Fantasy The Children of Dawn | IC Roleplay (CLOSED)

[Isolus]

The Children of Dawn

You've come to the end of night,
Come bathe your face in the golden light.
Tell me, child, what lies beyond the river bend?
A new dawn is coming but you're far from journey's end.

Do you dream of those days before?
Can you hear the songs from beyond the forgotten shore?
Destiny has always been with you;
A phantom of a forgotten truth.

You are the newborn fawn,
It’s time to bring forth the new dawn.

Prologue | The Court of the Fairy King ​

Ariella wondered where Old Inigo had run off to. When the slaves drowsily plodded down the vineyard rows in the cool dusk hours, the little wood elf couldn’t find her friend anywhere. The elderly hound never wandered far from his post at the stables. And it seemed lately that not even her gentle coaxing could draw Inigo from his perch. Where she’d normally receive a tiny tail wag, now he’d merely cast her a weary glower before noisily slumping his saggy head between his paws.

The Master’s hounds frightened her terribly, yet she couldn’t help but pity them. The wolfhounds were kept pinned up in iron kennels for days on end, only permitted freedom when a hunt was rallied either for the venison of a golden stag or for the blood of a runaway slave. It was no wonder they were so vicious, snarling the way they did whenever they heard movement outside their pens.

In moments where her mind felt safe to wander, Ariella imagined Inigo in his youth. A wolfhound boasting of a glossy brindled coat with long lean legs to match. His legs could carry him anywhere in graceful, galloping strides. Maybe she could be like the young hounds too; like a young Inigo. When the hunter's horn blew and the dogs’ bellows resounded across the hillside, all they had to do was kick up their heels and dash far away into the free lands. If Ariella were a hound, she’d scamper through the golden wheat with Inigo and his brothers. Together, they’d roam past the gates the kept them confined and gallop off the winding forest road where not even the duke’s knights could find them. They’d bound away, all of them; deep into into the mountains where they could play all they wanted in the warmth of the sun.

But all poor old Inigo wanted to do was to curl up in corner away from all the braying and barking. The arthritis in his hips left with a wobbly gait and the first stages of blindness had already clouded his pupils. Any grace he once had was lost to time and the old wolfhound only desired a quiet corner to waste away in. So Ariella couldn’t understand what could have prompted him to roam away now. No amount of searching between empty stable stalls or behind corked wine barrels brought her any closer to finding her companion. Ariella only relinquished her search when the moon the darkness and she heard the angry knickers of the knights horses. She would have to find her friend in the light of day when it was safer to do so.

It was late into the night, as the moonlight seeped its violet glow over the barley fields, when she heard braying outside her cot. Nestled in between the other slave children in the old hovel, Ariella dozed soundly in her bed of straw and soot as they all curled up as tight as they could for warmth. The howl resounded again and Ariella blinked drowsily. Sleep fogged her thoughts and for a moment, she thought she had only imagined Inigo’s distant bray. But that low tone was evident to her elven ears and she slowly perked her curly head over the bed of straw.

In the hallow huts, shadows came and went as they pleased. She often saw the fearsome forms of the patrolling guards on their plodding steads or the spindly grape vines scratching against the wooden frame as the autumn wind teased their branches. But as Ariella’s palms did their best to knead the sleep from her eyes, the little wood elf could have sworn she spotted sharper shadows dance among the darkness. A flurry of what hummingbird wings buzzed past her ears; She jerked her head upwards just as the shadows had vanished from the corners of her vision. Carefully, as not to wake the other children, Ariella softly padded to the open doorway. Her slave collar jingled softly as she shook the straw loose from her frizzled hair. When she lifted the fluttering curtain from the narrow doorway, her hues finally adjusted to the moonlight bathing the open grasslands which surrounded the slave hamlet. Over the hatched rooftops of the scattered hovels, she heard the chitters of distant crickets and an owl crooning its low echoing hoot. Among the nightly warble, she heard something else too. A dog’s howl breached her ears, yet now it sounded as if it came from some distant place. Had Inigo come home at last?

Perhaps he had gotten locked outside. What if he was unable to clear the jump between the narrow fence or worse yet, he had been wounded by the vicious woodland predators who prowled the shadows at night? The little wood elf passed a weary glance around her; none of the Duke’s men in sight. If she was quick enough, Ariella could herd Inigo back into the compound before anyone had noticed him missing.With swift little leaps, Ariella scurried across the clearing and vanished into the meadow. The towering blades of grass shifted this way and that as she did her best to silently navigate through the tall turf. Her fingers peeled back a bustle of grass, sparkling with evening dew, and she lifted a weary step forward into further darkness.

The magical runes on her collar flickered once. Twice. Then in one final spurt, the magical hum exhausted itself completely. Instead of an abrupt shock, a warm sensation spread all around her body. The heat of its receding light left a flitter of tingles all over her body. From the tips of her fingers to the ends of her toes, every end of her being felt weightless. Ariella realized now that she hadn’t seen the silver light of the moon vanish. And yet, the soles of her feet brushed upon a velvety surface. Ariella lifted the ends of her hemp gown and gazed down at where she had tread. The drying thicket was replaced now by a cushioned brush that looked as if it were spun from silk itself; its leafy blades sparkled in hues of shimmering ivory and sparkling gold and dazzling emerald painted like that of summer days she imagined only existed in fairytales.

When Ariella raised her gaze once again, it was sunlight that bathed her face now. How could this be? It was the last weeks of autumn, was it not? Why did her elven ears hear the soft breath of summer in these woods? Her ebony eyes traced the fleeting rays of sunlight, finding their beams streaming high over the treetops above her. No, not trees. Vines! Winding, silver vines larger than she had ever seen with leaves so rich, they rivaled the beauty of the sunset. The grapevines bore a plethora of golden grapes the size of gold coins. She could even see their gilded surfaces glittering whenever the sun peeked between the leaves.

And all in a single breath, the cold autumn night was vanquished by a warm summer’s day. A vineyard bathed in such color, she thought it would blind her if she stared upon it for too long. Oh, but how could she not gaze at such beauty! The little wood elf blinked rapidly as she felt dust brush her lashes. As she opened her palms, she found sparkles of silver and gold littering her grasp. Ariella gasped as her childlike mind fluttered; fairy dust! Or how she imagined fairy dust must look like. Was she… dreaming? Ariella hadn’t thought she was when she fled the safety of her hut, but places like these could only exist in dreams. Surely there was no vineyard this magnificent in the whole world, otherwise kings would have sold their crowns just to pilfer a branch from this place. Tentatively, as if moving too carelessly would shatter the illusion, the little wood elf strode silently down the broad row of vines. The sparkles, falling like snowflakes from a cloudless amber sky, now shimmered like stars her crimped hair with each step she took. She didn’t know why, but she was lead by the twinkling lights of the golden grapes. Their sparkles coaxed her further along the towering rows until Ariella reached the crest of a rolling hillside. Where the vineyard ended, a valley began and the girl found herself to a set of stone steps that were melded into the steep.

Ariella overlooked the crest and the sights nearly stole her breath away. As the golden mist settled, a creek trickled its iridescent water in a swooping waterfall over the rim into the valley below. The valley opened up before her elven eyes in fantastical grandeur; the spring water pooled into a mirror lake where crimson lanterns crafted from elegant papyrus glided seamlessly along its surface. Surrounded by a forest dressed in silver bark and ivory leaves, an island surrounded by golden grass and buxom lotus flowers floated freely among the clear waters. Yet grander still was the structure that mounted itself at the island’s middle. A marble amphitheater the length of a king’s castle glistened among the summer mist like a beacon calling from beyond the sea. Its towers spiraled high into the clouds, with narrow masts and billowing banners that wound around the pearly beams. Sprouting its open roof, among the floating sparkles and hovering lanterns, the grandest tree she had ever seen stood proudly to shade the entire lake. Its top towered over the marble and its leaves wound themselves between the decorated stone like a warm hug. The king tree, the little wood elf thought. The king of the vineyard.

Her ears heard movement from among the silver woods below her. Inigo? Perhaps Inigo was here too! Had he been the one to bring her here? Easing her way onto the stone steps, Ariella’s hand grasped the smooth railing as she tiptoed downwards and deeper into the valley.

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: Scriptorium, University of Noria.
Mood: Concentrated.
Time: 8:50PM.​

"Remember scribes, no interpolations!" barked the armarius, a title still used by the presiding head of the sciptorium, trudging slowly up and down the stone floor flanked by wooden desks, various tools strewn against the well-worn, mahogany surface. Senán Árdfeld was well-used to this routine and despite it's irksome repetitiveness, the young man understood the need on the part of the head scribe to instil this notion into the mind of the scribes (to Senán belonged to), due to the propensity of said persons to interpose their own thoughts on what a particular writer might have meant, should the chance for such an insertion be made available. As armarius went from row-to-row, the desks arranged as they were in the transcription process, with those who smoothed the parchment in the front row, the scribes in the second and those who illuminated the manuscripts in the last row. As a result, each part has been allotted jocular nicknames, with those in the front row being called 'smoothies', the scribes being aptly named 'scribblers' and those in the back being known as 'lumies'. Not that Senán learned this from active participation in inter-occupational humour, but moreso from observing those around him.

As the young Norian went about refining his quill with the pen-knife assigned to him, placing his inkwell in a circular, wooden slot appended to the side of the slanted desk, Senán found himself grateful for the presence of arana in this world, prolonging as it did the capacity of monks as well as student to continue their craft well into the night. The scriptorium was alive with the near-silent activity of its inhabitants; the sound of parchment being unfurled and straightened, the venatious inscribing of a quill along paper and the concerted, deliberate strokes of the limners. The book being transcribed was that of Enyacles' De Res Gestae Sanctum Deorum, a treatise composed to confute the theories of the heretical monotheists, prompted as they were by a certain Autocles, who sought to show that the gods as they were known to those in Noria, were nothing more than perverse appellations for the various qualities of a singular deity. Though Senán wasn't particularly inclined interest-wise towards theological texts, the idea of preserving a piece of such antiquity, from a person with quite the voluminous output of work, was enough to keep him interested despite the vagueries that such writing can entail at times.
As the young Norian sifted through the pages of the sizeable text, a certain note within the margins of the tome caught the man by surprise. On the 17th page of the treatise, Senán traced his finger along a comment scribbled to the side of the main text which read, 'Turn to page 23 for a surprise, sagacious scribe'. Puzzled but led on as he was by the suggestion, Senán flicked through to the desired page, his robe shuffling by the action. The mystery deepened as another small quote greeted the student, which read, 'Onto your parchment, write this phrase: Enya, blessed mother, may you receive this man back into your arms.' Senán recognised the phrase, being as it was one of the more prominent lines within the preface of Enyacles' work but, as a responsible scribe one would think, the young Norian was apprehensive about writing the same phrase once more, only to be caught and chastised by the head scribe should he take notice. However, the student's fascination with the seemingly innocuous if somewhat misplaced note compelled him to write the phrase, with the customary dipping in-and-out of the inkwell before doing so. After having wrote the phrase with an extravagant serif at the end of the 's', Senán sat back on the wooden still in anticipation. With nothing happening for a few moments, the young man's circumspection reared its head once again and thus he readied his pen-knife to scrape away the phrase. Just as Senán was ready to apply the blade to remove the quote, the words began to separate into individual letters and fly across the page. Then, the letters began to form around in each other in a circular formation, before the ink began to form what seemed a vortex. Amazed at the phenomenon taking place before his cerulean-blue eyes, Senán reached a tentative hands towards the spiral, touching it. At that moment, an invisible force seemed to have grasped the young Norian by his index finger, with a degree of power that took the latter by surprise. Struggling in vain, this phantasmal entity dragged Senán through it, the distressed student's cries not being picked up as his entire form was absorbed by the obsidian gyre.

The sensation was like nothing Senán had ever felt or seen before; it was as though the young man was being ferried underneath the surface of a tempestuous river, the sloshing of that familiar, tenebraic substance all around him and enveloping Senán in that great mass of ink. At first the young Norian panicked, thrashing out the liquid encompassing him completely as though he were being smothered by it. Then, as the student collated that his breathing wasn't constrained nor was he in any particular danger, Senán relaxed his guard and to an extent, the sensation was rather pleasing. Ah, the young man thought to himself, this is quite relaxi-! Before he could finish the thought, Senán found a few moments later landing on the back of his neck, tumbling a few meters before a jolt of pain reverberated down the young man's spine. The incident elicited a range of expletives that even Senán was surprised at. After the throbbing had eased and the pain having subsided, the young man gazed at his surroundings and a new fascination tinged the latter's features. "Where in the name of the gods am I?" Senán said vociferously, his eyes glancing around at the seemingly absurd degree to which colours and various fauna intermingled and produced the most odd and yet magnificent scene.

Then, as he regained his bearings somewhat (noticing that he had fallen into what seemed a valley), Senán could barely make out what seemed to be the appearance of a large structure peaking about above treeline and, assuming it to be a civilised vestibule of some kind, the young Norian decided to make his way in that direction.

 

[Fred Colon]

Marina stared at her reflection in the perfectly still amber liquid of her lager, illuminated by the light of the lantern hanging behind her.

She knew what she looked like, though she wished she didn’t. Her short blond hair had grown longer than she liked it, washed but unkept, and heavy black bags rimmed the base of her eyes. The scar on her face, even though it hadn’t been touched, looked redder and rawer than usual, the twist in her lip more grisly, baring her teeth.

She knew what she looked like, but she was trying to distract herself from the decision she had to make.

To drink or not to drink.

Marina didn’t drink. At least, she hadn’t drank. It was bad for the mind, bad for the body. You made foolish decisions while drunk, and Marina already made enough foolish decisions while she was sober.

But she looked across the quiet bar at the man with his face in a puddle of his own spilled drink. She’d passed him by earlier, when she and her companions had entered the bar.

He’d reeked of alcohol. Boris had prodded him, to make sure he was still alive, but he hadn’t done anything except burp and remain immobile.

He wasn’t happy, but he was asleep. He wasn’t thinking. That’s what Marina needed right now. She didn’t want to think of Gaz. She didn’t want to think of Pansy, or River. Not of the old shoemaker or her father or the mother she’d never met. She put her hand around the handle of her mug. She felt the cold, smooth wood beneath her fingers. She lifted it up for a moment, and her reflection fled from the ripples that resulted.

Her companions, out for supplies at the moment, wouldn’t judge her for drinking. They might be surprised, but Fleurette might even encourage it. She could just… stop remembering for a while. It wasn’t like it would be forever.

But Marina didn’t think she deserved to forget them. After all they’d done for her, after her string of constant failures. They had every right to torment her. To drink would be selfish.

But Marina was alive and they were all dead. Wasn’t that proof enough of her selfishness?

She lifted the cup towards her lips, but stopped. Her reflection was back, defying the ripples, the moving liquid, only it was her younger, with brighter eyes. Dirty and wounded, her face set and grim, but her old spark still alive in her expression. She recognized the moment, even though she’d never seen her own face during that time. It was during the Battle of Hallan Heights. She’d lost a lot of people she’d cared about that day, but she’d saved a lot of people too.

Marina quickly put the cup back down. A little too quickly, apparently, perhaps the shifting liquid unbalanced the mug, even though the mug was made heavily enough that it shouldn’t have. The full mug tipped and spilled all over the table, onto the floor.

The Bartender, a portly man with a red face and a mop of curly black hair sighed.

“That was good beer.” He said,

“I apologize. I’ll clean it up. Do you have any supplies?”

The portly man hooked a finger towards the back of the tavern.

“Closet down the hall on the left.”

Marina padded down the hall, but didn’t immediately see the closet the bartender had spoken of. She kept going, not seeing any door at all. No windows, either. No stairs upwards.

Something was wrong, she realized immediately. She drew her sword, took the shield off of her back and became Silverheart. She felt the familiar swelling of confidence, of righteous indignation, and the familiar feeling of sickness as deep inside Marina quailed at the lie she was presenting the world.

She turned around and tried heading back to the bar, slowly, carefully. But the hall just kept going. There was no exit, not even after Silverheart had walked in that direction for several minutes longer than she should have had to. The walls were uniform and brown, featureless, though as she walked they were shading to a lighter, warmer brown than the dull brown-gray slats the tavern had been made out of.

“Mage! Release me!” Silverheart barked. Magic. It had to be. She hated magic. “I’ve slain uglier than your like.”

But there was no response other than distant laughter, and then, surprisingly, a faint breeze coming from the direction Silverheart was heading.

A few minutes later she saw light down the hall, and when she reached it Silverheart stopped.

This wasn’t magic she had encountered before. The hallway had opened up into the most beautiful, verdant valley Silverheart had yet encountered.

Silverheart took in the beautiful blue skies, the wide green forest in front of her, and the land rising majestically up on either side of her, hemming her and the local flora into a valley. A river ran into the forest, it’s quiet susurrus whispering calm nothings to Silverheart.

She felt a sense of peace here. But Silverheart hadn’t survived by allowing herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. She turned back behind her to see that the hallway had vanished. A field of white and purple Anis Flowers waving gently in the breeze in its place.

She knew of no magician powerful enough to manage… whatever this was. Which meant little, because what she knew about magic could fill a thimble, but it still worried her.

Unsure of what else to do, Silverheart scanned the horizon, her eyes eventually settling on an absolutely enormous tree rising off in the distance. The river ran in that direction, too.

Towns and villages flourished on rivers, and the Tree seemed to sit in a central point in the Valley. If Silverheart wanted to get to the bottom of this, it seemed that following the river was the place to start.

She began to follow the river, crouching low, doing her best to hide among the trees. She wanted to spot whoever had done this to her before they spotted her.

 

[Tlon]

Lush rolling green hills give way to dried grasses and exposed rock on the road from Rhinefall to Cardeen. The sea and the gulf press in on the land as one moves southward, drying the air and filling it with the scent of salt so the sea can be smelled before it’s seen. So thin is the resulting isthmus that it can be overseen in entirety by a single outpost and indeed one such outpost has been established by the two neighboring kingdoms to watch weapons and trade. For leagues before and after the barricaded isthmus outpost one can see it’s effect: the roads become larger, more worn down, and stop still with people. Small towns are established that subsist entirely on the trade of waiting travelers moving across this sliver of earth. The swordsmen at the gates and the bowmen at the walls only allow certain travellers through, and only after a cursory investigation of their person, so at the outpost the line to cross can be so long that it becomes easier to smuggle oneself by boat to the other shore.

Stood atop the last rolling hill of the Western realm Osorio looks out southward at the checkpoint known as the Sun’s Bulwark. The line of those waiting goes so far back on the landscape that it reaches a small fishing village seeing an inordinate amount of ship traffic. Osorio's eyes shift from the scene to the far distance of nothingness, lost in thought.

“What did the smugglers say?” asks Anlaith from somewhere inside their merchant’s wagon. She must have heard him return. She peeks out now from the top window near her bed, her ears popping back up as she extends her head out of it.

“Five gold a head,” says Osorio, “twenty for the wagon.”

“We can’t afford that,” says Anlaith.

“I know,” says Osorio.

“And the forger?” asks Anlaith.

“One gold for papers,” says Osorio, “would cover all of us for three months.”

“If the guards buy it,” says Anlaith, “they probably see dozens of fakes everyday. Is the forger good?”

“Middling,” says Osorio, “but he doesn’t need to be good.”

Osorio turns and knocks against the wooden walls of the wagon hard. From inside there’s a rustling then a hissing sound - one of Stonejaws few audible responses. The brown scaled laborer gets out of the wagon and clacks his jaws at seeing his friend return.

<<Osorio returns,>> says Stonejaw, his hands moving in a smooth movement that belies his otherwise clumsy manner.

<<Do we still have that northern charm, the one that’s a white flower?>> asks Osorio.

<<Yes,>> says Stonejaw, <<but it’s broken.>>

<<I remember, bring it out here anyway>> says Osorio.

Anlaith looks on, worried.

“Ugh that thing,” says Anlaith, “it makes my teeth chatter and I think I can feel one of them cracking now and I don’t need this additional strain on it thank you very much.”

From the wagon Stonejaw produces a thin chain holding a flower made from some white metal. At its center is a blue gemstone, cracked with a chunk missing. He hands it over to Osorio, who holds it up to his eye for closer examination. It used to be some kind of hypnotic charm, a powerful artifact that could have commanded the mind of a weak target. But with the gemstone broken the hypnotic effect is diffuse and muffled - all putting it on seems to do is give anyone in the vicinity a splitting headache, including the wearer. Osorio bought it for cheap - only a few coppers - in the hopes that he could repair it, but it is far past his abilities, and for the last few months it’s been left at the bottom of some box.

<<What are you going to do with it?>> asks Stonejaw.

“Fix it,” says Osorio.

“You said you couldn’t fix it,” says Anlaith.

“Well, I can’t fix it like new,” says Osorio, “but I don’t need to.”

He turns the necklace over as he speaks.

“I just need to fix it so it’s slightly less terrible,” says Osorio, “enough so instead of a splitting headache it’s just a light headache, with some of that teeth chattering left in.”

<<Then it might sell for something!>> says Stonejaw.

“No it won’t,” says Osorio, “but if the effect is light enough the guards won’t think anything is wrong, they’ll just think they’re sick or tired or that they've had some bad meat for lunch. They won’t be looking too closely at anything, least of all our obviously false papers.”

“Or they take us in for falsifying official certificates of trade” says Anlaith, "can you really even fix it like that?"

“Well,” says Osorio, “I might make it worse. Then we’ll just have to rely on the forged papers by themselves.”

Osorio smiles at Anlaith’s arched eyebrow.

“We could just get the papers normally,” suggests Anlaith.

Osorio gives her a look.

“Slave traders will not tell me where I can and can’t go.”

Anlaith wrinkles her snout but says nothing. She pulls her head back inside the window and goes back to her scribblings.

<<I’ll make a fire for dinner,>> says Stonejaw with an hesitant smile.

As Stonejaw leaves for a nearby grove of trees Osorio goes back into the merchant wagon searching for his tools. The gem artificer’s set he has is old - while it’s complete with all the little tools they are all also either rusted or missing their handles. Osorio has to wrap some old cloth around the iron handles for a comfortable grip. The rusted ends will probably not be fine enough for any detailed work, but they just need to be good enough.

As he searches he finds that sitting on top of his artificer’s set is the dark lockbox that contains Osorio’s experiment. The light of the afternoon comes in through one of the windows and shines on the perfect white circle carved into its top. Osorio wonders about using it now but dismisses the idea as soon as it appears. It’s nowhere near ready, it hasn’t been anywhere near long enough, he thinks to himself. For now the Ivory Mask is as inert as the iron tools in his hand. It might always be - but Osorio doesn’t think so. With both hands he takes the dark lockbox and places it at the back of the shelf, hidden out of sight.

He spends the rest of the evening working carefully on the broken charm with little success. Anlaith and Stonejaw know not to disturb him when he’s working, doubly so when he’s working with something with the annoying potential of broken goods. When the sun dips in the sky and the other two want to sleep Osorio takes his work outside so that he can continue by the light of the fire. The care needed to move the delicate tools, the concentration and internal focus he has to summon to deal with the currents of arana moving underneath the gemstone’s surface, the lateness of the hour - all of these press on his eyelids until he nods off, sitting against the merchant wagon.

When he wakes up he finds his tools gone. The necklace is gone too. The fire is dead. Robbery? Still half asleep Osorio stumbles into the wagon - lacking the presence of mind to see that his companions are gone - and searches for the dark lockbox. Panicked and unaware he's searching near the floor instead of the shelves, he tosses aside clothes and supplies and all the various trinkets so that the inside of the wagon comes alive with clattering. At the bottom of the heap Osorio finds the lockbox and pulls it close against himself.

Something tells him to open it.

“No,” says Osorio. He surprises himself - he hadn’t meant it so seriously as to speak it outloud.

From within the dark lockbox something inside beckons.

This time Osorio says nothing. He looks around now and notices the edges of his vision are blurred. He tries to get up and start walking but his feet do not propel him forward.

“A dream,” says Osorio to himself.

Once more a voice beckons him to open the box.

My dream, thinks Osorio firmly.

Then, somewhere behind him, he senses a smirk.

Fine.

The lockbox opens and swallows him whole.




Osorio rises up from the ground gasping for air. He looks around him to find the lockbox, the wagon, and the hill he was lying on gone. Now he finds himself among soft grass in the light of day. He blinks as his vision returns to him - the haziness of the dream no longer lingers around his sight but he cannot believe what it tells him. Trees with bark like silver hold up canopies of alabaster leaves as light itself seems to fall, glittering, from the sky. Osorio lifts himself up and takes a few experimental steps to find his body and the world responsive to one another. He feels at his head, feels his hands against one another. It’s all real, Osorio thinks. It’s all real?

 

[Kittenpom20]

Elidyr Firahel

Elidyr was awoken abruptly by a searing light entering his vision. Groaning, he instinctually shielded his eyes, wondering if he had forgotten to close his curtains last night – only to realize he had fallen asleep at his desk again, poring through documents on the structure of the legal system in Solodor. Squinting and blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Elidyr cautiously moved his hand away from his face and tried to ascertain where the light source was coming from. As soon as he moved his hand away the light dimmed, and a small shining orb appeared in his vision, bouncing around mere inches from his face.

Annoyed, Elidyr tried to dispel the light with a wave of his hand, but it wouldn’t go away. Was this some sort of trick? Had Fenna come to visit and needed to wake him up? She generally didn’t use magic unless she needed to, but this would be just like one of her trademark pranks.

Wincing as his muscles groaned, sore after being in a strange position for so long, Elidyr got up to look out the window of his bedroom at the cobblestone street below, but he didn’t spot her unruly mess of white hair. Slightly deflated, Elidyr looked back at the ball of light, which still bounced without pattern on top of his desk. He tried to catch it with one hand, but either it was too fast or incorporeal, he couldn’t tell. The thing wouldn’t sit still long enough for him to get a good look at it, or let him use magic to try and identify its origins. When it saw him attempting to cast a spell it circled his head and he swatted it away. It continued dancing around him, careening towards his face at an extreme pace and then stopping abruptly, making him flinch.

Fed up, Elidyr put his hands on his hips and demanded, “Alright, you, what do you want?”

The light passed through the door of his bedroom as if in answer to his question and Elidyr followed, looking down the stairs to his back door of his small house. It circled around the door in a figure eight fashion, stopping to hover right above the doorknob. Elidyr glanced down at himself and realized he was still in his robes from last night. If he ventured out looking like a wrinkled mess, it might be the one thing that could further damage his reputation.

Feeling like an incredible idiot for talking to a source of light with no discernible consciousness behind it, Elidyr called down the stairs, “Give me ten minutes, fiend.”

The ball of light only circled the door faster in response but he ignored it and changed into loose travel robes in a dark gray color. Elidyr filled his pack with his standard camping gear and dungeon excavation kit as well as the few things he refused to leave behind in case anybody came knocking at his door. Glancing in the mirror, Elidyr huffed as he saw the unruly state of his hair, and used some water to tame it down into a semi-acceptable poof above his head. For a split second he considered telling somebody what was going on – that a strange light was seemingly leading him somewhere – but just as quickly remembered there was nobody to tell. In the few weeks since he’d apprehended the dark elves from Cardeen, his coworkers had stopped checking in, likely because of pressure from their superiors to cease contact with him altogether. He still had no idea how the crown’s investigation was moving, or if it was moving at all; he wouldn’t be surprised if it was a farce, and he’d be officially unemployed soon.

Pushing the dark thoughts out of his head, Elidyr straightened his pack on his shoulders, patted it once to make sure his spellbook was indeed inside, and carefully walked down the stairs. He didn’t see the ball of light at his door - he peeked around the modest sitting room and kitchen as he made it to the front landing, Elidyr realized with irritation that the light had somehow lit every single one of the dozens of candles on the first floor of his apartment. The light, realizing he was ready, zipped back to the front door and circled the doorknob at an incredible speed.

“You think you’re funny, huh,” he muttered, and waved his hand to extinguish the flames. Elidyr looked around his apartment once more to make sure that everything was in order, and he unlocked his door, dodging out of the way as the light flew towards his face again towards the outside air. What was he even doing? Whatever this was, it was an adventure fit for a fool, or somebody slowly losing their sanity; either could fit his description at this point. Just to make sure, he again tried dispelling the magic of the light again, and it didn’t work. Perhaps he was truly going insane indeed.

Once Elidyr stepped outside the light dimmed a noticeable degree but was still visible, bobbing along the street at a good pace. Elidyr followed it carefully, making sure that nobody else was likewise following him; it seemed like a normal day otherwise. Solodor was a beautiful city but it was, as all cities were, overpopulated and sprawling. In the district that Elidyr resided in the buildings looked as if a small child had built multiple gingerbread houses and haphazardly glued them together; varying architectures, styles, and sizes all came together in a heap of what he called home. These buildings, as many of the elven buildings in Solodor, were built before the city became a true capital city, so they weren’t necessarily the most efficient for city planning. This meant that Elidyr had long since gotten used to taking strange routes to get where he needed to go, but the light seemed intent on leading him in circles. It went through a dozen twists and turns, but they eventually made their way to the edge of the city, to a cramped alleyway where there was nothing but rats and refuse scattered along the craggy ground.

“We would’ve arrived in half the time if you weren’t so ann-” he was cut off by a bright blue light appearing in front of him, which enlarged and then took the shape of a wooden doorway. It looked remarkably like his own back door, complete with the same scuffs and dents, but it was a dark navy color, like the sky at midnight.

Elidyr’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he reached out a tentative hand towards the door, somewhat surprised when his hand didn’t go through the image; instead it connected with the wood. The light now rested above the doorknob, not circling around as it had done before; this must be the final destination, wherever it led.

Part of him hoped this was a dream, the other part of him hoped this was real; whatever it was, he was going. Elidyr peered through the doorway at a beautiful shaded lake topped with floating lanterns of some sort and stepped through, only to realize too late that the door wasn’t set on the ground, it was a good distance in the air – and he ended up landing flat on his face on soft sand.

Suppressing a stream of curses and spitting sand out of his mouth, Elidyr righted himself and sat cross-legged on the beach for a moment. His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings and realized he was nowhere familiar. The beach around him was rather narrow, and the lake which he had glimpsed earlier was much larger than he anticipated; at its center was an enormous tree, its boughs stretching to cover the area of the water. Behind him was a forest with trees and leaves of strange ivory and silver colors; if such a thing were to exist in Ardunia, he had never even heard of it. He brushed some sand out of his hair and looked around him, still sitting. The door and the light that had brought him here had disappeared during his disorderly tumble. Elidyr felt a flash of panic, but he looked closer at the landscape and saw some sort of structure at the base of the tree – somebody lived here, then.

Elidyr stood up, brushed the sand off of his robes, and reached a hand down to touch the impossibly clear waters of the lake, marveling at the beauty of the world around him.

 

[Hanarei]

Liala of the Eternal Moonlight
Location: The Soot Pit (Tavern South of Noria) >> ???​

The air was thick with smoke and incense in the rather large room. Candles flickered within the lanterns placed carefully upon the dark brown wooden tables worn down over time with wear and tear that no clean and polish could completely wash away. The room was filled with a constant audible chatter, the words being drowned together in a strange cacophony of voices all merged together to form one garbled mess of conversation. Liquor oozed from the mugs as the bar maidens hustled to get through the crowds of drunken customers passing out drinks and collecting the coin. The patrons varied in shapes and sizes most being that of humans though a ogre easily stood out in the crowd along with a pair of goblins, although far from the most obvious 'monsters' in the room.

The establishment was known as a den of scum and villainy, the Soot Pit. Its name hadn't always been such, though such a title was bestowed upon it long ago considering the lowlifes that entered such an establishment and as such the name took hold. When you have such a poor reputation, why not embrace it, after all those 'shady individuals' needed to be served and a place to go and they had plenty of coin to spare. For every immoral mercenary there may be an information broker sharing knowledge those with power might wish for you to not know, or a smuggler carrying goods of questionable morality. Those who knew about it would likely avoid such a place, including any potential performers who might not wish to soil their hands The perfect place for a wandering entertainer such as herself. The cloaked woman stepped forward to the small stage... what was really just a little corner on the side of which no tables were placed.

Her small pack was slung around placed down to the side. Her small sturdy hands lifted up tugging at the hood of her cloak letting it slip free exposing her black hair, kept braided slung over her shoulder. A rather elegant red dress adorning her body. Her reddish eyes glanced out among the crowd as she reached up, undoing her braids before pulling her hair back using a rather elegant wire yellow pin to help hold it partially up just above her shoulders. She pulled out a small mirror from her pack, glancing upon it as she began to doll herself up, the light pink lipstick carefully pressed to her lips by her fingertips the taste of flowers managing to seep into her mouth. She took a small stencil, carefully drawing along her eyelids carefully coloring them in first with a bit of pink partially around her eyes before using a black one to outline her eyes. She opened a small flat container and a little brush, applying blush to her upper cheeks just soft enough to be seen. She finally up a little jar opening it pulling out the brush contained within it before powdering her face carefully with it making her skin appear slightly lighter. She put away her things glancing in the mirror puckering her lips before kissing at herself in the mirror satisfied with her work.

The wandering bard propped herself up, taking hold of the lute place just outside her pack carefully slipping it out. She took a small jar she carried on her placing it down in front of her for any coin she might be tipped. She turned to face the crowd looking as most had better things to do looking away. One... individual... of a slightly more rotund stature quickly approaching tossing a coin in with a wink not even seeming to judge her of her performance but of appearances. Not an unusual thing and one she gratefully bowed her head in response despite his gaze clearly being that of less reputable thoughts. An artist was never one to refuse a compliment even if it may only be one part of her work... even if it may be in many ways of nature's blessing... or as she might view it more of a curse of which in part she hid. Her finger strummed the lute a few soft notes playing out as she listened in her mind blanking focusing on the tone of the note. The smoke in the room felt as if it was cleared out as the small corner she inhabited opened up into a large hall. The noise of the room all but drowned out into a barely audible whisper. Tranquility filled her as a brief moment of bliss overcame her.

Her eyes cracked open glancing out now as the room itself shrunk back to normal size and the sounds of the people talking returned albeit to her in a more subdued manner. She began strumming the lute the music cascading through the halls reaching some ears and giving some gazes in her way though many of which spared only half attention to far busy talking business or simply enjoying a drink and a chat. The tempo the notes quickly picking up as she strummed the notes in rapid succession as both warm up as well as to start up the song. Her eyes focused out looking at the crowd with a warm smile on her lips. An Artist made their environment into the music... and the audience into its story.

" ♪ Bring Forth Those of Shadow's Blessed ♫
♪ Basked Within Sweet Intoxicating Nectar Thy Knows Best ♫
♪ For Troubles We Wrought ♫
♪ Or Those Of Others They May (h)ave Brought. ♫

♪ For What Daylight May Shun ♫
♪ We Will Dare Not Run ♫
♪ For Night Has Just Merely Begun ♫
♪ So Drink Merry and May There Be Great Fun ♫

Her song went on the words escaping her lips before she could even think of them. The music carrying out in a slightly somber yet strangely uplifting tone. A few patrons stepped up coins being tossed into the little jar she had of which she smiled and nodded all but happy to receive it though the gesture itself almost automatic as she continued to play. The sensation of zen returning once more as the sounds of the tavern softened though in her head blending together into the music. That great open hall she pictured before now having shifted to being instead the very tavern with its patrons all circled around her in their chairs with her sitting on stage. Her body was slowly spinning not of her own accord but as if the very ground itself was moving. The smokey air once making things hazy swirled around like a vortex above her head and that of the crowd as if moving to the very music she played. The sound of mugs being smacked against the table sounding like a drum being struck the material giving part way to create a sound that blended perfectly with her sweet melody. The patrons, as rough looking as many where all but showing their own beauty in what was a canvas painted of sound.

This world... this world is a place so cruel... but even such cruelty... even in a place where shadows thrived... there was beauty in it just waiting to be seen. It might be faint... it might be flawed...but it was there. It was about finding where that beauty was... hidden deep within us all.... and to allow it to be drawn out... to be illustrated so we all might see.

Art is the great gateway to happiness... to understanding... to great harmony. One just had to embrace it and let the world to see... to see the light... how bright that light is...

******************************************************************************

Marilyn's eyes opened in a dream like haze. She glanced forward looking out to the wonders she witnessed. A warmth filled her, not just from the temperature but of the view she had. What was clearly a man made structure toured up into the sky, not just built around nature but seeming infused together. Her eyes darted up admiring the sheer beauty of where she saw perched so perfectly before her in the distance. It made her wonder if there was an easel that had been misplaced that should be sitting before her, awaiting her to attempt to paint such beauty in her own way to store it as a memory of which one may be able to show others and bless them with such beauty even if in a much more feeble form from the original. It felt as if the entire place was a strange painting, having someone entered into it the gods know when. All she could remember was her performing... and her mind just being drawn into her performance... far more then she might normally be.

She glanced down, seeing her dress still on her hand reaching up to gently touch her face lifting it up, the powder still on her face. She glanced down seeing her cloak pulling it up as she slung it over herself not quite sure what to make of it partially covering herself up though still dressed up. Not the most ideal thing... but at the same time she couldn't help but feel it was right. Such a place seemed to deserve to be shown respect and having herself still garnished for her act was perhaps the most fitting thing she could do. She kept her cloak down resting partially draped over her arms as she wandered forward uncertain where she was... but not afraid of what it might be. All she could do was wonder where she was as she moved ahead her mind already hearing music playing in her mind as the sound of a stream could be heard as part of it... guiding her forward to who knows where.

 

[Isolus]

Ariella of Avaleen
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Thoughtful
Time: Unknown​

Summer may have faded outside of this sacred hearthland, but here; its memory was as warm her as the sunlight that glazed her cheeks. Yet even in the silence that lingered within these sacred woods, Ariella heard other sounds rouse around her as she made her descent into the valley. Harmonies of life still stirred loud enough for her ears to hear. In fact, she felt quite certain of the clatter she heard among the shimmering stems of the valley reeds. A watery wading across the iridescent pools. A soft scurry amidst the lush leaves of the crimson brush. As the soles of her feet met with the velvety grass from the stone stairway, Ariella hoped to spot Inigo shuffling back to the sound of her voice like he always did when he wanted her comfort. And when he did, she'd give him a thorough scratch behind his cuffed ear or a gentle kiss upon his scraggily snout to let him know he was in good hands now.

"Inigo?"

In a single breath, the sounds died as quickly as they came. Ariella’s shoulders stiffened as the echo of her voice was snatched up by the enchanted air. And now, the chittering crickets called from the hight valley cliffs instead of deep within the trickling waters of the bounding riverland where they once rested. She could feel the gentle mist of the waterfall sprinkle its droplets down the nape of her neck, but now its ripples sounded as if they bubbled from a hollow far away place now. How could this be? She had heard Inigo barking and braying, she had! And now he had just vanished once again? Why did her friend feel so lost to her in one moment and only a breath away in the next? Ariella allowed a narrow frown to pass upon her lips. How could she know where the hound was if she couldn’t even be sure of where she heard him?

Her ebony hues followed the shimmering silver vines as they wound themselves around the stone railings in a tight embrace. The golden grapes, crisp and dewy, lit up their buds to illuminate the walkway like fireflies lazily drifting over a forest clearing. Fireflies. She thought they only come to visit the woodlands in the humid summer evenings. Oh, how beautiful they always were; the way they slowly bobbled over the golden glass like stars in the night sky. But these little friends appeared more cohesive in their shapes. With each flicker of their tails, they seemed to leave a remnant of light to linger in their wake; to take shape in forms more familiar to her mind's eye.

It was then that Ariella searched the ghosts that plagued her memories for the key for this recollections; what she found were summer evenings among golden tents embroidered with tattooed flowers and symbols that told the beloved songs of her people. She saw a gathering among the light of the torch bug's glow. There among a roasting spit bubbling with the delicious scents of buttered cornbread and a sizzling hunter’s stew, the girl saw faces she remembered. She saw a tall, wiry wood elf with a pointed jawline and tiny spectacles that were always pushed up on a nose that curved like a raven’s sharp beak. Mattimeos. Dear Mattimeos. She saw a maiden in billowing emerald gown dancing barefoot behind silk and flames; Sephera of swift foot and quick wit. She saw Solantius, the one with the strong arms and soft voice. Their protector, one who was always so quiet yet so wise. Whenever she felt his eyes glance upon her; those hues that possessed this wondrous way of appearing either incredibly kind or incredibly fierce, Aru knew they looked upon her with patience and security - even if his crossed arms and dour frown tried to tell her otherwise. And what of the other faces? The faces round and small like her, who giggled with her as they all twirled among the brush in pursuit of the torch bug’s mesmerizing glow? Valia with her scrapped knees with whom she'd splash with in the mountain creeks. Cedria who helped her braid her hair at the start of each day. All at once, Ariella’s chest fluttered and she craved the warmth the the golden glow had shared.

But as quick as it came, the ghosts vanished within her eyes. But Ariella’s resolve thickened as if her own name had sounded from the mystic air. This time, there was no stammer to its echo. The little elf clambered her way out of the thicket and trotted in quick little skips along the stone walkway under the safety of the twinkling lights.

​

The marble pathway didn’t take her to some outlandish place as she had first expected. There was no signs of mystic creatures hiding in the treetops or monsters laying in wait in the shimmering mist to snatch her up. Yet she couldn't help but feel as if she was being... watched. That there were eyes among the trees that she could not see. But they could see her. The thought alone was enough to have the child pick up her pace as she glided down a narrow hill and nimbly scampered around an overturned tree. It wasn't long before her feet ushered her towards the ivory shore. A small skip, a hop around a bend in the path; The child found her pause again. Across the lake, the castle made from the tree stood closer upon the golden isle like a king upon his throne. The branches of the colossal willow were his crown; the banners around the high towers its scepters. Close to the shadow of the amphitheater, Ariella could spot the spindly gates that surrounded castle; lean and tall and coated in a sparkling crimson like rubies. There were soft lights dancing within the gate as well. But the little elf could discern their shapes. Torch bugs? Faery dust? Ariella gasped softly. Fae! Oh, what if they were Fae!

And who in such grandeur lived here, she wondered. Were they good or were they wicked? Could they help her find her friend, perhaps? Would they help her? There would be only one way to find out, for what other choice did she have? She couldn't leave poor old Inigo here alone regardless of how wonderous of a place they had stumbled into. But... Oh dear. How would she get across? The little elf gracefully scampered around the shoreline in search of a bridge or a boat, perhaps even some pathway she could take to lead her across the iridescent waters. The soles of her feet skidded almost silently upon the golden gravel as she realized the shoreline, indeed, had no end. And no boat in sight.

At least Ari could spot the majesty of the mirror lake below her more clearly from where she stood. Pearly waters that captured a rainbow’s shimmer within its surface, bleeding its taint to reflect its light for any who glanced upon it. Its illusion appeared only broken by the glow of the paper lanterns, all miraculously dry within the pool’s soft ripples. Could it be? Ariella lifted her hemp gown and pressed her foot upon the water. And all at once, its ripples solidified the moment they met her touch. The surface became firm like ice, yet smooth like stone! Water that one could walk upon? With growing confidence and childlike determination, Ariella fully wandered upon the waves and outstretched her arms to steady herself. Oh my, it was slippery. She almost lost her footing a moment or two; But she couldn't stop the soft grin from spreading across her face when she finally found her balance. Ah, how odd it felt; to be standing here as schools of golden trout and silver herring glided underneath her only a breath away!

In this place, she could walk upon the water as if it were grass. Perhaps she should be frightened at this prospect, but it was all too beautiful to be fearful of. Why was it she was the only one to see it? The fish of many colors lazily circled around the silver reefs and ivory rocks, appearing to share little care or concern of Ariella's steady stroll above them. With each step Ari took, she left soft golden footprints in her wake as if she tread upon marble instead of water. And with each step, she grew more confident as she approached the castle made of the king tree; drawn to the safety of its silky branches.

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: Isle of Mirth (unknown to Senán).
Mood: Apprehensive, yet strangely curious.
Time: n/A.
Mentions: Isolus ​

What about the parchment?! Senán thought frantically, a nervy hand pressed against his head as though to prevent from popping off due to stress. The spontaneity of his sudden transference into this strange, dream-like world had preoccupied his mind for the time being as he made his way to the edifice, perched, as though it were a nest, upon a great tree situated in the middle of the lake. However, that didn't stop the young Norian man from recalling where he was before this incident had occured, namely that he was in the middle of a transcription process for a work that hadn't been copied in nearly a century and a half. As he plopped himself onto the ground, legs criss-crossed, flattening out his habit as he descended, Senán couldn't help but ponder the consequences of his disappearance. Well, I'd like to think that they'd conduct an investigation as to where I went, the student thought despondently as he unclipped the pouch attached to his girdle, retrieving the dagger contained therein. Clasping the weapon in his hand not only for protection but also to leave something of an inscription upon the landscape, etching his name into the dirt below: Senán Árdfeld was here. With the trickle of a stream flanking him on the left, the young man felt that if anyone was passing by this area, relatively sparse as it was with trees (compared to the rest of the valley), they could reasonably expect to find him and thus he made another indentation, pointing to the direction he was going; invariably towards that towering structure that dominated what could be seen of the horizon

Yet, Senán was rather disappointed that he hadn't one of his journals with him, to be able to jot down the characteristics of the landscape and the profundity of its inversed, almost fantastical array of colours. Silver bark, ivory trees; these were only some of the aspects of this unusual valley that endeared itself to a beholder's eye. But to Senán, the question of where and what this place was attenuated to the question of who, or what lived here also. Maybe it had to with what was being transcribed but the young Norian's mind wandered to the idea of the divine and whether he was brought to one of the 'realms' of the gods, whether it be that of Enya, Dovacrae or the other divinities. If the gods even had such domiciles, the student questioned, reasoning that if the gods were to have such an abode, they would have to be less than that which contains them, if they were to actually reside there. Though he wouldn't have given as much extrapolation to theological positions as maybe they deserve, Senán's underdeveloed musings would rather admit of the gods that they were incorporeal, being composed entirely of a spirit and if they were seen possess something of a body, it was little more than an affectation or rather something else being used, like a plectrum when plucked creates sound, to voice their will. Being so absorbed in thought as he walked alongside the trickling stream to his left, the student didn't realise the rather apposite ground, protruding slightly upwards, broke Senán out of his reverie at long last, by tripping him.

Yet, expecting to be met with coarse earth as he had been acquainted upon his first passing into this 'world', Senán's pale face instead fell against what seemed to golden grass, hugging the shore of the lake as the water bobbed back and forth. Curbing the need to utter even more expletives as well as complaints about him constantly being thrown to the ground, Senán peered across the lake with unimpaired vision. Though barely making out the full structure, the body of it somewhat obscured by the treeline when he first arrived, the shimmering waters of the lake seemed to make what Senán could finally call an amphitheatre, seem even more resplendent, even celestial.

Yet, as Senán peered across the lake, he thought he caught the glimpse of what appeared to a rather diminutive figure skipping across the lake towards the island. However, Senán's scepticism prevailed once again, putting it down to still being somewhat dizzy after hitting his head once again, though this time it hurt a great deal less than the previous occasion. Situating himself along the ground once again, gazing sombrely at the ebbing flow of the lake's water upon the shore, Senán seemed at a loss as to what to do to complete his journey. As far as he could make out, there was a lack of any isthmus that seemed to connect the island with that out of the surrounding landscape so overland travel was deemed to be impossible. The lack of boats vitiated Senán's hope of ferrying himself over to the citadel. His options frustrated, the young Norian cast a cursory glance around where he was, noticing a stone whose surface was indelibly smooth. Grabbing it, the texture a surprising comfort, Senán, not moving from his sedentary position, tossed the stone with an exaggerated flourish. Instead of hearing the PLOP-PLOP of a stone skipping over the surface of water, the sound brought about was that of a pebble hopping off of earth.

The sight caused Senán to instinctively hop to his feet, a compound of shock and curiosity welling up within him. His inquisitiveness making him scamper towards the water on his knees, the young Norian reached a tremulous hand towards the surface. As his shaking fingers waded through the liquid, near instantaneously did the water harden; intrigued, Senán pressed against the surface, surprised at how solid it was. Rising to his feet, the student took one step onto the lake and the area around his feet morphed into that familiar substance.

Senán started to make his way across the lake, dagger in hand.

 

[Fred Colon]

Location: Isle of Mirth

Mood: Annoyed, confused and suspicious.

Mentions: Isolus Larry


Silverheart crept through the forest as quietly as she could manage. It wasn’t her forte, but she’d had experience fighting in the woods, and not moving around like some wounded bear was an important survival skill.

It didn’t seem to matter, however. Silverheart couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. There was nothing in the trees she could see, not even birds. She considered the river, trying to peer into it to see if some aquatic creature had been trailing her, but it was crystal clear and nothing save a few large, silvery fish dwelled within. At least she knew where to get food, if she ended up needing to fend for herself.

As she’d suspected, the river seemed to be heading towards the huge tree she’d seen in the distance. What was more, when she’d climbed an old, gnarled oak to get a better idea of her position, she’d seen what seemed to be some sort of structure carved into the trunk of the tree. She stared at it for a few long moments, drinking in the strangeness of it, the majesty, before climbing back down. She hoped she wouldn’t have to stab anyone. This was a lovely place. It would be a shame if it were marred by the sound of combat.

Around forty minutes, by Silverhearts reckoning, into her trek her eye was caught by what seemed to be an old well. A tree had sprouted up on one side, it’s bark subsuming the stone there and turning the stone well into an extension of itself. The side free from the trees grip, was covered in a fine fuzz of moss. The shells of fallen leaves floated on the surface of water so high that Silverheart thought the well would overflow if someone displaced it even a hairs worth.

She approached it without knowing why. This was strange. Wrong. People didn't build wells when such a readily available source of water was nearby. But her feet led her towards it, and before she realized it she was standing over it and looking down.

The water reflected her like a mirror. But it wasn’t her. Not her as she was now. It wasn’t even her as she used to be. She was older in this reflection, her hair beginning to grey at the sides. Her eyes were struggling to stay open, the black bags beneath them more pronounced, her face creased with worry lines, and her shoulders heavy with the weight of guilt she could feel even now. Her scar was open and red like it was when she touched it too much, rawer than she’d ever seen it and bleeding, the lip split by the scar staining her exposed teeth red.

But then, as if they’d been there the entire time, just out of sight, five people stepped into the reflection with her, smiling, looking down into the water with her. Silverheart’s eyes leapt up from the reflection, scanning the forest, but there was no one there. Nothing save a pair of leaves gently dancing around one another as they fell to the earth.

She looked down into the water again. They were still there. What was more, their presence seemed to have brightened her older reflections countenance. The worry lines were there still, as was the weight, but she was bearing that weight with squared shoulders, and the bags under her eyes were gone. There was even a slight smile on her twisted lips, and her scar seemed to have healed and become less red. No blood dripped down her cheek or turned her teeth red.

She inspected the faces in the water;
A small, chestnut skinned female elf stood to Silverhearts right, smiling sweetly. To her left was another elf. Tall, with skin that marked him as a dark elf. Next to him stood a young human man with a serious, scholarly face. Another human, with raven hair and bright eyes stood next to the little elf. Across the pool was a third elf, female, with black hair and a hairpin decorated in flowers.

Silverheart stared into the reflection for a while. Was this a fortelling? Simply a property of the pool, perhaps images of others who had looked in previously? She hadn’t the faintest idea.

She touched the pool gingerly with a single finger. The water was cold, but not frigid. The ripples banished the strange not-reflection and she was left, when the ripples faded, staring at her tired, normal face.

Unsure if something was expected of her here Silverheart waited. When nothing happened she straightened and headed deeper into the forest.
"Magic." She sighed.

Eventually she came to a hill run rampant with wildflowers, overlooking the base of the enormous tree. Silverheart crouched low, amongst the tall flowers. If anyone was down there, standing brazenly at the top of the hill would be a good way to give away her position.

A wide lake surrounded the base of the tree. There was no bridge that she could see. She had no desire to swim, so she was scanning the shores for some sort of boat when she noticed a pair of figures. A small one, slipping across the lake as if it were solid earth, and then another, taller one crouching down near the waters edge, apparently testing it. Before long he too had taken a hesitant step onto the water. He moved slowly at first, not paying attention to anything behind him, his dagger drawn, but moved swiftly across the water once he gained a little confidence.

Silverheart used that moment to move down the hill, staying hidden by foliage as much as she could. She was glad she hadn't brought her armor. It was very difficult to be stealthy when you were covered in plate. Her old enchanted armor was as silent as an owl, but that was likely in possession of general Malus now. The armor she had back at the inn was just plain, noisy metal.

As she came closer she realized she recognized the man crossing the water. He had been one of the figures in the well! Would she find more of the people she saw in this giant tree palace? The man has seemed as confused as she was when inspecting the water. Perhaps he'd been brought here against his will as well.

Silverheart stopped and almost called out, but decided against it. There were too many unknowns.

She waited until he was most of the way across the lake, and then, her foot supported by the strange water, Silverheart took off after him, her shield with its scuffed and scratched Elk, symbol of the Silverheart Knights, was in her hand. Her other at her waist where she'd stowed her blade.

 

[Tlon]

Isle of Mirth

Osorio stands very still as he observes the impossible forest around him. Not until the fear drains from his face does he go to the nearest silver tree to place his hand on its bark. To his surprise he finds that the bark is like that of real trees, matching the coolness of the air and yielding ever so slightly in the way of living things. He circles around the tree to see it from all sides, watching the light shine off of the silver bark at different angles as he does so.

Magic, thinks Osorio to himself, but how, and why? Not the charm - whatever force could bring him to such a place has power far beyond some trinket from the north.

When he looks around Osorio can see in the near distance the place that might contain the answer to his questions. A great willow towers above the rest of the ivory canopy, surrounded by some opening in the canopy around it like a moat. The top of a structure can be seen peeking up from the base of the trunk but Osorio can see little more from where he stands. He finds himself on the slope of a valley and the forest surrounds him so he can see nothing else but this great tree.

Somebody thought this through, Osorio thinks to himself.

He inspects his person - aside from his crimson traveller’s cloak and an iron pick still in his hand from his artificer’s set Osorio has a small dagger on his belt and his normal leather garments in the Western style. Not very much, but not as if it matters. Who or whatever brought him here did not equip him with anything else by design. He is at the mercy of his host at least until he can figure out what’s happening.

With no other options before him Osorio makes for the great willow. He feels eyes on him as he makes his way to the tree but sees nothing when he peers back into the forest. Not unusual - the beasts of the wild are clever enough to avoid being seen by clumsy human beings. But Osorio hears no birds nor the chirrup of insects, no movement under the brush, just the occasional breeze ruffling the leaves. He keeps one hand on the dagger at his belt, unsure of what else he could do to prepare himself for what hides in the silence. The absurdity of a simple knife keeping him safe in a magic forest is not lost on him.

Before too long the silver and ivory forest gives way to a grassy clearing and then a shore of golden gravel before the waters of a great lake. In the still waters of the lake he can see his reflection: the crimson cloak, his sun-baked skin, his hand over the hilt of his dagger, all of them seem out of place here in this land of beauty and wonder. Across the clear waters Osorio can see the base of the great willow that rises high above the rest of the forest sitting at an island, and at its roots stands a grand amphitheater of some design he’s never seen before. A few red lanterns float lazily by, their candles’ glow reflecting off the water. In the distance he sees human figures. Then he blinks, and blinks again. They’re too far away for him to make out clearly, but the silhouettes are undeniable. Those are people walking across the surface of the water as if it were solid ground. They move toward the great tree, three of them, already far into the lake.

With an experimental step Osorio finds that, sure enough, the water becomes solid under his feet. Once both his feet are on the water he taps down with one of his feet. When that holds he kneels down and taps against the water - now solid like water, but not ice cold - with the iron pick. It won’t even scratch like glass does.

Could this still be a dream? Fever dreams, or the visions of the divine mushroom are intense dreams that can deceive the unwary. Even a bad piece of meat can gin up something for the mind to see. He takes the iron pick and slams it into the water-floor with all his might but it makes no mark whatsoever.

Magic, Osorio thinks to himself again.

He stands himself back up and makes his way forward toward the grand amphitheater. The feeling that he is being watched persists even out on the lake, even though the water is clear down to the bottom and populated with only a few schools of small fish. Osorio straightens his back and his shoulders, knowing that if his host wasn’t watching him before they’re certainly watching him now.

 

[Kittenpom20]

Elidyr Firahel
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Calculating, still annoyed


No. That couldn’t be right.

Elidyr’s fingers contacted the water once more, just to be sure this wasn’t another image conjured by his brain. The water was solid, as if it were made of the same sand he was standing upon. There were spells, sure, that would apply this property to a single person or even a group of people; but applied to an entire body of water, such magic would take an incredible amount of skill and power. And the fact that he hadn’t seen anybody around him cast this spell in the first place meant it could be some sort of long-lasting enchantment or even a property of the water itself…

Elidyr fought to keep his mind from spinning with the possibilities. This was far beyond what he had expected when stepping through that doorway. This place was filled with magic, powerful magic, and he worried that whatever had brought him here may not have the best of intentions.

Scanning the rest of the lake, Elidyr spotted a few humanoid figures, too far away to make out any useful details, crossing the water without issue. They appeared to be approaching from the opposite side of the lake that he was on, so he figured there could be more hidden by the island in the middle.

Turning around, Elidyr examined the forest behind him once more; he couldn’t place it, but this place felt so incredibly strange. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, by singular or many sets of eyes he was unsure. Walking towards the forest, he reached out to place a hand on the closest ivory-colored tree, half-expecting his hand to go through it, but it was as real to his senses as the ground below. He placed his other hand on the tree, closing his eyes; he couldn’t place it, but there was a strange feeling in the air, an energy familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. It felt like when he lost hours of time focusing on a single enchantment back at the University; at least in his opinion, the arana itself could be likened to a living thing if it was given enough time to show its own quirks and habits. Curious now, Elidyr reached out to touch another tree, and another; the feeling of strange magic didn’t fade, nor the sensation of being watched. He could only hope it was with benevolent eyes.

Turning back to face the lake, Elidyr took a deep breath to steady himself. This was the most obvious path forward to figuring out why he had been sent here in the first place. Approaching the lake and bending down, Elidyr reached out a tentative hand again, pressing with more force this time; the water still didn’t give at all, or even bend with the weight of his hand pressing down upon it. The sensation was strange; it still felt like water, but it was somehow more solid, and soft like earth. Elidyr had never come upon a circumstance where he needed to walk on water, so the spell he would have used was unfamiliar in practice, but this is what he assumed a close approximation of it would feel like. Still, something at the back of his mind nagged at him; this felt easy, far too easy, and he wasn’t about to walk into a potential trap unprepared, especially in a place that hummed with so much magic.

Shifting his weight back on his heels, Elidyr sat down on the sand at the edge of the water once more and pulled out his spellbook, thumbing through the pages until he found a page inscribed many years ago, never used. It was redundant, likely, to cast a spell to walk on water on himself when his path was already walkable; but he’d learned long ago never to trust work you couldn’t see yourself. Practicing the incantations and hand motions, Elidyr took a few minutes to memorize the spell so that if he needed it he would have it at his disposal. The spell itself was a moderate drain on his arana, but he would rather use that than be a sopping wet mess or potentially swallowed by some sort of lake monster – he wasn’t ruling anything out at this point.

Satisfied that he would be able to cast the spell if necessary, Elidyr tucked the spellbook back into his bag, shutting it tight, and stood up, again brushing the rest of the sand off his body. He hated the beach; sand was incredibly annoying when you didn’t have access to a hot shower. But then again – maybe the creator of the doorway had known that too, and decided to mess with him.

That was rude.

Carefully, keeping most of his weight on his back foot, Elidyr took a tentative step towards the island, bracing himself to fall through the water now that he was actually walking on it, but he didn’t. Elidyr took another step, then another, still worried that he would fall through; but after a time, he walked further and further from the shore, and towards the strange island in the middle of this strange world.

 

[Hanarei]

Liala of the Eternal Moonlight
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Exhilarated​

Each step the half-elf made in this strange world only seemed to increase her fervor she had to see more. How she arrived in a seeming paradise of which warmth remained from a cold bitter tavern in which many a cold heart suppressed such a weakness was beyond her comprehension. It was beyond even her care at this point. The sights were so intoxicating seeing the golden burn of the leaves etched upon the sky above and the distant canvas as far as the eye could see. The cloaked woman smiling brightly her back swaying lightly on her back as she glided on her feat half tempted to simply discard her other belongings and her cloak to just bask in such beauty. There were so many images in her head, so much poetry she could come up with, paintings she could paint, and music she could write if she only allowed herself to drift free into this strange world's sweet embrace fully.

Just a bit of common sense luckily helped to keep her from dawdling too long. While she could stay idle in the same place for seemingly ever, staying still wouldn't likely get her anywhere. There were plenty of more sights to see including that impressive looking structure she could see in the distance. It was too easy for her to get stuck in one place in an endless loop of imagination taking in one area when there was plenty more she would miss out on if she only focused on one thing. Not to mention it wasn't as if she was some immortal who didn't ultimately face basic needs to survive even if her imagination might get in the way of remembering such a basic simple fact. Fortunately, her mother taught her far better then to allow herself to get distracted. How easily even as a child she could be swayed to get caught up in something she was fascinated in or focused so deeply in her craft that she might find the lone weathered ditch on the long traveled dirt road between villages and go tripping right into it.

Marilyn the Air Headed, Marilyn the Clutz, Marilyn the Day Dreamer. All little titles she could recall etched in her memories from her mother who wouldn't hesitate to poke fun at her daughter for always getting too carried away in her own imagination to see that which was before her. She was taught better to be more observant of what was around her. It had come in handy numerous times while traveling with her mother performing as well as acting on her own accord. It wouldn't stop her mind from drifting but at the very least she was much better in that regard, and she knew when it was safer to be less on guard. Sure, she couldn't always avoid trouble and in some cases stumbled her way into it in part due to her own carelessness but she always found a way out. Being prepared helped quite a lot with that.

Despite not knowing how she got there, despite how unfamiliar it was, and despite the feeling of being watched she felt no need to be defensive. She felt so at ease in such a place as she pranced along heading towards what she could see was a lake. The distant silohettes could be seen across the way alongside another lone body a shorter distance away though it didn't matter to her. A bright smile etched on her face as she spun around dancing about as she approached the lake not even bothering to second guess the fact it appeared as if there were others walking across it. Her eyes darted across the trees smiling feeling herself being watched and wishing to put on a bit of a performance even if needing to be partially reserved in order to carry her things. Her hand lifted up in the air as if to grab hold of something before falling to her side.

"O' world how thy spender embraces every once of thy soil.
Of bark and of Stone none left unturned of your grace.
Whispers of six, none more and none the less.
From all distant walks and far dreams,
Our performance your ambition,
Your desire our very wish
Might it thus be seen
O' world of none
Shall we part"

She spoke her words as they came to mind not paying too much head as she twirled about walking to the water edge taking a step upon it as her poetry finished. A warm smile coated her lips as she twirled around somehow managing to maintain her balance upon the water as she continued her 'performance' dancing about on the water twirling as she made her way across seeming the last of the figures seeming to be making their way towards the fantastical structure situated in the center. Her voice coming out in a light hum as her eyes shut briefly. The wandering bard continuing to dance as she made her way across the water. Her eyes cracking open as to adjust her her trajectory to make sure she was continuing to move forward. The humming she was making only growing louder acting as almost ambient noise soft and gentle as if portraying the theme song for a simple golden leaf slowly drifting in the air down falling further and further towards the center of the lake of which it might finally hit the surface and float peacefully on to its final destination wherever the gentle lake may carry it.

 

[Isolus]

Peithos the Moon Wing
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Busy; A Little Impatient​

Whispers flittered all about the enchanted woodlands in streams of curious chitters and hushed chatters. For within the safety of their fairy hollows, the children of the Fae spied on the visitors as they entered their forbidden homeland one by one. They spotted the knight and they hid at the sight of the flame that burned without end within her eyes. They glimpsed upon the smallest of elflings as she gently wandered among the ivory reeds in search of an old hound that all except her believed to be too old to be useful. They watched in wait of the scribe's careful study of what he saw and then whispered of what he chosen in contemplation. They caught sight of the merchant of whom they wondered if he was truly like the wolf's song that sings freely into the long night. They heard the words spoken by the bard and tasted those sweet serenades as if they were whispered to them in remembrance of lost dreams.

The Fae had seen them all come. Just as he had said they would.

And so the children of the woods scattered. Dust flittered and wings scurried. All at once, they dashed with haste from their woven holes and fled into the open citadel to where the throne of their king rested. Here, they whispered to him the news of all they have seen. "We know the places were mortal feet now tread! Upon our own wooded paths, they have come, my Lord!’ And this pleased the fairy king.

With nothing but a mere thought, the gates to be decorated with curling streamers and billowing banners all pinned together with bound up in bouquets of red roses, soft lavender and extravagant sunflowers the size of plump pigeons. Auburn baskets tied with silver ribbon and filled to the brim with fattened peaches and prickly plums lined path to the gate. And within the branches of the Tree, there was fine golden twin decorated with tiny chimes and silver bells to jingled softly whenever the wind chose it best to blow against them. It wasn't long before the amphitheater lit up inside its bowls with the sounds of harmony of music and merriment as Fae from all over the realm floated, hummed and skittered into the open ceiling where the tree’s branches spilled lazily over the isle.

Peithos heard the rattle of the gate from her perch. She always did whenever visitors came to cross the king's thresh hold. But this time, it was small hands that rested upon the silver bars. The Alabaster Fairy tilted her head to further hear the gentle clanging of a knight’s old boots and the soft hum of a bard's hasty ballad that followed long afterwards. Oh my, they were here at the gates already? The final preparations would have to wait for just a moment more then. A great thunder of wings clapping through the air echoed throughout the valley. Peithos rose from her cliffside office and took flight over valley to meet her lord's guests at the gate.

Ariella of Avaleen
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Curious, yet Excited
Time: Unknown​

It had crossed Ari's mind that perhaps this wasn't real at all. In fact, there was a possibility she wasn't dreaming either. In warm nights, as the campfire dwindled away with its last embers, Old Nan would speak of all sorts of tales to the elven children. Tales of mischievous woodland spirits who carried naughty elflings away if they didn't listen to their elders or stories of Ilyius before he was became immortal and made the earth beautiful. But there was one that spoke of what happens to the wood elves when their time on earth comes to an end. Old Nan always said that all little wood elflings came from the earth and so in death, that is where all elves will go so that new life can be made. The bad elves' bodies spoil the soil and become ugly, knotted trees or wild, spindly weeds. But the good elves sprout into beautiful oak trees and luminous wildflowers that bathe the valley grass for all to see. And afterwards, their souls are taken to a place of rest before they return in new bodies.

Oh, how she missed Old Nan and her tales. At least, they had seemed like tales to her back then. But what if Old Nan was right all along? And what if this was that place where good elves come? Would she find Old Nan and Solantius and Valia here with Inigo too? As Arielle's feet gracefully slide off the mirror waters and landed upon the golden shoreline on the other side, her excited mind clouded out any sense to simply look behind her and spot the five travelers who had been following the mirror path she made. Instead, the elfling wasted little time in dashing over the bank onto where the marble path continued onwards. Except now, there were decorations lined along the road. Elegant Flowers and winding ribbons and colorful fruit she could only imagine tasted even better than they looked. There must be some sort of celebration. Oh, but of what?

The little elf slowed her eager feet momentarily to take in the scent of the blossoms around her. Red roses and blooming sunflowers and... And? Ariella tilted her head when she caught movement among the blossoms. What an odd way their petals rose and fell in slow breaths, as if they were... No. No, that couldn't be. As far as she knew, she only could imagine in her mind that flowers could breath. They were alive certainly, but not like this! Ari blinked once, scrunching up the bridge of her nose as she leaned in to take a closer look. Perhaps they weren't even flowers at all.

Something flew out of one of the open sunflowers and tickled the tip of the child’s nose. Ari recoiled and moved her hand to bat the itch. But when she pulled her palm away, the little elf found a sprinkling of silver dust upon her hazel skin. A breeze tussled past her curls just as Ari spun around to see two balls of amber light spiral high into the leaves of one of the oak trees. Butterflies? Or... perhaps, birds? Ariella padded slowly forward to where she saw the glowing orbs ascend to the tree tops. Why, it was two tiny people twirling among the crimson leaves! Yes, little folk with delicate wings that appeared as if they were made of glass. One with the slender bearings of a dragonfly while her companion bore the curves of a monarch butterfly. Oh, it really was Fae... Real Fea! But as the child leaned in to take a closer look, the little creatures spotted her from their high perch. In a blink of an eye, they fluttered over her head once again and billowed towards the spiraling amphitheatre.

A swift scamper over a twisted root, a little scurry between a gap of two silver trees. Ariella kept chase after them, doing all she could to keep sight of the glittering trail the little fairies left behind them. It wasn't long before the woodlands opened before her to reveal the sight she had traversed over the glass lake to see. The little elf's footsteps slowed to a steady walk when Ari finally saw it in its final grandeur. With such otherworldly beautiful the amphitheatre's embroidered walls and towering towns beheld, what need of the sun did this strange land need? And Ari could spot, as she twirled under the shade of the willow tree, why she thought of this Tree as the true king of these woods. Stars glittered among its darkened branches like a clear night sky reflects over the silent sea. For whichever way the tree chose to sway and stir, the stars dimmed and glistened with it. Ariella wondered what wondrous secrets the ancient tree, this old ruler, truly knew.

Under the starry shade, Ariella could have sworn she heard the sounds of melodies now as well; jovial music spoken in a tongue she couldn't quite understand. But then again, she didn't need to know the words they spoke for the music itself bellowed forth all manners of merriment. The notes danced among the strong scent of wine that fragranced the air like a noble lady's perfume. Not the heavy, saturated kind one would smell from within a deep Norian wine barrel. But rich and sweet, like spring grapes glazed with wild honey; fresh as if greeting a welcomed spring after a long, cold winter. Ariella wandered towards the magnificent castle and stood at the gate. But when she rested her palms upon the bars to peer inside, the doorway's center lit up the moments after she did so. The child quickly recoiled her hands away, but it was too late.

The golden light flashed and Ariella heard thunder roll across the sky, though there wasn't a cloud in sight. Where could that have possibly come from? Her elven ears picked up another sound as well. There were trimmers behind her. Of footsteps. Like someone, too, had come across the isle and wandered to where she stood now. When the rumbled aftermath descended into echoed silence, Ariella dared to turn around and spy on what she hoped was Inigo following after her.

But it wasn't Inigo at all.

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: Isle of Mirth.
Mood: Rather circumspect.
Time: n/A.
Mentions: Fred Colon Isolus ​

Senán was aware of the menagerie of persons who had their way onto the water following his own trepidatious crossing. And quite the assortment of people it was indeed, far more erratic than the cloistered life of the university would allow such people to be, though there were exceptions to this of course. Given that some of these personages were armed, noticeably the woman with the scar ranging from the cheekbone on the left side of her face and down through her upper lip. Unnerved slightly by the steel-plated woman's visage before regaining his signature composure, his tense shoulders easing, the young Norian made an exaggerated showing of his knife being sheathed so as to disallow any notion of hostile intent emanating from him towards his fellow water-walkers. Clipping the pouch's flap to secure the dagger, the young man continued on his way whilst making periodic backward-glances, so as to discern that as he was trying to appear unthreatening to him, that they likewise felt the same sentiment towards him. His bangs swaying in the light breeze that blew across the surface of the lake, as time elapsed, Senán found himself getting used somewhat to the atmosphere of this strange world. There being no doubt that he'll appear half-crazed to his compatriots at the university, when or should he be given the chance to return the young man thought, the young Norian would nonetheless vouch for this experience, as importune as it has been on occasion, as well as the consequences it engenders for his fledging career as a scribe.

Reaching the recursive island within the boundaries of the lake, stepping ashore, as the wind caused the young man's habit to flip-flap, Senán buffeted eyes took a glance towards what seemed to be pathway, etched out of marble, that winded and meandered its way into the more remote areas of the island. The amphitheatre, its eminence and sizeableness truly making itself apparent to the young man. There was nothing in all of Noria that compared to this mighty construction, formed as it was at the hand, as Senán was beginning to now believe, at the hands of supranatural, something divine. But as to who this particular realm belonged, contrasted as it was with the student's own musings on heavenly abodes, was a question that Senán couldn't answer. Maybe it was Enya, the man wondered sardonically, perhaps She was so enamoured with the work, extolling her glory, being transcribed, that I was chosen at lot to be thanked. Though Senán couldn't figure of the gods that chance would play a part in their actions, contrary to the idea that a degree of perfection extends from the essence of a thing, namely that man would be a degree of perfection, whereas the gods would be the highest or greatest degree of perfection. Therefore, the degree of perfection, the more necessitous is compelled from its capacity of being perfect towards a determined action. Shaking his head, his obsidian hair fluttering, so as to toss these meddlesome thoughts from his head.

Making his way along the marble pathway, noticing the scattering of leaves underfoot as though by another person, Senán recalled the figure that he thought was skipping across the lake ahead of him. Maybe it wasn't just an instance of his dizziness following his fall and giving the number of people falling after him across, it wasn't too far a stretch to say that one, or maybe even more were ahead. The fauna and flora, fantastical as it was already, seemed to increase in both its profundity as well as to its iridescence; Senán postulated that as one neared the centre of this island (a corollary being how close one gets to the amphitheatre), the more confined the environment becomes to the will of whatever vivifies or shapes this world. For some reason, as he passed through a pair of trees, its silver bark gleaming by whatever refulgence engulfed this area, Senán could nearly hear the sounds of snickering, concurrent with the zipping back-and-forth of an illuminate body, precluding the young Norian from deducing whether it was the source of the giggles or merely concurrent with it.

His ponderings thence led him to the person he had thought a mirage; a little child with cocoa-coloured, woolly hair with a complexion like that of a chestnut. Dressed in a hemp gown, the child, excitedly harried about as though she were looking for something, shuffling around in the foliage. Having found what she was looking, with an astonished look upon her face as something fleeting vanished overhead to the amphitheatre, the young child made her way over to a gate, which demarcated the area where the festivities, as Senán could hear and smell, were taking place. Then, as soon she laid her diminutive hand upon the gate, a golden light beamed from no discernible source, blinding the young Norian as the sound of thunder ripped the tranquillity of the island. Taking a few moments to steady himself whilst blinking expeditiously, the young man found the gaze of this young child rested upon him, alerted to his presence.

"Well," Senán began, an inquisitive look plastered upon his face, "Introductions and a few questions are in order."

 

[Fred Colon]

He spotted her. That was only to be expected. There was no cover here. Whoever was in front of her stowed his dagger when he noticed her, too, but kept moving. A curious response, she supposed it would be a bit too off putting to stop and talk while standing on water, but Silverheart appreciated it. She didn't stow her shield, nor take her hand off the sword at her belt, but she appreciated it all the same. She hoped there wouldn't be fighting.

The young man didn't stop to wait for her on the shore. When he made it across, he seemed to slow, but then made his way deeper into the island, vanishing in the golden foliage.

Silverhewrt focused on the island as she approached. There was no cover here, nowhere to hide. Anyone who was half awake would have seen her coming, and an ambush would be easy to set up. It didn't even need to be an ambush. A few people with arrows hiding in the trees could shoot her at their leisure, barren as this waterscape was. She needed to be alert. Everything about this place seemed to urge her to feel nothing but peace and safety, and that was exactly why Silverheart needed to stay alert until the intentions of whoever brought her here were made clear.

But rather than archers, she saw creatures that made her rub her eyes to make sure she was seeing thing right.

Tiny people with wings, furry creatures that seemed to shimmer in the trees. Things that looked like children but with huge eyes and long fingers. Fairy folk.

Silverheart didn't know much about fairies. Perhaps her father had told her stories as a child, she couldn't remember, and the Shoemaker told her a story about friendly faries that helped make shoes, but beyond that she simply hadn't had the time or the means. The kind of stories soldiers told were a bit bawdier than stories about friendly butterfly people.

When she reached the shore, they all vanished into the trees.

"State your intention!" Silverheart called after them, but there was no response. Silverheart sighed, and scanned the forest and the the rest of her surroundings. Off in the distance she spotted another two figures coming from different directions, towards the island. People were being drawn here, or knew something was to happen, or were part of whatever plot this was to life Silverheart here.
She considered, briefly, simply leaving. Waiting and watching until she understood more instead of blindly walking into what could very well be some sort of trap.
But Silverheart wanted to get to the bottom of this, and Marina was slowly but surely being swayed by the peacefulness of this place. So instead Silverheart walked forwards into the forest that surrounded the great tree.

Her shield close to her body, ready to move, Silverheart wandered through the fairy woods, along a suspiciously pristine marble path that she didn't entirely trust, until she came upon what seemed to be some sort of party. Amongst the tables ladened with food and drink, stood two of the people he'd seen in the well.

The young man he'd been trailing made a statement as Silverheart approached them.
"Introductions and questions indeed." She said, "I am Marina. Are you the orchestrators of this unwelcome intrusion, or are you as lost as I?"

 

[Tlon]

Isle of Mirth
As he crosses the lake Osorio wonders what the others might have been invited for. Are they meant to be his equals, or rivals? One of the figures ahead of him is a child, much smaller than the others, who disappears into the island’s forest first. Of the other two, one appears to be a posh boy from somewhere where beds are soft and the roofs don’t leak, and the other bears a sword and shield. These two also disappear into the forest when they arrive on the island.

Equals, decides Osorio. Only a cruel host would pit an armed fighter against a child and then toss a merchant in for a twist. In such a host’s home there would be nowhere else to spit but their face. Osorio feels his insides go cold then - depending on the host, such an objection would be the end of him. Could there be any doubt? Anything that could transport him here surely has the finesse to transport one half of him leagues away from the other half.

On the golden shore, at the foot of the silver trees, Osorio stops and turns back to the lake. Once he’s off the surface he dips his hand down and it goes through the “floor” down to the cool water. He cups a handful of water and brings it up to his mouth to take an experimental sip. Nothing tastes wrong with it - it tastes cool and crisp like the finest spring - which makes him paranoid, so he spits it back out.

Behind him on the lake Osorio takes notice of two other figures. They must have been hidden from him back in the forest. He can see them making their way over now from the other side of the lake, they’re still too far for him to see clearly but he can make out that one is clearly shorter than the other.

Osorio takes a glance back at the forest of the island, the beginnings of a marble path, and the silver trees that seemed to come alive with the fluttering of wings. They appear only as blurs and movement, but Osorio can sense they move with a certain knowing intelligence.

So, is this who’s been watching me? He asks himself then.

He recalls then a time when he and Anlaithe and Stonejaw were taken in for questioning after the theft of some lordlings prize necklace. They had not stolen it - though Osorio had considered it seriously - but it was obvious the lord and his guards wanted retribution and that it didn’t matter who it was against. The three of them were taken in separately and once alone they were fed lies about the other two, to try and get one of Osorio, Anlaith, or Stonejaw to blame the others. Had it been three people who didn’t know each other they may have succeeded and had a head on a pike to parade around town, but as they knew each other, Osorio and his companions held fast.

He could have killed us anyway, thinks Osorio, but it would have cost him something, it would cause his guards to question their fealty. The lord couldn’t afford that loss, so three nameless merchants managed to slip away from a senseless death.

With that in mind Osorio takes off his boots and places his feet in the water, to wait for the other two stragglers on the lake.

 

[Kittenpom20]

Elidyr Firahel
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Cautious, concerned
Mentions: Tlon


Elidyr traversed the lake with more confidence but still cautiously as he worried that his footing would disappear at any moment. In his mind, he rehearsed the spell for walking on water over again, ready to deploy it at a moment's notice. Keeping his eyes ahead, Elidyr took in the scenery before him; as he got closer to the island in the center he could make out the details of the towering willow and the structures below. It was beautiful, truly, but the architecture was from no region he recognized; furthermore, it didn’t look exactly new, meaning they could have been standing for hundreds of years. He became steadily more nervous as he approached the tree, his mind repeating the same thought that perhaps this was the first time he had ever walked so easily into a trap.

Now relatively close to the central island, Elidyr noticed a figure sitting on the golden sands, putting their feet in the water. As he drew closer, he could make out more detail; it was a human, jet black hair, relatively young as humans went, and he appeared to be waiting for him. Glancing back, Elidyr could see another figure, appearing much shorter than his own, still making their way across the lake. Further beyond, the path ahead disappeared into the forest at the island’s center. There were likely more of them further up ahead, meaning that they had been the final few to reach this strange golden shore.

Counting the figures he had seen, Elidyr estimated there were, at minimum, four of them; at maximum, it couldn’t be much more, for he would have seen others with such a clear line of sight. A number that small made him especially nervous; anything larger would make him think that they had been randomly chosen, but this was likely not the case now. If they had been chosen specifically his mind could only conjure up thoughts of battle royales and harrowing trials orchestrated by demigods and equally powerful mages for their own amusement. Beyond the fact that Elidyr hadn’t engaged in combat in some time, he was unwilling to; he would much rather attempt to outwit whatever force had brought them here, for it was clear they couldn’t be beaten by strength alone. So he would remain cautious, and watch for any weaknesses or openings in the environment he inhabited. Perhaps it would prove useful in the future.

Elidyr reached the golden sands on the other side and approached the human, waving from a small distance away so as to stay out of his personal space and then some in case he was hostile, though he doubted this to be the case. Elidyr didn’t smile; he was too nervous, and this situation was far too strange. He would have sat down next to him, but the thought of getting even more sand in his boots unnerved him, and he got the sense that this particular human was just as tired of pleasantries as he was.

“Name’s Elidyr. I suppose you don’t know what’s going on here, do you?”

 

[Hanarei]

Liala of the Eternal Moonlight
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Exhilarated​

Liala kept up her rather joyful mood as she skipped along the water making her way forward to where the others seemed to be gathering towards. It was always important a good bard always arrives late. A bard is meant to witness the tale rather then making themselves part of it. Well... perhaps that wasn't entirely true... and when it came to giving a performance naturally that was when the bard got their own chance to shine spinning the story through their own world and musical accompaniment. Either way being the last who would take a step upon such sacred ground seemed to feel right. As 'dressed up' as she was it seemed as if they were more so participants rather then the performers in this wonderful place.

As if on queue the sound of music entered Liala's eardrums. The woman smiled her own humming stopping as to allow the performance of the fae to continue on their own. It would be rude of her to interrupt their song with one of her own. A faux pas to any performer was to try and upstage one another's performance if it was something not mutually agreed upon both parties. Despite lacking her own tune she instead used their tune dancing a bit as she sauntered forward over the water. She could see as a few of them made it to the land strolling a bit behind not in any rush enjoying the music as she approached. It looked quite clear to her that they all appeared to be strangers even without needing to hear all that was said between one another. It all the more made her curious what about what grand design was behind this entire event.

Her eyes shifted to glance upon one human figure that had elected to stay by the water side. Perhaps in some part to avoid the potential conflict that the one woman seemed like she might be pushing for. A bit presumptuous on her part but she seemed the 'orderly soldier' type. A bit of a stereotype to say the least though when it comes to avoiding trouble it was only natural she would develop some bias for the particular law enforcing types who might not look favorably upon her. It wasn't as if she was going around committing crimes willy-nilly though there were certain rules she might... neglect to follow that seemed arbitrary or she simply went to places where even if she committed no crimes she would still likely get questioned and things could go... south for the wrong reasons. The world wasn't exactly the nicest place to be.

She saw as the Dark Elf approached speaking up to the man by the water giving a greeting questioning him about their situation. Pretty much what she expected really, not that she could be completely certain all of them were in the same boat. This place seemed far too.. untouched to be inhabited... at least by normal mortal folk. She eased up her dancing walking at a brisk pace to catch up at least to the two figuring it wouldn't hurt to interact. It helped greatly she was acting as her alter ego when it came to meeting new people giving her that more of a preppy attitude when it came to social interaction.

"Upon the water's edge where two worlds collide,
That of ever-adjusting structure and immovable stride.
Souls drifted upon the life-givers stream might meet,
on solid foundation... and wandering feet. "

She spoke out as if in part to interrupt stepping off from the water finally taking foot on the ground. She rested her hand over her heart bowing her head as if in apology for her 'poetic' interruption. Her eyes darting over to both with a warm smile on her lips as she lifted herself back up from her bow. Perhaps she was a bit carried away with it, though putting on her persona she did tend to be a bit more... performative where she ought to not be.

"I bargain that none who have gathered here from other parts may know why we are here. We are but smudges of paint accidentally dropped upon an already illustrated canvas. None of us fit... though rather then being wiped away... it seemed the artists at play instead welcome us in as new additions to portrait." She spoke walking past the two before turning back to face them with a warm smile on her lips her cloak swaying following her as she looked upon the two. Her hand gently clutched her other wrist behind her back the cloak partially open exposing the much more lavish dress peeking out from under it just partially.

"Liala of the Eternal Moonlight." She spoke bowing her head lightly in response in giving her name.

Mentioned: Kittenpom20 Tlon

 

[Isolus]

Ariella of Avaleen
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Shy; A little Anxious
Mentions: Larry & Fred Colon ​

Two strangers. A woman of the sturdiest frame and with commanding demeanor. Why, what a curious aura that flickered within her eyes; So unwavering in its stark dignity that Ariella hardly noticed the river of scars webbed upon the stranger's jawline until the child realized she had been caught staring. To be honest, the elfling wasn't sure what she expected to see within the warrior's hues; within that kindling ember that looked as if it had been burning for the longest time.Perhaps she hoped to see Solantius' looking back at her. Or perhaps, this flame that she thought lost among the feigned templars of justice had suddenly been found once again. But despite this stranger's fiery mystic, Ari didn't know if she should feel comforted by the amber glow or be wary of stray flames that could reach out at any moment to burn her.

The other was a man composed of a more angular in shape. A face framed in equal parts by frown lines and thick furrowed eyebrows that curved downward ever so gently, giving him an almost perpetually concerned look. Though, that may have been largely due in part to the wondrous mystery they found themselves in now. Even still, the man appeared to be made up of hard lines and sharp edges - the latter description, she assumed, was one that he shared with the way he spoke. His eyes did not hold any fire like the woman's did, yet they shared the a faint verse that the little elf had seen within the old branches of the king tree. If anyone here would know, Ariella felt certain that it would be him. But he claimed that he didn't.

Yet even with such mysterious things that she saw within these two strangers, they were still just that. Strangers. And Ariella wasn't sure if she should be relieved to see other company in these foreign woods or be afraid of unfamiliar faces that planned unknown motives without her knowing. Ari hoped they didn't think she was some mischievous woodland spirit who had coerced them here by wicked trickery. Even if she was a fae, she couldn't be nearly as clever enough to think of performing such a trick as this. If the prancing fae from those ballads of wandering knights and adventuring bards were anything to go by, that is.

Ariella tentatively tilted her face upwards towards the man and the woman, her slave collar jingled softly as she did. The little wood elf found herself shy among the two grown ups who had been thrust within her company so suddenly; this flaming warrior and the mellow man of firm word. Neither of whom she was could be completely sure of. Should she be cautious or should she be open? Well, she could be warm to them, at least. That much she was confident in. Clasping her small hands in front of herself to still her budding anxiety, Ariella allowed her muted frown to be softened into more affable smile; a twinkle lighting her eyes, or perhaps it was merely the light that came from the glow bugs around them?

"I'm called Ariella, my lady. I h-hail from the shores of Avaleen." The child spoke gently, as if her voice had run off into the woods alongside her canine companion. "If I could send us all home, I would but... I'm afraid I don't even know how I came to pass through here either." Perhaps she should be frightened of this strange, red land that felt as it if teetered between a dream and a reality. Ari admitted, she wasn't sure what exactly she would find there by coming to the king tree. Maybe it was all for naught. But it felt the best place to look, for where else could she go! She had met two more lost souls here and harm had not come to her yet. Besides, Ari couldn't bring herself to leave her friend here. As beautiful as this place surely was, Inigo was an old hound. He couldn't run as fast as he used to and she would never forgive herself if some terrible monster gobbled him up.

"I hate to ask this, but... have either of you seen my friend? I believe he's here too and with his arthritis, I'm worried about him being alone in these woods." Immediately, the little elfling sprang upon the tups of her toes and raised her hand parallel to the top of her coily head, as if to measure where the creature would stand if he were next to her. But It hadn't even crossed her mind to explain that Inigo was a furry friend who wandered upon four feet instead of two. "He's almost as tall as I am. A-And he has long gray hair with a bushy mustache. I've got to bring him home soon or there will be trouble with my m-master."

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld|Ariella of Avaleen|Marina Campbell
Location: Isle of Mirth.
Written with: Isolus and Fred Colon ​

What a strange situation, Senán thought to himself as the woman who had followed in his wake brought herself into greater view; though the young Norian had made out the barest visage of her person, with a simple attire of green pants, a silk shirt and well-worn boots adorning her commanding visage, the scars that etched themselves upon her face, aided as he was by the refulgence that seemed to grow as one neared the centre of the island, became all the more excruciatingly visible. To say that Senán felt a chill go up his spine was nothing but an understatement; though the unease he felt didn't appear upon his face, the student couldn't help but contemplate the circumstances in which those wounds were inflicted and the pain that they would have wrought. Senán would be the first to admit that he wasn't of the hardiest stock, despite being the son of a blacksmith and being involved, albeit, with the more rudimentary aspects of that craft. However, war was a different beast altogether; the frame of mind that one would need to possess would be something primal, stretching back before rational species constructed those institutions of law and morality. Maybe it was why the young Norian felt such a drawing towards history, but only up to a certain point. To go beyond that point, whence a man was not altogether a man, did not appeal to the student. If the young man were to ever be conscripted due to low levels of manpower, Senán could imagine himself being one of the first to perish. The paladin, her name still not divulged, inquired into the nature of their transference only for her questions to be answered somewhat by the child in their presence.

Her name was Ariella, and if the rattling of that collar was any indication, Senán realized that she was a slave. The young man's furrowed increased in the number of lines indenting themselves upon his brow. How abominable, the young Norian thought to himself as the visibly-nervous child tried to steady herself before Senán and the paladin to his right. A genuine, if slightly forced smile descended among the sun-kissed child's face, her curly hair bobbing as the young Avaleen clasped her hands together. She talked of her 'friend', giving indication (using herself as a measure) that this companion was of a similar size to herself as well their happening to suffer from arthritis. Senán couldn't recall being aware of another person besides himself, Ariella, the paladin and the three other stragglers following after them over the lake. So, if they were all converging in the same direction, this friend of Ariella's would sometime in the foreseeable future. Yet, the young Norian thought in an elenchic manner, given how I was brought into this place, drawing as it was upon my role as a scribe, it might not be too far of a presumption to assume that whatever brought me here, manipulated Ariella by playing to her youth.

Senán thought fit to question the young child.

"Ariella," Senán asked with a degree of terseness in his voice, "Did you ever catch sight of this friend of yours, as you traversed this place? Or did it feel as though the voice was always leading you on, seemingly ever closer yet far away?"

“I… W-Well, no. I didn’t see my friend, per say.” The elfling replied as she wrung her hands together, a ping of folly creeping through her when she realized she didn’t consider catching sight of the hound to ensure where he had been heading. “I heard his crying through the valley and I tried to follow it as best as I could...” It seemed so simple at the time; she heard the hound braying in the dead of night and her first instinct had been to find him. To bring him somewhere safe and warm. But the man was right… For all Ari knew, Inigo could be wandering over the beautiful mirror lake or lounging somewhere in the castle or, perhaps, not here at all.

The young Norian felt sorry for the child, knowing that if he were the same age, he too would have been similarly inveigled against.

But the child’s muted smile slowly melded into a gesture reflective of a more sincere demeanour. Her tiny fingers grew less fidgety within her tight grasp, her eyebrows less anchored into an expression of seeded apprehension that juxtaposed against the softer smile upon her lips. Ari allowed her palm a small wave in tidings to the warrior’s greeting, whose fierce disposition felt gradually less threatening the more the three of them spoke among one another. And if the women didn’t believe harm would come to them, then that was something at least! Though, the little girl couldn’t fathom who could harm this iron maiden, even if they wanted to. “Good tidings, Marina.” But Marina of where? What town did she hail from?
"And what of you?" he remarked, turning to the scarred woman, "Have you any thoughts on what this world is or to whom does it belong?"

Silverheart's eyes scanned the two figures before her, her face impassive. The girl was small. Younger than she'd thought, and the sight of the slave collar adorning her neck sent a sympathetic pang reverberating through Marina's chest. She knew the weight of one of those, long ago. Perhaps something could be done about that, since they were likely far away from her master. Her eyes were bright and kind, just like they had been in the well.

The man was of different stock, but he too was just as he had been in the well. He dressed like some sort of scholar, and had the face of one too, his eyes were intelligent, and the way he spoke had the familiar effect of making Marina feel uneducated and common. She knew that was usually not the intention, and Marina's language had become more refined over the years, after she'd joined the upper ranks of the army, but Marina had always been envious of those who'd had a chance to pursue an education.

"Fairies, evidently." Silverheart shrugged, "Magic. I haven't the faintest idea. But if we were brought here, it was for a purpose. Supposedly we will find out soon. There were more of us coming up behind me. Perhaps whoever is hosting this..." Silverheart looked out over the assembled foods and drink, a scowl on her face, "Kidnapping turned party... is waiting for all of us to arrive. Magic users tend to have an annoying flare for the dramatic, in my experience, even when they're trying to kill you." She glanced down at the girl and coughed into her hand, "Not that I believe anyone is trying to harm us, you understand. It was an example. By the by, no, I haven't seen your friend. I'm sorry. Perhaps he will arrive at this... party... or we could ask our host his location. My name is.... Marina, by the way."

“It’s alright… I just hope poor old Inigo hasn't gotten into any trouble.”

She almost said Silverheart. But Silverheart was dead. She didn't think that either one of them would run to General Malus, but it was probably best she gave her first name only. The man looked like he might be of Norian stock, as she was, and her title was certainly not unknown there.

"Marina..." the young man said slowly, as though he were meticulously combing through his memory to see if the name had any distinctive quality that would ring through to him. Unfortunately for Senán, no matter how much he tried to put Marina to a particular event, he just wasn't able to. He always struggled with names but with faces, he could always recognise with very little trouble. Perhaps too much time at the university and its cloistered character had made the young Norian somewhat numb to the goings-on in the outside world and if one were to ask Senán, he probably would have preferred it that way.

"I too, was under the opinion that it was magic," the student concurred, glancing around the fantastical landscape, "But for it to be so widespread and to be intertwined with the landscape, it couldn't be the work of a mortal, or if it were, they would have to possess magic on a scale hitherto unseen. If I were to venture a guess, I would say this is the work of some numinous being, if not a divine outright." To say that Senán was perturbed by the idea of a divine being taking an interest in him was nothing but an understatement. The young scholar's mind was whirling with would-be reasons for his being chosen, as though the young man had fallen off a vertiginous cliff into wild speculation. But, it wasn't as though he were the only one, as the presence of Ariella and Marina, and the trio just behind them, made quite apparent.
They all would be alright like the scarred warrior said, wouldn’t they? As the two grown ups talked among themselves, the little elf wondered what divine could possibly be interested in her. In any of them, for that matter. As the warrior had said, there appeared to be more souls like her coming. But what would fairies and their mischievous ways want with them? Wouldn’t they have played their prank then left them be?

Ariella paused, her ebony hues slowly wandering from her fellow company to the crimson sky where violet clouds floated lazily above them. The thunder that came after she laid hands upon the gate had returned, though it sounded... different now. She turned to spy once again upon the castle and the soft glow of the gate; only to find a creature perched upon the threshold before them.

The beast had landed so delicately upon the path before the gate; Ariella had never seen a beast so huge move so quietly. Why, had she been there this whole time? How long had she been here? As the golden dust settled, the beast, this golden griffin of outstanding size, folded up her wings delicately and...spoke!

“Good tidings be upon you, friends of the king!” The beast said, “It has pleased him to see that you have arrived unharmed to our Lord’s realm.” But the little elfling only gazed up at her, mouth agape. The griffin blinked as the child scampered away to hide in safety behind the knight and the scribe; Senán did so also. “Oh, ah. Forgive me. I am still not used to being in the presence of mortals.”

One moment, the beast clasped its paws together and in a circle of white light, her form shrunk. The griffin-esque creature’s assemble completely dismantled before their very eyes; Talon-like paws became slender fingers as a heavy beak narrowed into a slender button nose. And just as the last trickles of ivory magic died, a new form become the voice before them. A maiden whose face glowed like the light of the moon; with hair crafted of owl feathers and wings that looked as delicate as a dandelion.

“Ariella of Avaleen, I am not a creature you should fear.” The griffin spoke again, in an attempt to speak more slowly through gritted teeth and an equally forced smile...“Not as long as you are my lord's guests.”

The little elf bit the tip of her bottom lip as she peeked from around the legs of the warrior. “Oh, but… H-How do you know my name?”

“I know all of your names, honored guests. You are Senán the Norian and Marina the...Wanderer.” The emphasis lingered even when the Fae arched a slender eyebrow and perched herself upon one of the tree’s branch. “And I am Peithos the Moon Wing. I am the steward of the Fairy King." She said, pressing a slender hand to her own breast. "If you all of you will please come with me, he is expecting you-”

Another hard blink. Three had come to the threshold, but six places were expected in court. Peithos stifled a sigh as she brought the tips of her fingers together. “There... is supposed to be three of you. What has become of the bard, the merchant and the scholar?”

Silverheart was distracted from the young elf's plight by the newcomer. Her heart stuttered on the creatures revelation that it was a steward of the fairy king, and her jaw clenched as the being paused between her name and the title 'wanderer'. But she steadied herself. She had seen and fought stranger....

Well... Perhaps that wasn't true. But she'd seen strange things, and while this was certainly an escalation there was no other option than to stand tall as she always had. More worrying was the implication the being knew who she was. General Malus and the the other Norian commanders certainly didn't have any Fae allies, but she had thought the only ones who knew Silverheart was alive were she herself and her companions Boris and Fleurette.

"I noticed one, two more trailing us. Perhaps there was a third." Silverheart said, pretending to be unaffected. She was quite good at that now, but she had a feeling that this being, Peithos, was far too shrewd not to have noticed. "I don't know why they've stopped. But they're here. What do you wish of us? I owe allegiance to no King any longer, Faerie or no. This has been very, very near to a kidnapping and I want to make it clear I am not pleased."

Perhaps those were foolish words. She had no idea the capabilities of this King beyond fairy stories, but it seemed none of these people had been called here willingly. She did not like that.

 

[Kittenpom20]

Osorio / Elidyr Firahel / Liala of the Eternal Moonlight
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Written with: Tlon Hanarei

Osorio sizes up the dark elf before him, this Elidyr. He's seen this buyer before - the kind that comes to the market place clutching his money, afraid of being robbed or swindled. This kind is not too hard to sell something to. Their furtive nature is easy to spot; they are so busy watching their gold purse that they don't notice that the silver they're buying is fake.

“Name’s Elidyr. I suppose you don’t know what’s going on here, do you?”

Osorio looks at him without responding for a moment.

"If I said I did, would you believe me?" he asks the dark elf.

Before Elidyr can answer another voice comes across the water - the shorter figure who Osorio can see now is a woman. From the look of her Osorio recognizes an artist's sensibility, the curious half-affectation of performers who forget which face is for the audience and which is for themselves. She recites something now and when she's done she introduces herself with words as ornate as her clothes.

"I bargain that none who have gathered here from other parts may know why we are here. We are but smudges of paint accidentally dropped upon an already illustrated canvas. None of us fit... though rather then being wiped away... it seemed the artists at play instead welcome us in as new additions to portrait."

"Liala of the Eternal Moonlight."

Osorio gives her a look not dissimilar to the one he gave Elidyr.

"Osorio," says Osorio. He says this to Liala but nods to Elidyr as well.

"A pleasure to meet you both. Sir Osorio, and you as I eavesdropped Sir Elidyr." She spoke being quite open about the fact she overheard him telling the other his name. The young woman putting on a warm smile as if to draw her audience in. A much more cozy type of greeting then what she might do if not wearing her other face. She glanced at the two as if to size them up better before shifting her attention forward looking a short distance away at the other group as they seemed to converse amungst themselves.

"I can only assume much like a bird gazing upon their horizon you have only peeked at the others before us rather then attempted to sing a song to gather there attention?" She asked looking looking curiously upon the two.

Elidyr nodded briefly at the young half-elf, somewhat surprised at her poetic manner of speaking but curious nonetheless. He would keep an eye on her - though her greeting radiated warmth that he would be unable to falsify himself, he wasn't about to underestimate anybody that had been brought here.

"The others seem to have arrived at the gates just before we did. It looks like there aren't any more coming, though. He drew a short line in the golden sand with his boot, frowning slightly. The strangeness of this world nagged at him. "Did either of you feel like you were being watched in that forest? I didn't glimpse any creatures, but I can only wonder at what we'll find up ahead."

“Of course we were being watched,” says Osorio, “whatever brought us here wouldn’t leave us to wander. A host knows from where the guests will come through.”

Osorio keeps his expression blank as he says this. It’s also blank when he looks again at Liala and Elidyr, then back out across the lake. He recalls then how the dream brought him here, how it pulled him when he tried to turn away from it. Behind him he can hear the soft shifting of leaves on the wind, the grand streaming branches of the willow swaying like chimes.

It would pull him in too, no doubt.

“Either of you get invited here,” asks Osorio, “or where you brought here?”

"Watched? Why of course. For the leaves bellow as the branches creak. For the ones who make such foliage home are not much unlike such a home. Born of the same substance and meaning, but given sentience of which they might illustrate 'her' very brilliance those of distances lineages long since forgot."

Liala spoke continuing to be a bit poetic rather than giving any direct answer. Perhaps being a bit carried away with the scenario they found themselves in. It all seemed far too likely to be the Fae who would over watch such an untouched place. It didn't exactly answer why they were there though or what the Fae's motive would even be. At the very least it didn't seem if it was Fae to be the type that might have more sinister intentions whether by intent or instinct.

"If a performance begets an invitation then I can only assume that to be the cause... though I assume as blissful my performance felt it was by other means of my selection... and I haven't the slightest clue whom invited me... or what said purpose for doing so might be."

"It was more of a forceful invitation," Elidyr noted, still annoyed that the ball of light, whatever it was, had seemed more than delighted to inconvenience him at every turn. "I suspect had I not followed the thing that was bringing me here it would've found another creative way to accomplish the same goal. If this is a performance they're looking for, I have no musical talent, and we were chosen for a reason." He was still nervous about what they had been chosen for. If bloodshed was imminent, he wanted to find a way out of this place as soon as possible.

The dark elf knows the score but the other elf is still beguiled by the lure. And why not? The ambience is wondrous, marvelous, a glittering paradise.

“Who knows what the reason is,” says Osorio, “but in my experience when you get an offer that’s too good to be true, it is. I suggest we all keep that in mind when we find whatever we’re meant to find.”

Still, he wondered if Liala was right. If they were not here out of malevolence then who knows what sort of gifts such a magical force could bestow. Kings would trade fortunes to be in such a place. But there is also a third possibility - that the host doesn’t feel one way or another about them, that they were chosen by chance, that they are merely pawns, their presence or their selves some means to an end. Like horses conscripted into battle they know not what they charge toward nor does it matter. So long as they charge.

The water laps against the golden shore.

Even the child?

“Unless either of you have magic enough to get us out of here we ought to press on,” says Osorio, “at least we get to see what happens to the first group before it happens to us.”

"Even if one possessed such magic, I have a feeling it wouldn't work. That which brought us here ought to be one with an incredible degree of power themselves. We are but the brush sitting upon the foreground to a far more lavish backdrop. We are here because whomever it may be wants us here and our colors won't be able to be so easily washed away from its finished portrait. To venture forward is the best way to learn more of this elaborate play, and once the curtains close can we be sure we might be able to part ways from the stage."

Elidyr nodded slowly at Liala’s words, thinking of the spells he had at his disposal. “While it might technically be true that I could teleport a few people back home, since I don’t know exactly where we are or what plane we’re on, there’s a high risk of failure and harm to myself and whoever comes with me. Accidentally teleporting yourself into bedrock is, let’s say, not pleasant.” And even if they were successful getting back home, his powers wouldn’t allow him to teleport so many people at once without risking tapping out his arana and completely exhausting himself.

Osorio was right, though. If they were offered something fantastical up ahead, it was likely too good to be true.

Shifting his pack on his back, and patting it once more to be sure that his spellbook was inside, Elidyr set his sights on the forest beyond the golden beach. “Let’s follow the rest of the guests, shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer he pressed on, still wary of the unknown forces that lie ahead, but determined still to uncover the secrets of this world.

Liala listened to Elidyr speak seaming to be a bit more analytical with thinking things through compared to her much more... poetic assumption. None the less it seemed he came to the same conclusion. As he spoke and took after the others, Liala bowed as if parting after her latest scene in the play following not far in step without a word, though the way she followed with her steps seeming to show a great deal of enthusiasm in venturing forward curious to see what may happen.

 

[Isolus]

Peithos the Moon Wing
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Annoyed
Mentions: Larry & Fred Colon ​

"Near to a kidnapping? I do not understand. Were you brought here in chains or threatened with harm if you did not comply? From what I understand, you and your fellows chose to investigate the invitation." And to think, Peithos promised herself that she would not be riled. But she had no control when the tips of her wings flared, her jaw set into a firm line."If our measures are unsatisfactory for you, then I am certain something more suited for your definition could be arranged."

Few guests wandered to the gate in these dark days. In warmer summers, there would all measure of mystical beast whom she heard prance upon the thresh hold. Some wandered here by mistake while others were brought here for entertainment at her master's parties. Violet unicorns with moonlight trapped in their eyes and sphinxes with fur made of the flames of summer. Serpentine dragons the size of a longship or in some instances, the lost phoenix who was left behind in the wake of a trailing star overhead. What wondrous tales they told of people and places she could never see. She even remembers, in distant memory, a maiden so pale she made the Moon Wing feel like a mere cloud floating past a virgin moon. And how her master lounged upon his throne to watch the maiden sing the glow of her stories throughout his woodlands, as if she rivaled the beauty of his own aura, would be something Peithos could never forget.

It was rarer still that mortals came. Not that she minded this at all. She could live the rest of her days without having to see one ever again. Ever since her people's exile to the realm of undying mirth, the Ivory Fae found it the most difficult to adjust. It didn't make sense how could one be surrounded with such happiness yet still feel so upended. Overturned. Mismatched. But as she lounged upon her perch in the light of eternal summer, her thoughts searched for the cool touch of winter. Peithos tried to spread frivolity for her master's sake, she truly did. Had it not been for him, she likely would have perished as well. But she was never as thorough as he was in that regard. Perhaps she simply did not know how to enjoy yourself; to not fret in times of hardship. It almost envied her that as her master aged, the better he became at replacing dire circumstance with a witty quip or passive reassurance that all would be well. But how could he expect her to keep this merriment when the people who brought them to exile in the first place stood before her now? How could she grant them an ounce of mercy when it was them that lead the world to kneel? Somehow, she wished for some grotesque monster or bemused nymph instead. That would be far easier than this.

But what was done is done. Her master was depending on her to uphold her duties. If she had to do it, she would do this for him. So instead of any further retort, Peithos folded her feathery wings behind her. Their edges smoothed, their glow danced like fireflies in the shade. Peithos tilted her chin upward and fixed corners of her smile in an attempt to bare the feigned hospitality she already assured the mortals that she would bestow. These wretched mortals. Even she had to admit, it must appear to be a terse smile; But it was a smile none the less. Around her, Peithos felt the the ethereal leaves of the king tree shift with movement. From the twinkling glow and nightly branches, others faces peered down behind her. Just as the child made her stay from the safety of her two fellows' shadows, so did the impish children that peeked in and out of hiding behind her. Fae with the face of babes and Fae who wore the horns of rams in place of ears. There were Fae with long clawed hands and Fae so tiny they were like the torch bugs that danced over marshy waters.

She heard them chitter among themselves in their own their tongues, in their quick yet simply way. The same way that all Fae did when they were faced with things they did not understand. In that regard, Peithos supposed that Fae and Humans were not so different from one another. When either experience things so different from their own, it is natural to meet it headfirst with unintentional terseness. With that in mind, Peithos attempted peace once again. "Forgive me, Wanderer. I should not blame your acquisition. It is a natural response to your circumstance." Peithos said as brought a slender hand to her feathery breast, "I admit that this mischief could have been placed in other mediums, but my master did not wish you harm. Do know that you are quite lucky to have arrived in the one piece and not have your soul ransomed by some other ethereal being instead. For I know many benevolent fiends who whisper plots of your people's demise in dark and secret places."

"You're... not going to harm us?" The finally elfing spoke quietly from her safe perch.

"You are friends of the King until he decides otherwise. I do not harm those who abstain from inciting his wrath." Peithos said simply. Her tone was milder now, more steadied and practiced. But not even that was strong enough to hide the ice buried within her eyes. "Now. Our gracious Lord has asked that I try to accommodate your mortal needs, within reason. If you have anything that you require before your appearance in the King's court, then speak it now and I will see that it is done while we wait for the rest of your party to reach the gates."

 

[Larry]

Senán Árdfeld
Location: Isle of Mirth.
Mood: Nervous, but curious.
Time: n/A.​

Senán didn't know what to make of this entity called Peithos, despite his first time witnessing something that he would term a 'changeling'. Despite being an entity of a more spiritul nature, it seemed that Marina's little barb about their being wistfully brought into this world somewhat annoyed Peithos, though she tried to obfuscate the whole thing by talking of their 'interest' in being pulled into her lord's realm. Though whether interest accounts for consent, Senán couldn't concede but he admitted internally that he was interested in the strange phenomenon that appeared suddenly on the parchment in the scriptorium some time ago. Peithos' admission that their transference could have been potentially fatal would not have satisfied Marina, the young student thought, before taking a cursory glance over in her direction. Ariella was still entrenched behind the former's imposing visage, though Peithos' affirmation that she was not of any threat to the trio, reduced the tension in Ariella's shoulders. Yet, despite the spirit's saying otherwise, Senán, against his usual tendentiousness towards being rational at all times, allowed a certain level of intuition to guide him: Peithos unnerved him. Maybe it was the churlishness at which she responded to Marina's reasonable objections, or how quickly she back-peddled to accommodate Ariella's concerns that struck Senán as odd but nothing remotely malicious. If anything, it gave Senán cause for a semblance of concern and given the circumstances he found himself in along with the others, there nothing he could do to ensure his own safety.

"And what of your 'king', as you called him?" Senán asked, a courteous air to his voice as he stepped out from behind Marina, "For what reason does he want all of us to be here? There's a want of commonness between us three and those right behind us, nor are we prestigious enough, in my instance at least, to be found worthy of an audience with the divine."

Though as he would admit himself, the more esoteric aspects of Norian religion were somewhat obscured to him, aided by his lack of interest but also a deficiency in reading the material, so it was something of a surprise for him to whisked away to this realm transcribing Autocles' magnum opus. Still, the empirical nature of the experience that had enveloped, plus the interactions he was having with a veritable spirit, a seneschal of some kind to the 'king' of this realm, it seemed to munificent an opportunity in the face of it to simply disregard documentation due to lack of interest. And maybe, somewhere within Senán determination to make note of Peithos and the world that she inhabited, his mind wandered to the monks that still wandered the cloistered halls of the University of Noria, and how they had devoted their life to the study and worship of the divine. Though not the most charitable or indeed the most warm of persons, a smile gleamed across the student's face and felt that his curiosity had something other than satisfaction to ponder.

"Well, if you're offering," the young man began, with something of a cheeky ring to his tone, "Do you think it possible to tell me about yourself, your lord, the spirits that inhabit this realm and the realm itself?"

 

[Fred Colon]

Silverheart's jaw tightened at the implied threat of chains, and her grip tightened on her sword hilt, relaxing only marginally when Peithos seemed to collect herself and apologize.
"Friends of the king until he decides otherwise?" Silverheart laughed, her lips twisting. It was the same as promising no safety at all, for all it seemed to relax the young elf. "You're safe from a lion until it decides you aren't, too, but an empty belly will turn a friendly lion into something far less personable in no time at all. And I will not thank you for not stealing our soul, as my agenda today was quite lacking in inter-dimensional travel or combating soul stealing ghosts until your intervention." Marina would have said more, but she looked down at Ariella, who seemed to want nothing more than to find her friend and a promise of safety. Silverheart couldn't imagine she was making her feel any safer. Perhaps her natural suspicion was hurting them, here. Despite her instinctual reaction not to trust strange creatures in ethereal forests, she didn't feel as if even this admittedly beautiful, if annoyed, creature had any ill intentions towards them. But perhaps, as the lion growing hungry, that mood would change if Silverheart continued being combative. She could not in good conscience put the young one at risk. She would take a stab at civility.

"I... Apologize." Silverheart said suddenly, "I am being a bit aggressive. Forgive me. As you said, I am in a new place and did not... plan to be. This puts me more on edge than I usually am, and my default state is on edge, especially these days." She tried to smile, with middling success. "If you're to accommodate our needs, could I have my armor? The one I left behind in the Inn, preferably. I would greatly appreciate it. Armor is a a knights formal attire, not just her battle attire. If we're going to meet a king, I should look my best." And she felt more comfortable having armor to protect her, anyway. Civility was well and good, but so was armor on your back.
Senan stepped out from behind Silverheart. She hadn't even realized she'd put herself in between the two others and Peithos.

And when he spoke, his demeanor changed. He began to ask questions, questions that, honestly, Silverheart should have thought to ask. And with the questions Silverheart noticed a certain rapaciousness. A hunger. That was interesting.
There was something there, something behind his intelligent eyes that signaled to her that he wasn't just a simple scholar, whether or not he knew it himself. His words were intelligent, but it was something in the way he held himself, something in his eyes that interested Silverheart. There was a reason he was in the well. There had to be. Silverheart turned to get a good look at Ariella, too. There was something special about them both. They were important. But why? Why had she seen them in the water? And what of the others?

Then she turned away, back to Peithos, not want to be caught staring too intensely. She was interested in the answers to Senan's questions, anyway.

 

[Kittenpom20]

Elidyr Firahel
Location: The Isle of Mirth
Mood: Concerned, unsure


The golden shores of the island quickly gave way to a lush forest, not unlike the one they had encountered encircling the shores of the lake; under any other circumstance, Elidyr would have marveled at such a beautiful sight, but he was preoccupied with observing their environment for any sort of information that could aid them. He realized the marble path that his boots tapped against was surrounded by flowers of all kinds; absently reaching his hand out to touch one as he walked slowly past, Elidyr nearly jumped out of his skin when something moved mere inches from his hand. Looking more closely, he realized it was a tiny creature, some fairy of sorts, that flitted away momentarily after being spotted. Elidyr wasn’t sure whether to be comforted by the fact that these were likely the eyes observing them earlier, and watching them still; whether benevolent or not, he still didn’t appreciate this situation. None of these fairies had asked him whether he wanted to come to this realm in the first place, and while the answer likely would’ve been yes, the terms and conditions of this endeavor were still unclear.

Further down the path, Elidyr finally got a good look at the chosen three in front of him. One, a younger human who had the distinct look of a student, and another, a woman who appeared to be deliberately putting herself in between the two and the strange entity they were conversing with. His gut twisted when he realized how young the third one was, a small wood elf who looked to be a servant if her attire was any indication. Experience told him she was likely less of a servant and more of a slave; he’d encountered some elves unfortunate enough to be owned by somebody else in his travels. Anger flared as he thought of the individuals that would wish to do this child harm, their current circumstances notwithstanding, but he forced himself to appear calm as he approached the group. Elidyr relaxed the tension in his shoulders, unable to muster a smile, but at least kept his face neutral. How he wished he possessed strong enough magic to get them all to safety.

Still standing at a good distance away so as to be polite, for the three appeared to be in the middle of a conversation, Elidyr gave a brief nod to the group. He was hesitant to interrupt; whatever they were talking about sounded important, and the being they were conversing with appeared to have quickly thinning patience that he was unwilling to agitate further. The entity was humanoid in form but the pure magic emanating from her was somewhat disorienting. Likely a steward of whoever had led them here, the figure possessed hair and wings made of soft, delicate-looking feathers in a glowing ivory color. Elidyr tried not to stare, instead averting his gaze to the other humans talking.