Like giants rising from our of the tide's dark mist, the boyish Lalafell turned his head up as a veritable forest of
longshanks sprang up around him. Hyurs, all, by the look of them. So, would that make these the mates that he'd been drinking with? Bringing his hand back to his forehead, the small rogue was again confronted, confounded, and confused by the absence of memory.
He didn't know.
A woman with dark hair was already walking out. Soft, pale green eyes watching her back when a sharp twang of something that might not quite have been music sprang to the little one's elvish ears. Glancing toward the sound, the white haired sailor found himself looking at a yellow haired man strumming a minstrel's harp whilst having a chat with a smallish white creature, with bat-like wings, and a furball of red over it's head.
In point of fact, they all had something rather matching the like of that description hovering about them.
"O Brave Souls of Celestia..." A whisper in his ear, a voice so strong and clear. Hooking his thumbs around the pommel of the short blades, the boyish rogue's arms settled at his hips as he stood back and turned his head to regard the strange creature next to him. Unlike the others, she was more of a brown color. With tapered ears that gave her the likeness of a rabbit.
...lost through the peril of living time..."Peril?" the rogue echoed in a whisper. What was she on about? A warning? A threat?
Looking over, the sailor looked out over his companions. A woman going her own. A man talking of the east, as though he knew what waited for them there. And another two talking of who was in charge. The bunny-in-a-dress was whispering still, her voice smooth as it sent shivers up his spine.
"Your End awaits at the horizon of your Origin: To the South, and be delighted by the glamor of greed; To the North, and be freed in the eddy of despair; To the East, and be soothed by the poison of lust; To the West, and be drowned in the sin of pride.""Well, that sounds lovely," Underfoot muttered darkly. Sin and lust and greed and all. Pirates on parade, except they looked to be bloody far from the shore. Looking back at the furry prophet, the boyish imp wryly tossed back a question.
"And which would you be recommendin' then?""South," the bunny-in-a-dress answered, without any hesitation. The confidence she presented took the Lalafell back a step, his mouth slightly agape. "To Areiadune," the moppet added, with a firmness that bordered on ominous.
"Areiadune? A place?" Underfoot asked, trying to recall and finding himself coming up with naught but mere scraps of half-recalled dreams.
"You said Celestia earlier. Is that what this place is? Is this Celestia?""The world is Celestia," the winged rabbit answered. "This region is Grasveldt. The plains."
Celestia. Grasveldt.
"And south is Areiadune," the rogue said. It was less of a question, though he elicited a nod from the moppet to ensure that he was understanding everything correctly to the point.
Well, that was something anyway.
Striding out toward the middle of the circle around where the Hyurs had sprung up like weeds on a Goobbue, the rogue called out,
"Oy! You lot o' big'uns." The Lalafell waddled slightly as he walked, giving him something of a child's swagger, with an accented voice like that of a young cabin boy's. Pointing a thumb back toward the overgrown mouse in a dress, the impish figure said,
"That one says we go south. Some place called Areiadune."
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