Requiem.

{Residual Domain presence dispersed. Life-attuned scale examination in progress.}

Finally having the luxury of laying down the veil of nature, the dangerous and lethal whispers no longer assault our senses, we can finally gather ourselves and rest. As we slouch against an ordinary, black-barked tree and loll out all the built-up tension and exhaustion from the excursion, we catalogue our condition. Our body feels relatively spry, the extensive use of the grave to endure both trips through the woods and then the actual battle itself have drained our mental and spiritual stamina more than physical.

It is our minds and our spirit that are definitely strained. We take a cathartic release in summarizing the tale of our solo trip to the audience of deaf woods and the likely imperceivable presence of our self-appointed Grandmother butterfly. To feel the pain in that domain, connect so strongly with our own domain skill was traumatic in an unusual way. Our power serving as a bridge between life and death made for an unfortunately effective perspective on something that switched rather abruptly from one extreme to the other.

“{Is this truly what we sought? To experience anything new, just to not be chained in monotony any longer?}” a prickle on our back drawing our attention as a group of returning foragers seek to bring their harvest back to the nest. A smile shifts our tone, “{Are we so soaked in misery that we fail to see the small joys within our sight? We broke a curse, breathed new life into something long imprisoned, likely acquired some esoteric piece of power as reward as well. Do we instead let our focus drown in the sorrows long past, of the stories that led to such dark places, when we should keep account of the good, the progress?}”

We stand up once more and give our body a thorough stretch and shake, working out any kinks from the long travel and intense combat, reveling in the simple pleasure of unbound movement. Having these moments of pause, to collect ourselves and expose both the depths of our feelings and how they are not allowed to consume us entirely, is a necessary practice. Too long are our memories of being stuck in place to not have doubts resurface and seek to drag us back into familiar suffering. We must acknowledge those as they come, process them, and keep seeking out the next step.

We hum a little tune, more closely acquainting ourselves with the new diversity of our three distinct voices, “{We thought for sure our Temple would be the first voice changed. It’s far better suited to adapting than something like Graveflesh. But when your problems present themselves as nails, sometimes you just need a hammer.}” Graveskull has a far deeper bass and rumble than our original, an interesting background and percussion.

Hmm, Graveskull? I suppose if we are to be a concert of singers, and we’ll likely continue to have such distinctness from each other, some kind of referential names make sense. Our Fogmaw can supply a good wispy aspect of wind and can hold many varied notes at once, though quickly shifting between them is more difficult. We’ll have to make sure at least one of our next voices is able to maintain the range we started with, because while the extra effects are interesting, we cannot lose our voice in the incidental pursuit of strength.

Our second walk through unfamiliar woods is a far more relaxing affair than our first. As time marches on we see the light in sky does not stay fixed in place but moves across the plane and seems to be approaching dusk. The pale, not quite brightness, shifting into a myriad of colors as the edge dips beyond the horizon. The once eerie shadows now dancing with rainbows of delightful artistry.

That domain we first entered denying us more than time and effort, but also the true beauty of this place. Such is the way of prisons of all sorts, to block out any sort of escape from their denizens, until they reach a point of acceptance. There is no greater prison than one of the mind’s own beliefs.

We walk for a couple of hours, following game trails and subtle signs of unsustainable harvesting. Perhaps it will just be seasonal migrations, but when considering the cursed plain we just left, people feel more likely. Our diligence and careful observation pays off as we find ourselves at the delineation of the untamed wilds, and clear cut prairies with livestock alongside farmland in view.

Strangely, despite having specifically sought this out, we find ourselves at an impasse. Those initial reactions from the explorers were far too familiar and disheartening. We want to not be isolated and interact with others with minds, but now we find ourselves hesitant to be confronted with the logical outcome. From our vantage point, here at the edge of this forest, we can make out a couple of people out in the fields under the muted vibrant tapestry of this fantastic night sky.

We find ourselves diving into some of our skill expressions, looking for a viable avenue to take to at least ameliorate the likely hardship of a large calamity walking towards ordinary people. Attuning ourselves with nature seems like our best bet with the tools we have available, and as we find ourselves not in a particularly inventive frame of mind, something new seems out of reach for the moment.

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And so, we once more wrap ourselves tightly in the cloak of one-ness, channeling our peaceful aura and finding significant support from the queen of our temple. The bees working extra hard as though making up for lost time, swarming out and scattering into the fields. Their boundless optimism is a cheerful and simple example to follow. What will be, will be.

With all the effort we’re putting into these magics, the reaction nevertheless comes as a bit of a letdown when our presence is noted quickly. Seeing ourselves as a rather large creature leaving the woods, but there doesn’t seem to be much of an alarm raised. We slacken our grip upon the various workings, trusting more in the process and also wanting to avoid becoming some kind of phantom plague. The choice we’ve abstained from making, to become what the system refers to as a sacred beast, is ever a winding path.

One thing in which we’re confident, a monster entering civilized territory wrapped heavily in cloaking arcana is unlikely to have a pleasant confrontation when, not if, their power fails. Yet being a beast as we are, we also cannot just arrive unadorned, at least not in such a humancentric area, in all likelihood. Time and further experience shall tell us better than assumptions what we can expect, but caution isn’t without merit.

The trip across the pasture and approaching the pathway we can see that navigates through the farms ahead is somewhat surreal. Even with the powers we’re running, it seems almost too smooth an encounter. The various watchers will make note of us and wave, we’ll wave back with Graveskull, and the interaction seems complete as far as those far off peoples are concerned. It’s not until quite a bit of travel once we reach the road, such as it is, that anyone seems to more than acknowledge our presence.

Whether the season we find ourselves in is too early for large growths, or this area is more currently focused on shorter crops we can’t yet tell. So, with our progress easy to track considering our substantial size, we nonetheless find ourselves bemused when at an upcoming intersection of paths there sits an old man seeming intent on meeting us. We find ourselves content to oblige this unspoken invitation, and so, when he stands up from the bench shaded by one of the rare trees, “{Greetings, Elder. How doth thee fair?}”

A mere blink of surprise flashes in his eyes before a common smile adorns him, “(Quite well, Honored Great One and Canvas’s Blessing to you,)” as he gives a well-practiced bow which I return with a slow nod, “(If you’ll forgive my ignorance, Great One, we were not informed to prepare for your arrival. Is there something you seek that our humble hamlet may aid you in finding?)”

Part of us preoccupied with the slight absurdity of an old man bowing to us in respect but not fear, while the conversation is easy enough to follow, “{Be at ease, Elder. We find ourselves merely travelling the lands and it seems to have led here,}” a pause before an idea comes to mind, “{We wouldn’t seek to presume upon your village, but as you may notice, we do have a collection of bees, that by this point have accumulated a considerable amount of honey. Would you have any recommendations for where we might barter for permits of passage or trade?}”

The elder bends down to pluck a flower petal, rubbing it between his fingers we feel a faint touch of magic as one of the bees is drawn to him and clambers over his hand for a few moments before grasping the petal and buzzing away, “(Honey is a fine product indeed, Great Ones. If our offerings aren’t too meager, we’d certainly be apt to trade for some small portion. As for a more official writ, if you’re in no hurry, we’re expecting our merchant to come by in a few days with the monthly news, otherwise the best I could offer is directions they’ve told us of their path. And begging your patience, Great Ones, but it might be most prudent should that be your choice, if I could send one of our apprentices with you, considering your lack of Mark and the increase in soldier patrols of late.)”

The thought of some few days of rest is certainly appealing after the adventure we’ve completed, “{We find ourselves quite willing to take our time after recent events. However, we’d not be content taking up space without offering compensation, we insist on being permitted to labor for the privilege. While we may lack the dexterity and fine manipulation of ones such as yourself, our physique lends itself well to acts of simple brawn. Elsewise an exchange of our honey, should it prove worthy, would satisfy our dignity.}”

He bows to us again and ushers us along the road where we stroll together in silence. The sounds of the breeze, the shifting ribbons of color in the sky, the scents of agriculture, it is a nice addition to our new trove of memories. The gentle quiet surprises us once we notice it, that while we are still keeping ourselves wrapped in a soft veil, our escort is able to walk as peacefully without the appearance of any overt power.

Our curiosity is not enough to overpower the placid mood of the now, even as we prod our DM to check for any mental influences. Despite our abundance of caution, nothing is flagged as untoward and so we keep to the currents and drift along. Our destination ends up being a quaint abode, where our guide begs pardon once more and heads inside to retrieve some supplies for a proper tea.

It is after the old man comes out with a delicate looking tea set in one hand and a massive table that barely clears the door frame that it occurs to us our host may perhaps be other than average. We consider now that our walk to this place took many times longer than what passed of our foray from when we entered the clearing to meeting him. A subtle yet substantial reminder that appearance can be deceiving and the care for food production is a vital resource for large groups of people.

The diverse nature of Ample’s system allows for a broader application of the arcane to mundane life. We recall there were some applications of the light magic from our prior world to crops, but mostly it was an endeavor of labor and a bit of education on scale. Growing food for one’s family was a far different affair than feeding a nation.