Prelude
Baba Luga
Vestige
PRELUDE: ZHUDUN'S GROVE
It is night where you wake, here outside, your joints stiff and achy, your backs damp and chilled by the dewy grass that has soaked through your clothes.
For Varius and Cassandra, the experience is one of dislocation in space and time. Where are you? What watch is it? Straining to see with blunted human sight, Varius is aware that other people are stirring nearby, but can make out nothing except the clear sky full of stars overhead.
For Faria and Astryos, the dislocation is only that much more intense: how often in a long lifetime does an elf wake from unconsciousness? Only when so rendered by a blow to the head or a serious illness. The experience is so much harsher than coming out of a rejuvenating trance. It's like swimming up from the bottom of the ocean in a suit of platemail.
While Varius struggles with his other senses, you three elf-kin can see that the damp grass stretches all around, black and gray, to the extent of your darkvision. Countless stars adorn the clear sky above, and lazy fireflies careen about, buffeted by the occasional breeze. One pale blue star in particular shines brighter than the rest, like an uncut, polished aquamarine.
At least there are familiar faces here, at least for Cassandra, Faria and Astryos. Each of you feels you know the three others you see quite well. The details of their personalities and lives drift through your minds. But, if asked, you'd be unable to say how any of you met, or recall any shared experiences. It's almost as if each of the others is a character in a different story heard over and over again. Everyone wears similar, simple traveling clothes. Nobody wears any weapons, packs or other equipment you can see.
Despite the damp and chill, it's quiet here, peaceful even, though there is something strange and foreboding about that pale star, like a distant, mournful cry carried on the wind.
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