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<blockquote data-quote="Urko" data-source="post: 2736839" data-attributes="member: 30822">Interlude – Dargin dreamsDargin first knows where he is by the smells.&nbsp; An autumn wind filtering through the kebo grass.&nbsp; The acrid smell of fastieths, drinking from a half-evaporated dank mudhole.&nbsp; Tribex flank, slow roasting in a smokehouse.&nbsp; All signify the endless plains of Talenta.The sights are stranger.&nbsp; The moons hang low in the sky, like fruits ready to fall from a tree.&nbsp; They move about with languid irregularity, through a sky that pulses with a sickly lavender light.&nbsp; Dargin realizes that Grandfather may well be able to explain the bizarre things he sees.&nbsp; The shaman turns to ask his guardian spirit a question.And looks across a wasteland covered with the skeletons of countless millions of crows.&nbsp; All moving, shuffling about with tired indifference, irritably bickering with one another in sharp squawks over tiny unidentifiable crawling things.&nbsp; Dargin knows, with the certainty that only comes in dreams, that one of these is Grandfather, who will gladly answer his questions.&nbsp; But if he asks any of the other identical birds, the entire flock will fall upon him and tear him to pieces.&nbsp; Dargin contemplates his dilemma as a million bird skulls turn to stare at him with sightless, empty sockets.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Urko, post: 2736839, member: 30822"] [b]Interlude – Dargin dreams[/b] [i]Dargin first knows where he is by the smells. An autumn wind filtering through the kebo grass. The acrid smell of fastieths, drinking from a half-evaporated dank mudhole. Tribex flank, slow roasting in a smokehouse. All signify the endless plains of Talenta. The sights are stranger. The moons hang low in the sky, like fruits ready to fall from a tree. They move about with languid irregularity, through a sky that pulses with a sickly lavender light. Dargin realizes that Grandfather may well be able to explain the bizarre things he sees. The shaman turns to ask his guardian spirit a question. And looks across a wasteland covered with the skeletons of countless millions of crows. All moving, shuffling about with tired indifference, irritably bickering with one another in sharp squawks over tiny unidentifiable crawling things. Dargin knows, with the certainty that only comes in dreams, that one of these is Grandfather, who will gladly answer his questions. But if he asks any of the other identical birds, the entire flock will fall upon him and tear him to pieces. Dargin contemplates his dilemma as a million bird skulls turn to stare at him with sightless, empty sockets.[/i] [/QUOTE]

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