3. The Mystery of the Eye by Isolde Garibaldi

The Mystery of the Eye by Isolde Garibaldi


  • Dream a Little Dream of Me

    Okay, so that was ~the~ most disturbing thing to date. I hate to say it, but Beeble's improving. And I don't just hate to say it for risking complementing the damned thing, I'm starting to get scared here. Its powers are growing, it's all too evident.

    My latest dream was upsetting to say the least. Not only did Beeble try to worm his way towards accessing my memories ~again~, but he did so by attempting to make me believe my whole life was a work of fiction - that I was just obsessing over the exciting life of Isolde Garibaldi, using it as an escape from my dreary life as a perfectly ordinary waitress in Lyrabar.

    Perfectly ordinary, me? Pfah!

    It began in the same subtle, seamless way as before - a beautiful day, the sun on my face as I made my way towards the Commons, looking for a little light conversation or even better, one of my friends. Instead, a couple at the far end of the otherwise deserted grounds, watching me, whispering to each other and smirking. What 'is' it with the smirks of late - is there some nasty rumour going around about me that I'm unaware of, or is Beeble just trying to fuck with my head in a different way? Ugh! Paranoia, I mean to fight you off.

    The two said not a word to me, but their eyes were fixed on me even as they left the commons. Next came a blue-clad girl with orange hair, friendly enough, expressing admiration for my singing during the siege. Her hair colour had me on edge, and while we spoke, I suddenly got that feeling again - the feeling that I was elsewhere, that there was a pillow underneath my cheek, slightly crinkled. I was asleep, this was a dream… and someone was desperately trying to wake me.

    The commons faded, I sank through a black sea of unconscious thought before I woke up slowly, as though from an extremely heavy slumber. A man's voice nearby, filled with concern. An unfamiliar voice... belonging to an unfamiliar face, middle-aged, plain but kind and obviously caring.

    'Shauna, thank goodness... I thought you'd never wake.'

    My thoughts felt heavy, sluggish as I looked around the small room. What fresh hell was this, to look so 'ordinary' yet strangely familiar?

    'Who are you?', I demanded, sitting up groggily to rub at my eyes. 'Where is this place?'

    The man sighed, his nut-brown eyes filled with weary concern, as though all too familiar with my confusion. His tone was warm and gentle, patient as though speaking to an invalid or a crazy person.

    'I'm Warren Redbrook.. you're in Lyrabar, Shauna, where you live... It's happened again, hasn't it? I'd better get the priestess...'

    He left the room with one last look of worry behind his shoulder, while I frowned and tried to shake the fog from my heavy head, rising to explore the small room. It was cozy, if not luxurious in any way - a small bed, with a surprisingly large and well-stocked book shelf next to it, which immediately drew my attention. I ran my fingers across the books, reading a few of the titles with rising consternation.

    'A Game With Chirade - He sets the rules. Do you dare play?'

    What. The. Hells. I frowned - had Elvadriel's memories been dredged for all the wretched tale to be retold, used as a trap? Damnit Elvadriel!

    ...and damnit Roslyn, I thought with another coil of unease in my gut, reading the next title that stood out:

    'Aesso's Last Performance - Will her Friends Attend?'

    A third title caught my eye, tugged at my cloudy thoughts for attention: 'The Bardess and the Mystery of the Eye'. I tapped the book's back with my fingernail, knew it held significance, but my mind was reeling as the familiarity of the room grew, bringing with it memories of Shauna.

    A birdbath stood in the corner of the room, a sweet little bird perching there, vivid blue with a tuft of bright orange feathers on its head. Nate the Budgie, a little sign read, and I couldn't help but smile. Nate - I loved this bird, he was a gift from Warren, wasn't he?

    I plucked Nate up, gently placing the bird on my shoulder as I continued my exploration of the small room. It chirped affectionately, tugging my simple copper necklace with its beak. I could see my clothes folded up near the mirror, equally simple, but as pretty as a waitress in Lyrabar could make them. Wait, pretty... was I still..?

    I approached the mirror, tentatively, looking at my own reflection in dread. Brown hair in a simple ponytail, brown eyes like my brother, Warren. Plain, like my brother Warren, unremarkable. Ordinary...

    I stared for a long moment, then backed away from the mirror. No.. no, this can't be right! But a cold chill in my gut sang a different song, twisted the proverbial knife. Oh, you 'wish' you were pretty, don't you Shauna? That's why you dream of being someone else...

    I pushed the thought away, wandered over to the opposite side of the room, approaching a set of candles, one scented with honeysuckle and the other with Black Velvet. Ah.. a drink too fancy for our humble inn, I knew, but Warren liked to indulge my fancy sometimes, knowing I yearned for better things. Like the rug, a little worn but fancy and red, reminiscent of the lush carpets described to adorn the floors of the Bardic College..

    I picked the candle up, tried to get Nate to resettle on his perch, but the little bird fluttered right back to me, settled on my shoulder with a softly affectionate chirp. Alright, my sweet Nate, I thought. I'll read to you, that's what we like to do, don't we? Stories are our escape, so which one shall we do today?

    Heading back to the bookshelf, I plucked 'The Bardess and the Mystery of the Eye' from it, musing. 'We've yet to finish this one, have we my sweet?', I crooned to the little bird, who nudged me sweetly with its head. The book belonged to a series, I noticed now: The Adventures of Isolde Garibaldi. It was my absolute favourite, in fact every single title on that shelf was from the same series. 'The Attack on the Ship' - oh, that was a good one, and ooo.. 'The Faraway Warrior Society'.

    I lit the candle, sat on the bed with my book of choice and was just about to start reading it when Warren returned, elven priestess in tow. He soon left again, letting Mother Ga'bri, as she was apparantly called, do her thing.

    She was concerned, just like Warren, but I felt quite content at this point, with my book and my bird for company. I wanted her to leave, to let me finish my book, but she droned on about my unhealthy obsession with the fictional world of Isolde Garibaldi and how it was in my own best interest to let go of it.

    A wave of fierce protectiveness welled up inside me. So what if I'm Shauna, so what if my life isn't filled with whirlwind adventures and romance - my books still ~are~. They're what matter to me, and I'm NOT giving them up.

    I clutched the book in my hands, rose to position myself between the priestess and the bookshelf. 'They're MY books', I said, 'and you're not going to touch them'. The priestess' gentleness waivered, hardened into bossiness, insistance.

    'They're not good for you, Shauna. You NEED to give them up.'

    But I would never give my books up, never. That was the world I wanted to live in, that was the dream I chose to dream. Whether it was 'real' or not didn't even matter, because the books, the stories within, they were the true heart of me. With that resolve burning inside me, I took a closer look at the collection and noticed that not a single one of the books had an author's name anywhere. And there were 'so' many of them... what type of waitress has her own private library?

    'Why are you being so STUBBORN?', exclaimed the priestess.

    Suddenly I noticed - the carpet, the pillows, the priestess' hair were all orange. The same exact hue as the eye on the cover of my book. I focused on the book now, the heavy fogs in my mind lifting, parting. The bardess in blue, a hovering orange eye behind her...

    'Stop that! Look at ME!', the priestess shrieked, but now I remembered, in a rush of clarity.

    'I ~am~ looking at you, Beeble Ravelzilch', I replied, and when looking back at the priestess, I saw through her. Saw the gibbering, quivering eye, twitching in anger. I turned the priestess guise into a squealing hog - my dream, my rules.

    'What do you think you're DOING!?', cried Beeble-Twitch, enraged. I attempted to follow up my stunt by stuffing the pig with apples to shut him up, but he wrestled me for control of the dream, resisting, responding to my taunt of trapping him with a gleeful arrogance:

    'Oh please! You've NO IDEA what I just aquired!'

    He closed the door I intended to leave through to wake up, smug now. Thinking the upper hand was firmly his, Beeble continued:

    'I could've eaten all your nightmares, taken them all away... but instead, I think I'll do the OPPOSITE!'

    A dark, nightmarish maw of a corridor opened up before me, the same hulking, monsterously deformed demon-like figures coming through it. Closer, closer - but I was not done. MY dream, bitch. MINE.

    If one door's gone, I'll just make another. I envisioned it, willed it into being right between us, a glowing candycane door, striped in rainbow caramel hues. I'd better take my things with me, though...

    Snapping my fingers, I sent my books and all the little pieces that were me to flight, folding and fluttering in the air like the tail of a shooting star. Nate chirped triumphantly as I reached for the door, but Beeble screamed in fury.

    'Oh no you don't! We're not DONE here!'

    The door was locked, and the eye leered and puffed, glowing angry red.

    But come ~on~. A lock? I plucked a pin out of my hair, wriggled it into the keyhole and heard the oh so satisfying click of release.

    'So sorry, but I really must dash! Ta ta!', I chirped, stepping through the door just as the monsters down the corridor were almost in grabbing range. I could still hear Beeble Ravelzilch's cries of fury as I began to wake in the twisted silk sheets of M5, sweaty and infinitely relieved.


  • Hither to the Hemways

    I recieved a summons to the Hemway estate, nary a day after the catastrophy of the masquerade. Vanessa Hemway wished to hire me to find her husband, who is still missing and who may or may not have been the blue-masked man. A short while into our discussion, Hen arrived, announcing her willingness to join the investigations.

    We learned the following, from our talk with Vanessa Hemway and the family butler, Monty:

    Garric Hemway had been much absent, barely ever at home in the past several weeks prior to the masquerade. The man in the blue mask had appeared at the estate twice, first briefly and for unknown reasons, the second time making off with the masks that were later handed out as prizes in the masquerade.

    Vanessa had also found out that several of the partygoers were not in fact those she had invited - in speaking to a few friends, she found they had in fact opted against going for feeling tired and sick. So who were these false guests, and how could they have known the person they sought to take the place of wouldn't show?

    In his job as a banker, Garric Hemway travelled abroad frequently. He was successful in his line of work, but in going missing, all his business ledgers had disappeared from his office. So had any pertinent correspondence and notes of a more personal nature, from home. Garric persued wizardry as a hobby, and was particularily interested in his ancestry which related to this in that his father and grandfather were also wizards. His grandfather had in fact established the Hemway name and noble status, though very little was known about him. And past him, nothing at all. Vanessa believed Garric was persuing leads relating to his hobby by working with a city official, a young man with blonde hair.

    Through study of family paintings and comparing heights and recollections of the blue masked man, Hen and I agreed that he is not Garric Hemway - I believe the true Garric is taller, and in hearing Vanessa describe how the masks that were stolen held personal meaning to her and Garric, I feel all the more sure. This means the real Garric Hemway is either abducted or dead.

    Monty, after a little persuasion, told us that for many years, the Hemway household seemed a perfectly normal and rather happy one. However, a few years back, something happened. What, neither he nor Vanessa would speak of, but Garric grew sterner, more reclusive and secretive, more and more distanced to his family. A few weeks back, his mood grew increasingly anxious, his temper flaring, and all enjoyment seemingly lost. He kept away from his wife and daughter, yet would quizz Monty on their activities, growing very agitated if he was slow to respond to his letters. Hen believes he was being blackmailed, and in a way I agree. But it wasn't due to his business dealings, but rather his hobby.

    When Vanessa told me that the orange eye is in fact the Hemway family symbol, there was a giant CLICK in my head. Of course, that must be it! Garric Hemway's mysterious grandfather, the founder of the house, chose the symbol. And he did so, for being the very mage who constructed the prison that holds Beeble Ravelzilch within! Oh, I love the feeling of ~revelation~!

    Later, in speaking to Garric's city hall helper - who turned out to be the lovely Tristyn with whom I'd worked on the Chirade case! - my hunch was strengthened by his findings. Duran Hemway, a skilled mage and gemcaster, became known and wealthy through his ability to imbue gems with powerful spells. This skill is what lay foundation to his family's wealth and noble status, but Duran himself seemed to come out of nowhere, there being no records to find on his parents. Amazing skill and no past? Sounds quite a lot like Aesso…

    Important side-note:

    In the midst of my conversation with Tristyn, he stepped out to fetch us some tea. He says he was gone for no more than a couple of minutes, but in that short time, I fell asleep. And my dream was so deceptively realistic, I had no idea I was dreaming. Worse still, I was lured along by what appeared to be one of my best friends, Elvadriel.

    She came for me at the College, said she needed my help with investigating some oddities in the Ettin Caves and off we went, cheerily as ever. She looked like Elvadriel, ~acted~ like Elvadriel down to every smallest detail, jesting, rhyming, exclaiming, speaking of things only she and I know the full details of - but showed less and less interest in the Ettins, and more and more in the story of the masquerade she so unfortunately missed out on.

    In hearing about Beeble Ravelzilch and the magical prison, she grew excited, instantly proclaiming it was a Night Hag, easily dealt with. Why don't we just go there right now, and deal with the matter once and for all? It'll be easy, we're just that brilliant! Meanwhile, I was beginning to feel the cold tendrils of suspicion, made stronger the more she insisted. Finally, she began to open a portal right there in the caves, glowing a brilliant orange.

    'Come on, hurry up!', insisted 'Elvadriel', but now I knew. And suddenly I noticed... her gown, a peculiar shade of orange. The portal, bright orange. Her hard-necked scoffing when I mentioned Garric Hemway... whom she claimed to know as a ghastly man, stubborn and refusing to aid in important matters. 'Just forget about him!', she'd chirped.

    'Just forget about Garric Hemway', the blue-masked man had said to me, after I'd left the Hemway estate that night. A warning, a threat.

    Beeble Accursed Ravelzilch! In my dream, ~again~, with the GALL to wear the guise of my friend! I felt furious, violated, and chilled to the bone - because it lacks the skills to get that level of detail down, not to mention it's a horrible actor... unless it has real, first-hand memories to draw on. How could she have been so stupid, so careless, after ~knowing~ I had that dream?

    'She took the first deal', said Beeble with a gleeful gibber, 'and she's not the only one! You think you're on to me? You're TEN STEPS behind!'

    Damnit, Elvadriel! I wanted to believe it a lie, but it can't be. My best friend's memories can now be used against me, against anyone this leech decides to try and manipulate to orchestrate his freedom.

    After asking Tristyn to help me trace other gems of Duran's making, I went to see Horgrim Blackweave at the Witch and Seer. The ogre mage was less than thrilled to see me, but listened reluctantly. Of the green gem, he had this to say:

    It belonged to a wizard by the name of Duran Hemway, and held a great deal of enchantment and illusory magic, but also worked as a spell crystal. The piece itself was unique, but he considers it likely there could be others of a similar, if not identical nature.

    So check, check and I hope to the gods, check.

    I also picked Horgrim's brains on the subject of the Dreamscape, or as he insists is more proper, the Region of Dreams, sister realm to the plane of nightmares.

    The dreamscapes are an ever changing and shifting section of the plane, and it also has a region of wildly shifting energies where abandoned dreams break down. At the edge of Dreamheart is a portal leading to a demiplane, known as the plane of nightmares. It was once part of the region of Dreams itself, but got sectioned off by a group of wizards seeking power by tapping into dreams. Some believe the nightmare plane links to the far realms of madness, and assuredly insanity and fear run rampant there.

    The plane of nightmares has two natural borders - one to the Region of Dreams, the other to the Fugue Plane. It is highly rare, if not impossible, to create a portal to either realm, Horgrim pointed out, and also said it's important to remember there is power in dreams. Creatures exist in the dreamscapes which can be very real, do real and lasting damage - if you let them.

    Many creatures exist within the region of dreams and the plane of nightmares, and though not a perfect fit, Horgrim mentioned one of these to me, in some if not full detail. The so called 'Dream Vestige' is a necromantic entity, undead but also nightmarish in nature. It has many faces, each dispairing and moaning, and has a certain weakness which unfortunately Horgrim could not remember at the time. The Dream Vestige feeds on nightmares to sustain itself, and according to some, consumes the souls of mortals.

    A horrible, horrible being - but not perhaps the ideal fit for our gibbering eye, although I've often likened it to a leech or a parasite, feeding off experiences and memory. Perhaps it just uses these to build better, stronger nightmares with, or as a means of manipulating people to do its bidding?

    I need to find out more. I need to warn people, to remind those who have forgotten and hinder those who would take this 'thing's' deals out of curiosity, ignorance or longing for fame or... or like Vanessa, longing for past and happier days.

    I need to trust my friends, but how do I tell dream from reality when their memories are at Beeble's disposal? Even Roslyn shared, she'd just forgotten about it until we spoke.

    Ugh!


  • To Sleep, Perchance to Dream...

    Beeble Ravelzilch

    That's what it calls itself, this creature invading and manipulating the dreams of an increasing number of people in Narfell of late. In appearance, it resembles a single, floating orange lidded eye, with a pitch black pupil, leering and jittering slightly in the air. Its voice is strange, staticky, gibbering, typically employing a friendly and enthused manner of speaking. Often overly enthused, growing pushy and insistant if resisted, then downright threatening. The eye grows large and fiery when angered, vibrating faster as though about to burst. It is entirely possible the eye is just the favoured guise this creature wears, and its actual appearance is something different entirely.

    In my first encounter with this being, it trapped me in a magically induced sleep which lasted two days - so long in fact, that Elvadriel burst into my room to try and wake me from the strange sleeping beauty syndrome. The dream began so subtly that I was unaware I was even dreaming at first - it seemed another day in the swamplands, idly relieving kobolds of their shiny gems, until candelabra started appearing - looking very much like those in the College. Then a bookshelf, a desk…

    At this point, I knew something was not right, but thought some mystery mage was playing tricks on me. As I attempted to detect magic around me, a hin with a violin appeared - the same one I had played with, for Aesso's first gem retrieval. He seemed to echo words spoken at that time, then vanished. After the hin came another familiar figure - Captain Talbot, cold hard eyes narrowed at me, making threats. He loomed over me, grew taller and taller until a veritable giant. He grabbed me with an enormous hand, and everything went black.

    When I came to, the scenery was different. I was back in Aesso's magical realm, falling apart all around me. Colours swirling, red, blue, green and white, the only solid point existing being Horgrim's gnarled staff, buried squarely into the center of the crumbling little universe. Everything was falling apart, and I clung to the staff to not fall too, but far, far above my head I saw her - Aesso, tumbling helplessly upwards in a maelstrom of disintegrating magic. Her clothes tattered, her face worn, and that heartbreaking last thumbs up. I could just about see her lips move, forming the words.. 'Aesso out'. Then everything burst apart, exploded into blinding lights.

    When my vision cleared, I was elsewhere again. A small island, a chunk of vaguely familiar space hanging in a void. The furniture was all bits and pieces from the College, strewn haphazardly across the small space, and next to a large mirror a figure appeared. Chirade, dressed in soft green. A gentle man, the man he once was, when his wife was still alive. But as we spoke, his face flickered, eyes returning to that cold, cruel malice before he too faded.

    And then my true visitor appeared - Beeble Ravelzilch, gleeful and excited, complimenting me on how colourful my mind was. It was a dream, all of it, and I became suddenly aware of it, knowing the coolness of a pillow beneath my cheek somewhere else. I had never left the bed that morning...

    Beeble Ravelzilch bid me sit at the table as it cheerfully begun to present a series of offers to me, wonderful, generous offers it insisted, which would be so much FUN! I could have vivid, lucid, magnificent dreams through Beeble - I could walk through my own memory lane, revisit the most cherished moments of my life, attempt to rewrite the bad... all I had to do was let Beeble access my memories, all of them. 'Just a peek!', the eye insisted, eagerly. Too eagerly.

    I knew I was sleeping, sensed that if I wanted to, I could probably will myself to wake. But who was this creature, and why did it want my memories? What's its game? I was curious, and stayed for Beeble to explain its second, more far reaching offer - and I could tell, this is what it ~really~ wanted. Surrender your memories entirely, give them up and it would fill me completely, like a muse. I would become AMAZING, adored, admired by all - I just wouldn't remember anything about my past life.

    Like Aesso?

    I happen to think I'm amazing enough in my own right, and moreso, I have absolutely no intention of letting anyone inside my head to rummage through my innermost secrets and most private memories. I declined the second offer, then the first, to Beeble's increasing frustration. The more I resisted, the angrier it got, until finally it shook with rage, huge and fiery red. At the same time, I could feel my actual body being shaken, Elvadriel's frantic voice from far away. 'Isolde, wake up!'

    'I'm not done with you yet!', cried the angry eye, but I blocked it's gibbering out, focused my will. I would wake up, I ~would~. And I did. But upon waking, all recollection of Beeble Ravelzilch had faded from my mind. I remembered the dream in vivid detail, I remembered the deal as an idea, a concept - but not a single detail of who had made the offer.

    My next dream came to me after the invitation to the Hemway masquerade had been delivered by a mysterious well-dressed man in a blue mask. I came across him in the corridor behind the stage, despite Christina later claiming she had never seen him enter or leave. I believe now that he came through the rooftop door, but at the time I was mystified. He was silent at first, simply holding the invitation card out, but upon prompting spoke in a voice garbled by the mask's modulating magic. I was a guest of honour for the masquerade, whose host is someone who owed me a debt of gratitude. The event was to be held in honour of past heroic achievements, a time to celebrate and remember. 'Sweet Dreams of our Jewel', the theme of the evening, according to the man, who upon leaving bid me just that. Sweet dreams.

    And I dreamed. First, a variety of images swirling through my head - Aesso hanging in the air, Chirade in black, pale faces trapped in those horrific cylinders. But when the scene set, it was unexpectedly pleasant.

    I stood atop a wall, in a city vaguely familiar in feel and appearance. Below me, an adoring crowd, shouting and cheering, hanging on my every word and motion. I wore a blue, flashy tunic, shimmering with starlight - that too felt familiar, as though I had seen it before - but what was truly recognizable was the baton in my hand. Aesso's baton, the prototype to the marble rod which followed. I had the strange sensation of reliving something not my own, as though this was ~her~ memory, that I was in her shoes. And perhaps I was.

    As I swung the baton, the performance flowed so easily, so effortlessly. My every thought and notion manifesting in glorious, sparkling detail, to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. It was lovely, but it felt distinctly not my style - and after a while, ~he~ appeared again. Beeble Ravelzilch, gleeful and optimistic as ever, as though this time, I'd just agree to anything. The dream was a gift, the eye insisted, and wasn't it just great? I could have more of the same, I could ~be~ just that great, if I just took the deal. Or yet another modification of the deal - just a peek at my bad memories, just a select glance!

    Damnit, you hovering peeping dream invader - no means no.

    I refused once more, and Beeble Ravelzilch gibbered and twitched in frustration. 'Why are you so STUBBORN', it exclaimed. 'Why are you resisting!? I'll just have to be less NICE...'

    The crowd below was silent and still now, frozen in motion. The light dimmed, then a darkened corridor opened up, from which I could see nightmarish figures approaching, strange and hulking demonlike figures, horribly deformed. The corridor opened like a gaping maw, threatening to engulf me, but something inside me rebelled.

    This is MY dream, I decided. My dream, my rules! And it was, I wrested control of it to the very satisfying surprise and anger of Beeble Ravelzilch. 'Who ARE you!?', the eye cried, as I shut the nightmare corridor down, and rained a hailstorm of colourful, fluffy teddybears down upon it. Oh, it was such wicked fun, I would have stayed to do more damage yet, but chose to quit while ahead, waking up safely in my bed.

    But again, I'd forgotten the one, pertinent detail of Beeble Ravelzilch.

    The masquerade invitation had an 'H' on it, stamped against the symbol of an orange, lidded eye... it jarred and tugged at my subconscious, but I still couldn't remember. I knew something was fishy, and in the days leading up to the event, I did my best to find out more, sleuthing about and learning more of the Hemway family, the hosts of the spectacle as it happened.

    However, the leading figure, the initiative taker for the whole event, Garric Hemway, had gone missing. His wife approached me, furious and under the belief that I was his mistress, that this is the reason why he has of late been a large contributor to the College's funding and why he had been avoiding her. Meanwhile the daughter of the family was also livid with me, accusing me of theft of the invitation. I was not on the guest list, she shrieked, storming off.

    It turns out the blue mask is one of lady Hemway's own creations, as are the masks given out as prizes in the masquerade. Did this mean the man in blue was Garric Hemway, or was he an impostor and a thief? No one knew for sure, and though I saw the man once more before the ball, handing out an invitation to Arnie, I couldn't quite make heads or tails of it all, though I gathered a fair deal of scattered information.

    When I was right in the process of dolling up for the masquerade, another dream snared me. This one had an imp summoning me to a meeting - I was already late, and the higher ups were not pleased. I should hurry! A red haze cloaked the Masters Quarters, and as I waited by one of the desks in utter confusion, Captain Talbot approached, complete with devilish horns. He was indeed not pleased, and began to ask probing questions about what I'd been up to, what I had learned about Garric Hemway and the blue-garbed man. It was meant to be threatening, I'm sure, but something about it tickled me instead, and I was certain it must be a dream.

    That's when Beeble Ravelzilch appeared again, visibly annoyed. I got lippy and we had a little shouting match, during which the eye tauntingly said it didn't 'need' me anymore, someone ELSE had taken the deal, and I'd never guess who! I woke in anger, but the dream faded fast. All I could recall this time was Talbot with devil's horns, asking insistant questions about something vague, all details dissipating.

    Then came the masquerade itself, in which the group of adventurers attending experienced one and the same dream, masterminded by - you guessed it, Beeble Ravelzilch. An orange haze hung in the air, the sweet scent of lilac and daffodils mingling with the dulcet tones of a summer serenade. It began with a messenger clad in orange, storming into the ball room to shout that Lord Hemway had been abducted by an 'evil mage' and adventurers were needed to rescue him!

    We were directed towards the nearby orcs cave, fighting our way past increasingly vicious foes. A cage within the main room held a halfling woman, also clad in orange, reminiscent of Aesso in a vague way. We rescued her and she urged us to hurry up and save her master, lord Hemway.

    In the innermost chamber, past a truly vicious warchief orc with an oddly childish demeanour, a portal leading through to a cavernous place. Here, we found an ogre mage stuck in another cage, this one vaguely reminding me of Horgrim Blackweave. The 'evil mage' had trapped him, and if we tried to release him, it would release the storybook monsters from the bookshelves surrounding the cage. 'But please, rescue me', the ogre implored. 'I'll help you fight them!'

    So we did, pushing on to find the evil mage himself awaiting near a winding cavern opening leading up. An elven male, greatsword on his shoulder... a very unconvincing Chirade. In fact, every character encountered in that place had the same strange and enthused, immature mannerisms... and we all sensed something was wrong by this point. It was a trap, a dream, but what for?

    Curiosity saw us move onwards, through a set of riddle doors and towards a glowing, highly magical structure. A prison, with 'Garric Hemway' within. 'Free me!', he cried, as eager and enthused, as alike in speech and level of maturity as the rest. Not at all like the Garric Hemway I had had described to me - distant, secretive, controlling.

    Too eager - much too eager. We all sensed it, and questions arose instead of an instant rescue attempt. Eventually, frustrated and shouting that there wasn't much time, 'Hemway' melted away to reveal instead a certain orange, hovering eye... Beeble Ravelzilch.

    Upon seeing it, I remembered. I remembered ~everything~, and could see recognition on several other faces around me. Roslyn and Nuwairah, certainly - the latter had already spoken of a dream with an offer attached, when I described parts of my own in our way through the maze. She said she had been offered something like the perfect fights, but declined.

    Beeble kept gibbering, kept up the friendly front and eagerly insisted on release, and though not everyone seemed to think him a threat, no one was willing to spring him from the cage without knowing who and what he is. I was by far the most belligerent, though I rather suspect I'm the only one to have experienced Beeble's bad side so far.

    A green apparatus stood next to the cage, the powering of the prison itself, the 'bars' of which hinder nearly all types of magic to pass through. Two dark green gems were set into the surface of it, but the third slot was empty, the gem meant to fit inside it missing. Our arcanists could sense that the prison now allowed magic from the schools of Illusion and Enchantment through, likely due to the missing gem, the likes of which we could only find on the prime.

    The gems...

    A green gem, set into Aesso's marble rod. The rod which then broke, disintegrated into the sands... the dreams had started seeping through shortly after, hadn't they? Beeble Ravelzilch seemed to confirm this, a little miffed that Aesso had tried to go her own way even while being his host, but in the end he'd gotten his way. The gem was broken, and he had the gall to thank me. This, apparantly, is the debt of gratitude my true masquerade host claimed to owe me.

    Ugh!

    I'm going to see that prison mended, sealed up tight no matter what it takes. I shouted out as much, giving Beeble the middle finger as the dream finally ran its course. We woke up in the ball room, groggily, with just a few of us still remembering.


  • Prelude

    It started with a girl, as all the best stories do; a bright and shining girl who entered my life in a flash of swirling colour. Aesso brought a wild, irresistable joy with her, an antidote to the darkness and despair I was struggling not to drown in at the time. When loss, strife and heartbreak threatened to rob me of hope and turn bitter all the sweet flavours of life, there she was, a kindred spirit the likes of which one happens across but once in a lifetime.

    Aesso had a dream; a big, bold, impossible dream of showing to her friends, to herself, to the world itself just how ~amazing~ it could be. She wanted to transform the world and paint it with the same bright rainbow colours bursting from within herself, and despite my apprehension, despite the danger, despite my newfangled fear of all good things falling apart, I helped gather the pieces she needed for her magical instrument. I helped, but some small, broken part of me struggled to trust in her dream, to take that leap of faith.

    In the wake of her final performance, Aesso disappeared. This is the story of after - and how I came to believe in the possibility of the impossible.