Sarah Collins

The first rays of sunlight on Christmas Eve stream through the circular window of Sarah's room, gently shaking her from her reverie. The sounds of birds chirping wafts in from outside of her window where the view from on top of the mountain is painted with broad strokes of snow amidst the White Firs and Maples, resembling a painting made during more optimistic times.

The gentle smell of incense fills her nose as Sarah recovers her facilities from Morpheus and rubs the Sandman's offerings from her eyes. Her sleep had been pleasant. It was almost enough to forget that she wasn't in Avalon anymore.

She had dreamed something; something important; something she should have remembered. If she paused to think about it she might barely remember the sight of two young girls? Two souls that were very much in need of help. However before she could remember any details, a knock would be heard and a familiar gentleman would enter her chambers in full ritual robes.

"Good morning, savior!" Doran beams, his voice tinted by a subtle Irish ictus he has yet to shake since moving to the USA so long ago. "We have prepared breakfast for you."

Since she arrived, this has been the routine. Doran and 2 of his disciples have brought her breakfast in bed and cleaned her room as if hoping to receive the international star diamond reward for hospitality. If Sarah ever protested, Doran would'v nodded and assured her it wouldn't happen again and yet, he would be there the very next morning with a song in his heart.

This morning was different. Something seemed to trouble him.

While filling Sarah in on the morning's news as usual, a disciple runs in and starts to whisper something in the old man's ear. Outraged, he pushes the young man back and yells, "You DARE, boy?? In front of the savior?? Do you imagine I keep anything secret from her??"

The boy's face flushes red and his gaze hovers on Sarah for a moment before he catches himself and lowers it to the floor. "A thousand pardons, savior. I meant no disrespect but I felt this news shouldn't wait."

He gaze rose to Doran, waiting for permission to continue. Doran nodded impatiently. "It's Michael, father... He- he has yet to return from his supply run. It's been 3 days."
Doran rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Then another. And another.

When he finally speaks, he has regained his composure, "Thank you, my son. I apologize for reacting so. You did well to bring me this news. We will put together a search party. Let the others know we will be having a meeting in the common hall at exactly noon. You are pardoned from your chores for the day."

The last sentence seemed to excite the boy such that he hurriedly bowed and dashed out of the room before Doran could change his mind.

Doran turns back to look at Sarah and forces a strained smile. "Begging your pardon, Savior. There is... much to do."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Feel free to rp and interject wherever you wish. If you do not stop him, Doran will leave in my next post.

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 22:42, Fri 13 May 2022.

Tyler Jensen

Tyler still didn't believe it. The black man that had approached him the night before had claimed to be the Teferi. But that couldn't be, right? Teferi wasn't real. He was... a made up character from a game!

If Tyler thinks hard, he can remember parts of the scene:

He had been reading. Sitting alone at home when the man appeared to him-- as if in a dream. The man's visage blinked and flashed as if he struggled to remain solid.

"Tyler Jensen, you have been chosen," The man's voice boomed, like thunder, "You will help me heal this world." The man then introduced himself as Teferi, a powerful plansewalker.

It was if something in him was awoken then. His deck of cards, meticulously curated from years of searching, appeared in his hand as if he had been holding it the whole time. It was warm.

An image of a community in the mountains appeared in his mind. "You will be brought here. Go peacefully. You will know the next steps."

And... that was that. He was still sitting, he was still in his home, but the book was gone. Only the deck of magic cards remained in his hands.

It had been difficult to fall asleep.


But now it was morning. Morning of Christmas eve. However, he was still alone. His grandfather should've been here. Someone should be here.

If he calls out, the only response is his faint echo. A moment later there is a knock at the door. If he looks, he can see a young man and woman, barely older than him, in some kind of religious robes at his door; a look of pressing urgency on both their faces and a small sedan is behind them with the engine still running...

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
Feel free to rp throughout the scene. The 2 messengers would say they were here to take you to their leader and would very quickly try to push you into their car. Assuming you go, you can rp the drive to the mountain. They don't talk much.

---

This message was last edited by the GM at 22:57, Fri 13 May 2022.

"Doran. Seriously. Ah' die a little inside every time you call me that. At least wait until I've actually saved someone. Or many someones... I don't know; it just feels improper." Sarah's accent was thicker than Doran's, but she had been practicing her American accent since she'd arrived, and she felt like she'd found a happy medium since then. Shaking her head, she folded her hands together on her lap, looking simultaneously annoyed and uncomfortable for reasons she had explained countless times to the stubborn old man. A light draft of crisp winter air somehow found its way to her shoulders, probably through a tiny crack in the window frame behind her, and she reflexively reached for her hand-spun woolen shawl to ward against the cold just as the young boy first entered the room.

After listening to the exchange, she stood from her bed and strode over to open a chest on the opposite side of the room. Doran knew what was in there. It was the kit she'd been wearing when she had first arrived in this place: arms and armor from a time gone by. The kit of a warrior.

"Much to do, indeed." She straightened and glared at Doran as she hefted a shield covered in Gaelic imagery that wouldn't have been out of place in a fantasy film or a documentary. "I'm helping. No arguments." She stared at him. "I didn't come 'ere just to sit around and teach basic spellcraft and get waited on. I'm 'ere to help. So let me."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:57, Fri 13 May 2022.