Cheated! And cheated you were. And with this update, the dream sequence is officially over. Have fun.
7.0 Home, Whatever That Means
"Cheated?" you asked, and she nodded. For a moment, as you looked into her face, you saw a glimmer of something like sadness, or perhaps sympathy.
"The City of Step" she paused, hesitated, then spoke again. Her voice was the softest thing you have ever heard "does not exist."
Your heart stopped.
"And yet, you cannot rest until you find it. You have made a promise."
She spread her arms. The world blurred.
"Goodnight, my little lynx. Until we meet again."
You started to wake.
***
After the treachery of his son, the house of Ulla was put into mourning, and remained in it until the end of spring; however, by the grace of the Saints, none of those who were wounded in the assault, no matter how grievous their wounds were, passed away from their injuries, and they returned to good health in appropriate time. There was one exception to that, and that was the mysterious woman who was found out in the swamps, and who fought like a man, slaying Dagome, but being terribly cut by him before he died. Her wounds did not close, and they festered, sending her into a very high fever, in which she refused a priest, who was sent for to administer to her passing. However, clinging onto life with incredible tenacity, she refused to move to the abode of the Saints. A rumour arose among the people of Ulla that she was indeed a witch, or perhaps other creature not quite human, and thus should be removed from the homestead, lest she would bring more misfortune than she had previously inflicted.
Finally, their voices were heard, and they convinced Ulla to dispense with her. However, instead of simply leaving her out to the wilds which brought her among the men of good faith, she was taken on a shield, in a manner of a warrior, to a lake which, according to some, had an island in the middle, on which a witch lived, and she was pushed onto the waters, which took her. That happened three days after the feast of Saint Traft.
Afterwards, the peace in the house was restored, although Ulla seemed to take to some strange melancholy, and few things could cheer him; and to the surprise of many, when the Armalings requested wergeld for those who were slain in the battle, or else a continuation of the feud, he paid it readily, which was so unlike his previous actions that some have started taking heed to the old stories about him suffering under a spell.
He also abandoned another habit of his, and that was his fondness of concubines and bedwarmers. This change pleased many, for it was thought to be saintly, and it helped to dissuade others from believing the rumours once spread by his traitorous son. Furthermore, opening his mind to the words of the blessed abbot Galen, he made his decision to free all of his slaves, and commit them to saintly work in congregations. Alas, his intent was marred by a very scandalous situation, and that is the madness of one of his concubines.
She, a known blasphemer and a saintless person, refused to enter covenant as she was meant to be, and instead chose to dwell on the shores of the witch-lake, sustaining herself on roots and nuts, in the manner of a hermit, or a madwoman, and lingering for long hours at the shore, watching the waves. Some have asked for her to be exorcised, but the Malefactors driving her to action were very cunning, and every time holy men appeared to dispatch them, they bade her to hide, so that she would not be found by them.
***
The waves washed you ashore, your shield, your spear, and your book all with you; and very little else. Your body felt very strange, stiff, almost alien, almost as if someone else's. You touched face and felt the thick, ugly scar running across it. But you were alive, and there was no doubt about it. And the world around it felt familiar, and solid. You were at a lakeside, lying on a gravely beach, deep-grey sky above. You looked around, and saw a wetland forest, like the one you have braved… some time ago.
You ached, but it was a dull, distant echo of a pain. Memory, not a sensation.
You rested for a moment, before the chill coming from over the waters became rather biting, and then you gathered yourself up, took inventory of your things. You opened the book (somebody had mercifully put in a leather sack, mostly protecting it from the waters) half expecting to find that slip of papyrus inside. But it wasn't there. The shield was familiar, too, and still bore a notch where Dagome's blade stopped. You touched it for a moment, remembering. The spear had not changed any, either, and neither did you cloak, however damp it was. Whoever sent you into the lake did it with all of your meagre wealth. A warrior's funeral, of sorts. Something to be proud of.
You looked around again. All you could hear was water, and birds, and you had no idea where you were, even if the surroundings looked vaguely familiar. It was, however, a feeling which you were starting to get rather intimately familiar with, and harboured little doubt that this wouldn't be changing anytime soon. Particularly with having to find a city that does not exist.
If anything, you were just surprised how easy it was for you to focus and…
[ ] …start looking for people.
[ ] …check if the waters have washed anything else onto the shore.
[ ] …try to find some sort of a trail or a path away from the lake.
