Restoring balance
Passing through shattered archway remnants still engraved proudly with languages faded by ages uncounted, the fellowship of light pauses overwhelmed upon shattered concourse where motes dance fitful through the gloom. All stand-mute wrestling perspectives suddenly expanded beyond comfortable bounds by vistas of imagination fervent. So very late lies this fabled hour yearned toward by lonely outposts cradling guttering hopes through isolation unbroken by caravans promised from realms wondering ceased... until six grave forms passed veils asunder.
Squinting through swirling fog banks, Linnea gradually discerns familiar signposts gleaming faintly across alien yet welcoming terrain - this stands as hallowed anchorage indeed! With staff planted firm she turns glowing gaze back toward comrades gaping bereft of words before immensity half-glimpsed through tatters spectral. Her voice rings the clarion knell drawing disparate wills into singular commitment.