A powerful northern wind roused the still, cloudy night into activity,
and it was not long before pale, silvery beams of moonlight began to
spill down over the land. Illuminated by the light of an unusually full
moon, a woman, heavy with child, rested herself near a small altar of
white upon an ocean cliff near the village of Tasur'ke. Holding two
knitting needles in her strong and agile hands, she held upon her lap a
garment that shimmered like a star in the heavens. She did not knit in
solitude for long before a decrepit old woman, draped in the loose folds
of a grey, cowled robe arrived.

Letting fly a string of curses under her breath, the old woman lifted a
silvery spindle, heavy with a strange fabric, from a wicker basket
sitting nearby. Wordlessly, she stood behind the expectant woman and
began to spin some of the unfinished material with violent haste.
Looking up, she suddenly cried aloud, "Where is that sister of ours?
Surely she delays to long!"

As if on queue, a young woman joined the company, quite out of breath
and appearing to be in a great hurry. Obediently following the old
woman's instructions, she took up the fabric and measured the remainder
with her black, calculating eyes. Producing a small knife, she swiftly
cut through the thread with one smooth, precise motion. Able to finish
spinning the fabric at last, the crone paused the whirring of her
silvery spindle before addressing all present. "It is time," she said.
"Go down to the beach and retrieve for us some clay. Go, quickly now!"

Deep within the sand dunes of the ocean shore, several searched in vain
for the clay that the Crone required, but it was only the keen eye of
Ur'dwarf, Skye Danarri that spotted it glittering in the moonlight. Upon
the return of Skye to the ocean cliff, the Matron knit the final few
stitches of the shimmering garment, sending the spindle humming one last
time as its empty metallic sound rang through the air.

Handing the completed garment over to the young Maiden she stood,
lifting her full, round body upright with some effort. She turned to
address Skye. "Now, put the clay in the altar for me, if you would be so
kind," she requested, smiling softly.

As Skye placed the clay into the altar, the water within began to bubble
and stir, sending wisps of whitish smoke spiralling up into the air.
Approaching the altar with a look of concern upon her smooth, round
face, the Matron began to work the thick, sticky clay with her strong
hands. As it dissolved, a silvery white light slowly began to suffuse
the nearby moongate.

With swift steps and grim determination upon their faces, the Crone and
the Maiden joined their sister, encircling the altar and chanting in low
tones. The waves beneath the cliff-face began to boom and crash against
the rock wall as they grew in size and power. Only moments later, the
soft glow engulfing the moongate transformed, fusing into a sheet of
bright, rippling energy spanning across the entire alabaster ring.

The ground underfoot began to tremble and shake and the Matron, hands
stained a greyish-white color and glowing faintly, haltingly backed away
from the altar. With a surge of white light, the energy confined within
the moongate intensified and began to resonate with a low humming noise.
As if on queue and with a cursory nod in one another's direction, the
Crone and the Maiden approached the cliffside while holding a robe woven
of moonbeams between them.

A sharp, piercing crack briefly stilled the air as time paused and bent.
Suddenly, a thunderous, ear-shattering explosion ripped through the
ring, sending fragments of alabaster debris flying in all directions.
From within the settling cloud of white dust, a silver-haired goddess
rose from the waves of the ocean, glowing with the light of the Moon and
held aloft by a multitude of stars. As Her feet touched the ground, the
Crone and Maiden wrapped the robe woven of moonbeams around Her slender
shoulders and faded slowly into the background, their work complete.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Aeguary, in the year 385 AF.