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Eloras Ghost Banishing 241019
In the eerie stillness of Arkwright Cemetery under the cover of night, Elora sets out to banish a mischievous fae child spirit that has lingered among the graves for too long. With the cemetery bathed in will-o'-wisps' neon glow and surrounded by an unnatural silence punctuated only by the ghost's giggling, Elora begins her intricate ritual. She sketches a thorned circle in the soil, each barb and line a testament to her determination to end the spirit's earthly tether. Despite the spirit's attempts at distraction, including evoking forgotten memories and desires, Elora remains resolute, her every action a step towards the ghost's confinement.
As the ritual nears its peak, Kah, drawn by the potent magic Elora wields, approaches, his presence marking a brief interlude in her focused endeavour. With a mix of fascination and disdain, Kah observes, his own supernatural senses attuned to the proceedings. Despite his initial question and the undercurrent of disdain for dealing with spirits, he recognizes the necessity of Elora's task. Thus, he admonishes her to complete her task swiftly, hinting at a conversation to follow. Elora, undeterred by the interruption, continues her chant, the power of her words binding the fae spirit. In a crescendo of magical energy, she commands the spirit to depart, her ritual a bridge between the worlds of the living and the dead, ensuring the spirit's unrest is quelled, leaving behind a solemn silence in the once tumultuous night.
(Elora's ghost banishing)
[Fri Oct 18 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 47F(8C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. Waist high mist flows through the area. There is a waning gibbous moon.
Child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard, it comes from everywhere, filling the minds of the small gathering here only to suddenly cut off, leaving everything dead silent, not even the wind makes a sound, the distant cars passing the graveyard have been muted. Only local voices can be heard by one another.
stands beside a patch of dirty where the letters G E O R G E have been sketched out. She's in an old stretch of the cemetary where the stones have largely been swallowed by the grassy ground. In some places though the tombstones have fallen flat in their lack of maintenance. She moves over to one of those. SHe's small. Teeny tiny. Not like ac hild is small, but like a teen might be - someone on the cusp of adulthood. Without showing much strength she bends down and pushes and slides the tombstone revealing what was undernreath. Soil. Not grassy soil that is hard to work with. Regular soil largely free of roots. She smiles at that as she stands and rubs her arms and looks around. The giggling of children and the green glow of a fae strangness is starting to be heard. "I hear you. I am here. We shall play," Elora murmurs. "Though I think you shall not like the conclusion to our game."
The sound of a harp echoes nearby, and the tune is hauntingly familiar. For just a moment, you feel an overwhelming urge to confess your deepest feelings to the nearest person.
lowers herself down to the dark soil by bending down to get to her knees. As she does the urge to speak to someone near takes over her. Yet there is no one near. So she makes do with shouting. "I wish to hide," Elora calls out. Then as she says it she does it. Glamours wrap around her like a cloak and her face is set in a scowl toward the harping echo that haunts her. The illusion rolling off her has her looking like she is part of the graveyard itself. Tombstone, dirt, grass, no girl. Of course there is a woman there. She is getting to her knees in the soil, dirtying her blue dress. A painted finger comes down to drag at the soil and draw a long and wide circle in the dirty. Its a big circle, big enough she has to move about. Big enough for someone to stand in. She has to move about as she draws it and also pulls up some grass to make it easier for her to work. Its time consuming effort. Rituals tend to be. Yet eventually she is having not just a circle but a circle with thorn like barbs arching out of it.
Elora works amid the darkness. The moonlight casts long, crooked shadows across the gravestones, barely illuminating the curling mist that clings to the ground. The air is dense with an unnatural stillness, an oppressive quiet that lingers in the lungs like smoke. Eloras fingers, dirt-streaked and steady, continue to carve the circle with care. Each line, each barb drawn into the soil is an act of defiance against the spectral presence that lingers just beyond sight, taunting her with fleeting whispers and fading giggles.
I said we would play, Elora whispers again, her voice barely audible, absorbed by the fog. But you should have known better than to accept. She stands within the thorned circle, now complete, a defense woven with precision and intent. "This game is called Binding. We shall each be trying to bind the other, but you being lost to time and far gone from your former self are not well equipped to win it. Perhaps I shall put you in a precious pet to be spent in combat? How should you like to experience death again and again unending since you are so eager to not depart?"
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
"Childish," Elora scoffs at the giggling echoes. Mist is pooling in the graveyard at ankle height. It doesn't really harm the visibility in most places, but for her drawing on the ground shapes of power? It does harm, because it is right where she is trying to draw. She scoffs as she realizes that she is drawing a shape over where she had already been working - doing more then she needed to by repeating what she had already drawn. "Light," Elora murmurs. The collar around her neck glows briefly as she puts her Arcanist mind to the task of lighting the place up to help her see as she works. The lights come in the form of several will o' wisps. Two of them are neon green and the other two a pale blue. They begin to rotate around her gently castning those colors on the pale skinned woman so that she is lit with an eerie though soft luminescnce.
The eerie glow of the will-o'-wisps reflects off Elora pale skin, casting shifting shadows across the overgrown gravestones. The mist, thick and clinging to her ankles, glows faintly in the swirling lights as she moves with purpose, reinforcing the thorned circle. Her eyes flash with a cold amusement at the giggle still echoing faintly in the air, knowing the spirits attempts at distraction are nothing more than childish games compared to her expertise.
"Binding requires commitment," she continues, her voice low, almost tender, though her words drip with the sting of mockery. "Do you have that in you anymore? Or are you simply a fragment, lost in time?" Her fingers etch precise lines into the earth, each one a final nail in the spectral coffin she is constructing. The power in her movements is deliberate, anchored by the glow of her collar and the rotating wisps.
The thorned circle pulses, responding to the power shes woven into it. Her intent is clear, and the spirit, lost though it may be, will soon realize the depths of its mistake. The green and blue lights continue to swirl around her, casting a cold radiance across the ancient graves.
The sound of a harp echoes nearby, and the tune is hauntingly familiar. For just a moment, you feel an overwhelming urge to confess your deepest feelings to the nearest person.
Elora mirks as she continues her work, her voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. "Lonely, aren't you?" she murmurs, not really expecting an answer, though the mist shifts as if the spirit bristles at her words. "You must be. Trapped here for who knows how long. Not even a proper haunting, really. Just some whispers, a few cheap tricks."
She stands up, wiping the dirt from her hands as the will-o'-wisps continue their slow rotation, their glow casting a haunting light on the neglected graves. "And look at you now, desperate enough to play games with me. I wonder how many people have passed by, not even giving you a second thought. After all these years, Im the only one who even bothered to come banish you."
Elora walks around the thorned circle, her steps deliberate, her tone soft but cutting. "No one visits. No one cares. I mean, if you were so terrifying, wouldnt someone have come sooner? But here you are, waiting all this time, and for what? This?" She gestures to the quiet, empty graveyard, her laugh low and bitter.
"Let me guess, you were important once. Respected. Feared, maybe." She shakes her head, the glow from the will-o'-wisps catching the neon strands in her hair, casting it in an ethereal light. "But now, youre just a shadow, forgotten by the world. Clinging to this place, this... pathetic existence."
Elora kneels again to adjust the circle, her eyes sharp with amusement. "Youve been alone for so long, havent you? Well, enjoy this moment. Because when Im done, youll have even less than that. Not even your solitude will be your own."
The feminine voice echos to each person, Lets play a game! Two of you must kiss! and you feel a very strong desire to play along regardless of your feelings towards your companions.
As Elora finishes her taunting words, a subtle vibration ripples through the air. The thorned circle etched into the dark soil begins to pulse with a faint, otherworldly light. It's as if the earth itself is awakening, resonating with the ancient magic she's invoked. The glow starts softly but grows steadily brighter, casting elongated shadows that dance among the tilted gravestones.
The circle is a masterpiece of arcane artistry. Drawn with meticulous care, it's a large ring encompassing her entirely. Along its circumference, sharp thorns protrude outward, each one carefully shaped to mimic the brambles of the fae realms. These thorns symbolize both protection and entrapment, a barrier to keep dark forces at bay and a snare for the unwary spirit.
She looks around for someone to kiss, but there is none. She shakes herself from the desire. "You repeat games played before," Elora muses. "No originality to you. You are boring."
Within the circle, an intricate web of sigils and runes spirals towards the center. Each symbol is steeped in meaning, a blend of ghost banishing rituals and fae enchantments. Near the outer edge, sigils of binding and containment are interlaced, their lines sharp and angular, designed to tether wandering spirits. Closer to the center, softer, more fluid runes represent transition and release, guiding the spirit towards passage into the next realm. Hers isn't the novice version of a binding ritual meant to capture a spirit for use in Minions. It has conduits through it meant to channel power gathered and wielded through incantation.
One prominent sigil depicts a triskele entwined with ivya symbol of the three realms of existence and the continuity of life, death, and rebirth. Another shows the silhouette of a raven in flight, a messenger between worlds, signifying the communication with spirits and the conveyance of souls.
As the power within the circle intensifies, the pulsing light shifts through hues of emerald green and deep sapphire- the very colors of the will-o'-wisps that orbit her. These wisps quicken their pace, leaving trails of luminescent mist that weave into the fabric of the circle's magic. The air thickens with energy; it hums softly, a harmonic resonance that seems to echo from another plane. Elora is lit by that glow.
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
Elora narrows her eyes, her lips curling into a dark smile as the energy swells around her. The circle, with its thorned edges and spiraling sigils, pulses in time with her breath, and now, the time for mere words is over. Her hands rise slowly, fingers splayed, and the air thickens with the gathering force of her intent.
She begins to chant, her voice low and rhythmic, each word filled with purpose. "Sharp dream, I bind you. I bind your soul, your power, your future."
She pauses in her chanting, staring forward. Then she shakes her head as if to clear it and preses her lips together in a thin line. She continues her chant and as she does the thorned sigils begin to glow brighter, sharp and fierce, their jagged lines pulsing in time with the incantation.
The will-o'-wisps orbiting her accelerate, their colors deepening into dark emerald and indigo, casting wild shadows that flicker like the remnants of a nightmare. The air itself seems to twist, bending to her will, as the circle's power intensifies.
Elora is now done with her sketching of runes and puts her hand down. Elora lowers her hands to the ground, fingers digging into the soil as she speaks again, her voice rising in power, now terrible and commanding. The transition runes closer to the center of the circle begin to glow a soft, fluid light, in contrast to the angular rigidity of the outer sigils.
The circle hums with violent energy, the strands of light weaving tighter, forming a nearly impenetrable web around the spirit. The sigil of the triskele entwined with ivy flares, symbolizing the inevitable transitionlife, death, and rebirth. The raven in flight, messenger of the realms, begins to pulse with the rhythmic beat of the incantation, signaling the passage to the other side. "Animae errantes, ligamini in aeternum!"
The sigils at the edge of the circle pulse violently, each thorned marking flaring with light. The outermost runes of binding and containment tighten their grip, drawing in the lost spirit as if ensnaring it in a net. "Ex umbris venis, ad umbras redeas!"
Elora voice rises, a commanding tone echoing through the mist-laden air. The will-o'-wisps orbit faster, casting eerie light across the graves as they blur into streams of emerald and sapphire. "In tenebris ligatus, numquam iterum surgas!"
Elora is within a glowing circle of sigils will o' wisps orbiting her and bathing her in blue and neon light. A fae child ghost is giggling.
From afar, Kah cannot help but detect the traces of magic being cast nearby him. Stalking in the direciton that causes his skin to ripple, Kah flares nostrils as he sees Elora the culprit. He tilts his head a moment watching from the edge of the light she creates. "What ungodly thing are you doing in the middle of the night?"
Elora looks toward Kah - it seems she's been at this for a very long time going by the extent of the sigil work. The utter dismay on her face paints clearly that she is distraught to see him.
A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest.
immediately brings up her hands to ears and puts her hands over them. ("A fae ghost," Elora explains. The power of the ghost's grip on her mind comes. A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest. )
Elora focuses on the green tinged spirit. "Mors tua mihi parens, et ego sum iudex!" The sigil of the triskele entwined with ivy ignites, representing the cyclical nature of existence. The raven in flight blazes brighter, its form shifting as though preparing to carry the spirit away. The energies within the circle twist together, creating a spiraling vortex of magic.
"Vade nunc, anima damnata, in aeternum non redeas!"
The spirit struggles, its presence flickering in and out as Eloras words hammer down with the force of ancient power. The will-o'-wisps burn hotter, the air around them rippling as they dance faster, feeding the ritual with their glow.
"What are you doing?" Kah repeats. He hasn't stopped her yet, he hasn't broken her concentration but he seems to eventually understand. He grunts, his skin quite literally crawling if Elora's eyes are sharp enough to see. "Spirits and the dead" Kah spits with distaste. "Always an irritation." With a curl of his lip on one side of his face, Kah lets loose a grumbling roar from within his chest that comes out as a growl deep and sonorous. Even the spirit child may take notice, as the man considers what he sees. His eyes pierce the shadow, they pierce the veil between the living and the dead. "I only came because I felt the pull of the magic. Put your spirit to rest" he says to Elora. "And then .. perhaps we will speak. That aggrivatign human did cut the possibility of a conversation short."
As the ritual nears its peak, Kah, drawn by the potent magic Elora wields, approaches, his presence marking a brief interlude in her focused endeavour. With a mix of fascination and disdain, Kah observes, his own supernatural senses attuned to the proceedings. Despite his initial question and the undercurrent of disdain for dealing with spirits, he recognizes the necessity of Elora's task. Thus, he admonishes her to complete her task swiftly, hinting at a conversation to follow. Elora, undeterred by the interruption, continues her chant, the power of her words binding the fae spirit. In a crescendo of magical energy, she commands the spirit to depart, her ritual a bridge between the worlds of the living and the dead, ensuring the spirit's unrest is quelled, leaving behind a solemn silence in the once tumultuous night.
(Elora's ghost banishing)
[Fri Oct 18 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 47F(8C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. Waist high mist flows through the area. There is a waning gibbous moon.
Child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard, it comes from everywhere, filling the minds of the small gathering here only to suddenly cut off, leaving everything dead silent, not even the wind makes a sound, the distant cars passing the graveyard have been muted. Only local voices can be heard by one another.
stands beside a patch of dirty where the letters G E O R G E have been sketched out. She's in an old stretch of the cemetary where the stones have largely been swallowed by the grassy ground. In some places though the tombstones have fallen flat in their lack of maintenance. She moves over to one of those. SHe's small. Teeny tiny. Not like ac hild is small, but like a teen might be - someone on the cusp of adulthood. Without showing much strength she bends down and pushes and slides the tombstone revealing what was undernreath. Soil. Not grassy soil that is hard to work with. Regular soil largely free of roots. She smiles at that as she stands and rubs her arms and looks around. The giggling of children and the green glow of a fae strangness is starting to be heard. "I hear you. I am here. We shall play," Elora murmurs. "Though I think you shall not like the conclusion to our game."
The sound of a harp echoes nearby, and the tune is hauntingly familiar. For just a moment, you feel an overwhelming urge to confess your deepest feelings to the nearest person.
lowers herself down to the dark soil by bending down to get to her knees. As she does the urge to speak to someone near takes over her. Yet there is no one near. So she makes do with shouting. "I wish to hide," Elora calls out. Then as she says it she does it. Glamours wrap around her like a cloak and her face is set in a scowl toward the harping echo that haunts her. The illusion rolling off her has her looking like she is part of the graveyard itself. Tombstone, dirt, grass, no girl. Of course there is a woman there. She is getting to her knees in the soil, dirtying her blue dress. A painted finger comes down to drag at the soil and draw a long and wide circle in the dirty. Its a big circle, big enough she has to move about. Big enough for someone to stand in. She has to move about as she draws it and also pulls up some grass to make it easier for her to work. Its time consuming effort. Rituals tend to be. Yet eventually she is having not just a circle but a circle with thorn like barbs arching out of it.
Elora works amid the darkness. The moonlight casts long, crooked shadows across the gravestones, barely illuminating the curling mist that clings to the ground. The air is dense with an unnatural stillness, an oppressive quiet that lingers in the lungs like smoke. Eloras fingers, dirt-streaked and steady, continue to carve the circle with care. Each line, each barb drawn into the soil is an act of defiance against the spectral presence that lingers just beyond sight, taunting her with fleeting whispers and fading giggles.
I said we would play, Elora whispers again, her voice barely audible, absorbed by the fog. But you should have known better than to accept. She stands within the thorned circle, now complete, a defense woven with precision and intent. "This game is called Binding. We shall each be trying to bind the other, but you being lost to time and far gone from your former self are not well equipped to win it. Perhaps I shall put you in a precious pet to be spent in combat? How should you like to experience death again and again unending since you are so eager to not depart?"
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
"Childish," Elora scoffs at the giggling echoes. Mist is pooling in the graveyard at ankle height. It doesn't really harm the visibility in most places, but for her drawing on the ground shapes of power? It does harm, because it is right where she is trying to draw. She scoffs as she realizes that she is drawing a shape over where she had already been working - doing more then she needed to by repeating what she had already drawn. "Light," Elora murmurs. The collar around her neck glows briefly as she puts her Arcanist mind to the task of lighting the place up to help her see as she works. The lights come in the form of several will o' wisps. Two of them are neon green and the other two a pale blue. They begin to rotate around her gently castning those colors on the pale skinned woman so that she is lit with an eerie though soft luminescnce.
The eerie glow of the will-o'-wisps reflects off Elora pale skin, casting shifting shadows across the overgrown gravestones. The mist, thick and clinging to her ankles, glows faintly in the swirling lights as she moves with purpose, reinforcing the thorned circle. Her eyes flash with a cold amusement at the giggle still echoing faintly in the air, knowing the spirits attempts at distraction are nothing more than childish games compared to her expertise.
"Binding requires commitment," she continues, her voice low, almost tender, though her words drip with the sting of mockery. "Do you have that in you anymore? Or are you simply a fragment, lost in time?" Her fingers etch precise lines into the earth, each one a final nail in the spectral coffin she is constructing. The power in her movements is deliberate, anchored by the glow of her collar and the rotating wisps.
The thorned circle pulses, responding to the power shes woven into it. Her intent is clear, and the spirit, lost though it may be, will soon realize the depths of its mistake. The green and blue lights continue to swirl around her, casting a cold radiance across the ancient graves.
The sound of a harp echoes nearby, and the tune is hauntingly familiar. For just a moment, you feel an overwhelming urge to confess your deepest feelings to the nearest person.
Elora mirks as she continues her work, her voice cutting through the stillness like a knife. "Lonely, aren't you?" she murmurs, not really expecting an answer, though the mist shifts as if the spirit bristles at her words. "You must be. Trapped here for who knows how long. Not even a proper haunting, really. Just some whispers, a few cheap tricks."
She stands up, wiping the dirt from her hands as the will-o'-wisps continue their slow rotation, their glow casting a haunting light on the neglected graves. "And look at you now, desperate enough to play games with me. I wonder how many people have passed by, not even giving you a second thought. After all these years, Im the only one who even bothered to come banish you."
Elora walks around the thorned circle, her steps deliberate, her tone soft but cutting. "No one visits. No one cares. I mean, if you were so terrifying, wouldnt someone have come sooner? But here you are, waiting all this time, and for what? This?" She gestures to the quiet, empty graveyard, her laugh low and bitter.
"Let me guess, you were important once. Respected. Feared, maybe." She shakes her head, the glow from the will-o'-wisps catching the neon strands in her hair, casting it in an ethereal light. "But now, youre just a shadow, forgotten by the world. Clinging to this place, this... pathetic existence."
Elora kneels again to adjust the circle, her eyes sharp with amusement. "Youve been alone for so long, havent you? Well, enjoy this moment. Because when Im done, youll have even less than that. Not even your solitude will be your own."
The feminine voice echos to each person, Lets play a game! Two of you must kiss! and you feel a very strong desire to play along regardless of your feelings towards your companions.
As Elora finishes her taunting words, a subtle vibration ripples through the air. The thorned circle etched into the dark soil begins to pulse with a faint, otherworldly light. It's as if the earth itself is awakening, resonating with the ancient magic she's invoked. The glow starts softly but grows steadily brighter, casting elongated shadows that dance among the tilted gravestones.
The circle is a masterpiece of arcane artistry. Drawn with meticulous care, it's a large ring encompassing her entirely. Along its circumference, sharp thorns protrude outward, each one carefully shaped to mimic the brambles of the fae realms. These thorns symbolize both protection and entrapment, a barrier to keep dark forces at bay and a snare for the unwary spirit.
She looks around for someone to kiss, but there is none. She shakes herself from the desire. "You repeat games played before," Elora muses. "No originality to you. You are boring."
Within the circle, an intricate web of sigils and runes spirals towards the center. Each symbol is steeped in meaning, a blend of ghost banishing rituals and fae enchantments. Near the outer edge, sigils of binding and containment are interlaced, their lines sharp and angular, designed to tether wandering spirits. Closer to the center, softer, more fluid runes represent transition and release, guiding the spirit towards passage into the next realm. Hers isn't the novice version of a binding ritual meant to capture a spirit for use in Minions. It has conduits through it meant to channel power gathered and wielded through incantation.
One prominent sigil depicts a triskele entwined with ivya symbol of the three realms of existence and the continuity of life, death, and rebirth. Another shows the silhouette of a raven in flight, a messenger between worlds, signifying the communication with spirits and the conveyance of souls.
As the power within the circle intensifies, the pulsing light shifts through hues of emerald green and deep sapphire- the very colors of the will-o'-wisps that orbit her. These wisps quicken their pace, leaving trails of luminescent mist that weave into the fabric of the circle's magic. The air thickens with energy; it hums softly, a harmonic resonance that seems to echo from another plane. Elora is lit by that glow.
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
Elora narrows her eyes, her lips curling into a dark smile as the energy swells around her. The circle, with its thorned edges and spiraling sigils, pulses in time with her breath, and now, the time for mere words is over. Her hands rise slowly, fingers splayed, and the air thickens with the gathering force of her intent.
She begins to chant, her voice low and rhythmic, each word filled with purpose. "Sharp dream, I bind you. I bind your soul, your power, your future."
She pauses in her chanting, staring forward. Then she shakes her head as if to clear it and preses her lips together in a thin line. She continues her chant and as she does the thorned sigils begin to glow brighter, sharp and fierce, their jagged lines pulsing in time with the incantation.
The will-o'-wisps orbiting her accelerate, their colors deepening into dark emerald and indigo, casting wild shadows that flicker like the remnants of a nightmare. The air itself seems to twist, bending to her will, as the circle's power intensifies.
Elora is now done with her sketching of runes and puts her hand down. Elora lowers her hands to the ground, fingers digging into the soil as she speaks again, her voice rising in power, now terrible and commanding. The transition runes closer to the center of the circle begin to glow a soft, fluid light, in contrast to the angular rigidity of the outer sigils.
The circle hums with violent energy, the strands of light weaving tighter, forming a nearly impenetrable web around the spirit. The sigil of the triskele entwined with ivy flares, symbolizing the inevitable transitionlife, death, and rebirth. The raven in flight, messenger of the realms, begins to pulse with the rhythmic beat of the incantation, signaling the passage to the other side. "Animae errantes, ligamini in aeternum!"
The sigils at the edge of the circle pulse violently, each thorned marking flaring with light. The outermost runes of binding and containment tighten their grip, drawing in the lost spirit as if ensnaring it in a net. "Ex umbris venis, ad umbras redeas!"
Elora voice rises, a commanding tone echoing through the mist-laden air. The will-o'-wisps orbit faster, casting eerie light across the graves as they blur into streams of emerald and sapphire. "In tenebris ligatus, numquam iterum surgas!"
Elora is within a glowing circle of sigils will o' wisps orbiting her and bathing her in blue and neon light. A fae child ghost is giggling.
From afar, Kah cannot help but detect the traces of magic being cast nearby him. Stalking in the direciton that causes his skin to ripple, Kah flares nostrils as he sees Elora the culprit. He tilts his head a moment watching from the edge of the light she creates. "What ungodly thing are you doing in the middle of the night?"
Elora looks toward Kah - it seems she's been at this for a very long time going by the extent of the sigil work. The utter dismay on her face paints clearly that she is distraught to see him.
A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest.
immediately brings up her hands to ears and puts her hands over them. ("A fae ghost," Elora explains. The power of the ghost's grip on her mind comes. A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest. )
Elora focuses on the green tinged spirit. "Mors tua mihi parens, et ego sum iudex!" The sigil of the triskele entwined with ivy ignites, representing the cyclical nature of existence. The raven in flight blazes brighter, its form shifting as though preparing to carry the spirit away. The energies within the circle twist together, creating a spiraling vortex of magic.
"Vade nunc, anima damnata, in aeternum non redeas!"
The spirit struggles, its presence flickering in and out as Eloras words hammer down with the force of ancient power. The will-o'-wisps burn hotter, the air around them rippling as they dance faster, feeding the ritual with their glow.
"What are you doing?" Kah repeats. He hasn't stopped her yet, he hasn't broken her concentration but he seems to eventually understand. He grunts, his skin quite literally crawling if Elora's eyes are sharp enough to see. "Spirits and the dead" Kah spits with distaste. "Always an irritation." With a curl of his lip on one side of his face, Kah lets loose a grumbling roar from within his chest that comes out as a growl deep and sonorous. Even the spirit child may take notice, as the man considers what he sees. His eyes pierce the shadow, they pierce the veil between the living and the dead. "I only came because I felt the pull of the magic. Put your spirit to rest" he says to Elora. "And then .. perhaps we will speak. That aggrivatign human did cut the possibility of a conversation short."