>>6333643Perched atop the glacier, Wirt stares uncomprehending at the tragedy before him.
The Children dive into the deep depths of that sweltering manawell, and only some stay in those glowing waters.
Absolutely senseless. Absurd. Why do some survive, and others die? Why only those may survive, and not the few left behind? Why would the Beast allow this travesty to befall his Children? Is this… the cost of freewill?
Does it even matter?
It’s a pernicious thought, as Wirt gazes into the glowing abyss before him.
>[UI] Even though it feels like it, Wirt pleas do not fall on deaf ears. The Marines, especially the survivors, of Darkwood’s many tragedies take his words to heart, and begin building what could be charitably called walls, from a curious mixture of clay mixed into the glacier itself, in line with the tune of his flute. A shame, that Wirt only has eyes for wellspring beneath him, instead of the works inspired in his name.>>6332258The Marine Expedition continues to debate on the efficacy of hunting the unusual sealife surrounding them.
They are pilgrims, some sing, spreading the good ichorous word far and wide. Why else would the Beast free them from their icy prison, and spend His efforts and resources to create this unique tribal group?
They are predators, other sung. The apex. It is in their nature to feed off their lessers, it is in their blood, the divine blood they share with the Beast. If it was truly wrong, wouldn’t it be apparent in the collective instinct?
The more juvenile of the marines sneak away- they stomachs play a sympathy, and they begin to follow it’s tune, so useless their elders are, so wrapped up with their choir to witness their failure to satiate their young.
And as the juvenile begin their play of predation, they fail to notice the changing waters around. Until one bold little marine wanders off to feed on the weird sealife, and in the final moment before satiation, realize that the waters they swim in is actually divine.
>[MI] Communicate LaquraOh. ‘Ello.
>>6333377There is a whispering in the wind, in the Glade of Bonds. A musical whisper, full of soul and sorrow. Could it be construed as a plea for aid?
>[MI] Communicate Bondsglade and it’s wizardThe whispering wind trails northward.
