In Which Dreams are Discussed

The rain pours down so harshly that one almost couldn't see the ash, clinging to his arms. Svarshan raises his head against the onslaught. Rain pours down his muzzle, down his shoulders, and back. "Tearss of the. Ssky," he mutters.

One could well imagine other words, after. The grimace, the shift of shoulders like a boxer readying a left thrust.

And after, it seems, a moment of inner conflict, he steps forward onto the pathway again. One step closer to the Point.

Even with his cloak pulled up around his head it's clear that Zeke is sith-makar. It's the tail and the tell-tale clawed feet. The bent-back knees. One of which marks him as himself as much as his dark blue scales do though in the darkness they seem all the closer to black. He is bowed under the weight of the rain, trying to keep it from himself, but as he comes down the path from the wilderness he straightens a bit catching sight of Svarshan who in his own way is too familiar a shape to be mistaken for someone else. He slows then a touch, drawing closer to the other sith. "Peassce on your nessst."

"Peasse," Svarshan says, sounding wry. He scowls at the sky again and...at length, the look softens. "A sstar has been losst, sshaman. Have you sseen?" Closer, one can see the ash covering his hands--up to the forearms. Ash quickly washing away due to the weather.

But it smells of fire, of home. The world around smells of the sharpness of fresh rain.

The words draw Zeke's green eyes skyward, but that once-blue dome is lost to the clouds now. Nothing hangs there but the rain sure to fall. So his eyes fall quickly and he turns them on Svarshan. "Thisss one hasss not." The scent of fire is a relaxing one, the scent of home and hearth. "Thissss one hasss heard that the ssshaman-cassste ssspeak of ill tidingsss, but they are not united in their thoughtsss. What ssssay you? Do you feel a ssstrangenesss in your bonesss?"

The warrior-caste slants a look Zeke's way. He's quiet too long. Someone thinking TOO MUCH.

Or perhaps just gods-awful with words.

"Thiss one thinks...it iss too easy to become losst in darkness. When I...made my misstake, one could only sssee the bottom of the well. The other night, one dreamed of the bottom of a. Well."

"I do not think this iss...coincidensse. Even given what one ssaw: the Tyrant Dragon thieving from the. Sstars."

"There hasss been much darknessss here of late." More and more it seemed to Zeke. "If we are at the bottom however, there issss a light at lasssst." He offers a warm look, in spite of the darkness the blue-scaled sith seems to have gotten at last a small amount of confidence. "At the bottom one can only rissse. Assss for what you ssssaw... it bodesss badly indeed; what the Tyrant Dragon wisssshesss we mussst not allow."

"When one wass within one'ss own well. It iss all one ssaw. ...one ssupposes it is a message from the gods," Svarshan says wryly and then...and then, but his eyes close and he rubs at them with forefinger and thumb. His shoulders clench. The rain pours, bringing with it that fresh, clean scent. "And one musst remember that. Lesson. Sshaman: The Tyrant sstole a child of the Dragonfather, and the Hearth Dragon. The child iss to Ea..."

"..." He lifts his muzzle again to the onslaught. The falling rain. "...but the child fought free. Fought free, sshaman. There iss a child of the Dragonfather, of the Hearth, here on Ea and it iss losst."

"...but it. Fought. Free," he says, voice rough. Punctuating the words. "It may need our help. ...sshaman, losst here in the world. It may...but Darkness could not. Hold it. Much as Darkness cannot hold. The Light."

Zeke is stairing at Svarshan, shock on his features and worry on his brow. Enough to cover any other thoughts that might have entered into his mind. "Thisss one felt the earth sssshudder, the roar of the sky cry out. Thisss one felt the calling in the bonesss and the singing in the ssscalesss. It musssst be that thessse thingsss are the sssame. A child of the Dragonfather and the Hearth Dragon..." His words are breathless, wondering as he rubs his claw over his quarterstaff, glances skyward and rumbles in his chest. "It musssst be found and protected; returned."

"Your essperience lends potency and. Gravity. ..." The eyes dare close a moment. The breath deapens, quickens.

"...a rough transsition for thiss child. They may be. Losst. But sshaman--they were not dragged to the Hells as the Tyrant would have wisshed. Perhaps the thunder--was not only their being ripped from the ssky."

"But alsso their teeth upon the Tyrant'ss neck. For they are upon Ea--and not. Below." Svarshan stands with Zeke, near the edge of the township. Rain pours down from above. It brings scents both sharp and fresh.

"Indeed." Zeke flashes his teeth, a show of the force which Svarshan spoke of. "A bold and forsceful child then. One to be reckoned with."

For a moment Zeke is quiet, surely considering Svarshan's words. Considering the entirety of the situation. "Thissss one wassss headed to Alexandria to learn more of what thisss one felt, and it only makesss thissss journey all the more important now. For the ssssound and inssstinct ssssay that sssomething of ussse will be found there."

Hun'rar walks out of the woods towards the Inn before noticing Svarshan and walking over, he is dressed in full armor with a bag over his shoulder. "Peace on your nests." he says in greeting with both Sith. "Enjoying the rain?"

"Peasse," Svarshan says, after a pause. And he opens his muzzle, and STARTS to say something. Starts to say and--he's just no damn good with words, is what. So...

"Peasse to your nesst." Because it's...totally everything they'd been talking about. TOTALLY.

"Peassce to your nessst." Zeke offers the greeting as well, nodding his head to Hun'rar politely, but in a very unsithlike manner. It's clear that for Zeke at least, it's a common one however. "Thisss one issss not overly fond of the changing weather. It remindsss one of onesss age." There's amusement in Zeke's tone at that suggests that he's being gently self-deprecating. He is after all an old man, even by sith standards.

Hun'rar looks up briefly into the rain "It is getting colder. Small magic keeps me comfortably outside of my armor but heavier clothing is required with what is coming. Luckily the padding under the steel is thick. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything, though, I have been in the woods for a while and welcome the sight of a familiar face."

Svarshan looks to the aged sith-makar a while, his look warm, and kind. And looks to Hun'rar. "You...heard the thunder in the earth, Hun'rar?" he asks.

"One had a. Dream and approached the sshaman-casste. The ssound was of a child of the. Dragonfather and the Hearthmother, biting the neck of. The Tyrant as it fell to. Ea."

A showing of teeth. "There are fewer sstars in the ssky. But the child refussed the. Hells."

"You were not interrupting." Zeke offers this gently, glancing at Svarshan as the other divulges their conversation to Hun'rar. When he is done Zeke nods once thoughtfully and seriously. "Thissss one hopesss to learn more in Alexandria. Have you any newss?"

Hun'rar shakes his head "I have no news, nothing new to add in any case but that sounds a powerful portent. I have been alone for these last few days, mastering my own inner dragon where I won't hurt anyone in the process, only returning here for resupply and frankly.. the occasional soft bed. The old tribe would make fun of me for that." he admits with a shrug. "What is this all about?"

“A dream the other. Night. The night the earth sshook. A child sstolen and thrown to the bottom of a. Well. Esscept the well became the ssky. One sspent a while thinking on it," Svarshan says, wryly. So wry, one could cut bread with it.

"And then one went to the sshaman-casste."

Because that is what warriors do.

Zeke's eyes are shining with just a touch of mirth. "Thisss issss what we were dissscusssing; asss we sssaid. Thisss one sssshould be on the way." He moves a step closer toward Alexandria. "Thisss one welcomess company on the journey, but thisss one sssshould continue on."

-End