Continued from here
Woe had concluded after many visits beyond the veil, that the mindscapes must rub off some sort of strange sense of familiarity upon the chaos of Emea whenever a mortal soul emerged from within the Veil. As he emerged onto the deck of the Stellar Rain, he looked over the bow, and saw a cloudy sky beyond where usually there were innumerable stars, points of light, and other anomalies to gawk at. It was a gray skyscape, and beneath it a familiar sight. It appeared, at first glance, to be Gunvorton, but less developed than he knew that village to be. The warehouses were not standing along the wharf. And there was no wharf, just a stretch of green sandy shores and some piers. Slight differences from what he remembered of Gunvorton. Yet he felt it was meant to leave the impression of 'Gunvorton'. For whatever reason that was.
Steve shrugged, turned on his heel to walk up toward the poop, where the steering wheel was. Yet he was stopped in his track by the strangest sight. A gunvorton green chicken, standing right in the middle of his path. Egil squawked. "
The presence of an unfamiliar creature, possibly another dreamwalker, raised Steve's hackles. But he dared to kneel before the bird-like apparition. He fronwed at it, the hand behind his back grasping at a length of rope that he could turn into a switch at a moment's notice. "What are you, why are you here?"
The chicken cocked its head, and warbled a bit. Then it cleared its throat, "Sorry, ahem. Always hard to get the old vocal chords singing after such a swim."
Steve's brow darkened further, and his knuckles whitened around the rope he grasped. "Swim?"
"Oh you know how it is." Said the bird. "But where are my manners. I am Pickle. And I come with a summons for you, and a message."
Sighing, Steve's neck slackened, allowing his head to lower into his chest as he took a sharp inhale of ethereal air. "Fine." While Egil perched on his shoulder, he tried to see beyond any illusions, wondering if it would betray the dreamer's identity to him. But try as he might to see beyond any illusions, the creature couldn't be seen in any way other than it was. A gunvorton green chicken. "What's the message then? And do you come from Gunvorton, then?"
It was too much of a coincidence to dismiss, and Steve sought to sift for lies in the midst of the chicken's speech. Yet he had no luck there. He sensed no deception as the chicken went on to speak. "Things going missing in Egilrun, across the island. Strange happenings. You must investigate!"
Steve grumbled, "There are others better suited to that task than I."
Pickle chuckled, and shook her body from head to neck to tail, ruffling some green feathers onto the deck. Steve's eyes followed the loose feathers, wary that they were some device to carve a niche into his dream-construct, the Stellar Rain. Yet they seemed to fade into nothing as they fell on the deck. He turned his eyes back on Pickle. "Besides, I'm not very well wanted there."
"When has that ever stopped you from being at a place?" Pickle snickered, and shook her head. "You know you wish to return. Begin with the Court of Miracles. Perhaps Mercury can help, if you can contact him."
Steve shook hsi head. "Mercury is scarce, these past few arcs, from what I hear. Who knows if he even remembers that his Court still exists, if he is alive even."
Pickle said nothing to this, but cocked her head to the side.
"I was planning on making a stop there anyway."
"Good." Pickle clucked her tongue, as Egil flapped his wings on Steve's shoulder, buffeting the side of his face lightly. "I suppose that's the best I can hope for, from you."
The surreality of the moment wasn't lost on Steve. This almost felt like a dream he'd have when he wasn't a Dreamwalker. Before lucidity was all but undeniable. It was then he remembered his entire errand in being here, to produce a raw well from his slumbering body, for Lucretia. The thought of her nearly brought him coiled out by his astral tether, but he resisted the pull. He wanted to know more about this Pickle, enigmatic as they were.
"So, you're a gunvorton green. What part of Scalvoris are you from?"
"Oh, my uncle and aunt are from Gunvorton, but I'm not native to the village." Pickle muttered, "I'm very much of Emea, but I hover around the dreamers of Scalvoris. And other places too. By the way, if you need a message delivered to a dreamer, I'm your gal."
Steve considered this, and looked to Egil, who still perched on his shoulder. The movement of his head prompted the raven to take flight to a nearby bannister, needing some space clearly. "Lacrima, I need to tell her ahead of my arrival."
Pickle nodded her head, and then tilted her head to the side, causing the wattle to sway beneath her beak. "Yes, of course you would. I will do so directly, although the poor dear has not been faring well..."
Before Steve could ask her what she meant, the chicken disappeared in a puff of green and white feathers.
Woe had concluded after many visits beyond the veil, that the mindscapes must rub off some sort of strange sense of familiarity upon the chaos of Emea whenever a mortal soul emerged from within the Veil. As he emerged onto the deck of the Stellar Rain, he looked over the bow, and saw a cloudy sky beyond where usually there were innumerable stars, points of light, and other anomalies to gawk at. It was a gray skyscape, and beneath it a familiar sight. It appeared, at first glance, to be Gunvorton, but less developed than he knew that village to be. The warehouses were not standing along the wharf. And there was no wharf, just a stretch of green sandy shores and some piers. Slight differences from what he remembered of Gunvorton. Yet he felt it was meant to leave the impression of 'Gunvorton'. For whatever reason that was.
Steve shrugged, turned on his heel to walk up toward the poop, where the steering wheel was. Yet he was stopped in his track by the strangest sight. A gunvorton green chicken, standing right in the middle of his path. Egil squawked. "
Chicken
!"The presence of an unfamiliar creature, possibly another dreamwalker, raised Steve's hackles. But he dared to kneel before the bird-like apparition. He fronwed at it, the hand behind his back grasping at a length of rope that he could turn into a switch at a moment's notice. "What are you, why are you here?"
The chicken cocked its head, and warbled a bit. Then it cleared its throat, "Sorry, ahem. Always hard to get the old vocal chords singing after such a swim."
Steve's brow darkened further, and his knuckles whitened around the rope he grasped. "Swim?"
"Oh you know how it is." Said the bird. "But where are my manners. I am Pickle. And I come with a summons for you, and a message."
Sighing, Steve's neck slackened, allowing his head to lower into his chest as he took a sharp inhale of ethereal air. "Fine." While Egil perched on his shoulder, he tried to see beyond any illusions, wondering if it would betray the dreamer's identity to him. But try as he might to see beyond any illusions, the creature couldn't be seen in any way other than it was. A gunvorton green chicken. "What's the message then? And do you come from Gunvorton, then?"
It was too much of a coincidence to dismiss, and Steve sought to sift for lies in the midst of the chicken's speech. Yet he had no luck there. He sensed no deception as the chicken went on to speak. "Things going missing in Egilrun, across the island. Strange happenings. You must investigate!"
Steve grumbled, "There are others better suited to that task than I."
Pickle chuckled, and shook her body from head to neck to tail, ruffling some green feathers onto the deck. Steve's eyes followed the loose feathers, wary that they were some device to carve a niche into his dream-construct, the Stellar Rain. Yet they seemed to fade into nothing as they fell on the deck. He turned his eyes back on Pickle. "Besides, I'm not very well wanted there."
"When has that ever stopped you from being at a place?" Pickle snickered, and shook her head. "You know you wish to return. Begin with the Court of Miracles. Perhaps Mercury can help, if you can contact him."
Steve shook hsi head. "Mercury is scarce, these past few arcs, from what I hear. Who knows if he even remembers that his Court still exists, if he is alive even."
Pickle said nothing to this, but cocked her head to the side.
"I was planning on making a stop there anyway."
"Good." Pickle clucked her tongue, as Egil flapped his wings on Steve's shoulder, buffeting the side of his face lightly. "I suppose that's the best I can hope for, from you."
The surreality of the moment wasn't lost on Steve. This almost felt like a dream he'd have when he wasn't a Dreamwalker. Before lucidity was all but undeniable. It was then he remembered his entire errand in being here, to produce a raw well from his slumbering body, for Lucretia. The thought of her nearly brought him coiled out by his astral tether, but he resisted the pull. He wanted to know more about this Pickle, enigmatic as they were.
"So, you're a gunvorton green. What part of Scalvoris are you from?"
"Oh, my uncle and aunt are from Gunvorton, but I'm not native to the village." Pickle muttered, "I'm very much of Emea, but I hover around the dreamers of Scalvoris. And other places too. By the way, if you need a message delivered to a dreamer, I'm your gal."
Steve considered this, and looked to Egil, who still perched on his shoulder. The movement of his head prompted the raven to take flight to a nearby bannister, needing some space clearly. "Lacrima, I need to tell her ahead of my arrival."
Pickle nodded her head, and then tilted her head to the side, causing the wattle to sway beneath her beak. "Yes, of course you would. I will do so directly, although the poor dear has not been faring well..."
Before Steve could ask her what she meant, the chicken disappeared in a puff of green and white feathers.
