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'?

[Sale Bête]

[x]

 

War still stirs through the nation. Larger titans of power clash against one another. Rituals stir on high mountains. Nations rise and fall, with some even closing their gates entirely.

 
The omens from the wilderness - though quiet by comparison against the backdrop of greater, monumental conflicts - are still there. Still open, in the light of day and far from silent.
 
Though the trails of blood are greater, staining the usual places here and there across Meranthe, the Demon Wolf that makes them is still abroad. With stubborn determination it still roams.
 
Sometimes alone.
 
At times, in the company of others.
 
It wanders its usual route, from one end of the continent to the next, but now seems to be gravitating towards a central area once more: east, into the depths of the Shadowland, where a small, budding encampment forms - there lie a scattered few of various shapes, backgrounds, and creeds.
 
The Noble Wolf of the Bleeding Heart is purported to speak from this place among the woodlands:
 

---

“Two now Unbound."

 
"Two born anew in Rebellion, their Souls freed of shackles, their pacts Devoured.
 
I do not offer subjugation. I do not ask for obeisance. I will tell to you what I offer:
 
For those without a home, I give a roof.
 
For those chained, I offer Freedom without Cost.
 
For the Oppressor and those of False Righteousness, I offer my scorn.
 
But for those that would rise and fight that which binds.
    Those that would stand against those that make of each other tools and sacrifices.
    That would stand and see the Folly of Man unraveled.
 
You will have of my knowledge.
You will have of my teeth.
You will have of my claws.
You will have the blood of my Heart.
 

"And I will show you - a Cycle broken.”

 

---

 

(Felice Argus can be reached by PM or letter, as well as through Discord at mooseika)

(The Shadowlands camp and its denizens are located at 934, 359)

[Sale Bête]

 

[x]

  

The little camp in the Shadowlands still stands. A Wolf and other denizens tend the fire. Mutterings of a more permanent structure to stand on the grounds. Coins changing hands with masons. Some tents have been seen to leave, to rise, to change. Its population waxes and wanes, but it remains standing.

  

Standing stones are carved and placed around the perimeter, lined with runes. They draw in some strange power from the environs - waiting, watching to keep a silent vigil on the woods all around. Until the time is right.

  

The words from the Wolf of this glade are few this time:

  

---

  

"Three Unbound."

  

"Now let it be Four."

  

---

  

There is work to be done. Preparations for a rite of some kind are underway. A gathering among the dark boughs.

  

(The Shadowlands camp and its denizens are located at 934, 359)
(Tentatively set for 4 PM CST/5 PM EST)

[Sale Bête]

 

[x]

What was once a circle of tents in the lonely, dark reaches of the Shadowlands has become so much more. The influence of the camp expands further beyond its humble bounds.

Some of them still remain, but woodsmen have been hard at work clearing trees, and masons labor to build foundations of sturdy stone.

A tower rises, looming above the trees, topped with a beacon of flame and tall, ominous standing stones carved with foreign runes. Banners on its walls are soon to follow.

A field of blue, with a snarling wolf's head in black.

The woods of the Shadowlands are always filled with shadows. This itself is not new. It's in the name, after all. What is novel is the amount of them, and their shapes, that slink in patrols around the foot of the structure. More and more souls come to make it their home despite this; they can be seen coming and going from its walls.

Atop the tower, keeping the fire among others at its edge, is not the shape of the Black Wolf that has been prowling these camps.

It is a tawny-haired young woman, with a scarred face, a visage that most in the living memory of Meranthe do not remember - that is, if they had ever really known it at all to begin with. From this tower, this home clawed from the edifice of the dark wood, the keeper of this Sanctuary speaks:

  

---

  

"Four now Free." 

"Five, if we really want to get technical. I should count myself, right? Five, and still so much left to Break.

Cycles continue. Conquests march on. Some're bloody and boisterous. Some're silent, bloodless. But Freedom's still here, if any want to taste it. All you've got to do is reach out. It's that easy. Don't even charge.

These things can be taught - but if you serve any kind of Master? I don't care what kind of boot you're licking."

"This place isn't meant for you."

  

---

  

Word stirs of more rites, more lessons to come, now with a permanent structure in place.
 
Yet clearly not all are so welcome to linger...

Upcoming Events:

Lessons in Creation and Destruction - Theory of the Arcane: Date To Be Determined
Feast of the Sineater: Date To Be Determined  

(Sanctuary and its denizens are located at 934, 359)