Journal Vignette 03.02 - Awakening from the Dream

Aja wakes with a start, sitting up and frantically flapping her arms, still possessed by the visions she experienced in the Dream. Gigi flits around her head, chirruping concernedly. She looks around the dimly lit hut, first at her still sleeping companions, then to the Elven witch who stands watch over their slumber. J’arbee, she notes, is nowhere to be seen, having chosen to pursue less potentially lethal endeavors than engaging the Banshee Spider Matron on her home plane.Tall and willowy with long hair the color of midday sky tied back in an ornate braid, Anchion has the ageless face of others of her kind, although a lifetime of worry and responsibility has left a visible mark between her brows. Right now, one side of her mouth is quirked up in a half-smile, and she regards Aja wryly before asking, “Not quite what you were expecting?”Aja shakes her head, half in acknowledgement and half in an effort to process her experience in the dream world. Rather than assuming a version of her Sylph form, she had been an enormous white bat, covered in wispy azure fur with electricity flowing over her body. More, she had flown. It was a sensation she longed to recapture, and felt a pang of regret as she swung her feet off the low cot and onto the ground.   “Am I… am I the only one who…” she grimaced before continuing, refusing to meet Anchion’s eyes, “...failed?”   “So far,” Anchion replied cheerfully. “Oh, enough of that. You needn’t look ashamed, Breezeling. Every new Calfur tree must first begin with the death of a flower. I’m sure your remaining companions would have failed without your contributions, if succeed they eventually do. And you only need a single phylactery filled with Silvashe’s blood, right?”   “Silvashe?” Aja asks.   “Silvashe is the name I have given that one. You see, she attacks our village every few years or so, carrying off a few livestock and occasionally a careless shepherd or two. Inevitably, some village youths get it into their heads they can prove themselves brave enough to face her, expecting the rest of us to treat them as adults rather than the incautious youths they remain, if now poison-scarred or missing a few toes.”   Aja stares at Anchion in shock and closes her gaping mouth. “But Morvion said that the spider hunt is a sacred coming of age ritual…!”   “Oh, don’t misunderstand, little one. It is our coming of age ritual, but such things inevitably come about more from a need by the young to strive for the respect afforded to their elders. Any elven matron who has taken one or more mewling babe to her breast would rather their children do something productive to prove themselves: mending a roof, digging a well, carving a whetstone, perhaps nursing a babe themselves — but such 'trivial’ pursuits rarely capture the hearts and minds of wide-eyed youth.”   Suddenly self-conscious of what the woman must think of Aja's relative inexperience, she asks, “Why didn’t you warn us of what would happen? That we would be — different…?”   Anchion laughs, “Why for the same reason we told you that your interment would only be for a few hours. You never would have agreed to it otherwise or else would have been so consumed with worry and fear that the cleansing ritual would have been for naught.” She pauses thoughtfully, “What form did you take? I was a hanging snake vine (?) tree. What a challenge that was, trying to pin the Matron’s 8 legs and 4 pincers with my snaking roots… Her spines were a good deal sharper than my own.”   Aja found herself studying Anchion's companion creeper vine Nrolx dubiously, suddenly suspicious of its origins. Nonetheless, she was assured by the fact that the Elven witch had participated in the ceremony herself, if not many years in the past. She is about to respond when Morvion shoots up from his own cot, face and chest slick with sweat and looking three shades paler than normal. He gasps and palpates his side as if shocked to find it unpierced.   After a moment spent to gather himself, Morvion looks around the room to take stock of which of his companions remain in the Dream.   A little cheered to have company, Aja says warmly, “Welcome back.” She gestures at the empty phylactery around his neck and quips, “Couldn't bring yourself to eat the heart, eh?”   Morvion returns her smile and says, “Let's hope our companions are less squeamish.”   Morvion, Aja, and Anchion keep a nervous watch over the three remaining sleepers. The minutes tick by, punctuated by periodic, soft growls which escape Falgrieg’s throat. After what seems an interminable amount of time, the three remaining phylacteries begin to glow in quick succession: first Tars', then Gryakar’s, and finally Falgrieg’s.   Her face glowing with unmistakable delight, Anchion helps bring each dreamer out of the Dream, one after another, as Aja looks on with keen interest. Each wakened dreamer initially seems disoriented, and it seems to Aja that Graykar can hardly sit still. Falgrieg immediately sets about resummoning his companion eidolon. Tars claims to be ravenous, and Anchion sends for trays of food to be brought up, warning the five not to overeat for tonight the Tribe will have a celebratory feast in their honor.