Phelim, hold me in thy fold
Thy stars blanket me soft
Thy fingers stroke my brow
Thy dreams bear me aloft.

A sweet bird calls clear
As I close my eyes tight
A promise of safe sleep
Under sweet holy Tears, come kiss me goodnight.

How long has it been this time? Six years? Phelim’s embrace has taken me once before, the long sweet sleep of years gone by within the blink of the eye. What purpose drives the Immortals to meddle with lives in this way? And why have I been awoken again? Certainly there is a quest, a life to save, a village under theater.

“Where the hell am I?”

The performance hall of the Crossing Guild comes into focus. The rich, noble atmosphere of hardwood floors, plush velvet curtains, and cozy seats. Stretching and feeling the protest in my bones to moving for the first time in years (certainly it hasn’t been that long. Maybe I'm just forgetting things in the haze after a celebratory night?), I make my way out to the commons ...

... I catch myself in the mirror. I recognize the face like it is a once familiar friend from long ago. The years have begun to catch up with me. There is also something else here.

“Vintage Dragon’s Spine Ice wine? Don’t mind if I do.”

I walk back into the performance hall. The quest can wait. The wine is here now.

Dreams are the whips that drive us forward along the hunt, into the future. The quick pounce and kill of the lion requires no dreaming, only doing, only instinct. But we are different. We see far ahead. We can see our game dip under the horizon, over the hills, and through the forest. But we see it still, still a target, still in our mind’s eye. We are hunters. We pursue when others give up. We remember when all is lost. We are Rakash.

Lupdels, the Rakash Bard. A misplaced Race. An overlooked Guild. A historian for a peoples with a shattered past. A storyteller with no joy or whimsy.

But at least there's wine.

~~
Lupdels

"Bards are widely regarded as excellent storytellers, but terrible cosmologists." - Armifer