A Traveling Tale

[Wald Lowca]

18th of Cylus, 719

Leaning back in the wagon seat, Wald held onto the reins of a pair of oxen. In the front of a wagon train to parts unknown. The oxen grunted and snorted as they pulled the wagon. The sounds of birds filled the air as they pasted by a tree. The green fields of spring green shined, like an emerald of nature.

The wind blew over the field. Bringing with it the smell of flowers. This was spring, and nature wanted all to know. Young fawns could be seen in the distance with their mothers. The trees had bloomed flowers of white. And the field held many flowers of different colors.

Leading the train forward through the vast plain. Wald watched as in the distance something drew closer. Pulling on the reins, and giving a yell to the back to stop. He climbed to the top of the wagon to get a better view. Cupping his hands around his eyes, to peer over into the horizon. Wald saw a horse clad in steel and cloth. On top of the horse was someone in similar attire to the horse, though with gold trimmings. The man held a standard, and rode towards the wagon train.

When Wald climbed down a woman asked, "What is it Wald?"

Wald looked to the woman. Her face was a glow, and he couldn't see what features she had. Even so he knew who it was. "It is nothing, no need to worry. You or the child." A small child peeked around the woman. Their face two hidden by light. Though Wald knew it was his son. He could feel this in his heart. Even if his eyes were blinded to their appearance.

Wald hoped off the wagon as the horseman was drawing near. He signaled to the cart behind his for someone to come out. This was the physicians chart in case trouble was here. Wald also knew that he wasn't good with people. Wald also really didn't like nobles.

Wald then signaled to the other wagons. Telling the others to stay put. Wald was in charge of the security for the train. Walking a little ahead of the train he waited. The horsemen rode straight to the place he stood.

[Sybil Malach]

A great peace washed upon the dreamer. Eyes resting, even within the dream, this was a place of absolute calm.

This wasn't a true surgeon's cart. It was something idyllic. There were no bloodied saws, and there was absolutely no hints of death clinging to any of the walls. Everything was clean. Herbs hanged low from shelves, sprouting forth from sachets. The wagon was made of wood. Something that the dreamer had heard that places like Rharne made many of their goods out of. It was like a dormitory of a student, quite honestly. Glistening flasks and phials reflect the light coming in from an open slot in the door of the wagon itself. Truly, it was structured more like a carriage, due to its solid make, but that's what it was intended to be. Something to feel like a moving room. The true specifics of it didn't matter to Sibyl. It was just simple fact that this place existed. A dream does not exist to be questioned.

The smell of springtime was a potent thing for the nose to sense. Pollen filled the air. The humidity caressed the inside of the nose, and around the eyes. This fragment of Sibyl was calm, as the cart was brought to a halt. The clattering of the hooves against the ground was something that brought some strange bit of piece with it. When it stopped, and all was still, it hinted that it was time to face the morning sun. Eyes slowly opening, something was different about the dreamer. About Sibyl. Glancing towards one of the glass flasks, it was clear as day. Flesh kissed by the sun, Sibyl's skin was no longer an almost painfully pale complexion. Eyes no long some strange bastardization of grey and green, it was simply a vibrant green. Yet it was natural. As thought it was simply as it had been.

Pulling out from the bed, a slow breath is taken. Stockinged feet slipping within boots, as Sibyl simply remains in sleeping robes, unbolting one of the latches keeping the upper half of the wooden door closed.

Sliding the upper half of the door open, the dreamer was welcomed with a light from the sun, and verdant fauna all around. It was truly a sight to behold. Something to be painted. A slow glance it given towards the front of the cart, squinting, trying to get a good look of what's going on. But the signal from Wald was all that needed to be seen. A cloak is grabbed from the hook on the wall, and quickly slid on, the dreamer simply placing a hand over the lower half of the door, and hopping over it, landing feet first on the ground at the other side.

[Wald Lowca]

Looking back Wald saw Sybil. With a smile to his friend he waved over to come next to him. "I'll need your help. You know how I am around nobles. Especially if he gets uppity." Wald simply pointed to his bow. The bow was ornate, decorated with leaves of gold, and intricate carvings. His cloths were clean and pressed as well. The old wild hair was tamed. Wald looked of good favor.

The horseman finally fell upon the two travelers. "Halt, what is your meaning of travel?" The man talked with a gruff voice. Looking down onto the two from his horse.

Wald looked up to the helm of the man. Looking through the slots he saw the man's eyes. They were of disgust for some reason. "I am Wald, the hunter. We are traveling the lands, in search of what lies ahead." The answer was given with sarcasm. Wald already despised the person in front of them. He felt sorry for the horse as well, due to the man's rotund nature.

The man huffed in disbelief of how the comment was said. "Well, hunter, you have entered my domain. And have to pay the toll to cross through. Oh, and unlucky for you, the toll was just increased." The man said this worked up in his armor. His body trying to burst out of the metal work.

The man in front of Wald seemed very displeased. This didn't bother Wald to much. "Oh, so you can own land? I thought dirt was unwanted by nobles. Are you the Duke of Dirt?" Wald enjoyed himself. Since he had a deep seeded disrespect for nobility. Mostly those who don't deserve power, mainly the weak.

The horseman almost yelling at Wald. "You fool! How dare you address me as such. I am the Grand Duke of static sounds, and I will not be miss treated." The name of the area seemed to disappear, as the man said it. Even so Wald didn't care.

Wald simply looked over to Sybil. "How can we pay this Grand Duke?" Wald had a malicious smile, as he asked this question to his friend.

[Sybil Malach]

Sibyl was simply approaching, as the discussion was being had. It was hard to pick up the pace above a walk, to the dreamer. It was almost like an oppressive sort of calm. A thick blanket that coated the senses in a sticky, seeping sensation of tranquility. Like the thin layer of skim on the very top of warmed milk, it was lightly present, easily disturbed, but allowed none to disturb it enough to break fully. It was as though Sibyl were walking through a meadow of burning poppies. It was hard to describe. Harder to think about. So the easiest solution was had. Don't think about it. It was easier this way, and it was far more comforting. Why dispel an illusion so comforting? Even if Sibyl was lucid, this place... It almost encouraged ignorance of the highest degree.

A glance is taken to the side, and a nod is given to Wald, dumbly. Sibyl was so easily distracted, that a rabbit hopping on by was enough to grasp at the dreamer's attention. Its coloration was a dun hue, something that was utterly foreign to the waking Sibyl. But to the dreamer, it was natural. This obviously wasn't Sibyl's dream. Not that anyone would even realize that this was a dream. How could such a thing be a dream? The sun had such a lovely heat. The air was so inviting to the nose itself, this couldn't not be real. But it didn't take long, once the authoritative voice started speaking, did the dreamer's attention glide over to him, with a steady speed. The man, in the colors and patterns of the nobility of the land was before the two. But Sibyl didn't recognize the pattern. Wait, t̛hi̢s҉ ẃa̵sn'͟t r͢ight. Ń̵̢ob̸ìl̵i̵͜t̵͞y̢? ̕͡H͏̢̕e̢͝r̶͏҉e?̧͝͡ B͘̕͡u̧͞҉̢t̵͢ ̵҉̕t̨̛͟h̴e̸̛͡ ̴̀͝d̢҉̵͠r̀͝͏̷ę́á̷̶̵͘m͝͝͏͢e͠͏̵̴͡r̸̶͏ ̕͢͠h̛͜͏̧͘a̴͟͢͝ḑ̴̢ ̶̷̀̕͢ǹ̴͝é͠v̛̕ę̶̶̛ŗ̷̛͝ ̢͝s̢̕͜͞ę̨̢̛ȩ̷͟͏͝n̵͘͢͢͜-̴̡̡҉͞

A slow blink of the eyes. The static haze over the Lord's words seemed to haze over the dreamer's thoughts. How strange. The weather was always so strange this time of year. Sibyl just had to remember to sprinkle wine over a daffodil! This was surely a sign of good luck. A tilt of the head is given, before simply saying, "What is it that you want? We are but humble men of the land." Comes the question, the dreamer unknowing of what the man in such prolific colors wanted. Sybil had never seen such dyed cloth before! Was it cloth? It looked so shiny. Merry day, shiny cloth was always good luck!

[Wald Lowca]

The man seemed to look scattered for a brief moment. The man disappeared, and appeared standing. His legs barely able to hold his body. Did he get bigger? No, he was always this size. The man huffed over to the Sybil. "And who is this? Some kind of street urchin you picked up. This will be a fine for littering, with this trash." The man yelled this at Sybil.

The man continued for a moment, with his yelling. He then threaten the whole caravan with the gallows. Though before he could finish his last sentience. A sound of a horse rearing, and fleeing came from behind him. When he looked back to his war horse it was gone. Confusion was plastered on his face. The man looked over to Wald, the one he didn't have an eye on previously. Wald simply smiled with a cheerful face.

Storm clouds rose above in the sky. Spring was the time for rain after all. So no man could predict the storms. "What did you do to my horse? I will have your head!" The man tried to reach for his sword. Though his body was to large to reach for his hip. His weight finally gave in as he fell over. The sound of sickness came out from him. Looking down there was something shining from under him. Static sounds This wasn't the glinting of internal fluid. It was metallic? Golden? The man was so wealthy he spewed gold coins.

Wald moved over and kicked the man to his back. Static sounds When on his back he acted like a fountain. Coins flew in the air from his mouth.Static sounds Looking down Wald saw the city fountain.

Looking up the stone of buildings were visible. The city was as far as Wald could see. Looking over to Sybil eyes wide. Swallowing for a a brief moment before saying. "What was it we needed from the market again?" A blink of the eye was given.

[Sybil Malach]

The dull haze consumed Sibyl. The man was threatening the caravan. Yet the dreamer couldn't be brought to any sort of defensive posturing, socially or physically. The sheer nature of the dream forcing upon the dreamer an overall sense of complete, and utter docility. As though the threat of death itself wasn't something to take seriously, "There's no need to be so grumpy." The voice said. Sibyl couldn't use a harsher vocabulary in this mental bondage. Flipping a braid from over the chest to over the shoulder, a huff is given, "Real dukes don't raise their voice." It was childish. it was forced. Why wa̕s̵ ̡ev̸er̵y̛t͟h̸ing ̧n̛oţ ma̧ki͢n̡g s̸ens̀e̢? Me҉n҉ ̷̵d҉͟͝o͏̡n͘͏͠'̶͘t̴͢ ̴̵͟è̡̛x͜ṕ͘͏l҉od̷͢e̷͟ i͏ņt̨͘o̸ ͠͠͏̷c̴̕o̸͘͡i̵͝n̴҉̵͟͠s̷͜͞҉!̶̧̧̛͘

Reality forced itself to adjust, as the man gutted into coins. The shifting scenery was a blur. False memories burrowing into Sybil's skull. The haze never lifting from the student's mind. It was hard to think beneath surface thoughts now. Perhaps the dream preferred it that way. P͘e̢rh̨ap̡s th̕e ̢d̶r҉e͢amer pre̵fe͞r͟red it ҉t͢h̵a̷t ̸way.

The two had been shopping for quite some time. It was high noon. The air was warm, and the sun was beading down upon them both. The fountain was a gathering place for many kinds of people. Faces that Sibyl could not focus on. But wearing such bright colors, there was not a sign of poverty in sight. The dim haze of orange hung upon the highlight of every source of light. It was soft, and never too bright. A constant layering of smoothness that simply slid the eyes along, always making sure that not enough strain was placed upon the viewer. Sibyl was helpless against it.

"Oh. We needed a few pies for the festival." Comes Sibyl's voice. W͡h̡̕͏ą͠t̕͝ f̡͠e͝s̨ti̷̴̢vàl̨͠?̵ Oh. The festival. Of course. The two had been helping the mayor for weeks now! There was a shortcoming of bakers in the town. They would have been sent to the city to fetch anything that was needed, "I hear pigeon pies are good luck this time of season." Was it? No, it was. Sibyl was sure of this, as the dreamer ran a hand down the hair. Sibyl's braids were undone for once. But it was something that the dreamer was unable to notice. Unable to comment on. Glancing to the side, over to Wald, the dreamer simply cast a confused glance, "At least, that's what Mother says. But she says a lot of silly things."

[Wald Lowca]

Wald thought of the festival. What was the festival for... Static Sound OH RIGHT! The summer festival. How could Wald forget it was his favorite time of year. "Yea, pigeon pie sounds good. M... Static Sound Mother said the baker on Static Sound street has the best one. " That is right Sybil was his younger sibling. How could he forget, that Mother told him to keep Sybil safe. Wald grasped Sybil's hand with his soft hands. Wait why were my hands soft. Static Sound Oh right I have my mother's hands. "Come on Sybil! If we hurry we can go play!"

Moving down the street between kids and adults alike. The two dreamers made their way to the bakery. On the way they meet with the Mayor. "Oh, hi there. How are my two little helpers doing?" The mayor said this with a smile. At least that is what Wald thought, since his face was a blur. Wait... why was i call... Static Sound Oh right, I am 12 arcs old.

With the enthusiasm Wald was known for in the city he said. "We are doing good mister Mayor. We are going to get pies for the festival." Wald's voice was high pitched, and cracked as he spoke.

"Oh, that is great! Is it pigeon pie, that one is my favorite?" The Mayor said adjusting his glasses.

With a nod Wald replied, "Yes, and I am taking my younger Static Sound to the bakery!" If the two hurried they could make it to Wald's favorite part of the festival. What was it again? Static Sound Oh the donkey rides. Wald did love donkeys. He couldn't remember why though.

"Well don't let me keep you two." The Mayor said, waving goodbye with his hand that had 4 fingers. He lost one of his fingers in the war. The same one that took their father.

Continuing to the Bakery the two made it to the doors. Wald opened the door for Sybil to enter first. Just like a good older brother would. When they got into the bakery, their mother was behind the counter working as always.Static Sound Our Mother was the baker that was right. Static Sound

[Sybil Malach]

It was like Sybil was on strings, like some marionette. The dream's influence was harsh upon resistance, even if the dreamer wanted to even attempt at it. But those thoughts weren't allowed, let alone given enough traction to be its own driving force. It was peaceful, but it was unknowing mental bondage, denying all but surface thoughts.

Sibyl was always quiet. Hiding behind Wald as he spoke to the mayor. The dreamer was born under a constellation that predicted this. Some of the townsmen thought it to be good luck to offer Sibyl wisteria flowers at the start of the harvest season. The dreamer's hand clutched at the very back of Wald's tunic as he spoke with the mayor. Something Sibyl had always done when talks started to make the dreamer nervous. The mayor always made Sibyl nervous. It was bad luck for Sibyl to talk with him without someone else present. Every time it happened, the only way to reverse it was to chew on hay for the next trial. That's what Mother said anyway. And the town elder. And his sons. And that strange traveler at the outskirts of town. So it had to be true.

The smell of cooking flour and meat was strong upon the air. The bakery was always busy this time of year. The main room was made of solid wood, with glass lined display cases of freshly cooked meat pies. There were seats next to tables strewn about in orderly chaos, allowing men and women of the town to sit down and enjoy something to eat. Truly, this belonged more in a city, but the dream forced it to be natural. Over the counter, there was a clear view of the beehive shaped oven in the back, as well as a flour coated, wide table.

A tall woman was kneading her hands against a large ball of dough. Her face could not be seen, as she was looking away from Wallace and Sarah. As the bell rang to the door itself, she simply kept working against the dough, saying in her almost birdsong voice, "Wally, Sarah." She greeted, as the two entered the bakery. Despite not even looking between the two, her voice was warm, knowing, "The pie's on the counter, cooling. Double up the cheesecloth and let it cool so you won't burn your hands. I'm making your favorite things for supper."

Sarah glances to the side, towards Wallace. There was always a soothing tone to Mother's voice. But she was always so busy ever since Father went out to war. Sarah saw him in dreams, and prayed often that he'd come back. Sarah simply remained quiet, letting Wallace take charge. That was always the two's dynamic, for as long as Wallace could remember.

[Wald Lowca]

Wald listened to the names being said in confusion. Wait that is our names... Static Sound Oh... It.... Static Sound No my name is... Static Sound My name is Wallace. Hearing his Mother's loving voice was calming. Taking Sy... Static Sound Sarah's hand and leading them to the counter. With bounce in his step, he checked over the pies. The pies were hot and steamy. They smelled of elderberries and grass. This sent his head spinning.

Memories of someone else went through his head. Who is Wald... Am I Wald... Elderberries and grass juice... The poems of My Mother... No... Static Sound Wallace shook his head. This was simply what pies smelled like. Before Sarah could grab a hold of the pies he spoke. "Careful, Let me get the cheese cloths."

Wallace hopped behind the counter. He searched the cabinet for the cloths. It took a moment to find. It seemed like Sarah stored them. Sarah always put them in the wrong place. When he found the cabinet they were in, Wallace found something with them. It was a picture of someone. It was a picture of Father. The one taken 4 arcs ago the last time he was alive. It seemed like Someone hid it away.

Father left so long ago. No one told Sarah the truth about father though. Maybe someone should... Wallace always saw Sarah preying at night. They shared the same room after all. Always wishing for father to come home. I suppose it was because, father was the only adult not to treat Sarah like a freak. Wallace didn't understand why people did. There was nothing wrong with Sarah, right? His younger sibling was simply born at the wrong time. Even so Wallace cared for Sarah, and didn't mind being with them where ever they went. We still have mother though, at least she was always kind to them.

Tossing the Cloth to Sarah to gather the pies. Wallace took a closer look at the picture. The man's face seemed familiar. Blond hair... silver eyes... Wild hair and unkempt clothing. Wait wasn't this him... The eyes that glared forward almost in anger. The snow in the background. Where was this taken. Static Sound Who was... Static Sound Father was quite odd of a fellow.

Wallace shouted to Sarah, "Hey, I found something!" After the pies were wrapped up, he passed the picture over. "Look it is father's picture."

[Sybil Malach]

The smell was dissonant with what Sarah knew pigeon pie to smell like. It didn't ev̸en̶ smell͠ l͘į̀k͝è͠ ̴̡͟m̴̡ea̧̡̕t̀.͏̵ But that didn't matter. It was elderberry pie. It was good luck this season to have it at the festival. What kind of fruit pie had meat in it, anyway? Sweetmeat is what Sarah was thinking of. How strange. Two pigeons rest on the shopfront's windowsill, a though a vague reminder of the reality that once was. But neither could truly grasp it. The thick haze thickened. Sarah could only think in the hues of the soft flame. Everything was soft. Everything was okay. This pervasive thought intruded upon every pore of every thought. Making anything outside of what was considered safe to be slowly blotched out, as though water had been splashed upon ink. Reality imposed itself with a strong grasp. Far stronger than the weak grasp upon Emea's nature that the two dreamers had.

Wallace moved far faster than Sarah. The dreamer was lost in thought. Memories were converging. It confused Sarah to no end. Mother had a face. Why wouldn't she? Why was Sarah's mind screaming that she had no face? The thoughts swirled, listlessly. The superimposed reality crumbling before Sarah's mind. Flashes of sickeningly sweet depictions of war. Childlike in how watered down it is. Death was treated like a cakewalk. People came back from death. People never truly died. The bad side simply became good. Good was always spreading, endlessly. The dream was tightening Sarah's restrictions. Changing each memory to suit its purpose.

"Hey, I found something!" The voice was enough to bring Sarah back into the 'waking' world. For a moment, the dreamer's edges fray with the sheer unfocused nature of what's even happening. Wallace raises something to Sarah's focal point, allowing the dreamer to focus on something within the dream itself's reality. "Look it is father's picture."

Was it?

Sarah stared at the picture, as the cheesecloth was bundled up, and grasping a pie by its tin bottom. It was an oil painting. Small enough to fit in a locket. This one wasn't something that Sarah saw before. His hair was wild, no, this wa͟s̨n't f͠a͏ther͘. Fa҉t͘he̶r̸̛ w̴̷a̵̢s̷̢ ͜m̸o̵͟r̶͠ȩ͜ n̷̶̶̨ȩ̶̛̕à̷t̷̕ ̨͟͟͟͏á̢̧͜͠ń̷̢͢͟d̷̶̛͢͜ ̸̡o̶͢͢͟r̴͢͠͝d͜e͘̕͠r̵̢͘͜l͏́҉ý̨ ͜͞t̸̴̡̀͞h̵͜ą̸͘͢n̸̢͏ ̕̕͠͝͠t̢̧͘͢h̢͏͞i͏̨͘͞͞s͘͟͠.̶̛͢

Father was quite odd of a fellow. Of course he was. He was always so disheveled. He was a man of the hunt, after all. That's why the two looked up at him so much. He would always bring home so much food and furs with him. It was small enough to fit into a locket, and oval in shape. Lovingly and painstakingly vivid in its imagery, whoever must've made this certainly spent trials working upon it. Sarah blinks, holding the pie, "Oh, Lisbeth must've answered my prayers!" Comes the excited voice from Sarah's lips, curling into a smile, "I had to burn so many wisteria for it! But people keep giving me the flower... So I think it's good luck!"