Starter for @fiirecracker ;; Thistle
Intel can come from anywhere, everywhere. Anytime.
Whispers and rumors have passed through The Spider's web recently. Rumors of something that should have been long-since-dead. Something that burns red-hot and drives off anything that sets foot beneath the canopies he calls home. Bearing a familiar faded blue and the sigil of a House extinct.
But rumors are many things, including often untrue. Whispers, without any presentable evidence.
And yet... there's evidence, here. Scratched bark where tall horns have scuffed trees, parted undergrowth where something massive has made its way across, a scrap of faded blue threads caught on a branch, creating a trail that winds into the dense trees and away from the jungle's edge.
At the end of it stands the Kell of Kells, looking up through a gap in the canopy and idly puffing orange ether-vapor from a cracked rebreather. A Ghost in a shell with spider-like legs sits in the ruff of fur worn around his neck, comfortable as can be nested there.
"I know you're there," the Kell of Kells announces in his native tongue after a beat of silence, and lowers his gaze, though he doesn't yet turn it Thistle's way. No, he stands still, and basks in the dappled sunlight that surrounds him like a thin shroud. "You carry the scent of Eliksni, but you are not one of us. Why have you come here?"
