Moonspear call of cthulhu

Mountain. Mountain. Mountain.

Fjall could feel his pulse singing— or was it crying?

He stood upon the threshold of Moonspear, his innate manners superseding his urge to proceed as the spirit bade him. His heart raced as he looked up into the dizzying heights before him, and he felt a wellspring of emotions simmering beneath his skin.

Immense joy. Earnest apprehension. Smoldering wrath. Profound sadness.

Each of them floundered through him like fish racing upstream, and the medium had no idea which of them would rise to the surface first.

He tilted his head back as if urging medicine down his throat and called for Ariadne's sistraa, @Sialuk.