On the night of the crescent moon before the fourth full moon of the year, the inhabitants of the Woodrill Plains are riddled with unrest.
Fireal was sprinting toward the direction of Woodrill Lake. His fair skin was pale, and bullets of sweat were dripping down from his forehead. 'Please don't let anything bad happen to my elder brother,' his voiceless prayer carried the weight of his honest heart.
Once he reached the shore, he saw neatly lined up moon elves in white-flowy priest robes kneeling, facing the still blue waters of the lake. The cool night breeze carried their unified chanting.
"Oh, Moon Goddess, the protector of the Moon Elves and our guide, may your spirit bless us with the ability to heal our wounded soul…."
All priests are closing their eyes tight, giving energy to every word their prayers contain.
Fantastical orbs of light hover over their bodies in response to their prayer.
