3. The Mystery of the Eye by Isolde Garibaldi

The Mystery of the Eye by Isolde Garibaldi


  • Playing Catch-Up

    Garric Hemway is now resting, without orange dreams tormenting him, in his own bed in Peltarch. Roslyn and I managed to get an able party together for the effort, consisting of Ginger, Rasuil, Belia, Gnarl and Nuwairah besides the pair of us, and though not without significant danger and spilling of blood, both our own and that of House Finhund, we found the cave, traversed its traps and puzzles and got Garric out unscathed.

    The aid of the snowgoblin tribe we'd ran into previously saw our path considerably shortened through the dangerous ogre territories, though Ginger twitched a bit, looking very much inclined to murder the lot of them regardless. Still, everyone kept their focus, kept their cool and stayed alive throughout, despite the Finhund crew's considerably augmented power through Beeble's dubious blessings.

    Nuwairah's apparantly the grand prize winner of the masquerade (oh yes, admit the sour grapes feeling Isolde, then let it go!) and used the clock to halt time itself when the Finhund enchantress held the sleeping Garric Hemway at swordpoint. This, coupled with Rasuil's rather frighteningly potent mask of desire, saw the woman completely disabled, though again Beeble manifested itself in angry orange possession afterwards, screaming and twitching irately.

    I do believe we're ticking the evil eye off in increasing degree, and this, at least, is a win that feels entirely like one. I feel like we're finally catching up, but have to stay running to make good on our advances. Dreamcatchers, pamphlet.. get those out, cut off more 'food' for Beeble and then deal with the last remnants of House Finhund. Get the green gem, and ~then~ we can turn our attention and the sharp finger of blame where it's most decidedly due.

    ~

    Dreamcatchers - the how-to-guide according to Elaliel Mooncloud, priestess of Sehanine Moonbow, the Lady of Dreams, include the following elements: a circular frame with a net or web of string within, feathers, pixie dust and prayers. The better quality of components the better, but most importantly, pixie dust!

    Rude did an ~extremely~ embarrassing hip-thrusting dance infront of said priestess, though luckily she found it nothing but amusing, gathering up the dust debris and promising to provide the necessary prayers if we got her the catchers themselves and the pixie dust. Veeery keen on the pixie dust…

    So - the better the quality of armour, the safer we shall all sleep and the lesser will our evil eye grow. I spent the entirety of lady Hemway's reward for Garric's return and then some on purchasing the finest stuff to work with: ash and balsa wood, avariel feathers, beads of moonstone, amethys and crystal, elven-twined silk string in a light silver hue - all that, but three helping apprentices who spend 90 % of their time doing everything but making dream catchers.

    Ugh!

    Vanoogle totally trashed the lounge, and even after Ros and I spent all evening cleaning up, the place looks like a war zone, plaster and pieces of wood panelling blasted right off the walls. Meanwhile Sprocket steals avariel feathers for his girlfriend and Olil sighs in brooding melancholy, tying nothing but raven feathers in her dreamcatchers, and Jessica Hemway screeches about how much trouble I'm in.

    Which, for once, is actually true. Not that it was MY fault! I should've known to supervise them though, if there's one thing bards never do, it's follow directions.

    Siiiigh.

    But I'll have to leave them to their own devices again, because that pixie dust isn't going to collect itself. I'm hitting Rude's old glen to see if maybe they'll be a) happy to see him or b) thankful that I took him away. Either works, but just in case, I'm preparing a song as a bribe and/or rythm-making enticement.

    Needs to be a properly peppy one...

    ~

    Pixie dust: CHECK! About a thousand dreamcatchers and counting: CHECK! Vanoogle, Sprocket and Olil, once they finally started working together, came up with the most brilliant method of manufacturing the things. I mean seriously, brilliant! It's worth the hours of manual labour and the scolding by mister Blue-tot, for sure!

    So, just need to get Elaliel's blessings set in place, then these babies are ready to be handed out. Woo!

    Once we've covered the home base, as best I can think of anyway, we can turn our attention to a more dangerous but pressing matter - the last dot on Tristyn's map, the last unchartered location of the Night Parade's old haunts. That's where we'll find the rest of the hounding Finhunds, and with any luck, a big ol' chunk of dark green stone, the like of which was ruined in the mages tower.

    Garric Hemway, stubbornly up on his feet way before Monty would've liked him to (I overheard arguing in the hallway), told us just what that stone really is - dream jade, a rare mineral which holds many unusual properties. It's the stuff Aesso's gem was made of, and while Horgrim described some of its magic already, that was only the half of it.

    'Tell me', he asked me with a shrewd look in his eyes, 'have you felt that you've been walking in someone else's shoes of late? Looking over their shoulders, in a sense?'

    Aesso. In every dream, Aesso, seeing through her eyes, feeling what she felt. 'That instrument of hers, did you do anything with it - was she the only one to play it?'

    I sat astride it, guiding and directing the rod's motions in pixie form while Jonni held it, wringing the last of its failing magic out to get us home. Garric spoke of transference, that the dream jade not only functioned somewhat as a spell crystal, but could also retain memories, dreams, as well as power dreamcasting, enabling skilled spellcasters to open portals to the Region of Dreams and the plane of Nightmares.

    'Beeble Ravelzilch is a parasite', Garric went on to say. 'He needs a host, and once that host dies, he consumes them'. Eating away their memories, their dreams, their very essence until there's nothing left - of Duran, there was nothing left. Vanished, like Aesso, but the likeness stretches further still. Like Aesso, Duran took the deal but somehow managed to remember. He remembered who he was and he fought back, creating the prison which holds Beeble though did not choose to kill him. Garric said this was not because it can't be done - Dream Vestiges can certainly die, they're just frustrating to fight and very skilled at messing with your head - but rather because Duran seemed to have a soft spot for Beeble.

    Perhaps Duran felt responsible, having been part of the group creating this altered and self-aware being, perhaps he felt a sort of affection or attachment to it - but there might have been other reasons still.

    Duran created the prison, the three gems that bind it together all on the prime, kept separate for safety reasons. One was buried in his grave - the one that Aesso and the Deepwood Court recovered. Garric very strictly laid out for us what he believes are the only three options available for dealing with Beeble Ravelzilch:

    1. Plug the hole in the fence (my original plan). Repair the original prison by finding a replacement gem, and bind it to the other two. This is the safest option, and the most easily doable, yet Garric noted that the prison had been slowly fading in power since Duran's days. Beeble had reached Aesso, after all, even with the three gems intact. A fair point and something to consider.
    1. Make a new prison. This requires new dream jade, and the assistance of skilled and powerful arcanists, more potent than Garric himself. The likes of Maria perhaps, Elvadriel and Horgrim? Definitely not for my feeble spellcraft skills.
    1. Kill Beeble Ravelzilch. This is Garric's by far favourite option, and I'll admit, the prospect of putting a definitive, final dot at the end of the line would feel good. It's doable too, in fact Garric believes that this is what Aesso was attempting to do in her last performance.

    Dream Vestiges become vunerable when exposed to positive emotion, while the negative feeds them. Aesso's magical realm, filled with the whimsical, colourful, kooky and ~amazing~ essence of herself, was supposed to be amplified manyfold through her friends and overwhelming the parasite within with happiness and wonder. In essence, killing Beeble with sheer joy.

    It's such a brilliant plan, so very Aesso! Unfortunately it didn't work, we had one too many unbelievers and nay-sayers there, added to the incompleteness of the rod itself… but it fits with what she told me when we fell through the void. He's ~afraid~ of me, and that's why.

    Still.

    What if Duran had good reason not to kill Beeble? What if that orange leech is the key to retrieving Aesso, given their close bond? He threatened to do harm to her earlier, as if he had her in his grasp, but I don't think he can. I think she's outside his control, she found a loop hole somewhere, an 'inbetween'.

    Garric believes the dream I had of falling was more than just a dream, but insists it's impossible that I could have interacted with Aesso there, as if my experiences were but echoes, her memories bleeding into mine through the dream jade.

    Aesso believed in the impossible - and so do I. She heard me sing, I know it in my heart. She's still out there, 'somewhere'. I am not ready to close the door to the possibility of the impossible.


  • Tristyn

    The man who set me up, who decieved me, betrayed me, tried to kill me and all the others. The man who abducted Garric Hemway, brought his family name to new lows and saw to the murder of their friends, the Kildorns.

    I'd trusted him, I'd trusted him without question, been so stupidly happy to see him that all the warning signs had gone unheeded. No wonder Garn Whitedune was confident, with his ringleader right there in the cell - no wonder James had been trembling, whispering that 'he' was always watching.

    'There's no magic in the Hemway brew, Isolde.'

    'Are you alright? You seem to have fallen asleep, Isolde.'

    'I've got a location for a mages circle reported to have possessed one of Duran's gems, Isolde.'

    Lies, misdirection and entrapment. I should be furious, I should be screaming, demanding to know the why, the how ~could~ you. How could you do this to me, Tristyn?

    All this went through my head as I approached the cell with Roslyn close by, talking my way past Talbot's two sneering guards, but as I looked through the bars to see him there, bound and gagged, his blonde hair matted and an air of hopeless defeat to his every fiber, all I felt was a stinging sense of regret, a stab of unsuppressable sympathy.

    Bound and gagged, locked behind bars by Captain Talbot's rough-shod regime. Like last time, so much like last time that it threatened to bring tears to my eyes. The fear in his eyes then, the confusion and pain. He thought us phantoms, illusions created by Chirade in another cruel game of trickery, raising his hopes only to dash them, smash them to ever smaller shards until there was nothing left.

    It took our best efforts then to convince him his rescue was real, that we were real, and Elvadriel drove the dark magic still sunk into him out. The magic was banished, but not the memories. Not the knotwork of sundered emotion, of hope and faith lost and tangled. I ~knew~ he wasn't alright, I knew he had no family, was a reserved and serious type of person. But I just went on with my life, never once thinking to reach out, to check how he was doing.

    We were never close, Tristyn and I - yet somehow, surviving Chirade grants a certain camradery to my mind. I know full well I got off easy by comparison, but I saw the damage done, saw the dark seeds it planted in us all. One man's pain and loss, inflicted unto others, spread on in turn.

    The dream fodder for a creature like Beeble Ravelzilch, who can consume the nightmares and earn the gratitude and service of a clever but lonely man, all in one go. I don't condone or excuse Tristyn's choices, but I understand it. I understand it all too well, and the vicious cycle behind it. That's why I decided to forgive him, in the midst of our questioning.

    He wasn't expecting that.

    ~I~ wasn't expecting that, but the words spilled out, demanding to be said. The hug I'd never offered at his previous low, I could not resist giving now, and it shook his composure like nothing else had. He told us everything, told us of his own actions, ordering the deaths of the too nosy Kildorns at the hands of the Whitedunes on Beeble's request.

    He told us of the abduction of Garric Hemway and where he was held, kept in a sleep-induced state so that Beeble could continually probe for answers on the prison that Duran Hemway constructed. Duran, who Beeble claims is 'responsible for how he looks'. Duran who took the deal and broke it, just like Aesso.

    Tristyn said Garric had found and read his ancestor's journals, but burnt them when suspecting his enemies were close - and so they needed him alive. House Finhund are guarding him, in a cave not far from the one we were taken to in the far off Giantspires. Retrieving Garric is now our first priority, to my mind.

    For all that he did, Beeble's abandoned Tristyn now. He's having nightmares again. I wonder if a dream-catcher would help?


  • Aesso's Secret

    Talbot, keen to persuade us to take a token part of his regiment along on the quest for the green gem, sent over two items taken from Tristyn besides the map itself - a mask and an amulet, both bearing the mark of the Night Parade.

    The mask, beautifully crafted and seemingly designed with the specific intent of strengthening one's will power and ability to manipulate the dreamworld, covered only the top half of my face, comfortable enough that I chose to wear it near constantly for the days and nights that followed, while I worked on my 'Beware the Beeble' pamphlets.

    Early one morning, night having bled into day before I even realized it, I walked into Hemrod's to sell a few things and maybe find a useful scroll or two to replace what I'd spent. But weariness crept up on me, snuck warm and languid tendrils all around, tugging softly.

    Hemrod complimented my mask, querying whether I would be interested in selling it and then moved on to chit-chatting endlessly about an exciting new knife of gnomish make - meanwhile, my head swam and his voice blurred into white noise, with just the odd snippet here and there dechifferable by my increasingly sleepy mind. Finally he thrust the knife into my hands, smiling blithely. Had I bought it, was it a gift? I could scarcely remember, but smiled back and walked outside, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

    No, not now Isolde… too much to do, mustn't let sleep take you now. Fight it!

    I stretched, yawned, asked for strong, hot tea and opted for the hard wooden chairs by the dinner table in the lounge as I kept working, but all in vain. My head nodded forwards, my eyelids drooped inexorably closed, and the table infront of me seemed suddenly the softest, most tempting pillow to lean against.

    I'll just rest my eyes... just a little while.

    Sleep claimed me instantly, and as I drifted from the waking world, it seemed to fall apart around me, dissolving into pieces, drifting upwards, falling into a dark void. And so did I, I fell through deepest darkness and kept falling, past glittering constellations of stars.

    Ahead of me, a white blur, a shimmering flicker of light, falling as I was.

    I curled up, made myself small and fell faster still, starlight streaking past at the edge of my vision. I caught up and I saw, I saw ~her~. The white light, the shooting star: Aesso.

    Aesso, falling blissfully through space with her arms and legs spread wide, her hair billowing like the tail of a comet. She saw me and she smiled, oh that true and sparkling smile as I reached for her hand, holding it tight as we fell together. 'Isolde!', she exclaimed, happily.

    Aesso's cheer is true and bright, lit up from within her - this wasn't Beeble's trickery, it couldn't be, I knew it, I felt it in my bones as we laughed, drifting in a joyous dance of reunion.

    I told her we missed her, that we'd been looking for her ever since she disappeared, but she just laughed. 'I'm right here!' She looked so happy, until I told her, shouted across the whirl and whoosh of our endless descent, that the aftermath of her performance had seen the orange leech stir trouble.

    'Oh NO!', she cried, alarmed. 'The performance was supposed to fix it, fix it for everyone!' She had taken the deal, she admitted so with much regret, when she was feeling lonely and sad. Somewhere along the way, she'd realized her mistake and tried to correct it.

    'You can do it, Isolde', she said and squeezed my hand tightly. 'You can! You want to know a secret? Want to know why he's coming after you so hard? It's the same reason he came after me - he's AFRAID!'

    She smiled, that radiant optimism returning and we twirled again as she shouted the rest across the space dividing us.

    'Don't let him win! Don't let him project that fear unto you!'

    'We'll get him, we're stars, Aesso', I replied, though she countered: 'My starlight is only borrowed, but you, you really are amazing!' But so is she - the heart of her shone through even Beeble Ravelzilch's dominion. He took her memories, but he could never claim that light. I'm sure of it, I shouted it to her as the world began to blur.

    I fell, I fell towards a piece of earth, a place suspended in the void. Her hand was no longer in mine, but when I landed, there she was.

    Aesso, sitting by a moonlit stream with Silvia the Fey, her little feet splashing in the water, sharing a mug of mead and a quiet conversation. 'That' conversation... it must be a memory, I thought, drifting closer like a ghost, unnoticed.

    Aesso was quiet, troubled, before asking in a very small voice, staring into her mug: 'Do you know Sarah Snow..?' As Silvia began to shake her head in gentle consternation, their voices dropped low, inaudible. Aesso wept, heartbroken and forlorn, while Silvia mumbled soft soothing somethings.

    I couldn't stand it, it tore my heart apart to watch, and so I tried to reach out, resting my hand on her shaking shoulder. It was a memory, I was just observing, reliving it... but I could've sworn she noticed, a sob suddenly catching in her throat.

    And then I saw, I saw so clearly in a rush of images: a brown-haired, unspectacular looking halfling girl performing in a grubby slum theatre, with sticks, strings and puppets. The crowd jeered, a rotten tomato flew through the air. Her hopeful smile faltering. And then her bedroom, a small inn room, achingly familiar... Lyrabar, Shauna?

    Oh ~Sarah~! My heart contracted painfully. I knew, I ~knew~ her dreams, her hopes, her past - I'd dreamed all that, seen it through her eyes and I understood, I understood with perfect clarity why she'd taken the deal, reliving those memories with her. I had to hold her, had to tell her it would be alright, somehow.

    Ghostly, ethereal, I knelt behind Aesso to wrap my arms around her gently. She stopped crying, seemed to lean a little into my embrace. I sang a lullaby from my childhood's Lyrabar, and she tilted her head, as though listening, as though she could hear me, swaying ever so slightly to the melody. The hint of a smile returning to her face.

    And then I woke, my head on my arms, resting against the wooden table in the lounge. Despite the odd sleeping position, I woke feeling more rested and peaceful than I have done for weeks.


  • The Man in the Blue Mask

    Intent on following the lead our dream-inducing bouquet of flowers had provided us with, Roslyn and I gathered a party of helpers. Knowing the sort of trouble Hen and I had found ourselves with in our much smaller operation, I felt good about having the solid dwarven assistance of Maythor and Vanderkaus, alongside brave Grorg and multi-talented Ginger on our side.

    We sought out Tristyn at City Hall, and found he had prepared a teleportation spell to take us to our destination. A little strange, I thought, having gotten the impression that our mystery spot was a building within the city itself - but then again, sleep has been scarce and rather filled with struggles of late. I've found that whatever I fail to jot down in my notes, I can't really rely on remembering these days. I thought nothing more of it, and after a quick briefing, we all held hands as Tristyn cast the spell to send us off and away.

    Teleportation, ugh - I'll never get used to that strange feeling of dissolving, shifting from one spot and reapparing in another. I was slightly disoriented when we arrived, but soon noticed two things: first, this was ~definitely~ not a building. We found ourselves in a large cavern, darkness spreading out around us past the ring of greatswords encircling the group.

    Secondly, there was no sign of Tristyn anywhere. Where was he, had something gone terribly wrong? Is it possible for hostile agents to disrupt a teleportation spell to alter the destination so, and what would the consequences be for the caster if so?

    Worry knotted my guts - was he alright? Had he been abducted ~again~, after all he'd been through? It would be too unfair, too harsh a fate! And who if not Tristyn could I rely on, in City Hall? Talbot would be all too happy to get his fingers into this pie, readily claiming all the credit for success and equally readily throw us under the proverbial wagon for failure.

    As Maythor impatiently stomped off to search the cave, he ran into a strong and jarringly painful barrier of magic, bound by the swords in the ground. Four glowing portals were set at intervals around the circle, and as we began to study this elaborate trap, 'he' appeared. The man in the blue mask, shimmering with magic.

    'You've gotten too close', said the man, his voice garbled by the mask's magic, but the tone quite calm and without malice. As if what he was about to do was a necessary, but regrettable thing. 'This trap won't hold us, we'll find a way out', I hollered, and he simply nodded. He thought we might, but it needed only last for a while. For long enough that the creatures soon to be unleashed through the portals could tear us apart…

    As the man in blue spoke his intent and activated the portals, arrows flew from Roslyn and Ginger's irate bows. The former got a nice hit in - it tore off a piece of midnight blue fabric from our mysterious foe's sleeve, just before he teleported off. 'Yes!', I thought in glee, only to abandon the feeling rapidly when the portals began to spew out their nightmarish denizens into our circle of doom.

    And nightmarish really is the right word - my skillcraft skills may be feeble, but those 'things'... definitely plane of Nightmare stuff, ugh! Gargantuan screaming spider beings, so large they near scraped the ceiling, eyeballs and deformed doglike creatures, wave after wave keeping us too busy for anything but fighting, scraping for survival. In the brief lulls, attempts to dispel the portals, using scrolls and wands and whatever means we had available. One down.. then two, some of the swords flickering as though the magical barrier holding them up was weakening. But we were still trapped, our resources straining.

    I ahh... grew hurried, desperate. One of the portals ripped wider at my attempt to close it, and a huge, hulking beast tore through it, roaring. It seemed made entire of rippling muscle, every inch of its skin covered in biting, razor-toothed mouths...

    The beast tore into our ranks, sending party members sprawling across the stone floor, tearing and rending. One swipe saw my side gushing blood, and not a single of my arrows penetrated that horrendous hide. Roslyn, bless her clever mind, shouted at the top of her lungs: 'The barrier! Push it against the barrier!'

    This, more than anything else, worked to harm the hulking monstrosity, though it was at great risk and pain by which our frontliners and Vander's earth elemental shoved, heaved and pushed the thing against the magic wall, until finally, ~finally~ it fell. Ginger successfully dispelled the last portal, and then we were free.

    Exhausted, ragged and bleeding, we set camp in the seemingly abandoned cave before venturing further. Roslyn and I huddled together, sharing our concerns and fears. 'Isolde..' she murmured, 'how much do you trust Tristyn? What if he is the blue-masked man?'

    A chill inside, a wrench of fierce denial. No, not Tristyn, it couldn't be, he's one of the good guys! Yet even as we spoke, I felt warning bells ringing, a sense of imminent danger rising. I still pushed the notion aside - he was in trouble, that must be it. We had to find him.

    We gave the cave a thorough search, but found no trace of our missing Cerulean. What we did find, however, is a sight I'd rather have unseen. Under a tarpe with the sickly sweet stench of decay clinging to it, four bodies. Two women, two men, all belonging to the minor noble house of Kildarn - friends of the Hemways. They'd all been stabbed, but for one woman, her bulging eyes staring unseeing at the roof of the cave. Strangled to death.

    Bile rose in my throat, I backed off and wanted quite desperately to be anywhere but there, in stark view of what people do to one another for the lure of power. After concluding our search and finding a small stashe of belongings in a chest, we headed outside.

    The wind was cold, snow whirling and whipping around us. The cave was set high in the mountains, white slopes below, crawling with winter wolves and snow goblins. We fought through a couple of throngs before catching the goblins speaking of other intruders before us.

    The next lot, swarming around a camp, we fought until but one remained, a chieftain of sorts, held for questioning. He was an odd sort, cheerful even at axe threat and with Ginger glaring daggers, and told us robed men in masks had come through a couple of weeks back. Five in total, one of them a leader. They'd mentioned experimenting on the goblins, but had not actively attacked them in some time now.

    The goblin showed us the fastest way down to the lower slopes, where ogres roamed instead. Here, we let him go.

    Fighting our way down through the ogres, we suddenly came across a pair of sword-swinging skeletons, controlled by a very familiar black-robed ogre, green eyes glowing underneath the hood. Horgrim Blackweave, exiled from his comfy inn retreat due to Silvia the Fey's wrath.

    To say he was happy to see us would be a stretch, but cool and composed as ever, Horgrim offered us a quick way down the mountain, in exchange for a future favour. The dwarves declined however, and being dwarves, a change of heart seemed unlikely. We walked, we walked the looooong way down, completely exhausted by the time we reached Peltarch's walls.

    Roslyn's question still echoed inside me. How well did I really know Tristyn? Why is it that the masked man was always, ~always~ a few steps ahead in this game? And where was he?

    I had to find him, had to dispel these doubts. Tristyn was solid, dependable - I ~liked~ him, trusted him. Didn't I? A sinking, crawling feeling in my gut as I spoke to his collegue, searched his office to find it barely used, with no sign of Tristyn anywhere. He had reported nothing in months, acted strangely, though admittedly had always been rather a reclusive person. But after the Chirade case, much more so...

    I got his home address from his collegue, Atel and Roslyn assisting me in 'inviting' ourselves in unseen. 12th Goodwick Street, in the poorer parts of the Residential district. A small and darkened apartment, screaming lonesome bachelor.

    On the floor underneath the dresser, a scrap of forgotten parchment, crumpled: 'IHR->B B->IR B->H? DPN: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10" The last segment was hastily written, in a style suggesting it had been oft repeated, and the numbers 2 and 5 were underscored. A checklist, a cypher? We could make little sense of it, but continued on to find a hidden lever set into a pillar by the small bed. Roslyn deftly plucked a blonde hair from the lever's knob - a handy thing for scrying, should it come to that.

    When turned, the lever revealed a sliding door, leading to a secret garden. A garden filled with daffodils and lilac....

    Despite the suspicion having sunken in, despite thinking I could prepare myself for the worst, all of the pieces slammed into place, fitting inexorably in, hammering home my blindness, my stupidity. Why was the masked man always ahead of the game? Because I ~came~ to him, I told him 'everything'. Because Garric Hemway came to him as well, a lamb seeking the wolf for slaughter.

    'I just stepped out for some tea, Isolde.. did you fall asleep?'. He ~made~ me fall asleep, just like he did at the College, sneaking in through the roof to plant those flowers! The taste of betrayal, bitter and rank, too familiar by now, my mind reeling with the thousand and one little clues I should've noticed, should've seen. Tristyn, always correcting his cloak for rushing between clothes changes, Tristyn, asking so many questions, Tristyn, grabbing the bouquet from his collegue to 'scry' himself.

    What was the one link between all the special invites to the masquerade - and who can consume the dark nightmares and terrors suffered at the hands of someone so cruel as Chirade?

    I was still in shock when we heard it, the soft but unmistakable click from the door handle. We slid the garden door shut, hid under invisibility's cover and held our breaths. The blue-masked man entered, pausing at the pillar for a long while. Alert to something being amiss.

    He prepared to leave, and we had to tip our hand, had to try and stop him. The fight was intense, filled with bitter accusations. Tristyn blamed me, blamed Talbot and all of the team who took the credit for Chirade's downfall, the case he had put so much work into, suffered so greatly for. He felt cast aside, discarded as a broken toy. Not a single visit, not a shred of care for his well being, as nightmares continued to haunt his sleep.

    Beeble Ravelzilch had found a willing pawn in Tristyn, but my heart ached for him, even while we fought. All that pain, all that suffering only to turn out just like his tormentor, passing the dark legacy forwards, hurting others and feeling 'justified' in doing so.

    He took out Atel with a magic wand of considerable power, resisted the spells Ros and I attempted to hold him with - but through a feat of agility the likes of which I won't even try to describe in words, Ros managed to knock the wand out of his hand. I in turn tried to rush him, but found my weight (as ever) insufficient for brute force.

    While I gasped for air, Tristyn dominated Roslyn's mind, wrested control of her actions. 'Kill her', he bade calmly, pointing to me. And she tried.

    I managed to just about knock Roslyn out, but Tristyn remained, a far stronger fighter than I. I was not faring well, but refused to give the fight up as lost, refused to leave Atel and Roslyn defenceless behind.

    Ros came to, her mind cleared. She chugged herself up to health through potions and came to my aid, the odds finally evened. Tristyn was knocked out, but soon began to twitch and convulse, his eyes glowing a glaring orange as Beeble possessed him, gibbering and agitated.

    Once the fit was over, we carried Tristyn off to Gaol, in the all too pleased hands of Captain Talbot, who once again saw to gagging and binding him up tightly. Ugh.

    The man I liked, hogtied and caged, and the one I dislike gets credit - again. Life is so cruel, so unfair at times. It was a win, we had taken Beeble's best, most competent agent out of the game, but I felt only bitterness.

    Still.

    A map in Tristyn's pocket, three locations marked. One of them, the ruined tower Hen and I had searched, this and a second crossed off with an 'x'. But the third... the third remained, a clean and promisingly blank. One last chance to find that green gem...


  • An Interlude with Silvia the Fey

    Roslyn and Ginger tracked down Silvia the Fey, who spoke to them at length in the Druid's Glen. Silvia provided welcome insight on the Night Parade, information which fits all too well into what Hen and I found in the abandoned mage's tower. That circle must assuredly have been members of this secret society, or tied to it somehow.

    Once upon a long time ago, a group of Netherese wizards emigrated from the prime to a place they carved out for themselves a little inbetween the Region of Dreams and the Plane of Nightmares, seeking to tap into the power of dreams. Thus was born the secret society of the Night Parade.

    The nature of the planes deformed and twisted the wizards of the Night Parade however, and they returned to the prime, utilizing masks to hide their grotesque visages and continuing their work in secret. There was an incident, Silvia said, in Calimport some time ago, where the Night Parade's cell was wiped out after the abduction of babies - seeking renewal of their ranks I suppose, but stealing babies, tsk tsk!

    Amongst other things, the Night Parade experimented on the creatures of the dream realms. The burnt notes and the creature Hen and I found caged corroborates this entirely, and the going theory now is that Beeble Ravelzilch is the result of this group's tampering and altering of what was once a Dream Vestige. These beings don't usually have names or what you might call personalities - Beeble is clearly different, in more ways than one.

    Dream Vestiges, Silvia said, have the following known weakness: they hate themselves, more than anything else. And I'd say that hits rather close to home with Beeble too, given how insults and taunts invariably make the eye flare red. But Beeble Ravelzilch is uniquely alterered, and we can't rely on the norm for its kind to hold true.

    Silvia also gave advice on dream catchers, saying that properly constructed and enchanted, they do offer protection, if not a foolproof such. Rather, the dream catcher is the 'armour' for one's mind in slumber, and the better the make of the armour, the better it will shield you of course. Definitely worth persuing, then! We just need to figure out the specifics and find the right clergy to bless them. Coupled with a wide-spread Beeble-alert, it could serve to prevent a lot of people from falling for its wiles.


  • Lilacs and Daffodils

    After a bit of a falling out with Hen outside the Gaol - she accused me of withholding information and insisted I fill in her notes on the investigation, as though I hadn't repeatedly offered to tell her what I knew - Roslyn found us. Hen stalked off somewhere else while Ros and I opted for the comforts of the College lounge, where Christina served refreshments. I finally relaxed, Ros' company was like the finest champagne after the continual and pointless headbutting with Hen, and I finally got to pitch a few ideas I have to thwart our mutual foe. Ros threw her own into the ring, and there was a moment of lovely brainstorming activity.

    Until…

    Until suddenly, my eyelids dropped. The world turned black, and I felt the sweet scent of vanilla and tobacho in the air. Someone nudged my shoulder, and the surface pressed against my cheek was hard, clad in worn velvet.

    I looked up, confused, meeting the gaze of an equally confused Roslyn nearby. Between us sat a kind looking elven lady, the one who had roused us both, and further off a portly looking gentleman. Infront of all of us, a poker table, and a dealer with a white smile and quick hands.

    'Shall I explain the rules to you again, before we get this party started?', said the dealer with a grin. 'The pot's already considerable, someone's going to win 'big'.'

    The stakes, apparantly, were not gold. Maxwell, the gentleman on the far left, had deemed that too mundane and dull. Instead, we played for books. Books... a warning bell started ringing inside me at that, and though the dream felt very real, believable in every detail, I just knew something was wrong.

    I looked at Roslyn, seeing the same doubt in her eyes. We each had a stack of books next to us, the top ones seeming of little significance, though hers held some rather lame gags. But the other books, the ones being offered up in the grand pot? 'The Night Parade'... and 'Secrets of the Fey'.

    Exactly what I wanted to know, right? Which just made it much, much too convenient a prize. I was tired, I claimed, didn't feel like playing - the dealer instantly insisted that we MUST play. More unease, a trickle of suspicion down my spine, the dealer backing off to smile insincerely, trying to amend the rules instead to entice us to stay in the game.

    Another exchange of glances with Roslyn. A closer look at the books in our own stacks, and boy... they were familiar titles. 'A Game with Chirade', 'Aesso's Last Performance', 'The Bardess and the Mystery of the Eye'... Roslyn too seemed to recognize her own adventures, and we rose from the table, abandoning the game.

    The dealer jumped to his feet, circled the table. His composure had already slipped more than once, that Beeble-like franticness showing. 'We want to see the dancers instead', we claimed, book stacks held tight, and approached the door to leave.

    But Beeble had no intention of allowing ~that~. The eye showed, the ruse abandoned and now the dark nightmare maw of a corridor opened up, sucked us both in. A hulking, monsterous being before us, tendrils and rippling flesh, deformed and utterly horrific - so close this time, so close it could reach out and grab us. We tried to back off, tried to run, but could barely move, frozen with fear, with the heavy, paralyzing dread of the place. Beeble was a huge reddened eye, taunting, angry, threatening to have the nightmare tear us apart.

    But I wasn't alone. As bad as it was, I was with Roslyn, my friend, and her hand in mine gave comfort and a shred of clarity to think. 'Disbelieve it', I said. 'Go to your happy place, lock the image in your mind and tell me what it looks like'.

    'A temple of Yondalla', she said, shaking as badly as I was. 'Green grass, the sun shining...'

    We focused on that image, even as the nightmarish being lashed out at us, painfully. And suddenly, a door appeared in the pitch-black wall of the corridor.

    'That's not supposed to BE THERE!', shrieked Beeble, instantly making sure it was locked.

    But I had the best lockpicker in the business beside me, psh! Roslyn, with shaking hands, brought her tools out and began to work on the lock, while Beeble assailed her with abuse, with threatening comments about her past, about her parents, about anything it thought would shake her composure. But Roslyn stood firm, her face pale but hardening in determination as she kept her efforts up.

    The nightmare's tendrils were wrapped around our legs, tugging, tearing, but the door's lock went 'click', the sweetest, softest, most wonderful sound imaginable in that place. Click.. and release.

    'You're NOT walking out that door! I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU!', cried Beeble, but in vain. The door slid open, the sweet scent of dewy grass on the other side, a hinnish temple gleaming in far away hills. We stepped through the door, hand in hand, and awoke in the College lounge.

    The pervasive scent of lilacs and daffodils clung to the air, an all too familiar smell. On the table, there was a bouquet of flowers that neither of us remember being there, and recognition hit. The masquerade... the shared dream, that wasn't ~quite~ a dream... it had happened again.

    Illusion and enchantment magic from the bouquet, strong, but fading fast. I grabbed the flowers, and with haste enpowering our steps, we ran to City Hall to find Tristyn. That clever man put a trace on the bouquet and now we have a solid lead, a location that could give us our mysterious blue masked man - perhaps, just perhaps, we might even find Garric Hemway?


  • The Night Parade

    Sleepless, my mind twisting and turning the mystery before me, I grew desperate enough to resort to actual studies. Yes, I hit the books and tried to find whatever little scrap of useful knowledge I could find that wasn't entirely obscure. Specifically, I persued my most recent idea, born from the increasing need to ward the orange invader off - dream catchers. I'd heard of such things before, but did they actually ~work~? And if so, how does one go about making or aquiring such a thing?

    I found nothing substantial to prove or disprove the dream catchers efficiency, though several clergies have dreaming and dreams as their domain: for instance, the elvish clergy of Sehanine Moonbow. They believe that dream catchers blessed with prayers can work to prevent nightmares and provide good dreams.

    Rude, when bribed with enough jam, remarked that certain fey are known to deal in dream-like magic. Hybsil and sprites can put creatures to sleep for a long time, and may know more about sleep magic and dreams in general. I really must try to find Silvia the Fey, she might know more about this sort of thing.

    I also found a very vague, footnoted reference to Netheril, Netherese, and "the Night Parade." It tugged at my curiosity and I tried to learn more, alas in vain. But the words would reappear, sooner and in a way I hadn't forseen on that sleepless night in the library.

    Some two days later, Tristyn found myself and Hen at the commons. Our assailants were ready for interrogation, and he would allow us to persue the questioning under some superveillance.

    Garn, Sophilia and James Whitedune, all belonging to the same minor noble house, entirely ruined now, by Beeble Ravelzilch's ensnarement. Such a waste, I couldn't help but think. So entirely stupid to be born with privelege and all that advantage, only to reach for more at any cost. Beeble had promised Garn power, it said before, and in speaking to the now seemingly unpossessed man, I could see that being true.

    Even jailed and with his entire house cast in disrepute, Garn remained an arrogant man, confident that he would soon be set free. 'You know that wasn't me', he insisted, but instead of blaming Beeble's manipulations, it was the Hemways who bore all the fault in Garn's eyes. He would tell us little of any use, mostly just insisting on his innocence and vehemently calling for his right to legal representation.

    His wife Sorphila, however, proved more reasonable. It soon became obvious that it was Garn who had coerced both herself and his brother James into this, and she said they had been given instructions by the blue-masked man to go to the tower to wreck the place up. She denied having taken anything from it, so if the gem was still there at all, it was not the Whitedunes who claimed it. She seemed genuine to me, dejected at their failure and lamenting ever taking the deal.

    Sorphilia was quite informative as to why Garn had pushed for this too - first dreams of power and influence, destroying the Hemways, their rivals - and the blue masked man had also promised something else: access and membership to an elusive, dormant organization of some sort, known as the Night Parade. A revival of the Night Parade, a new beginning. The first cell. The blue-masked man had even branded them with the mark of the Night Parade: a circle, within three spiralling clouds, with an eye in the center. The mark is placed on her shoulder, in black.

    James, lastly, was a broken man. He hugged his knees, begging for sweet release in sleep, because that's the only place where he could find happiness. His dreams were filled of the things Beeble had promised him - happiness, a wife to love him, good fortunes. Each waking moment seemed torment though, he was obviously frightened and much perturbed, whispering that 'he said… they are everywhere' and that 'every gain has a price... both in there, and here'.

    James and Sorphilia both payed a high price, and I can't help but pity them. But Garn... he chose this, freely. Wanted it, and showed not a shred of remorse. His confidence, if it isn't faked, suggests he still has 'backing' by the Orange Leech.


  • Pieces of the Puzzle

    Tristyn found myself and Hen at the Commons with news on the gems I'd asked him to look for. He'd found something promising, the location of a ruined mage's tower, in the deepest reaches of the Nars pass. A mages circle once resided there, said to have had a deep green gem in their possession. Vague, but definitely a lead we couldn't afford to pass up on.

    While Tristyn prepared the teleportation spell to send us directly to our destination, I filled Hen in on my findings, in as much as time allowed. Soon, the trip was underway, Hen and I making our way up a darkened hillside towards the tower, the heavy door locked solidly, but still functioning despite the poor condition of much of the place.

    Within, a myriad of traps, many of which were set directly into the floor and could not be undone. Hen slunk through the maze with catlike ease, but I missed a single step and found a burst of acid as my reward. Ow ow OW!

    Past the traps, however, came the truly frightful part - a magically constructed cage, with a creature inside that struck every chord of fear in me, fitting Horgrim's description of a Dream Vestige. It cried and moaned in a myriad of despairing voices, begging for release, for freedom, in appearance a swarming mass of cloudy, misty wispiness with floating faces inside - the souls of the lost, the consumed and damned?

    Chills, chills down my spine and growing worse in realizing the mechanism that controlled the door to lead us onwards also controlled the cage's bars… three levers, each of which could be set to different positions. We both tried to make sense of it, but the magic and the mechanism itself was complex, beyond my grasp. I was ready to turn back, get sharper minds on the job, like Elvadriel's keen understanding - but Hen was clearly getting into the spirit of adventure.

    While I stood there in dread, she began to push levers and experiment... and through a magnificent stroke of luck that will see me give praise and thanks at Tymora's shrine, she found a setting that not only killed the Vestige within the cage, but also opened the door AND a secret treasure compartment beside it.

    Seriously, Tymora - I'll sing a song to Lady Luck for this, may fortune ever favour the bold!

    At the centre of the tower, we found four doorways hovering in the air, magical paths to different parts of the tower. Two were destroyed however, and one of these showed signs of it being a recent thing. We were not first on this scene, and Hen had noted footprints earlier. The magic traces were still palpable, even to my untrained arcane eye - dispel, destruction. Whoever had done this hadn't been far ahead. In fact, they may still be around.

    Past the first door we tried, a room with a large and blackened viridian gem set into the floor. It was huge, raw and with a myriad of footprints around it. Sabotage again, fire? Killing the magic it once held? The gem was a deep jade, but the surface of it was blackened, sooty, and neither of us sensed any magic emanating from it. Surely the gem we were looking for was much smaller, and would hold a great deal of magic? Still, I felt the urge to chip a piece off, but didnt want to make so much noise if we were not in fact alone in the ruins.

    We continued on to the next and last available room, which looked like a mages laboratory, turned upside down and smashed by an angry dragon. Broken vials, broken tables and scattered, burnt papers all around. We were a step behind, ~again~, but each of us found one slip of parchment that was still somewhat ledgible.

    Hen's paper read: 'Members of the circle... each devoted to a particular region... secrecy paramount... by popular decision, we..."

    My paper read: 'Trapping the creature... a number of faces... resisting paramount... a weaker entity... experimentation'

    Was this the purpose of the mages circle, then? To fight nightmares, dream vestiges or other beings like them - like Beeble Ravelzilch? Or ~specifically~ Beeble Ravelzilch - did the mages circle set his prison up, with Duran's aid?

    While we stood there pondering, three black-clad men appeared behind us, each armed, each wearing a mask that garbled their speech. Each, it seemed, recognizing us. Beeble's cronies, the ones who had gotten here before us. Was the gem the thing he taunted me about having aquired, earlier?

    The hostility was obvious, and I quickly covered Hen and myself with improved invisibility before the fight broke out. Two of the men went down, after a number of painful stabs at me, but the third was captured through Hen's use of a Dominate Person scroll - one of the finds in our treasure cache by the door.

    He wore a black robe and a grey and white mask, garbling his speech. While Hen tied him up, I removed the mask, finding a face I recognized beneath: Garn Whitedune, belonging to a minor noble house in Peltarch known to be rivals of House Hemway.

    He scowled, an ordinary looking man with dark hair, but his eyes... oh, his eyes were glowing orange. Vertically slit irises... and an all too familiar tone of voice emerging, over-enthused and gibbering in glee. Beeble Ravelzilch - in full possession of the man, who apparantly had given in to his deal for wanting power, easily swayed. Now, Whitedune was little more than a meatpuppet, with a disgusting parasite within.

    Gleeful, triumphant, Beeble taunted me with his increased power. 'You think I could do 'this' before? I made a new deal, with someone who knows a lifetime of pain! Soon I won't even NEED the gem! You're too late to stop me, you're TEN STEPS BEHIND!'

    The man blacked out after that, and a polymorphed Hen dragged him and the two corpses back to our rendez-vous spot with Tristyn. Now, interrogation remains...

    This is bad.. this is really bad. We need to find Garric Hemway, I need to learn more about what we're up against, the weakness that Horgrim hinted at - and maybe I need to spread the story of Beeble Ravelzilch around. Maybe if people ~know~, they'll be more careful in their choices. Maybe they'll even remember.

    Maybe they'll dismiss me as crazy...


  • 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.