territories and claimed Independence from the Freelands.
Biarlin was the principal advocate for the separation and they named the
dominion after him.
Terragur, The Noble Kingdom.
Itherin, the Freelands, and Biarlin, the Independent Dominion. Everything East
of these realms is subject to that of the wandering magiks. The further East,
the more wild the magic, the more untamed the state of the wilderness. Farthest
East lie the Black Peaks, an impassable wall of towering stone. Those brave
adventurers daring enough to attempt to cross them have never returned.
Marc struggled to keep his eyes open, but he was finally
feeling tired, his mind was overloaded with too many new things and it was
shutting down. He needed to sleep and slowly found it in the rhythm of the
moving wagon.
Chapter Five
Waking Dreams
Marc opened his eyes and immediately
knew he was dreaming.
His surroundings were unreal and otherworldly.
An empty gray expanse lay all around him. The horizon was distinguishable
from the floor only because the ground was a dull metallic grey, and the sky
was a bright and sparkly shimmering array of silver hues. With no apparent way
to mark time he did not know how long he sat there, staring into the eternal
void. He stood up and saw that he was still in the attire that he had been
wearing in the waking world, his street clothes and the belt around his waist
with the sword at his side. Upon standing up he saw a figure lying nearby him,
he quickly realized it was Sesuadra. Marc quietly walked over to him.
Should I wake him? He thought.
He slowly reached his hand forward and was about to shake
Sesuadra awake when a sound behind him made him stop and turn.
There was a thudding sound, like someone falling to the
floor, it came from far away and yet sounded like it was right behind Marc.
He would wake Sesuadra in just a moment.
As soon as he turned at the sound a thick mist materialized
from nowhere. He could not see further than his own hand.
“What is going on?” he asked aloud.
He knew he was dreaming, and yet it felt real. The mist was
slightly cold, and thick. Wet drops of condensation began forming on his
exposed skin. He shivered from the chill. His voice sounded muffled in the
heavy air.
There was another bump, like a heavy object falling against
a wood floor.
“Sesuadra!” He said, “Sesuadra, are you there?”
Marc turned and walked a short distance, trying to reach the
spot where he had seen the young man asleep on the ground.
“Sesuadra?” He called out.
Another thump, this one metallic.
“Hello? Is there somebody there? Sesuadra, is that you?”
Faint whisperings whooshed past his ears and he whirled
around.
“Who’s there!?” He called.
More whisperings. It sounded like a single voice echoing and
swirling in the mist and yet it was all around him.
“Show yourself!” he cried.
As if in answer the mist began to subside and Marc found
himself no longer on the silvery plane, but in a simple room with wooden walls
and small curved beams in the ceiling. It was dark except for a few burning
candles. A bed stuffed with straw and covered loosely by rumpled white cloth as
a bed sheet filled one corner. A large heavy looking wooden dresser stood
against the opposite wall next to a large window with its shutters closed. A
small desk, table with ceramic bowls and cups atop it, and a chair were along
the third wall. A simple canvas painting was hung next to a closed door on the
fourth wall. Marc stood in the corner nearest the painting. And in the center
of the room was a boy who looked a few years younger than Marc. The boy was
slumped down on his knees, facing away from Marc. It took Marc only seconds to
take in everything.
After the initial surprise quickly disappeared Marc observed
the young man more closely.
“Hello?”
The boy did not seem to hear Marc.
The boy was dressed as if he was fully suited for battle. He
wore thick dark gear, armor, leather
Biarlin was the principal advocate for the separation and they named the
dominion after him.
Terragur, The Noble Kingdom.
Itherin, the Freelands, and Biarlin, the Independent Dominion. Everything East
of these realms is subject to that of the wandering magiks. The further East,
the more wild the magic, the more untamed the state of the wilderness. Farthest
East lie the Black Peaks, an impassable wall of towering stone. Those brave
adventurers daring enough to attempt to cross them have never returned.
Marc struggled to keep his eyes open, but he was finally
feeling tired, his mind was overloaded with too many new things and it was
shutting down. He needed to sleep and slowly found it in the rhythm of the
moving wagon.
Chapter Five
Waking Dreams
Marc opened his eyes and immediately
knew he was dreaming.
His surroundings were unreal and otherworldly.
An empty gray expanse lay all around him. The horizon was distinguishable
from the floor only because the ground was a dull metallic grey, and the sky
was a bright and sparkly shimmering array of silver hues. With no apparent way
to mark time he did not know how long he sat there, staring into the eternal
void. He stood up and saw that he was still in the attire that he had been
wearing in the waking world, his street clothes and the belt around his waist
with the sword at his side. Upon standing up he saw a figure lying nearby him,
he quickly realized it was Sesuadra. Marc quietly walked over to him.
Should I wake him? He thought.
He slowly reached his hand forward and was about to shake
Sesuadra awake when a sound behind him made him stop and turn.
There was a thudding sound, like someone falling to the
floor, it came from far away and yet sounded like it was right behind Marc.
He would wake Sesuadra in just a moment.
As soon as he turned at the sound a thick mist materialized
from nowhere. He could not see further than his own hand.
“What is going on?” he asked aloud.
He knew he was dreaming, and yet it felt real. The mist was
slightly cold, and thick. Wet drops of condensation began forming on his
exposed skin. He shivered from the chill. His voice sounded muffled in the
heavy air.
There was another bump, like a heavy object falling against
a wood floor.
“Sesuadra!” He said, “Sesuadra, are you there?”
Marc turned and walked a short distance, trying to reach the
spot where he had seen the young man asleep on the ground.
“Sesuadra?” He called out.
Another thump, this one metallic.
“Hello? Is there somebody there? Sesuadra, is that you?”
Faint whisperings whooshed past his ears and he whirled
around.
“Who’s there!?” He called.
More whisperings. It sounded like a single voice echoing and
swirling in the mist and yet it was all around him.
“Show yourself!” he cried.
As if in answer the mist began to subside and Marc found
himself no longer on the silvery plane, but in a simple room with wooden walls
and small curved beams in the ceiling. It was dark except for a few burning
candles. A bed stuffed with straw and covered loosely by rumpled white cloth as
a bed sheet filled one corner. A large heavy looking wooden dresser stood
against the opposite wall next to a large window with its shutters closed. A
small desk, table with ceramic bowls and cups atop it, and a chair were along
the third wall. A simple canvas painting was hung next to a closed door on the
fourth wall. Marc stood in the corner nearest the painting. And in the center
of the room was a boy who looked a few years younger than Marc. The boy was
slumped down on his knees, facing away from Marc. It took Marc only seconds to
take in everything.
After the initial surprise quickly disappeared Marc observed
the young man more closely.
“Hello?”
The boy did not seem to hear Marc.
The boy was dressed as if he was fully suited for battle. He
wore thick dark gear, armor, leather
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