Patrollogs
Eloras Ghost Banishing 241202
In the eerie, charged atmosphere of Arkwright Cemetery, a diverse group had assembled to confront an unsettling supernatural phenomenon. As afternoon turned into a scene of foreboding shadows under darkening skies, three ghostly pirates emerged, armed and aggressive, manifesting from an ethereal piano melody that set a haunting tone. Elora quickly became the focus of their spectral assault, taking a ghostly bullet that, although leaving no physical wound, marked the beginning of a relentless pursuit. The group, recognizing the need for swift action, delegated roles; Elora tasked with drawing the ghosts' attention, Vindicta providing defense with precise retaliation, Ceryn focusing on protective barriers, and Ash taking charge of the banishment ritual. The scenario unfolded with the urgency of a carefully choreographed dance of light, shadow, and ethereal entities, as each member of the makeshift coven leveraged their unique abilities against the spectral assailants.
As the onslaught of phantom bullets and blades grew ever more frenzied, the stakes became apparent. Amid the chaos, Elora's resilience shone, even as the spectral harm took its toll. Ash's determination, coupled with the focused support of Sam, Vindicta, and Ceryn, brought a poetic momentum to the grim tableau. The climax of their combined efforts reached as Ash, weaving a complex dance of sigils and symbols, commanded the spirits to be banished. With a final display of supernatural defiance, the ghosts entwined, spun, and dissolved into the ground, leaving behind a palpable stillness. The group's triumphant yet taxing encounter underscored the thin veil between realms and the relentless spirit of those who dare to tread its boundaries.
(Elora's ghost banishing)
[Sun Dec 1 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 52F(11C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Ceryn stretches upwards as he looks around, hands dipping into his satchel, "Who's leading the banishment?" He chimes, eyes darting between Ash, Vindicta and Elora, "I'm happy to follow as always, most folk seem to have more experience than me these days."
Vindicta says "Bianchini busy in graveyard. Otherwise, calm day."
Ash sees the ghosts looking over to Elora, then Ceryn. "We've a coven three. How shall we do this?" They ask Elora questioningly, as the leader of the temporary coven. In answer to Ceryn, they nod to Elora. "Though, that means just Vin for our defense."
Elora's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
Elora hisses in pain, hand flying to her shoulder, as the ghostly shot rings out and slams into her, distracted away from answering the question posed by the others by ghost-inflicted pain.
"Bianchini fine defend on own," Vindicta tells Ash, though perhaps the little albino has spoken too soon. The moment that the words leave her mouth, Elora is struck by a spectral bullet that leaves the Deputy whipping around in the direction of her assailant with surprise. Too little, too late, she fires off a shot in their direction, but the air is empty now, and she draws in an icy, frustrated hiss at the free attack. ".. Bianchini so sorry," she mumbles.
As Vindicta's shot fades and the graveyard returns to stillness, Elora says, "They will be focusing on me," Elora hisses, looking not too pleased with that fact. "You two should work on the banishment while I keep their attention away from you. Vin? Could you deal with dispatching the ghosts as you can, when they form?"
Whistling a light, whimsical tune, Ceryn dips their fingers into a jar, promptly smearing a deep azure under each of their eyes, drawing the patterns out along their jawline. "I guess there isn't much time to think too hard about it." He hums, feet dragging through the dirt in an idle footwork that steadily spirals out circles at his feet, "I can focus on defence, at the very least."
Elora moves to the headstone that proclaims the stretch of cemetery Salte land, then past it to a monument that is a bit larger than the rows of headstones, as if seeking to find a shelter against the ghosts which are assailing her.
Slipping out their knife, Ceryn splatters a flick of crimson across the circles, letting it gather and pool, "What will be serves what is." He mutters under his breath as the foliage at their feet bursts into a violent growth. Weeds, roots and bushes coil in a wide circle around the group, putting a light barrier between them and the phantoms.
Ash nods to Elora, summoning their light, drawling, "That's fine, Ceryn. I'm good at banishment." The will o' the wisps gather around them, swirling in flickering pastel shades of light as they start to move. The wisps move out to form a circle, intertwining and living in and out of the circle of brush.
Ash says, in a Tejano staccato, "All-good-here-just-banishing-a-ghost-right-fast!"
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Elora was already wary, teal eyes peeking out from behind the monument at the forming ghost. As the hail of bullets come, she ducks back behind it, letting spectral energy splash again tombstone and fly over head. Her choker glows with a wintery blue light as she weaves illusions over the specters, perhaps causing it to error in its shots, as it sees things which aren't truly there.
Ash starts their dance slow, but intentional. Their hands form mudras, shaping geometric shapes with power, and eat one thrums through the air, a ripple to the outer circle, that ripples back with a thread from a will o' wisp that takes on that shape. They only manage about two of these before they're forced to duck behind a tombstone, the thread cut and starting to wilt away.
"Too many!" Vindicta calls out as the specter takes advantage of their own corporeality, the teeny femme quickly diving behind a headstone and hunkering down for the barrage. She waits for an opening, then her thumb sends the cylinder of her revolver whirring before she pops back out. "That cheating!!" she scolds the gunslinging ghost, her pink eyes steeled before she pops off one, two, three shots of her own, striking the apparition in the stomach, the chest, and ultimately the head, causing its form to waver and then disappear for now. Scattered to the wind and forced to re-make itself.
Hand planted to the ground, Ceryn lets his own vitae pour into the soil as roots and briar continue to overlap eachother around the group, diving in the path of ghastly bullets and redoubling the verdant wall. "It's not like we have to outgun them, just need to wait until Ash finishes their thing." He murmurs out to Vindicta, "I think we have a pretty good set up here at least..." The words come out distracted as he turns his gaze to Ash's dance.
The three spirits surround Elora, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Ash surges back to nab those threads, pull them back to their slight, masculine form. They reconnect them to their aura, and begin again. Dancing with their hands, one after another, until they have formed each will o' wisp into a sigil of power and meaning. Then, again, empowering each sigil by using their arms, shoulders, and torso to create greater, larger versions, or supporting sigils. To those that recognize the form of dance called tutting, they'll recognize the style. Though those who've seen The Magicians and even Avatar the Last Airbender will gain an understanding of the sort of 'incantation' Ash is performing.
Elora has a silver choker of tangled brambles emitting a wintry blue glow, illuminating in part the harrying ghosts. As the ghosts circle her, she keeps her back to the tombstone, moving along it to keep the ghost with the pistol from having a clear shot on her. Teal eyes hold the tension of the ready, of the waiting, of the expectant, as she prepares for the coming assault. With her focus on the ghosts, not the ritual, she feels forced to call, "Is it going well?"
Ceryn finally draws up from his position in the dirt, the entanglement of roots and briar holding still as his feet trace a different path of looping sigils. "Ash's work is usually pretty fast." He comments aside as another flick of crimson vitae sends the earth at the encroaching phantoms' feet into a swirl quagmire that drags them slightly in. "Just gotta make sure they don't any real damage before they're done, aye?" The fellow continues in a calm, disconnected tone.
Walking in, Sam nods around, pausing a moment. "Yo." He seems to take a few moments to take stock of the situation.
Familiar with none of these things, Ash may as well be doing the chicken dance to Vindicta, for she stares at them in strange silence and observation. Perhaps she thinks the mercenary is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but isn't everyone in Haven a little crazy? Regardless, she does not have much time to spare when it comes to ogling that strange ritualistic dance- Elora is surrounded, and Vindicta wheels on the three spirits harrying her, lifting her revolver and firing shots at them one after the other, aiming for wider points on the spirits to ensure a lower likelihood of her bullets missing. She doesn't need kills right now, she needs impacts. She needs to stall them, and so stall them she does with salt shot after salt shot.
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Ash calls out, "Yeah! Only a mild interruption." They've buffed the enforcing symbols, and start to make use of those threads. This, now, can easily be called dance. Their feet step, leaving marks in the soul that form arcane patterns. Their hips sway, their body twirls, their hands and arms reach out in fluid motions as they start to weave.
The threads of light follow their movements and limbs, connecting the sigil for force with the rune for out/away, braiding both together with the mark for the downward direction. Then, because they had the audacity to speak, their words to Elora become a lie. They consider dodging, evident in their facial expression, before they decide to stay form, taking the pain, rather than risk the weaving being interrupted at this stage.
Elora is at a monument, using it for cover, surrounded by ghosts -- she seems to be trying to keep the monument between her and the ghost with the gun. A good thing, when the thing starts shooting, as it keeps her protected. Her choker is glowing a faint blue, runes within it, lit up, though there isn't much discernible impact: whatever illusions she weaves, they are for the ghosts, not the others present.
After taking stock, Sam ducks behind a monument, then sluggishly heads towards where Ash is working, drawing his hunting knife and narrowing his eyes, looking at the present specters. "Need some cover, Ash?" He grins.
Another barrage in retaliation to the the troubles that Ash, Vindicta, Elora, and Ceryn seems to be giving these stubborn spirits, and the femme fatale has no choice but to duck back down behind her gravestone and wait, using that space where she cannot fire to instead gently and carefully reload more salt shotshell into the cylinder of her revolver. A patient pause traverses time where she does little more than breathe and focus her mind. Then, when she pops back up, she's firing upon that flintlock wielding fiend once again, tagging them twice in the chest and causing their form to lose its emulsion in a bursting cloud of white smoke.
Ceryn continues his idly tracing of earthen patterns along the inner edge of the bramble circle as he spots Sam, "A bit late, Sam!" He snickers, the dancing whips of his wrists spattering the occasional drop of blood from his gouged palm over his own sigils and runes. "Just some usual troublemakers, ones that have been and wish to be." The fellow explains as if it's common sense, the path in his wake becoming a chaotic myriad of sunken dirt and overgrown undergrowth.
The three spirits surround Elora, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Elora watches Sam with some incredulity in her scrambling to stay away from harrying ghosts as he texts on his phone, but doesn't have much time to dwell on that, instead darting and moving away from them as she can, wincing in pain as a spectral cutlass grazes her when she is too slow.
"Bloody mushroom patches," Elora hisses to herself, cradling where the cut was, for all that no blood leaks from it.
Pausing calmly, Sam seems focussed on keeping the spirits quite away from Ash. When the specters surround Elora, he looks down to his phone, before tugging something out of his jacket: A human finger-bone attached to a silver chain.
Ash winces from the bullet shots that they're not defending from, calling to Sam, "Yeah, that would be nice, though Cathryn is the target. I can stand a little pain, but the less they can do to her, the better." They motion to Elora as they twirl in their dance, trying not to break too much focus. Their dance gets feverish, their steps more dynamic as the weave demands more and more energy from them, the points where the threads touching their form turning red as they suck more and more blood from under their skin.
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
A nod to Ash, and Sam, instead of dropping, rises to his full length, moving along with Ash's dancing, trying to at least prevent it from disrupting the rite. "I reckon she can take care of herself." He nods to Elora, giving a faint smile of sorts.
Elora in her continual merry go round the monument continues in her avoidance of the bullets, hand still clasped to the spectral wound on her arm. The game of keep away from blade and bullet seems to be wearing on her. There are no happy teal eyes. Its a frustrated, dance, if one could even call it dancing, as she darts away again and again.
Ceryn takes a moment as the dance begins to wind down, sweat running down his own brow and messying the paints that had been cast upon his face. "I really need to not neglect my cardio..." He murmurs to himself, eyes drawn over to Ash as he begins to wind a braid of twine around his bloodied palm, "You nearly done over there, 'arn?"
The flintlock-wielding ghost seems to be trigger happy today, but Vindicta doesn't seem to mind- she's the type that is just as happy to fight fire with fire- ducking behind tombstones, waiting it out, then popping out herself to unleash her own barrage of bullets and shells in turn.
Ash smiles softly, acknowledging Sam's statement, but not adding another of their own. Their dance is reaching its conclusion, and they focus on finishing it correctly. Thread upon thread, weave and weft both, symbols tied and charged. "It comes, and they go, as is right and should. Be banished and rest - Begone!" They stop suddenly, a mandala of light rippling out from them, as the ritual completes.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.
As the onslaught of phantom bullets and blades grew ever more frenzied, the stakes became apparent. Amid the chaos, Elora's resilience shone, even as the spectral harm took its toll. Ash's determination, coupled with the focused support of Sam, Vindicta, and Ceryn, brought a poetic momentum to the grim tableau. The climax of their combined efforts reached as Ash, weaving a complex dance of sigils and symbols, commanded the spirits to be banished. With a final display of supernatural defiance, the ghosts entwined, spun, and dissolved into the ground, leaving behind a palpable stillness. The group's triumphant yet taxing encounter underscored the thin veil between realms and the relentless spirit of those who dare to tread its boundaries.
(Elora's ghost banishing)
[Sun Dec 1 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 52F(11C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
A haunting piano melody suddenly creeps over the graveyard as one by one, three spectral forms raise up into sight. Each is somewhat decayed and dressed in a mix of ballroom gown and old pirate garb, one wields a pair of flintlock pistols, another a wicked cutlass and the third a pair of sharp looking knives.
Ceryn stretches upwards as he looks around, hands dipping into his satchel, "Who's leading the banishment?" He chimes, eyes darting between Ash, Vindicta and Elora, "I'm happy to follow as always, most folk seem to have more experience than me these days."
Vindicta says "Bianchini busy in graveyard. Otherwise, calm day."
Ash sees the ghosts looking over to Elora, then Ceryn. "We've a coven three. How shall we do this?" They ask Elora questioningly, as the leader of the temporary coven. In answer to Ceryn, they nod to Elora. "Though, that means just Vin for our defense."
Elora's shoulder suddenly burns as the flicklock wielder materializes long enough to fire a shot into her, there's no visible wound.
Elora hisses in pain, hand flying to her shoulder, as the ghostly shot rings out and slams into her, distracted away from answering the question posed by the others by ghost-inflicted pain.
"Bianchini fine defend on own," Vindicta tells Ash, though perhaps the little albino has spoken too soon. The moment that the words leave her mouth, Elora is struck by a spectral bullet that leaves the Deputy whipping around in the direction of her assailant with surprise. Too little, too late, she fires off a shot in their direction, but the air is empty now, and she draws in an icy, frustrated hiss at the free attack. ".. Bianchini so sorry," she mumbles.
As Vindicta's shot fades and the graveyard returns to stillness, Elora says, "They will be focusing on me," Elora hisses, looking not too pleased with that fact. "You two should work on the banishment while I keep their attention away from you. Vin? Could you deal with dispatching the ghosts as you can, when they form?"
Whistling a light, whimsical tune, Ceryn dips their fingers into a jar, promptly smearing a deep azure under each of their eyes, drawing the patterns out along their jawline. "I guess there isn't much time to think too hard about it." He hums, feet dragging through the dirt in an idle footwork that steadily spirals out circles at his feet, "I can focus on defence, at the very least."
Elora moves to the headstone that proclaims the stretch of cemetery Salte land, then past it to a monument that is a bit larger than the rows of headstones, as if seeking to find a shelter against the ghosts which are assailing her.
Slipping out their knife, Ceryn splatters a flick of crimson across the circles, letting it gather and pool, "What will be serves what is." He mutters under his breath as the foliage at their feet bursts into a violent growth. Weeds, roots and bushes coil in a wide circle around the group, putting a light barrier between them and the phantoms.
Ash nods to Elora, summoning their light, drawling, "That's fine, Ceryn. I'm good at banishment." The will o' the wisps gather around them, swirling in flickering pastel shades of light as they start to move. The wisps move out to form a circle, intertwining and living in and out of the circle of brush.
Ash says, in a Tejano staccato, "All-good-here-just-banishing-a-ghost-right-fast!"
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Elora was already wary, teal eyes peeking out from behind the monument at the forming ghost. As the hail of bullets come, she ducks back behind it, letting spectral energy splash again tombstone and fly over head. Her choker glows with a wintery blue light as she weaves illusions over the specters, perhaps causing it to error in its shots, as it sees things which aren't truly there.
Ash starts their dance slow, but intentional. Their hands form mudras, shaping geometric shapes with power, and eat one thrums through the air, a ripple to the outer circle, that ripples back with a thread from a will o' wisp that takes on that shape. They only manage about two of these before they're forced to duck behind a tombstone, the thread cut and starting to wilt away.
"Too many!" Vindicta calls out as the specter takes advantage of their own corporeality, the teeny femme quickly diving behind a headstone and hunkering down for the barrage. She waits for an opening, then her thumb sends the cylinder of her revolver whirring before she pops back out. "That cheating!!" she scolds the gunslinging ghost, her pink eyes steeled before she pops off one, two, three shots of her own, striking the apparition in the stomach, the chest, and ultimately the head, causing its form to waver and then disappear for now. Scattered to the wind and forced to re-make itself.
Hand planted to the ground, Ceryn lets his own vitae pour into the soil as roots and briar continue to overlap eachother around the group, diving in the path of ghastly bullets and redoubling the verdant wall. "It's not like we have to outgun them, just need to wait until Ash finishes their thing." He murmurs out to Vindicta, "I think we have a pretty good set up here at least..." The words come out distracted as he turns his gaze to Ash's dance.
The three spirits surround Elora, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Ash surges back to nab those threads, pull them back to their slight, masculine form. They reconnect them to their aura, and begin again. Dancing with their hands, one after another, until they have formed each will o' wisp into a sigil of power and meaning. Then, again, empowering each sigil by using their arms, shoulders, and torso to create greater, larger versions, or supporting sigils. To those that recognize the form of dance called tutting, they'll recognize the style. Though those who've seen The Magicians and even Avatar the Last Airbender will gain an understanding of the sort of 'incantation' Ash is performing.
Elora has a silver choker of tangled brambles emitting a wintry blue glow, illuminating in part the harrying ghosts. As the ghosts circle her, she keeps her back to the tombstone, moving along it to keep the ghost with the pistol from having a clear shot on her. Teal eyes hold the tension of the ready, of the waiting, of the expectant, as she prepares for the coming assault. With her focus on the ghosts, not the ritual, she feels forced to call, "Is it going well?"
Ceryn finally draws up from his position in the dirt, the entanglement of roots and briar holding still as his feet trace a different path of looping sigils. "Ash's work is usually pretty fast." He comments aside as another flick of crimson vitae sends the earth at the encroaching phantoms' feet into a swirl quagmire that drags them slightly in. "Just gotta make sure they don't any real damage before they're done, aye?" The fellow continues in a calm, disconnected tone.
Walking in, Sam nods around, pausing a moment. "Yo." He seems to take a few moments to take stock of the situation.
Familiar with none of these things, Ash may as well be doing the chicken dance to Vindicta, for she stares at them in strange silence and observation. Perhaps she thinks the mercenary is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but isn't everyone in Haven a little crazy? Regardless, she does not have much time to spare when it comes to ogling that strange ritualistic dance- Elora is surrounded, and Vindicta wheels on the three spirits harrying her, lifting her revolver and firing shots at them one after the other, aiming for wider points on the spirits to ensure a lower likelihood of her bullets missing. She doesn't need kills right now, she needs impacts. She needs to stall them, and so stall them she does with salt shot after salt shot.
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
Ash calls out, "Yeah! Only a mild interruption." They've buffed the enforcing symbols, and start to make use of those threads. This, now, can easily be called dance. Their feet step, leaving marks in the soul that form arcane patterns. Their hips sway, their body twirls, their hands and arms reach out in fluid motions as they start to weave.
The threads of light follow their movements and limbs, connecting the sigil for force with the rune for out/away, braiding both together with the mark for the downward direction. Then, because they had the audacity to speak, their words to Elora become a lie. They consider dodging, evident in their facial expression, before they decide to stay form, taking the pain, rather than risk the weaving being interrupted at this stage.
Elora is at a monument, using it for cover, surrounded by ghosts -- she seems to be trying to keep the monument between her and the ghost with the gun. A good thing, when the thing starts shooting, as it keeps her protected. Her choker is glowing a faint blue, runes within it, lit up, though there isn't much discernible impact: whatever illusions she weaves, they are for the ghosts, not the others present.
After taking stock, Sam ducks behind a monument, then sluggishly heads towards where Ash is working, drawing his hunting knife and narrowing his eyes, looking at the present specters. "Need some cover, Ash?" He grins.
Another barrage in retaliation to the the troubles that Ash, Vindicta, Elora, and Ceryn seems to be giving these stubborn spirits, and the femme fatale has no choice but to duck back down behind her gravestone and wait, using that space where she cannot fire to instead gently and carefully reload more salt shotshell into the cylinder of her revolver. A patient pause traverses time where she does little more than breathe and focus her mind. Then, when she pops back up, she's firing upon that flintlock wielding fiend once again, tagging them twice in the chest and causing their form to lose its emulsion in a bursting cloud of white smoke.
Ceryn continues his idly tracing of earthen patterns along the inner edge of the bramble circle as he spots Sam, "A bit late, Sam!" He snickers, the dancing whips of his wrists spattering the occasional drop of blood from his gouged palm over his own sigils and runes. "Just some usual troublemakers, ones that have been and wish to be." The fellow explains as if it's common sense, the path in his wake becoming a chaotic myriad of sunken dirt and overgrown undergrowth.
The three spirits surround Elora, attacking and harrying her from all sides.
Elora watches Sam with some incredulity in her scrambling to stay away from harrying ghosts as he texts on his phone, but doesn't have much time to dwell on that, instead darting and moving away from them as she can, wincing in pain as a spectral cutlass grazes her when she is too slow.
"Bloody mushroom patches," Elora hisses to herself, cradling where the cut was, for all that no blood leaks from it.
Pausing calmly, Sam seems focussed on keeping the spirits quite away from Ash. When the specters surround Elora, he looks down to his phone, before tugging something out of his jacket: A human finger-bone attached to a silver chain.
Ash winces from the bullet shots that they're not defending from, calling to Sam, "Yeah, that would be nice, though Cathryn is the target. I can stand a little pain, but the less they can do to her, the better." They motion to Elora as they twirl in their dance, trying not to break too much focus. Their dance gets feverish, their steps more dynamic as the weave demands more and more energy from them, the points where the threads touching their form turning red as they suck more and more blood from under their skin.
The flintlock wielder unleashes a stream of spectral bullets, somehow not needing to reload as the group is forces to drop to the ground to avoid getting struck.
A nod to Ash, and Sam, instead of dropping, rises to his full length, moving along with Ash's dancing, trying to at least prevent it from disrupting the rite. "I reckon she can take care of herself." He nods to Elora, giving a faint smile of sorts.
Elora in her continual merry go round the monument continues in her avoidance of the bullets, hand still clasped to the spectral wound on her arm. The game of keep away from blade and bullet seems to be wearing on her. There are no happy teal eyes. Its a frustrated, dance, if one could even call it dancing, as she darts away again and again.
Ceryn takes a moment as the dance begins to wind down, sweat running down his own brow and messying the paints that had been cast upon his face. "I really need to not neglect my cardio..." He murmurs to himself, eyes drawn over to Ash as he begins to wind a braid of twine around his bloodied palm, "You nearly done over there, 'arn?"
The flintlock-wielding ghost seems to be trigger happy today, but Vindicta doesn't seem to mind- she's the type that is just as happy to fight fire with fire- ducking behind tombstones, waiting it out, then popping out herself to unleash her own barrage of bullets and shells in turn.
Ash smiles softly, acknowledging Sam's statement, but not adding another of their own. Their dance is reaching its conclusion, and they focus on finishing it correctly. Thread upon thread, weave and weft both, symbols tied and charged. "It comes, and they go, as is right and should. Be banished and rest - Begone!" They stop suddenly, a mandala of light rippling out from them, as the ritual completes.
The three spirits begin to convulse and shake, they quickly move to grip each other, forming a tight circle as they spin faster and faster, strange orchestral music flowing through the air from nowhere before suddenly they are sucked down into the ground and vanish.