[center][h1][color=firebrick]𝕮𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝕰𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖍𝖊[/color][/h1]
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[img]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/0529bd8a-467a-4d8e-9afa-64ad8c8e48ea/dfwauz5-df67daa6-1516-403d-b09b-dd1fb20feb9b.png/v1/fit/w_828,h_546,q_70,strp/fantasy_village_by_artisticjourney1_dfwauz5-414w-2x.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NzI4IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvMDUyOWJkOGEtNDY3YS00ZDhlLTlhZmEtNjRhZDhjOGU0OGVhXC9kZndhdXo1LWRmNjdkYWE2LTE1MTYtNDAzZC1iMDliLWRkMWZiMjBmZWI5Yi5wbmciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTEwNCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.KmKHAJxXYpEpZFNcIXgz1JXYGHaIosE9Py6zCkvqo9I[/img]
[i]“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper."[/i]
—W.B Yeats[/center]

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[sup][i][color=gold]Wake up . . .[/color][/i]
A voice calls out from behind the heavy darkness that seals your eyes shut. It echoes something familiar; the memory grazing your fingertips before slipping back beneath the murky fog inside your brain. Every limb feels heavy as if filled with lead. Unknown scents swirl in the cool, misty air that laps around across your face. Moving seems like a chore. One you intend to give up on before even attempting when something hard strikes across your hip.
[color=gold][i]I know you heard me the first time,[/i][/color]the stranger's voice is tinged with annoyance. [color=gold][i]You can't just [i]stay[/i] on my floor. The pair of ya have to move.[/i][/color]

[i]Pair?[/i] You struggle to grasp the strangers meaning while forcing your eyes to open. Soft lights fill your vision. Their warm, buttery glow calling forth a dull ache from the back of your skull. The world around you is bathed in a blur. Shapes and colors meld together until your stomach clenches with something sour that threatens to come up. Forcing yourself to turn your head you gaze upon another body laying beside you. As you squint you start to make out it's shape. Whoever is strewn out on the ground in the same fashion you are; looking back at your with a confused look. Between the two of you someone looms. You presume this figure is the owner of the voice. He's tall— well, from your current perspective he looks to be. The light shines off a polished balding dome. Deep creases furrow across his wide forehead. Greying, bushy brows are drawn up while he looks down at you both with an expectant glare. In his meaty grasp the man holds a well-worn looking rod. 

[color=gold][i]"Come on now. We'll get ya some food and ale to help steady ya."[/i][/color] His voice sounded loud, crisp, as if he were speaking directly into your ears. But with a cold feeling growing in the base of your spine you realize the man's lips didn't move. Panic begins to flood, giving life to your previously useless limbs. Allowing you to push up off the hard stone floor beneath you.[/sup]