Arolitic

The sounds of a battle were eerily familiar yet strangely foreign. There was no clash of steel on steel as weapons collided, but still the battle raged. Screams of pain rang through the air, accompanied by no words, only growls and howls. If words were spoken, they were in a language too archaic for Róisín to understand. Slowly, the world came into focus, the fog beginning to clear. The jungle seemed the same - at first glance. But when she looked harder, she began to see subtle differences. The plants weren’t the same shape, the trees weren’t as big as she remembered. The shrubbery around her was thicker, growing closer together than what should be possible in a jungle. Where was she? Where was the rest of her party? Something crashed through the underbrush. She leapt back in surprise as dark Haze drifted up from the fallen body before her. The true form of the Haze had no time to form as a burst of bright aura erupted from the body, banishing the Haze for good. Róisín eyed the

Andruil was positively green around the 'gills'. Used to soaring through turbulent winds and swooping down on unsuspecting bandits - you would think Andruil would be more than capable of handling a few rocks on a boat. Perhaps it was the wood under her boots that grounded her mind and stomach or perhaps the swell of a boat over a wave was far different from catching an up drift. Whatever the reason was, Andruil was terribly sea sick. The journey across to the Selvarian Jungle was a short one but it was one that Andruil spent entirely on the deck, death grip on the railing as she emptied her stomach more than once. "Struggling to find your sea legs?" Aro asked. So consumed by her nausea, Andruil had failed to notice the bard approaching until she was leaning on the railing beside her. Her stomach protested violently at the thought of speaking. Instead she let out a small pained grumble. Aro gave her a pitying smile. "We will be hitting land soon." She reassured. "Do you want me to

The Ornamental Festival was an ancient tradition dating back generations. It was so deeply ingrained in the culture of Jawabys it was impossible to remove nor replace. And that all made the Ornamental Festival a rather big deal, which in turn, created a tradition of large celebrations around the festival. And where there was a celebration, naturally Sachiko was to be found. Jawabys milled around. No matter where you looked, you'll see at least three Jawabys, either walking around or making ornaments or hanging them on a branch. The small field was a hive of activity. So much noise and movement, it would be enough to exhaust anyone just looking at it. But not Sachiko! All the life and activity around her fueled the cheerful Jawaby's own energy. She never felt more awake and full of joy than when she was at celebrations like these! "Here you go! All finished." She said with a smile. The child squealed with glee as they took the small paper fish ornament in their paws. They held it

It started, this time, with a radio broadcast. They sat around a small table in a Shibain tavern, two bowls of a steaming, hearty stew sat in front of Róisín and Andruil - the spot before Zuriel was empty. Róisín ate as she always did; with grace and manners, taking care not to allow a drop to spill. But Andruil on the other hand, sat with her mouth agape, spoon frozen halfway to her mouth, eyes blank and unseeing as her ear wings angled backwards, trying to absorb as much sound and information as she could. "I'm here, live from the Selvarian Jungle main port.” Said the reporter, her voice almost muffled by the static of the poor signal. “Visitors from all over Aurora Land are arriving to assist with the translation of the runes on the steele that was found not far from here. Every hour, more researchers are joining the expedition. Yet no progress seems to be made-” A strange, strangled roar interrupts the reporter. A storm of static follows, lights on the small radio mounted on the