Deepwood Weald Stride across the centuries, and death follows, churning in your wake

"dastard King Remalias" indeed!

The particular luminescence of the moon that night had aroused Marruz from his initial stupor. He had been busy familiarizing himself with the territory since his encounter with the Melonii Sovereign, though his mind was not drinking in the landscape so much as the events that had transpired the night before. Had it been this bright then? For some reason, he remembered the Weald being much darker.

The boy's indigo and black gaze was, for once, not so striking alongside the blueish tint washed upon his flanks. Long legs strode onwards in steady, rhythmic beats across the frozen earth; carrying the shade effortlessly across a world mulled by inner speculation. He was eager to begin learning about how to "listen", though he would not admit it. Damien's words continued to replay within his ears; words that were so invigorating it was frightening.

Such were the thoughts plaguing Marruz when he came upon the very figment of his fretting: Damien himself. He appeared like a ghost in the center of the clearing, bathed in an eerie sheen of azure twilight. Marruz whispered a word of thanks to... whomever might be listening. He supposed he would soon find out.

"Sovereign," he dipped his head as he approached, struggling to conceal the yen in his tone. "Does the moon awaken you as well?"