Oria - June 13, 2007 06:43 PM (GMT)
She was asleep. The heaviness of closed eyes and the inability to rise, every tale tell aspect of the dream told her so. Was it not mere hours before she spoke of this with Sylverit? The press of fog, the shiver of leaves without breeze. Terrokar. Something loomed in this place, refusing her rest. No matter if in the arms of Theonalas or the dregs of a wine bottle, the sense of it returned.
Just dream, yet so real. She was there again, fishing, staring into the distance.
The haze banked along the far shore as a curtain hiding the night sky. A tumbling of cloud that moved as a living thing, beckoning with some strange secret. As in waking, so in sleeping, Oria crouched at the water's edge, unsure to enter or no. Every instinct felt fear, the terror of a returning unknown.
Sylverit stood to one side, lazily tossing a fireball in hand. "You know, Ilidan is here, somewhere, set loose and all. No keeper this time. No brother to keep him in check."
A murmur spilled from her unwilling lips. "I never knew the prince. My family worked for a house called---"
A soft tug on her cloak from her other side turned her attentions. "Oria, how do you know what love truly is? Did you ever love him?" Anwynn looking so young with eyes blazing in the dark.
A crease marred between her thinned brows. "I can't explain it. I only feel it. I have always loved--"
Hands laid over her shoulders, pressing so heavily down. A forehead heated rubbed into her back. Upon it she felt the tines of a crown, pressing through the links of her mail to pierce her skin. The fire in those hands, she felt it once before, though he did not remember. "My Leaf...why...why leave me to this fate?"
She did not need to turn, feeling the arcane scorch her skin through the armor. "Janlith, I never--"
Across the way, in the mist, something different came in the dream. A figure of a woman cantering on four hooves. Tendrils of pale green hair wound about her shoudlers and down into the leaves of the forest. "Galaad." The name breathed between her lips, touched with feelings she had not realized.
Hands ripped at her, trying to hold her, each face and voice demanding. She turned, falling back into the waters, like a leaf twisting from a tree branch. Oria knew the time had come to understand the mist.
It was not a forest. Nor a nightmare as she once thought.
Splashing frantically through the waters, the huntress felt the weight of her arms and armor sucking her into the muck. Yet somehow, she wiggled free, pulling with whipcord and bone to rest at the dryad's feet.
Trepidation entered Oria's voice as she peered upon the figure that was not what it seemed.
"You are not Galaad..."
The eyes, how they burned, searing in their wonder. "No. But I do bring word." The dryad touched Oria's hand where a braclet hung heavy with a ring and badge of service, tokens the huntress was most proud of. "Seek the maiden that weeps golden tears. Seek the pain in your own heart of a dear loss. And know, the time has come. Tell her. We accept."
How they burned...the purity of bronze.
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A choking gasp, Oria realized she was staring into the ceiling above her. Where was she? When? The thunder of her heart was as the wildness of the hunt, the feeling of prey. Such a thing gave her a start.
Alone she was in Telredor, blankets flat, sun peaking slightly through the overcast skies.
"A dream...just a dream..."
Small clawed hands moved then, pulling, seeking. Her breath arrested in her throat as the small whelpling climbed. Scaled in a brightness of ruby, the creature had returned. So long ago she met and cared for it, in secret, away from the others. And now...it had come again...
With slow gait, the whelpling reclaimed its old place in her lap, mewling in pleasure of being near its keeper again. And yet, even this seemed odd with the dream so passed.
"Maiden crying golden tears... What poetry is that? Or something more literal?"
Pulling the blankets up to her chin, Oria watched the whelp utterly confused.
Oria - June 13, 2007 08:04 PM (GMT)
A thousand hearts upon the altar! A thousand times the name called! Bring me--- A coughing sputter of water nearby woke Lotan from the most delectable dream. The ladies were nigh ready to let go their garments and dance, such sweet...dancing...if just...a little more sleep.
"Lotan!"
I shall never forgive father for this disservice...
"...I mean it."
For mine was the kingdom and the glory...
A rude grasp brought his snout from his most warming rock to face the night elf he followed. Hisses slithered betwixt his jaws, wings flapping for purchase. And then he caught it, upon the length of his flickering tongue.
Body coiling about her shoulder, the great wind serpent laid his forehead against Oria's. Something was dire in her, some sense of confusion and worry, the keen sharpness of her scent telling him this journey would be long and blinding in speed.
Pinning close his wings, Lotan sought to become flat about her, speaking in his own way. The alienness of their chatter becoming rather common place.
Water dripped from her dunked head, chilling his scales as she thrust clothing and food into worn packs. "Yes, we travel. No, I have no idea where. But I'm going by instinct on it."
With a nodding, Lotan claimed better purchase as they dove upon gryphon back from the dizzying height. And there, clutched tightly in the crook of an arm remained another.
A fear speared the creature as he watched one of the red flight staring into him. Reptilian were not its thoughts, nor were Lotan's.
A quest. We journey! Excitement! The red whelp crinkled eyes in a glee that threatened gouts of flame.
Lotan's eyes slit with a tightened wet hiss. Children. Death is entertainment when served in ritual. Not so in a journey. Oh yessssss, you can rest in her arm and eat small raw snacks. Me? This is work! WORK! A ruffle of feathers along his spine gained him an ichorous look from Oria.
Fun!
Kids...
Yet all the while, Lotan refused to admit, it was well to see her motivated.
Oria - July 5, 2007 08:12 PM (GMT)
The merry making moved in grand fashion in the groves. One of the keepers had come of wizened age. New acorns had fallen to become trees. A shipment of ribbons had arrived for the tailor. The sun and moon shone in lovely hues this Spring.
The dryads had so little need to be happy and celebrate.
Among them, Oria moved. The family that had taken her in so long ago. Although the embraces were warm, they were also quite chidding. The huntress had come in full armors, weapons slung for easy use, a gun of all things hoisted on a hip. With a look shared, Lotan left to them, spinning a dance to rival the free ones. Gravely, she thanked him.
Unto the mount of the barrow, she wove among the trees and saplings. Ages untold these trees had once been saplings themselves, like she before the leaving and testing. Why had she ever left?
The barrow held in a hushed solace. A haze of pollen and dust filtered through on a breeze she could not sense. Music caught along her ears as eyes drooped from the spice laden air. The weaving of the seer's smoke, something she had seriously missed.
Hands led her as the pan pipes played, and soon she rested before Galaad. The dryad and huntress smiled and embraced as sisters.
"You have many questions and worries in your head, Oria." A flicking of fingers tapped her noggin.
She nodded slowly. "I have many. But only one will I ask now...well...maybe four. I had a strange dream again..."
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The advice was simple. The plan unerring! Why had she not thought of it before? Perhaps it was the smoked herbs or Galaad's simple ways, but the answer so clear seemed to bring a dancing gait to her feet. Once Lotan adored.
And so Oria went, to those she knew, and gave the message. If it was meant for one of them, they would understand and act. And if not, they could laugh her away.
Of them all, it seemed rather hit or miss. But then finally, in a small house worn and loved in Elwynn, someone she spoke the words to reacted so amazed and emotionally, she knew the answer was found.
Katen took hold of her arms, fingers digging deeply into muscle and mail.
"Speak that again!" The voice once musical became a ragged thing, as a mother who had never found a lost child.
"They said... Tell her we accept."
The fierceness of the embrace caught her unawares, sending a panic momentarily through instincts to fight. Breathing slowly, she ran a hand over the human's head. "What does this mean to you?"
Raising a tear streaked face, determined in steel, Katen simply replied. "He's coming back."
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