Kintla Flatlands ₐｗₒₒₒₒₒ!

When the howls sounded from every corner of the map, Masquerade couldn’t help it: they listened for their mother’s familiar voice. But was impossible to hear any single caller as all the voices wove together into a seamless melody. Despite their disappointment, the fur on Masque’s body stood on end at the spectral quality of the song. They sensed something extraordinary was happening.

They were usually the type to listen and observe, not join in necessarily. But the preternatural music plucked at something deep inside them, a vibrato that began in their core, then climbed up their throat, past their teeth and tongue and to the stars. Theirs was a deep, sonorous note of camaraderie and kinship with their species.