The air in the cavern was thick with anticipation, every nerve in the angora's body tingling with the weight of the unknown. Flemyng's prior words echoed in his mind as they stood at the precipice of a world unseen, the very thought of their purpose here sending shivers down his spine. *"...it seems things hidden in the shadows of kigdoms have begun to come to light."* Haedians, forgotten beings of an ancient time, now reawakened in the deepest bowels of Vitalus. He could barely fathom-- had the Elder known of them? Surely; there didn't seem to be much that he *didn't* know of. Molotov's dreams had whispered of these creatures, mentions from old spirits of lost family, a lost society. He hadn't had context to connect the pieces before.
Their existence was a puzzle waiting to be solved... but now, faced with their reality, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease.
Cailu's presence loomed before them, a silent sentinel guiding them deeper into the unknown, through throngs of Forgotten members. Her hesitation spoke volumes, a silent warning of the challenges that lay ahead. Trust wouldn't come easy, not in a place where secrets lingered in the shadows like specters of the past. And yet, they had come this far, drawn by a curiosity that burned brighter than any fear.
The Forgotten awaited them, a clan of misfits banished from the light of the other clans. Poverty clung to them like a second skin, their homes a patchwork of mismatched architecture and barren caves. Troall, with her watchful gaze and glowing eyes, led them with a silent determination born of necessity. They survived by any means necessary, scavenging and stealing to eke out an existence in the unforgiving depths; they carved out their place in this society by sheer force of will - and probably more than a little bit of spite.
As they followed Cailu through the winding tunnels, Molotov couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. They needed their trust, their cooperation, if they were to uncover the truths hidden in these ancient caverns. But how to gain it? The answer eluded him, slipping through his paws like grains of sand.
Flemyng's voice broke through his thoughts, his words a reminder of the power that lay dormant within him. His dreams held secrets untold, a well of knowledge waiting to be tapped. Perhaps there lay their path forward, in the whispers of the past that danced on the edge of Molotov's consciousness. **"I've heard... mentions of things I couldn't explain-- until now."** he replied, eyeing his companion carefully. **"Nothing useful though, I fear. Nothing about specific clans; the spirits I've spoken with who knew of these creatures would have died long before the clans themselves formed."**
But first, they had to earn their trust. As undignified as it was, Cailu's advice came back to him, something the female had mentioned earlier about the clan quite favoring play, indulging in pranks and well intended thievery-- **"What better way to show than to join in their games, to show them that they we're not just outsiders, but allies in their struggle?"** A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Molotov's lips as an idea began to form in his mind. Playing pranks on a neighboring clan, a harmless jest to lighten the spirits of the Forgotten and prove their worth.
With a nod to Flemyng, Molotov stepped forward, determination burning bright in his eyes. **"Let us show them that we are not just strangers passing through, meaningless in the span of their lives"** he said, his voice lighter, a path forward uncovered as Troall stopped before them, turning, The Forgotten gathered around.
Eternityspool Staff Member
The air in the cavern was thick with anticipation, every nerve in the angora's body tingling with the weight of the unknown. Flemyng's prior words echoed in his mind as they stood at the precipice of a world unseen, the very thought of their purpose here sending shivers down his spine. *"...it seems things hidden in the shadows of kigdoms have begun to come to light."* Haedians, forgotten beings of an ancient time, now reawakened in the deepest bowels of Vitalus. He could barely fathom-- had the Elder known of them? Surely; there didn't seem to be much that he *didn't* know of. Molotov's dreams had whispered of these creatures, mentions from old spirits of lost family, a lost society. He hadn't had context to connect the pieces before. Their existence was a puzzle waiting to be solved... but now, faced with their reality, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Cailu's presence loomed before them, a silent sentinel guiding them deeper into the unknown, through throngs of Forgotten members. Her hesitation spoke volumes, a silent warning of the challenges that lay ahead. Trust wouldn't come easy, not in a place where secrets lingered in the shadows like specters of the past. And yet, they had come this far, drawn by a curiosity that burned brighter than any fear. The Forgotten awaited them, a clan of misfits banished from the light of the other clans. Poverty clung to them like a second skin, their homes a patchwork of mismatched architecture and barren caves. Troall, with her watchful gaze and glowing eyes, led them with a silent determination born of necessity. They survived by any means necessary, scavenging and stealing to eke out an existence in the unforgiving depths; they carved out their place in this society by sheer force of will - and probably more than a little bit of spite. As they followed Cailu through the winding tunnels, Molotov couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. They needed their trust, their cooperation, if they were to uncover the truths hidden in these ancient caverns. But how to gain it? The answer eluded him, slipping through his paws like grains of sand. Flemyng's voice broke through his thoughts, his words a reminder of the power that lay dormant within him. His dreams held secrets untold, a well of knowledge waiting to be tapped. Perhaps there lay their path forward, in the whispers of the past that danced on the edge of Molotov's consciousness. **"I've heard... mentions of things I couldn't explain-- until now."** he replied, eyeing his companion carefully. **"Nothing useful though, I fear. Nothing about specific clans; the spirits I've spoken with who knew of these creatures would have died long before the clans themselves formed."** But first, they had to earn their trust. As undignified as it was, Cailu's advice came back to him, something the female had mentioned earlier about the clan quite favoring play, indulging in pranks and well intended thievery-- **"What better way to show than to join in their games, to show them that they we're not just outsiders, but allies in their struggle?"** A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Molotov's lips as an idea began to form in his mind. Playing pranks on a neighboring clan, a harmless jest to lighten the spirits of the Forgotten and prove their worth. With a nod to Flemyng, Molotov stepped forward, determination burning bright in his eyes. **"Let us show them that we are not just strangers passing through, meaningless in the span of their lives"** he said, his voice lighter, a path forward uncovered as Troall stopped before them, turning, The Forgotten gathered around.
2024-02-23 14:38:56 (Edited 2024-02-23 14:47:07)
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