Within the
Inn at the End of the Road, Sarynn sequestered herself in a private room to rest. She took out the brass brazier she found in Hither and looked for a place to secure it for a ritual, before she realized that there was no fireplace. She considered hammering some pitons into the wooden floor to create an impromptu stand, but reasoned that neither Tsu nor the inn itself would appreciate it.
Sarynn grabbed the chamberpot from under the bed and set the brazier upon it. She filled the brazier with charcoal from underneath Bavlorna's cauldron and liberally sprinkled some of the interesting and fragrant "herbs" procured from Bavlorna's kitchen, and struggled hard not to wish for a lack of smell to accompany her lack of hearing. Finally, she soaked a few bits of char cloth tinder with some drops of Hag Hooch and ignited the strange concoction to place within the brazier.
As a blue flame emanated from the coals and the room filled with a sweet stench, Sarynn sat cross-legged and began to meditate. She recalled the strange dream she had during battle, the feverish images and sounds of a woman trapped in an hourglass, along with a dour and willful sprite struggling to carry Sarynn's unconscious body up the shoreline of a lucid lake. She understood that her patron had provided guidance, but that she must first make the call.
Sarynn felt a buzzing in her head, amplified perhaps by the magical helmet that squeezed her temples. She kept her eyes closed and did not see how the smoke began to fill the room, but she could almost taste it in the back of her throat. The smell constricted her throat and Sarynn struggled not to cough, so in order to maintain her concentration she began to recite her favorite hand-clapping chants that she used to play with her sister.
Her thoughts drifted back to memories of Marynn, and she could almost see her tangible form in front her mind's eye keeping time with the rhythmic chanting and metronome-like clapping. There was comfort in this memory, this lucid dream of happier days, and Sarynn kept the game going to preserve the sensation.
Time for Sarynn seemed to stall, and she had no further connection to the outside world. She was locked in this game, each syllable in the chant timed perfectly with practiced movements. The clap of hands echoed with a deep resonance, at times blurring the image of Marynn. Progressively, the reverberations muddled her sister's image to an unrecognizable form, like viewing a reflection in a rippling pool of water.
The smoke was becoming unbearable, and the discomfort in Sarynn's lungs skewed the dream-state vision of her sister into something different. Something smaller, with long butterfly wings and translucent white hair. The figure's tiny hands touched Sarynn's like hot pinpricks, jarring her from her concentration.
Sarynn could no longer focus, and she struggled to breathe. Coughing, she ended the hand-clapping game and rushed to the window to throw open the shutters. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sucked in the fresh Hither air and turned around. There on the bed stood a tiny sprite, the same one from her vision with the same dour and impassive look.
The sprite coldly regarded Sarynn and folded her arms across her chest. A long curved blade (long for a sprite) hung from a scabbard at the hip, while a tiny bow and quiver of needle-like arrows rested at the small of the back. In a voice that spoke from the diaphragm, the sprite said,
"It's about friggin' time. I'm Pizzi."
