In a grove at the edge of the Marsh of Tun

[lakhena]

{{ Feel free to respond if you're there or it makes sense for you to be in the area... }}

The small clearing seemed quiet, though it had not been so uneventful in finding it. The lingering, acrid scent of troll's blood made the silver elf's nose wrinkle. Here though, the air was fresher, carrying with it the scent of the sea and a few of the wild orchids that were found only in the beautiful but deadly waters of the Tun.

She turned her pale face to the one who had followed her here, nodding ever so slightly before removing her leathers and slipping into translucent, gossamer-like robes. Slowly, she sank to the damp ground, her slender fingers curling into the moist earth. Her voice was soft and melodic as she began to pray.

"As I feel the earth, taste of the water, and hear of the wind, let me join with you, in spirit if not in body, hear that which you hear, feel that which you feel, see that which you see, and taste that which you taste..."

As her body relaxes, Oenemi concentrates on more recent unusually powerful creatures and unusual disturbances within the Tun and beyond...



{{ If a DM would like to respond, Oenemi is dragon-hunting here. Druid, lvl 9, here's the reference to the "Commune with Nature" spell. www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/communeWithNature.htm.

[lakhena]

The pale-faced, silver elf stepped into the grove with the partially enclosed stone columns engraved with runes of an older tongue. Here, the presence of the Seldarine was strong. Carefully, she laid a feather in the center of the circle, lowering her head in a brief, silent prayer before slipping out almost as quickly as she came.

She glanced to the side, her silvery-blue eyes seeking out the one who had said he would follow her this time, trying to read his expression as she walked to a more secluded clearing. If he lost sight of her, he would lose her now, for she left no signs of her passage in the damp, wet grass.

The ritual was simple, truly... She turned to the east and knelt, letting her translucent white robes spread on the damp grass around her. Oenemi began with the invocation she had before, "As I feel the earth, taste of the water, and hear of the wind, let me join with you, in spirit if not in body, hear that which you hear, feel that which you feel, see that which you see, and taste that which you taste..."

This time, however, a small dagger flashed, the blade glinting in the surreal light, before a few droplets of deep, red blood dripped into the grass. Slowly, she turned to the south, before murmuring the invocation again, holding her palm before her. In a full circle she turned, twice more repeating the invocation, before sinking slowly to the grass, her silvery blue eyes shutting as she waited... and listened... and sought.


{{ Another attempt to commune with nature. Any in the vicinity who might chance spotting her passage are free to post here. }}

[mythosfakir]

A weary and bloodied elvish warrior dressed in the armor of the Dark Archer and wrapped in a Drow Piwafwi trudges through the muddy marsh, weary beyond all reason and troubled in mind and heart.

He spots a familiar grove not far from the edge of the Tun, and drags himself towards it, hesitating only when the soft sounds of incantation reach his pointed ears beneath the feathery cowl that conceals his face. With a sigh he draws his blades, still slick with the blood of recently-slain foes, and trudges towards one of the few holy places his people still had in these lands. It wouldn't be the first time - even recently - he would have to chase off vandals.

Thril enters the grove and sees no vandal, though. Instead, he gazes upon the silver elf amidst her ritual and eases, happy for a familiar face. Quietly, he settles in the grass, keeping watch over her and the site until she's done. His thoughts occupy him as he cleans his swords and tends his wounds.