#dreaming

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As Brekke travels the trods directed, she feels more herself again... indeed, she feels her seelie side growing stronger. And realizes Speaker is feeding it... not forcing, but memories and impressions of honor, Beauty, and Love

A deep breath...she’d been coming so close to her winter side, and rightly so, but this...such a bracing feeling, like a bright breeze at the edge of a fjord!

_It is how you want to go, if go we must yes? _ Speaker says in her thoughts

A set jaw, and a firm nod. No words other than her thoughts. It is.

She knows what Vali says he saw about her, about the outcome of this. But still....

A brief grin that the others would not understand. Yes...this is a good day for a battle.

Emmit looks about, somehow, his voile looks not so medeviel, but rather like a hitchhiker might have worn in the late 60s early seventies...

He smiles at the lace band, and the Namer whispers to it, "Zara, if youre going to use this as a cheat to scry in the dreaming, I'm going to threaten to turn it off. You have college classes young lady"

Can a bit of lace feel offended?

In the Dreaming? Well, anything is possible

"Behave, stick to your studies, and I'll tell you how to hide yourself from those like us when I get back" He promises

Mollified lace.

The Chieftain travels on... the Dragon is likely on its way towards the Farmhold, but time is funny in the Dreaming, they can beat it. That's their goal after all.

She rides Stormwake, the Dragonlance in hand, and keeps a keen watch...and finds herself humming an old, mostly-forgotten marching song, one that must be from a battle many lifetimes past.

Perhaps to her surprise, Athrek takes it up, Gram shining in his hands

A surprised look in his direction indeed, and a nod of approval as they continue...and a word or two filters through the fog of forgetfulness that is so much thinner here in the Dreaming.

Emmit picks up the tune, but more like going alone. He bends down to taste the soil of the trod, spits it out, and points "Left"

The song fades, and Brekke nods, turning Stormwake that way.

Lesser threats come towards them, then seeing it's freaking trolls, turn aside. "Apologies... " One Harpy says, raising Talons, "My sisters did not know such..luminaries were here"

“Hmph.” Brekke doesn’t bother to address these.

Emmit is more social, "Just on a stroll, Sophria."

"How did you know myh name?" The lead harpy says

"I don't...yet." Emmit holds a finger to his lips "Shhh"

The harpies flee

Arthek smirks a bit

And they continue on.

An amused noise at Emmit.

"I wouldn't really, "Emmit explains "Rules against that, But they can't be sure. So... " A pleased look as they go winding through the areas where they see a small village. There's a large bell.

There are also numerous chimera, mostly humanoid in shape.

Arthek eyes the bell, "The Dragon would hear that I bet"

“Yes...and likely destroy the village.” Brekke’s voice is a deep sound.

"They're not our people, not even kithain" The Hearth reminds

She gives him a dark look. “No. We will not do that.”

"Seconded, Code of Dagda. " Emmit says

"Then we need to find another place on the road we can summon the dragon from" Athrek says pragmatically

“Someplace uninhabited. Beyond this village.”

"Good day, miss. " One of the townsfolk says , "Oh that's a mighty grim looking hand there. Tell you what, I can remove it, only cost you a bit of dross. "

He looks humanoiod, but his expression is almost too exaggerated

Brekke looks down at the creature, frowning, then she looks at the town. “What is this place?” she asks.

"Bellbeam, lady. Named for the great bell of judgement. Some fellow told us one day folks would come through and use that bell or not use it to decide our fate. Silly really, isn't it? Now, about that hand. That one is GRIM, all somber and serious. YOu'd be happier without it I think."

Her frown deepens. “I wish to keep it. Why do you wish to remove it?”

"It's grim. Folks should be happy."

“You...know who I am.” Brekke hazards. Because honestly she cannot figure out why this man is so fixated on the word.

Emmit observes the folks of the town and looks about. He notices a few things, "Chief, look." He points two two locals admiring the color of some grass on the opposing side of the fence. "I'm not sure they quite get metaphors or figures of speech"

"nope. I just know it's a grim hand, can tell by looking at you. We notice things like that" he says.

"They don't get it, but they can see it?" Arthek mutters questioning

“Metaphors are true here?” She looks at her own hand, which has never seemed particularly unhappy to her.

"I'm sorry, I don't undertand" The man says "What's a Meta for?"