misfitmiskatonic » Clan | Lair | Nesting Grounds

misfitmiskatonic's Clan

fox breath, sethis poision....

Venerable Lair

hidden in the

Foxfire Bramble

Clan Info

Beneath the branches of the Tangled Wood and unamusing woven brambles of Foxfire Bramble, the faint hum of activity, like the muffled roar of a party and pounding music from outside a building, creeps along the muddy forest floor betwixt your claws, traveller.

Before you, stands an entrance. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, a simple tunnel, really, messily woven but artful, in the way nature is though capricious in this part of Sorenith, like something had all but dug out a piece of the earth to lay inside and peer out with hungry, glowing eyes and kneading claws - though, something far bigger than dragon. The telling growl of a beast never comes, leaving the impression it was, actually, dragon made despite its natural flair. The decorum woven into each tightly wound, faintly glowing bramble is another such indicator. Feathers, skulls of beasts long since passed, jars filled with the mushrooms that bright beauty to the corners of the Wispwillow grove lighting the way just as far as the eye can see in before a faint glow further on flickers against the walls as a wet, prickly fog clings the ground and tar-toned grass that manages to sprout up between the mud - inviting, alluring, but intimidating, in the sort of way a Witch’s den might be.

No matter the trepidation, traveller, whether you are here for a purpose or drawn in by the unusual warmth contrasting the cool breeze between the thin trees of the Tangled Wood, you brave the tunnel as if made to by that strange pull…

To lay eyes upon...something one wholly wouldn’t expect for this tar crusted corner of Sorenith. A square, homely and humble but grand in it’s stature of being unlikely. Shops and structures crafted from dark wood and posts line the sides of the dome-like form of the brambles now reaching up high above you and reach toward its top, antiqued windows in their fronts, displaying wares from more scavenged decor of that charming, supernatural and old world feel to dragons laughing and sipping concoctions whilst gaming with chess pieces and quills in hand. Dragons and...beasts alike of all sizes, colors, and types with lanterns strapped in some way ti their person spilling from these shops to walking and talking in the square, some leaning against or admiring a statuesque fountain in it’s center - spitting blue toned, luminescent water from the mouth of a stone carved Serthis clinging to it’s side and leaning over the tops edge, looking almost forlorn rather than spiteful.

A harmony can be felt here, beastclans and dragons interacting in a peaceful square independent but not absent of familial bonds. Like a land, a lair, a town, really, lost to the tensions of the outside, warring world.

It’s almost overwhelming enough to get lost in, until the voice of a rather well spoken coatl, humming accent on each of his words, breaks your train of thought and what may possibly look like a stupor to a few, concerned looking dragons - notably an iridescent, sunny looking coatl and spotted skydancer.

He, sickly in color for a coatl what with his soft, peachy coat and russet feathers and accents of winding smoke, speaks up in an even, almost shy, but friendly voice.

“Hey stranger, welcome to the Foxhole! And...by extension, the lair of the Misfit Miskatonic. Is...there something I can help you with? You look a little...lost?”

Maybe. But maybe not any longer. Because once the lost step foot in the Miskatonic, they so often and thus ever after, have been found.