What Dreams May Come

Ariadne

There are lots of thoughts in this log, so I am making them this color.

Ariadne:

She is a stalwart Yeleni; she stands at an average height, with strong hips and long legs rooting her in a steady stance. Her skin is a rich golden-brown hue, deeply tanned, while thick ebony hair frames her face, pulled back by tangled braids woven here and there with trinkets of the hunt: a bit of antler, a particularly pleasant feather, a few fangs strung together. Her face is oval with high, pronounced cheekbones, a narrow nose and wide lips. Dusky, thick lashes and heavy eyebrows frame indigo, almond-shaped eyes, the hue accented by dark woad tattoos. Starting at the bridge of her nose, the adornments twist across her brow, framing her eyes to curl down towards her neck in a vibrant blue, while matching markings scroll across her shoulders and wrap down her arms to circle her hands in a delicate pattern of abstracted, forestal motifs. She walks with the blessing of Haern. She walks with the blessing of Haern.

                 (reaching up to her knees) : a pair of tribal, leather-wrapped boots

              (unhindering, simple support) : a forest green bandeau top

                 (serving as bare coverage) : a fur-lined loincloth

Rendar:

An impressive example of his species, this large black wolf is leanly muscular, with long legs and a powerful build. A thick black pelt covers his form, lightening to a dusky silver around the muzzle to frame his piercing yellow eyes in a spray of snowy white. Sharp canines are exposed with each snarl or yawn, while long claws tip each paw; naturally equipped with these razor-sharp weapons, the beast is clearly a savage, fierce hunter, with an alert posture and a keen stare making it clear he is not one to be trifled with. He is called 'Rendar.'

A soothing glade. (Morgun Forest.)

The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. The shimmering waters of the lake lap against the shore invitingly. Guthrim, the reveler is here, enveloped in a cloud of myrrh smoke. Plants having grown within and upon it, a barely-legible wooden sign stands here.  A giant monolith lies to the southeast, its octagonally-shaped height bordering the lake.

You see exits leading southeast and west.

Silent lakeshore before the great monolith. (Morgun Forest.)

The bright sun shines down, blanketing you with its life-giving warmth. The shimmering waters of the lake lap against the shore invitingly.

You see exits leading south, northwest, and in (open stone door).

An octagonal room of contorted art. (Morgun Forest.)

The eight equal sides of this room, as well as its floor, are carved from pale granite; though its shape is simple, the light that fills it is dim, and a vast quantity of murals and paintings blot out the underlying stone. Vines and moss have pushed through the floor to form a strange undergrowth, dampening any sound made in the room and rendering footsteps silent. At the room's center, a spiraling stone staircase winds upward, its steps adjoined to a central, vine-encrusted pillar of granite. Above, there is only darkness, broken by occasional, glimmering points of light; it is difficult to see where the stairs lead. A mural of a garden has been scrawled onto the wall, points of bright yellow showing amid tangles of greenery.

You see exits leading north (open stone door), down, and out (open stone door).

A savage, black-furred wolf lets out a low growl as he pads along beside the Sentinel, yellow eyes narrowing as he peers suspiciously around him.

You say to a savage, black-furred wolf, "Easy, Rend...."

mural:

Despite the lack of realism in this mural's style, the bold, childlike strokes of paint that the garden is depicted with convey a sense of utter tranquility; the smell of growing plants and fresh earth emanates from the artwork, and a faint breeze seems to travel through it in spite of its thoroughly inanimate state.

It is strangely weightless.

You have emoted: Ariadne slowly creeps into the temple again - this time, her attention is still caught by the mural, and she ignores the wolf's growls this time to slowly approach it, breathing in deeply as her eyes close. One hand reaches out to touch the paint, fingers lightly skimming across the brush strokes.

You reach out and touch a disjointed mural of a garden.

The paint feels wet under your fingers, the image rippling as if fluid.

You have emoted: Ariadne's fingers pause. Her eyelids flutter, nearly opening...but not quite. They remain shut and she lets out a low, long breath.

Your memories stir, like wind gusting aside long-dead leaves, and you recall the tiny garden, cloistered off among the walls and towers of the Sect. The tiny, bleak rectangle of grey northern sky visible above. The wilted flowers. It was a beautiful enough bit of freedom, back then...

A savage, black-furred wolf's growl turns to a whine as he pads closer to the Sentinel. As the image ripples, the whine sharpens and he opens his mouth to give the woman's leg a gentle sort of bite, teeth grazing the skin - not breaking it, just touching deep enough to leave lurid red lines.

The mural's strokes unfurl and curl, responding to your thought. For a scant few seconds, the artwork resolves into a depiction of the garden itself, not quite as you remembered it, but close. At the picture's center, the detail is fine, with dewdrops on individual leaves and flower petals you could pluck if they were real. At the outermost edges, the image is a mere foundation of color with nothing but primitive shapes to suggest the garden's perimeter.

You have emoted: Ariadne's eyes snap open at the pain, stumbling backwards. "Rend!" she hisses, twisting about to give the wolf a sharp stare. The beast merely stares right back, unruffled and unconcerned. The two peer at each other for a span.

Sir Hesher enters from the out.

It was far more beautiful than you recalled - that little island of refuge, it blossomed and changed, transforming into something that could almost make you ache. "No," you think, giving a mental sort of head-shake. "That's what She does, that's why you're here, Rend insisted." An then a wistful sort of sigh, just in your thoughts, just for you. Some part of you wants that life back.

Hesher:

A slablike man of density and presence. Sir Hesher's eyes are an intense pale grey, sunken deeply beneath the mesa of his brow. His hair is long, brown and wavy, his beard brushing the plane of his chest. The etchings across his cuir boulli are ornate and tribal, with influences from the Rajamalan language. For defense, the knight keeps a longspear at his disposal, along with a kite shield, painted with religious symbology: a clawed hand clutching a moth.

Heralded by the clinking of chain mail, a man-shaped silhouette falls over you, backlit by the bright moonlight from outside.

You have emoted: Curiously, it is Ariadne who breaks the stare, glancing away from the wolf with a flush. As the man enters, she straightens, hands fumbling towards her waist in a defensive reflex, reaching towards her dhurive.

A savage, black-furred wolf also turns on the man. He's far less clumsy, slinking down into a smooth crouch, muscles coiled and teeth bared. It's evident he doesn't trust this temple - or anyone in it.

"Mmm, no, we're not doing that right now," Sir Hesher says, allowing himself in, making his way to both you and you wolf companion, the stride of a man who owns the place. His eyes snap to the dhurive. With a resigned sigh, he says, "Sooo. I imagine you're wanting to see the Lady."

A savage, black-furred wolf twists his head to glance up at you, before letting out a warning snap at the man, edging himself between the Sentinel and the knight.

You have emoted: Ariadne looks down at the wolf. There's an odd expression on her face. Her hands flex at her waist, finally balling into fists as she lowers her arms, letting her weapon remain secured in the belt. She gives a slow, reluctant nod.

Sir Hesher isn't stupid - he is good enough to fall back a step, but doesn't go for his weapon. If you're sharp, you can catch just a brief roll of the eyes. "Right. Territory. Personal space." Coughing into his throat serves as an introduction. "Well. I'm afraid I'm as good as you're gonna get right now. The Lady upstairs is having, and I quote, 'a vacation beyond the sky.'"

"You owe this to Rend," you think, shoving aside other thoughts - old memories, slowly stirring, feelings and emotions and recollections which have been yawning awake since the first time She favored you - and instead focusing on thoughts of the wolf. You pick an especially vibrant image, one from your last hunt, when he tore an elk's throat out. Blood fountains in a beautiful spray and he is magnificent. You hold onto that picture in your mind.

You, Rendar, and the strange knight are bathed in a violent red glow from behind - the mural must be reacting to your thought again. Sir Hesher confirms this by looking over your head, his eyes widening just a touch.

You have emoted: Ariadne gives a slow nod. "She is hunting," she says after a moment. Her voice is low, and a bit creaky, as if not quiet accustomed to being used. "She is a strong hunter."

Sir Hesher doesn't seem to follow, his brows momentarily obscuring the upper halves of his eyes. "Who's that now, your fine companion there, or ah, Her?" He emphasizes the pronoun with a simple point at the ceiling.

A savage, black-furred wolf eases up at bit. His snarl faded and his hackles lower, although his muscles still remain tense, ready to spring to attack at a moment's notice.

You have emoted: "Her," Ariadne replies, simply. Not a big one for conversation, it seems. "That is why She is a Goddess, is it not?"

The transformation of the mural hasn't escaped a savage, black-furred wolf's notice. His head turns, eying the piece suspiciously. He pads a bit closer to the painting, giving it a cautious sniff, and settles back onto his haunches, letting out a snort. He seems to approve.

"Mmmm," Sir Hesher answers. His voice is just a touch too raspy, and would probably be pleasant otherwise. It has a lot of meat to travel through. His eyes remain on the mural, but go elsewhere when the bloody light fades. "Well. She appeared to Me in tears holding the remains of one of Her whips, so my best guess is She's probably having a nice, long sulk. And you know our blessed Divine and their idea of time."

You have emoted: Ariadne merely blinks slowly in reply to the man. She remains silent.

"Time." The word skitters across your thoughts, memories rippling to the surface of your mind with each bounce. The dreamwine. The incense. The rush of prophecy, the power it awakened, knowing what lay just one step ahead, the joy of being able to act, certain of what the consequences would be. A quiet ache begins to form.

Sir Hesher can offer you nothing more than a grim, apologetic sort of smile, his moustache bristling. "I know, sweetheart, it's not what you expected. Look, call me Hesher. I prefer Sir Hesher, but seeing as how I kinda lost that right, it's not mandatory. I'm the majordomo."

"I'm looking after the place while She's out," Sir Hesher clarifies hastily, after another up-and-down scan of your body.

Nothing behind you has caught Rendar's attention. The mural must be calm.

You have emoted: Ariadne slowly echoes the word, "May-jer-do-mo." It sounds utterly foreign on her tongue, her low, somewhat rusty voice and awkward pronunciation making it even odder.

"I'm not making a lick of..." Sir Hesher mutters, then smears his leatherclad gauntlet over his face, straightening out his facial hair. Approaching again, very slowly, his hands spread far out of the reach of his spear, he says, "She's gone, young lady. I'm going to have to be - in - charge - for a little while. Does that make sense?"

You have emoted: "Not gone," Ariadne replies, staring blandly at Hesher. Her words don't seem to be spoken from stubbornness or refusal or frustration. They are calm and almost monotone. Matter-of-fact. "She blessed me. She is present, somehow."

A savage, black-furred wolf cocks his head as the man speaks. His ears perk and he seems rather pleased by the knight's announcement. He abruptly flops down into a lazy sprawl, tongue lolling out.

Sir Hesher's eyes linger on the wolf, who seems to be the leader of the two of you, and watches him, even as he speaks to you. "Young lady, you are more than welcome to call Her, but believe you me: I can't find Her. Our representatives can't find Her. The former Eye can't find Her. So I'm going to offer you my stock line, and then I'm going to leave:".

The mural's colors squirm and smear past one another like writhing snakes, individual brushstrokes popping in garish hues as they are squeezed out of shape.

You should be feeling relief at this. "If She is gone, then the problem is solved before it has fully begun," part of you reasons. Yet...some other part of you feels hollow to hear this.

You have emoted: "Art?" Ariadne questions. Her expression is confused.

A savage, black-furred wolf lets out a dismissive snort, rolling onto his side and yawning widely.

Now Sir Hesher seems to be getting somewhere. He actually looks relieved. Tapping his glove pointedly, he recites a well-used and rehearsed line. "Art. An expression or persistent idea that makes one or more persons feel something."

You have emoted: Ariadne's confusion seems to clear at this. "Hunting," she agrees, giving a curt nod. At her feet, the wolf's ears perk up and his eyes roll upwards to regard the knight from his lazy sprawl on the ground. He seems to like the idea of hunting.

Sir Hesher groans, squinting blearily, then casts his eyes to the expansive height of the ceiling, his hands upturned. He seems to ask 'really?' Scratching under his chin, he says, "Hunting is a form of art, sure, if that's what you're getting at. Let me guess: you're pretty good at it?"

You have emoted: Ariadne's gaze travels down to the wolf. "Not as good as a God," she admits. She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, eyes still fixed on the wolf. "Better with Rend." Her eyes slowly shift back to the knight, and she quietly continues, a trace of pride in her voice, "Good enough to fix myself firmly in the here, to lose myself in the kill, as things should be."

A savage, black-furred wolf seems fairly at ease now, either from the discussion of the missing Goddess, talk of the hunt, or simply the absence of any surprises lurking in dark corners. He lets out a sneeze, head shaking, and his tail flops once against the floor in a soft thud. He twists upwards, laying on his belly now, and rests his head atop his paws, eyes focused on the knight.

A savage, black-furred wolf's stare is unwavering, a piercing yellow gaze that rakes over the man's rotund frame. His tongue lolls out again and a hint of hunger enters his eyes as he stares over the immense meaty build of the knight. He sniffs once, sharply.

"Show me," Sir Hesher says. Reaching over his shoulder, he whips out his spear, holding it at arm's length like a wizard holding his ground with his staff. "Believe it or not, I've got what even She says is a pretty good eye. So let me guess, you're here to cozy up to Her, right? Show me your art."

You have emoted: Ariadne instinctively crouches back and away as the spear is wielded, a low hiss of breath escaping her lips. Her dhurive is in her hands, the wielding motion almost a blur, now that reflexes have kicked in and she's no longer distracted by the painting. Her weight shifts between her legs, swaying back and forth as she gauges the distance between her and the man and her hands slide along the weapon's shaft, settling into a study grip. Finally, she speaks, low and suspicious: "Cozy? What is cozy?"

A savage, black-furred wolf quickly scrambles to his own feet as the Sentinel tenses for battle, ears perked and muscles tightening. He bounds towards her, slinking into a defensive position at her side.

Sir Hesher takes to a possible altercation in calm stride, unshouldering his shield as well, presenting a thickly-clad defensive front. "I mean you're here because you want to sing Her praises, right? Learn what you can from Her, receive blessings and maybe even let Her pluck an eye out of your head. Same as everyone else, right?"

You have emoted: Ariadne takes a slow sidestep, watching the knight carefully. It's clear she's testing his defenses, judging his reactions. "No," she says, voice low. "Rend is..." She spares a glance down towards the wolf, tearing away from her combat-ready stance for handful of seconds, before she smoothly returns to her cautious circling, feet deftly picking her way over the vines and moss. The mural is at her side now.

A savage, black-furred wolf snaps his head sideways, looking up at the woman and lets out a low growl.

You have emoted: "I..." Ariadne quietly corrects. "I am here because She has blessed me. Do not want. Rend-" She swallows. The weapon trembles just a fraction in her hands before her grip tightens. "*I* do not like the feel of Her touch."

Sir Hesher sighs so hard it sounds as if he was punched, and comes just a second away from throwing his spear to the floor, only a tight grip (respect afforded, no doubt, to the violent capacity of Rendar) saving his weapon from the ground. "Then write Her a letter. You can toss it in the lake, same as everyone else."

Is that true? Do you dislike it? Thoughts of it first upon you fill your thoughts suddenly, the sensation of Her blessing, Her realm, course through you. It was brilliant, that touch of prophecy it reawakened in you - and then you remember, with a sudden plummet of emotion, Rend's reaction, stiffening and snarling and backing away. You were foreign and enemy, worse than prey. It took hours to calm him.

You have emoted: Ariadne relaxes a bit as the man's weapon is lowered, although her own dhurive remains firmly wielded. If she is puzzled, or disappointed, or even elated by the reply, she reveals nothing, and merely nods.

A savage, black-furred wolf sniffs at the air and then settles back to sit back on the floor with a disappointed whine as the tension fades from the room. He yawns again.

Sir Hesher sighs again, but this time almost in pity. "I'm sorry. It is what it is, alright? If I can help you in an offici--" Pausing, he takes a moment to search for a simpler word, "If I can help you with following, with, uh... worshipping, uh, -being- an Artist, you can ask me."

A thrill rushes through you at that. Memories spin and you are a child again, dancing across the threads of the future, the near-present laid out before you, all shimmering power and beautiful possibility. "If you followed Her," you caught yourself thinking. "If...you could return to that. A Seeress again, but stronger-" But as your thoughts rotate, all of those pretty tendrils of could-be snaking out, you realize they are empty. Rend is in none of them.

You have emoted: Ariadne is quiet for a long span. It's unclear if she means to reply and is just trying to find the words, or if she's retreated from the conversation. Her hands shift on her weapon, gripping and relaxing on the wood, and the wolf tilts his head, staring up at her. His eyes narrow and then, snakelike and sudden, he's on his feet, bounded between the man and her.

Sir Hesher tosses the two of you one last glance, muttering, "Wolf's too smart for his own good you know."

Sir Hesher leaves to the out.

A savage, black-furred wolf snarls as the man departs. He continues his display, teeth gnashing and eyes rolling, tail lifted and fur stiff, long after the man has gone.

The Monolith has never felt so empty. Even the fae and undine that live here seem crestfallen and lonesome.

You have emoted: Ariadne finally gives a slow blink and lets out a long breath. "Rend..." she murmurs. The wolf twists about, his protective display melting away as his snarl slips into a wounded whine.

You have emoted: Ariadne drops to her knees, placing herself at eye-level with the wolf. "Rend," she whispers again, head bowing as she lets her dhurive fall to the floor with a clatter. "I never-"

A savage, black-furred wolf pads closer, butting the woman's hand with his head. He gives her palm a dry lick and whines again.

You have emoted: Ariadne lets out a soft sigh and nods, retrieving the weapon. Some sort of unspoken communication seems to have passed between her and the beast, and the moment moves on. His ears perk up as she rises and he happily bounds out of the temple, racing ahead of her into the forest beyond.

//Movement spam

Ariadne

//Movement spam

Fields near broken walls. (Northern Ithmia.)

A thunderstorm rages in the heavens, and rain blasts down all around you.

You see exits leading east and west.

You have emoted: Ariadne gives a savage, black-furred wolf an upnod, chin jerking upwards to point off towards the east. Grazing at the edge of the treeline there is an elk, just grey and weathered enough to be past his prime, although he still sports a magnificent rack of antlers. She ducks into a low crouch, creeping through the underbrush.

A savage, black-furred wolf's tongue lolls out eagerly. He slinks along beside her, weaving through the bracken with a silent grace.

You sight your target, lower your center of gravity, and charge toward a magnificent elk with your dhurive at the ready.

Amid the edge of the Ithmia forest.

A thunderstorm rages in the heavens, and rain blasts down all around you. Covered with flourishing vines and lush mosses, a large monolith stands here like an ancient sentinel keeping watch over this protected grove. A mushroom grows from the ground here. A mushroom grows from the ground here. You barely notice a buckawn skulking about nearby. A magnificent elk grazes placidly.

You see exits leading east, southwest, west, and northwest.

Using your momentum, you drive your dhurive into a magnificent elk, blood spraying into the air.

Lowering its head angrily, a magnificent elk swings towards you, its antlers eliciting several deep cuts.

A magnificent elk raises a heavy hoof, ramming it hard into your leg.

You have emoted: With a sudden force, Ariadne leaps out from the bracken to ambush the elk in a surprise attack! She slides alongside the beast, dhurive gouging a deep cut along its side and then whistles to her mount. With a crash and clank, a donkey gallops out of the undergrowth and she quickly swings up onto its back to continue fighting the beast from a mounted posture.

You swiftly swing up onto a savagely-armored grey mule.

You carve a long wound across a magnificent elk, angling in for a second strike.

A savage, black-furred wolf bounds out alongside the Sentinel, claws slashing and teeth bared as he snaps at the elk's throat. In a fountain of blood, the wolf downs the beast, letting out a triumphant howl as he stands over the warm kill, blood gushing from the death wound.

The final blow proves too much for a magnificent elk, who expires, pitifully.

You have slain a magnificent elk.

The woods go still in the wake of the elk's death, the birds having fled the scene of the ambush. A handsome kill.

You say to a savage, black-furred wolf, "Best yet."

A savage, black-furred wolf gives himself a shake, letting out a snort. He then retreats, circling the body as he eyes the woman.

Khotanri arrives from the northwest.

Khotanri leaves to the southwest.

Eyes darting towards the passerby, you say to a savage, black-furred wolf, "Blind."

//Movement

A hunter's blind. (Northern Ithmia.)

This small shelter has been fashioned from deadfall and bracken to form a rugged hunter's blind, blending nearly seamlessly in with the surrounding terrain. Rough-skinned hides have been stretched overhead to serve as a rudimentary roof, adequate enough to keep the rain out, while gathered branches obscure the entire tent from all but the most observant eye. Small necessities are neatly stacked along the blind's inner walls, easily accessible at a moment's notice: carved wooden pots, a crude bedroll, bandages, vials, knives, spears, axes and arrows are the only adornments to the minimalistic and spartan shelter, with everything focused on utility and apparently little concern for comfort beyond the basics. A long depression fills one corner of the area, dug out with claw marks, in a clearly-claimed bit of turf for a wolf, while a simple mat of knotted vines covers the ground - the entire effect is virtually traceless, able to be deconstructed at a moment's notice with almost no impact on the land itself. A tangle of vines covers the ground in a hunter's prayermat. A waterproof, snakeskin bedroll has been left here. Savage and wild, a large black wolf scans the area with a keen, alert stare.

You see a single exit leading out.

You drop the corpse of a magnificent elk.

A savage, black-furred wolf flops down into one corner of the shelter, rolling onto his back. He twists back and forth, back scratching against the ground and paws kneading at the air as he lets out a series of satisfied huffs.

You have emoted: Ariadne crouches down and begins to deftly skin the carcass, producing a little bone knife from an ankle sheath and slicing into the skin in a single clean cut. "Glutton," she says fondly over to the wolf as he rolls about like a puppy, her hands working at the task with a practiced skill. The knife slides between muscle and skin in smooth gestures and, soon, the entire front of the elk has been sliced open and skin peeled back to form a sort of tarp. Using that canvas, she begins to carefully butcher the meat.

You have emoted: With a quick amount of time, the carcass has been handled, offal discarded into a woven basket beside the bones, with the juicy organs piled next to a generous portion of the hunks of raw meat. Ariadne glances over towards the wolf again. No words are exchanged, but the beast quickly twists upright, letting out a loud, eager snap before gleefully digging into the larger half of the steaks. Blood smears across his muzzle as he happily devours his well-earned dinner.

You have emoted: Ariadne retrieves one of the smaller steaks and stands, folding over a flap of the hide roof to open the shelter to the sky. She then settles down beneath that and begins to build a simple campfire, blowing on the flames to coax them to life.

You quickly go about stacking a few pieces of wood into a vaguely-triangular shape before igniting it with a tinderbox, causing the pile to erupt shortly after into a soothing fire.

The warm glow of the campfire suffuses your body and eases your wearied mind.

You have emoted: Ariadne uses the rocks surrounding the small fire as a sort of stove, laying the meat across them to slowly sizzle and sear. She pulls her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knee and looks over at her companion who is now utterly lost in the gluttonous consumption of his meal. She frowns.

Your thoughts drift, caught and spun out by the abstract patterns of the dancing flames, to meander down avenues you have long abandoned.

Perhaps touched, subconsciously by the scene at the Monolith, you fancy you can see brush strokes in the fire, slipping out of the burning mass in short-lived streaks.

It's like poking at a still healing wound - tender and sore, but you can't help it. There's something delicious about the pain inherent in remembering. You recall those horrible years in the Sect, the Seeress using you, pushing you, the hazed years when everything was a numbed procession of drug after drug, just to see what you could stand, how much you could See. That part aches too much and you pull away.

But after that, when you escaped and wandered...Your thoughts settle in here, sliding into the past with a warm familiarity. With almost the same sort of fondness Rend evokes, you muse over those days and nights, naked and free and dancing beneath the moon within your grove. "That was not so terrible," you find yourself rationalizing, shoving aside the truths of how lost you were, how feral you became, and simply remembering how good the power itself felt. You could see the future, hear the past, the woods told you their truths.

The roar of the fire begins to die down somewhat as the wood that fuels it is slowly consumed..

Something happens as your mind drifts down this old byway and - without calling for it or realizing it - you find yourself slowly beginning to detach, your mind losing its grip on the present as it reaches upwards and outwards for something more. The smoke is soporific, the dance of the flamepainting soothing...for a moment, there, sparkling and shimmering and twisting outwards, you can see the threads. You can glimpse the possibilities of what may come...

The magic lingers, even if you must call it without aid. Like the tendrils of a spiderweb, threads of fate stretch across the recesses of your mind. You know time exposes her secrets to you at the end of each thread, but you cannot see them.

The roar of the fire begins to die down somewhat as the wood that fuels it is slowly consumed..

As the last of the wood is finally burned off, the once-blazing fire soon becomes little more than smoldering embers.

You have emoted: Ariadne's lazily narrowed eyes snap open and she gasps. She blinks over to the wolf, snoring oblivious and sated, and then down at the fire. Embers now. The meat is burnt.

Your mind tries to clamp down on it, focusing on the here and now. "The hunt," your thoughts practically scream, frantically clawing at just half a day earlier, the rush and blood and being IN that moment.

The memory of the elk is vivid and sweet, every sense represented in total recall. Hide sliced so neatly the skin looks sharp-edged. The beat-beat of antlers and the thick body smashing into the ground. The trail left behind as it skid. The smell of blood, traces of piss in the animal's fur.

"That's good, that's better," you think. Relief slowly creeps in. The moment is fading, and you are just a hunter, now, one who brought down a fierce foe.

But an ache lingers, awoken and quietly thrumming, somewhere inside you. Now that you've tasted this again, you can't banish it so easily.

A savage, black-furred wolf lets out a snort in his sleep, flopping over to lay on his other side. His paws kick at the air.

You have emoted: Ariadne quietly exhales. She leaves the ruined meat beside the cold fire and crawls across the tent to stretch out beside the wolf, laying down beside him. One arm wraps around the beast's body, fingers curling to hold onto the fur, while her other arm fold upwards to pillow her head.

A savage, black-furred wolf shifts unconsciously and lets out a huff, nestling closer to the woman.

You have emoted: Ariadne's eyes close.

Exhaustion suddenly grips you. Perhaps the deer hunt took more out of you than you were expecting, but you suddenly feel very, very sleepy.

Your exhausted mind can stay awake no longer, and you fall into a deep sleep.

An unusually vivid dream swirls through your sleeping mind, and you have the distinct impression of movement.

Quicksilver sea.

This is the lowest point of the Cradle, a shoreline of white sand at the base of a hill. The terrain, plucked and teased ever skyward, is like a mountain trail with no mountain, a suspended road of grassy stone held without gravity. Gentle and windless, the tide is a churning mass of spun silver, a substance that behaves like water but looks like a mirror. The bewitched sea cuts across the southern horizon in a sharp line, shining under the starlit canopy of the sky. The shimmering waters of the lake lap against the shore invitingly. An enormous, black monolith floats in the air, rainbow colors dancing across its surface.

There are no obvious exits.

You drift in and out of sleep, your rest shallow and oft disturbed. The visions you tried to hard to banish from your mind appear almost the instant you close your eyes, and eventually, you find yourself awake once more. Somewhere else.

The following creatures are in your entourage:

The following players are in your entourage:

You have emoted: Ariadne twists about, staring around her with wide eyes. Her hands scrabble for her weapons and then instantly still as she realizes she is alone - fully alone, without any sign of the wolf at all.

Panic floods your mind. "He's abandoned you," is the first thing you think, and your thoughts go black and silent for a moment, stunned by that concept. "He smelled it, you changed and now he's gone."

This place looks familiar. In fact, it seems to be almost a mirror image of the lakeshore, just outside Omei's temple. But where the dingy Morgun forest surrounded the water, here there is white sand, white sand and a grassy hill trail of psychedelic colors. Just inches away, the water laps at you, looking like nothing so much as molten silver.

It is cold here, and bright, with no clouds blocking the stars. Cold, bright, and very lonely.

You can see the following 2 objects:

"lake156340"             a shimmering lake.

"monolith168431"         a prismatic monolith.

monolith:

Though made of polished black stone, the monolith shines iridescent, like oil, or the scales of a fish, It hovers immensely, turning about in place like the slow-moving hand of a clock. Carved deep into its surface are treatises in Rajamalan script.

It weighs about 501 pound(s).

read monolith:

There is nothing noteworthy there for you to read.

No use. Almost Rajamalan, but everything is just a little wrong. Primitive, almost, with certain words corrupted, the sentence structure all out of whack. In any case, it's unreadable.

You have emoted: Ariadne is still for a long span. Her breathing slows from short, shallow gulps of panic into a calmer cadence, and she eventually begins to inspect her new surroundings, getting her knees beneath her to rise into an easy crouch. She regards the lake with clear mistrust, and then the monolith with obvious bafflement, before she finally stands. Finally, her head tilts upwards and she stares at the stars overhead, squinting at bit at their unnaturally bright glow.

Never, even in the woods, have you seen such a clear view of the stars. Distant nebulae wash across the vault of the heavens like milk or smoke, cavorting with Ulgar and Peripleko, providing a river over which Averroes gazes. Shenebre looks over the world with distant, ancient eyes. And above all, seeming to reach past the twinkling stars themselves, is the tower.

It touches the moon. You cannot make out its details - from this distance, it may as well be a beam of white light.

You feel an emptiness, without Rend nearby. The grasses seem to loom, holding hidden threats, and the water's depths are daunting, filled with lurking menace. This world you've stumbled into is dangerous and deadly...but something about the tower seems calming. Perhaps it is simply its immutability, compared to the lake and the swirling colors of the trail.

You have emoted: Ariadne takes a halting step forwards. She pauses, but then continues, her steps quick, stalking movements, weaving her way across the sand towards the tower in the distance.

Several minutes of you walking across the sand pass, before it becomes clear that the hillside isn't getting any closer. You must have covered several yards by now, but the sea murmurs just behind you, a stone's throw away. And in the distance, is that barking?

You have emoted: "Rend?!" Ariadne calls out in sudden surprise, turning in a quick circle to scan the horizon. "REND!" the sound seems ripped from her mouth.

It can't be Rendar. Not because you recognize the beast - he is too far away - but because you have never personally witnessed your wolf run across the surface of an ocean.

Joy sings out through you mind. "He didn't leave-" Your thoughts die away as the strange beast gallops across the waters. A cold stab of doubt seeps through you.

"warhound26975"          a staunch, stalwart hound.

Keep-raised, this warhound is clearly of mastiff stock, handsome muscular lines large paws, and a sort of brutish, jowly face. Taller than an Imp, the hulking beast is covered by a smooth pelt of black fur, glossy and sleekly shining with an almost purple luster as it ripples over toned muscles. Keen eyes, aglow with an unnatural violet light, scan his surroundings, while his mouth is lined with large teeth, sharp and long enough to easily rip a man's arm off. The hound moves with a predatory grace and seems to have been bred for immense loyalty - his stare frequently darts to his owner and his steps appear to innately place his own body between Her and danger, giving his hulking movements a clearly protective echo. A small brand of a moth is seared into his rump, the image shiny red against the dark coat. He is called 'Wilbruto.'

A staunch, stalwart hound looks weak and feeble.

He weighs about 250 pound(s).

He is loyal to Omei, the Artist.

You have emoted: Ariadne's hands go to her weaponbelt as the strange beast approaches, smoothly wielding her dhurive in a quick gesture. Her legs widen into a steady, defensive stance and she waits, eyes tracking the hound.

Blissful, a staunch, stalwart hound comes into view, his tail wagging as he rips across the ocean at violent speed. From time to time he rises into the air, walking on it, as if climbing hills invisible to you. In an indirect, errant path, he eventually dashes toward the beach, digging his massive paws into the sand some several yards from where you stand.

In a voice like diamonds, a staunch, stalwart hound says, "Are you a rabbit?"

You have emoted: Ariadne had seemed poised to attack, but the hound SPEAKING unsettles her. She blinks, retreating a pace - here, where her steps take her nowhere, the effect is an odd one, a flailing backwards motion while her position remains unchanged - and warily stares at the beast. "Rabbit is prey," she finally replies, voice low and negatory.

A staunch, stalwart hound rises onto his hind legs and stands much like a human, even cocking one beefy foreleg against what would be his waist, were he a man. "You can't say that word! It doesn't exist!"

You have emoted: "Rabbit?" Ariadne repeats, confusion in her voice. She seems quite suspicious over the very concept of chatting with a talking hound and has recovered enough from the initial shock to grasp her dhurive a bit tighter, even raising it to chest height in a firm defensive grip. "Rabbits exist. Rend likes..."

"What was it Rend liked about rabbits?" you wonder. The memory seems to elude you, all of a sudden. Rend himself seems blurry, his coat only a smear of black and smudged yellow stares as you try to recall him in your mind.

A staunch, stalwart hound does a perfect backflip in the air, descending weightlessly to all fours, and utters a great, big bark. "Hrafff! Rend! Rend the rabbit!" Scurrying away, he darts out over the ocean again... and picks up an intense burst of speed, blasting the seashore with foam like the dust of a smashed mirror. As he vanishes you can hear the dog singing an old tavern song: We Fled Vilimo. Then he is gone.

"A rabbit?" Your mind tries to shape the memory into a bunny, the black elongating into floppy ears and a bunched up body. That doesn't seem right.

You have emoted: Ariadne exhales sharply as the hound bounds away, but - if anything - her posture only becomes more tense, and she warily scans the horizon for further oddities.

Half your vision blots out, and you feel a warm mass of coarse fur rub against that side of your face.

You step through a shimmering lake.

A hunter's blind. (Northern Ithmia.)

A tangle of vines covers the ground in a hunter's prayermat. A waterproof, snakeskin bedroll has been left here. Savage and wild, a large black wolf scans the area with a keen, alert stare.

You see a single exit leading out.

Your skin chills as the early summer breeze touches it. You are covered in sweat. Rendar is awake, by your side.

You have emoted: Ariadne instinctively reaches out, arm wrapping tighter around the wolf. Her eyes open in surprise as she feels fur against her skin. "Rend..." she says, voice a low croak.

"Dream," you realize. "Was a dream." You feel nearly dizzy with elation.

A savage, black-furred wolf yawns lazily, giving his legs a fitful kick. He wriggles in the tight hug and lets out an irritated whine, tail thwaping against the woman's legs.

You have emoted: Ariadne rolls her eyes and pulls her arm away, giving the wolf a friendly shove. "Glutton," she tells him as the beast scrambles to his feet and lopes out of the tent to vanish into the woods.

Fear grips at you as he departs, the lonely loss of the dream still clinging to your thoughts. "He's just going to shit," you scowl, trying to talk yourself out of it, but the emotion is persistent.

You have emoted: Ariadne crawls to the edge of the shelter, shifting aside a few branches with a nervous tug - only to get a faceful of snout as the wolf noses his way back in. He gives her a happy lick of greeting, nearly gagging her with his breath, and then returns to flop back down in the shallow depression on one side of the blind.

You have emoted: Ariadne exhales slowly, letting the branches fall back into place, and stares over at the wolf. He stares right back, tongue lolling out as his head tilts, the fur above his eyes lifting in a quizzical expression.

You have emoted: Ariadne shakes her head. "Run a bit?" she offers, changing the subject.

A savage, black-furred wolf lets out a rumble of agreement, already darting out of the tent. The Sentinel laughs, chasing after him, and then the two are off through the woods in a mad, wild race.

Slyphe

This was such an awesome log to read. I love the dynamic between Ariadne and Rendar, as it's something that often times isn't played out to the full potential it could be when done with an ent - and you nailed it on the head here. There's such a bond between the two, and the elaboration of something so simple as killing an elk into a verbose scene of gory bloodshed was quite interesting. 

Please be sure to post a follow-up if something happens where Ariadne and Rend finally get to meet Omei!