Blackwater Islands i am become death

with the affects of the elderich berries having waned and they wake from the spirit realm seen in their dreams — the void crooning with yearning like a wanton lover — the dreadfather rises from the cavern; feeling again a dryness in their mouth. they seek the clean water puddled in the crevices between rocks, lapping at it with an eagerness. when they are sated, salmon pink tongue drawls across jowls to collect the stray droplets.

there is a new spiritual strength to the dreadfather's steps, even if the legs of their physical form are still a bit unsteady.

a meal from a food cache is taken; devoured. it is not fresh but it is food in their belly and for now it sates the hunger. death is still required and freshly spilt blood — a ritualistic sacrifice — ...but for now, the dreadfather is content and curious about the home their nightwife has built here.