An unsettling void pricked and clawed, a strange, portended plume and doom descended across the heavens, and they were all left reeling for answers, for responses, for light at the end of the tunnel. For all their ardent efforts, noxious, nefarious demons had struck again, and the shadows hid, punctured, drove, tangible onslaughts, corporeal monstrosities, grinned and asked them to bear it – stunned by it all, she silently swindled across the swirls of clouds, the rings of deities. They’d endured and wandered through the murk before (monsters, breathing blasts of damnation, pestilence, slithering and stealing), but most had emerged unscathed, protected by a suffocating stronghold of stone and rubble, or exposed into medicinal trances, erasing heathen requiems from their bestial laments. The most recent declaration of menace had unraveled in a fallen corpse, taken and shorn from their final breath, their last heartbeat, barbarically torn from the hinges, left to rot, to suffer, to wither and decay in despicable eaves and unspeakable terror, and Lena couldn’t rid herself of the haunting image. The mare had been given a violent finale, and her sentiments wandered towards who would be next, if another was to be claimed by the raw, unholy grasp of the executioner, laughing and cackling from their makeshift gallows. If they weren’t capable of solving the enigma, if they couldn’t find an open path through the labyrinth, would one more be claimed, dragged into the netherworld, never granted or given closure, struck down in merciless boughs? Determination and persistence struck a vehement hymn through her frame, for she was of the many stubborn, committed, dedicated sylphs strewn amidst the countryside, stalwart, fierce, and resolute: they’d find a way to bring the beast to justice, ensure the safety of their brethren, the livelihood of the youth, of the innocent, of the broken, beaten, and damned for another day, another season, another year. Sienna eyes, an additional, enduring shade, sought out the right individuals, the compassionate, the benevolent, the beneficent, striving to cloak them together in a righteous balance, in a warranted dagger. She and Imogen roamed amidst the garden of evil and virtue, tipping into darkness and hallowed spheres, encouraging, kindling, instigating the saintly, ethical fight; holding the lantern down the warren steps, leading them through the morass hedges. She’d already been plunged into the rabbit hole too many times, as sinned as sinned against, and was willing to be the one guiding, shepherding, a chase into absolution, into desecration.

Quiet, alluring, spellbound by the crude conspiracies and the immoral haze, the Songbird whispered a poignant, elegiac hymn, pinpointing the nature of their journey, the motive and inspiration behind their intended crusade. “A mare was viciously murdered here,” she paused, gazed over gilded Roland, gentle Alysanne, and the unknown Sikeax, hoped they too could find the injustice, strive for the occasion, follow her into the brambles and shield themselves against the inevitable thorns. “I fear for more following in her stead.” She bowed her head, in reverence for the fallen form, in respect for scattered shells and redeemed ashes, vitality severed, and only raised it thereafter to deliver her mellifluous benediction, her conviction, her promise, her oath in the might, in the gale. “Shall we band together and find the killer?”

[For Team Healers and Thieves:

@[Roland]
@[Alysanne]
@[Sikeax] ]