike!  Traitors and schemers spread blasphemy through our city streets and oppose our goddess directly, and those valiant enough strike out at said betrayers.  Though this is not enough!  The mother of moon does not seek justice, she does not seek punishment, she most certainly does not seek bloodshed.  Your goddess requires peace amongst her children, for if we are divided, her mission has failed." 

 

Upon closer inspection one could see a very sickly complexion upon Morthawl's face accompanied by a well of emotions including worry and fear.

 

"Know this Kharajyr!  Metztli's Sage has been seperated from her once more, whether through exile, abandonment or a higher purpose, it still stands that she no longer walks under the canopy of Ohlokhar.  Your Tlatlanni has visited Metztli's artifact, her sacred moonstone, but did not find wonder.  Instead, the stone of Metztli lies in pain and agony, black and sickened by her enemies."

 

 

Morthawl blows the horn once more, trying to attract as much attention as possible.

 

 "Metztli has always wished us to be great and achieve great things, to follow her ways.  It is no secret that we have endured great suffering in times of strife.  It is no secret that it was the descendants, those creatures that some of you call friends, whom besieged our homeland and sucked it dry of resources - destroyed everything that Metztli had given us.  Yet we, as a people, have persevered! It is we that have carried on with such colossal weight upon our backs, founded new homes and civilisations despite the onslaught and slavery of our kin.  Sailed the seas as the  descendants ravage each world we set foot upon.  Yet there is a theme, a method in our madness and it is this..." 

 

Morthawl's next words are said with a thick snarling, almost as if he were shouting it.

 

"Each time the world seeks to unravel us, Metztli will see us through.  Yet this time - this time her enemies have attacked her directly.  She is wounded.  Kharajyr, your goddess calls for aid!  How can you expect to ward off Metztli's enemies, if you are too busy killing her own children.."

 

Morthawl raises his trident into the air, the tip of it lit aflame. 

 

"From here on out, anyone causing a divide in the Kharajyr shall burn atop Metztli's altar!  We worship the moon and the moon alone.  And our creator is dying.  Soon our whole world shall die, should we not protect what is ours.  Perseverance, Pride and Faith.  Keep those traits close to your hearts and we will never lose Metztli."

 

After a moment of gazing up at the sky, he speaks his final words for the evening.

 

"There is much to discuss, Kharajyr.  The time is nigh, we must spring into action and defend everything.  As I invoke my rite of gathering all shall meet at the temple, for all thoughts shall be heard.  Silence within Metztli's great temple is hereby banished until further notice, speak freely and be heard, but do so and serve her."

 

Morthawl lowers the trident, the tip slowly burning out and leaving him nothing but a sillhouette.

 

"Sa'vi."

 

((A time for this meeting will be discussed, and a date.))

[magno 68]

Upon closer inspection one could see a very sickly complexion upon Morthawl's face accompanied by a well of emotions including worry and fear.

 

 

Yuulpria arches a brow at the look of weakness upon his face

[Lita 677]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.