This may be long, it may be untidy, but Good or Evil, Pure or Corrupted,
Dark or Light, i reccomend you take the time to read it. The Balance
needs to be restored.

This is a transcript of a recent meditation ceremony between The Goddess
of Dreams, Valnurana, and one of her disciples, who shall remain
nameless, identified as The Oracle.

The ceremony begins

The Oracle sheathes her weapons.

The Oracle says, ". the weapons seemed inappropriate..."

Valnurana chuckles long and heartily.

The Oracle says, ".I have the bindi.. it shall focus my thoughts.."

Valnurana nods Her head at you.

Valnurana, Goddess of Sleep and Dreams says, "Some oracles in the past
have;focused their perceptions on the situations at hand through the use
of related;objects..."

The Oracle nods a little.

The Oracle pauses, then kneels down in the water, frowning a
touch.

The Oracle takes a deep breath.
Valnurana, Goddess of Sleep and Dreams says, "An oracle seeking insight
into;the perpetrator of a murder, might mix her blood with that of the
victim...;These things are not always necessary... but they do assist
one in;concentrating on a purpose..."

The Oracle nods a little.

Valnurana, Goddess of Sleep and Dreams says, "The vision trance of an
orcale is;also difficult to break, if one is too deeply connecting
onesself to the dream;realm..."

Valnurana, Goddess of Sleep and Dreams says, "It is safest to have
someone to;assist you when possible at first."

The Oracle says, ".I understand.. if I begin to falter..bring me back.."

Valnurana nods Her head at The Oracle.

The Oracle draws her dirk

The Oracle says, ".. I was born from violence.. perhaps it shall deliver
me what I;seek.."

The Oracle says softly ..".. I focus on the present situation;with the
forest..espionage..lies, and deciet...".

(From this point forward, all is from the point of view of the Oracle)
The Oracle holds her left hand out over the pool, and slowly
drags the dirk across her palm, rapidly forming a small, crimson stream,
a few
drops of her lifeblood trickling into the pool before her.

Your vision begins to blur, your surroundings slowly spinning around
you.


The Oracle calms her breathing, focusing on the bindi, letting
it channel her energies. Her thoughts fixate on an image of the cherry
tree she
marvelled at earlier today.

The nebulous cloud of blood extends out across the pool at an unnatural
rate.

The Oracle forces her heart to calm, having faith in what will
be. She stares at the blood cloud, willing her energies through the
bindi,
seeking clarity, seeking the path...

Porcelain blossoms fill your vision, suddenly, swirling around you in a
dizzying haze.

vision hazes for a moment, but she wills herself
to maintain focus. The forest, the trees, the flow of life through it
all...
She wills for a path, clarity, some form of order. She begins to allow
the
vision to take her in. Are the blossoms the path...?.. porcelain in
construction. artificial.. is this a statement of the forest...?
Valnurana, Goddess of Sleep and Dreams whispers, "You are at the edge...
Make;your blood, the blood of the tree...".

The Oracle nods a little, furrowing her brow in concentration,
willing her life force to be that of the tree, sap, water, the very
essence of
life.

Your surroundings become indistinct, a wash of amber, slowly travelling.

The Oracle forces her breathing to slow ..become the life force

The Oracle supresses the sharp sting of panic .. this is meant
to happen.. this is the path.. She focuses her energies upon the
heartbeat ..
who's is it... is it human.. She allows her posture to relax a little..
this is
the way of things.. the path is evolving..

The wash of amber clouding your vision contorts in time with the
heartbeat,
somewhat irregular, you begin to sense.

The Oracle frowns a little, what she see's reflected in her
glazed, dreamlike eyes. .. the heartbeat is faltering.. the forest is
ill..
perhaps dying.. what has caused this.. the extermination.. the
darkening..
something else.. She tries to use her energies to focus on the heart
itself ..
is it damaged.. strained.. is it her own...

The feelings of illness grow inside you, an ailing, withering force.
The Oracle crushes the urge to retreat .. the path is before
you.. go on.. She shivers a little, feeling the cold tendrils of
sickness lace
through her.. allows the pain, sickness to enter her.. trying to
determine more fully, what is wrong.. what is it.. she braces herself
mentally
for the enslaught this may bring..

As you draw near to the source of the heartbeat, it is deafening.
Powerful
though faltering. Your vision through the amber haze is darkening.

The Oracle resists the urge to gasp. the heart must be reached..
the sickness discovered..she opens herself a little more to the
"disease" that
is present.. it must be diagnosed.. she allows the reverberation to rock
through her body.. ignoring any damage it does..

Deafened by the force of the heartbeat, and blinded by the crushing
shadow that
has fallen, the only sense left at your disposal is that of touch.

The Oracle clenches her hands a moment, establishing touch ...
she reaches her hands out slowly, carefully to whatever is nearest.. she
forces
her eyes shut, attempting to ignore all that isnt what her hands feel..
Gently
she passes her hands back and forth through the coalesence that is
before her..

Your fingers encounter a surface, crumbling... Splintered.
The Oracle's fingers retract instinctively, but then slowly,
gently, touch the object, ever so lightly. She traces her hands across
the
surface, so broken.. splintered.. she tries to ascertain what it is she
is
touching.. its shape, contours, texture..

The surface is rough, and slightly warm. You are able to trace a gash
deep
along its length. With each straining heartbeat, the gash seems to widen
very
slightly.

The Oracle winces a little, tracing her fingers along the gash,
her mind boggling at the damage that would have caused this.. she
struggles to
maintain focus, forcing her will through the bindi.. all is dark..the
forest is
hurt.. the forest is dark.. robbed of light..

Running your fingers along the gash, you suddenly feel your skin touched
by icy
tendrils, reaching out from within the crack.

The Oracle supresses the panic, yet it still wells up inside
her. She stops her hands at a point along the gash, awaiting contact
with the
cold from within.

The hiss of intense cold striking at your flesh startles you, and you
hand
brushes the side of the gash you have not yet touched, and you find it
writhing
with the cold forms.
The Oracle furrows her brow in concentration.. this is not
something expected.. not the darkness nor the extermination..
something..
living.. within.. harming within.. She grabs what is left of her will by
the
neck and seeks to grab one of the tendrils, to know what it is.. why it
is.. it
n
ni

Sickness washes over you with sudden force as you seize the tentril. A
feeling
of wrongness overwhelms you here. You know that this does not belong.

The Oracle trembles and slumps forwards, her body at the edge of
its tollerances.. this does not belong.. it is causing the sickness.. it
must
be removed.. with resolve born of both the mad and inspired.... she
seeks to
bring this thing forth, away from the gash.. to expose it.. know it
fully..

A shrieking sound accomanpies the struggling of the cold forms against
your
will. They receed deeper into the gash, easily eluding your grasp. While
the
gash is present the disease is secure.

The Oracle frowns in frustration.. the disease causes the
sickness.. but the gash allows the disease. like a wound infected..
yes.. an
infected wound.. what caused the wound.. She runs her fingers around the
edge
of the gash again.. what has caused this..?

You feel again the splintering. Parts of the surface fall away as you
brush
them, and the heartbeat shudders at the loss.
The Oracle realises the gash, it is casued.. it is man.. the
destruction there in of.. the exterminations.. the hate.. The disease..
the
darkness of twilight.. propagated by the hate and anger of the
exterminations..
one brings forth the other .. Is this a plot.. a plan by twilight to
defeat
gaia at her source.. body begins to shake under the strain...

Near the surface of what is before you, you are able to hear the
faintest sound
of voices... Hundreds raised in fervent argument.

The Oracle frowns .. voices.. She leans forwards, inclining her
head to the surface, trying to make out the specifics of the arguement
..who,
what, why..

The words are indistinct, but the discord is clear. Leaning nearer, it
seems
that the voices come from the surface itself.

The Oracle frowns, turning her face to the surface,she opens her
eyes again, are there people there? ..she desperately tries to atune her
hearing to what is happening, her eyes strain against the dark .. is
this the
arguing of the officials of sapience.. the withdrawal of pentharians
soldiers
on a principle.. petty pride getting in the way of a resolution...

In the dim surroundings, you can barely make out what is before you. The
absence of light has left little chance for a clear view of the
surface... and
yet it seems to you that shapes are moving, living things, twisting and
untwisting. Some falling away.
The Oracle furrows her brow, the creatures are destroying
themselves, and sapience.. in this struggle.. it has to stop.. body
quivers.

The surface seems to be moving, the arguing continuing, the gash
harboring the
disease growing.

The Oracle murmurs .".. I alone... cannot stop this.. they;must".. a
tear forms in her eye... no, this is not sartan, twilight or any who
have caused the damage.. it is the populace.. others have merely taken
advantage of the situation..

The oppressive sounds and the stifling darkness begin to receed as you
feel a
solid presence reach out to pull you back towards the tangible world.

The Oracle lets go of all that holds her to the dreamscape ...
allowing her senses to dull over and receed.. pulling herself back into
her
physical form.. feeling the violation she has caused herself...

Your senses, sore, flinch at the return of tangible perception, as you
find
yourself back in normal surroundings, which suddenly seem harch and
abrasive.

The Oracle gasps, slamming her eyes closed, falling fowards onto
all fours, she coughs violently.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Aeguary, in the year 280 AF.