The children of the light will tell you to beware the darkness, for things sneak
within the shadows like cowardly vermin, instead of displaying candidly their
powers in plain view. They will say that only those with guilt-laden hearts and
fiendish minds walk amidst the shadows, and that they fear much, for how often
they hide.

I have walked amongst the argent woods of Serenwilde and have heard all the
stories the priestesses have to offer -- that is, the ghost stories of the
Merciless Forest, where naive travelers enter and are never heard from again,
where dwells the wicked Crow and the terrible Night and their sinful followers.
And I have watched from the distance across Faethorn Realm as dark druids raise
their black trees, just beyond the twisted archway. I have seen all of this, and
so I ask of you to take my words in all solemnity, for in no way is my opinion
marred by ignorance. This I swear on the name of Lady Estarra Herself.

As I said, I was born of the Wilde, a pureblood elfen destined to enter the
ranks of the esteemed witches of the Coven of the Moon. I was inducted as a
Seeker at the common age of sixteen years, and began my tutelage under a Wisdom
of the Moon, whose face now I have forgotten, and whose name is but a mere
whisper in my memory. The commune then held much sway over the Basin of Life,
for we had many prominent combatants and had influence over the majority of
villages. I remember this distinctly, for though my skill on the battlefield was
severely lacking, I've always had a way with words and would assist my mentor
during revolts. I climbed the ranks of the Coven swiftly, in turn becoming a
Moon Guide, now answering solely to the High Wisdom. In my youth, I had
befriended a Spiritsinger, who in time became my intended for marriage. And
during this time and for some years afterwards, I remained distantly aware of
the Dark Forest and all its horrors.

It was in the winter following my wedding to my beloved that I forsook the
silver moonlight and made my way into the depths of shadow.

It began with the dreams. They were feverish in nature, and I often awoke in a
cold sweat to the concerned voice of my mate. They always began in the same
fashion: The scene is warm and familiar, and I am underneath the great boughs of
the Mother Moonhart Tree, with my mate and friends by my side. They are singing
hymns of praise to Moon, and all around us, pixies dance in time to the swaying
rhythm. But then the night sky darkens further, and the stars and crescent moon
are choked to death by tenebrous tendrils raking across the firmament. Some
great disease sweeps through the silvered coppice like a torrential wave,
devouring the trees and twisting them into skeletal silhouettes. The grass
withers and dies and rots, transforming the earth into a putrescent swamp.
Above, the cacophonous shrieks of crows ring through the air.

When I spoke with the High Wisdom for the first time regarding these dreams, he
declared that they were forewarnings, and insisted to me that they were visions
from our Spirits instructing me to remain ever vigilant of the dangers of the
Glomdoring. He instructed me to remain within the Wilde for a time, so that I
may meditate on the great blessing our divine granted to us, this safe haven
that we call home.

But I did not speak to him about the emotions that seized me during these
visions. I say they were feverish not because they were nightmares, but because
the images that followed the transformation of unassuming Serenwilde struck me
with such passion and ecstasy that I was too ashamed to mention them, even to my
own beloved. Glimpses of esoteric rituals, great hunts, and majestic people
swirled throughout the dizzied landscape of my unconscious, all fringed by
towering trunks and a web-like canopy, as words in an awful, cackling tongue
filled my ears. These were in no way frightful, for I felt an overwhelming sense
of loyalty, community, and ferocity that I had not experienced within the argent
wood.

I meditated as my elder instructed, upon our commune's Ethereal plane, but
would often fall into a purposeful slumber, for my heart began to yearn for the
mysteries of those briefly flickering images and the attached emotions in the
same way my curiosity regarding the southern forest only grew. Once I deemed I
had pondered enough on the state of my home, I returned to my duties within the
Moon Coven... for a time.

On the fourth of Roarkian of that year, I was attempting to complete the first
draft of a new ritual involving Moon's phases when I simply put down my quill
and left. I cannot say what exactly compelled me to finally cast aside what I
had grown to understand, but by the dawn, I had departed from the mouth of the
Moon River, dressed only in a plain brown tunic akin to a novice's robes, and
was making my way to Glomdoring.

I arrived at the outskirts of the Merciless Forest on the onset of the third
midnight after leaving the Wilde. The land was nothing like I had imagined:
imperious black mountaintops rose proudly into the roiling storm clouds,
shadowing skeletal trees I had only previously seen from afar. They towered
above me, their great trunks twisted and diseased, their crooked branches woven
together in a brittle net that blanketed the vegetation beneath in choking
darkness. Distantly, lightning pierced the firmament, heralding ominous thunder.

I took two steps past the jagged border of ravenwoods, and was immediately
beset by three slight figures, their features shrouded by deep hoods.

"I knew I smelled a Serenwilder!" one cawed, for indeed, his voice was more
like the raucous laughter of crows than any sound gifted to mortal men. I swore
that for a moment, my eyes were deceiving me, for a wicked curved beak jutted
out from beneath his hood.

The druid -- for I recognized the weapon in his hand to be a cudgel -- and his
companions approached me swiftly, arms raised to attack, but I summoned a
magical circle around me and cried desperately, "Wait! I wish to join you!"

They stopped just short of razing my shield and returned fluidly to the
shadows, moving as if they were an extension of the tendrils themselves. The one
directly facing me lowered the hood of his robes, revealing not masculine
features as I had expected, but the subtle curves of a young woman just entering
her prime. She gazed at me with a ferality unlike any I'd witnessed before in my
life, her half-lidded eyes smouldering crimson. Though shadows shifted languidly
over her vestments, I could discern esoteric embroidery upon her clothes that
gleamed a rich amethyst in the waning moonlight.

"What is your name, and for what reasons do you wish to join?" she demanded of
me. Her voice was almost a whisper, but in the stillness of the blackened wood,
it rang clearly.

And I told her -- everything. I recalled my origins within the ethereal forest
of the far north. I explained my position in the Moondance Coven and the duties
I had been given by my elders. I detailed the visions of my dreams, floundering
briefly as I strove to convey the kind of fire they stirred within me. The three
listened without a word until I had exhausted myself, my mouth parched from what
seemed to me like hours of speech.

The woman in the centre of the group beckoned to me with a crook of her finger.
She then turned away with her companion who had not yet spoken, whilst the druid
disappeared into the treetops. I fell into step behind my guide, and we made our
way into the heart of darkness.

We made our way to a babbling stream, deep enough to allow ease of swimming,
but the waters seemed black and opaque, and not simply because of the lack of
adequate light. My guide and her hooded companion stopped upon the dark, muddy
bank and gazed out over the murmuring waters. For a moment that dragged on
longer than I was comfortable, we three stood there, but when I opened my mouth
to query why, the silence shattered.

Rising gracefully from the water's surface was the form of another woman,
though from the lines of her face, I could see that she was advanced in age, the
roots of her auburn hair paling to a dull grey. She approached us steadily,
water streaming down her naked body, though neither she nor my guides appeared
offended. As she stepped onto the bank, however, shadowy tendrils swarmed up her
legs and torso, and down her arms, coalescing into a garb of living night.

"My Queen," the younger woman who was my guide addressed her elder, stepping
forward away from me, "this young elfen, born of the Wilde, has realized the
error of her ways and now seeks the wisdom of our Mother Night."

The Queen regarded me then, and I launched into a second account of my
beginnings and what had transpired to lead me before her. She was still the
whole time, not uttering a word, though her tenebrous robes billowed in the
faintest breeze that swept throughout the copse.

Then she nodded, and I could swear I saw the faintest of smiles grace her lips.
But the image was fleeting, for she then lifted her face to the heavens. There
was a long, pregnant pause, and I could only guess that she was communicating
with the commune, probing their thoughts for approval. After a tense moment, she
lowered her gaze to me and beckoned me closer.

As I took a step towards her, the other wiccans moved around me in a crouch,
faster than I could react. They withdrew just as swiftly to reveal a perfect,
unbroken circle drawn into the ground and positioned themselves equidistant from
each other around me. Hands extending from her sides, each witch revealed a
wicked athame of blackened steel grasped on her right hand, while with her left
hand, she seized the blade of the dagger of the witch to her left. Blood seeped
from the women's open wounds and dripped onto the soil, fusing with the shadows
that churned across the ground.

Slowly at first, but rapidly increasing in speed and fury, the shadows writhed
and spun around me. Though I was gripped by an overwhelming fear at the
fast-approaching chaos, I could barely contain the awe and hunger that consumed
my heart and made it flutter. The priestesses had begun to chant, slowly at
first, but with increasing speed and fervor as the tendrils spun. I reached out
as the shadows seized me, and in that instant, a chilling touch swept across my
forehead, and stars exploded behind on the backs of my eyes as pain coursed
through my veins. The women's chanting had reached a feverish pitch -- then
abruptly ceased.

And though the shadows retreated from my quivering limbs, the forest around us
darkened further. I fell to my knees within the circle of wiccans, whose
bleeding hands and wicked daggers now hung at their sides. The Queen of Night
took a single step towards me, extended a bloodstained finger, and drew a mark
upon by brow unknown to me. Power flared beneath the symbol, manifesting as a
comforting chill, and settled into my bones.

"You are now a Shadowbound," the Queen declared, withdrawing her hand. "You
will learn of the strength of Glomdoring, its history, our ties with the divine,
and most importantly, how to embody the teachings of our Ephemeral Spirits."

She gazed imperiously at me, and though I felt both terrified and stunned at
what I had just experienced, I was overcome by a sense of familiarity, pride,
and -- dare I say it? -- the glory to come.

"Welcome to the Coven of the Night."