Cleansing the Touch of the Void

ElironEliron Member Posts: 173 Expert
So, during the event that led to the revealing of @Kezadeil (and welcome, Kezadeil!) Eliron visited Magnagora to learn more about what was going on, and he brought with him a black egg. While he was there, the entity took a bite out of him, and after he returned he had this vision:

Despite leaving the city, you find yourself ill at ease, as though you still carry some heavy burden,  as though something malevolent still lingers within you, at the furthest recesses of your subconscious. A single vision, though fleeting, crosses your mind, from whence unknown: A black egg within the forest cracks open from the inside, only a rotten, half-eaten yolk inside; darkness pours out of the egg, seeping into the trees that you call your home.

This of course couldn't be allowed to stand, and so a purification ritual was held to destroy anything in the egg and cleanse Eliron. A big thanks to @Kalaneya and @Rancoura who took my idea for a ritual and ran with it, making something truly amazing. Thanks also to @Xenthos and @Stratas for their help during the ritual, and to @Crek for a last minute logistical save.

Just a note since I was caught up in the moment and didn't fully explain mid-ritual: Ciardha is Glomdoring's executioner (though we don't use her for that), and is considered extremely powerful. Lore wise, the ritual was held before so that if the first ritual to cleanse the egg failed, she could destroy whatever was within while it was weakened by the poison.

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Amidst bones and rubble.
The shadowy outline of a twisted forest casts a dark gloom here. A gale is in full force here, threatening to blow away anything not firmly rooted. A statuesque korrigan lurks in the shadows, her beauty masked by darkness. A leopard lurks in the shadows, curiously watching anything that moves.

Eliron nods at those gathered, and then steps forward to bow to Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows.

Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows runs a finger through the air, the darkness rippling as she touches it.

Eliron turns to face the others again.

Voice quiet but easily heard above the raging gale by some bardic skill, Eliron says, "Recently we sought knowledge of a creature that Magnagora had called forth."

Eliron says, "This knowledge was needed and useful, for often is the Glomdoring called on to defend itself and nature from the follies of the cities and the taint."

Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows stares from within the shadows, her black eyes unmoving.

Eliron says, "But service to the Glomdoring often comes with a price." He looks at each of those gathered. "A price we are all willing to pay."

Eliron says, "Something of Magnagora's foul pet attempted to reach out to grasp at the Wyrd, to rend it to fulfill its hunger."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Eliron’s lips.

Eliron says, "Let its efforts be for naught, wiped away by the glory of the Wyrd."

Eliron drops a black egg.

Eliron regards a black egg coolly, then steps away from it, inclining his head to Kalaneya.

Xenthos ponders the egg thoughtfully for a time before turning his single-eyed gaze to Kalaneya, the flames swirling within the orb.

Kalaneya nods astutely to Eliron and reports, "Based upon our knowledge of Brother Crow and his Blacktalon druids' close relationships to His sacred forms, we posit that this egg is much like other eggs." Narrowing her gaze conspiratorially, Kalaneya continues, "Within all of our crow eggs rests a dark spirit, hungering for life. It stands to reason that this egg must contain the same."

Clasping her hands before her, Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia says, "But in this case, there is a caveat. A warning, perhaps. Lord Eliron has experienced a vision that leads us to believe it may be corrupted."

Slicing the air with a decisive claw, Kalaneya states, "Perhaps this vision is a danger, a threat to the Wyrd. This will not stand."

Her expression softening, Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia says, "And so, this threat must cease to exist."

Loosing a heavy sigh, Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia says, "To begin our ritual, we will sanctify this space in the name of the Wyrd and her patrons, as is in accordance with our ritual traditions."

Xenthos looks about himself, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Kalaneya continues smoothly, "Following this, I will poison the egg. I have formulated a mixture that draws from the power of our Dark Idols and the Wyrd. This should destroy anything within the egg that does not belong to the Wyrd and cleanse its corruption."

Kalaneya gives Rancoura and Eliron both a slight nod, urging them to proceed with further explanation.

Rancoura tilts her head towards Eliron, inviting him to speak first.

Eliron nods his head at Kalaneya in acceptance. "My contract was with the dark spirit within the egg. Whatever usurper took its place should rightly feel the full might of the Wyrd."

Kalaneya bows before the gathered. "Very well. We begin with the sanctification." She removes a small mortar and pestle from her medicine pouch and sprinkles a generous amount of salt within.

Gaze slipping past the crowd and into the forest before her, Kalaneya inhales, then exhales deeply. "We are the Glomdoring, and we are the Wyrd. So do we offer our fealty."

Kalaneya kneels in the centre of the hollow and draws her fingerblade across both arms, pouring blood into the salt. "For the Lord Predator, we offer blood. The Wyrd remains ruthless."

Kalaneya slips a black rose into the mortar and pounds it with a swift, resolute motion, releasing its scent to mingle with the metallic blood. "For the Mistress of the Webs, we spread Glomdoring's glory. The Wyrd remains the most beautiful of all things."

Kalaneya adds an ice-covered thorn upon the blackened paste and crushes it with decisive force. "For the Lord Nightmare, we sharpen our intent. The Wyrd remains fear incarnate."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Eliron's lips.

Eliron bows his head in acknowledgement.

Kalaneya's fingers drip the essence of shadows into the mixture, darkening it further to the colour of fresh bruises. "And for the Silent Lord, we become the shadow. The Wyrd remains the amalgam, united as one."

Kalaneya rises and strides slightly north of the gathered. With lithe grace, she begins to pace clockwise in a circle of measured steps around the crowd, sprinkling the mortar's contents behind her. Frost spreads across the earth as the blood sinks deeply into the soil. Wisps of shadow carry the scent of roses through the chamber.

Thrice around, Kalaneya treads, uttering a different phrase with each cycle.

Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia intones, "We are the Glomdoring, and we are the Wyrd. So do we sanctify this ground, pure in the Wyrd."

Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia intones, "We are the Glomdoring and we are the Wyrd. So shall the Wyrd prevail."

Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia intones, "We are the Glomdoring and we are the Wyrd. And so we will ever be."

Kalaneya pauses following her final rotation and faces the gathered again, concluding with a simple phrase, "Nothing matters but Glomdoring."

Eliron says, "Glory be to Glomdoring!"

Mellihymnia whispers softly, "Glory be."

Lysistrata Shee-Slaugh, Proselyte of Whispers says, "Glory be!"

Grand Diviner Stratas Shee-Slaugh, Speaker of Fables says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Quietly, with firmness, Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

Solemnly, Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers, "Glory ever be to the Glomdoring."

Yendor says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Kalaneya awaits as the calls die down before respectfully nodding to you. "Glory be to Glomdoring. We will proceed with the poisoning."

Kalaneya begins to wield a shallow ceramic cup in her left hand.

Kalaneya begins to wield a scorpion-shaped nekai in her right hand.

With effortless fluidity, Kalaneya strides again to the northern edge of the circle.

Kalaneya drops the corpse of a bat on the ground.

Kalaneya carefully arranges the corpse with its ventral side up, wings splayed majestically across the ground. Studying its anatomy briefly, she inverts her nekai and deftly plunges its stinger into the creature's maw, wrenching it wide open and sending a stream of thick blood pouring out from its severed neck.

Kneeling to dip the cup's lip into the stream, Kalaneya quietly utters a brief benediction, "Onyx Bat, be your ideals exalted. I stalk the skies in silence. I am the hunter in the night."

Kalaneya rises again and moves to the east.

Kalaneya drops the corpse of a spider to the ground.

Unfurling its gnarled, jointed limbs, Kalaneya returns the fallen arachnid to its former majestic, menacing form, black pedipalps glimmering with corrosive venom.

Another whispered benediction escapes Kalaneya's lips as she draws the spider's poisons into the cup,  "Ruby Spider, be your ideals exalted. I weave intrigues amongst shadow and light. I am the predator of the webs."

Her gaze focused, Kalaneya proceeds, padding softly to the southern edge of the circle.

Kalaneya drops several wasp corpses to the ground.

Arranging the wasps into a combat formation, Kalaneya aims each of their arced stingers towards the egg. She punctures the bloated venom sacs of the centre wasp, allowing the viscous fluid to ooze into the cup.

Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia intones, "Emerald Wasp, be your ideals exalted. I strike with surety. I am the executioner."

Kalaneya strides swiftly to the west.

Kalaneya drops the corpse of a carrion beetle to the ground.

Kalaneya examines the shimmering iridescence of the beetle's rounded carapace before gently nudging the giant insect into a more cenred position. A forceful stab of her nekai into the beetle's underbelly releases its slime-coated organs upon the ground.

Carefully sorting through the gizzards, feces, and lymph, Kalaneya finally locates a thin black tube from the cavernous haemocoel -- the creature's heart -- and severs its terminus, allowing grey-green ichor to slosh into the cup.

With a meditative calm, Kalaneya exhales, and pronounces a final benediction. "Sapphire Beetle, be your ideals exalted. I endure hardship. I am the slayer of the idle."

As she returns to the centre of the circle, Kalaneya proclaims, "The synthesis of the Idols and the Perfection within, this is Scorpion." She turns to face the egg before her. "I am the Perfection. I am Scorpion. The Scorpion's blood runs in me. Nothing withstands Perfection."

Continuing to mutter the chant under her breath, Kalaneya swirls the liquids together in the cup and takes a sip.

Almost immediately, Kalaneya looses a choked cry, dropping to the ground onto her knees, convulsing. Her limbs contort and her golden eyes fill with black shadow. From every pore and orifice of her body leaks a glistening beryl-hued poison, its odour acrid and caustic as it stings the nostrils. She heaves and gasps, gripping the ground for dear life.

With every convulsion, strange spectres of Kalaneya begin to fill the hollow. Shadows of past and future Kalaneyas flit past your vision, interspersed with figures of Kalaneya attired in different armours, from different lands: a majestic Pyromancer Kalaneya wreathed in flames, another in radiant Celestian armour wielding a holy symbol, one crowned in crystal, amongst a veritable army of many other ethereal clones of her own self.

Eliron starts, then stills, watching Kalaneya intently.

In visible pain, Kalaneya bellows a deafening aslaran's roar and forces herself upright.

Shadow and venom stream from her form, coating the ground beneath in a pool of steaming poison. With each of Kalaneya's laboured movements, an ebon phantom rises from the pool, rushing forward to meet her alternate forms.

An otherwordly echo in her voice, Kalaneya harshly shrieks, through gritted teeth and clouded eyes, "We...are the Wyrd." She heaves enormous breaths and struggles onward.

An otherwordly echo in her voice, Kalaneya harshly shrieks, through gritted teeth and clouded eyes, "We are the Wyrd.

Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia yells, "We are the Wyrd! All...will fall...before our might!""

As Kalaneya's shadows vanquish the bizarre spectres, her body begins to fade, sinking into the poisoned pool. The flurry of phantasmal movement is interrupted by Kalaneya herself appearing in mid-air, high above the egg.

Kalaneya drops like a stone, burying her venom-coated nekai into the egg's apex, driving the beryl liquid into its core, before elegantly transitioning into a scissorflip onto the ground.

Kalaneya ceases to wield a scorpion-shaped nekai in her right hand.

All disperses into the air and dissipates as if nothing had every happened, save for Kalaneya's nekai still buried in the egg.

Clearly exhausted, Kalaneya turns her golden eyes to Eliron, and gives him a knowing nod. She retreats to the edges of the space and slumps to the ground, the ecstasy and ferocity of Scorpion having overcome her mortal form.

Eliron bows deeply to Kalaneya, in acknowledgement of her efforts.

Eliron steps forward again, then turns his eyes to Ciardha and nods at her.

Rancoura silently nods to Kalaneya as well in both approval and profound respect for Kalaneya's sacrifice.

Eliron leans over and picks up the black egg.

Eliron holds a black egg high over head, then with a swift move brings it back towards the ground, his entire weight behind the movement, shattering the egg on the ground.

Expression triumphant, Eliron steps back from the shattered remains of the egg, which lay inert and lifeless in a pool of shadows that slowly begin to absorb all that remains of it, including the shell.

Eliron says, "It is done!"

Eliron says, "But our rite is not yet complete. This creature sought to consume not merely the dark spirit of the Forest, but its servant as well."

Eliron says, "We cleansed the egg, so too must we cleanse me. My hand shall never carry such taint into these woods! May the Wyrd within me triumph over all!"

Eliron takes a single breath, then raises his viola to his shoulder and sets his bow to it.

Eliron begins to play a lively melody, the notes almost bright in their pace, but the minor key it is played in creates an underlying hint of wistfulness.

Eliron continues playing, the chords growing longer and the wistfulness turning haunting, as if calling out.

Eliron closes his eyes as if feeling the music he has called forth. Without opening them, he nods at Stratas.

Stratas takes bow to the shadowed violin in his hands, a slow draw bringing out notes to match those already in the air.

Stratas slowly plays, leading the song on a sombre journey. Each note is filled with melancholy, and echoes with a mournful, haunting tone.

Eliron allows Stratas' violin to carry the melody while his viola's own lower tone drops down into its lowest register, short soft notes that thrum like a beat below the melody.

Eliron moves from playing to plucking the strings, the sounds a deep, steady beat that blends with the melody.

Eliron moves his hand from his viola strings to his chest, but the steady thrum of the beat continues, deeper, as if felt in one's bones.

Eliron places his hand over his heart, as if testing its rhythm against the one that now echoes around him. Shadows swirl around his hand. He lifts the hand, the shadows rising with it as if drawn from within him.

Eliron drops his hand back to his chest, and the shadows dance outwards, crawling across him and sending flecks of frost dancing through the air with them.

Stratas's song darkens, the melody shifting from melancholy to foreboding, the haunting notes becoming tense and cold sounding.

Eliron bows his head to Rancoura, hand still pressed to his heart.

Dipping her hand into a shadow cauldron, Rancoura pulls out a long shadow and releases it into the air. The room darkens with the churning darkness.

Rancoura draws a deep breath, absorbing the scents of these Glomdorian depths as well as the lingering, sombre notes of the Harbingers' masterpieces.

Quietly, Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers to Eliron, "If you would, Master Eliron, remove the garment from your chest, and present your flesh to the Spirits."

Eliron moves his hand so that he may unbutton the jacket of a sleek black suit twisted by nightmares, removing the jacket and the shirt beneath. He folds both neatly and hands them to Lysistrata before turning to face Rancoura, his chest bare except for the shadows and frost that linger on his skin.

As the darkness churns with voracious, feverish ecstasy, filling the cavern with the glory of the eventide, Lady Rancoura steps forth with smooth, elegant movements, the hem of her cascading silken robes rasping quietly across the ground.

Setting flame to the bundle of dried sage grasped within a practiced hand, Rancoura waits until the flames upon the herbs is reduced to a faintly-glowing smoulder. As the sage smokes, the Haruspex drifts around Eliron in a tight circle, filling the air about him with the pungent and heady scent of the herb.

Rancoura discards the bundle outside of the circle, coils of thin smoke still curling upwards from where it lays. Retrieving a braided leather cord strung with crow feathers and minute bones, the Haruspex returns to Eliron and drapes it around his neck, allowing the oily plumes to lay across his bare torso. The scent of old blood arises from the morbid adornment, as does the familiar wyrden scent of death and decay.

A soft, enchanting laughter escapes Ciardha, of Shackled Shadows's slightly parted lips.

Retrieving a thin vial of ruby from a fold within her robes, Rancoura unstoppers it carefully and, upturning the vial, allows the viscous liquid within to flow into her open palm, a scent similar to that which emanates from the feather-cord immediately detectable. Rubbing her palms together, the Haruspex slathers the fluid delicately across Eliron's chest, painting a three-looped triquetra upon his skin.

"Darkness!" Rancoura calls in a low, yet assertive whisper. The churning shadows seem to slow, listening to her words. "Spawn of the Night Mother. Heed my beckons, for a shadowed spirit lingers in need of your aid."

"Murder!" Rancoura calls now. "Children of Mighty Crow. Heed my beckons, for one of your kin requires your aid." A moment passes, but then the fluttering of many feathered wings and the quiet cawing of corvids echoes off the rough stone walls as dark, avian shapes dart into the cavern, flitting through the roiling dark.

Now, placing a hand upon Eliron's shoulder, Rancoura gazes into his eyes as she whispers, not to him: "There may be a marring of this demimortal's being; an unwelcome alteration to the entity that is himself." As the Haruspex speaks, the unseen crows quieten, alighting upon the shoulders of all gathered as though they were merely branches, and the shadows themselves gradually turn, drifting like lightless, insubstantial mists towards the Hauspex and the dae'Nehvias.

Placing her hand now upon Eliron's bare torso, Rancoura whispers, "In wisdom and blood thirst, seek this unwanted presence, for its place is not proper, embedded into this one's being. Master his black sorrow, seek this corruption and bind it. Quell it and bring to it a swift death, committing it thereafter to false memory, for it is alien and it is a besmirching of a wyrdbound, pure heart of darkness. This one's Dark Spirit is deserving of such."

A creeping darkness begins to bleed from Rancoura's palm, pressed flat against Eliron's chest. Like an adumbral liquid infused with the essence of the Night, the adumbration spreads across his flesh, darkening his already-dark skin with strange, darkened angles and shades. A chaotic fluttering of wings carries the shadowveiled crows to Eliron, and at once they begin pecking at his skin, drawing blood and allowing the shadows to slip into the wounds, seeping beneath.

Eliron shudders, as if something has pierced him.

Her head tilting back, eyelids fluttering closed, Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers, "Mother of Darkness, sheathe your servant, this child of the Glomdoring, in your scouring umbra. Great Crow, flay his flesh of toxins, rid him of this alien mark."

The darkness encases Eliron like an unrelenting cocoon of matte dark as his flesh pales, revealing the shadows writhing beneath in otherworldly patterns hypnotizing to the eye. Rancoura swiftly withdraws her hand, shade quickly filling the emptiness which her palm has left. The veiled crows, circling now above Eliron's head, caw persistently, swooping down now and then to pluck at his flesh, allowing further penetration of his skin.

Eliron shudders again, though he remains standing, his arms half spread as if in welcome.

Rancoura gazes on as the shadows delve deeper, now darkening Eliron's flesh once more and wracking his body with a shuddering cold, her hands moving in complex gestures that spur the shadows onwards. A pair of corvids land on his partly raised arms, cocking their beady eyes at him and aggressively cackling out their own manner of urging.

Eventually, their endeavour evidently complete, the shadows seep out of Eliron's pores, strangely discoloured and frayed; they flutter to the ground like molted feathers, becoming more tattered the further they fall until whatever particles remain sink into the hard-packed ground. As one, the small murder of crows rasp their last declarations and launch themselves out of the cavern, triumphant caws following in their wake. With a final flick of Rancoura's wrist, the last motes of sickly shadow vanish like dust in an unfelt wind.

Eliron gasps and sinks to his knees, his breathing controlled but ragged.

Stratas smooths the harsh tones of the Shadowbeat song, the cold dissipated with the shadows and the haunting notes resuming their melancholy wandering.

Nodding to Eliron, Rancoura withdraws as the churning shadows slowly disappear, their hunger sated.

Voice hoarse, Eliron says, "Flesh is merely a passing shroud, if flawed it must be rent, it must be purified!"

Eliron says, "Let all flaws be shed, and all that I am be reborn within the Wyrd!"

Xenthos removes a hunter's shroud.

Xenthos gives a hunter's shroud to Eliron.

Eliron takes the shroud from Xenthos and pulls it over his bloodied flesh.

Mellihymnia's brow furrows minutely, her honeyed eyes flashing with concern.

Xenthos locks eyes with Eliron, watching his every movement.

Eliron settles the shroud around his shoulders, and nods at Xenthos. "The Thornwatch stand guard against all threats to the Forest. I entrust myself to the fel'greev, and to the rebirth of the Wyrd!"

Xenthos strikes at Eliron's gut with a ravenous crow-beaked bardiche. The blade shears through Eliron's body before coming clean through the other side with a strangely quiet swish.

Eliron has been slain by Xenthos.

Xenthos scoops up the corpse of Eliron.

Xenthos's eyes glow a radiant white as he exhales its pure energies at Eliron, ribbons of it enveloping Eliron until he are completely swathed in their warm embrace, restoring him to life.

Lysistrata smiles at Eliron, flashing her thin sharp and pointed teeth.

Eliron gasps, drawing in a long breath, slowly flexing his arms and fingers, examining each carefully.

Rancoura gazes at Eliron closely, shadowflames restless in her eyes.

Eliron begins to whisper a haunting melody as a myriad of glittering shadows begin to coalesce about his form. He slowly brings his hand to his heart and measures its beat in time to the Drums of the Dead.

Eliron listens closely for a moment with his eyes closed.

Eliron opens his eyes and declares, "Nothing matters but Glomdoring!"

Stratas strengthens his song, the powerful notes sounding out with wyrden triumph.

Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers, "Glory ever be to the Glomdoring."

Showing that he understands, Yendor nods his head slowly.

Spirit Warden Xenthos An'Ryshe, the Ebon Strategist says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

Grand Diviner Stratas Shee-Slaugh, Speaker of Fables says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Lysistrata Shee-Slaugh, Proselyte of Whispers exclaims, "Glory be to the Glomdoring!"

Initiate to the Tah'vrai, Yendor says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Mellihymnia exhales softly, her voice rising to reply, "Glory Be."

Kalaneya Shee-Slaugh, Ma'lanas Runia murmurs, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

Eliron drops his hand, his smile small but genuine.

Her voice cold as she strides just behind Rancoura, Furiosa Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia intones, "Glory be to Glomdoring.

Eliron bows deeply to Rancoura, Kalaneya, Stratas and Xenthos each in turn.

Eliron says, "I am reborn in the Wyrd. The Wyrd triumphs over all who would seek to challenge its supremacy."

Slowly, Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers to Eliron, "Is there aught further which you sense, Master Eliron, within yourself?"

Eliron says, "I sense the Shadowbeat and the Wyrd, as it should be."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Rancoura's lips.

Softly, Eliron says, "Thank you, all of you. I am restored."

Quietly, wanly, Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers, "Good."

Lysistrata smiles softly at Eliron.

Lysistrata gives Eliron a peck on the cheek.

A faint smile flickers across Kalaneya's face.

Furiosa Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia intones, "The Darkest Mother blesses us this eventide, with joy at the rebirth of a disciple of our Wyrd."

Eliron holds out a hand to Lysistrata, gesturing for his shirt and jacket.

Lysistrata passes Eliron's clothing back to him as she says, "I am most glad, Grandfather".

With a delicate nod to Salome, Lady Haruspex Rancoura So'hthae, Ole'noc Caihel whispers, "As do all of our Spirits."

Stratas stills his playing, letting the last notes linger in the air before fading into memory.

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Rancoura's lips as she glances at Stratas.

A long-fingered hand slips to the palm of her own as Salome entwines them in an interlocking embrace.

Echoing, Furiosa Salome Nightshade, the Sublime Aphotia intones, "As do they all."

Eliron dresses quickly, settling the jacket on his shoulders and smoothing it back into his usual ordered appearance.

Kalaneya wordlessly nods, seeming in agreement with Rancoura and Salome.

Lysistrata smiles, revealing her thin, sharp and pointed teeth.

Eliron smiles and says, "And thank you, all of you, who came to witness my rebirth."

Mellihymnia steps nearer Eliron, her hand reaching out to apply a gentle pressure to his forearm. Softly, she whispers, "I am glad you are well."

Eliron rests his hand on top of Mellihymnia's and gives it a brief squeeze.

Eliron says to Mellihymnia, "The Wyrd triumphs in all things."

Mellihymnia smiles softly at Eliron.

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