<html> <head> <style></style> </head> <body class='hmmessage'> Day 9, June 7th 703 CR  It was one of those rules in life that you could hardly ever remember dreams, and Zyn was no exception.  Sitting up and stretching, he felt the brush of familiar but distant memories that did not live in this life, like they seemed to be from a yesterday that never was, always somewhere beyond grasping, just beyond the edge of hearing.  Of course, this didn’t stop the nagging prickling in the back of his mind that he [i]should[/i] remember it.  Greeted by the sight of Xayk, still wearing his wig made of Pols’ hair, looming over the others engaged in pleasant conversation, recollection kicked in that the dragon had been present in his dream, but try as he might he couldn’t remember anything else.  The only thing that he could say for certain was that the dream seemed to have been the same he had been having for years.  “It’s not fun like that,” the dragon told the others as Zyn approached.  “If there’s no war every now and then things get [i]soooooo[/i] boring.”  “Uh-huh,” Grumiah said more out of obligation to reply nicely than anything else.  Xayk, however, was not easily fooled, especially by Grumiah’s attempted deflection of the issue that none of them really wanted to engage in conversation with him.  “That’s the kind of dumb thing Steve would say,” he stated dourly before his face inexplicably and creepily brightened to gumdrops and sunshine.  “That boring dope’s never going to be an issue again though.”  Grumiah sighed in resignation.  “Really?” his voice put out obligingly.  “You eat his dress like you threatened?”  “Uh uh,” the dragon shook his head vigorously, reaching behind him to grab something then spinning about with a calm, understated presence that just screamed that something was off, and indeed that turned out to be the case.  “I killed him,” Xayk declared like some small child seeking recognition from his parents at having successfully performed some new chore as he held out his clawed hand the crushed and broken shell that was once upon a time a coconut with a frizzled face carved into it.  Like the others Zyn stared at the crushed shell bits with a mixture of nonsensical bewilderment and a quiet nameless terror, the kind that wouldn’t let up until one soiled oneself quite thoroughly.  Fortunately there was no such soiling of undergarments though there was a collective step backwards as if the last bits of sanity and reason they had left  were being repelled by the sheer bizarreness of the situation.  “It’s just as well,” the dragon surmised with a detached contemplative musing before again changing gears to creepy childlike innocence and exuberance.  “I still have you guys around.”  Zyn swore that if Xayk kept saying stuff like that he was going to end up ripping out his hair and strangling himself.  With Sreenii still yet to return with news of their plea, the seven of them had only one thing to do: wait.  Once again they sat down to sharpen spears that needed no more sharpening and discussed contingencies that had no basis in reality.  A nervous energy pervaded the blood of all of them, creating a tense expectant atmosphere that even Pols seemed eager to break, even if it meant another descent into the darkness of that cave, even if inhuman opposition was surely waiting to meet them.  Still, they did what they could, and once again prodded Parn to see if he had anything at all he could use, but since all his spells seemed to be geared toward research they were consequently time consuming and not quite suited for combat.  No fireballs, no silence spells, no nothing.    At some point as the sun crawled by and the day with it, Xayk disappeared.  Where he had gone, Eli knew, but no one could decide if his immediate absence was good or bad, considering that if he was present you could see the unexpected thing that tended to happen with him as they were coming at you.  Absence, however, meant you saw nothing before it smashed into your face.  Whispers and quick surveying glances became common among them as they watched, ever wary of more of the dragon’s antics.  Sitting around with nothing better to do, Zyn decided to pass the time by burning things.  Coconut shells, leaves, sticks, even some... other things that probably shouldn’t have been touched were all tossed in and burned up as Zyn restocked the fire.  Not much time passed before Lorian came and sat down next to him.  Zyn saw two possibilities: either the old goat was going to lecture him on wasting fuel or there was more odd ruminations to come as had happened the previous night.  He said as much to his mentor, stoking a hearty laugh.  “I’d say I’m old enough to act how I damn well please, but our draconic friend took that excuse last night.”  “What I’d prefer to think about,” Zyn said, “Is what comes [i]after[/i] Xayk is far behind us and we’re back in civilization.”  “Mmm... thought about that some already.  There were a few people wanting my work, but there was this one that caught my eye.  Vassilis Mendie, from Wales.”  Zyn frowned in thought.  “Is this guy a Follower?”  “Oh yes, though before you get ahead of yourself, remember this is Wales we’re talking about.”  “Yeah, yeah, I remember.”  Wales, of course, was widely known for its pervasive religious indifference.  The fact that it was almost exclusively Lightbringer made it a somewhat alien territory, one that Zyn wouldn’t feel exactly comfortable in.  Still from what he knew of the people, they probably weren’t the kind who’d care or look at him strangely for not being one of their faith, as would be the case if they were talking about the Midlands or Sathmore.  “It’s just that... we’ve never gone into Lightbringer territory.”  Lorian regarded this with an ironic smile.  “Not with you, no; but I’ve been wandering the Earth for quite number of years now, and I’ve been to quite a few places, Lightbringer turf included.”  “And no one tried to burn you alive or anything?” Zyn said jokingly.  Instead of smiling wryly or not acknowledging the remark at all, Lorian’s face wandered, his thoughts clearly in another place.  “Not for such reasons as religious differences,” he said at last.  The mere fact that the old man had basically said yes to his question perked Zyn’s attention, but the cryptic nature of it gave him paused.  “What’s with you old man, seriously?” he softly but firmly demanded.  “Indeed,” Lorian said contemplatively, “What could be wrong with me?” he mused in the old familiar way that meant Zyn now had to voice his thoughts and suspicions to see if they could hold water.  Zyn, of course, wasted no time.  “You’ve been weird this entire trip.  Ever since the ship sunk you’ve been reserved... cloistered.”    “Hmm,” the old man said to himself, “I suppose you could call it cloistered.”  Regarding his mentor carefully, Zyn examined him looking for any tells.  “And it’s gotten really noticeable ever since we met Xayk. You haven’t been grilling the others, you haven’t been observing them like you normally would.  You’ve just been staring off in the distance, every now and then chiming in.  When something huge is going on you perk up, but the rest of the time...”  Lorian at last turned his gaze to face his student in the eye, his characteristic stare, a mix of chiding bemusement and secret iron confidence.  “And what exactly about such behavior is troubling to you?”  At least his habit of testing him seemed more or less normal.  “You mean am I referring to your startling lack of interest in your chosen profession or the fact that you’re moping about like a dejected lost lover?”  Granted, that’s not exactly how Lorian had been moping about, but Zyn found it his task to provoke just as much as he in turn was provoked.  Lorian’s provocations always seemed to get under the skin more effectively, but to Zyn it would be a matter of accomplishment as to how far he had come if he could truly succeed in getting under his mentor’s skin.  He had gotten close several times, but never quite there.  And Lorian, being the good teacher he was, was no doubt secretly waiting for that day himself.  “I am pleased that you are so ever mindful of the Business, however remote we may be from a place we can actually use it,” Lorain said ignoring the barb completely, his voice dripping with irony.  Zyn didn’t ever bother shrugging or sighing; he’d met this particular brick wall far too many times as to still feel dejection.   “Knowledge from others is its own compensation,” Zyn duefully quoted straight from his mentor’s mouth.  “Touché,” Lorian conceded.  “Things have... presented themselves in a new perspective to me in the last few days.  I find myself questioning much now that I have not before, even though my life has consisted of much questioning.”  Sensing his student’s unease, he let loose the barest semblance of a smile, already knowing the younger man’s thoughts.  Truth be told, hearing one’s trusted, proven mentor admit that he was reevaluating things did have a somewhat disconcerting effect, though it was less the words themselves which were vague than Lorian’s distinct tone.  From everything he knew of his mentor, something was [i]wrong[/i].  “Lorian,” Zyn said, actually calling his mentor by name, “What’s going on?”  It was a long time before the one armed painter spoke up.  “I’m really making you think, aren’t I?”  Not waiting for his apprentice to respond, he went on.  “First several days of this ordeal, seems nothing I could do could stop you from thinking yourself into a pit, and I don’t even [i]want[/i] to know how much time you had to yourself floating on that piece of driftwood.  But yesterday...” a chuckle escaped his throat, “Yesterday you seemed a bit too occupied to be busy churning thoughts back and forth through your mind.  We had a cave to explore, then after that... you [i]talked[/i] with the others,” he said with a small hint of amazement.  “[i]Some[/i] of the others,” Zyn emphasized, “ And mostly with Lum.”  “Indeed,” Lorian remarked thoughtfully.  But rather than comment on that, he continued.  “Though through the years I’ve had you help me with many tasks, putting you to work countless times, you still have never quite grasped that one most pertinent lesson.”  Zyn rolled his eyes.  “The lesson about not getting to the point to where your audience stops paying attention?”  Ignoring the barb entirely and utterly, Lorian went on.  “It’s a lesson you already have a great deal of foundation for already.  How do you get out of bed in the morning?”  Zyn blinked.  “What do you mean?  I’ve got stuff to do, stuff... to accomplish.”  “Eh, close,” Lorian responded.  “Close, but not quite the point I was going for.  I mean how do you get up when your cramps catch up with you, or your headaches, or when it’s nearly impossible to breathe?”  Zyn was quiet as he stared at the smoldering fire pit.  “I... I just do.”  “You have a choice, you know,” Lorian said softly.  “Every time, you are presented with a choice.  And each time, you simply ‘do,’” he repeated the younger man’s phrasing.  “What else would I do?  Die or something?”  Lorian smiled.  “So your answer is to deal with your pain?”  Zyn shrugged.  “Do I have a choice?  Wai-wait, don’t answer that.”  “Then why,” the old man asked, “do you not apply this to your other efforts besides surviving the after effects of your numerous afflictions?  In those cases you do not think; you [i]do[/i], in the purest sense of the word.  And... I must wonder after yesterday whether you were ‘doing’ or were merely busy, as there is a marked difference between the two.”  “Busy and doing?” Zyn repeated somewhat skeptically?  “Fine, just what is this magical difference, old man?”  “You have spent your entire life resisting the drudgery that collectively attempts to beat you into succumbing.  Resisting pain, resisting that which you are against is something you need no lessons in.  But still, you are unwilling to make the final sacrifice.”  “And just what would that be?” Zyn challenged.  “You never let it in.  Always, you close yourself off from your pain, holding it off at a distance, never confronting.  Surviving day by day, yes, but so near and yet so far from truly living.”  The old man was pushing some grand meaning of life thing onto Zyn, that much was clear.  But this generally wasn’t the thing you just talked about, indeed it was unusually something Lorian [i]never[/i] talked about, not directly.  Not like this.  Zyn furrowed his brow, hiding his discomfort.  “Ok, ok... I can sort of see how there might be a point to what you’re saying, but... what does it have to do with anything on this island?  What does it have to do with [i]right now[/i]?”  This prompted a chuckle of mirth from the one armed painter.  “In most cases, a great deal.  But in your case, everything.”  Once again, his gaze turned distantly to something that seemed beyond his field of vision, focusing beyond the here and now.  “There are always possibilities...”  “...What?” Zyn asked at the sudden statement.  The old man had said that exact phrase the previous night, in just as mysterious a spontaneity. But Zyn received no reply from Lorian, who picked himself up and started on a stroll down the beach.  Thoughts occurred to him to go chasing after the old goat, but he knew that was likely to do little good.  If Lorian didn’t want to talk, he simply wasn’t going to.  As Zyn there he heard Parn stumble his way out of the brush to approach him.  “Uh, you, uh...” the mohawked mage began.  “What is it?” Zyn asked, keeping all signs of irritation out of his voice.   “You said you wished to know whether Xayk left any signs of magic use.”  Zyn’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh,” he said, remembering what he had told the mage the previous day.  “What did you find?”  “Well, last night I looked for any signs that Xayk may have left when he...” Parn stopped, and merely pointed at his Mohawk hair.  “If he used some kind of stealth magic, he left no signs.  But last night...”  Instantly Zyn was reminded of his dream, one where Xayk of all people made an appearance.  Merely recollecting it made Zyn want to be as far away from the dragon as possible, even though his role in the dream remained unclear and obscure.  “Did he leave a trace from anything he did last night?”  Parn regarded him curiously, perhaps wondering how Zyn figured the dragon had been up to anything during the night.  “Um, yes.  [i]Very[/i] yes.  There... the campsite is strewn with ambient magical energy, like an infestation of termites.”  So Xayk [i]had[/i] been up to something.  “So what was he doing?”  “I do not know,” the mage admitted, “but whatever it was it was big.  Very big, you could magically set an entire village on fire at once with all the energy he used.”  Zyn thought back to the dream and recalled something about a colorful veil of sorts, but what could that have had to do with anything?  Just what had Xayk been up to?  The dragon himself did show for some time, leaving the men around to wait and ponder, and occasionally dread.  Finally, however, as the afternoon started to become late a massive dull brown scaled creature returned to them and landed, immediately sitting in a rather squat position, a strange look of mild anticipation on his face.  “Just got back from our underwater friend.  The deal is on.” !DSPAM:4af0dc17227561804284693! </body> </html>