Oh how his muscles ached. Black, thin leathered boots tapped their way up the seemingly endless staircase. They did not feel like his own- they struck out before him but he did not feel his feet come into contact with the stone steps. His ribcage and chest burned with the effort as he wound and wound his way up, up so high that the air was slow to fill his lungs. Above he heard the clear echo of voices. One was thin and high, rising in a tone of distress. The blood pumping through his ears and mouth and eyes made it difficult to concentrate, though. In fact they throbbed so badly that he felt as if they would burst out and off of his head. Suddenly the soft halo glow of a doorway came in to view and he gave a gasp of relief. He slowed to an almost crawling pace- as he tried in vain to catch his breath. Leaning against the slick stone wall he panted, the bile at the back of his throat threatening an escape. Through the doorway he could hear them now, the voices from before. One was clearly the Oracle, who spoke little and replied after long, thoughtful pauses. The other, however, he could not recognize. It was a low voice, craggily and prone to bursts of sudden excitement, which reverberated off of the walls in the Oracle's study.

This voice spoke now, impatiently repeating something said before,
"What do your eyes say about the war, seer."
Agh, politics. The messenger, for that was his job, smoothed out his travel cloak before he pushed open the old door to the study.

The soft glow of candles dimly lit the room up, bathing everything in a warm embrace of light. Like most studies it was filled with books which towered in stacks or in bookcases that touched the ceiling- however all similarities stopped here. A window filling a whole wall opposite the door commanded his attention, for as if framed like a painting there loomed the Hourglass. Like a warped moon it cast its own golden light upon the window and peered in on the study as if interested in the conversation. The whole setting would have been pleasant, almost romantic- had there not been such a horrid stench in the air.

The messenger had to shield his nose, stepping back wearily as he looked about, his attempted greeting dying on his lips. The Oracle, a hunchbacked fellow, sat on an array of mats and cushions before the window, and stared out at the hourglass as if lost in thought. Something, and judging from the sound it was a glass orb filled with some liquid, was rolling back and forth on the floor in front of him. Standing between them but closer to the door was a tall, severe looking official, clothed in notably choice attire. Rich, soft fabrics cascaded down about his shoulders and fit about his body in a way that screamed royalty. Both failed to sense his presence- or at least care that he was there.

The seer wheezed something that they could not hear.
Beyond agitated at this point (the messenger noted that the royal had not been there long, as he still wore his coat, which typically would have caused anyone a great discomfort in the heat of the study) the noble strode across the room as if to strike the old man. As if sensing this the hunched figure turned and at that moment locked eyes with the messenger, leaving the latter rooted to the spot.

Beady yellow eyes peered up from the dark features on the seers face, which were set deep into his leathery skin. His sallow cheeks sunk into his face in clear indication of emaciation. The seers mouth was gritted into a frown that showed all of his jagged yellow teeth, his lips pulled tight above his black gums. Small ape ears sat at the top of his head and twitched as he lifted his arms and stood to face the royal. The noble stopped when he realized that the creature was not human. He was lost for words, in fact, and so seemed to be the oracle. The messenger, sensing that this would probably be his only chance, spoke up,

"Uh-ehhh- Oracle ser? I've a summons for you.. F-from the Palace. And-" he looked about as he spoke, too unnerved by the seers eyes, "-and its quite urgent, it seems. Here i've- I've a letter-" he turned and reached down to pull the letter from his coat pocket. Just then he noticed one of the glass orbs by his feet. It was a deep red, almost solid in color it seemed, and as he focused on it he saw that it was in fact liquid. As he was about to turn away, however, a dark shape inside of the orb pressed itself against the glass. It turned on its side and the messenger almost wretched. An eye peered up at him, veined and bloated but it still maintained its color, blue. He could make out other shapes floating in the orb now but he quickly looked away, not wanting to see it. The messenger shakily held his hand out, the letter crumpled within his fist, he opened his mouth to speak again but the seer suddenly wailed.

Alarmed, the messenger and the royal watched nervously as the creature clawed at its own face, pulling the bags under its eyes down as it stared up at the ceiling. It wailed and then dropped its voice down to a hiss as it began to whisper odd things. From where he stood the messenger could see the Oracles eyes moving rapidly about. Exceedingly uncomfortable as he was the messenger waited for the Oracles manic episode to tamper out- however the royal was tired of waiting. He searched the Oracles face,

"You see something? What do you see- it must pertain to my request yes? That's it, right? Seer? Seer tell me what your vision for tells."
A long pause followed by silence. The seer was completely still as it stared up at the ceiling in horror. The hourglass outside hissed endlessly with dripping sand.

"The children..." He breathed, hands dropping from his face, "heroes.. The heroes.. The ceiling has been breached our walls, our walls have been opened once more. Darkness. Feeling, escaping me. Cold. I'm cold. There is nothing there are no walls or ceilings or floors- the floor... The floor is gone. Where am I. This isn't my home- this isn't under my bed- falling, I'm falling- so fast. Where are they- my friends- where are my hands my hands are not my own I do not see them. I do not see myself. I do not see them. I hear screaming but I do not _see_ them- we are hurdling through the air our clothes are flapping in the wind and I do not _see_ them." The oracles voice had been quiet but had steadily been rising to a scream up until this point, where he suddenly grew quiet again,

"Light... A glow like the moon. Gold sand filling the view- filling the world- we are in the _sky_. My hands are my own again and I see them- I see my friends - but we are still falling and they are still screaming and the earth is eager to greet us. Pain. Sharp and bloody meets us. Earth, charred and flat, slaps our faces cruelly in welcome. I do not feel anything- and then I feel _everything_. I smell blood. I smell blood and I do not know if it is my own. Darkness."

The messenger was afraid and he wanted to go home, he did not understand the Oracles vision but felt that it foretold some sort of destruction. He looked to the royal and saw that he was looking at him, the messenger started in surprise as the noble addressed him,

"You heard him, bat- the heroes are to arrive soon- quick! Go to the palace at once to warn our Lord Satin-"
"B-but-"
"Churlish imbecile! Do not question me! Be off now with your message or I'll rip your wings off." Hissed the noble. The messengers tiny wings, useless things by far, twitched at the threat. He winced and lowered his head, turned and dashed out at once.

"_Churlish imbecile_!" He mocked as he bitterly descended down the steps. I don't get paid enough, he thought, to be threatened by Maire dwellers.

"Perhaps I should have told him that I work for the Dream kingdom." He said aloud, although he knew that, as a messenger, he could not take sides and thus his services were technically for those who needed him most. But he was a nasty brute, he thought. A drop of something fell on his coat then and he looked down to inspect it. He blinked at the dark spot of blood and looked up, half expecting a creature or body to be there. At the same time he touched his nose to check- his hand drew back, bloody. Odd, must have been the altitude.

-----
"Daniel... No.." Sighed Sav into her cellphone as she leaned against the kitchen counter in her home. She scratched the back of one leg with her bare foot as she stared out the window into the parking lot outside, daydreaming about what to do once she got back to her room, preferring to concentrate on anything but this conversation.

"Pleeush Savriinaa? Push'im on the phone."
"We're all drunk here, Daniel- and trust me conversation doesn't get anywhere between two drunk people." She lowered her voice here, "And, sweetie, give up. I can see that this whole situation is only hurting you both. Just face it.. Its not going to work out..."
"But we're in luuvuh- we need to- Sav we need to- to get back.. Get back together."
"Go to sleep Daniel. And don't drive. I'm not passing your message along... Take care of yourself." And she hung up.

"Harsh." Chuckled her brother as he opened the fridge to pull out a pack of beers he'd been cooling. He was dressed to go out and was probably planning on doing so,
"An ex?" He asked, kicking the fridge door closed.
"Mitchell's.." She replied, taking one of the beers and opening it. He was three years older and about four inches taller, but had their mothers gentle eyes, which looked unimpressed as he went on,

"When you said 'party' I understood '40 to 50 people" and "just some close friends" to not actually be just your close friends."
Sav shrugged,
"I didn't want to bother cleaning up tomorrow- plus my friends can throw a pretty wild party just us 8. Hell, three can be considered a party."
Her brother chuckled as he waddled toward the door with the beer,
"Heh. Yeah. Three sure is a party."

"You're gross. Make sure, Malcolm-" he looked up at her then, knowing that when she used his given name that she was serious,"- that someone _sober_ drives you home. And if not then just sleep there.." He simply smiled and continued to waddle out the door. She hated it when he didn't promise her.. But she wouldn't give him shit for it tonight. Not tonight when she felt so strange.

Savrina Casablanca headed toward her room, where her friends already sat, drinking and telling stories or playing games or whatever. She lived in a small apartment downtown only a few blocks away from her university. Her brother, who'd graduated a year before her, lived on the other side of town and so visited her often. He was the only family she had close by- since her parents had moved back to the Philippines to help aid the effort to rebuild their hometown there. It'd been a few months and she missed them dearly but found solace in the company of her friends. Just her friends, which she hoped it would stay as and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Someone was bound to have invited more people- she liked small gatherings and they knew this- but that never stopped them.

She sat down on her bed and began to tie up her hair,
"Ugh shit I left my beer in the kitchen." She groaned as she stood and stomped out into the kitchen once more to retrieve her drink,

"Anyone want anything while i'm here?" She called as she rummaged through a cabinet for some crackers.