Session 20230803 Dream Loom and Manse
General Summary
Bertrum's Journal
A Dance of Creations, A Weaver's Reverie As the tendrils of time wove their patterns around us, we found ourselves at a crossroads. The tapestry of our efforts in Ardeleth, though far from finished, seemed to be drawing towards a culmination. The trials of winter's harsh grasp were gradually relinquishing their grip upon the people, their woes eased by our determined hands. The discord we'd unraveled was being replaced by a symphony of resolution, orchestrated by Blood on the Snow and the unlikely accord with the Regent.Amidst the thought-laden air, my hands turned to the artistry of creation. A Dream Loom, I named it, a grand artifact that was to be my muse for crafting. Crafted from the gossamer wings of vanquished Giant Wasps and walrus ivory, it held the promise to unlock the uncharted realms of the mind. With its aid, lucid dreams would unfurl, realms of design unrestrained by the confines of reality. In the embrace of its magic, I intended to weave artifacts anew, bringing forth enchantments that danced upon the edge of imagination. While I delved into my Dream Loom, Nightshade, the shadow's guardian, sought answers of her own. Through her gifted compass, she followed the invisible thread of essence to a hidden Manse, a gem nestled in the embrace of nature's beauty. A pond, fed by an impossible fountain, whispered of secrets waiting to be unveiled. Despite my hypothetical admonishments, her curiosity led her to the Manse's attunement. A fluttering of glyphs upon the water's surface, a script woven in the ancient tongue, bore the words "Solar" and "Night." Upon Nightshade's return, the pond's revelations spurred us into motion. As a collective, we sought this mystical pool, our minds focused on divining the natures of beings through the enigmatic fish. With each individual attuning to the Manse's hearthstone, the fish's language of symbols stirred to life. The language of the Old Realm formed glyphs that defined us. The Regent, a Getimian of Spring; his lieutenant, a Getimian of Summer; myself, a Twilight Solar; Blood on the Snow, a Changing Moon Lunar. The words "Fate" and "Thwarted" murmured in the shadows of my thoughts, hints that begged for understanding.
Back in Blank Ford, my Dream Loom project continued, threads of potential intertwined as the artifact neared completion. Nightshade, in her request, sought blades crafted from Soulsteel. A pair of Hook Swords, honed from stolen essence, now served her with grace, shadows clinging to their steel forms. I, ever the weaver of both substance and metaphor, crafted not just weapons but also a high-capacity backpack, a utilitarian masterpiece to bear Mufasa's burdens as he chose to accompany us. Amidst these moments of creation, a destination took root in our minds. The Serene Monastery, its secrets echoing through whispered winds, beckoned. Our minds turned toward training, an ascendant path waiting to be walked. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, night's embrace welcomed contemplation. Our path was illuminated, yet veiled in the mystery that danced upon the horizon—the Serene Monastery, a refuge of training and enlightenment.
Yours faithfully
Bertrum, the Manifold Tinkerer of the Road
Report Date
03 Aug 2023
Secondary Location
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