You say, "Before we begin, let me prefix this by saying that, in the spirit of this sermon's topic, if we fall under attack, I expect we go to defend without question or apologies, ayes."

You clear your throat.

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible, shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

Ried's eyes sparkle with amusement.

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

Formally, you say, "Greetings, everyone. For those who do not know me well, I am Nyir d'Murani, a child of Mighty Crow and a servant of the Glomdoring. For those who do not know why I have gathered you here, I want to talk about Mighty Crow and of death, ayes."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "Before I share my meditations about death, let me pose the question to you."

Cocking her head to one side, you ask, "What do you all believe death is?"

Shuyin pets the Medallion of Death ingratiatingly.

You tilt your head and listen intently to Shuyin.

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

Ser Shuyin of the Shadows says, "At the base level, I believe it when the light of life leaves a being. Death can only come about when there is life."

Showing that you understand, you nod your head slowly towards Shuyin.

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Meras's lips.

Penumbra Meras, Servant of Shadows says, "Another path."

You ask Meras, "What do you believe death is?"

Comprehension flashes across your face.

Penumbra Meras, Servant of Shadows says, "Another part of the overall scheme."

Wistaeria purses her lips pensively, gazing off into the distance as she carefully gathers her thoughts.

Druidess Ried Nimaet says, "Death is strength and honour."

You have emoted: Nyir nods her head slowly, listening to each response.

Across the heavens, the stars and moon challenge night's dark reign, revealing familiar constellations that tell the tales of myth and legend.

Wistaeria, Phantom Hunter says, "Death is what comes from when there is nothing left to live for. Though thats only one point of view."

You nod your head.

Odd sounds echo through the gloomy forest, their source undetermined.

You look thoughtful and say, "These are all good answers, ayes, and each perspective certainly creates a picture for the whole."

You ask, "Does anyone else have a perspective to share?"

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

Fly Nadjia, Ward of the Wyrd says, "It's our last greatest suprise."

You nod your head slowly in understanding.

Ard'Rhi Krin Kinsari says, "Death is nothing but an empty void."

Evaine doffs the hood of sensuous robes of black cashmere to you.

Fly Nadjia, Ward of the Wyrd says, "Surprise, roo."

Nadjia rolls her eyes.

Fly Nadjia, Ward of the Wyrd says, "Too."

Ried chuckles long and heartily at Nadjia.

You say, "These are good answers, ayes."

Sidd says, "Death is what we make of it."

Evaine curtseys respectfully before Sidd.

You nod your head.

Many small, glowing red eyes peer out at you from beneath the trees, only to vanish moments later.

Sidd nods his head at Evaine.

You look thoughtful and say, "However, if you have not yet considered it, approach your view of death with Mighty Crow in mind."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "Envision him. Mighty Crow IS Death. Every part of him serves as weapon or shield, from his talons to his wings. Through his eye he seeks, he studies, and he watches. Through his voice and beak he spreads fear and rends flesh."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "Through his arts, he teaches us to spread death, to consume it, and to die ourselves."

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

You say, "Like Mighty Crow, like the Wyrd, we devour our enemies and take from them what little strength they may have had so we may become stronger and they, they feed the Wyrd by feeding us."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

Ghostly voices echo softly, combining into a haunting melody.

You say, "Through Mighty Crow, his children learn to store the dead in our bellies, and we learn to bear rot and contagion to destroy our foes. Such must be done, and such must be glorified, for by doing so, we may then sow the seeds of pure beauty, the seeds of the Glomdoring."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

Nadjia peers at Brennan Stormcrow unscrupulously.
Brennan Stormcrow completely ignores Nadjia, not even registering her existence.

Pointing a taloned finger imperiously, you exclaim, "However, do not think that his arts are limited to the Blacktalon and his faithful in the Ebonguard, ayes!"

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across Ried's lips.

You say, "Every one of you who bears or will bear a cloak of crow feathers bears the mark of Mighty Crow. Through it, he bestows upon each of us the ability to communicate with the dead."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

Slowly, you say, "Mighty Crow is the Master of Death."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

Ruffling her feathers ponderously, pausing before continuing, you say, "Mighty Crow has two specific teachings regarding death."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "First: to kill is to honour Mighty Crow."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

As though quoting, you intone, "Therefore, we are set with a task: to destroy all that is not in the likeness of the Heart of Darkness and remake it in its image. What could be more delightful than this destruction? We shall revel in assassination of the cancer and hold feasts to honour it, for we know that with this death comes the birth of something infinitely more powerful."

You say, "These words are directed specifically to the Blacktalon in our blessed Docet, but they may be applied to the Glomdoring as a whole, ayes."

Many small, glowing red eyes peer out at you from beneath the trees, only to vanish moments later.

You ask, "Do not our Nekotai serve to slaughter those who would bring harm to the glorious Glomdoring?"

You ask, "Do not our Shadowdancers spread the will of Glomdoring through Mother Night and the fae, those spirits who are bound to the very Forest itself?"

You ask, "Are the Ebonguard not the Glomdoring's predators, and do the Harbingers not sing to glorify the destruction of all that is not perfect Glomdoring?"

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

Loudly, you say, "Therefore, it is all of our duties to glorify the Glomdoring by feeding its soil with blood, by killing any creature that is not wyrden and recreating them so!"

You exclaim, "It is our duty to glorify the Glomdoring by sowing the chaos that fear of death represents, and spreading death to all who would oppose us!"

Quieting her passions, you say, "That is the first, and easier, of Mighty Crow's lessons regarding death, ayes."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "The second lesson is this: to die is to honour Mighty Crow."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

The screeching of a crow echoes through the dark woods, sounding almost like harsh laughter.

As though quoting, you intone, "In death we find strength through Crow, for to die is to honour him."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

Ried's eyes sparkle with amusement.

Quietly, you say, "Fear of death is a dreadful curse. It is a cowardly thing, an ungraceful thing, a weak thing."

Quietly, you say, "Such a thing is reserved for those who have reason to fear the Wyrd, to fear change."

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

You say, "The Serenwilde fears change. New Celest fears change. Both would prefer to wallow in weakness, to exult in personal ego, to oppose the spreading of True Beauty and True Power, for such a change means that they, too, will change."

Midnight shadows coalesce around a new day, and Mother Night embraces the land in utter darkness.
It is now the 11th of Dvarsh, 233 years after the Coming of Estarra.

You say, "For Death is transformation. We, as children of Mighty Crow, as children of the Glomdoring --."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "WE embrace change."

You say, "WE embrace adaptation."

You say, "WE ALONE give ourselves entirely to one singular purpose, to one singular cause, and that cause is the Glomdoring."

You say, "Therefore, Mighty Crow teaches that in death, we shed a part of ourselves. Through dying for the Glomdoring, we not only make the noblest of sacrifices, but something in us changes."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "We become mightier. The more blood that we spill, the more that we feed the Glomdoring. The more blood of our own that we shed, the more sacred the Glomdoring becomes, for we become closer to the Glomdoring. We become more wyrden with every life we take and every breath we give."

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.

You say, "Mighty Crow, like Mother Night, is inherently part of Glomdoring. To die for the Glomdoring is to die for the only thing that matters, to offer ourselves in sacrifice because we each hold in our hearts nothing but utter devotion to the Glomdoring."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You say, "In death we honour Him. Whether your service to the Glomdoring is to sway the fae, to rise as a leader of the commune, to gather commodities for our villages, to bring more villages under our shadow..."

You say, "Each of these services celebrates death, aiding one in killing and dying, aiding others to kill and to die."

You say, "Glomdoring, I choose to honour Mighty Crow. I choose to celebrate Death."
Brennan Stormcrow exclaims, "Crow! Mighty Crow! Glorious Crow!"
Brennan Stormcrow grovels in the dirt.

You wipe the paints off your face.

Ceremoniously, you dab some gold tint upon your face, creating the pattern of a gruesome deathmask.

Loudly, you say, "May we all choose this path, for nothing but glory awaits the Glomdoring in the future."

Her voice not unlike a raucous caw, you exclaim, "Nothing matters but Glomdoring!"

Ser Shuyin of the Shadows says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

You see Sidd yell, "Glory be to the Glomdoring."

Penumbra Meras, Servant of Shadows says, "Glory be to Glomdoring!"

Ried caws, "Glory be to Glomdoring!"

Drawing herself up to her full height, Meras raises a balled fist into the air and proudly shouts out, "F'ai Glomdoring!"

Tender Evaine, Slayer of the Obscene says, "Glory be to the Glomdoring!"

Anrisi, Whisper of the Wyrd says, "Glory be to Glomdoring."

The night sky is clear, and the stars twinkle like diamonds.