marslol

Stood over the end of the bed where the fallen druid's corpse lay in silence, the Rain Druid uttered a quiet prayer under his breath - allowing the emotions to roll over him like a tidal wave sweeping over the sandy beach. Hanging hid head low with a deep sigh, a singular tear fell upon the table with a quiet shudder. "Ahernal ito."

From the faraway north of the forest, within a cabin, a lone Dosiya plucks the petals off a rose - one by one, they flit down by her feet. Upon reaching the last one, clung so desperately to it's stem, the woman only offers it the smallest bit of retrieve before too, plucking it away. Mercy, as it always has been.

In a realm not like the material, low blows the echoing screams of the mourning and pained, something stirs ever-so-slightly in it's pitch-black prison - clawing and tearing at the ink and shroud that pulled with tendrils pulling at the mind and soul. It wakes. It will be freed.

A witch of eld wanders the woods near the Haeseni walls, snatching up a discarded missive in front of her cabin. Scrunching up her features, her scarred visage could only be described as ... simply making a face.