Post by Andrea on Aug 8, 2021 15:04:51 GMT -5
It has been a long seven months since the 1220 Scientific Convention. The ongoing conflicts around the world have stagnated. The Expedition has been put on hold given concerns about the Rheansa warfront, and so you all have attended to your regular lives wherever that may be; some of you can go home, while others find their homes besieged and in chaos, and long for the odd certainty of the Expedition. Alas, there was no Expedition scheduled for the 44th Arc of Dragons.
But one night, while attending to your regular lives, you find yourself inexplicably dreary. You sit down to rest but for a moment, when your eyes grow heavy and you feel as if you are suddenly falling. Warped images race through your head: A golden lion roars only to be drowned out by gunshots rhythmically punctuating the night sky. It falls quiet, and then at the edge of your hearing you can make out a slight music of chimes, and the faint but ever-growing sound of a train chugging along.
But one night, while attending to your regular lives, you find yourself inexplicably dreary. You sit down to rest but for a moment, when your eyes grow heavy and you feel as if you are suddenly falling. Warped images race through your head: A golden lion roars only to be drowned out by gunshots rhythmically punctuating the night sky. It falls quiet, and then at the edge of your hearing you can make out a slight music of chimes, and the faint but ever-growing sound of a train chugging along.