11/30/12: Speaking with the thunder

There are high places in western New York, if you look hard enough. Wishbone crouches atop the observation deck in the Umbra. Gazing into the clouds and beating his makeshift drum, he chants an invocation to the Thunder, imploring Grandfather Thunder to send a messenger.

A bolt of lightening flashes through the clouds, and a moment later the rolling thunder reaches Wishbone, and then the sound seems to linger, rolling and hovering, becoming a standing wave of crackling thunder. The spirit smells faintly of ozone and spices; while invisible to sight, it is quite visible to his other senses.

Wishbone bows his head in respect. << Hail, bringer of Thunder. You charged us with the task of cleansing the taint from Zoar Valley. I have come to report that this has been done. Through the sacrifice of Silent Night, the tainted Guardian was slain; through the sacrifice...through the sacrifice of Works For Food, the Guardian is renewed. >>

A crackle, a rumble, a pause, then a slight shake of the earth.

<<I know. It was done well and nobly,>> the spirit hesitates, then continues, <<The Guardian is Renewed. Broken Sword and High Hat are dead. Only a few more loose ends remain before...>> the spirit trails off, <<Did you have any other business?>>

Wishbone shakes his head. << No, Great Thunderer. I was certain you would know already, but you deserved the courtesy of formal notification. >>

An echo of a storm from miles away.

<<Yes.>>

Again, Wishbone bows his head. << There is much left to be done. Much for us to learn about the loose ends that remain...and little time in which to learn it. A year goes by quickly. >>

The rumble of thunder among the mountains, the crash of a summer storm.

<<So I have heard. It may be fruitful to look into the look into the last remnant of the beloved men of Uktena.>>

With that, the storm withdraws.