Quest [Regional Quest] Invocation

[Elysium]

80th day of Spring, 513 AV

The night was alive. It chorused with sound, five gleaming peaks reflecting Leth’s blessed kiss. The moon had waxed to fullest potential, sitting triumphant amongst the jagged outlines. It was during the mid-moon rest period, between twenty-three and four. Many citizens chose this hour in particular to submit to Nysel’s dark embrace and slip away into the chasm of dreams. To those that wandered the streets, five stars began to barrel toward the earth. The descent came without warning, rime or reason; each trailed a burst of glorious color as it burned through the navy firmament. Each was different and each was splendid as it spiraled out into nothing. But none could answer why. They appeared and just as quickly, vanished.

Still, Lhavit did not still for their blessed sleep. A select few felt the summons, irresistible – as their dreams began to veer off course… Each vision fell blank and began again as a fertile copse of trees. The dream was too lucid to be accidental. Each person heard the lusty cricket’s song and felt the mild spring breeze. They heard the leaves rustle gently with the wind.

Raised voices echoed from tree to tree and feet thrashed through the undergrowth. ”Lucilla, hurry up!” The hiss echoed into the clearing. ”I’m trying! Shut up!” The reply marked the entrance of two women, flanked by a third. ”I think we lost him,” one breathed, winded from their flight. The others nodded mutely.

All three were clearly weathered, dressed in tattered finery. They were as varied as the hues of a rainbow. The one called Lucilla was willowy and brunette and the one who chastised her was curvy and petite, crowned by auburn locks. The third had hair of the sun but skin like bronze, her stature falling somewhere in the middle. ”Eyaire, we can’t go any further...” The blonde was speaking to the redhead. ”Lhavit is just around the corner,” Eyaire said, gripping the tops of her arms. ”We can’t let him claim us now.”

”I cannot claim what is already mine, my dear.” A voice came from about, deceptively sweet. All three glanced up in horror to see a man hanging from the tree, as if by a single thread. His hair was darker than the sky and his eyes, a deep violet. ”You’ve made me very angry these past weeks, but this goes no further. Especially for you,” he crooned at Lucilla. ”I will bring you all back where you belong.”

”I don’t think so, Widow.” Eyaire smoothly cast a dagger underhand, the blade making its mark. ”Run!” She cried at the others, who stood dumbstruck. The man howled in anger, dislodging the blade from his shoulder before leaping gracefully to the ground. The two women saw his approach and took off blindly, fleeing in opposite directions. ”You bitch!” His eyes shaded with anger. Eyaire was unable to react before his fist thudded against her temple, knocking her cold.

”You’re lucky I have to take you all. If I wasn’t working with a time limit, I might punish you right now.” The man sneered at her inert body. ”I’ll be back,” he menaced and disappeared into the night.

The dreamers awoke suddenly, forced from their slumbers. It was midnight. Each woke knowing where, knowing how… Their hearts all universally yearned toward the place of the dream. The Misty Peaks, they all thought in unison. Past the Tranquil Port. Into the wilderness.

Go to The Misty Peaks.

(extras!)

OOCHey all! As you may have guessed, all of your PCs have this dream at the same time. The posting order is the same as the OOC announcement - Lu Gavima, Alses, Alduin, Vyxaaron Yew, Mara, & Albireo. If you drop out, please let me know!

k

[Lu Gavima]

The training hall glowed with a silvery blue illumination of Leth's presence. Shinya often trained their hardest under Leth's fullest splendor, as it was as if He was their audience, gazing upon their conviction and discipline to Lhavit. Tonight was no different, as Lu had spent his time working forms around his staff. He bent his knee around the practiced wood, his hands flying out against invisible opponents.

Regardless of how he weaved and ducked, his focus was on keeping the staff perfectly vertical. His free leg bent, the grasping knee sliding up and down in kind. A sidestep and he caught the staff with the other knee, attention paid to his footing, the flurry of punches unceasing. with the bell of the twenty third hour which brought Lu to his knees, the staff falling over into his open palms. It was time for rest. Rising on his haunches, he walked to the open window and bowed fully to Leth before stepping into a corner, crouching and unfurling a woven mat. Removing his shoes and robe, he meticulously folded his treasured uniform before lying down on the mat. His shoes and staff laid in waiting beside his robe as his eyes closed.

Leth lay before him, a great circle of silver. He found himself standing before the mercurial image, his form extending as he dove headfirst into it with a silent splash. Silky strands of light caressed his body as he effortlessly moved through the moon water. Of course, his mind reminded him that he couldn't swim. He thrashed about, as he often did in these dreams, though this time something very different happened. It was so different and gripping that he stilled his panic, sinking beneath the silvery surface. Darkness came like warm fur, the scene melting and then reopening into something very different.

Lu found himself standing out in the woods. He knew the area, as it was not far from where he had broken his arm. Or rather a mountain of a bandit had. All of his senses drank in the scenes. The women and their hurried pace, the dangling harvester, his warnings, the flying blade. The grimace and rush of anger. The warning. The scurrying of the others. Concern became measured anger as the woman was struck and fell to the ground. It wasn't her gender and the violence against it that bothered him. Lu knew what kind of violence was in store should this harvest be successful.

It could not.

it would not.

Lu sat up, his body's sweat aglow with Leth's smile.Shaking the cobwebs of sleep away, the Shinya blinked thrice. He knew it was real. He took the precious moments to stretch and jump in place, warming his muscles up, his mind sharpening to a razor's edge of focus. In another moment he was dressed and already leaving the Pavilion. His footfalls were light as he raced over the bridge between Shinyama and Zintia. A curt nod to the guard at the Amaranthine as he descended the long, twisting path down to the base of the mountain. His Shinya discipline did not allow his mind to race or wander at possibility. He focused only on arrival, though his pace slowed considerably as he approached the place he had dreamed of.

Avoiding the road itself, its open expanse so clear and obvious under the light of Leth's eye, Lu remained along the grass which edged it. His breathing slowing and controlled, he dried his hands on his sash, then also taking care to remove the sweat from the wood itself. His steps moved in a slow and sideways pattern as the clearing approached. There she was, the woman still unconscious, her fiery locks aflame with the moonlight.

It was real.

That meant there was also this Widow, somewhere near, stalking his prey. Lu moved closer to the one called Eyaire, crouching into a group of bushes. The spider had the advantage for the moment. Lu waited in ambush for his return.

[Alses]

It was the quietest time for Lhavit, the city which never really slept, and the abundant moonlight stole through Alses' window, high in the Towers Respite, to splash her books and somnolent form with silver light. It gleamed in a narrow glass bottle, too, darkly glittering and full of purple liquid, just beyond Alses' outflung arm and half-reaching fingers, and the moon's probing light leapt to hard white fire on the paleness of her skin.

The glorious Synaborn Ethaefal, currently leashed into a Konti seeming, was dreaming, and not happily; her face was creased in either worry or fear, the opalescent scales which twined over her body twisting and pressing hard against one another as her muscles twitched and bunched reflexively. The sheets around her form were already drenched with perspiration, and the air was thick with the fug of night-terrors, an uneasy melange of sweat and the indefinable scent of fear mingling with the more familiar, homely scents of attar of roses and books.

Perhaps it was a blessing, then, when everything faded away into blackness for her and a new dream stole into her sleeping consciousness, one that seemed decidedly more mundane than her usual night-time experiences, the usual charivari dying away into blessed blackness even as her tensed, knotted muscles unwound and her expression smoothed into blank serenity. Inside Alses' dreaming mind, the cradling warmth of the dark rose - having wiped out all trace of her previous half-formed dreams - on a bucolic scene. Thieving moonlight glimmered palely on leaves, stealthily stealing colour from everything its silver fingers touched, and the air was thick with the bosky smells of the forest all around. Somewhere, crickets competed for mates, their sounds strident in the woodland hush, the loudest thing Alses could hear – but not for long.

Harsh breaths, rattling in and out of dry mouths and labouring lungs, the swish of raggedy skirts and the toccata of feet on the hard-packed earth of the path, voices raised with a thrill of fear and stress spiking their words, soon followed by the appearance of a predatory man, all spindly limbs and coiled muscle, moving with an eerie, silken grace. Alses could put a name to that – Symenestra – although this contemptuous martinet seemed far different to the diffident, though taciturn, Doctor Hellebore she'd met that summer past.

She shivered, watching from that odd, detached perspective one often found in dreams, even those as lurid and disjointed as hers tended to be – eyeing warily the proprietorial gaze he cast over the shivering – whether with exhaustion, fear, cold or a combination of all three – women and wincing at the predatorily-silken voice he addressed them in. The violence was sudden and quick, appallingly real, and yet in some ways better than the hunt – Alses was chillingly certain that was exactly the right word – which had preceded it. It was over in an instant of pained rage and defiance, a pyrrhic victory for the now-unconscious redhead whose burning hair managed to retain a shadow of its colour even under the moon's leaching influence, and as she slumped to the earth of the clearing, the black curtain descended abruptly once more.

In the half-dark of her room, Alses' eyes slammed open even as the city bells presented their consensus on midnight, drinking in the familiar surrounds and already darting to her wardrobe and washbasin both. The dream, too lucid and coherent to really be one of her own, was resonating insistently inside her brain, driving fumbling fingers to work faster on the buttons and clasps of her attire, a booming summons to wake, to leave the safety of Lhavit's towering peaks and venture forth for...for...something.

For just a moment, Alses contemplated the purple bottle on her bedside table, siren-seductive Sweet Oblivion, common sense trying to assert itself, to suggest she'd woken because of the bells rather than the oddly-coherent dream, but the images rang more strongly in her mind and her hands, instead of cracking the seal and letting her take a draught of powerful sleeping philtre, went back to their original tasks with renewed fervour.

Still glittering with beads of moisture, gills flaring in the dry, warm air of her small room, Alses took stock. A madcap endeavour, to say the least – flitting out into the Misty Peaks in the dead of night, when normally she didn't leave the city at all. A faint, though mirthless, smile touched her lips for a moment – she did have a few skills that would make it difficult for anyone to surprise her, after all. Her eyes, absently turned towards the window, espied the gardener's pavilion, glowing palely in the grounds, and her expression turned thoughtful, rather than abstracted.

'Horticultural implement' did not mean 'not a weapon', after all.

Before she left, operating on reflex, she snagged the little bottle of Sweet Oblivion. Irrational, perhaps, to think that someone might take it whilst she was away, but it seemed everyone around her – Tahala, Cook, Mr. Secretary, even the Priestess Sel'ira – was commenting on her use of the stuff.


A


The Misty Peaks were alive at night, the air full of calls from all sorts of wildlife and busy with the drone of insects of all shades, a million tiny shadows flitting across the great circle of Leth's face high overhead, beaming down at the world. Alses couldn't resist a reflex scowl skywards; she didn't bear Leth any particular enmity – He was Her goddess' lover, after all, and therefore worthy of regard, but His pallid light stole colour, gave her no sustenance and made her mortal chain blaze corpse-white, none of which was particularly endearing.

Still on the mountain path leading down from Lhavit to Port Tranquil and the Misty Peaks as a whole, close enough to the gates that a Shinya would be able to rush to her aid in short order, should it be necessary, Alses stopped, breathing in the scent-cargoed night air, calming and centring herself and doing her best to put the insistent summoning tug in her brain out of mind.

As djed answered her call and the artist unseen painted the world in a million sensual impressions of colour and sound, touch and smell and even – rarely – taste, she relaxed slightly, shoulders coming down and her hands clutching less-tightly at the implement she carried, a long staff with a curved and razor-sharp blade at one end, currently pivoted to rest against the shaft like some odd decoration.

Yes, here, in a world drenched in the physical expressions of feelings, hopes, dreams and fears, that was where she was most confident, most at home, her synchrony driving a sumptuously-painted living picture of the moon-washed Misty Peaks – or at least, the part near her.

She was looking, always looking, for the particular hard rasp of purpose - the sharp and deadly arrowhead-auras of predators on the hunt, stained with blood and fear from their prey's final moments down the years. Knowing where they were, where they were headed, before they even became aware of her, that was what would keep her safe.

Whatever her personal feelings on the God of the Moon, His light did at least illuminate her way, something which Alses was eternally grateful for, one less matter to concentrate on. Much of her mind was bent to the arcane as she paced slowly along, maintaining the synchronised focus so essential to her own survival outside of Lhavit's safe haven, moving through the whispering diorama of her augmented senses on velvet-shod feet.

Fortunately, it wasn't far, indeed, just around the corner from the city gates, as Eyaire had said, and as Alses drew closer to the place of her dream – a knowledge she felt in her bones, despite never having been there in physical form – she slowed, considering the kaleidoscope of auras ahead of her, and battling with no small amount of surprise inside her own head that it wasn't simply the fever-dreams of a Synaborn manifesting in a new and unexpected way. Common sense had had a chance to mount a counterattack on the slow, careful walk through the peaks, after all. Against a mantled background of a million shimmering shades and variations on 'green', two brighter, larger, more complex coronae stood out, however, shouts against the soothing tapestry.

One in particular tickled at her senses, compact and disciplined, honed and with a sense of coiled power behind it, touched with a tight skein of white-and-gold devotion wound around its originator, a faint human-shaped shadow in the rising glory of auristic light. It was familiar, in an odd sort of way – that particular shape of an aura, she'd learned, was characteristic of a Shinya guard, so solemn and so devoted to Zintila and Lhavit, but this one held a deeper familiarity; it was an aura she'd surely met before.

Alses approached the clearing cautiously, therefore, defying the impulse to run and check on the unconscious girl slumped in the middle of the clearing, with every sense drinking in the moonlit world. She was seeking, ever seeking, hunting for the sense of Symenestra on the move, or else the brilliant arrowhead-aura of a predator padding through the Peaks.

Focus came easily, now, and her enhanced senses twined themselves amorously about the slumped figure bathed in pale light even as Alses continued her stately pace under the trees and then further, to stand just beyond where they petered out, her skin suddenly shedding its corpse-pallor and taking on hard white fire. Stopped, eyes closed and hand half-extended towards the slumped redhead, Alses could perform a better, though still cursory examination – Eyaire was hot, but cooling rapidly in the night air: that was probably more due to her exertions than anything else, and there was no sign of bleeding or contagion that might otherwise have given her pause. With a sigh, Alses struck out for the lesser, passive synchrony, ever-careful and cautious of her djed expenditures, especially under the nourishment-less light of so unsatisfying a celestial deity as Leth, and advanced purposefully towards the still-unconscious girl, intent on getting at least one of the three dream-girls back to Lhavit, where questions could be asked in comfort and safety, and a Shinya detail could perhaps be coerced into sweeping the near Peaks for the others.

[Alduin]

It was strange, for he had never before encountered a dream such as this. He had woken up from the most vivid dream he had ever had. Though he knew it was in his dreams, he knew it was real. Someone needed his help. So he got up quickly and put on his gear. He had purchased some armored robes whenever he went to the Misty Peaks because of the growing Zith problem. They were dangerous but whatever he just saw in his dream...those girls. What foe was this that pursued them so? He had to go there, he knew where it was strangely too. The area felt unfamiliar yet it was all to familiar. He grabbed his Staff of Fire, a sapphire colored glass orb stood on the top of staff. Filled with a dangerous liquid called Ivak's Fire. He took a moment however to make himself some glyphs on his hands if he needed to cast his magic to protect himself. Actually it took a number of tries to get it right as he was still unused to making them proper. But after about an hour of tampering with it he had made two small glyphs on his right and left hand. Still not perfect, but he couldn't afford to waste anymore time. He would have to do it on the way there. The substance would make him feel a bit safer about any close encounters. But the armor though bulky he couldn't quite resist the urge to cast a Shield. He never left the city without it. He tied the staff to his back and he left downstairs. Soon he was walking past the citizens and a few Shinya. He said nothing of his vivid dream that he believed absolutely to be true. His armor was a bit inconspicuous he didn't want to draw to much attention to his movements. As he past out of the city boundaries he began to chant. It was a poem he made himself that eased his concentration, said both in Common and in Ancient tongue. Allowing him to used his Djed much more efficiently. Esa ku eni. Esa sav enjum. Parry the path to darkness. It shall not take me. But the pursuit remains. Even if I turn insane. Esa ku eni. Esa sav enjum. He said the short poem consistently as he walked along the path to the Misty Peaks. He weaved his magic around his body, laying layer after layer on top. He tasked them as usual. The glyphs didn't help as he had anticipated, and he assumed that he did them incorrectly. He had no time. He went as fast as he could. To the destination he knew he where he was supposed to be.

[Vyxaaron Yew]

Vyxaaron rolled over onto his side, his golden eyes popping open. The circadian rhythm of his new home had finally settled into his delicate bones and he had been sound asleep. But that dream…He hissed slightly, recalling the women, and the Symenestra…what in the world was the fool up to? The young Sym certainly hadn’t recognized his counterpart, but the race was unquestionable – as was the pursuit in which he was engaged. By Viratas – this was exactly what his family stood against! The thought of those three slatterns mothering future hybrids made Vyxaaron grind his teeth in frustration and disdain. When would his fellow Syms see what they were doing to their race? The mongrelization, and degradation, of their superior culture and blood lines, by this vile mating with these stolen women! With an audible huff of vexation, Vyx rose from his meager bed in his apartment at the Solar Winds complex. The thought of going forth into the night was distasteful, not from any fear or repugnance held for the dark – Vyx could see almost perfectly by Leth’s dim light as by Syna’s. No, the heretofore coddled Symenestra simply had no liking for traipsing about in the mountains – he’d certainly had his fill of that on the journey here, to Lhavit, from Kalinor. There were those who claimed to espouse some benefit from embracing nature and frolicking in the forests and pastures around the five peaks. Not Vyx – he wasn’t buying it. Any sane and reasonable creature would see the clear superiority of house and hearth, especially when one took into account the often capricious and unpleasant weather to be endured above ground. Yet, he reached for his trousers and boots, and pulled on his shirt and coat, and he knew that tonight he would venture forth. The dream had been…compelling…in its clarity, its realism. He was no air headed romantic who looked to his sleeping imagery for portents and signs. But this dream had been…different. In his heart he felt it – it had been portraying – relaying – an actual event. He was sure of it. And that being the case, he needed to get to his ill advised fellow Sym and make sure that this apparent Harvest gone awry would not land him in trouble – dead at the end of some Shinya guard’s sword or such like. Vyx also fully intended to take the fellow to task for furthering this insanity, this fouling of their race’s name and repute by such a malevolent activity, one which would only muddy their blood lines the more. No, he needed to get to this place, and in his mind he was already navigating the course to the exact spot, though he had never been there nor had he any skill in getting around through the wilds, on his own. No matter – he was determined, and a determined Vyxaaron was a person of action and decisiveness. With very little faltering, such was the magic of the dream that seemed to be at work upon him, he negotiated streets and stairs, until he had left the city and was out into the full nighttime of late Spring in the mountains. With an elegant grace he made his way with confidence to the clearing, and as he drew close, he slowed and moved with great stealth. Finally, he chose to climb into a tree, which he did with the natural agility of his race, and with his darkvision, he scanned the scene, looking not so much at the prone woman and the one who might succor her, but instead for his distant kinsman, for by this point, the few Symenestra there were left walking this world were all distantly related somehow. If Vyx could catch some sign of the Sym’s trail, he would leave the other two – no, three – for he saw the third shadow in the bushes – and do his best to help the Sym get clear of any trouble – and give him a good tongue lashing to boot, to help him see the error of his ways.

[Albireo]

Albireo sat by the windowsill, her lonely windowsill, pink Bulboru flowers lightening up one side of her vision. The rest took in the shimmering skyglass glamour of Lhavit and the pale modest face of her Lord shedding light on the city. She sat, her thoughts wandered and then she went to sleep. Soon she slipped into the wondrous and strange lands of Nysel, albeit without noticing. It began in peace, with soft rustling and a sweet scent in the air. Voices and hasty footsteps, however, cut through the silence, trampled on it. Three women broke through the undergrowth. Illuminated by moonlight, they urged one another on. Forced words revealed Lhavit as their destination. A pale shadow descended from a tree. Silver tranquility and dark sweetness laced his whispers. Until metal flashed in the dim light and drew his blood. One girl fell, victim to the shadow’s unmasked cruelty. With a promise on thin lips, he followed the others into the night. The redhead he left motionless and alone. The dreamer woke with a start. She had to hide and hurry, reach Lhavit, escape the Widow! Only after a few moments did she realize she was already in Lhavit, sitting in her bed: only a half-forgotten daughter of the Moon Lord. Slowly the panic trickled from her form like rainwater. “I am Albireo”, she said into the silence of her apartment. Hearing her own airy voice calmed and soothed her. Ragged breathing deepened. Still, something was tugging at her, little more than a spring breeze or a whisper. Narrowing her eyes in the darkness, Albireo listened. Go to the Misty Peaks. The Misty Peaks was where it happened. The voice was her own and not her own, tangling up thoughts and memories. Only confusion remained. She had to go to the Misty Peaks. Why, how? Who? There was no answer, the voice had died inside her. But the Misty Peaks. Lump in her throat, Albireo rose from bed and put on some clothing. For a moment she stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by doubt and fear, but the pull was too strong. There was no other way but to surrender. She took a full waterskin, the small eating knife and flint and steel, collecting them by instinct, and put them in her pockets. Fire kept predators away, knives defended her flesh, water sustained it. Others as well. Albireo was half caught in sleepy trance, yet the light of Leth under a clear sky refreshed and reassured her. My Lord, guide me through this darkness. Grant me the awareness and clear mind to protect. This time I am not running from danger. Light my steps so I can finish what I started. If you please, if you are kind. Prayer urged her on like words had the other three. She was wearing the midnight-colored cloak over black tunic, black pants and leather boots. Its hood concealed milky white horns and lavender hair. Strange shapes, but as dark as the surrounding shadows. The illuminated City of Stars lay behind, rock and gnarled trees ahead. Eventually cobalt eyes glimpsed the site of the dream, the redhead lying at the same place, but another pale figure bent over it. For a moment her heart leapt into her mouth, but as the figure moved, it looked different. Still, the Widow could be anywhere and everywhere. Lurking was its nature. Fear rooted Albireo to the spot. “Lhavit will be a safe haven for her”, she merely said. Wind carried the words over to the kneeling figure, although her voice barely rose above a whisper. Lhavit. They had to return to Lhavit. The thought filled her mind like an enormous wave announcing the tide.

[Licearsvansan]

. . ......... My journey is my destination. . . . .

The loud snoring of a sleeping man filled the small room of the Solar Winds Apartment and echoed out into the hall. The various lights of the nighttime city peaked through through the curtains of the window and dance upon the face of a brown haired man. This man--Dhani really--was Svan, and he lie sprawled out over his bed as the city outside continued without him.

He was still new to the city and so the strange sleep schedule of the people of Lhavit was completely foreign to him. He had spent most of the day exploring the city, and trying to map out the locations of important buildings in his head. However, as the day gave way to the night, Svan felt a change occuring within him. Not from Dhani to Ethaefal, but rather from energetic to exhausted. Which brought him to his current condition. Lying across a low bed, looking less like a tired man, and more like a dead one.

As the snake lie half covered in sheets, he began to slowly and gently drift off into a dream. In this dream Svan was lying upon a seemingly endless bed of water. His body was just as motionless as the waters beneath him, and above him colors danced like a living rainbow. Svan's dreams normally terrified him and made him wish desperately to wake, but this one was calming and refreshing. Perhaps it was his bodies way of rewarding him after a busy day in the city. Whatever the case, Svan felt at peace.

For a moment.

After a few moments of tranquility Svan watched a bright white light begin to form in the center of the colored sky. The light grew and engulfed to aurora that surrounded it until nearly the entire sky was consumed. Svan pinched his eyes shut and no sooner did they close than the waters beneath him give way. He felt the unmistakeable sensation of sinking, and teal-blue water rushed to fill his mouth and nose. Svan fought to keep his remaining breath and thrashed desperately in an attempt to rise above the surface. However, no matter how hard he kicked he only seemed to sink deeper into the once peaceful lake. As the last of Svan's breath escaped his lips he allowed his eyes one last look to the world above.

It was white. Looking to his left and right Svan could see nothing but an endless sea of white light. After a few brief moments he also realized that he no longer felt as if he was drowning. "So this is what the afterlife looks like huh? I'll be honest, its better than what I expected to get." Slowly Svan began to feel a new kind of sensation. The subtle breeze of the spring wind caressed his cool skin, and a chorus of crickets struck up their signature song. As the picture of the forest came into view Svan swore silently to himself. Everything in this dream seemed so real. The sway of the trees, the touch of the wind, and even smell of fresh pollen could be sensed. It was like no other dream he had encountered before.

Before Svan could really begin to explore the strange dream further, three woman came into view. Svan watched quietly as the women were caught off guard by the Symenestran man, but when blood began to be shed Svan could sit still no longer. Strangely though, all Svan COULD do was sit still and watch. Try as he might he could not will himself to move or even turn away from the events that were unfolding. It was a strange feeling. He felt as if he was a part of what was taking place, but seemed as if he wasn't even there. Powerless, Svan watched the rest of the dream unfold, and as the Symenestra walked away Svan glared angrily at him. He kept on glaring until eventually he was forced to blink, and when he did he awoke to find himself lying prone on the floor of his room.

Crawling out of his tangled sheets, Svan clumsily threw on as much clothing as he felt he needed to face the coll nighttime air. Before throwing on his cloak, the snake gathered several materials into his "battle pack". In the pouches he placed an eating knife, a tulja poultice, a flask of water, and a bit of lazy gel. Knotted around the bottom of the pack was a length of rope and a grapple. The Dhani smiled as he wove the rope around the straps of the pack. He had bought this to help him on his travels through Kalea's mountainous terrain, but it would also be effective for chasing down a wall hugging Symenestra. Placing the pack over his shoulders, Svan looked down to see his crossbow and swordbreaker. He wanted to bring them but he was on thin ice as it was due to his race, and waltzing around the city with weapons clearly displayed was a strong sign that somebody was up to trouble. Hiding them under his cloak would only make it more suspicious if he got caught. With a troubled groan, Svan turned from the weapons, wrapped his shale colored cloak around his body, and walked out the door.

...

Some time later Svan arrived at the scene of his vision. It was strange that he knew to come here. Stranger still that he had chosen to come here. He wasn't sure why but there was just something about the dream that convinced Svan that it was real. As he began to walk into the he really didn't have a plan. Instead he had questions. Why did he receive the vision, why was the Symenestra chasing those women, and why were there two new people standing next to the unconscious red head he had seen in his dream? Normally one to jump to conclusion Svan took a defensive stance, and convinced himself that these people were in league with the Symenestra. Svan's right hand shot beneath his cloak as if to draw the sword he didn't have, and in the most threatening voice he could manage he hissed, "I ssssuggest you get away from that girl before I have to take drassstic measures. I won't warn you again, move away or elssse"

Or else what?! he asked himself, You will butter them to death with your dinner knife?

oocI was given permission by Elysium to join the regional quest in Lhavit though it does not currently say my name on the list. I was told earlier to simply post after the last person.

[Mara]

Night descending was the capered call of thieving rest. The darkness crept up with the eclipsed beats of moth wings, scaling the massif and the balusters of Lhavitian skyglass the same as tiny blades of grass. The smothering of the day’s passion, ensnared between the musk of entwined conduits, evaporated, and a cool chill of mountain air settled with a cumbrous breath. The draft hissed through the splinter of the fissured window frame and filled the modest apartment, hauling with it the melody of restrained mirth and spirited banter.

Time delayed for none, the unread documents sprawled from corner to corner of the breaking back of the homely desk were the cruel reminders of this unforgiving statement. The stringent bite of disinfecting alcohol burned the knuckles and sliced clenching portions of the healer, the stain of encrusted plasma still clung between the shallow vales of palms and stubborn bends of digits, refusing to rinse free. An insult of scarlet still bloomed from an overlooked location along the hollow of his jaw and freckled the seam of his collar and sleeves. The disarray was from a number of sources through the day, none particularly life threatening: A smashed nose from a child’s amusement of kicking rocks, a sutured finger from a hapless vendor whose knife found flesh rather than the vegetable’s stalk for which it was intended, and a painful incision along the scalp of a woman who took a calamitous spill into an ill-placed corner of furniture. He was appreciative of the mediocrity, the hustle and bustle of commonplace existence, scrapes and bruises. It was a distraction he besought, without the reminder of death threatening the foundation of stability he had frailly fastened together in solitude and in work at the Catholicon.

The writing table welcomed him in, stacks of inked work straightened beneath his influence. Chimes, then bells passed, weighing heavy upon his stem so it began to bow into the niche of his elbow. Above him the night sky was alive with a map of needle points in the dark cloth of immensity. The pinpricks, one, two, then five in all, began to split and widen, igniting the dark alongside Leth with the spark of flaming tongues. Marvasa’s lids slid along the rounded whites of his eyes, the sensation of falling seizing him, but he could not awaken despite the ripples it made within his gut.

A hazy scene unfurled, a view through the smog of bleary orbs that hastily sharpened to that of an active participant in the moment. He glided among the three sisters, felt the terror in the tremble of their whispers and the dishevelment of their breath. The clout of distress struck him, a fourth voice disgorging from over them with excitable authority. A Widow, as many would have them named, a sight so familiar that his chest singed with the sight of him, and the panic he felt was all too real.

The progression was swift. A chaos that rattled into lucidness, the searing image of amethyst eyes seething in their sockets was still imprinted along the underside of his lids. He startled, lifting upright in his seat, wrists rubbing over the boreholes of his stinging lavender rings.

The floor boards of were as he had left them, grounded beneath his feet once more, but still the gnawing ache articulated that it was more than a nightmare he had been swept into. The menace was existent, the harvest very existent, and the Symenestra male was young and eager to bring home the fruits of his labor.

The taste of fear still cohered to his esophagus as he hurled on his coat and heaved the fur lined hood up over his head. His boots were taut around his ankles and the soles slapped the rock from the pace he adopted toward the mountain. His grasp riveted desperately to the compact vessel of his remedial equipment thrust deep in his pocket and in the other long strips of heavy cloth.

The mountain threatened to swallow him where he veered from the beaten path, each uncomfortable steep left his feet skimming awkwardly and scrambling to keep him upright. Mara had not been cautious enough to hush his approach, assuming the setting to be barren in addition the insentient girl. As he approached he realized the severity of his mistake. There was a threat in a discreet hiss of exchanging words in which he only caught the end of. There were at least three participants. silhouettes effortlessly visible in the shadow of the night, the potential surrogate made three where she was lain at their feet.

The half-blood halted, the skid of his stride sounded a symphony of rasping pebbles that all but proclaimed his arrival more profoundly. Reasoning abandoned him as the adrenalin filled his veins. Mara had no real motive to suspect they had shared the same vision, so perhaps suspicion would evade him, even tucked under the shadow of his hood and dark tipped nails buried deeply in his pockets. “Don’t move her.” He urged the petite blonde figure hovered over the girl, illuminated by the iridescence of the moon’s gape. Only the view of his perforated lip and the tip of his nose with a similar loop run through a tender nostril, peeked from beneath his cover. “If her head or neck is injured, you should not move her.”

[Elysium]

Emerald eyes snapped open suddenly, wild with fear. Eyaire shot straight up in the midst of panic, throat closed around a scream. The noise pealed from her lips for a moment before falling away, as she realized just who surrounded her. There were two women attending to her, both extraordinarily beautiful. One even had white horns, curling in a delicate crown along the temples of her forehead. She blinked, attempting to make sense of what exactly had transpired. Both were blessed with an ivory pallor and near bone-white hair, much like the women of Kalinor – upon further inspection however, the one closest sported lush green eyes and shimmering scales. These women were unknown and the inability to comprehend rendered her temporarily speechless.

As she drank in the rest of the scene, the shock only seemed to mount. There was a mysterious, cloaked man in foreground that adorned his face with jewelry and another, who postured over her inert form in a strange, sibilant whisper. She glanced between the two; neither one of them seemed intent on doing her harm, but it did nothing to explain what exactly was going on. They had made it that far through the Unforgiving without finding another living soul. There was only one explanation. They’d really made it! Eyaire had been seeing marks of civilization for miles… But how close could they be? Conflicting emotions flit across her expression as she opened her mouth to speak.

”Please, do not fight over me.” Her accent was incredibly thick. It had the curling linguistic remnants of what could be inferred as an ancient form of common, some long forgotten dialect from the northwest. There was a sense of disconnection, as if the dream had translated for the young woman. ”I do not know who you are, but if you have come to help, then I weep in thanks to the gods this day.” Propping herself on her elbows, one agile hand massaged the place where she’d been hurt. ”He has struck me harder before. I will be fine.” It seemed the statement was more to herself than to those around her. ”My name is Eyaire.” She gave a tentative glance around their semi-circle. “I am what you would call a ‘wildling’ or a person who lives not in any city. I had two others, all of us taken to bear children for the spider-people of the south.” Her eyes panned meticulously across the space, as if searching for danger.

”This spider man must be young,” her voice grew low, ominous. ”He has had all of us,” she whispered as tears threatened her eyes. ”I do not think this is normally the way. We escaped through his carelessness, for had he taken us to their underground lair, there would be no hope as there is now.” Head hung low, her fire-red hair fell in a sheet, masking her pain. ”I must find them,” she sighed, attempting to rise. There was a bit of wobbling as she got to her feet. ”The spider brought his friends to help, but I have not seen them since our last encounter. A flying thing came down and bit off one’s head… But I do not know what happened to the other.”

”Please,” she turned, beseeching the two women. Who else could she relate to? ”How did you know I was here? And by the beauty of Cheva herself, will you help me?”

[Lu Gavima]

As Lu waited in his position for the Widow's return, there seemed to be more and more arrivals. All of them made their way to this same area as he had. Was it coincidence? A rather grand one if so. Were they somehow involved with the Widow? No, they also seemed to find the area in such a way as he had, with a feeling of anticipation. No one knew what was next.

He was aware that some of them had keener senses, as they would look at him, either directly or sideways. Although his method of ambush had been compromised, since no one spoke to him or acknowledged him, he simply waited to see how things panned out. The cast of characters was interesting, to say the least. Some were familiar to him, like the Lethaefal he had seen the night of the Zith attack. Some were not so familiar. Nevertheless, he counted them all as allies until they made any effort to distance themselves from that designation.

As they crowded around and checked out Eyaire, Lu listened closely to her words, as hard as it was to decipher them through her strange accent.Her tale of the Harvest only reinforced Lu's readiness to end this Widow, their status only slightly higher in the Shinya's mind than a Zith. There were two other women out there as well as this offender. With Eyaire in safe company, Lu stepped from the bushes into the open.

"We dreamed you. I know I did anyway and I suspect most of those gathered did as well." He looked over the gathered crowd, ignorant of the man's warning. His next words were clear and distinct in the night. The party could take them however they saw fit. It was natural for Lu to assume leadership as it had been indoctrinated into him. " Those of you who are not fit for combat should take Eyaire back to the safety of Lhavit. The rest of us should split into two groups and seek out the other women. If any should run across this Widow or his compatriots, do not hesitate to take him out. Though alive would be best for interrogation."

Stepping away from the group to see who would follow him into the deadly night, he stood strong against his staff. His eyes and senses scanned the trees and the forest for any trace of the quarry.