The long red haired elf Nurulamba, Level Five Cultist of Cherun, had called an after dinner meeting with his party members, Tabby Rot, Prince Erling of Skogaholm, Chrun, and Rendar, in which he detailed the whereabouts of his personal items, particularly potions (all clearly labelled) in the event that other party members would be required to retrieve them for the purpose of party preservation.

After the group familiarised themselves with these items of equipment, Nurulamba asked if anyone would be interested in some meditational prayer and a sermon on the religious aspects of Cherun. Only Tabby Rot stayed for this, the others all retiring to a common drinking room for ample libation.

Nurulamba tried to encourage Tabby Rot to excercise pragmatism in the pursuit of their religious tenets, and also informed the Half Elf Sanctified Rogue of his new “Speak with Dead” spell ability, and his intention to always ask the subject what he or she experienced on the crossing, hoping by this to learn more of the after life “JOURNEY” towards their shared Deity.

Afterwards, they shared a sip of religiously strong elixir and took a walk down to the graveyard for some peaceful meditation.

Many miles Nurulamba had travelled without the comfort of a gravesite to attune his thoughts and prayers. His fellow believer, Tabby, provided solace, but his seeker instincts perhaps blinded him to the innate power of the burial mound the party now approached. Such was its power over Nuru, that he immediately knelt and prayed, allowing the rest of the party to investigate the new environment.

He was soon disrupted from his prayer, as a black eyed Barrow Wight attacked the party with its terrible gaze and its cold dead hands. Prayer would have to wait. A creature killed and prevented from its natural travel was a creature that needed attention. The same creature attacking the party demanded that attention to be urgent!

In his reverend prayer after the battle, Nuru gave thanks to Cherun, and blessed the undead creature, as it made its rightful journey through the Dark Path to its own “Heaven”.

Moribund Shine, Battle Mystery Oracle of Desna, waited for the crack of dawn before uttering the first words of his prayer. Although he had never seen the sun, Desna had always granted him a slight feeling of warmth on his skin as it rose, like the delicate wings of a butterfly carressing him as a dream."

“Oh, Lady of the Sky, Goddess of Dreams, thanks be to your guidance in this strange land. Praise the mighty arms of Tarkus, the healing strength of Davok, the arcane power of Trevarric, and the weird powers of Arthus. I pray you engage with Cayden Cailaen to divine a road to the perfect beer that we all seek as nourishment.”

“In this great land of giants, on the very boughs of Yggdrasil, I, your humble servant, give thanks for victory over Coleoptera and Vespula vulgaris, and indeed over the great lizard of cloud and swamp. By the ever-twinkling stars described in the Eight Scrolls of Your Word, please also grant me the boon to witness great Lepidoptera as a sign of your love.” And with that, the oracle looked to the night sky he could not see, and chanted the names of many stars. When he had finished, he bowed his head one last time and stood up, ready to proceed.

With a last look at his comrades, he placed his new helmet over his head, and prepared to walk with the others toward their glorious future.

All things are relative. Even time is relative, Moribund had once thought in a semi-lucid thought experiment that had, at a time, appeared to offer some sort of major enlightenment, but in the end had managed to extinguish itself by travelling over sixty feet away in some awful nightmare metaphor that clouded his perception.

But out here on the enlarged crevasses of Fraxinus exelsior (a common ash tree to most), the lines of relativity were clearly redrawn by two different artists from two different planes. Of those two, Moribund’s world artist was the lesser, if the measurement of relativity were to be taken as size.

Out here, on the cold gravity defying bark…. Gravity? A term one of his tutors had developed for the reason things fall to the ground. Even that was different here, as he and his companions seemed to wind their way through a crack in the bark as if it lay flat on the ground. But to return, out here on the cold bark, all things were clearly unusually large, relative to the interplanar travellers he and his companions represented.

Moribind thought back to his early Entomology lessons. Coleoptera (Beetles to most) were supposed to be small things. Sure, there were occasional giant specimens, but here on this otherwordly bark, it seemed their giant size was the norm. His budding theory of having been transported to a land of giants was further supported by a later Insecta attack from creatures of the order Hymenoptera, specifically, as he thought, Vespula vulgaris (Wasp to the common man). Praise be to Desna for her divine protection against those giant aggressors. Give me Lepidoptera anytime thought the Oracle, particularly of that gracious Family of Desna, Nymphalidae (Butterflies to most). Moribund’s spirit was lifted, just thinking of the possibility of such a glorious sight. Well, Desna WAS the Goddess of Dreams!

Honoured Desna, thank you for the strength to decline the bribes of Mammon, for the power to survive the wisdom draining allips and for your aid in smashing the evil construct. I also pray on behalf of my brother Trevarric of the Black Isle that you grant him the foresight to deliver a killing blow to his nemesis, that treacherous Githyanki.

Well met again, bright angel! For thou art
As glorious to this troubled oracle, being lower than my chops,
as a winged butterfly of Desna
Unto the dark reaching starless eyes
Of a mortal that falls back in golden gluttony,
touched by dwarven magic cast from puffy clouds
That sail upon the bosom of the air.

Lissandra Glissander, wherefore art thou Kobold?
Deny thy race and refuse thy treachery.
Or, if thou wilt not, be but human in my eyes,
And I’ll no longer hate your fellows.

Thou are thyself, but tainted by thine own,
in deed complicit, in league with snakes.
Lissandra, what’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet.
But Kobold is as Kobold does, Dragonheart,
and heart so rendered, now broken bittersweet.

How blind I was, bescreened in lust
So stumbled on my innocence, thou dost
revile me to my very soul, that I must turn from thee,
and in the treasured bowl now trust.
Lissander Glissander, wherefore art thou Kobold?

Oh Great Dreamer, Queen of the North and Goddess of the Starry Night, hear the prayersong of your humble servant from the confines of a dark and dreary mountain, closed from your natural starlight and the only butterfly, a crude symbol worn by your loyal subject. Bless this group of ours with your Holy Favour. Show us your good will and restore us to our noble path, out of this mountain and into the cool night air where stars unseen can yet be felt through your gracious power.

It is said that the wings of a dragon can create such a wind as to knock a man off his feet.
Yet in Chaos theory, the wings of a butterfly can sustain such dramatic change throughout the world from just a tiny flap. It is that wing flutter that we seek, Oh Goddess of the Starry Night. For as we approach the tumultous heart of the mountain, let our own hearts be of even harder stone. Let us sing songs from the Eight Scrolls and defeat the Dark Lizard in your Most Glorious Name. Oh, and grant haste to the buffing of Aaron Glaw!

“If you go down to Willow Farm,
to look for butterflies, flutterbyes, gutterflies
Open your eyes, it’s full of surprise, everyone lies,
like the fox on the rocks,
and the musical box.
Oh, there’s Mum & Dad, and good and bad,
and everyone’s happy to be here.”

(Supper’s Ready – Genesis)