Tales and Alternate Histories of the Dream

During these times, there was a well known Fatesender teacher named L'ano Itar. L'ano had spent several years in the dream, advancing to the rank of Master Teacher, and serving the Free Spirit community as advisor, mentor, and role model for the newly awakened and his peers alike. It was well known that L'ano cared little for the beliefs of the Houses. Never one to take up a cause, L'ano dreamt for himself; his quest for knowledge and the desire to share what he learned with all who would listen were L'ano's driving force.

L'ano had little concern for the nightmares, as his classes were generally held within one of Kiln Benfar's sanctuaries, safe from the nightmares that wandered the dreamscape. Over time though, certain of the more intelligent nightmares became aware of the gatherings and began staking out the path to the sanctuary, laying in wait for the students as they left the classes, often exhausted from long periods of arts practice, they made easy prey for even the weakest of nightmares. After one particularly vicious attack on one of his students, L'ano decided to change his selfish ways, and add the scope of his knowledge and abilities to that of a House, the Order of the Sable Moon.

Petitioning Ruler Cybele for membership in the Order, L'ano was tasked to demonstrate his loyalty and ability by guarding the entrance to the House, to prevent infiltration of any nightmares while the Initiates and Guardians were occupied fighting on the front lines near threshold. L'ano was assigned to a second sphere GateKeeper named Draw, together they were to lock the doors and allow no one to pass.

After several hours of watching Draw ward the portals and waiting for the to dissipate, L'ano decided it was an opportune time to kick back and work on his notes. L'ano had recently achieved his third plateau in the art of Firestorm, and had yet to learn exactly what this new power entailed; now seemed as good a time as any to study the formulae and equations involved in the evocation to determine how effective it had become. L'ano found a comfortable perch near the entrance to the Sand Caverns and took out his notes, becoming quickly engrossed in his studies.

Lost in his notes, L'ano did not notice the dark chill that passed through the portal. Before he realized what was happening, Draw was screaming in pain trying to fend off the hoard of Agoknight and Bogrom that had launched a surprise attack on the ill-defended house. Quickly dropping his notes and taking up his best Lucidity Elemen, L'ano, still out of sight near the Cavern entrance, began desperately chanting the words he knew would bring fire raining through the minds of the attackers.

As the first wave of psychic fire flashed across the entrance to the Order, L'ano realized too late that he and Draw had not thought to join in party. As Draw fell victim to the onslaught of the firestorm, L'ano vowed to avenge his loss and paused from his attack to join party with Draw, to protect him from further savaging, and allow Draw to seek refuge in the House sanctuary to heal.

The nightmares did not waste this moment of hesitation, and immediately began scouring the entrance, searching for L'ano, intent on avenging their lesser brethren that had already fallen victim to the storm of fire. As the first bogrom reached the ledge, L'ano sent a flash of flameruin into it, the satisfying image of the torched bogrom lasting only a moment, as this direct attack drew the attention of the remaining nightmares, and revealed his location.

Taking up his Elemen, and begging the now coherent Draw to restore him as best he was able, L'ano set his jaw, backed into the corner, and began evoking his Firestorm. Over and over he evoked the deadly art, while wave after wave of nightmares pounded his avatar, destroying every shield he had, and bringing L'ano dangerously close to dissolution. Only the efforts of Draw and the his own iron will and determination kept him coherent through the onslaught. His last Elemen running down to empty, L'ano slumped against the wall, sure the battle was lost, the halls of the Order to be desecrated by the dark, vile creatures.

Losing consciousness, L'ano realized Draw was standing before him. His final memory of the day was Draw hefting him onto his shoulder and carrying him into the sanctuary, the words "You did it" echoing in his mind.

Her words fell silent as Tehthu himself burst into the room. Releasing a roar that reverberated throughout the room. He stared in rage at the little dreamers before him. Ramonish had never been a warrior, as the old cliche' goes, he was a lover not a fighter. Julianna, however, was a GateKeeper, and destined to fight when the need arose. But this was not the time. Tehthu's entrance caught her by surprise. His first strike knocked her to the ground, and she lie there stunned. Tehthu's full attention was focused on her. Ramonish rummaged quickly through his pack, searching for the mightiest chakram he had, a level 60. But, so seldom was he in battle, it was near the bottom and cost him precious seconds. Tehthu's second, and final blow to Julianna brought about her collapse. The Mighty DarkMare began evoking an art, though Ramonish knew not what it was. He emptied the last remaining shots of his chakram into the foul beast, taking him to near dissolution, but the chakram crumbled to dust before he could finish the job. Glancing over his sizable shoulder, Tehthu watched the chakram's usefulness end and he smiled in that evil way that only a DarkMare can manage. Completing the evokation, Tehthu used the art of DreamStrike upon her. As she faded, knowing what was happening, she whispered "Ray, I love you. I had been waiting for you ask that question for many months."

Roaring in Pleasure, Tehthu looked at Ramonish. Knowing he would easily take this dreamer down, he grinned a bonechilling grin at Ramonish. The rage, the rage and firey energy only possessed by FateSenders, the rage that Ramonish himself did not know he possessed, came forth. Tears on his cheeks he began evoking, not knowing what art it would be, only acting upon the impulse and adrenaline that had suddenly exploded inside him. Tehthu was taken aback as he stared at the dreamer before him, a crimson light growing within his eyes and bathing his entire body in ruby brillance. Finishing the evokation, Ramonish screamed out in the painful cry only one who has lost a love can feel. The rest is history. The power of his love for Julianna and the anger and pain her loss had filled him with had given him the ability to evoke an art, as of yet unknown to the dream. Tehthu was engulfed in a firey blast that exploded throughout the room and carried as if on the winds of a violent hurricane. The beast fell, and Ramonish stared at the floating DarkMare, not sure what had happend or why his life was someon spared

Though he was no DreamWright, his tale of what had happend carried throughout the dream. Within a month, every soul in the city had heard of this miraculous occurance. He was never able to reproduce these results alone, but he spoke with a close friend and DreamWright by the name of Denak. Learning of the emotions felt, and the occurances leading up to it, Denak studied over all the information Ramonish could give him. Many years passed, but finally, Denak found the secret. There is a small region of the dreamer Psyche that all our feelings of anger are created from. By tapping into this energy with the evokation of offensive arts, that energy can be harnessed. However, the the temper of the FateSenders make them unique. This art can, therefore, only be evoked by the FateSenders of the Dream, and only when their avatars have grown enough in strength that the raw power of this art does not threaten to destroy them. He named this art very simply as to the way Ramonish described it. "FireStorm"

Cyardon, a DreamSeer of no great importance, was often found wandering around the planes of the dream. He would sit for hours looking into the gently flowing waters of the streams in the Trinities, or gazing out across the dreamscape from the higher reaches of Illapse. He had just spent many weeks learning the ins and outs of the art of Chamele from a now famous dreamer Jervias, and was spending his days wrapped in the shadows of the dream, studying the various mares he happened upon.

Now, like most quiet people, Cyardon had a close friend very unlike himself, T’Lrek. As we know from the history of Stagger T’Lrek was famous for his ale, and his sense of humor. The pair were a sight to see together, T’Lrek often loud and boisterous and Cyardon solemn and withdrawn. They could often be found, Cyardon sitting on the edge of fountain with his hand swirling the waters, and T’Lrek standing over him chastising him on being such a hermit.

"Cyardon, friend, you have to open up! Laugh a little and let it out!" T'Lrek said in a deep jovial voice.

Cyardon looked up, wiping his hand on his cloak, "I know my friend but I never seem to know what to say. Then it feels like everyone is looking at me waiting for something. I get nervous and my mind goes blank."

T’Lrek put his hand upon Cyaredon’s shoulder, "Well now that you have this, this new toy you play with, Chamele, you’ll never open up. You walk around the city invisible to all. How is a fine lass going to chase you if she can’t see you!"

Cyardon began to fidget, "Please T’Lrek not again. You know I can’t talk to woman."

Just then T’Lrek recalled a flask he placed in his vest pocket before he left the tavern that morn. He withdrew it, removed the stopper, and reached down to the pool, pretending to fill it from the waters. Stoppering it back up he handed it to Cyardon, "Here my friend take this then. I would hate to find you lying in the fields of the Trinities, swooned from the heat and lack of liquid refreshment. Maybe the cool waters of your favorite pool will stir you a bit or at least keep you from heat stroke."

Cyardon, not paying much attention to what T’Lrek was saying or doing, took the flask and tucked it away in pouch at his belt.

Later that day he was walking through the fields of the Trinities as T’Lrek knew he would, since he did so everyday at that time. As he rounded the corner he happened upon a fair maiden, grappling with a Bogrom, and obviously on the losing side of the struggle. Now Cyardon was no warrior by any means, and one might say even a bit cowardly. As he often did when the mares would rear their ugly heads, he ducked behind the corner and wrapped himself in the shadows using his art of Chamele before either could notice him, or so he thought. He then bolted past, and ran up the ledge heading for the rise. His mouth became dry and parched from the exertion and his fear. He leaned up against the wall, and remembering the flask, withdrew it, pulled the stopper and took a long swig of the contents. To his surprise it was not the clear water of a spring, but a brew concocted from the fabled flagon of his friend, T’Lrek the DreamSmith of Grog. Too late to halt its rush down his gullet, the effects began to take hold.

Cyardon stood up straight and tall, flung back his cloak and ran a steady strong hand through his sable locks. His heart bursting with courage, he ran back down the rise to defend the fair maiden from the vile bogrom. Rushing headlong at the creature he smashed into it, knocking it from its feat, and freeing the damsel from its clutches. Now, as soon as he struck the beast his chamele diminished and the maiden could see her savior standing over her, reaching a hand to pull her to her feat. Quickly, the bogrom regained its senses and its footing, and lunged at Cyardon. The first blow succeeded out of surprise, stealth, and blind luck. Cyardon was now standing toe to toe with a creature quite capable of rending him limb from limb. Quickly, he grabbed up a broken limb resting on the ground by the maiden’s feet, and lunged at the beast, swinging with such ferocity the creature was staggered. Then it happened. He hiccuped. Yes, I said hiccuped, and to the amazement of the bogrom, his foe had vanished.

Letting out a guttural cry the beast began swinging madly. Noticing his foe seemed not to know where he was, Cyardon took the opportunity to move behind the beast, and with one massive blow, felled the vile creature. Suddenly, he reappeared again standing in front of the maiden he had risked his very life to save. She looked a bit amazed but not at his warrior’s prowess, but at how he could do what he did; seemingly turn invisible. With a new found courage and very beautiful woman at his arm, Cyardon went in search of his friend.

As they walked, Azreaal, as the maiden was called, asked Cyardon of his wondrous powers. Cyardon, rather at a loss for how it had happened, began to theorize. They discussed the possibilities as they traveled to T’Lrek’s tavern. He told her of the circumstances leading up to the event, and she of hers, and they came to the conclusion that somehow T’Lrek’s concoction had reacted with the ambient magiks of the Chamele still in effect on Cyardon’s avatar. They laughed as they walked, for it seems Cyardon still had the hiccups, and would pop in and out of sight from time to time.

Upon reaching the tavern they sat down over a round of more common ale and told the story to T’Lrek. T’Lrek turned to Azreaal and said "Oh, I told you to go to the Trinities... I meant to say Umbric. Good thing my friend here happened upon you."

Cyardon raised a brow and looked at his friend, detecting a bit of mischief and preplanning in his words. "So, you two have met before?"

Azreaal looked up at Cyardon, a mischievous smile not unlike T’Lrek’s upon her lips, "He is my uncle, Cyardon, he sent me in search of some mushrooms for this evenings special, but it seems he had his directions crossed."

Cyardon scowled at T’Lrek "You rogue! You deliberately gave me one of your vile concoctions, and sent your niece out in harms way knowing I would stumble upon her and…" Just then he looked at Azreaal. His heart softening, his withdrawn nature all but forgotten, and just as he was about to speak another hiccup escaped his lips, and poof he was gone again. A roar went up from the three and, the rest of the day was spent talking and getting acquainted with his soon to be bride.

Now, back to the creation of Invisibility. Cyardon with the help of Azreaal who turned out to be a very insightful lass, and T’Lrek’s flagon, he was able to reproduce the effects of the mixture and form what we have today as the Art of Invisibility. The sound made by the evocation of the art still sounds like the hiccup escaping from Cyardon’s lips, and its short duration is due to the fact the rather chaotic nature of its creation. The potency of the art seems to disallow the ability to extend it for great lengths of time.

Poor Cyardon was never able to rid himself of the after effect of his hiccups, and would always poof after a few drinks, making the wedding reception, and the night to follow, an interesting tale in itself. Maybe for another day.

The End