Yros

it is not a familiar face that starts the storytelling; it is an aged wolf that no one seems to know even as everyone seems at ease with their presence despite that. they move among the crowd, their ashen coat plush and well-cared for, nodding here and there as they twine around bodies and make their way to the heart of the bardic gathering:

a great bonfire.

an idol, created in the shape of their allmother, burns at its heart - made of heat-resistant metals and gleaming red-hot at the center of the flames. offerings and gifts crackle in the fire along with the effigy and they turn the flames into multicolored splashes, the scent of various herbs turning the smoke heady and soothing. ale and snacks are passed freely about as the courts mingle, more at ease here - without the sharp eye of the matriarch and her heralds - as evening begins its quiet descent unto the land.

but the stranger climbs a log set behind the bonfire and regards them all with a keen, gleaming gaze. "children of the allmother," she croons with a sly smirk. you see some older wolves shift, ears tipping back and brows furrowing as they seem to realize something about this stranger - but no one speaks their name or interrupts their call. "come, share your tales and historic stories. spin yarn and grow bonds closer." a paw lifts to gesture vaguely at them all. "do a good job and perhaps there will be a boon for you."

Notes about Storytelling

• you don't have to create lore/a story/anything to post, you can just be here to observe
  
• it's encouraged to create some fun stories! little lore to explain whatever you'd like - traditions or sayings or explanations of the weather or whatever you'd like!
  
• take a peek at our wiki for established lore
  
• these will find their own place on the lore page for site-wide knowledge!
  
• no one knows who the ashy stranger is but you feel like maybe you've heard of them... a witch, perhaps?
  
• a prize for the "best story" may be given out! keep your eyes peeled
  

she creeps in slowly, lantern eyes bright as she beholds the mad delight of the festival. she's never seen one before, too young to remember a time before the fall of the courts and the claustrophobic press of all three in one hall. bliss can barely remember seeing the matriarch before - has she ever? or was the sighting a dream from the start? - and she's lightheaded with the heady air that settles over the cordillera.

but she's coaxed from the gilded halls of the high court by the croon of the songwood, a sweet berceuse that promises wonder. and when she arrives to the unknown wolf pacing before an eager little crowd, her brows shoot up in interest.

stories! she thinks with delight, her lips twisting up in a broad smile as she finds a place around the bonfire. she's not sure she has anything to add - especially with so many older, seemingly experienced wolves about - but she's never one to pass us the chance to hear a tale.