Plantings in the Mistwoods

[lakhena]

Since the 19th day of Ches, notable to those who remember or honor the spring equinox, observers of the mistwoods might note a varying number of adventurers entering and leaving the beleaguered woods with frequency, never staying for more than a few hours at length. They seem to move with purpose, through goblin, snake, and bandit infested territory, stopping now and then to dig in the dirt. Amongst one of the larger groups were a mix of elves, humans, and hins, one of whom was especially loud and could be heard for quite some distance. The group obviously was not focused on being stealthy, whatever it was they were doing...



{{ OOC: This thread is open to anyone else planting seeds in the Mistwoods to note it here. }}

[Animayhem]

*Marister had been planting the sacred seeds in Mistwood in stages as to not overly be exposed. He had planted some in front of the entrances.*

[grivel]

Kali planted some in the Yuan-ti area around the fire tower, as well as various spots on her return.

[mandene]

"The elfess in drab" plants her seeds along the edge of the forest. With each planted seed she repeats:

"I give my desire and dream into Your keeping. By Air, I create the seed. By Fire, I warm it. By Water, I nourish it. By Earth, I cause it to grow. From Spirit, I draw the power to make all things possible. Join me in the celebration of the power of the Goddess."

[gathera]

The mists hung cloying heavy in the hollow of the ground. Each tendril of the fog was a shimmering stand of silver heavily hanging in the nights damp air. It was her breath, a holy thing. Every swirl, every twist a visible testament to her. Tonight, was special. I could hear the mists, their low sibilant whispers. Feel their cold clammy dampness brushing across my bare legs.

It would be a good night. I could sense the trembling anticipation of the corpse-white leathery spheres. In my satchel. They knew it was time. I suppose every child knowns in its own way with the moment of birth is neigh.

With trepidation I selected the first of my fragile orbs. This site would be perfect, right here in this copse of trees. A night so blessed by Grandmothers’ breath. I could feel the damp wetness, smell the inviting tang of decay that lingered here. Selecting one of the fungal spheres I crushed it between my fingers. There was a momentary brief pop as thousand of green-brown spores were birthed into the waiting nights air. For an instant another mist hung curling about me. Another slender strand of mist that would dance with grandmothers blessing.

Countless daughters would be birthed tonight. Not all would live. In fact, just a few, but live and prosper they would. Growing with a fervent fever in the rich loam of decay.

This was the way, her way. From death life would spring anew.