The shadow walked nameless paths, lurking in the undergrowth, he prayed upon those who stumbled across, ensuring their misery, no matter how petty. His favourites were sabotage and quiet thievery. Normally he would toss whatever valuables he had taken, in an inconvenient place far from the owner. The jewels of one naive merchant took his curiosity. One of the precious stones in particular, a glassy shard faintly blue.

To a less educated man, it might've appeared as just another trinket. But spying makes you learned. And Gutch has been eavesdropping in the shadows since the age of fog, before true sunlight graces Ashuru. Gutch recognised this stone; he had seen others like it. Intuitively, he knew what he must do. He began scheming fervently. 

As he schemed, he walked. And he whispered as he walked. He ignored travellers, he forgot his prey. He focused on the blue gem. As he whispered his secrets into it. It responded. It pulsed with the energy of the world and the will of true knowledge flowing through it. By this point in his arcane lifecycle, each word pained him. It stung to use his mangled tongue to focus the energy to speak, and the stronger his words warped reality for those around him the more damage inflicted on him. The years of his silver tongue were past, he was limited now. And the burning from the ritual outside the Gatehouse stung fresh with each word. But he ignored the pain, even savouring the sensation. He told the stone everything, the whole truth he knew. It was more true words than he ever spoke in his life. In fact a lot of it was the truth about all the lies he had told, the crimes, the deceit and corruption. He took great pleasure in reminiscing nostalgically in pained, torturous detail. 

Time passed, the Celestial bodies spun, life went on. The shadow slunk towards the outskirts of a settlement. He glimpsed at the stone that commanded him, he was bewitched. It was now cloudy, black as night. It looked a lot like his shadow shard, but not sharp. 

Like any worthy wizard, he knew to follow his gut. The people here were obviously nomadic, but they appeared bound to many people. And things. The place was crowded and bustling, perfect for things to subtly collapse into tears. His curse had preceded him, these people had use of coin but could not afford the luxury of keeping it clean. Maybe they didn't know the patchy rusted chunks of metal were meant to gleam brightly. Gutch watched a group of rough, rag-bound men exchange a handful of stained coins. It seemed all these people carried knives. The man being paid carried a mace and stood out as the armed enforcer/guardian of this group. One of them at least

None of his friends noticed the cloaked shadow following him closely. But they all subconsciously realised something around him was tainted. Two elders muttered dark things as he wandered to the outskirts to check his steed. He was mid action when he was unexpectedly barged into. He looked offended before calling out as the cloaked man conspicuously dropped something before him. Gutch hurried off. Gwyn, the man, sighed and took a closer look at the object. It was strange. Smooth. Dark. Alluring. He picked it up and looked at it. He put it in his pouch, with his handfuls of rusty coins. 

Gwyn, like many parents, did not know what he was doing. Like most people, he rarely did. It didn't matter any more. He knew what to do now. He strutted through camp, guided by his right leg. On which his fat purse rattled conspicuously. At the top, his proud new find gleamed darkly. He found himself by the family campfire. 

It was late now. He had never been close with his daughter. He didn't bother her now. It was late. She was sitting with her aunt. Helan's mother had died during birth. Despite her absent father, she was fortunate to have a sprawling family that raised her. This existing distance is why no one took mind when Gwyn joined the fire wordlessly. Instead gazing into the flames, until the camp was gripped by sleep. 

That night, Helan a very strange dream. It felt more vivid and real than she typically dreamt. She was woken by a draught. All was quiet. There was no light aside the embers and the moons. She heard movement, and looked around slowly, sitting up inconspicuously to see a cloaked figure warming his hands in the remains of the fire. He was surrounded by her sleeping relatives.   

Gutch looked at her. His dark mask was covered by a simple piece of pale linen. The rest of him was hidden behind the cloak. Her eyes widened. "Who are you?" He replied: "The man on the moon." But she could not remember his voice. When he pointed upwards, her eyes followed. The pale sister hung large in the sky. Closer than usual. As she moon gazed, she heard the figure walk off. By the morning, she felt tired and confused. Unsure what to make of what had happened. She had been struck with a deep yearning and fascination as she had gazed at the vast body in the sky. 

By the morning, it was all distant. Her aunt noticed that she was distant. Helan her aunt off when she asked what was wrong. Helan recounted the details to the group of elderly wise women among them. They bickered among themselves before presenting unhelpful observations on the unseen world that she didn't really understand. She tried brushing it off as a strange dream. But that night as she drifted off too sleep she gazed at the moon. A pit of longing, and uncertainty ruminated in hee stomach. Getting to sleep was difficult. She did not speak to her father all day. 

That is why she woke with a gasp, shocked when her father woke her suddenly late in the night. It was pitch dark and a thick mist hung in the air. Her aunt woke silently beside Helan. Gwyn presumed her asleep. His tone was urgent. "Come. Now girl. We must go!" Gwyn grabbed her wrist, dragged Helan to her feet, and pulled her into the dark. Her aunt followed quietly. "As they weaved around their sleeping relatives the girl protested quietly, scared to bother the others."Why? Where are we going? What about the others?" He hushed her. She knew better than to upset her father. They got to the treeline and Gwyn peered around. He looked scared, he was pale in the moonlight. They both were. She was too scared and too focused on keeping up with her father's urgent pace to notice the huge moon that hung ominously above them, lighting up the dense forest in an otherworldly light. Her aunt was unsettled by the moon's unusual behaviour but she was more focused on keeping up with the fleeing pair. Gwyn spoke with an urgent tone, "We are going to meet your husband." She left the weighty statement to simmer. "Where is that?" He looked back at her. She was scared. "Where the earth will kiss the moon." They continued trampling through the forest, leading up to a steep ridge line. She now noticed the huge moon looming. 

Her eyes widened. Over the ridge, the trees ceased. A cloaked figure was standing on a spur of land jutting out from the steep drop. They sky was filled with the pale sister. Gwyn approached, pulling her along. She didn't know how to feel. What to do. She went along reluctantly. As they neared, the figure turned. His face covered by a pale sheet. He reached a hand out. She flinched,  Gwyn wordlessly handed her wrist to the figure. She had seen this man before. His skin was cold and his grasp made her skin crawl. He pulled her towards the edge. She was stunned by the size of the pale sister. Bigger than a mountain, cast across the sky before them. The sight seemed to calm her. Or at least the scale and strangeness of the night had stupified her. She loped forward, eyes fixed on the moon.

The pair stepped off of the edge. The world fell away. The moon was no long in front of her. But the moon still filled her vision. Her mind spun. She realises she was looking down. The moon was closer than she had ever been. She looked up. She stood completely still. Frozen in shock. She recognised forests, and rivers, and mountains. Far far away. Straight above her. She didn't know what to think. How to feel. This was all so strange. It seems like the man on the moon had taken her home with him. But she had mostly forgotten him, her mind was busy with other things. And she did not consider that his words were not true. 

Gutch stepped forward, leaving Helan behind. He strode slowly and surely. Each step he took, he sank a little more into the pale sister's surface. The moons surface was entirely a cold white fine powder, that behaved like quicksand as he waded slowly into a drift. He shook himself to seep into the sand faster. He quickly left the girl behind, frozen looking down onto the world. He soak his ancient bones deep into the pale moon dunes; and had left the voice of the shadow on Ashuru, fueling the distraught Gwyn's downfall. The clan struggled to believe Helan's aunts accounts of Gwyn leading Helen to a man that whisked her off to the moon; but Gwyn and Helen were both gone without a trace. The elder group of women recognised some alarming similarities between the story and what Helen had told them.