In Lucem

[Sale Bête]

[x]

Reports filter in across Meranthe, primarily in those places that touch on the fringes, on the least civilized parts of the world. From the harsh deserts to the west, to the untamed forests at the foot of the tower of Aetius, even to the frozen reaches in the bowels of Ualdir's ruined temple that have long fallen to Atrellyan ash and ruin.

A Beast.

A Noble Wolf.

A Demon.

The reports beggar belief, so scattered as they are. Tales told by shepherds in their fields in the dead of night, wanderers along dim roadsides, or guards that must have fallen asleep at their post to have such strange and monstrous visions come to them. The tracks found by hunters in the snow and loam, the droplets of purple that pool in paw-prints.

Tales tell of a beast with a great black hide marked in handprints of charred onyx and red and pearlescent white, its eyes a deep carmine, with a great, weeping wound in its chest - a Bleeding Heart that defies logic with how the beast continues to appear hither and yon with such determination.

Surely a story. Easy to discount as that, and nothing more.

Until it was then spotted on the fringes of a budding oasis camp. Until it spoke - until she spoke. The voice of a young woman, from the maw of something so wretched.

---

“Long have I seen and watched. Long have I offered aid from the shadows, from the dark places. Had been a shadow. 

There is time to step into the light. To feel the sun again.

If you would bite through that which binds your, or another, come and seek it. Prove your worth. There are few on Meranthe that know more of the Fel forces that bind than I.  

I offer knowledge. I offer silvered teeth and claws.

I offer a choice.

I do not offer subjugation. I do not offer pacts, bargains, or ask for obeisance.

Know that that which binds can be broken. That which binds can be devoured."

"And I can show you.”

---

Knowledge to be given. Lessons to be taught. On the Arcane and other matters. The last of the near-extinct Noble Wolves is reported to roam, yet it appears to be lingering at times near the Akh-Tural claimed oasis in the western reaches of Meranthe's continent.

(PM Felice Argus, send a letter, or find her on the map to set up a scene.

The Akh-Tural camp is located at 197, 823.

 Public lessons or demonstrations may follow)

[Sale Bête]

"To devour that which binds."

 

"To break that which fetters, and to make it strength."

 

"An art of the Arcane - and a means to Liberation."

 

There are no fliers, no trumpets, no grand announcements.

Mutterings of a demonstration flit from place-to-place by word of mouth.

Through hill and dale and dune and glacier.

 

Tentatively scheduled for: 5 PM CST Monday, 5/26
Location: To Be Determined

Contact Felice Argus for interest/to RSVP

(Or contact 'mooseika' on Discord)

[Sale Bête]

[x]

  

Meranthe is already rife with ominous portents. The heads of Hydras unfurled, their teeth gnashing. Warriors sharpen blades in opposition to hack at each in turn. All the world stirs into war.

What's one more omen, stirring in the wilderness? Swirling in the eddies in pockets of polite society? The kind that merchants swap in passing through bustling markets and places of commerce, or the sort workmen share at tables in alehouses after a pint-too-many. Plenty of time for word-of-mouth to finally spread.

Superstitions swell. Rumors flow. Though, as is often the case with rumors, it is difficult to tell full fact from fiction:

---

"...A strange rite in the woods. That's all I know..."

"...Swear it was the screams of the damned - I heard them from the road, but of course I didn't get closer. You think I'm stupid?..."

  

"...A real Book of Shadows. That's the one those Witches use to take your soul if you look into it.  And out in broad daylight! Torn to bits and eaten. Absolutely mad..."

"...Must just be some mutated beastkin. There's no way there's any left with the Barrier, other than Varrach..."
  

"She yanked the souls right out some black book and ate them there on the spot! My cousin's daughter's friend was there!"

  

"...I heard some of them were lining up to feed that thing. Who in their right mind would feed a Demon? Is this going to be another Coven? Mark my words..."

  

"...What a strange knife. I'd never seen a blade like that...Can you even call it a knife?..."

---

One thing does remain certain. The Demon still prowls. From the scorched ruins of Ualdir's Temple, to the forests upon the cliffs at the foot of Aetius, to the flower dappled plateau northwest of Caethir. Hither and yon it stalks and it bleeds.
  

And still in these darkening times - the fantastical claim that that which holds you back can be removed, sundered, and devoured.

  

That weapons and knowledge are there to be placed into worthy hands. 

  

Yet what might make one 'worthy'?