Moonlit Dream

When I went to sleep after a prayer to Narnisu, guardian of the night, I didn't expect the wonders I was to face.
 
My dreams felt hazy, uncertain at first. Silvery mists, reflecting the hint of colors I could barely name. It was like bathing in tundra pearls, melted and pooling around the haze. Everything felt gossamer, delicate, and fantastical. I was weightless and formless in this space, until a word resonated through my very being.
 
"Vnolp."
 
That ... was unusual. The name meant nothing to me, and my mind as insubstantial as the space around me, I could recall nothing from my people's song for it. The incongruity of it seemed to bring me back together, like my physical self depended upon the absurd. What a curious thought it was.
 
When I could truly see again, I found myself knee-deep in a marsh. Swamp? Bog? I've not the recollection of the cartographers and surveyers I escorted, I cannot speak to the land I sink within. Journeyman Rodih would hit me for such ignorance, and at this moment I would have let him. The waters seemed cool, the air humid, and I could see naught but the gossamer mist.
 
That was, until shapes started to form. I felt a presence, like a predator swooping over me. My instincts told me to hide, to flee, and to stay frozen in place all at the same time. I am not one to let my instincts dictate my life, so I naturally resisted. That's when I saw whorls and shapes form out of the mists, and I saw a vision of my past I only heard of.
 
My mother and sister were cresting over a hill, threadbear and starving and wounded. Their plumage was spotty and dull, caked with dust and mud. Blood stained their rags and I saw their bones pressing against their skin like there was nothing else there. I saw how small my sister was and I knew that the bundle my mother had on her back was me, barely born and starving with them. We were fleeing Scorland, horrors supposedly hounding after us and our trail of blood. I felt the overwhelmingly heavy weight of my mother's fear and my sister's despair. I understood in this moment the suffering they faced in the wilds and the strength they must have had to keep walking forwards.
 
A sound I couldn't hear caught my mother's ear. She whipped around, her eyes wide with fright, and urged my sister up the hill. They had to make it over. They just had to. My foreknowledge faded in the vision, and I only knew of their terror. The mists refused to show me what they saw, but I knew us to be marked by it. We were but prey. That is, until we reached the summit.
 
The shapes in the gossamer haze showed me a village near a lake a few miles out, a single ray of pearlescent sunlight guiding us towards sanctuary. This was our commune, our safe harbor. And over this hill, my mother stepped into the commune's territory. As if summoned by her bravery, a silhouette arrived. This, I feel, was something the mists couldn't resolve. A hole in the haze, crackling at its boundaries approached her. When it spoke, a deafening silence came forth. It turned to face the horrors she fled from, and with a vacuous bark, abjured it.
 
I know not what this void of a being was, but my mother felt only hope and love for it. What would have unnerved me instead comforted my family and, with a gesture, brought her another step towards sanctuary. The haze struggled at this point, fraying and falling apart. It couldn't hide the final sensation in my sister's heart, though. Pure, innocent hope.
 
------
 
As the haze reformed into a shapeless mass, I felt the burning of overwhelming emotion fill my chest. I knew my mother's tale, of her trials in the wilds. Her fear and her pain burned at her soul every night. I grew up in these embers, and I never truly saw the pyre they spread from. This was a rare chance to truly empathize with what she felt in those dark days, and I felt sorrow and grief. More importantly, I felt shame for how I treated my mother in my youth. She sacrificed so much for me, and yet I dismissed it.
 
Before I could reflect upon my relationship with her, I felt the presence of predatory terror fly over me again. I looked heavensward and I saw a new silhouette, one of shadow and indistinct form. Ominous, but its wake rippled more of the haze, and new shapes into a new past revealed themselves to me.
 
------
 
Makaan was a young, small goliath child. His skin bore a destiny, as did all of his kind. When the seers gazed upon his markings, they foretold only omens, and thus the child that did nothing wrong was shunned. Even here, in an orphanage of children abandoned or lost, he was separate. There was a pact of mutual silence and division between himself and his never-family.
 
That is, until the half-elf half-yotunn girl bridged this gap and made the choice to befriend him. Young Makaan, who never knew the warmth of love, embraced the companionship's glow.
 
------
 
This vision faded like before, becoming onto the mist it was from. I felt the fear and dread the young Makaan lived every day in, and I felt more of the burning emotion swelling within me. Before I could process this new wave of understanding, once again the shadow swooped. I looked for more details, but the haze concealed its nature again.
 
And again, shapes formed.
 
------
 
Calliope fled through the dark forest. Needles of pine and bone cracked under her hoof as she leapt between the slender trunks and mushrooms in the glen. Two beings hunted her: the first was known and its territory bound. She knew not to step in those shadows. The second was a predator, tracking her and chasing her down upon nightmarish horseback. This second pursued her in the shadowed dusk of the dark woods.
 
Calliope fled into a cave, her fear outweighing any hope she had of safety. She knew not what lied within the blackened stone and lichen, but it must be safer than The Rider of Raven Armor. She was cold, hungry, and exhausted. Sleep, any sleep, any sanctuary would be welcomed at this point.
 
As if a miracle laid before her, she found a feast within the cave. Roasted pheasant, succulent potatoes, steaming vegetables. The scent and sight overwhelmed her, and she ravenously consumed. Her focus was entirely upon the sensation of her empty self being filled with warmth and life once again, until the glamour upon the food faded to reveal the humanoid she was consuming.
 
I knew not what happened next, for my eyes were shut in terror. But I heard crying, and this vision too passed.
 
------
 
When the mists settled, I saw Calliope collapsed in the bog, overwhelmed by what she saw. I saw Makaan, stoic and stony as ever. And I knew at this moment that I was in a magicked web of illusion or enchantment. The lectures of my teachers rushed at me, their faces formed of mist and their words washing indistinctly over my mind. I was a typical student in my youth, but I held no discipline nor respect for lessons of magics and mystical dangers. I couldn't form a concrete understanding of what was happening to me under the tumult of their incomplete lessons.
 
I thought hard, and I thought deeply. This is clearly some sort of dream-like place, illusory and enchanting. There were few factions of beings I could think of that would do such a thing. The Gloaming ones might; they lived in the shadows and spun of shadow stuff (maybe?). The ravensfolk of the dead, harbingers of final memory and servants to the Raven Queen? But that would imply that we were dead, and I didn't feel like I was. Now, in retrospect, how could I know that? What does death feel like?
 
This left me with the Gloaming ones, or maybe a wizard. Avindir was nowhere to be seen, so it might be he, but I doubted his magical prowess would extend this far. In either case, self-awareness and a calmness of mind would be crucial to surviving the encounter with foreign, unwelcomed magicks. With steel resolve in my chest, I took a breath of the marshy air and focused on my surroundings.
 
Calliope was submerged partially in the quagmire of memory and thought around us, holding what appeared to be a water cat or otter, who was gifting her a stone. I did not fully understand that sight, so I looked to Makaan. His portion of the marsh was rigid, frozen, and still, like it was trapped in a moment and he refused to let the waters brush against him. Curious.
 
Calliope collected herself and it was almost like the mists around her flowed into her breath. The water cat seemed to bring her comfort, but its motions unsettled me. Maybe this was a simulacrum of a symbol of safety for her. Who am I to judge that, especially after the possibly misleading glimpse I was witness to her past? I began to ponder the meaning and implications, and on queue the swooping shadow swept above us, a dark zenith of urgency. In its wake curled the haze and revealed a broken sable marble monolith.
 
When we began to discuss the next course of action, a voice spoke to our inner selves. This was a wholly unwelcome and intrusive experience for me, and I did everything I could to fortify my mind and push it out. After a declaration of discomfort, the voice seemed mildly regretful and revealed itself to be the water cat, or at least took the guise of it. Instead, the being told us it was a coatl, some celestial spirit of the sphere of light and servant of the moon.
 
Well, that was not expected. It explained that we were here in Calliope's dream as her allies through her visions. Sure, why not, that is as plausible as anything. When even the celestials ignore the kenku taboo of enchantment, I admit I feel frustrated. I know I should feel reverence, and many of my fellow countrymen would gladly engage in discourse with a being of such magnanimous nature. I felt frustrated and disappointed, though. Another kenku as another pawn in someone else's blessed journey. I remember this from Nyke's tales of the fall of the Ninth Unknown and the beginning of the civil war in Umenor. Even after a life of devotion to the spheres, a half-elf who followed the usurper spirits received divine blessings first.
 
Envy doesn't become me. I'm no priest, nor cantor, nor sage. I wasn't chosen by any god or any domain. No divine hero has shared wisdom with me, nor any spirit taken a prized interest. I know my lot in life, and that is the True Path towards my enlightenment. In this world where my mind shapes my environment, I must watch my darker impulses. Thoughts can leak beyond the gates I keep them behind and reveal themselves unwelcomed to those around me.
 
With a few calming breaths, we began to talk and approach the monolith, now clearly a black marble statue of an elven figure, identified by my cohorts as the usurper spirit Farro Stillrest, the spirit patron of exiles, solitude, and hermits.
 
After another pass by the shadowed predator, the mists revealed a new vision for Calliope. We approached it and saw it as a sort of black marble menhir or obelisk. It had writings inscribed in the ruined surface using a script I did not know and the top half seemed sheered off. Mysterious, but not enlightening. The Coatl Guide told us it was a carved story in various languages on various sides, so I circled around and found a script in Elvish and Giant, of all languages. I, luckily, knew Giant for trade purposes and following merchants or surveyers towards the Yotunn settlement south of us.
 
The story was of a cloud giant who had his home invaded by a white dragon. This dragon kidnapped the giant's wife and two children, then proceeded to compel the giant to fly his cloud fortress to an advantageous location. At the end, the giant found his family killed, or injured in some way. The script was damaged and used archaic language I was unfamiliar with. In addition, Calliope mentioned seeing a vision of frog people being sacrificed by an orc in some rite through the reflections of the marsh.
 
A symbolic story was piecing itself together, much like what my teachers taught me in lore class. I was never one for these puzzles of unclear answers and clues, but I learned of them none the less. Once again, my pensive moment was interrupted by the violent pass of the predator, and we found a black marble statue of some sort of angelic figure. On closer inspection, the teeth were sharpened, the eyes burned crimson, and the mouth burned saffron. Here, the Coatl Guide revealed to us that it was indeed a guide and that Calliope's celestial name was Iweweposa, or "seer". The statue had "Fear, take, blood, rip, conquer" carved into its base in a language I didn't recognize. All in all, ominous.
 
I regret to say I casually wondered if the burning light in the statue was hot. Before I could realize it, Calliope began to leap up the statue to find out. She reached towards the mouth, cut her hand upon its razor teeth, and fell off. We saw her trapped in the moment of falling, tumbling as if stuck in a dream without a floor.
 
I had a realization around now. Whenever I reflected upon my past, a part of it manifested around me. I am learning to master my soul and it seems to affect this land. Thus, I focused on the only hero I could think of to cushion her and called forth the night pegasus that I saw when I was a child. The simulacrum I summoned forth was not great, and my art tutors would have given me a barely passing assessment driven solely by my efforts. Little did that matter, for she landed upon the pegasus and descended to safety. I released the entity, proud of my efforts but feeling mentally drained from it. I only had so much of a reservoir of creativity to draw upon, it seems.
 
Her hand was wounded, decaying into blackened flesh around the puncture wound. She began to panic at the thought of turning into something, and I knew that I was uncorrupted in this place. I reached out and send my sapphire emerald light into the wound to burn out the damage. I learned about medicinal breath from the monks, but I never thought this would be how I would learn to visualize it. It worked, and her hand was restored to a pristine state.
 
We learned that Calliope was born of an auspicious moon to the gods. I recalled little of celestial astrology, but I knew at least one cantor who was well-versed in this. This could be a clue to help learn the date of her birth and, thus, an element to the puzzle of her past life. I'll make sure to write to the cantor when I am near a lodge.
 
Again, the predator flew over us, almost visible now and almost certainly dragon-like in shape. With its passing came another vision.
 
------
 
We saw before us a ruined structure, of which a black marble archway was all that remained. Inside the archway, however, was an impossible staircase into the depths of the marsh. Being brave vanguards of adventure, we gathered ourselves and ventured forth into the unknown deep. There, we saw a waterlogged chamber and a room full of decayed books and trinkets. Calliope found a tome of some swamp devil she was particularly drawn to as well as a sort of key. When exploring another room, she found a fawn coin floating midair. Makaan insisted we support her in her vision exploration, so we stood by as she grabbed it, tried to take it, and was wrapped in some sort of magicks that weighed her down. I do not understand the reason or symbol, but it must be important to her.
 
We explored two more rooms. One was occupied by two frog people, of whom I hid from as soon as I could. They sang moving music, laced with magic. I am familiar with that kind of phenomenon and it washed over me without harm or hate. The other room had vicious and violent orcs in it, armed with blade and bow. They began to fight the frogs, who fought back. I decayed the healing in one and struck with my emerald sapphire light. It seems I truly can stitch a wound or reopen one long healed over. Truly fascinating, and what a safe place to learn about it!
 
The fight was over swiftly, Makaan being particularly brutal and Calliope resisting brutality.
 
At this point, the dream began to unravel for me. I could sense that I was to wake up soon and details melted into each other. I recalled discussing how these symbols in the visions could reinforce the idea that Calliope was an outcast from her court or her previous life, how she was taken, dragons are a recurring theme, and there was something about raven armor and the angel statue suggesting tyrrany, conquest, war, or violence gods. I felt that Xatris, lord of tyrrany and cruelty, played a role. The spirit seemed to approve of my people's interpretation of him, which was reassuring I guess. I don't think I'd have really changed how I feel about cruelty if the Coatl Guide disapproved.
 
The last sight I recall seeing was a dragon with forward-curved horns and an onyx, skull-like head flying towards us. I know not what it meant, but I had no time to observe before my slumber ended and I awoke in my bed.