When the Helpers are pleased enough with the number of gathered motes and everyone has gathered up their lantern cages, the group follow a glowing trail of the glimmering things out into the dark swamp. In their wake the glowing nudibranches follow along as though the motes might lead them to a food source. The lanterns lead them, blazing brighter when they are going the correct way, dimmer when they stray.
The way is winding and in the absolute darkness, the swamp feels unrecognisable and somehow more silent than it ever is. There is something disturbing about the heavy dark that has settled over them all, and the further they go, the harder it seems to be to even remember what a sunny day looked or felt like. Had it ever been sunny? Had it ever been warm? The concept of summer’s oppressive heat feels distant in a world where even the moon’s light seems to be sapped away to nothing at all.
But the motes guide them through the darkness, hovering around them all, seemingly drawn to the bright markings of their guides and the lanterns they carry in their teeth. The creator buck enlists his tenacious companion to pull a rudimentary wooden wagon along behind him.
It feels like hours they walk for, deeper and deeper into the swamp, the way dangerous and prone to trips and slips without any light to guide the way, but their pool of light feels safe, their companions feel safe, the herd feels safe.
Steals Fire does not seem phased at all, skipping ahead of the others, smiling and laughing to himself as he goes. It certainly seemed that he was not kidding when he said he was looking forward to this day for a long time. It all appears to be a big adventure to the glowing Acha, who is off in a world of his own.
“They won’t keep it from us.” He says to the nearest kin, as if they would know what he was talking about at all.
Eventually, the group finds an end to the trail of motes, led to a place that none of them recognise, dominated by the silhouette of an enormous tree. In front of the tree is a circle of light, akin to a fairy circle of mushrooms. It appears to be blazing up from something beneath the earth.
Steals Fire pauses to stare at it, before grinning hugely. “This is it!” he calls, and his voice rings out across the silent glade.
“Below our feet is the answer to this crisis.”
“We dig.”
The creator buck steps forward. “I know we are not all as sturdy as one another. But I have brought an answer. These sticks have strong flat material tied firmly to them; you’ll be able to use them to move the earth away more quickly. You hold them in your teeth.”
If they were somewhere else, he might have described them as rudimentary shovels.
As it is, everyone is expected to dig, the earth is easily moved but every time they remove it, they uncover more and more of an unbearably bright and very large rock which is strangely warm to the touch.
OOC
Roll 1d10 as many times as you like to see how much you dig, if you roll a 4 or a 7, your kin finds themselves covered with glowing dust from the newly uncovered rock and finds some of their markings temporarily glowing in the darkness!