Of Walls and Bridges

[Brent Forrester]

65 Vhalar – Of Walls and Bridges

Brent was outside digging the trench for the wall. There was snow in the air and it glinted with the setting sun. Everyone else had gone home for a warm meal, but he knew this had to get done. Raiders might come any day now, and Alivilda had just finished gathering the last of its harvest. If the raiders stole their food, what would they have to eat over the long cold trials of the seasons ahead?

His arms strained with the effort, but somehow Brent was able to lift the tall wooden trunks to put into the trench. One after another he added them to form the wooden wall. Did no one else seem to care that the village could be at stake?

There was a howl in the distance and the snow swirled around him. His hands were cold and his arms exhausted. If only he could find a nice warm bed and sleep.

Suddenly there was the sound of a war horn and a clash of steel. They’re coming, they’re coming! Brent dropped what he was doing and ran to the gate. A river separated Alivilda and he and his brother had just finished the wooden gate that stood at the entrance to the bridge crossing the river.

“Come take cover!” He shouted at the bridge as he watched the distant chaos from beyond the river. But no one was coming. Why wasn’t anyone coming? He heard screams and he repeated his call. This was the plan. Everyone needed to come to the safe side of the bridge so he could close the gates.

You’ve divided us. You’ve left us to die.

Ominous words seemed to echo in his head as Brent stood helplessly at the gate watching the destruction and fire spread across the southern half of the village. There was another howl and Brent froze in panic as he saw two massive wolves, Grendals, rush towards the bridge. He slammed the gate shut and barred it with the iron bar. Weeping, he crouched on the ground with his back against the door, feeling it shudder against him.

The sounds of chaos dimmed and colours swirled around him. There was an oddly polite knocking on the wooden gate.

“Who’s there?” Brent called in a hoarse voice.

[Sybil Malach]

I

65th of Vhalar, 719.

This land was different.

Stepping through the pulsing, dark rift in the air, Sybil was in a place that they didn't fully understand. A slow glance was given around, trying to make sense of it all. Just by looking at it, this was different from Viden. Indeed, most places were, as Sybil would come to find. The world was far bigger than the hellish waste that was the glorified ice sheet with a university atop it. The world was becoming far more sprawling, the more that the world was being explored and dissected through the dreamer's endless wanderings.

But it wasn't the scenery that caught the dreamer's eyes. It was the blazing orange licking at the skies that sank its hooks within the center of attention. Confused, eyes tracing along the waters of the river, dividing this part of the land from the one actively being razed, well... It at least seemed like this was a safe place. For now.

Then the call came, beckoning, echoing.

Grass crunching underfoot, the composed dreamer's attention shifted away from the destruction. Ah, another half. A bastion of life, in the face of unending torment that was to come. Sybil was already moving towards the origin of the sound, choosing to follow instinct rather than put too much thought into it. Dreams were fickle. They were often windows into the very soul of the men and women visited, but in equal parts, it turned out to be either nonsense or complete incoherence. But there was much to learn.

Much to learn of both the host of this dream, and of Emea itself.

While composed, Sybil lacked the artistic abilities in playing a role in this dream. Composure was a good thing to have in a situation like this, yes-- But there is such a thing as too composed. Approaching the gate, and pressing the back of a knuckle against it, Sybil's heels dug into the dirt, eyes glancing behind. A knock was given. Resoundingly. Though polite, all things considered, the dreamer wasn't in any rush. There was all night to participate in this dream. Even as smoke billowed upon the horizon, choking all life.

"You called, offering shelter!" Sybil finally shouted, as attention drew towards the rapidly approaching creatures. Adrenaline spiked at the sight of the beasts. In truth, it was nothing the Videnese dreamer had seen before-- At least directly. They were wolves, much like what was encountered in the wastes. Memories of deadly close encounters bubbled at the brainstem, seeping at the very edges of vision, "I would pray that offer's still there, else your gate will be painted with my guts!"

[Brent Forrester]

A voice called from the other side. Brent was surprised it wasn’t the sound of snapping and gashing of teeth from the Grendals. He needed to help them, even if it was too late to help all the others. He swung the iron bar open and pulled open the doors. Why were there no handles on the gate? What had he been thinking? His thoughts seemed to fixate on random elements, but he soon opened the door and ushered the cloaked woman in. Barring the gate once more, he felt relieved. He had done something. It would mean one less death, one less… something.

Brent was trembling as he looked over the cloaked woman who had come from the chaos beyond. She stood with a refined posture and a long cloak. She looked like a traveller and she had brilliant green eyes that contrasted sharply with her soft snow-white skin.

“But you’re not Ashling,” Brent said in a confused voice. “She said she was going to meet me here.” Brent wasn’t really sure what it was, but there was something really important he needed to tell Ashling.

“Do you know where I could find her? I gave her a flower and she said she would make a medicine out of it. She’s really good with those herbs.”

Brent looked at the woman curiously. There was an elegant clasp in her cloak, and twisted his own simple black cloak around to try to mimic her style. It didn’t seem to work very well since the hood was in the way even though it was down. How did she make herself look so refined and cold at the same time?

Suddenly there was a loud bang. They were no longer so close to the gate anymore, but in the distance Brent saw the raiders swarming through the broken gates.

“Take my hand! We need to run!” Brent shouted and held out his hand to the woman. He didn’t seem to have the usual unevenness of his limping gait but he needed to get away as fast as he could.

In the next moment, they were in a tavern. It looked kind of like Soren’s tavern but Brent couldn’t be sure. There was a big map on the wall and Brent excitedly got to his feet to see it. “That’s not mine!” He said with obvious disappointment. It didn’t even look like Melrath. It seemed all snowy and white like someplace even farther north than Melrath.

“Would you like a drink?” He asked, coming back to sit down at the bar.

OOC

Let me know if I’m flipping through the scenes too fast. I’m trying to keep with the feeling of a non-lucid dream where things can change in bizarre ways, and sometimes very quickly.

[Sybil Malach]

II

65th of Vhalar, 719.

As Sybil's is ushered in, the dreamer's eyes began to wander. This was the focal point of the dream. It was clear, just by how the dream itself was responding to it. The details were stark here, and the strange wolves were rushing to this very place. Finally, eyes meeting with Brent's, it became clear. Seeing not a single soul behind him, this had to be the host of the dream. Brows furrowing, as the gate is closed behind. Standing in the enclosed area, an appraising gaze was given. Examining things that were not easily understood-- Architecture was not something they knew anything about, but...

Something about this place reeked of anxiety and frantic movement. Like a dream that was made during some sort of stress. Something that Sybil was used to, very intimately.

But then, a name. Ashling? It was unfamiliar. A gaze was cast in the direction of the man, the confusion clear in Sybil's eyes. Was that... A creature made of ash? No, as he explained it, it started to make some sense.

"I wouldn't know. I'm new here. You can imagine my shock and horror." While not necessarily a lie, and playing along with the man's dream, Sybil was not a particularly good actor in the role of another's dreams. Usually relying on the willful ignorance imposed by the state of non-lucid dreams to get by. But knowing what is known, there is enough present to make some guesses on the proper response. Fire. Death. Giant wolves bounding at the gates. It was a time to be defenseless and at least try to act afraid, "Herbalists tend to know enough about the land to do well enough on their own. I'm certain... She'll make it."

A bang.

Suddenly the dream shifted. Dramatically. A hand was presented. Unsure of what even just happened, the wide-eyed Sybil accepted it, running as far as humanly possible alongside Brent.

And suddenly...

A tavern. The sudden confusion of the shaping surroundings was hard to keep up with. Eyes struggling to focus, a sense of vertigo began to lapse over the dreamer's senses. While not as bad as it should be, it was disorienting. The snaps of reality shifting the scenery. The words of Brent were what caught Sybil's attention, despite reeling from the changes.

Heels digging into the wooden floor of the tavern, the dreamer's bearings became more solid, "A drink...? I think I can manage some, sure." Was the response, taking steps to join Brent at the bar.

[Brent Forrester]

There was obvious relief on Brent’s face when the woman said that as an herbalist, Ashling should be safe. Part of him seemed to know this but the reassurance was well received. But he had needed to tell her something, and for a moment he seemed frustrated that he could not remember.

When the dream melded to the tavern, Brent seemed unruffled and accepting of the change in scenery. Brent smiled at the lady’s response, and as he pulled up a stool for the bar, it seemed as though there were already two mugs of ale waiting for them. However, the colouration of the ale was peculiar, a frothy deep blue colour.

“A toast!” Brent spoke up, raising his mug without suspicion of its contents. For it was simply Soren’s specialty blue stout. “To good deals, maps, stories and fine women!”

He tipped back the mug and wiped his mouth as the warmth of the ale spread through him. Leaning back on his stool he glanced at the lady who was next to him. His eyes drifted downwards and with a start, he was on his feet.

“I told Soren to fix that stool.” Brent spoke rather accusingly as he pointed at the seat. “It still has that wobble. Here, take mine.” He handed his own stool as if to switch the two. From above, a single white feather drifted down and landed on the bar counter. Brent picked it up, looked at it funny and put it down again.

He then looked at the woman again. She was strange but part of him wanted to get to know her better. He gave another long swig of the ale. His mind shifted focus again and he seemed to be unconsciously trying to give meaning to the unknown intrusion.

“Are you the one who’s going to help me build the bridge?” Brent asked. “The Aesir said that he needed me to build a bridge to the spirit world. I’ve built a wall, but never a bridge. And I don’t even know where the spirit world is. I try to bless the spirits just as much as the next man, but I don’t even know where to begin.”

He sounded worried, but not overly stressed. It was as if this was just another problem that needed to be solved and he was trying to seek out any help he could get.

“Maybe I need to start with making a map to the spirit world. I’m good with maps.”

[Sybil Malach]

III

65th of Vhalar, 719.

A toast is called.

Eyes shift back to Brent, as a thin smile crosses Sybil's lips. It doesn't take long for the dreamer to join him. Taking a seat alongside him, legs folding among one another, Sybil's gaze began to shift to the drink passed down the bar. A... Blue color? A light sniff. Ale. Or at least, what the dreamer presumed was ale. To be honest... Viden was something of a wasteland when it came to pleasure-grade alcohol. The watered down mess was far different than other lands it seemed. The stuff actually smelled potent! ... In comparison.

"To good men." Is the only thing Sybil adds to that statement, raising the mug in agreement.

Taking a deep drink of the mug on offer, there was something to be said about simply indulging in the dream's fancies. A shudder is sent down Sybil's spine, as the taste coats the tongue and throat. It definitely tastes different. Different completely from real ale, as well as what the dreamer was used to. As the mug leaves Sybil's lips and rests at the lip of the bar, a passing, intrusive thought crosses the mind. It was as real as Brent believed it to be. And that reality was... Strange. The taste was likely not individual, but pre-destined.

"Mm?" Sybil offered, the moment the wobbling chair was brought up. Eyes blinking rapidly, "Well... I won't turn you down. Such a gentleman." Came the comment, the words laced with a level of humor to them. The gesture was registered as sweet, as Sybil rose to a stand, body stretching for a moment as bones cracked.

But that strange question arose. With words not understood by Sybil. Ironic, for such a student to be so unworldly.

"I can help, sure. Bridges aren't exactly something too complex." ... That is, if it was just a commoner's cobblestone bridge. Resting a hip against the bar, Sybil allowed the man to switch the stools. Once that's finished, the dreamer takes a seat, more solidly this time, letting out a relieved sigh, "Thanks."

... SPIRIT bridge?

A blank stare crosses Sybil's face. No. Of course not. The dreamer simply misheard something! Ah-- No. There it is again. A map to the SPIRIT world.

"I'm afraid I'm no good at magic. But I know some people." Sybil instead offered, head tilting to the side, "... Any idea where to start at all?"

[Brent Forrester]

Brent grinned dumbly at the addition to the toast. Maybe she liked him or maybe he had already had a couple of tankards. Was this his first or his third? But again she seemed to smile kindly at his gesture to trade stools and he felt a warmth spread through him. He wondered what Ashling would think. She would want to know if his new friend was a good native Melrathi or an Outlander.

A spark of interest and curiosity lit up Brent’s face when his new companion said that she knew about bridges and could help him. She seemed calm and reasonable even if she didn’t know about magic.

“I don’t know any magic either,” Brent confided. “It can be dangerous stuff and I don’t like the idea of getting tangled up in that mess.”

Brent took another drink of the blue ale and drained the last of it. He unrolled a large map of Melrath on the countertop. “The problem is, I don’t know where the spirit world is. Myrkvior forest has spirits. The Vynmur River is a spirit. But where do spirits come from and where do they go?”

He let the question hang for a little while as he looked over the map. It had several cities labeled and some of the main landscape features such as the Melrathi Mountains and Vynmur River. At the bottom it had Brent Forrester’s signature in a simple cursive script.

After a little while, Brent looked over his shoulder and noticed a set of glowing stairs that seemed to be made of light, which hadn’t been there earlier.

“Oh maybe this will help us.” He said, coming to the logical conclusion to investigate the stairs of light that seemed to go up higher than he could see. He beckoned his companion to come with him and he tentatively placed his foot on the first stair. It was shimmering and white, but it seemed to hold. He then placed his hand on the glowing banister and the ethereal silver light had enough substance to grasp.

He took a few more steps and beckoned again to his companion. “Come, I think the answer is up this way.” As he took more steps, his limp became more obvious and he grasped the banister tightly. But the stairs seemed never-ending as if they went up into the clouds and beyond. Every so often he would spot the distant shape of a winged lady with pure white feathers, long dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. But no matter how much he climbed, he never seemed to get any closer to her.

Eventually he sat down on the stairs panting slightly and looked as his companion. “Pardon me, but I don’t think I know your name. You’re awfully pretty. Are you a Melrathi? Ashling thinks all Outlanders are trouble in some way. I think Outlanders need to be judged based on their actions.” He looked up the never-ending staircase wistfully for a moment before looking back at his companion.

[Sybil Malach]

IV

65th of Vhalar, 719.

"Magic is dangerous, yes. You'd be wise not to be involved with it." Sybil offered, in a distant warning. Eyes half lidding at the mere mention. They had... Done things, to mages. Mages that deserved it. But things that scarred their mind. Tipping back their head, and letting out a light breath, they take a long swig from the mug. It was easy to forget the Necromancers in the dreams, so long as the host of the dream didn't bring them up. Shuddering from the taste, Sybil shakes their head from side to side, "Magic is a delusion. People see it to be a ladder of power-- But it has more in common with a mass grave."

Eyes return to Brent. The spirit world. While Sybil understood there was a place where souls could go to retreat, they had at least enough knowledge to know that souls were different than spirits. But anything about spirits themselves? It was something that caused their mind to pause, "Well... They're part of nature. I would assume that... Mm. They tend to visit, more than to be visited."

Not even one more deep drink in, Brent was already running off. Sybil's eyes settled on him, just to make sure there wasn't about to be a sudden pulse of danger within the dream. But no, it's merely a glowing staircase, moving upwards. Nevertheless, it excited Brent, it seen. A clear sign of his ambition, perhaps? Placing down the mug, Sybil took a step off of the stool, and glanced up. Even by looking at it, one could see just how high it stretched upwards. Eyes slowly blinking, Sybil settled that indeed, it was ambition. Ambition of something... Quite hard to understand, and quite far away.

So Sybil joined him.

What was there to lose? Taking a step on the stairs, their eyes slowly turned skywards, as though trying to understand what was the end goal of all this. Hands reaching down to bunch up the skirts of the robe, so that they don't accidentally fall, Sybil was a bit taken aback by the man's boundless energy. Usually when their friends got like this, they were about to do something violent, rather than... Explore.

Time passed.

Sybil could feel the bead of sweat on their brow, as they struggled to keep up with Brent. Wiping it off their face with their sleeve, a slow sigh of relief crossed their features when he sat down, and started talking. Joining him, they just sat one step below him, looking back. A moment of pause, as Sybil considered something... Telling him their name wasn't something that was going to be remembered. Knitting their lips to the side...

Sybil reached a single hand up to Brent, and oh-so-lightly flicked his forehead, "Call me Malach. I'm not from around here. This is your dream." They tried desperately to ignore the 'pretty' comment, though. It made them red in the face, and nearly stumble over the second sentence.

Temporary Lucidity has been bestowed upon Brent Forrester.

[Brent Forrester]

Brent had no objections to not being involved with magic. It seemed prudent and wise. His companion seemed ever calm and reassuring. He wished he knew more about spirits. By living in Melrath, one would think he’d be more acquainted with them but they seemed just as elusive.

As Brent sat on the stairs asking about his companion’s name, he was suddenly bopped on the forehead. The unexpected gesture startled him and he blinked several times before shaking his head. Malach. Not from around here. This was his dream.

It was as if he heard her words for the first time with crystal clarity. Curiously he looked around and was suddenly surprised that he hadn’t realized it before.

“You’re right… it -is- a dream.” He said slowly. The stairs were made of light and they seemed to reach up endlessly. It had to be a dream. He would never see something like this in his waking reality. Instead of seeing the dreamworld with casual acceptance, he stood up curiously and placed his hand on the banister. How odd and marvelous at the same time. Brent then peered over the edge and found himself looking down on the landscape of his town, Alivilda, and the landscape that surrounded it. It was like he was in the clouds and far below the chaos surrounding the bridge and the gate seemed to have spread. There seemed to be fighting down below but he seemed rather withdrawn from it. Maybe it was just the distance and looking down from above, or maybe it was now the understanding that it was just a dream.

He turned back to look at Malach and noticed that her cheeks were still reddened. Then he recalled how blatantly he had complemented her looks, and he felt his own face flush for a moment.

“I, um, it’s turned out to be a nice dream.” He said with an awkward smile as he sat down on the steps again. “Malach…” he mused. It was a unique and unfamiliar name. “I’m Brent.”

There was something endearing about the slight blush to her cheeks and the couple of freckles that dotted her pale marble skin. Her brilliant green eyes were captivating. What are you waiting for, Brent? Go do something!

Brent… Brent! It’s time to go…

There seemed to be a distant voice calling him. Go do what? It was followed up by a loud banging and the pristine beautiful face of Malach started to fade.

“No, I, come back!” Brent murmured into his pillow as he reached out a hand to where he might have caressed her cheek.

“Get up you sleepy head,” came the familiar voice of his elder brother. “It’s time to go finish that wall, Brent!”

[Sybil Malach]

V

65th of Vhalar, 719.

Brent was more casual, when it came to his waking moments.

Sybil's eyes half lid, as their blush began to fade. For a moment, they considered if the man had done this before. It wouldn't be the first time that they traipsed into a dreamwalker's dream and awakened them again. But as his reactions began to register, the dreaming Sybil's mind began to slowly click in acknowledgement of what was happening.

Brent really didn't know what was happening, but was calm nonetheless.

But once their lips began to part, the dream began to crumble. Eyes shifting down to the view that was offered down the staircase, it was clear what was to come. Brent was awakening in the real world, to whatever reality awaited him. There was, simply, nothing they could do to stop it: but neither did they truly feel the need to do something like that.

"You'd best embrace the morning, Brent. And, do not forget the handles this time. Prepare some traps for those wolves, perhaps, as well." They offer in mild suggestion, as their memory began to smudge, and the dreamscape began to crumble.


Sybil's eyes slowly opened.

The distant sound of students wandering through the corridors of the Carnelian Prism was something they'd come to expect. Muffled lectures in the halls from those that wanted their voices heard, to the nigh-incomprehensible sound of tittering laughter at the impotent attempt at faux-scientific oration.

Sybil glanced down, towards one of their hands.

It would've been easier to brand him without him knowing what it was that they did to him. That's what Magpie did to them. Perhaps it was normal for everyone involved to just... Do it that way. It'd be easier to find him, and easier to slide back into his dreams. But, after a while of looking at their hands...

... It was something that was permanent. They could feel it. That wouldn't be something fair to do to someone that didn't know the implications.

Their eyes closed again, as they sank back into Emea, embracing the twilit realm.

Perhaps Brent would be seen again.