You are momentarily blinded by a crisp blue sky, but darkness is all around you.

You are looking up through the hole in a cavernous ceiling and framing the bright blue are the autumnal colors of a Zygaxian Forest. Nearby a statuesque figure steps from the dark and into the light, considering the sudden cave-in. The last Rustwood Guardian does not know of the leaves, not that their needle-sharp trichcomes would concern him much, his skin and bones are not made from flesh. Whoever created the Rustwood Guardian and his many silent brethren countless years ago had given them all nigh indestructible starmetal skin and bones. Unfortunately, the creators of the Rustwood Guardians had also not fully accounted for the dangers of the Rustwood. This is why the Rustwood Guardian had a splint tied around his right arm.

Normally the cracked arm would cause the starforged a great deal of distress, but at this moment even the sharp ache of the cracked bone was nearly forgotten. The starforged was distracted because the cave-in had revealed a passage into an ancient chamber under the stronghold, a chamber that the last Rustwood Guardian had never seen before.

A voice you recognize calls out, as Katria shouts, "I think the sound came from somewhere over here!" ~

The forge pans your vision across a street much like any other in Wexbriggan.

Charming buildings peacefully sit beneath the midday sun. A Fae trods casually down the street, bouncing with each step softly to a tune only they can hear. A curious creature, they seem to be truly remarkable solely in how unremarkable they are; as soon as one takes their eyes off of them, one struggles to recall exactly what they looked like, left only with the vague impression that they must have been of average stature and what one would expect from the visage of a Fae, for if they were elsewise one would have surely remembered them.

But onward they walk, winding casually down the cobbled street until they arrive before a squat brick building with the markings on its front of a tavern and swirling slowly above it a small puff looking much like the combination of a cumulus cloud and a multicolored disco ball.

A small bell above the doorframe jingles jauntily as the Fae enters the building, which anyone familiar with such things might presume was the interior of an Irish pub transferred directly from Mundania around the turn of the 18th Century. Inside, another Fae with a bandana over her head - Siobhán - carries out such tasks for the proper running of a bar as cleaning glasses and confirming the stock of various spirits.

“Sorry we’re not open yet” Siobhán calls to the Fae.

They nod their acknowledgement, but make no move to leave as they replied. “I see; my friend ‘P’ sent me for the Bridge game. I was hoping to play a game without the Queens. I hate having to plan around them.”

Siobhán arches an eyebrow, “If that is the case we may be closed for a bit longer than I planned.” She turns to the bar, pulling a stool from its place on top and placing it down while gesturing at the door, upon which a faint “click” can be heard to proclaim its locking. “Please have a seat. Can I get you a drink, and to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

The Fae slides confidently onto the stool, nodding to accept the libation offered, and begins “Dealers choice, and you can call me Sixx. Are we able to discuss game strategy without 12 being a problem?” Siobhán nods as she circles behind the bar and, reaching for the top shelf, pours them both a drink.

After pausing for a moment to admire the glass, Sixx speaks again. “Excellent. How does your work fare?”

Hands placed flat on the bar, Siobhán responds with measured speech. “I’ve been speaking with community members around the city. The ones who’re part of any emergency response we have preestablished.” Siobhán takes a moment to sip at her own glass then continues. “I’m also looking to help set extra gather points for any issues along with more background volunteers. The Dreamwalkers have been dealing with quite a bit recently so, better safe than dead, yeah?”

Sixx nods “Good thinking, any other considerations?”

“I am looking at potential supply caches that would help were the worst to happen but I’d appreciate some help from our mutual friend on that. Mind, I don’t want the help if it would cause a ruckus for the people down here, panic’s a killer,” Siobhán responds, adding the last statement as a matter of course.

A small mischievous curl alights Sixx’s face. “Well that should not be a problem. Unfortunately, “P” is too busy carousing and cajoling his peers to ascertain that which he can; he sadly has no time for those of such humble stature as us.” Sixx affects an exaggerated pout, but their smile never leaves their eyes. Then the grin returns to their face as they wink. “But that is why you have me to help. I shan’t make any waves.”

Siobhán nods. “Understood, I will keep a spot at the table for you. Anything else?”

“No” Sixx says “I think that wraps things up for now… And thanks for the drink.” They gesture to the glass now sitting empty on the table, despite having never appeared to even be nudged by the strange Fae, as they turn towards the door to leave.~

The scent of the salt water and the gentle warmth of the sun fills your senses.

A beautiful day, not too hot but warm enough you can feel it in your soul. You hear music that matches the swell of the ocean.

A young merfolk with red hair frolics in the water, peeking her head above the surface to watch the humans playing on the beach.  She sings back and forth with the birds that also take delight in the pleasant surf.  She keeps her distance so no humans notice her out past where the waves break.  

Though, she looks with such longing at the shore.  She knew that it was not her world but it held such fascination for her.  It was so different and foreign they looked so light on their feet and running looked like so much fun.  She desperately wanted to try it.  But her father had warned her against such things.  Never let them know we are here, it is the only way to be safe.  

She had no idea of what it was keeping her safe from.  She didn’t understand how being of such great joy could ever bring sorrow.  She floats with her face up to the sky, just under the water, watching the beautiful light filter through the clear blue water.  Lost in her reverie.

Then suddenly she felt something on her tail.  She sat up and flicked her tail towards her to see what had so delicately touched her fins.  She was surprised to find a boy, face tan from the sun, reverently staring at her.  If she could guess human ages, he would have been about the same age as herself, but she was always terrible at that.  

Time passed and they laughed and splashed around together.  The day ended and he promised to come back the next day.  This continued for the next few days, then for at least a few hours over the next few weeks.  Then, he was gone.  Days turned to weeks then months.  She longed for her friend.  She missed him.  One day as she was staring at the beach, she saw him approach the water and was very pleased when he swam out to her.  It was as if no time passed.  Then, suddenly, a storm hit.  The water got rough, and the boy found himself trapped underwater in the strong current.  She managed to get him back to shore and made sure he was breathing but that was as far as she could go.  She stayed with him until she saw lanterns at the dunes and heard shouts of “Henry!”.  She disappeared back into the ocean and watched as several men came and carried away the boy.  

She breathed a sigh of relief that he was okay.  But that was the last she saw of him.  She went back to the beach more and more.  The thoughts of him consumed her.  But what could she do?
​
You feel the Soulforge react to this vision with confusion as though it doesn't know where this is.~

Once upon a time, in the gentle vales of whispering woods and winding streams, there stood a town.

Its rooftops caught the morning light in warm hues of gold, and the sound of labor and laughter carried easily through its narrow streets. The baker rose before dawn, the woodsman walked his familiar paths and children ran beneath bright banners in the town’s square.

Peace lay lightly on the town, as natural and as simple as the turning of seasons.

Yet it began, as such things often do, without a trumpet or cry.

One evening a man crossed the marketplace and tipped his hat to the baker, who returned the greeting with hands dusted in flour. The moment passed unnoticed. But when the baker turned again to his work, he saw in the scattered flour the impression of two hands where he remembered placing only one. He blinked for just a moment and only a single hand print remained. Though a faint unease came over him, he found no reason for it, and soon forgot that he had paused at all.

In a cottage at the edge of town, a child set three plates upon a table. Her mother, smiling absently, removed one and returned it to the shelf. When asked why, she hesitated, for she could not recall the need. There had never been a third chair in that room. She was certain of this. Yet a quiet absence lingered.

And so the omissions gathered amongst the town, small and easily dismissed.

But in the town hall, beneath the steady burn of candlelight, the mayor knew something was wrong.

They sat long into the night with their ledgers open before them. When they spoke one name aloud, the ink upon the page thinned and vanished, leaving blank parchment behind. They stared, turned the page, and found further empty lines where careful script should have been. No hand had scratched them out. No record marked their removal.

“I wrote this,” they murmured, fingers trembling as they traced the page. “I remember writing this.”

They turned the page and found further absences, gaps where the names of their citizens should stand. Faces rose in their mind: an elderly carpenter who would tell the grandest of tales, a young boy who had a habit of telling lies, a widow who would plant a variety of flowers for children to adorn their clothes with. They knew them. They knew they knew them.

A heaviness took root in their chest. They rose unsteadily and crossed to the window, looking out upon the lantern-lit square of their town. As they watched, a house at the far end of the lane fell dark. No sound followed. The light just ceased.

And for the briefest moment they remembered a voice that once greeted them from that threshold. Someone had lived there. Someone had spoken their name and shared a laugh with them there. The memory frayed as they desperately clutched at it but the shape of the loss remained.

They lifted their gaze to the night sky, as though seeking asylum in its familiar pattern of stars.

At that very moment, a star tore free from the dark and streaked a burning arc of silver that vanished beyond the horizon. The mayor drew a breath, bowed their head and spoke into the stillness of their chamber.

“I wish someone would help us.”

The words did not echo from the rafters, nor did they fade. They passed beyond timber and stone, beyond hills and forests, carried along through deeper currents unseen.

And somewhere beyond reality, you hear the sound of a quill scratching parchment and begin to write. Pressure from the confusion of the Soulforge builds~

A feeling of Vertigo overtakes you as a kaleidoscope of yellow fractures fill your vision.

Alarm bells sound—you feel the built up pressure release like a broken steam valve. The voice of the Hope fills your ears, "Collision Detected. Collision Detected. Collision Detected...."~