Dream Weaving - Briz - Dream One: Flow

*Briz rests in her Warriors of Oakenvale dorm, safe in sleep. The winterly winds die off, whisked away into that place of middle consciousness before one slips into the arms of the Dreamscape. She finds herself in a long, slinky, strapless dress: it's a soft white, woven across with shimmering grey spiders. She wears a delicate shawl, its gossamer, mercurial grey threads like a web about her shoulders and exposed back. Her hair ripples over one shoulder in deliciously silken waves and her head is uncovered.* *She is alone in the darkness, without even sky above her or moon beneath her. A soft, tantalizing harp plays a minor key from somewhere, drifting around her sourcelessly. She is filled with a sense of fresh wonder, like the first night she discovered the moon. It shares her heart with fear, though, and a pressing sense of both discovery and being discovered.*

* perc check and wisdom check, please

* Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Perception check!
* 2d20kh1 (~~**1**~~, 5) + 5 = `10`

* Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!
* 1d20 (**1**) + 3 = `4`

The only thing she notices or sees beyond what I've given you is: a thread of her dress leads off from the hem near her bare feet into the darkness, like the thread of a spider's web.

*Briz examines the shawl about her shoulders, touching it with trembling fingers. She looks around to see nothing. It is all at once exhilarating and terrifying. She looks down at the dress, lifting it to try to step forward. Then she sees the thread. She reaches down to try to pull it from the hem.*

*As Briz pulls on the thread, it doesn't snap. Instead, it stretches slightly, then holds its rigidity like a thin wire. If anything, the dress itself unravels a bit. The music adds another instrument, that of a dulcimer.*

*'I will not wear your spiders.' Briz thinks fiercely, finding courage in the familiar tones, and casts away the shawl. She pulls at the dress trying to remove it. 'I will dance as the Maiden does. Keep your finery.'*

*The dress continues to pull apart, revealing her ankles, her calves, her dark and ashen knees. Briz finds the shawl clings to her, becoming sticky in the dry way spider silk does. The harp continues, unconcerned, and the dulcimer swells to take the lead on the tune.*

* Another of each check, please. And how much does she pull off?

* Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Perception check!
* 2d20kh1 (~~11~~, 14) + 5 = `19`
* Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!
* 1d20 (15) + 3 = `18`

* Briz's goal is to be free of all of it

*Briz pulls at the shawl and fight the instinct to panic.*

*She calls out to the Dark Dancer and begins to sing snippets of the tune, trying to match the melody of the dulcimer.*

*As the elf keeps pulling, the thread continues to stiffen and rattle off into the darkness, its tinny sound discordant with the dulcimer. The harp has faded to a gentle support of the other instrument as the dress withers away, the last bits of thread slithering away into the darkness with a metallic hiss. The shawl holds on tight, gripping about Briz's shoulders possessively, until her own voice joins the simple tune. As soon as her clear, simple words join the dulcimer, the webbing relinquishes its hold. It slips off her shoulders like silk, leaving her bare to the darkness. Shivering in the cold, Briz catches sight of a glimmer in the distance. It's in the opposite direction from whence the dress ran off to.*

*Wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to find warmth Briz continues singing and turns to move toward the hopeful glimmer. The pushes forward singing her Evensong to the Maiden. Dropping her arms she attempts to leap in the darkness toward the light*

*'I am not for you' she says sparing a glance at the darkness behind. 'You've taken your due from me. I will not hide in the darkness.'*

*Briz's trust in the Dark Maiden flings her forward, changing the darkness into a silver sheen as she leaps away from the shadows. The dulcimer changes to a major key in a sudden shift as Briz's world is lit up by moonlight.* *She's in a grotto, the sound of dripping, running water echoing around her in a reverberating, natural accompaniment to the strings. It only lasts a moment as she takes in her surroundings; the music fades in ripples just as she catches sight of who played.* *An unexpected character sits at the harp, which dissolves into water as she stands. A tall warrior Drow, hair braided at the top of her head, looks up sharply as the harp runs away into the grotto's stream. She wears nothing as well, but her sharp confidence is an armor, and a long, slim sword rests on the stones at her feet. She says nothing and watches Briz, towering three feet taller. The dulcimer continues somewhere beyond the grotto, echoing gently now with the water.*(edited)

*Briz squares her shoulders and crossing an arm across her chest bows deeply, her hair spilling forward and nearly sweeping the ground before her. Still bowing she looks up at the the tall Drow, her heart pounding as she does so.* "My Lady..." *She rises daring to look the taller figure in the eyes.*

"I do not know if you called me here or if I came to be here by some other means but I rejoice in your light. I would know how to serve you better for I feel lost and alone."

"Lost and alone?" *The drow asks, her velvety words murmuring around the rocky walls like the water itself. She eyes the smaller woman with criticism, but not distaste.* "I have seen you rejoicing beneath the moon, tending the fallen, and even chatting lakeside with handsome men. How can you tell Our Lady you are lost and alone?" *She glances behind her, where a slit of a passageway appears. It widens a slim fissure in the rocky wall behind her. She returns her attention to Briz in a moment's time, the reshaping of Rick nothing more than a pause in the conversation.*

"Forgive me Maiden. I have lost my perspective."

"I have spoken too boldly"

*Briz steps toward the goddess* "I have no sisters here..."*she tries to explain the misstep in her brash statement*

*The woman looks to her, the milky amber eyes squinting briefly with scrutiny. She crouches with a dangerous elegance, the kind a lynx has on the prowl, and picks up her blade without looking.* "You are timid," *she declares, sultry voice teasing her with its cold curiousness. She sweeps the tip of her blade to point directly at Briz, and her tone borders on condescension when she breezes past Briz's explanation to ask,* "Where are your weapons? A song is an aid to us, not an end."

* Your choice of perception check or charisma check, please.

* Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Perception check!
* 2d20kh1 (7, ~~6~~) + 5 = `12`

As she looks around the grotto, Briz sees only two weapons appear, shimmering into silvery existence to lean against the far wall: a greatsword and a dagger.

"Timid?" *Briz's temper flairs* "Was I timid when I kept your light while the spider hung over my head?" *She turns to walk toward the sword* "Was I timid when their whips tore at me? Was I timid when they took my heart? I have persevered wholly in my faith in you. I have fought nearly my entire life for you."*Briz reaches out to take the greatsword.*

·        ooh, go big or go home! Make a Str check and a Wis check, please

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Strength check!

·        1d20 (5) + 2 = 7

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (11) + 3 = 14

*The greatsword is heavy, much heavier than a weapon which seems to be made of starmetal would be. Briz hauls it over her shoulder and is at once clad in a loose, comfortable, soft hide tunic. She wears padded, fingerless gloves and sturdy wild elf boots. The greatsword is gone, replaced in her grip by a climber's toolset of grappling hook, pitons, and light hammer.* *The tall elf smirks down at Briz, commenting,* "So you still have that fire, indeed. Weave your path, warrior." *She stands tall, bathed in moonlight and the mist of the grotto, and crosses her feet elegantly before drawing a wide, arcing circle around her with the tip of her blade. Even the dulcimer ceases now, and the world quiets. The babbling of the grotto dies away and ambient movements are muffled. The warrior looks behind, to the passage, and it splits the bluff behind her all the way to its zenith far above.* "Climb," *she instructs, stepping aside with chin held high,* "climb to see her, and claim your place as a Silver Dancer."

·        aaaand here come the weird checks. You know how athletics is officially always written as an Athletics (Strength) check? I would like you to make 5 Athletics (Wisdom) checks, please. Guidance can be applied if she somehow worships on her way up.

*Briz strains as she lifts the sword and hoists it on to her shoulder. There is a moment of disorientation as the sword is suddenly replaced by climbing gear and her body suddenly clothed. She steps past the warrior and looks up the cliff face. Without looking at the tall warrior again she begins her climb. As she starts her climb she recites the tenants of Eilistraee's teachings with each breath.* "to aid" *Jumps for the first ledge* "protect" *hammers in another piton* "bring joy" *Strains pull herself up*

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval casts Guidance!

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (10) + 3 = 13

·        Selection timed out or was cancelled.

·        **Result**: 1d4 (**4**) **Total:** 4

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (8) + 3 = 11

·        **Result**: 1d4 (**1**) **Total:** 1

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (3) + 3 = 6

·        **Result**: 1d4 (2) **Total:** 2

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (3) + 3 = 6

·        **Result**: 1d4 (**1**) **Total:** 1

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (8) + 3 = 11

·        **Result**: 1d4 (2) **Total:** 2

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Wisdom check!

·        1d20 (10) + 3 = 13

·        **Result**: 1d4 (**1**) **Total:** 1

The wall is slick at first with running water and growing mosses, but her sturdy start serves Briz well. She almost slips once, but grabs for the piton just in time. Near the top, she does lose her grip and drop 15 feet, but catches herself on a left-behind piton, ultimately making it to the top. She is physically spent once she gets there and feels like her limbs are made of stone in the classic dreamlike way.

*Briz pulls herself up over the edge nearly screaming from the effort. She rises to her knees breathing slow deep breaths.*

*Briz drags herself to the plateau, breathing hard. Everything seems to slide and blur before her eyes as if she's severely drunk, but she feels perfectly fine otherwise, just tired. This plateau is perfectly round, lit up in bright moonglow, and a river flows through its center. Silvery moths flutter about and pale, creamy lilies bloom along the creek's bank. A long, pearlescent skink basks in the light across the plateau from Briz, and on its head is a hollowed lilypad filled with water. It looks at her with one deeply jade eye. Beside the skink sits another drow woman. She is also naked, lean, and tall. Her skin is midnight black with a lustre like obsidian. Her features are serene, perfectly carved, and curved in a gentle smile.* "Good evening, dear heart," *she coos under her breath in a warm, rich, and delighted voice.*

*Briz's throat tightens as her heart leaps.*

*Her heart pounds hard in her chest and the drunken sensation still lingers. Fighting emotions that threaten to overwhelm her Briz straightens her back and kneels on one knee as a warrior should.* "My Lady Eilistraee you honor me."

*As she watches the goddess Briz tries to commit every inch of this moment to memory. The moths, the lilies along the bank, and the otherworldly coat of the skink all bathed in the moon light glow of the ground beneath her.*

*The drow nods and a sheaf of pure white, shining hair slips over her bare shoulder. She reclines beside the skink, her hair somehow perfectly covering each intimate area, and she trails a finger in the stream. The water looks perfectly clear, babbling lightly over river stones. But from where? There is no spring, no waterfall. In fact, the stream must flow upward from one side, then down the side Briz climbed. The goddess has yet to look at Briz, instead tilting her head up to bathe in the moonlight like a woman at the beach. The smile remains, lifting her closed eyes and elegant features. She reaches her hand from the stream to pet the skink, running the tapered fingertips down its knobbed back as if stroking a cat.* "I do. I was called, and I answer my children. Tell me, dearheart. What begs my heart to visit yours?"

*Briz stands her gaze following the flow of the stream and marveling at the impossibility of it. Stepping forward she stands before the goddess. Briz pauses and turns her own face to the light of the brilliant moon for a moment emboldened by very notion of sharing the same light with the Dark Dancer Briz spares a brief glance at the skink.* "I have come to ask your blessing and for a place among the Silver Dancers." *Briz's posture is confident and her chin raised.*

"Oh?" *Eilistraee opens perfectly pale eyes, looking across the stream to her subject with a similarly challenging curiosity as the drowish warrior below. She sits up, abdomen flexing with the smooth motion, and runs her hand up the lizard's back to rest between its shoulder blades.* "You are still young. This is a bold request." *She grips the skin of the skink beneath her hand. It utters a low, weak squawk as she stands and pulls a long, thin blade from it. The elvish longsword emerges as if cutting the skink in reverse, yet there is no blood, and the skin is unbroken as she flicks it free. Eilistraee stretches a full 9 feet tall, looking down her long body at Briz across the stream.* "How do you plan to persuade me?" *The goddess asks, a tricking smirk lighting her eyes.*

·        Persuasion check please, and whatever you come up with to convince her will give you a secondary check.

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Persuasion check!

·        1d20 (18) + 2 = 20

"Though I am young I have walked with you for decades. My sisters and I helped many find their way to you and the Realms Above. True my the steel of my blade has not been tested but surely the steel of my soul is not found wanting. You know my suffering and the pain I have endured while keeping faith. Even then in those times I denied the spider. My loyalty and love is to you and it shall ever be. Allow me to serve you as a one of your blades."

·        this will be either a persuasion check again or a wisdom check. Either way, it's with advantage due to your earlier check.

·        Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Persuasion check!

·        2d20kh1 (**20**, ~~2~~) + 2 = 22

*Eilistraee listens with that same dancing smirk, waiting for Briz's resolve to falter. When she remains steadfast, the Dark Maiden's eyebrows lift the smallest degree.* "You speak truth, child," *she says, though she looks the same age as Briz herself,* "and you have been loyal. Brave. But now that you've found your freedom..." *She holds the handle of her blade with both hands, before her chest, and as each of them makes a fist, she splits the handle down the center. The blade follows suit, splitting mercurially in two. The result is two blades: for Eilistraee, one is a longsword and the other, a shortsword. With the playful smile starting to tug more clearly along her lips, she hops the shorter blade up in her hand, gripping the sharpened steel, and holds it down across the stream to Briz. The handle bobs gently before the elf's waist, and her goddess says,* "Dance with me."

*Watching as the goddess splits her find blade effortlessly Briz can feel her leg muscles tense as her feet pivot to shift her weight as she accepts the blade. She looks the Dark Maiden in the eyes as she quickly evaluates the heft and give of the blade.* "Your lead or mine?" *Briz smiles as the thrill of the moment, the dance, takes hold*

*Eilistraee grins, then, the pull of the dance joining the two women, and answers,* "Show me your freedom, dearheart. Dance with abandon." *The blade in Briz's hands is long enough to be a longsword for her, and its heft and balance are impeccable. The goddess steps back and directs her gaze toward the skink, who gives another soft squawk before waddling to the edge of the plateau. The water in its lilypad sloshes about dangerously, but somehow not a drop spills. It slips into the creek, its skin gleaming with a mucosal excretion very unlike normal skink behaviour, and it acts as a dam for the creek. The water pauses in its passing and the levels rise until it overflows. Cool, crystal clear water flows through the grass and over each woman's feet as Eilistraee takes a deep, luxurious breath of the sweet night air and adjusts to match Briz's posture.*

“Lunging forward and feigning to the right, Briz rolls her wrist as she sweeps the sword blade low to the ground. Flicking her arm back the blade sprays a glittering cascade of water as she raises it. Bringing the blade down and across her body she spins away, The Lady marching her movements. Poised on the balls of her feet she holds the sword to her body as she jumps form one foot to the other, kicking into the air. Lowering the tip of the sword she holds the blade level to her chest and spins across the water, head snapping forward with each rotation, her hair flying madly about her. She ends the series of spins in a deep lounge counter to the Maiden’s. Pulling her back foot forward through the cool water and brushing it into the air she pushes off the ground with her supporting leg, leaping away. Sword tip skimming the surface of the water she takes several rapid, even steps to the side. Leaping again she spins in the air mirrored by the Lady. They circle one another and each dives to the side to take new positions in a series of steps she and Bheit had always favored. Enraptured by the dance she could not help but smile as she made several small hops from one foot to another that always delighted Uhls. She could almost hear their quiet laughter in the babbling of stream. Briz dances wildly then, breaking from any trained forms. She dances purely for the joy of it and laughs aloud as the the sword flashesin the moonlight with each spin.”

*Eilistraee mimics Briz perfectly, unbelievable grace and poise leading her to trace circles in the water with her partner. The sprays of droplets catch the moonlight, fracturing its silvery sheen until there's a soft glow all about the dancers. Their steps mince back and forth across the creek; their light leaps splish into the soaked grass. The goddess grins widely as she reflects Briz's euphoria, her energy matching and raising her follower's, challenging her toward new boundaries of recklessness. She takes the lead as Briz lets loose a laugh into the brisk night air, tapping the tip of her blade off Briz's as they cross them together over the brook.*

* performance check

*The Dark Dancer takes her stage, peerless in her heavenly ebb and flow as she weaves a rhythm through her steps. There are layers to her dance: not only wild abandon, but tenderness, sharp intelligence, daring strategy, and joy each have an act in this spontaneous performance. Her blade draws faint lines in the air, enclosing the pair in a thin, ever-fading web of silver light. It is a dance which leads Briz to the edge of her stamina and focus, but with it comes surges of absolute euphoria and even a flash of terror as she almost leaps off the plateau.* *The dance finishes in a sudden freeze as Briz feels Eilistraee's movements, connected to hers, turn toward her for a final, sweeping slash of a pose. When she copies the movements, however, she is alone. She stands at the edge of the brook, blade tip barely submerged, other arm up triumphantly. The only companion she has is the river skink, whose jaw rests lazily on the shore; even the silver moths are gone, barely visible against the full moon above as they fly into the night. She feels exhausted, almost sick with exertion, and the drunken, blurry vision of a half-dream returns.* "To sing the blade to life," *she hears whispered on the cooling breeze,* "requires your body, your soul, and your mind's perfect unison. Keep it up, dearheart. You are on your way."

* Briz Vyill'ynda of House Zauval makes a Performance check!
* 1d20 (7) + 4 = 11

*Briz tries to sing but her throat is tight and dry from the dance. The wordless melody sounds course and dissonant. Her body shakes with the effort and the drain of the euphoric dance.*

*Dropping to her knees she reaches for the cool water hoping it may sooth her voice*

*Briz glances sideways at the skink and standing moves over to it.* "Do you sing as well?" *she wonders aloud. Bone weary from the dance Briz lays down by the brook and looking up sings a lullaby melody of joy and hope to the moon.*

*The water, when Briz dips her hands into it, is not wet. It is dry and leafs through her hands like parchment. The skink looks at her with its large, deep green eyes and opens its mouth, but what comes out is a broken,* "Mother," *in a young boy's voice. It is familiar to Briz, and the sky above her starts to dissolve, unraveling like her dress earlier into the pitch-black midnight of the Underdark.* "Mother," *the skink repeats, flapping its tail in the stream, which trickles away into the ground with the rustling sounds of pages being turned. The creature pulls itself from the dried creek bed, approaching her quite rapidly, its water sloshing from the lilypad on its head. It stops immediately before her, large and withering into a dried husk with cracked, pebbled skin. It rests its head on the grass at her feet, which is rapidly browning, and its lilypad is empty. It looks up at her, pulling back lips to reveal a wide set of teeth mere inches from her bare feet, and growls in an abyssally low, grating voice,* "Lolth."

*Briz is thrown by the sudden change in the water and she looks to the skink for answers. It opens its mouth and the voice that follows is not the Maiden.* “Mother” *Pain shoots through her chest like an icy dagger* “Uhls...” *she begins, reaching toward the skink but she pulls back as the dreamscape around her is peeled away.* “Mother” *it repeats as she stands. The skink rushes toward her and instinctively her hand goes to her blade* “No” *she widens her stance as she watches the skink wither and the grass turn sour around her* “Lolth” *With that horrid growl Briz screams* “NO!” *Raising her sword she quickly plunges is down toward the head of the husk that was the skink*

Right before the sword makes contact, she wakes up.