All told, this Storytelling is rather serene. Ziziphus has not yet been charted in full, and so there is no need to look to the horizon for your next destination just yet. It is a moment to breathe and to share your stories, for once without the air of urgency, and hopefully you will find it welcome.

( You know what comes next, adventurers. )

Surprise, surprise, islanders: you're due for another lecture from your friendly neighborhood deity. An ocelot sits before the sprawling campfire on the beaches of Mu, grooming one paw - a paw that, on second glance, will prove to not be a paw at all, but a delicate cloven hoof.

"While I am not pleased with your intrusion," says the Storyteller, "it does not mean that nothing should come of it. You've doubtless glimpsed many things, most of which you were never meant to see. I suppose that's what some might call the wizard behind the curtain."

Some. Not all. They don't care to elaborate.

"Given that you're so interested in how the islands on this archipelago come to be, I will provide you with the choice," and here they stress the word with a calm switch of their spotted tail, "as to what sort of land you would prefer to brave next. I cannot promise safe travels, but I can guarantee the manner of materials those new lands may contain."

Four round dollops of sand wobble at the Storyteller's hooved feet, as though shaped by invisible hands, trembling, jellylike in the imaginary night breeze.

"The first...I have glimpsed flora and vegetation that may benefit you - for food, for medicinal purposes, for whatever you may see fit. The second bears something that I suspect can be used to fashion buildings, tools - an ore, of some sort. The third is...loud, terribly loud. A great many people live there, and they do not seem innately hostile. The fourth is full of noises, too, but of a different sort. I suspect a large number of beasts live there; perhaps tameable, perhaps docile, and perhaps not."

Their hooves have sunk into the sand, their amber gaze fixed and unblinking at some distant point on the horizon. Then, abruptly, they straighten, and the tension clenching their slim, felid frame eases.

"...cast your votes, if you wish. Whichever you choose, I will take us there."

( Something else comes next, adventurers. )

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.

( Wait...what does come next, adventures? )

It's beginning to become an awful habit, turning the beginning of these nights into an information session.

Still. It is rather effective.

( Read more... )

This Storytelling is prefaced with another oddity; a snow-white ape with a set of dark antlers flowering out from the crown of their head has hunkered down before a great stone door - the same as the one that some may have seen in the monkeys' compound, or that older inhabitants may have seen in the temple set upon the island's mountain. The symbol rears out from the stone with glaring impenetrability.

The Storyteller eyes it for a brief moment before turning to face the dreamers.

"It seems we are at an impasse," they say, matter-of-fact as ever. "In the end, certain consequences cannot be avoided. This symbol limits my influence and keeps me out from whatever lies within. And therefore, by extension, all of you."

Can you tell where this is going, islanders?

"If there is something hidden in the chambers of this island - my home and yours - then it may be dangerous. It may be helpful. And it must be evaluated." Their tone brooks little to no argument. Mostly, as it happens, the latter. "It is for this reason that I have brought you here somewhat earlier than usual. You may need to arm yourselves for what approaches."

May is the pivotal word there, but with so much of the future steeped in uncertainty, caution is surely the wisest course of action - even the necessary one.

"Tell your stories. Keep faith with one another. Beyond these doors, my reach cannot save you, but that does not mean you are helpless."

On that solemn note, the dream warps, slowly settling into the warm light of a large campfire.

( You know what comes next, adventurers. )

Mm, yep. This sure is a tagcloud.