<div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/16/b6/8b/16b68b0cc0a43e85f2868e30edca13cd.jpg)</div>As the survivors begin to get themselves ready and together, the raiders start the same. Corr passes along the line checking leather straps and hooks shouting at his team, "We'll descend fast and we head north. There's more treasures to be had, chin up, chin up. Make sure you're secure, drop from this height would be your last." He looks to Diabelle for a moment with a frown on his face, "Good luck, I suppose. Need to have a world if we're to get ahead of it." He claps the barbarian on the shoulder who grunts with frustration and pain.<br/><br/>The only two raiders who don't go directly with the rest of the team are the archer and the rogue, who appear to be arguing between each other while gesturing wildly at Morgan. Finally the rogue throws his hands in the air and stomps over to join Corr while the archer mutters, "Fuck. Damnit fuck." He makes a bow to the other raiders and starts jogging after Diabelle and the other survivors, unimpeded by Morgan's snapping at him. "I'll.  If I can. I would join you, if I could," he calls out as he glances off towards the impending darkness, "And I imagine that you don't have enough time to tell me to stay."<br/><br/>As the survivors hurry back into the sanctuary, the tree spirit stands up and begins walking towards them. "Aaah, you go so soon, perhaps it is best," he murmers out in slowly careful words. His head turns towards the impending darkness and he shakes it, "No, I am afraid. I must stay." His hands stretch out to either side and he begins a slow, lengthy bow. "This place will stay, hidden here until thy return." He peers off towards the darkness with a look of doubt that his words do not carry. It's clear that he's a bit less certain that is true than he is saying, but for now he shakes it off. "When you find the rest, you will return here. Surely."<br/><br/>With that, he begins to trudge away, roots and tendrils leaving his body to begin climbing the insides of the sanctuary dome. The branches spread and web slowly as he puts himself between the survivors and what is outside, an extra layer of protection. "Go. Swiftly," he murmers out.<br/><br/>The elf archer moves to join the rest of the party with eyes wide and a bit panicked. He glances again at Morgan and adjusts his leather armor, tightening it up, ensuring that his bow and arrows are in place, and trying with little success to hide that despite the situation the front of his cloth pants are tented. "Brace to be aloft? Um-" he murmers quickly, but then shuts himself up as he moves to try to join close to the survivors. He smells faintly of wood and dirt, and though his form is lithe he has some clear musculature to him. He closes his eyes and prepares for Diabelle's spell. "Felianca grace of the wood preserve us."<br/><br/>Through the haze of the sanctuary and the branches of the tree spirit, the survivors begin to see splatters of darkness rearing above and hitting the surface of the dome. A rumble of incredible wrath shakes the earth and cracks begin to form in the ground, tiny wriggling tentacles of darkness starting to show through the earth.