Your dream begins with a vision of shifting geometric patterns in shades of cardinal red.
It passes like clouds in a painted sky, and you get the sensation that you are drifting backwards through a recent memory. Then you feel a breeze on your skin as someone walks by and you turn to follow them.
A stray thought lingers, momentarily becoming part of your own inner monologue. 'Entering through the Garden Door feels right. I don't stay there anymore, not like before, but it still feels the most... correct.'
Your thoughts become your own again and you move to catch up with the female figure.
She is wandering the halls toward the Queen’s outer quarters. The palace appears empty, though perhaps the servants are just avoiding her. Occasionally, you hear giggles in the distance or catch a glimpse of a dress disappearing through a doorway.
Today, as she rounds a corner—hearing nothing but the sound of her own footfalls, quieter than marble against marble should be—she stops short to avoid running into a man in a fancy suit with a paintbrush in his hand. He steps back, equally surprised to see someone else in the hallway, then smiles reassuringly.
“I am so sorry to startle you,” he begins. “I had no idea we were expecting guests today!”
She takes a step back, as if suddenly remembering she can move, and starts to apologize, but he interjects, “No, no, no! I predict you're a guest of the Queen, yes? Here, let’s get you to her right away; we don’t want to keep her waiting.” He smiles again, tucking his brush into his jacket pocket and holds out his arm in a courtly gesture. As she reaches to take it, she finally notices what he has been painting on the wall.
Instead of using paint, it seems he has been subtly weaving Ambiance to repair a minor crack in the plaster, leaving a trail of golden bees interlaced with the occasional dragonfly accentuating the repair. As they walk, the man tries to ease the awkwardness.
“Now, what is your name? And may I ask how you know our fair Queen?” She smiles back, feeling more at ease after seeing the golden bees in his outfit. After all, if bees like him, why shouldn’t she?
“I am called SoFF1, and I suppose I know the Queen because I met her sister while in the Dreaming.” She pauses. “I like your bees, do you paint them often?”
“Well… now that is a long story. Where do I begin…”~
A stray thought lingers, momentarily becoming part of your own inner monologue. 'Entering through the Garden Door feels right. I don't stay there anymore, not like before, but it still feels the most... correct.'
Your thoughts become your own again and you move to catch up with the female figure.
She is wandering the halls toward the Queen’s outer quarters. The palace appears empty, though perhaps the servants are just avoiding her. Occasionally, you hear giggles in the distance or catch a glimpse of a dress disappearing through a doorway.
Today, as she rounds a corner—hearing nothing but the sound of her own footfalls, quieter than marble against marble should be—she stops short to avoid running into a man in a fancy suit with a paintbrush in his hand. He steps back, equally surprised to see someone else in the hallway, then smiles reassuringly.
“I am so sorry to startle you,” he begins. “I had no idea we were expecting guests today!”
She takes a step back, as if suddenly remembering she can move, and starts to apologize, but he interjects, “No, no, no! I predict you're a guest of the Queen, yes? Here, let’s get you to her right away; we don’t want to keep her waiting.” He smiles again, tucking his brush into his jacket pocket and holds out his arm in a courtly gesture. As she reaches to take it, she finally notices what he has been painting on the wall.
Instead of using paint, it seems he has been subtly weaving Ambiance to repair a minor crack in the plaster, leaving a trail of golden bees interlaced with the occasional dragonfly accentuating the repair. As they walk, the man tries to ease the awkwardness.
“Now, what is your name? And may I ask how you know our fair Queen?” She smiles back, feeling more at ease after seeing the golden bees in his outfit. After all, if bees like him, why shouldn’t she?
“I am called SoFF1, and I suppose I know the Queen because I met her sister while in the Dreaming.” She pauses. “I like your bees, do you paint them often?”
“Well… now that is a long story. Where do I begin…”~
An old radio, jury-rigged into a burning crawler, shimmers into view, illuminated by the glow of tangerine flames.
The radio dials begin to spin and cathode lights flicker to life as the crackle of static hisses in your ears. Suddenly there is clarity, and a voice that feels familiar emerges from the noise—one that has gifted the wasteland before.
“Well, well, well. Congratulations to our WONDERFUL GUESTS!" the DJ croons maliciously.
He continues, "It seems, dear listeners, that we have some visitors coming to us here at Steelhand Studio. I know I haven’t talked about entertaining guests on the show before..." He cuts off abruptly, then quickly snaps back in, "BUT, What the hell?!" He shrugged. "We don't want to be considered ungracious hosts when fans come a knocking do we? I may be preoccupied for a while before our next live broadcast, so let's leave you with a wonderful send off. Here is 'All Along the Watchtower' by a mister Hendrix. ”
As the vision begins to shift, the music from the radio grows louder and louder, the only thing still alive in the wrecked vehicle, crackling defiantly in the dark.
The scene changes to the night sky over Aria Si. A few mutants and lepers have gathered on the ramparts of the walls, pointing upward with shaking fingers. Their faces, though barely discernible in the gloom, are etched with shock, concern, fear, and horror. An irresistible urge to look up permeates the vision, compelling you to follow their gaze.
You lift your eyes to the heavens and notice large patches of sky where stars have disappeared, swallowed by darkness. The truth hits you like a cold dagger as more stars flicker, dim, and then vanish from the night sky. The moon’s color shifts to an angry, blood-red hue, as if the sky itself is aware of its impending doom.
Inside the barrier, an illusion of safety persists, but the realm’s time is slipping away, each grain of sand in the hourglass falling faster and faster. The psychic energy that saturates the wasteland cries out to the forge and to those who witness this vision, a harrowing scream of impending oblivion...~
“Well, well, well. Congratulations to our WONDERFUL GUESTS!" the DJ croons maliciously.
He continues, "It seems, dear listeners, that we have some visitors coming to us here at Steelhand Studio. I know I haven’t talked about entertaining guests on the show before..." He cuts off abruptly, then quickly snaps back in, "BUT, What the hell?!" He shrugged. "We don't want to be considered ungracious hosts when fans come a knocking do we? I may be preoccupied for a while before our next live broadcast, so let's leave you with a wonderful send off. Here is 'All Along the Watchtower' by a mister Hendrix. ”
As the vision begins to shift, the music from the radio grows louder and louder, the only thing still alive in the wrecked vehicle, crackling defiantly in the dark.
The scene changes to the night sky over Aria Si. A few mutants and lepers have gathered on the ramparts of the walls, pointing upward with shaking fingers. Their faces, though barely discernible in the gloom, are etched with shock, concern, fear, and horror. An irresistible urge to look up permeates the vision, compelling you to follow their gaze.
You lift your eyes to the heavens and notice large patches of sky where stars have disappeared, swallowed by darkness. The truth hits you like a cold dagger as more stars flicker, dim, and then vanish from the night sky. The moon’s color shifts to an angry, blood-red hue, as if the sky itself is aware of its impending doom.
Inside the barrier, an illusion of safety persists, but the realm’s time is slipping away, each grain of sand in the hourglass falling faster and faster. The psychic energy that saturates the wasteland cries out to the forge and to those who witness this vision, a harrowing scream of impending oblivion...~
BANG-BANG-BANG. The sound jumps down your spine like bone-white nails on a chalkboard.
The sound came from a canopic jar made of tinted glass and with the head of a bird that had a long-curved beak. Something was moving around inside and a flash of gold fabric was visible enough to catch any perceptive eye. 'BANG-BANG-BANG' -the noise continued desperately.~
The scene shifts away from the barely visible jar and floods with a fog of acid green.
In the Western Sentinels, the Moongate had lain in silent ruin for longer than anyone in the Ossinian Empire could remember. Since before even many of the dead could. Events of a few weeks ago notwithstanding, it stood in solitude in the mountains, unbothered by anything save the drifting sands of the Glittering Flats slowly engulfing the great crater basin in which it was built.
The central chamber was clearly once designed with the three moons of the realm in mind, featuring a grand opening in the roof by which one could observe the cosmos. Now, it is awash in the sickly green light of the eerie aurora and the shattered moons that encircle New Zygaxia like an immense noose studded with stars. The light catches oddly, glinting on the floor and drawing your eye ever-closer to carved runes, barely visible beneath the glimmering sand that has pervaded the massive structure, indicating a path leading onwards into the dark.
Something moves—just the sound of sand pouring onto marble.
The vision cuts.~
The central chamber was clearly once designed with the three moons of the realm in mind, featuring a grand opening in the roof by which one could observe the cosmos. Now, it is awash in the sickly green light of the eerie aurora and the shattered moons that encircle New Zygaxia like an immense noose studded with stars. The light catches oddly, glinting on the floor and drawing your eye ever-closer to carved runes, barely visible beneath the glimmering sand that has pervaded the massive structure, indicating a path leading onwards into the dark.
Something moves—just the sound of sand pouring onto marble.
The vision cuts.~
You see in shades of autumn crimson, harvest gold, and terracotta brick.
A cool wind blows through the sun-dappled glens of the Garden of Lost Whispers in the center of Croithir, surrounding the base of a giant ash tree. Covered by bright orange and yellow-tinged trees, the Blind Fey move about, carrying baskets of fruits, meats, and fine wines, finishing preparations for guests in a camp set up not far from the tree at the garden's center. Banners with the crest of Solstice in reds and blues fly from rooftops, signifying the presence of the Monarchs of Solstice, who had arrived only hours before.
A Blind Fey stands apart from the others passing in and out of various buildings as a name is called from across the clearing by an older Fey with silver hair braided on her head, “Caolán, how go the preparations for our guests?” The younger Fey snaps to attention, pulled from his notes.
“Elder Seren, they are nearly finished. The Monarchs arrived not long ago. I believe the trek up the plateau took more of a toll on the Winter King than anticipated, but a quick nap should invigorate him. I’ve also cleared it with the guards at the crime scene, and the Dreamwalkers should be able to conduct their investigation with a chaperone. Other than that, we just need to wait for them.”
Elder Seren nods, smiling with approval before turning to leave. “There is one thing that troubles me,” Caolán adds. “Aoife said she heard something calling to her from the north and was distracted for much of the preparations, often staring off the plateau for hours. Today, she has all but disappeared.”
Elder Seren frowns with concern. “I will look into the matter. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Caolán. Be patient, and all will be resolved soon. As for our guests, please watch over them as you have been charged to do.” Bowing her head, Elder Seren departs, as do most of the other Blind Fey, leaving Caolán to his task.
Turning to face the setting sun, he sees storm clouds rolling in, and a worried look crosses Caolán’s face as whatever the storm heralds draws ever closer.~
A Blind Fey stands apart from the others passing in and out of various buildings as a name is called from across the clearing by an older Fey with silver hair braided on her head, “Caolán, how go the preparations for our guests?” The younger Fey snaps to attention, pulled from his notes.
“Elder Seren, they are nearly finished. The Monarchs arrived not long ago. I believe the trek up the plateau took more of a toll on the Winter King than anticipated, but a quick nap should invigorate him. I’ve also cleared it with the guards at the crime scene, and the Dreamwalkers should be able to conduct their investigation with a chaperone. Other than that, we just need to wait for them.”
Elder Seren nods, smiling with approval before turning to leave. “There is one thing that troubles me,” Caolán adds. “Aoife said she heard something calling to her from the north and was distracted for much of the preparations, often staring off the plateau for hours. Today, she has all but disappeared.”
Elder Seren frowns with concern. “I will look into the matter. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Caolán. Be patient, and all will be resolved soon. As for our guests, please watch over them as you have been charged to do.” Bowing her head, Elder Seren departs, as do most of the other Blind Fey, leaving Caolán to his task.
Turning to face the setting sun, he sees storm clouds rolling in, and a worried look crosses Caolán’s face as whatever the storm heralds draws ever closer.~
Your remaining dreams are riddled with secrets and the whispers you keep...
