The Festival

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It seems that Obsidius and Cybella’s journey through space and time has come to an end. One of their final glimpses was into a strange gathering in a forest where Agents of both Factions were working to build Portals as part of some kind of festival.


We stood in a forest of massive trees much like where we had first seen the red-haired woman. Around us was a crowd, many in garbs of green and blue. Fires burned. It was a campsite that reminded me of caravanserais I had seen as an exploratore. Strange music played, although I could see no musicians, and in all my travels had not heard such odd sounds of which the music was composed. Some danced and cheered, others worked to build sculptures with wood and metal and objects which shone with unnatural light. They bore upon them the glyphic markings that I had seen in places and times so remote from each other that it defied reason.

“What are they making?” I asked. “They are building līmina,” Cybella said. “Once they are complete, they will bask in their power and see great visions. Look at her skin.” She pointed to one of the women in green garb. A small, dark wound was present upon her flesh, like a burn or a strange disease.rrreccoxrrrecowrrroxxweccxxxweconxrecoxxwrrecoxwecwrrrcccorrrexcxxw

“It is a sign that she has touched the powers hidden within the līmina. She carries it with pride, like one of your battle scars. She has become one with the līmina. Now she carries a piece of them with her.”isjdsisieuraifisaocf

In the next moment, we stepped out to the lush countryside of Britannia. The smell of wildflowers filled the air. In the distance was the ancient circle of stones. The world as I have always known it had returned. So did a sense of danger. Cybella felt it too. “Syphax is near.”

We have seen a vast number of lands and things which may or may not have actually been there. I feel like a spectral voyager upon the river Styx. It is increasingly difficult to discern flesh from fantasy.


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