| Logs |
2003 February 15
| Idlewild |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Idlewild Logs |
February 15
Steven closes his eyes, regulating his breathing, realizing that there's a time limit but not willing to rush this. It isn't often that he approaches his god with such a pressing (for him) issue. He lets his consciousness drift and rise, rising through the chakras, breathing slowly. In... out... in... out....
Somewhere in there, he realizes that he is deep in the trance, and like a diver deep in the ocean he finds himself adrift in a formless void. Void, but not empty, for here he feels the presence of Lord Pelor, comforting and soothing....
Steven composes himself, keeping his breathing slow and steady, fingers arrayed before him in the mudra his master had taught him. "Lord Pelor," he says quietly. "I come before you with thanks for what you have done for us in this journey. Your help has brought us far. I must ask of you for guidance. We have reached a new point in this journey, and before us is a decision gate which offers promise and yet of which none of us know nothing about. I am your servant, Lord Pelor, and I could not venture upon this without consulting you, so great the changes it will wrought are." Steven explains the problem and issue; he knows Pelor knows it already, but it is for his own train of thought; as his master taught him, if he cannot state, clearly and concisely, what his difficulties are, how can he hope to ask someone, anyone, for help with it?"
He plunges on: "Lord Pelor... is doing what Seodil has suggested in keeping with your plans for me? That is, is this something that you feel I should do? I know not what changes it will make in my relationship with you, though with what I know now I cannot see how it would do that."
Steven realizes that, standing before Pelor like this, it would be better to let Pelor's sight fill his own, and so he takes a deep breath. "Lord Pelor.. what will happen if I accept this offer from Seodil, and become a shapechanger in the manner he has suggested, that is, a member of this.. Hunt?"
The gently swirling, formless void takes on a garish tinge as Steven's mental self is spun and sucked down into a series of brightly colored scenes that flash by with a jarring intensity after the peaceful space.
Steven is caught in a dreamlike state, where he has doubled vision; floating above the scene, at the same time he feels himself run, the bronze-furred dire wolf with hazel eyes near the head of the pack. That pack flickers from fifty strong to perhaps fifteen, as though he is seeing different timeframes, and the leader changes as well-- sometimes it is Seodil, sometimes Lua or Sol, Aiden, a strange white wolf he knows he has never met, or even Steven himself.
The pack runs soundlessly across ice and snow, in pursuit of no visible goal. The vision shifts with stomach-unsettling suddenness to a fight between wolves, two at the heart of a wide ring of the rest, with blood spilled brightly on the frozen ground as the two fighters struggle and the rest watch in eerie stillness, respecting the contest. The contestants flicker and change identity like the pack leader, with mostly the individuals Steven saw at the head of the pack fighting...
Aiden at Seodil's throat. Aiden lying bloody on the snow while Seodil snarls over him, red-mouthed. Sol slashing at Lua. Lua lunging at Aiden. Steven hurling himself at Seodil... at Lua... The white stranger standing over a flickering corpse that could be anyone. The victor flickers again as the scene changes, and a hauntingly lovely throne of ice appears in its place...
Sol sits unhappily in the throne, Lua nowhere in sight, Steven and Aiden standing protectively to the side in elvish finery and their usual forms... but finer, harder, more focused. Lotte smiles at a strange elf with a harp and blood-red hair and eyes, who lures her farther and farther away from the rest of the group. Lua is suddenly on the throne instead, and Aiden is sometimes Seodil, with Sol standing solidly at his shoulder. Lua looks hard and cold at times, at others serene. Everyone but the white stranger in elven form disappears from her side...
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