21 Winter 520
Moritz did not often dream. Lying in his bed early on the morning of the 21st, he did.
It began simple enough, an Okomo out among a grassy field. Slowly yellow flowers began to bud. As he went to bite into one, a loud screech could be heard as if he had bitten an animal. And then more screeches, these of anger, from all the other flowers. Ripping up their roots the flowers began to swarm across the ground, still screeching as they converged on Moritz. Only then he found he was not in his Okomo body, but his human, as the flowers began to swarm up him. Biting as he had bitten the flower.
The flowers covered him and he found himself in darkness. Then suddenly he saw a light in the distance, as if he was in a cave and there was a far off light down the tunnel. After a moment the light grew, and Moritz found himself on a barren stretch of sandy beach. The waves crashing on the shore, but giving off no sound. The light in the distance was not the sun, but a light falling from the sky. And then another, and another, as they crashed one by one to land in the distance. Now upon the ground and without their light to show the beach, his vision faded and the beach slowly vanished.
Then Moritz felt something, a stirring. In a dream he could not reason, could not truly see... But now, he felt like he was awake, as if he was seeing something happen. He could not tell what was happening, but he knew this was not just a dream like before. As the light slowly expanded he once more found he could see before him.
Now Moritz found he was in a jungle. Trees, but not of the type he was used to. It was hot, oppressive, not something he was used to even with the lack of a winter in Lhavit. Tropical. A jungle.
As he stood among the trees he could see a woman, and knew her name for some reason. Morwen. No one told him, it came to him just the same as the vision of the woman. A fact on the air, told and trusted. It felt to Moritz more akin to someone telling him a story with detail, but being able to see a physical representation of the story. Somewhere where the realm of stories, dreams, and truth met, all mingled into one. He reached out for the woman, Morwen, but found she was at a distance unchanged by his attempt. He was just being retold the story, he was not there to do anything but listen and watch.
He could hear a voice telling the story, but it made no sound. Instead it bespoke wisdom, the tale to be told. The vision was sound, and the sound was vision. Both and neither.
Walking onward Morwen passed, going from the jungle into a gate. Magic. A magical gate among the jungle, a tropical forest of heat. Through that gate she left the jungle, left the world, and walked among another. Another world, another place. Moritz perspective followed as the tale unfolded, watching as she progressed.
Stepping onto another world Morwen was left in a place even hotter than before. Where before the place, the jungle, was hot and humid, this place was oppressively hot. Like walking into a furnace, where the heat even got into ones chest as they breathed. But still she plodded, ignoring the heat for she was searching for something. Walking further into the heat, the burden upon her which Moritz could see was great.
The tale is a sad one. Family. Missing family. Morwen was searching for family. Her missing grandson, lost, only rumors left of where he might be. One such rumor led her here, where wisdom said not to tread. But wisdom was overcome by urgency, and any hope of finding such lost family was worth the risk.
And then from among the hot world something.... Horrible... Emerged. In the haze of the heat unclear, the creature captured Morwen. Imprisons. Shackles. Binds. The captured Morwen is taken away by the creature, back to his fortress. A throne in the fortress, on the hot imposing world. Morwen is bound to the throne, captured. And then her icy presence, her power, is drained from her and exploited.
Using its power the creature draws out Morwens abilities of ice and cool, and thrusts it upon the heat of his realm. Tempering, stabilizing, the hot molten realm that was the creatures. Like a pig being bled by a single nick, slowly her power is wrung out, slowly but steadily she is weakened. Slowly she is dying, her powers stolen and used by another till... Till... Till a death to come if nothing changes.
Winter on Mizahar gone, as Morwen was absent from the world and unable to bring force her abilities. Winter after winter missed, as Morwen remained as she was, chained and bound, drained of her essence until she was left weak. On the boundary of death, till she had nothing left to give up.
Morwen was dying. Morwen is dying. Morwen will die, unless something was done. The thought, the tale, rung in his mind, urgent. Pressing. Needing to be addressed.
Backward Moritz passed, finding himself on his home world but in an unknown place. A magic gate among a jungle, but where in the jungle or which jungle was unclear.
Like a clock needing to be rewound, like a spilled cup with but a drop of water left, Morwens time draws near. Her end, draws near.
With a jerk, covered in sweat and panting, Moritz found himself awake in his own bed. The vision passed. The room about him familiar. But the urgency... The urgency still true.
Moritz did not often dream. But this was no normal dream, he could tell that. This was a true vision of what had come to pass, and what could come to pass if nothing was done.
The pass was unclear, what he should do, what should be done. But the outcomes were crystal clear even if the route to one or the other was not.
Either Morwen would continue to be leeched of her strength, until she would die. At which time she would stop being a Goddess of winter, and another would take her place.
Or... Or... The gate could be found, passed through. Morwen could be found, freed, and rescued. Returned home. And she would return to her place as the figure of winter on Mizahar.
And the time was short... Which Moritz knew... If nothing was done, or it was not done quickly, the choice would be made and the first option would come to pass.
WC: 1,139
