Blood and Rain
They were a single, unified vanguard, waiting for the blessing of the Old Gods.
Maeve stood at the northern lip of the central circle, her usual tavern apron replaced by the heavy, ceremonial robes of a High Covenant Priestess. The fabric was a deep, midnight black, embroidered with silver lunar phases that seemed to catch the flickering violet light of the brazier. Her silver hair fell loose around her shoulders, rippling in a supernatural wind that blew from no discernible direction. Beside her stood Kiarra, her eyes already glowing with a bright, iridescent amber as she held a heavy stone bowl filled with the ritual binding ink.
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