Test Run, Feel free to join in and/or comment.

[Laurelaia]

(I'm new at this, so please be gentle. I'd appreciate any criticism and advice. Thank you!)

The sunlight breaks through small gaps in the canopy and dances across the forest floor. A young doe looks up from her feast to watch the sun’s waltz across the clearing. As she lowers her head to sip from the crystal blue stream, her body stiffens. She lets out a small sigh, and falls to her side, dead. The arrow in her heart quivers as the doe’s body gently shakes the ground, and a beautiful, white owl descends to snatch it back and return it to her master.

Across the clearing, a beautiful young woman smiles. Her upturned, rose red lips part to show perfect teeth. She pulls a newly fallen elm leaf from her long, silky hair, the pale yellow contrasting beautifully against the darkest black. The sunlight catches her hair as her long, slender, porcelain fingers brush it from her eyes. Her youthful, grey-blue eyes sparkle with adventure and success as her smile reaches them. Her fingers continue to pull her hair across her cheek, which bear a beautiful, rosy tint, and tuck it behind one of her slender, gently pointed ears. She stands and brushes the earth from her simple, red dress and reaches her arm up so quickly that it seems to become invisible for a moment. When her hand returns to her side, it holds a thin, perfectly straight arrow with three, pure white feathers protruding from its nock. She cleans the arrow with earth and places it in a small, doeskin pouch which hangs from her belt and doesn’t seem as if a locket would fit within it, let alone a full-length arrow. She looks to the sky and says "Thank you, Janessa."

The elf lifts her skirt slightly and steps over the branch which hid her from the view of the doe, her bare foot landing soundlessly on the thick grass of the clearing. Just as she places her other foot within the clearing, a small sparrow chirrups and lands lightly on her right shoulder. She smirks at him and says “Well?” in a soft, ringing voice.

“Well?” he replies in a gently mocking tone. “Well, you’d better hope we’re outside of Avari’s domain. You know she disapproves of her animals being hunted.”

“Do not worry, Eren. We are at least a half mile outside of her domain. I have told you this.”

“Well, that may be, Laia, but that doe may have been a half mile away from her home, as well.”

“With any luck, her home is a half mile in the other direction. Must you worry so, old friend?”

“I must.”

Smiling at her friend, Laia nimbly lifts and shoulders the doe, and begins the trek home.

* *

Once again on her way home from the heart of the wood, with her herb pouch full, Laurelaia hears a twig break. Crouching in the weeds beside the forest path, she looks out to find the origin of the noise.

[Pathos]

(A short post on my side, to get you into things. Very nicely done, by the way, though I do have one suggestion: your writing would be easier to follow were you to write it in third person past instead of third person present. For example, your first sentence would read 'The sunlight broke through small gaps in the canopy and danced across the forest floor.'

Other notes. Since this is Etherworld, the character I'm using here is not one I have a profile for. I apologize for that - this is where I test out some of my potential characters. Here is an image of him, and this is Akka, the gryphus mentioned.)

Snap!

The crack of the twig rebounded through the still forest, silencing a few twittering birds who were wary of the unusual noise. Cocooned in that momentary silence there was a distant whirr and chirp, and then the tiny gryphus came darting out of the trees, wings a frantic blur to hold its long body aloft, humming-bird style. The almost serpentine tail flicked back and forth, desperately accounting for the creature’s balance shifts, and the brightly orange-plumed head cocked this way and that. Tiny red eyes examined the near-invisible path over which it hovered, held impossibly suspended in midair, wings beating furiously. The gryphus chirped inquisitively at its surroundings before pirouetting madly in midair, alighting on a thin overhead branch that bent dangerously beneath its slender weight. The long serpentine tail fluttered this way and that, twitching back and forth a foot below its precarious perch.

“Akka,” a voice called, filled with silvery liquid sunlight. There was a distant sound of chimes in it, like bells ringing from far off, caught and flung from hill to hill in endless echoes: an elven voice, clear as flawless crystal and filled with light. “Akka, ar-gonnâ heì.” The words drifted into the sea-shrouded language of the Sun Elves, a sound like light splintering off of waves, and betrayed the identity of the speaker even before he appeared between the trees. Tall and willowy, with pale skin and lilac eyes, the elf was swathed from head to toe in long billowing robes of violet and cream, falling in intricate layers. A breeze maneuvered in, spinning them airily about his form, until in the shafts of sunlight and shadow splintering beneath the trees he might have seemed a ghost, the silvery rays outlining the many fine layers of cream and pale violet in a spectral halo everchanging around the tall man. Without thought he adjusted his cowl across his lower face, falling over his shoulders, dripping towards the ground in light folds.

The gryphus, clinging precariously to its branch, snaked its long hawk-like head town towards its master. The elf held up one arm, fabric sliding over itself. Obediently the gryphus sped to his side and settled on the outstretched arm, clawed hind legs digging into the fabric of his vestments, grasping front legs twining carefully about its new perch. It twisted its avian head to look at him and gave a half-encouraging, half-inquisitional chirp. Sänhein stroked its agile neck. “We go, Akka. The Lady Dreamweaver is expecting us.”

The gryphus, which had climbed his arm to drape about his shoulders, where it could grapple with the heavier cloth of the royal purple cowl and rest its head on neatly arranged forelegs, whistled softly and plaintively. The elf, who had lifted one long finger to stroke its feathered mane, paused, suddenly looking about.

“Is there?” he asked the gryphus, as if in response to what the creature had told him, and it chittered affirmatively back at him. His fingers rose to brush short gold-brown hair back from his forehead, where it had escaped the restraints of the thin band holding it in place. “How unusual. Perhaps she is looking for the Temple. In which case she will come upon it on her own, I don’t doubt, hmm?” The three-foot creature on his arm and shoulder cheeped, and the elf smiled.

[Laurelaia]

(Better, or worse? lol Also, my profile sheet is here, in case you didn't get the chance to read it.)

Laia watched from her hiding place as a tiny creature zoomed into sight, flying in a style reminiscent of a hummingbird. As it alighted on a branch inches from her hiding place, Laurelaia looked curiously at it. It appeared to have the forelegs and tail of a lizard, with a seamless transition into the upper body of a bird. Its front legs seemed, to Laia, to be a combination of a lizard’s legs and a bird talon. Beautiful, Laia thought. Its scarlet eyes especially drew her gaze. They seemed so alive. Staring in wonder, Laia did not notice for a moment that the eyes from which she could not look were staring straight back at her. When she did realise it, she nearly gasped and lost her footing (and surely would have done, had she been human).

“Akka”.

Laia did jump this time. She had expected that the gryphus (for that must surely be the type of creature it is. It looks just like the one in mother’s book.) was the one who had snapped the twig. But the voice of the newcomer was so sweet that he could not be any danger. It was like sunlight, but smoother, and more melodic.

“Akka, ar-gonnâ hei.”

There was no mistaking it now. Laia was quite obviously about to see a Sun Elf, and a male Sun Elf, at that. She could not speak the language, but she could identify it. Though, if she didn’t know any better, Laia would have taken him for a spirit. The long, pale, intricately layered robes fluttering around his figure in the wind. The tall, thin figure. The violet eyes. The beauty, which was inexpressible even to Laia, another elf. All clues to his heritage.

I wonder what the cowl is for. Still, I suppose it would be rude to ask, wouldn’t it?

Yes, it would be. But that shan’t stop me. Laia nearly jumped again. She had been so intent upon watching the newcomer that she had not noticed Eren perch upon her shoulder.

“We go, Akka. The Lady Dreamweaver is expecting us.

The Lady Avarí. Oh, I’ve lived here, or near here, all my life, and not yet seen her. Do you think we could join him, Eren? Would that also be rude? I know not much of the customs of Sun Elves.

Stop worrying so, Laia. It does not suit you. I cannot imagine that the customs of Sun Elves differ so greatly from your own.

“Is there?”

Laia froze and slowly turned her head from Eren to the stranger, wordlessly warning Eren what would happen should he make a sound.

The gryphus chirruped once more to the stranger, and he replied, “How unusual. Perhaps she is looking for the Temple. In which case she will come upon it on her own, I don’t doubt, hmm?”

Relaxing her body, Laia stood just as the handsome elf turned to walk away.

“Wait, please,” she said quietly, knowing he would hear her. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to accompany you to the Temple. However, there is a girl at my home who is new to these woods and should probably not be left alone for very long. I have lived near Lady Avarí’s temple for many years, and I have yet to visit her. May we accompany you?” Laia did not wait for his response. Though she knew it was rude to not only invite oneself, but to accept the invitation, as well, she could sense (hopefully), that he would not object. Instead, she looked at the sparrow upon her shoulder and said “Eren, would you please be so kind as to go to the cabin and retrieve Nymé, and Janessa, should she elect to come along? We shall continue along the path. You know the way.”

Eren gave a small bow and looked pointedly at Laia. Laughing softly, a sound that can only be described as moonlight reflecting on a clear blue pond, Laia stretched one of her long, slender fingers to Eren and stroked his breast. At last, Eren replied, as he flew gracefully from her shoulder to her outstretched hand. “Yes, Laia. I would be so kind, but I shall expect a treat for it. Perhaps one of those tasty willow seeds you have.” Laia smiled enigmatically and raised her hand into the air to allow Eren to take flight. As the tip of Eren’s golden-amber tail followed the rest of him out of Laia’s line of sight, she turned to the stranger.

Smiling amiably at him, she said “I apologise for my rudeness. I hope it did not bother you too badly. My name is Laurelaia Kanilaavi. What is yours?”

[Pathos]

(Much easier to follow, thank you! Also, this isn't really a writing tip, but it would really help out all your future posters if you put a link to your profile in your signature, for easy reference.)

“Wait, please,” she said after him, and he learned so much about her without even turning around. There was the obvious: she was elven, High Elven unless he missed his guess – and that was entirely possible: he had spent much of the last two years in Aissur, and their population was vastly human. His struggles with the harder Aissurov tongue had crippled some of his ability to distinguish between the finer soft dialects of elvenkind. It told him other things – that she was, indeed, she, that she was young for an elf, and that there was a bold assertiveness underlying the quiet tone of her words.

When he turned he saw that she was as tall as he, or perhaps taller, with pale skin and grey eyes and long black hair that the wind barely touched; and she was in red. How she had mastered the impossible feat of blending into her surroundings in such a color he could only guess. But then again, he had never spent as much time or effort learning the traditional skills and spells of woodscraft as his younger, wilder brethren; his had been a different calling.

A faint smile, all but hidden by the folds of his heavy purple cowl, crossed his face at that. Calling, indeed.

He had been a painter, poet, politician, until after a long string of sleepless nights she came for him, and to this day he could not decide if he had fallen asleep or had remained awake. She had only appeared half elven, though he knew the instant he looked into her star-shimmering eyes, so many colors at once the poet in him yearned to play a century attempting to describe them, that she was so much more than that. He had crossed half a century that year and yet she made him feel like little more than a child.

“You live here?” he inquired, and then chuckled softly with a shake of his head. “A dangerous business, that. I do not think I could long stay sane in so… potent… a place as this.” And he meant it. It was a dangerous business, walking the line between dreaming and waking, and even more so here where dreams bent so close at times to death. Even he, used to treading those silver-spun paths, walked warily at a focus of power – especially a focus as vibrant and enthralling as the Dreamweaver’s Temple. He could easily be snared by illusions far beyond even his own considerable knowing and swept off in a fantasy from which he would never return. “You must be fearless indeed, Laurelaia Kanilaavi.” The name came to his chimed tone with ease that surprised him. Perhaps he had not left so much of the elves behind as he had first thought.

He offered his hand in formal greeting. “I am Sänhein Quin Vereor, both Prophet and Dreamfarer, in service to the Lady of Twilight.” The gryphus, all three feet of it curled about his shoulders, lifted its avian head to stare directly at the elf maiden and offered a self-important cheep. Despite himself the Sun Elf smiled. “This,” he said with a gesture towards the creature clinging to his cowl, “is Akka.” At its name the creature lifted itself upright and beat its wings once, before bending its neck and offering what could only be the gryphus equivalent of a bow, chittering excitedly. “He is a gryphus,” Sänhein continued, stroking its feathered head, “from the Jungles of Karesh far south of here.” The gryphus nudged his still hand impatiently, begging for his attention. He laughed softly – moonbeams on evening clouds – and ruffled the tiny feathers. “He and I have both been very far indeed from home recently, hmm?” That was directed to the tiny creature, which ruffled its wings importantly and clawed its way back up to his shoulders, where it settled again, tail flicking.

He turned his pale eyes from the little creature back to the elf maiden. “Though I serve the Mistress of Illusions I do not pretend to speak for her. I see no reason why you may not come along if you wish, but I can promise you nothing. The Lady is kind but mysterious and will speak for herself. As for following me to her residence…” he tilted his head the thoughtfully. “The Temple of Dreams is…” He hummed a little in his native tongue. “Is Other. You do not visit the Lady of Twilight. She visits you.” He spread his arms wide, a gesture equal parts grace and helplessness.

“Still, it seems, the way is clear.” He gestured slightly towards the all-but-invisible path that burned arrow-clear and bright to his Dreamfarer eyes, pinned back with gossamer strands of silver and twilight. It was also remarkable to him because he could not See anything there. It was as if his prophetic vision was suddenly shut, a disconcerting sensation that he had suddenly been rendered blind. But it had always been that way at the Lady’s temple. She had given him Sight; she could take it away. Indeed, he did not think that he wanted to See anything in the homes of the Gods. Their ways in their completeness were far above his own and he would not touch them – the paths of immortals were not meant for mortal thought.

“Come with me, then, if you will, Laurelaia Kanilaavi, and tell me what it is like to live in the silver shadow of the Lady’s temple. It has been long indeed since I was last here in the flesh, though I find myself often here in dreams. My own, and those of others. Few lands hold such potent dreams as the Far North, I have found: there is great pride and strength that slumbers there, and they aspire to such heights as these southerly lands seldom imagine. And yet I find that despite it all I miss the sound of the Lady’s laughter or the smooth dark sight of her Watching Pool.”

[Laurelaia]

(I'm sorry. It's really short and not very good at all. )

The stranger turned to look at Laia, and she looked back at him, neither rudely nor meekly. She watched him with interest as his eyes smiled, staring straight through her. What is he thinking about?

“You must be fearless indeed, Laurelaia Kanilaavi. I am Sänhein Quin Vereor, both Prophet and Dreamfarer, in service to the Lady of Twilight,” he said, and Laia was awed. He serves the Lady herself? Most impressive.

She felt she could listen to him for hours. She did not often meet strangers in the wood. She paid so much attention to his speaking that she did not hear but one in ten words he spoke. As he raised his arms in a charming, half-grace/half-helpless expression, she smiled kindly at him. She could See his affection and flagrant adoration of the Lady Dreamweaver, as well as a strangely disconcerted aura emanating from him.

“Come with me, then, if you will, Laurelaia Kanilaavi, and tell me what it is like to live in the silver shadow of the Lady’s temple. It has been long indeed since I was last here in the flesh, though I find myself often here in dreams. My own, and those of others. Few lands hold such potent dreams as the Far North, I have found: there is great pride and strength that slumbers there, and they aspire to such heights as these southerly lands seldom imagine. And yet I find that despite it all I miss the sound of the Lady’s laughter or the smooth dark sight of her Watching Pool.”

“Are the dreams more potent here? I am ashamed to say that I do not often travel to the south; the wind has not yet called me there. My dreams, though, are incontrovertibly vivid. I find it comforting. Without dreams, hope would fail, and without hope…” she allowed herself to trail off as they walked along the path he seemed to know.

Remembering her mother’s wisdoms on the topic of silence in journeys, Laia decided to speak again. “Tell me, Sänhein Quin Vereor, is there anything about the Lady Dreamweaver that I should know, before we meet her? I would be loath to offend one so important. Particularly because I live so near her temple.” She chuckled softly as she said this, and hoped he would not take offence.

[Pathos]

(Much better stylistically - pretty much all posts are written in the kind of method you're doing. In an entirely content-related suggestion, however... in general try to balance posts between two aspects. Responding to the person (people) in the thread with you, and furthering the plot. Considering the lengths of the posts we're doing, you're doing a good job so far. I know this, though, since I do it all the time - be wary of spending an entire post responding and not giving the other person (people) something to respond to in return. Otherwise they sit there stumped with a blank page, wondering what they are supposed to write!)

“Dreams,” Sanhein said distantly, “dreams are everything here.” He hummed a little in a foreign tongue – no, not foreign, but ancient, words not widely spoken by the living since before the fall of the gods and the wrath of the Winds. Before the Cataclysm. “Wir wissen ihre Träume - genug zu wissen, daβ sie traumen, und sind jetzt tot…” We know their dreams – enough, to know they dreamed and are dead. Akka, perched on his shoulder, recognized the tune, and whistled gently, mournfully. He smiled, and though the cowl hid it, it was visible in his eyes, and he ruffled his fingers through the gryphus’s tiny mane.

“As to how powerful they are… I cannot really answer you,” he said as they walked. “To me, dreams are more powerful than life. Here I must tread foot by weary foot, one end of the continent to the other, slave to hunger and thirst and weariness. So many years pass, and while yes, I am elven, I am not immortal and soon or late my time will come. I regret so many of the little things that must be done to push my existence onward. I have walked the waking world more than five hundred years. Some day, be it soon or late, this everlasting journey will be ended.” He said it frankly, without eagerness or sorrow. As if his life was an oddly shaped crystal he turned over in his hand, examining it with detached curiosity.

“But dreams – ah! They and this world are both like… and unlike. All that is strange and wonderful, all that raises us above and sets us apart. Sometimes I think life was meant to be lived in dreams, the Winds’ way of pointing us onwards to something always slumbering a little out of reach. Wake up, and dream!” He laughed at that, and it was a silver sound, faerie dust flung on the strong east wind that glittered back golden from grey, distant hills. He shook his head. “And I sound like an elfling again, marveling at every passing butterfly. Forgive me.”

They walked on. The trees leaned over the path, twiggy branches stretching overhead to lock fingers with each other and watch the elves who walked beneath their boughs. “What is there to know about the Lady? She is kind. Understanding. Gentle of spirit and plainspoken when it suits her. Curious. Yet aloof. Don’t be afraid to speak your mind,” he said, and laughed. “She doesn’t snap at you. Not unless you say or do something particularly stupid.” He lifted one angular eyebrow at his guest. “You’d be surprised how many do,” he added dryly. “As for the rest? Well; if you are fortunate you shall see for yourself. But look around you at these woods. This is the place she chose to take as her home. That tells you as much about the Lady as anything you might learn, were you to gaze upon her face and catch the starlight reflections in her eyes.”

Akka suddenly lifted himself up to a standing position, avian head cocked sideways, and offered a long series of musical chirps – excitement, joy, satisfaction. The path bent sideways and they came around it, and suddenly there it was – lifting out from among the trees, golden in the sunlight, majestic, exquisite in its simplicity. The sight of it nearly brought Sänhein to a halt. Perched on his shoulder, Akka chittered appreciatively. Twin silver trees, long-limbed and silver, lifted broad leaves towards the sky. “Once we walk by these,” Sänhein said with a nod at them, “we will have entered the Lady’s realm, Laurelaia Kanilaavi.”

He hesitated a moment and then looked plainly at her, eyes direct. “It is entirely possible that we may encounter some of die Rabekriegeren while we are there. For the most part ignore them and they will ignore you. If they talk to you then there is no danger in speaking with them. Their words are often like poetry and they enjoy riddles. Do not try to read too much into it. And whatever else, do not follow them. I doubt the Lady would deliberately expose you to harm but she is… neutral… in many things. Die Rabekriegeren are harbringers of true dangers, the likes of which neither you nor I are prepared to understand.” On his shoulder, Akka wagged his avian head in silent, solemn, and somewhat comical agreement.

“Undoubtedly she is aware of us and waiting, perhaps even a little impatiently, by now,” Sänhein said lightly and, gathering his robes about him with a sweep of his hand, stepped between the trees and up the path towards the Temple doors.

[Laurelaia]

(Yeah, sorry about that. Kira was quite insistent that I get it posted asap, so I couldn't make it very long. lol Is this better? I couldn't put too much to respond to at the end, because Kira said you'd wanted to bring dT or the die rabekriegeren things in, so I tried to give an opening for either of them...)

“I have walked the waking world more than five hundred years. Some day, be it soon or late, this everlasting journey will be ended.”

He said it so frankly. No fear, no joy. Just a tone which lacked tone. Even Laurelaia could not pull an emotion from his voice. Having often thought of death, but never really considered it, Laurelaia did not know how she felt about it, but she knew that, when death came, she would then know her mind on it, and as she told her new companion this, she realised how child-like she must seem to him.

As he discussed dreams, Laia found herself enthralled and inspired, and wanting to hear more, but he seemed to think he was being immature. Not wanting to see immature herself, Laia said nothing, but allowed him to answer her question about the Lady Dreamweaver without interruption. Akka unexpectedly raised his head and sang with joy. Laurelaia watched with wonder and then looked to his master.

“Once we walk by these,” Laurelaia followed his gaze to the two silver sentinels standing guard along the path, “we will have entered the Lady’s realm, Laurelaia Kanilaavi.”

As he continued on to describe the Die Rabekriegeren Laia found herself somewhat frightened. She was not aware of these creatures, if creatures they were, and did not know their purpose, what they looked like, or why Sänhein would see them as a danger. As Sänhein stepped forward, past the trees, he disappeared from view. Hesitating for a moment, Laia focused on the trees on either side of her. She allowed her eyes to roam from the silver roots to the golden leaves, shining with a light that seemed to come from the leaves themselves, rather than from any light reflecting from them.

As she followed Sänhein past the silver trees, a building appeared in front of her, a building so beautiful that her breath caught in her throat. The pale silver of the stone that made up the palace gleamed with a brightness that made Laia have a mixed emotion, equal parts hesitation and a desire to run up to it to examine it closely. The ivy creeping up the walls in an intricate pattern gave the building an aged feel, but did not, by any means, detract from the beauty of it.

Allowing her attention to wander, Laia looked at the clearing in which the building sat. Unlike the building, which held her full attention and would not let her look away, the clearing forced her eyes to move faster than her brain could process. There always seemed to be some sort of movement just past her field of vision, but she could not keep up. A slightly unsettled feeling came over her, and she chose to look at the building again to overcome it. Drawn once again into the beauty of the building, it took Laia several moments to realise that Sänhein was not in her line of vision. She spun once to find him, but became distracted when she realised that she could not find the path which led her there. Feeling confused and slightly frightened, Laia began walking toward the building. Hearing a noise to her right, she spun quickly, her hand halfway to her dagger before she remembered Sänhein’s advice. However, while his advice stayed her hand, it could not stay her gasp at what she saw.

[Pathos]

With every breath he dew, Sänhein felt the years drop away, as if he were a youngling Sun Elf again, carefree and careless, unleashed to wreck his thoughtless mischief in the sun-drenched woods. He smiled as the sensation overflowed through him, reaching up with slender hands to pull down his purple cowl and for the first time bare his face. Akka scrambled over his shoulders and then launched his tiny gryphus form through the air, blurring orange and gold, arcing through the gardens. A little slower and considerably more earthbound, Sänhein wandered, sipping of the wonder of this place and trusting the gryphus’s instincts to lead him aright. His feet took him along a cobblestone path, lined with a thousand flowers that watched him with starry eyes and perfumed the air with sweet fragrances that reminded him of Karesh and Arith and Em’ris and that implacable flavor of home.

He stumbled upon the Watching Pool before he knew it. Akka was a tiny orange fluffball, feathered and content, beaded red eyes shut as he slumbered in the tall grass, surrounded by tiny blue flowers more wonderful than all the rest. There, at the pool’s side, she sat waiting for him, her dress like morning and evening settled as gossamer around her, black hair spilling loose around her shoulders, eyes of sunrise and sunset and starry night held captive in sweeping waterfalls, toying with the remnants of shattered rainbows, lifting from the surface of the Watching Pool to drink him in.

He felt a child again.

“How did you find Aissur?” she asked him, like starlight and sunlight, and he was rooted to the ground at the powerful beauty of that voice.

“Cold,” he ventured at last, struck by the utter inadequacy of that response, “and white. They confine themselves to small existences in a vast world, lest they stretch themselves out and whisper away to nothing at all. It is the only way they can remain human, I think.”

She lifted one hand and beckoned him over and he came without ever really deciding to come, as if snared in a dream he could not control. The comparison might very well be the case: reality bent completely to her will, here. The line between truth and illusion blurred into complete anonymity. Every sight, every sound, every breath, came at her will – down to the rush of his blood racing through his own veins. He came to her but he came carefully, aware that here he tread on Dreams.

The Watching Pool glistening before her was dark, starless night wrapped in blankets of cloud. His eyes were drawn to it, thoughtless. “In Aissur,” he said without meaning to speak, “I dreamed twin dragons of ice and fire crossed first the Sea and then the great fields of ice on the hunt. Two dragons, and yet one. It was a terrible creature, terrible and beautiful, overflowing with a pain that filled the frozen air with Song, and it had golden eyes. I had never felt nor dreamed such a thing before.” He called it to mind, remembering, reliving, and the depths of the pool were filled with the living image of that dream. The cold ice, flashing out to the horizon, stark and unchanging. The force that was both two dragons and one creature with golden eyes. And standing impossibly in its way, two slender shapes with golden hair and a spark of fire between them that would have dimmed the sun. One turned from the other towards the approaching dragon and her wings split the sky and she cried out in a voice filled with its own Song, “do you know what it means to love?” and the words turned the dragon with golden eyes back. The dream slipped away and Sänhein shook his head as if on waking.

“I have never dreamt anything like it,” he confessed, “as if in colors I never knew existed before. It is as if…” and he faltered, but the sharpness in her gaze dared him to press on, and at length he finished: “as if I dreamed of gods.”

Then a stray thought brushed by him and his forehead creased in a frown. “There was an elf girl who walked the path with me,” he said, “but she has not followed me here. I have no idea what might have become of her…”

-..-

Vermin, scrambling after crumbs, unaware of the glory of the sky.

That was the thought that formed and settled in his mind as she spun towards him, startled by some motion of his or perhaps just the contrast he cut against this place. There was a depth of magic here not to be underestimated: it highlighted the edge of every leaf, glimmered among the soft green grass he crushed underfoot, drifted with the alluring scent of flowers he breathed in without noticing it. It lent its luster to the open sky and touched every color with refreshing richness.

He barely noticed. Compared with the crystallized beauty of his own private kingdom, the visual wonders of this world were dross. He moved among them, a tall figure all wrapped up in black, the only touch of color the hesitant gleam of sunlight on his white-gold hair—moved among them and past them as if they were not in this place more beautiful perhaps than anywhere else in the waking world. There was a feline grace to the way he stalked, gliding as much as walking, shoulders squared and perfectly even with the ground. A daring wisp of breeze rifled hesitant fingers through his golden hair. That, and the flicker of his shifting eyes, betrayed the only irregularity in his motion. A panther with an iron spine.

He knew immediately that she had become aware of him, but it took several seconds before he decided he should care. Dark eyes, of a color impossible to describe for there was no living counterpart, shifted to meet her gaze. He lifted one lazy eyebrow but no expression crossed his face. “You haven’t seen any ravens lately have you?” he inquired, his voice droll and melodic, a tenor rolling along somewhere on the border between speech and song. Odd. It would seem fitting that the voice of Death would instill chills of terror, not this… indolent listlessness.

Indifference is the greater part of death.

“No?” der Tod answered himself. “Disappointing.” His gaze drifted idly away and found its way back again. He rolled one shoulder, made a tiny negating gesture. “There is always tomorrow, I suppose.” The ghost of what could not possibly have been a smile. The wind ran a silver finger down the edge of his long jacket, toying with it daringly, deciding it had risked enough and sweeping on. The leaves of the trees were a less troublesome victim to its playfulness.

He let his slow paces circle closer to her, a wide arc with no definite endpoint, vaguely menacing yet without direct threat. “You mortals are all alike,” he mused, shaking his head the tiniest fraction of an inch, “running so hard you forget to breathe.” He lifted an arm her way, an almost possessive motion though feet still separated them and he did not come close to touching her. A great heavy coldness cloaked the air – not a drop in temperature, not felt by limbs or bones, but a shivering in the spirit, as if a great shadow had passed in front of a hitherto unknown sun, marking its presence only by its absence. “Neither life nor love nor glory will save you – and at that final moment you will be glad of it, for you will have no desire to be saved. One day,” he said, letting his hand fall and turning one shoulder away. “your life will flash before your eyes.” He laughed, if it could be called that, brief and bitter and without the slightest hint of humor. At least, none that would make sense to living ears. His slow solemn gaze settled on her and then brushed past, dismissive. “Make sure it’s worth watching.”

[Avarí]

He was here. The moment he stepped into her realm, she was made aware of his presence. There were none who entered of whom she was not constantly aware... save perhaps one. She was impatient. He was here, finally, after so long away, he was here, and she found her patience tested after only a few short minutes. He had been gone the greater part of four – or was it five? Time seemed little more than a word to her at moments, its meaning all but lost to her now – years; she could wait another five minutes for him. He had brought a friend, too. That was nice. Well, he had not exactly brought her, but she was coming as well. What sort of girl was she, this youngling elf? The trees whispered to her in the breeze, a sort of song only a Dreamfarer or Siren could understand. Caressing her cheek, the wind toyed with her hair, brushing the hems of her dress and teasing them to movement. “Sänhein,” she said aloud, to no one but herself, a whisper even among whispers that carried on the air, away from the gardens, until the whole of the forest was tinged with the silver starlight of her voice.

She reached down towards the Watching Pool from her where she sat, one slender hand reaching down to lazily touch the surface of the water, sending shimmering ripples through the liquid, starless night. A noise to her side caused her to look up, a rustling of leaves paired with a soft, excited chirping. She turned her head just in time to see a small orange blur whirr by, before landing deftly on her shoulder and chittering into her dark hair. She laughed, reaching up to stroke the orange gryphus, who closed his eyes contentedly and nuzzling her chin. “And you must be the impressive Akka I’ve heard so much about, hmm?” The little beast gave a cheep of self-important affirmation, causing Avarí to laugh again. “Well, welcome Akka. I hope you enjoy your stay.” With another cheep, the orange fluff ball leapt off her shoulder and quickly zipped once around the small clearing, before throwing himself recklessly into the tall grass where he laid contentedly, smelling the tiny purple-blue flowers that surrounded him. Avarí couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle as the little ball of energy promptly fell asleep. She shook her head, her inky black hair spilling over her shoulders, wondering how he could go from being to energetic to asleep so fast. Smiling to herself, she reached down to stroke his feathered body, and he sighed in response, his tail twitching slightly in reaction to her feather light touch. Returning to her seat by the Watching Pool, she settled herself to wait, toying with a stray lock of hair impatiently.

She did not have to wait much longer. It could not have been but a few more minutes before Sänhein stumbled upon the Watching Pool, seeming almost surprised, as though he had not been expecting to arrive so soon. She looked up, smiling with genuine pleasure at him, her dark eyes capturing his and inviting him forward. They swirled cobalt and midnight blue, fading into dusky purple, a blaze of russet and pink like the glorious flash of sunset over the clouds, always in motion, yet at the same time never changing. “Tell me,” she said, her voice like silver and starlight and moonlight reflected on a lake at night, glimmering softly, “how did you find Aissur?” It was a long moment before he responded.

“Cold,” he said flatly, as though that were the only response he could conjure to explain the vast land of the dragons. “...and white,” he added, continuing.

She lifted one delicate hand in a graceful motion and drew him to her, and he came, not of his own accord, nor of her commanding, but some small measure of both. Tell me, she thought, more wondering than projecting into is mind, tell me what you dreamt in Aissur, Sänhein. What visions did you find in that vast winterland of ice and snow, at the edge of existence? He spoke, and the Watching Pool was filled with the images conjured from his mind, until he had no need for speech. Avarí watched the scene unfold before them with interest, fiddling the duration of the time with what appeared to be a raven’s feather, but larger than that of any raven known in these parts, at the very least. It was easily the length of her forearm, as glossy black and smooth as a shard of liquid night. Where she had gotten it from, there was no telling. It had been impossible to see where she had pulled it from, and there were no purses or bags nearby. When the dream was over, she turned back to Sänhein, brushing the tip of the feather across her lower lip, as if in thought. It was several moments before she spoke, her thoughts turned elsewhere, her eyes lost in concentration as she looked inward, very much in a world of her own.

When she spoke at last, her words were simple, but no more helpful than a riddle. “How do you know you have not dreamt of Gods? You are, after all, a Prophet...”

He mentioned the elf girl she had Seen with him, and her mind turned away from his Dream for the moment. She continued to brush the tip of her feather along her cheek, absentmindedly, while her brows furrowed in concentration... and vexation. “...I can’t see her.” She pulled a face, knitting her brows even further in puzzlement. “Strange,” she whispered to herself, tapping her chin with her feather. “...I don’t underst – oh!” she pulled the feather away from her, looking at it incredulously. “I can’t see her because I can’t see him!” She jumped to her feet in a swift, graceful motion, grabbing Sänhein’s hand as she did so. How to explain...? “Der Tod. Die Rabekriegeren. I cannot see them. It is... part of the nature of Death, or Death’s interactions with the living, to be ever changing, even as it is constant. Every action we make changes the flow of things. Of those possibilities, those futures changed, included are those involved in how we will die, and they are already dead. Because of who – of what they are, being too close to them makes it impossible to predict. Intertwining your fate with theirs makes your own future... disappear.” She sighed, usually relatively easy with her words, with her inability to explain. “I don’t know if that even makes sense to you, but there’s no time to waste. I don’t know – I can’t know – if one of them will decide it is her time or not, but we have to find out. Tell me where you last saw her... show me.”