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Story Hour
Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8275008" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p style="text-align: center"><strong>Story IV - The Shoals of the Dreamlands</strong></p><p></p><p>The heat in the jungle was oppressive, even in the dead of night. The sounds of birds and monkey calls echoed across the slumbering city of Omu, just yards away from their camp. Insects buzzed around everyone, kept at bay only by the stinking salve everyone wore. Each of the adventurers slept too, each with their different contributions to the noise. Toddy for example, snorted constantly, as if he had broken his nose once, and it make it an effort to breathe. Aegis, tended to murmur quietly, as if holding a conversation with someone. Shalai, was as quiet as a tomb; his eyes didn’t move in sleep as the others did; it was almost like he wasn’t dreaming at all. Hawthorne, was curled up, clutching his bow and would utter strange phrases in cant, like ‘sodding berk,’ or ‘bar that spiv.’</p><p></p><p>But it was always Rafelor that Arnara listened to most during the night. He actually rarely spoke as he slept and dreamed, but when he did, it was always names that he called out in fitful outbursts. So, it was this night, as Arnara finished annotating and copying Rafelor’s journal. She shook her head smiling; amused at what she read. Then then moved quietly to Rafelor’s sleeping form, and gently lifted a hand, and tucked his journal under it. Upon touching it, the half-elf instinctively pulled it closer to his chest. And then he spoke a few words that caught Arnara’s ear:</p><p></p><p>“Hey, Arnara, can I have…”</p><p></p><p>His voice drifted off into a whisper, leaving the question unfinished. Arnara frowned; dreams were strange and alien. While this half-elf thought nothing of it, for the <em>Tel’Quessir</em>, dreams were shunned. The Reverie was the way to rest and recollect the memories of the day, and even then, the world around the elf was visible to their eyes. A couch or divan was best, but here in the jungle, even leaning against a tree made for adequate support. Arnara carried a bedroll, mostly so she could stretch out on the ground if needed and watch the fire, as she never needed sleep; all she needed was the Reverie.</p><p></p><p>Yet…she had tasted that forbidden fruit once and only once before. She watched her friend suffer night after night with horrid dreams. Nightmares she called them, and she…she was desperate to escape their clutches. The screams she gave as she woke, the trembling look of fear and dread in her mirrored eyes would have been enough to quench any elf’s curiosity of the landscape of dreams. Until one night.</p><p></p><p>Her friend had something pleasant; she cooed softly and smiled in her dream. Her face lit up in warmth and happiness, as the realm of nightmares were held at bay by some providence. When she saw this, she felt compelled, as a Sensate might have been to experience it, if only once. To understand the dark corners of the mind and see what visions were conjured. To people that were not <em>Tel’Quessir</em> this was impossible; no elf could sleep, and none could dream. Yet this was ignorance; elves <strong><em>could</em></strong> sleep if they chose. It was simply…not done. But it was well known to the <em>Tel’Quessir, </em>that the priests of Sehanine Moonbow would sleep, to glimpse the divine in the dreamscape. And then upon waking, shared with the others what they had seen, and discuss what portents were revealed.</p><p></p><p>So Arnara approached a priestess and learned from her a mix of herbs that would ease the transition from wakefulness. And one night, with her friend clasping her hand and watching, she passed into the shoals of the dreaming. She didn’t remember much from that dream; it was neither pleasant nor horrifying. But it was unnerving. In the Reverie, she controlled what images and memories to review and store away. The images and the unfettered emotions of dreams were wild and uncontrolled. She was a helpless passenger, along for the ride as her mind took her on a journey of the abstract and absurd.</p><p></p><p>She watched Ralefor go through his own theatre of the absurd, after muttering her name. She wondered what in the dream brought her image to life. What part did she play? Was she a fiend tormenting him, or like the aasimon was she benevolent and kind? Was it horrific, with friends and rivals simply cutouts or puppets on the stage of violence? Or sordid and base, reflecting some animalistic intent best locked away? Or perhaps it was nothing but comedy, devoid of real meaning, but there to vent some frustration in a toothless way.</p><p></p><p>Arnara’s brows knitted together as she considered the possibilities. He did not thrash as her friend did, so she had hope it was a pleasant one, or a strange one at worst. She reached over tentatively, and stroked his hair gently, taking care not to wake him. She looked at his features and was struck on how close to her kinsman Pallas, the former First Son of the House of Ustina that he looked. Similar cheekbones, and jawline, the hair color was close, if a bit lighter and almost the same cut; for Pallas was none too keen of traditional <em>Tel’Quessir</em> styles and preferred a simple cut.</p><p></p><p>Of all her kin, she was perhaps closest to Pallas, as opposed to the former First and Second Daughters. That was perhaps because Pallas as First Son, took his role of protector seriously. But not so serious that he didn’t tease and frustrate Arnara, 160 years his junior. He taught her the art of sword and bow and then would mock her about her lack of grace in combat, even though it was quite the opposite. He teased her and played pranks upon her constantly. But now, after his passing into Arvandor she found that she missed him dearly, even more than Casia and Zyana, the elder Daughters of Ustina. And it was to her great surprise, that she found a doppleganger in the form of a half-elf far to the north near the Spine of the World. But unlike Pallas, he had none of his graces, and needed help just getting a drink from the servants after insulted them.</p><p></p><p>As her fingers traced over the sleeping half-elf’s features, she wondered if that is why she felt compelled to help and protect him, even from his own self? Was he a younger and less prepared version of the First Son? Is that why she teased him so, to honor a dead memory?</p><p></p><p>She sighed, and gave Rafelor a final pat, and stood again, resuming leaning against the willow like tree that covered their camp with branches and leaves. She looked at all of them as they slept, like a guardian angel watching waiting for the break of dawn. All of them so young, and eager to test themselves on their journey. They all were shocked to hear that she was well over a hundred. And perhaps because of the age, she felt responsible in keeping them safe as best she could, as they wandered this foreboding jungle of death, and the sacred city below the campsite.</p><p></p><p>“Sleep well all of you; it may all be our last night together for all we know,” she whispered, she then turned her gaze upwards at the moon Selune, and then said aloud. “Please Sehanine, protect us in our journey.”</p><p></p><p>She then turned her gaze back to the slumbering ruin below, and wondered what dangers lurked within. And all Arnara could do is wait for the far away morning light so they could see what the Lost City of Omu held in store for them.</p><p></p><p><strong>Session Notes:</strong></p><p>So a dynamic I should explain is "The Journal." This Journal (which was originally Pyrites') is a very...self absorbed document of Rafelor's exploits, filled with a number of exaggerations. Arnara at one point during her watch while Rafelor slept, started to correct the journal, in red ink, with pithy comments. It is actually a google doc, and it is now well over hundred pages, filled with these corrections. It also was the fundamental way that Arnara and Rafelor's characters developed.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8275008, member: 6971069"] [CENTER][B]Story IV - The Shoals of the Dreamlands[/B][/CENTER] The heat in the jungle was oppressive, even in the dead of night. The sounds of birds and monkey calls echoed across the slumbering city of Omu, just yards away from their camp. Insects buzzed around everyone, kept at bay only by the stinking salve everyone wore. Each of the adventurers slept too, each with their different contributions to the noise. Toddy for example, snorted constantly, as if he had broken his nose once, and it make it an effort to breathe. Aegis, tended to murmur quietly, as if holding a conversation with someone. Shalai, was as quiet as a tomb; his eyes didn’t move in sleep as the others did; it was almost like he wasn’t dreaming at all. Hawthorne, was curled up, clutching his bow and would utter strange phrases in cant, like ‘sodding berk,’ or ‘bar that spiv.’ But it was always Rafelor that Arnara listened to most during the night. He actually rarely spoke as he slept and dreamed, but when he did, it was always names that he called out in fitful outbursts. So, it was this night, as Arnara finished annotating and copying Rafelor’s journal. She shook her head smiling; amused at what she read. Then then moved quietly to Rafelor’s sleeping form, and gently lifted a hand, and tucked his journal under it. Upon touching it, the half-elf instinctively pulled it closer to his chest. And then he spoke a few words that caught Arnara’s ear: “Hey, Arnara, can I have…” His voice drifted off into a whisper, leaving the question unfinished. Arnara frowned; dreams were strange and alien. While this half-elf thought nothing of it, for the [I]Tel’Quessir[/I], dreams were shunned. The Reverie was the way to rest and recollect the memories of the day, and even then, the world around the elf was visible to their eyes. A couch or divan was best, but here in the jungle, even leaning against a tree made for adequate support. Arnara carried a bedroll, mostly so she could stretch out on the ground if needed and watch the fire, as she never needed sleep; all she needed was the Reverie. Yet…she had tasted that forbidden fruit once and only once before. She watched her friend suffer night after night with horrid dreams. Nightmares she called them, and she…she was desperate to escape their clutches. The screams she gave as she woke, the trembling look of fear and dread in her mirrored eyes would have been enough to quench any elf’s curiosity of the landscape of dreams. Until one night. Her friend had something pleasant; she cooed softly and smiled in her dream. Her face lit up in warmth and happiness, as the realm of nightmares were held at bay by some providence. When she saw this, she felt compelled, as a Sensate might have been to experience it, if only once. To understand the dark corners of the mind and see what visions were conjured. To people that were not [I]Tel’Quessir[/I] this was impossible; no elf could sleep, and none could dream. Yet this was ignorance; elves [B][I]could[/I][/B] sleep if they chose. It was simply…not done. But it was well known to the [I]Tel’Quessir, [/I]that the priests of Sehanine Moonbow would sleep, to glimpse the divine in the dreamscape. And then upon waking, shared with the others what they had seen, and discuss what portents were revealed. So Arnara approached a priestess and learned from her a mix of herbs that would ease the transition from wakefulness. And one night, with her friend clasping her hand and watching, she passed into the shoals of the dreaming. She didn’t remember much from that dream; it was neither pleasant nor horrifying. But it was unnerving. In the Reverie, she controlled what images and memories to review and store away. The images and the unfettered emotions of dreams were wild and uncontrolled. She was a helpless passenger, along for the ride as her mind took her on a journey of the abstract and absurd. She watched Ralefor go through his own theatre of the absurd, after muttering her name. She wondered what in the dream brought her image to life. What part did she play? Was she a fiend tormenting him, or like the aasimon was she benevolent and kind? Was it horrific, with friends and rivals simply cutouts or puppets on the stage of violence? Or sordid and base, reflecting some animalistic intent best locked away? Or perhaps it was nothing but comedy, devoid of real meaning, but there to vent some frustration in a toothless way. Arnara’s brows knitted together as she considered the possibilities. He did not thrash as her friend did, so she had hope it was a pleasant one, or a strange one at worst. She reached over tentatively, and stroked his hair gently, taking care not to wake him. She looked at his features and was struck on how close to her kinsman Pallas, the former First Son of the House of Ustina that he looked. Similar cheekbones, and jawline, the hair color was close, if a bit lighter and almost the same cut; for Pallas was none too keen of traditional [I]Tel’Quessir[/I] styles and preferred a simple cut. Of all her kin, she was perhaps closest to Pallas, as opposed to the former First and Second Daughters. That was perhaps because Pallas as First Son, took his role of protector seriously. But not so serious that he didn’t tease and frustrate Arnara, 160 years his junior. He taught her the art of sword and bow and then would mock her about her lack of grace in combat, even though it was quite the opposite. He teased her and played pranks upon her constantly. But now, after his passing into Arvandor she found that she missed him dearly, even more than Casia and Zyana, the elder Daughters of Ustina. And it was to her great surprise, that she found a doppleganger in the form of a half-elf far to the north near the Spine of the World. But unlike Pallas, he had none of his graces, and needed help just getting a drink from the servants after insulted them. As her fingers traced over the sleeping half-elf’s features, she wondered if that is why she felt compelled to help and protect him, even from his own self? Was he a younger and less prepared version of the First Son? Is that why she teased him so, to honor a dead memory? She sighed, and gave Rafelor a final pat, and stood again, resuming leaning against the willow like tree that covered their camp with branches and leaves. She looked at all of them as they slept, like a guardian angel watching waiting for the break of dawn. All of them so young, and eager to test themselves on their journey. They all were shocked to hear that she was well over a hundred. And perhaps because of the age, she felt responsible in keeping them safe as best she could, as they wandered this foreboding jungle of death, and the sacred city below the campsite. “Sleep well all of you; it may all be our last night together for all we know,” she whispered, she then turned her gaze upwards at the moon Selune, and then said aloud. “Please Sehanine, protect us in our journey.” She then turned her gaze back to the slumbering ruin below, and wondered what dangers lurked within. And all Arnara could do is wait for the far away morning light so they could see what the Lost City of Omu held in store for them. [B]Session Notes:[/B] So a dynamic I should explain is "The Journal." This Journal (which was originally Pyrites') is a very...self absorbed document of Rafelor's exploits, filled with a number of exaggerations. Arnara at one point during her watch while Rafelor slept, started to correct the journal, in red ink, with pithy comments. It is actually a google doc, and it is now well over hundred pages, filled with these corrections. It also was the fundamental way that Arnara and Rafelor's characters developed. [/QUOTE]
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