uh-oh, oops, whoops, oopsie-daisy!

[Mondsichel]

The next thing-- or was it the FIRST thing?-- the little fuzzball knew, she was in a dark place of thorns and knotted vines. Jagged leaves darkened the sky above, and the ground under her fluffy butt was prickly with needles and soft with thick leaf litter. She could taste the damp, earthy decay on her tongue, as her silver-rimmed eyes blinked the darkness back.

"Wh... Wuh?" The sound sputtered in her mouth, as she pushed herself upright, pawing dirt off of her cheek. "... Where am I?" She formed her first sentence; a boring and typical thing to ask. Her ears flicked, wobbling like reeds in the wind... But there was no wind here; the thick undergrowth and massive overgrowth blocked out the air in all directions.

She both immediately felt like there was a place outside of this one, and (despite the tremendous urge to explore) that this was sacred. Not like she shouldn't be here... No, the exact opposite. This was... Home? It seemed so strange.

... Well... Maybe she could investigate. The little black creature crawled on to her feet and spread her wings, giving a hesitant flap to feel the lift they would give. Squinting, she reached out to a nearby thorny vine and began to climb her way up, flapping intermittently to adjust to the sensation.

Okay, she thought, I'm ready. Are you ready? She wasn't sure who she was asking... Maybe she was asking... this place? If this place was ready for her to leave? What a strange thing to do. But all of it felt strange, and familiar, and with each flap of her wings, she was starting to feel excited.

"Let's do this!" She called out, pushing off of the vine she had climbed up and taking flight with a delighted squeal.

Prayer Roll:

Rolling 1d20: 11

[Mondsichel]

Flying through the tangle of spiny growths was not exactly an easy task. She had to sweep one way and then the other, and quite nearly several times did she almost over-correct, sending herself spinning toward a tree. She yelped and yipped and squeaked, but kept climbing higher and higher, until she could finally reach out her paws and grasp with her fingers at the tangle of branches that blotted out the sky.

Listen, she thought with determination. I'm going to see what's out there. You're going to help me, aren't you? She insisted to nothing at all, scrambling her way up on to one of the branches and shoving away the spiked leaves that tried to catch in her feathers.

The trees, admittedly, were kind to her. Though their leaves looked sharp and bristly, they didn't prick into her fingers the same way that the thorny vines did bellow. Carefully and cautiously, she climbed higher up through the canopy. Did we make this? She asked, breathing shallow in her tiny lungs. ... It's so big. Every once and a while she'd glance down at the dizzying world bellow, filled with twisting plantlife and a quiet, calm stillness.

Before long she reached the top, poking her head out of the massive, mile-long thicket, and saw the purple sky above, painted in hues from the two moons that hung over head.

"... wow," she breathed. "It's beautiful..." She stared out at the endless sea of vines, illuminated in the faint glow of the pale moons. She curled her fingers gently around one of the leaves, tasting the fresh air with each deep inhale. The gratitude poured out from her, a soft whisper shared to the world for gifting her with this moment. "... thank you."

Prayer Roll:

Rolling 1d20: 2

[Storyteller Dark]

Like the swell of a tide before the breaker, the voice was felt before it was heard: a low bass boom in Monday's mind.

I MADE THIS. A correction, confirmation, and with it pride. The voice... was not a voice, but thoughts. It was something strong... something powerful and it seemed to reverberate throughout the Tangle, despite making no true sound.

YOU WILL HELP YOURSELF, LITTLE PIECE OF THE MOON. There was a pause, then, and a voice again, though this time it almost seemed to be speaking to someone else.

IT IS NOT CUTE. Another pause. IT IS A SMALL PIECE OF MY POWER. IT IS--A TINY KILLER! These words held some faint protest; and then came a final address toward Monday herself.

CONTINUE YOUR PRAYER. I WILL BE WATCHING YOU CLOSELY, LITTLE ONE. REMEMBER THAT YOU ARE STRONG--AS I HAVE MADE YOU.

The voice faded, then; but the presence lingered, a sense of pride, strength, and toughness resonating throughout the Tangle. This place was savage: but it was strong.

____________

Mondsichel has earned the achievement:

Shaman - Establish contact with the [UNDISCOVERED]

Mondsichel

[Mondsichel]

An answer came, and it surprised her! A delighted little "mmmrp?!" shot through the roof of her mouth, her ears pricking to point together like an arrow toward the endless sky. It didn't occur to her to look around, because as far as she could tell, the sensation was coming from deep inside of her.

It extended out through the Tangle, and she stared off into the middle distance as though she could see the ripple the powerful voice caused. "Who are you?" She asked softly, with quiet awe. The voice, now distant, didn't answer her questions directly.

Remember...

It was the voice of her creator... Her... Maker. She could feel it close, her Maker pressed in around her and spread through each tangled vine. It took her a moment to soak in the Maker's words to heart, but she did so with all the courage she had been gifted. Her Maker had called her a piece of the moon-- which one? she wondered-- and she stared up at the two hanging in the sky.

... If she was a piece of her Maker's power, and a piece of the moon, did that mean her Maker was one of those moons? Or maybe, the moon was their eye, watching over her. She tilted her head.

"I'm Mondsichel," she decided, lifting her head and wriggling out from the tangled branches so she could stretch herself high against the winds that rustled above the dark brush beneath. "You can call me your Moonsickle, and I'll call you my Maker, how's that sound? Moon-maker." She grinned, tiny ivory teeth flashing.

Alright. It was time to see what else her Maker had made.

[Mondsichel]

With a wriggle of her body, she tensed up every muscle before springing into the air. A few furious flaps of her wings and soon she was airborne, feathers catching on updrafts. She spread out her paws, grasping at air with delight, and began to dip and dive above the Tangle.

The breeze was crisp in the cool night air, the taste still cool and clean on her tongue. Her bright big eyes kept catching the moons above, and her delighted thoughts kept reaching out to her Maker. How did you make all of this? She wondered, it's so huge!

The Tangle stretched on for what seemed like infinity (she was, after all, quite small--) but she poured over the gnarled roots and thorns with wonder and joy. To others it might have been a big sign saying "STAY AWAY" plain as day, but considering Monday had been born into the protective briar, she didn't know a different world.

She barely knew this one, after all! But she loved it already.

Perception

Rolling 1d20: 20

[Storyteller Dark]

Most of the Tangle was the same in its chaos: twisted dark vines a foot across, thorns eight inches broad. The dark canopy lifted and fell like waves of the sea held motionless, a tumultous throng of black forest.

It would be easy, then, to overlook--even from the air--a piece sticking out from the rest. It would be natural to assume it another of many clusters of trees making up the forest's disarray. But-... There was something, something that would catch the 'Little Piece Of Moon's' eye, something far, far in the west. At the absolute border of the Tangle there stood a piece, black against the dark and shadowed rim of the Caldera that rose, wall-like, behind it. It shone with a dull gleam in the moonlight, barely-visible:

A perfectly straight black spire, monolithic, twisted and overgrown with webs of the huge vines. Perhaps Mondsichel could not recognize the parallel lines of a building, or the unnatural glint of black glass and steel gone filthy with years of disuse, but there it stood; jutting from the far edge of the Tangle, as if waiting for her.

Mondsichel