The blades of grass, oppressed by lines of spilt sacrificial blood, resembled a series of fishing stakes half-submerged, in an avocado sea, incomprehensible. The monster of a man, zealous in the dew of death, honored the unforgiving deity of his adoration, before indulging the jade bed with a crimson pool of coagulated kismet. Their remnant of an abandoned demesne, paraded past the slain tribe, nomadic in the ocean of the trees and branches, wading past the foliage further and further, until the habitation of barren islets of preserved salvation, still and stable, below the westering sun. The fading ripples of light animated glitter off the parting citadel, lowering the draw-bridge, welcoming the unsung heroes, now anchored once more, with the promise of protected repose, in Greenest.

A quixotric bear, no longer, still sleepily schismatic between a pirate and its stowaway, now joined in the perfect frailty of unmarked closeness, beneath the tides of dreams and above the waves of nightmares. Eyes, behind fleshy lids of wrinkled skin, darted, to and fro, enjoying the labored rest of the vainful task of exploring the monotonous sweep of the imagined horizon. Here and there, sleepy gleams scattered ships, full with hull, funnel and masts, as though the impassive waters failed to ingest the Amnian armada, without a tremor. Light clouds of fog followed the devious curves of figurehead afore every vessel, but always fainter and farther away, as braids of ginger locks of hair, rose into view, resonating with thunderous footsteps approaching the deck. She almost floated, with the shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward of the setting radiance.

The crew was ready to take the flanked ship, awaiting Captain Xaron's orders. At that moment, there was no sound.

Nothing moved.

In that breathless pause, the threshold of reality measured a fitness of gasps and coughs, as the elder Torus, awakened from the long, arduous enterprise of disturbed slumber. The appointed task of both existences reigned again under the bard, with only the walls of the infirmary for spectators. 

The lone judge, Leosin, sat in contemplative meditation, gleaning the mocked arousal of the former sailor's famished sopor. The elder spoke first, looking for the others, realizing she intimated solace, alone with the monk.

[color=ed1c24]“If this harbors the morn of our harvest, in which unremembered season have you sewn the seeds of solidarity?”[/color]

[@Ryonara][@The Harbinger of Ferocity][@Lucius Cypher][@Norschtalen][@Hekazu]