#storychanges

 Mythreidan rolled his broad shoulders back to straighten his spine, an ear flicking idly at sounds new and familiar. He remembered when the land was all Kalimdor. These were forests not traversed frequently in his early years, but he once roamed, hunted, and played in these boughs when he was but a boy. "I agree. When Lea'vune told me of the ordeal I was surprised. Humans usually do not have a care for such acts. Must be half-decent, them." He'd rumble flatly. At Keindea's protests he'd chuff softly  with a smirk, and Alir's comment earned a soft chuckle. "And we are grateful. Now, I do not wish to be in this cursed place any longer than I need to be." He rumbled, rolling his tongue over a sharp fang. He spread his hands before him, his eyes closing. This place ate away at Life, the very essence of it, earning a soft snarl from the ancient male. He pushed more magic into his palms and outward, focusing on the stone and wood the Keep was made out of. 

There were wards in place, once, he could near taste the faint magic clinging to the structure before him, so for that he focused harder. The crescent moon adorning his forehead gleamed brightly. "Mother Moon, we, your Children, ask you to return this home to Your forsaken lands." He  began, his Darnassian an almost song like baritone. "We pray, that with Your Kindness, Mother, Your Grace, Your Benevolence, this place that housed so many, will finally see it's peace as it is returned to Your loving arms." As Mythrei'dan continued  to shunt his magic into the bones of the Keep, vines would be seen crawling up the stone, weaving through holes, cracks in boarding, and other weak places as the Rites continued.

@ladyravenclaws​