Highreach rose on a cragged peak, guarded on all sides by the forest. The north wind bit at Hulen's skin even through the thick furs as he made his way up the moonlit path. The meandering path was supposed to draw pilgrims to self-reflection on their way. Hulen cared little for the tradition, making his way onwards as quickly as his impressive bulk and the slope allowed. His retinue - guards and servants - followed in silence. The shaman's wheezing breath drowned out the sounds of their surroundings.
The soft glow of the temple's fires made him breathe a sigh of relief. The task ahead would be wearying, slightly dangerous, but atleast it would be inside the temple's sturdy walls and solitude. He was glad to see a great pillar of smoke arising from the top of the building - they'd lit the Godsfire, the great pyre in the heart of the temple. It symbolized - well, something different to the northerner pilgrims, but to him it was a reminder, a rope that would connect this world and the one above, and allow him to find his way back. If the ancestors were not pleased, they would let him know in the most painful way possible.
The warmth flooded into his bones as he stepped over the temple's threshold. The retainers of the temple greeted him solemnly - heathens, the lot of them, but they bowed to his authority - as he passed them. Hulen took note of pilgrims, mostly northerners clad in their furs and dyed cloaks, huddled around in the petitioner's chamber. They'd have to pay the tithe before they were allowed inside to see their holy relics and gather around the Godsfire. His heart jumped at the thought of their silver and valuables stowed away safely in his chambers.
But first, there was work to be done. The preparation for the ritual would take hours - he had no intention of travelling to the Twilight Realms just like that, and no illusions of the dangers an unwary visitor could fall to. The ancestors' dwelled on the threshold, where they saw far. He was thankful that there was no need to go higher, to where the spirits and the lesser Kin held sway. And then the ancients, and the true fae...
'Make sure the doors are sealed,' he said to his servants. 'No-one is to bother me until the ritual is complete.'
Moonlight fell softly into the center of the room. Hulen removed his cloak and furs and began the preparations.
Candles, for light, to grant him vision. A circle, drawn with dirt, to hold him to this world. Iron, an ancient dagger, for protection - a token gesture, more than anything. Too much would be an insult, but going without would be foolish.
A charm thrice-told to clear the mind. The secret herbs and substances, to convey his spirit from this world. He let their smoke fill his senses, engulf them in their effects.Hulen closed his eyes, feeling his body draw away. The northern lights danced in the night sky. A good omen. They drew down to carry him far.
Hulen performs a ritual to travel to the spirit world of the Twilight Realms. He spends several hours in preparation to ensure an easy journey (as much as such a thing exists), using a variety of tools and questionable, but undeniably potent substances. Hulen seeks out the ancestors of Meridia, to ask for their judgement on the war and for their blessing. The ancestors see much mortals do not - what is, what has been, what will be.
If the ancestors are pleased and the omens good, Hulen intends to travel the land, rallying the peasantry to the King's cause.