Morning had a different tone to it. The beasts couldn't hide their forms in the dark. They could not menace from the shadows, waiting to spring upon the unsuspecting. The thunder no longer rolled without its lightning, and no one screamed in the distance. At the monument, the Duskwight stood, looking at the pit that the unearthed man had crawled out of. The inscribed stone and whatever enchantment had been upon it were broken, shattered perhaps by an animal, and thick roots held its broken fragments.
With a swift motion, the Duskwight severed all of those roots. He could hear the silent wail of the forest in response to this action, but he ignored it. In one thin, ancient arm, he hefted the bundle of stone and roots. Would Conjurers come to investigate this place soon? This was obviously something the Shroud and its spirits felt very strongly about.
Well. He would not be here. The unearthed man would not be here. The monument would not be here. Hopefully the Gridanians enjoyed their inexplicable hole in the ground.
The pit he'd left the unearthed man in the night before was some ways distance, and he arrived with unlikely speed. His weathered, weary body bent over the hole and looked in, casting a long shadow. He caught a glimpse of angry eyes, and before anything could be said, he extended one old hand and dropped a plain wooden mask into the pit. It was the same kind of mask many Conjurers wore for their rituals. How had it been obtained? Surely the breath that might tell would never be drawn.
Vanishing from over the pit for the slightest moment, the ancient body swung back and threw down a rope. "Put on the mask, and climb."
With a swift motion, the Duskwight severed all of those roots. He could hear the silent wail of the forest in response to this action, but he ignored it. In one thin, ancient arm, he hefted the bundle of stone and roots. Would Conjurers come to investigate this place soon? This was obviously something the Shroud and its spirits felt very strongly about.
Well. He would not be here. The unearthed man would not be here. The monument would not be here. Hopefully the Gridanians enjoyed their inexplicable hole in the ground.
The pit he'd left the unearthed man in the night before was some ways distance, and he arrived with unlikely speed. His weathered, weary body bent over the hole and looked in, casting a long shadow. He caught a glimpse of angry eyes, and before anything could be said, he extended one old hand and dropped a plain wooden mask into the pit. It was the same kind of mask many Conjurers wore for their rituals. How had it been obtained? Surely the breath that might tell would never be drawn.
Vanishing from over the pit for the slightest moment, the ancient body swung back and threw down a rope. "Put on the mask, and climb."
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