#rutgers

Sylvi is at her freehold. Symon has gone to work some mysterious sluagh business. Dagmar hits the pavement like a packless wolf, restless but seeking... something.

As she moves along there is definitely a growing sense of shadow over the campus

This place isn't a Seelie land, or even civilized

That restlessness has been pulling at her for some time - a nagging undercurrent of dissatisfaction, with no clear path to resolution. It had been drowning the Summer knight, as the world changed without her permission - relentless and inevitable as the tide. No wonder the call to Winter gripped her so tightly this year. Winter is change.

Change is good... but good like decent? or more quality?

Alone, unwitnessed, in shadow - Dagmar could do anything.

She is certain she doesn't want to just sit in the apartment. Maybe there will be something to fight again.

And so she patrols...

(Perception plus Alertness)

/roll 6

There are redcaps and sluagh that come to this college, she knows one as a good friend, but it's not surprising ngihtmares are having a blast. And that's good for them. Scary for the norms. SHe's no Liam, and as long as mortals aren't harmed, so be it.

But then she sees Masey, god she's a wild thing, a nature child with far too much worldly wisdom, no Sailor moon outfit here, she is dressed more like a nymph ... she also looks worried and is searching about. Satyres should be having FUN on Samhain, why does she look worried?

Brow-furrow.

She whirls, then sees the big troll, "Oh baby, you would be fun to show around but..damn it. "

"Masey?" She calls out. The skimpy Luisa costume has given way to something even more revealing, and less civilized for Dagmar - more pin-up Barbarian, a fantasy from some Frazetta illustration with rippling muscles and intricate lichtenburg figures on display. (She DOES have some pretty wicked fur-topped boots, though.)

"She's missing, she's missing..." Masey stamps her hooves , her wild eyes turning back from undiguised admiration for the towering amazon, back to worry for something out there, or someone "I'm trapped between friendship and lust, and neither will be satisfied"

"Missing... Belinda?"

"Yes.. she's gone, Oh I was going to show her fun she never knew, I no sooner enchanted her when I lost her. I don't know where she is...she could be in trouble" the hair flies in a frenzy "Damn it ...theres something ill on the wind! You join in the rumpus, you don't take from it. There are rules even of the wild. There are ways . Someone is ignoring the ways"

She is no redcap, yet somehow she flashes her teeth as if she could rip out a throat for not knowing the ways

"Can we retrace steps?"

"You know how to hunt? My soul does but my brain has forgot..."

Grunt. "Veil is thin, touch your soul. But I have... some training. Yes."

"I'm not Chief."

"Who cares about the Chief, whoever that is. She is not here... we are. Our ability to effect the world, really change it, is often limited to the smell of our scent's reach, our body heat's warmth lingering... this way, follow." She darts off. Damn satyrs move fast, a banner of hair fluttering through the bushes

Dagmar prowls after the satyress - not as fast, but long-legged.

She finds the area, "Here," Masey gestures

To the grass and ground

(Perception plus survival)

/roll 5

Dagmar crouches, touching the grass lightly with her fingertips.

Dagmar can't tell where the tracks go... but the grass, the grass might know, the bushes might know

A slow frown before she settles down in a crosslegged seat.

"Masey, tell me what you remember first."

"She was aglow, enchanted, and dressed so deliciously, my dreamer was agawk, she thought she was in a Tim Burton movie but more sensual. I was going to take her to see something special. I heard voices, and got curios, and told her to wait... then I heard her scream. I raced back here.. and she was gone"

Dagmar nods. She places both of her hands, palms flat, on the turf.

"Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and the passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work."

And the magic of the night hears this and responds, the grasses wriggle

and wait for questions

"Green and sere alike, my witnesses, tell me what you saw of the dark-haired Dreamer after the satyress was drawn astray."

"they came in shrouds meant to wear blood drippings, but no blood spilled yet..." One grass blade whispers

"Yet yet yet..." the others chime in

Another blade takes lead "Oh harken then , five of them , one for each corner, and one for the shadow priest... the Court seized her and took her, so bright was she to the shadow"

Her golden eyes glint dangerously.

And that seems to be the answer to that question. She has more waiting

"What direction did they bear from here?"

"North and West they winded, moving towards the Oaks. They seek the rock I suspect, before mortal life they choke"

"The rock?"

"They call it the rock, it is very old, once it was warm but its now grown cold. Taken the top was for an elven throne. The Glade is gone, leaving smooth stone. Power there once humed with glamour, now not so much as a yammer, but it takes to workings very well. Summer please, or winter fell. "