(Xanthium draws the multitude of tears and pleats from her shroud and skirt about herself, stepping lightly upon the grass in her bare feet. Her pace turns into a spin, those same strips of cloth spiraling out like tendrils in her dance's breeze. Her face is mostly shadowed under the trailing veil, but the silvered orbs of her near-black eyes catch the shimmer of the moons overhead.)
You see Emissary Xanthium.
She appears to be a Half-Elf from Ta'Faendryl.
She is of a towering height and has a lithesome, nimble build. She appears to be very young. She has argent-haloed indigo eyes and pale porcelain skin. She has long, cascading raven black hair parted far off to the left side, with the right side twisted around a red garnet-veined midnight black glaes shard in a web-like spiral of styling. She has a fine-boned, heart-shaped face, a long, narrow nose and a bow of lush, mulberry red lips.
She has a viridian thorn-pierced wisp armband tattoo lined with blooming tendrils on her arm.
She is in good shape.
She is wearing an ebon silk face veil, a bright ribbon-twined wristlet with some flawless bronze finger cymbals hanging from it, a spiderweb shroud, a slender bracelet of vaalin-webbed black glaes, a silver-twined black stone censer, and a deeply-pleated skirt composed of billowing dark orchid silk scarves.
Xanthium proposes, "This is a story about the corners of the world still left unexplored, and you all know what I mean. Not those places too far away, but too close and daunting. Within those fens, darkwoods and bogs, dreams rustle and stir, and you dare not give them the attention of your eyes, for entry into your soul is sure to follow."
Faint tendrils of incense drift through the air, the nightshade-scented smoke dispersing about the black stone censer on Xanthium's belt.
Xanthium says, "Once upon a time, there was an old man, living in the shadow of the southern Dragonspine, the cleft of forests between Malleigh and Barrett's Gorge. He lived alone, and unlike most hermits, Granch was not rejecting the world, but rather the reverse, being expelled like poison from a wound. For Granch was a vile man, dispossessed of all but the grime and stench that clung to him like a caul of fetid swamp."
Xanthium quickly adds, "Granch lived in a one-room shack of tin and wood with his three hounds, which were nearly as mad and mean as the old man himself. He and the dogs would scour the valley for whatever they could run down and kill. Rodents and rabbits and the like, terrified, wild-eyed creatures, and Granch would have to wrench their savaged corpses from his dogs' grisly repast."
(Xanthium pauses to lean back, spreading her hands outward and up to the stars overhead, as if offering herself for their cold, far away gaze. She spins again, drawing one knee up to cross over the other, her hips curling into the movement like a bolt of silk fluttering over an open window. The lithe movement sets her finger cymbals against her wrists, the soft jingling the only sound outside of her story.)
Indigo web-like patterns rise up into the air, as the faint scent of nightshade emanates from the black stone censer on Xanthium's belt.
Xanthium elaborates, "There were rumors about this part of the wilderness, besides warnings about Granch and his wretched curs. Stories about creatures who had fled north following the Third Elven War, after being released by the Faendryl who Summoned them from beyond the valence. They were once shadow made alive, and had bred with the valley's inhabitants, hidden hybrids lying in wait."
(Xanthium stops her twirl, and steps forward again, arched toes touching down first, and then sending her heel down with some force, enough that it creates a soft thump countering the ring of her cymbals, crafting a deep rhythm to go with her words. She makes her steps wider, circling the garden, and soon the rustling, the night's wind, fluttering moths, chirping crickets and warbling nightbirds join her chorus.)
Dipping her hand into a nearby bowl, Xanthium scoops up a handful of seeds and tosses it upon the ground.
Clusters of ravens flock to the offering and chitter with one another as they peck away at the seed. It only takes a matter of seconds for them to completely consume the offered meal, though they still stand around chirping at each other for a few moments more. Rising as one, they take to the air and glide away.
Xanthium grins slowly.
Xanthium raptly intones, "One late winter, the hermit went through a long spell of few catches, his traps were empty, his snares barren. He and his dogs got leaner and meaner, still, no food was to be found. To make things worse, the moons began to wane in tandem, and each night, the woods grew darker, making his fruitless hunts even more fraught with danger. And finally, one night, the moons turned their faces away from the world, and true night began, with Granch starving by starlight."
A trickle of nightshade-scented smoke rises languidly up from the black stone censer on Xanthium's belt.
Xanthium animatedly says, "He kept on, straining and snarling alongside his fell hounds in the night, roaming through thickets of brambles and still-falling snow, desperate for anything to slake the fire in his belly. And just as he was about to give in, give up...something dark flickered and dashed across the ribbon of starshine on the snow."
(Xanthium curls her back into a long, graceful arch, reaching so far behind herself her palms nearly touch the grass. She holds the pose with great effort, hovering just above her own heels, and then tucks her hands into the folds of her shroud. She draws out the long, sinuous shape of a serpent, the dark green coils glinting in the starshine. The viper slides across her arms like a ribbon, crossing over her chest and winding about her narrow waist and flared hips.)
Xanthium lifts her leaf green viper over her head and across the back of her neck, where it flexes in a languid undulation. When the viper finishes, it slowly relaxes, allowing its neck and tail to drape across Xanthium's shoulders and across the front of her torso.
Xanthium gives a playful grin and begins to sway, her body moving in perfect time to an unheard melody. Her rhythm increases slowly, and she caresses the leaf green viper coiled around her shoulders as she moves, clearly mimicking its sinuous movements to great effect.
Xanthium fervently says, "Driven so by hunger, the old man struck like a coiled asp, slicing down with his machete toward where the shape slid, even beating his dogs to it- and he came back with something. He carried the wounded flesh back over to his lantern, and saw that it was disappointingly small, not even the whole creature- in fact, it was a long, black, scaled shank- a tail, or tendril. Like nothing he had ever seen."
Xanthium smoothly says, "But Granch, he didn't pause- so ravenous he was, he ripped the skin off and didn't bother to cook it, gobbling it down raw, leaving only a few patches of bloody scales for his hounds. It tasted foul, as most things did to Granch, and wasn't nearly enough. But it would have to be, as the sky started to cloud up, taking what little light it had away. So still hungry, and cold, Granch returned to his squalid old room."
Xanthium coldly recites, "With no light left in sky, and no other food to be found, Granch wrapped himself up in his dusty pallet, to find some distraction from his hunger and the cold. But before he'd even settled, he heard a whistling wind pass through the valley, like a strangled scream. He listened hard, and all was silent...until..."
Xanthium forlornly whispers aloud, "Far out into the gloom, he heard a voice, a dry, scratchy, voice, and it called across the night sky, "Tenta-Cull, Tenta-Cull, who's got my Tenta-Cull?"."
(Xanthium shimmies forward and back again, and the large snake draped around her body slithers crossways from her thigh to her shoulder, seeking to keep its grip about her. The coils create a sound of their own, and she strokes the serpent with her long fingers and the edge of the cymbals, hissing the last cry of "Tenta-Cull" onto the snake's flickering, inquistive tongue.)
Xanthium gently runs a hand across her leaf green viper, gently trailing fingers across its form in a delicate caress.
Xanthium hesitantly says, "He peered out of his door, and listened close...but saw and heard nothing, just the endless black. So finally, he told himself it was nothing but dreams, and went back to bed. Barely had his head hit the pillow, when he heard the strange cry again, only this time, much closer. And again, the same voice, hissing, "Tenta-Cull! Tenta-Cull! Who's got my Tenta-Cull!", followed this time by more sinister shrieking, traveling through the wind, coming closer..."
Xanthium desperately says, "Granch sprang up, and this time opened the door and let his starving dogs out, let them chase after whatever was making those awful sounds, and put it down. They tore out into the wood, baying and snarling, the sounds echoing off of the mist, until...one dog stopped, the noise breaking off, followed by another, and then the last. Granch called for them, shouted for them, fumed after them, but nothing but his own voice could be heard now."
Xanthium continues, "Shrieking a curse to the sky, Granch slammed his door shut, and ran back to his bed, terrified to his bones. He pulled the sheet up to his chin, and waited, and waited...the howling sound was echoing still, and now joined by sounds of rustling, hissing...right outside his shack. He swore again, and as the breath left his mouth, the cold mist brushed across something in the dark. Two glimmering eyes, on the other side of the room, followed by a slithering clatter..."
Xanthium shrieks, "Tenta-Cull! Tenta-Cull! WHERE IS MY TENTA-CULL!"
You hear very soft footsteps.
Alisaire mildly says, "Good evening."
(Xanthium turns again under the moons, bringing herself closer to the audience, and her voice goes from the resonant recital into a melodic trill that then crashes straight into a wail so vibrant and thrumming the grass and the air seems to spasm with her. Even the viper rears up to stare at her, the wedge-shaped head gazing about with lambent amber eyes.)
Xanthium exclaims, "The slitted eyes flickered again, at the foot of his bed, getting closer, and in their yellow light he could see the creature's tapering, scaled head, black as Luukos' maw, and a wide, gaping mouth, filled with venom-laced, pointed teeth...shadows swirled about them both as the creature howled once more "WHERE IS MY TENTA-CULL!"
(Xanthium bounds forward suddenly toward the audience, her long shroud, skirt, and writhing snake rippling like fluid in the dense night air as she looms near. She thrusts her arms up into the air, clutching them into hooked claws, advancing in a circle toward each face in her gaze.)
Xanthium screams, "YOU HAVE IT!"
Xanthium gently runs a hand across her leaf green viper, gently trailing fingers across its form in a delicate caress.
Xanthium smoothly continues, "The moons turned like dancers in the sky, pulling their skirts back 'round, and winter faded to spring. Years flowed on, and two things were heard, and passed on. One, that no one ever saw Granch or his dogs again."
Xanthium concludes, "And the other: to this day, if you go wandering in those woods, in late winter, when the true night falls, and the light becomes a glimmer on snowfall, you will hear that plaintive, keening cry..."
Xanthium raspily screeches, "Tenta-Cull! Tenta-Cull! Now I've got my Tenta-Cull!"
Xanthium smiles a tiny, predatory smile, and slides her fingers across the snake again, calming her with a few massaging touches across her brilliant green scales. The serpent perches once more across her shoulders, the bright eyes glowing with suffused light alongside Xanthium's silver-ringed stare. She spreads her skirts, and takes a long, graceful bow.
Xanthium drops into a deep curtsy, moving smoothly as her arms sweep grandly to her sides.