[center][b][h3]Kelthis[/h3][/b][/center]

A whispering of air followed Prothos's final statement, stirring through to caress those inside the room. For the briefest moment, the light behind the golden throne shifted, allowing a patch of shadow to form. Springing from this smallest opening, Kelthis's form appeared to rotate and expand, changing from a vertical line to one of a recognizable humanoid figure wreathed in a cloak. No light broke through the covering of the hood despite the abundance of illumination in the room, a solid, impassive front against the outside world. Cloth-wrapped arm lifted, laying a gloved hand upon the left arm of the throne. Not once had the cloak shifted during the entirety of the sequence.

"It's about that time, isn't it?" Running his hand slowly along the arm of the chair, the glove encasing the appendage developed streaks of gold along the back, made to run across the contours of Kelthis's hand. A smile tugged at his lips, hidden by the shadows of the cloak. Control returned afterwards, necessitating his withdrawing his hand back to the folds of his clothing. Turning to face the two other gods already in the room, Kelthis's clothing melted away, replaced procedurally by a incarnadine silk doublet and pants. It would be impossible for any mortal to discern the features of his face, difficult even for gods. Settling on a plain visage with reserved features, Kelthis willed his clothing to a brown woolen state. Better.

"Greetings, my brothers. Ages has it been since this throne was last occupied. I only hope that the one worthy of that seat is chosen. Which you seem to take as Prothos, Onhiel." Settling himself into one of the seats opposite the pair of gods, Kelthis's eyes flickered between purple and yellow even as they examined his companions. He cocked his head to the side, calculated to be just noticeable yet not intrusive so that Onhiel would notice his 'curiosity.'

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[center][b][h3]Faeros[/h3][/b][/center]

The Deep Woods, shadowed and cloistered by the venerable trees whose age was far beyond that of a mortal man's. Paths wound their way through the stands of trunks, multitudinous strings connecting the Forest Cities of Faeros to each other and the outside world. Many might have found the silence and brooding presence of the Deep Woods imposing, constricting, even frightening, but to the inhabitants of the assorted city-states it was simply another facet of their life. Hundreds scurried along the roads, sometimes alone, often times in scores, merchant caravans bound with goods for a destination which would bring them the greatest profit.

Frontier posts ranged across the true heart of the Deep Woods, truly sequestered from civilization. Here did the woodsmen work, bringing in precious timbers and rare materials from these seldom traveled regions of the world. Many also doubled as warders, sometimes specifically operating as one, ranging out in missions that could take days or weeks, maintaining a constant vigil against any that might approach the Faerosian cities through this vector.

On the coastal plains and wetlands, farmers labored under the gaze of sun and cloud to bring their harvest, finish their craft, or tend to their family. Many lived respectable lives, provided for by the merchants in coin and goods for the nourishment which they delivered to the cities. Yet it did not matter where in Faeros one lived, for all knew something was changing. Priests, such as they existed in the largely privatized followings of Kelthis, told of incredible successes against original hopes. Compounding these favorable reports were the tidings of the sorcerers, many harnessing their abilities in amounts previously considered rare. All of Faeros waited, all of Faeros planned. A change was coming, and they would be ready.