Closed Pea Soup

[Azmere]

20th of Winter, 516
7th Bell

Azmere stirred and kicked at the furs that lined his bed. The normally peaceful slumber had been fitful at best but the ankal couldn’t justify lying in frustration any longer. He pushed up onto his elbows and held his eyes closed while he drew in a deep breath. The ever-present Grey lifted his big head and began the long process of stretching every joint and muscle. The archer exhaled then allowed his eyelids to free the contrasting gaze. He scoured the dark tent for anything out of place but found himself feeling like he should be elsewhere.

Without hesitating further, the Drykas pulled on a pair of leather pants and his boots. It had been so hot for so long he was starting to think that the strange half-Myrian was on to something with his loin cloth. The thought made the ankal laugh out loud. Azmere was not one to be unarmed so he strapped up his belt and tucked his dagger into the left side just behind his hip. He got up to his feet –slowly as usual. When he started towards the door, Grey got up to join his master. Azmere paused at the flap and shook his head at the canine. Grey took several more steps forward then stopped and tilted his head to one side. Azmere said “no” softly. He snapped his fingers once then pointed at the ground. Grey huffed as he plopped back down on the bed pad. The man smirked then stepped out into the stifling early morning.

There was a dense fog over the entire Sea of Grass. It was so thick that one might believe he actually was next to a large body of water. Azmere couldn’t remember ever experiencing anything quite like it before. He couldn’t even make out the shapes of the other tents in his camp. Slowly, the ankal made his way in the direction of Lodai’s tent. The Drykas could scarcely believe the weather but maybe this all had something to do with the goddess of winter missing her rounds. It would be really nice to know the reason but that was wishful thinking. The archer had made several more steps and still could not conjure an image of his target. He stopped and looked around. Azmere couldn’t even see his own tent.

“You’re fault.” A raspy whisper exclaimed. The voice was not known to the watchman so he looked around but saw no one. The words seemed to crawl around inside Azmere’s head. The phrase itched and scratched at painful memories which began to surface. The man knew he didn’t have time for that kind of thing at this moment and tried to force the wave of regrets back into the shadowy box where he kept them.

A warm breeze rippled over the grass, the familiar sound gave Azmere something solid where he could direct his focus. The fog parted with the breath of the storm god. The patron Stormblood closed his star-marked eyes and allowed the moving air to cool his skin. When the blue and gold gaze opened, Azmere sucked in a breath. His camp was empty except for his lonely tent. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and looked around one more but he was not mistaken – all of the other tents were gone. The ankal uttered an impolite phrase of disbelief and started to walk towards the heart of Endrykas when another voice called through the mists.

“You’re fault.”

Azmere narrowed his eyes. If this was a trick, it was ill-timed and not well received. He felt his hands clench into fists, the nails pressing against the skin of his palms. It dawned on him that Skylla was not accounted for and a brick formed in the Drykas’ stomach. Ignoring the glaring oddities, the archer began to move more quickly. He covered ground by jogging in back and forth jaunts but every step seemed to only reveal that he was absolutely alone.

“You’re fault.”

This was a voice he did know but the color rushing from his skin was an involuntary response to the sound of a dead man; his grandfather. Azmere shook from his boots to his ears and closed his eyes tight. This couldn’t be real. Certainly, he was dreaming. His heart thumped against his chest so hard that the watchman was afraid he would lose the organ since some of the skin had been peeled away. After what felt like an age, the Drykas slowly opened his eyes expecting to see Asmodeus standing before him with an accusing expression but there was nothing but fog. Azmere shook his head and starting walking back in the presumed direction of Endrykas. This hadn’t been a very good start to his day.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

The woman lay curled in a tight ball, head pressed to her chin and breathing heavily. Her body was covered in a thin layer of moisture, sweat and the wetness from the storms that had attacked the city relentlessly for the past two days. Hair matted around her, wild and unbrushed and still damp with water. Her eyes were open, staring straight into the darkness, and the rest of her senses were alert, her whole body prickling with any change from the norm. In her hand rested her knife, not even gripped but lying flat against her open palm. The metal chilled her and reassured her, and she didn't understand why she was so on edge.

Unable to rest any longer, the Drykas rose, discarding the small knife for her yvas and bow. Perhaps a little ride would clear her head; perhaps a little hunt would calm her. Kicking the furs she slept on aside, she trickled through the tent, moving like slow, strained clockwork. The driest shirt she could find was pulled on, as were the trousers, slowly yanked up each leg with painstaking time. Her boots were hidden in one corner and the arrows in another, but her eyes remained droopy even as she moved around the tent, task in mind.

Stumbling towards the entrance, a sharp growl came from the sleeping guardian who did not want to be disturbed. Heavy fingers signed in the darkness, before realising their meaning could not be understood even if there was light. Beast growled again and Merevaika snapped at her sharply, a tone she herself wasn't expecting. "Move! Now!" it came, matched with a deep growl that spoke clearly to the dog. She bared her teeth lightly before stepping aside, letting the larger, more fierce creature too. Even dogs understood fear.

As she pushed aside the rainsoaked flap, it took her a little while to take in the sight with her sleep heavy eyes. There wasn't much to see, but that was what there was. A thick fog, impenetrable even with her sharp eyes. It clung to her and suffocated her, Merevaika dropping her yvas at the entrance to her tent as she stepped out to greet it.

At once, she could see, and not just the ordinary array of tents that she had positioned herself near. It was people actual people, standing around her. Drykas, windmarks worn proudly, about half on horseback. With her arrival, the group fell to nervous whispers, the younger among them hanging back in either fear or awe.

"Is she the one? Is that her? It's really her!" came the whispers she caught through the mist, Merevaika watching them confused. Why were they here, what did they want? Her grip on her bow tightened and she mimed pulling an arrow to it, trying to scare the lot off, or at least show them it would be wise to leave her alone. No one seemed to flinch - not properly anyway - and several even seemed more impressed.

"You... You're really Merevaika?" one stepped forward, eyes wide with disbelief at her. Her upper lip curled, eyes scrunching to sharp slits as she tried to tell if this was a trap. "I can't believe it. You're the one who fought the Drykas. You went to the mines too - and survived the Wanah'ite!" At this, her gaze grew even firmer into a glare, wondering how much he knew, and how he knew all this.

"So what if it's true?" she questioned, testing the waters to see what they would reveal. At her response, the man's face lit up even more and he half bowed as she stepped forward.

"It's really you! It's really you!" he gasped, before gesturing to some group at the side. They moved quickly, fetching the dark Strider she called her own and pulling towards her. Instead of the old, worn yvas he normally wore, he was adorned with fine purple work, decorated with ornate knots and decorations. His coat was freshly brushed and his mane glowed with a brightness she had never seen it have. Without the help of the group, despite their protests and eagerness to help, she mounted, still trying to take it in. Did these people really admire her? This much?

"Is there anything we can do you for you? There is not much we can do for someone so great, who crossed the Sea of Grass alone and survived," he paused, the others trying to do their best to help in whatever way they could. Several extended various gifts, but with the distance and fog, she couldn't make them out. "Semekhe, blessed by Caiyha's son himself! Anything you ask we will try to do, walota."

Was this real? It couldn't be? But the people were real and she could feel this yvas under her. Hear their words. Well, even if it wasn't real, she'd be making the most out of it. Clicking her teeth, Eryunt began to move forward, twisting aimlessly through Endrykas. The crowd seemed to follow her, and she smiled, wishing it was real, if it wasn't. All these people who didn't hate her - who admired her, who wanted to be in her presence. So much they would do anything for her. But what first? She had no clue, gripping to the fog and what it gave her tightly.
"Pavi"
Grassland sign
"Common"

[Azmere]

Lost and confused in his own camp, the ankal decided it was time to begin his day. Perhaps the gods were trying to tell him something. Perhaps Yahal was testing him. The Drykas shook his head and moved on towards the heart of the city. All he could see was fog. He could feel it on his bare chest and taste its bittersweet moisture on his tongue. The thick substance filled his nostrils and made his ache from all of his old wounds simultaneously. The archer suddenly felt very old as he trudged along the grass. He thought of Hephiestian and Wikus –he had failed in both of those instances. He was reminded of the woman he blinded; the one who tried to kill him with her magic but somehow got away. Add another failure to the mix.

“Your fault.”

That voice crushed his heart into dust. Azmere felt tears sting his eyes. “No.” He whispered. The soft eyes of his mother, Analia, stared at him from across the wide berth given between pavilions. The watchman took off at a dead sprint towards the woman who gave him life only to arrive with burning muscles and a pumping heart to find it all an apparition; an illusion of his subconscious mind. “Why?” The ankal questioned aloud. Azmere shook his head and walked onward. The scar tissue in his left leg was really bothering him and the normally miniscule limp was posing almost as a handicap this day. Each step further compounded the pain from the last and the Drykas was starting to wince because of it.

The sound of another voice but this one wasn’t accusing him of something. It seemed to be carrying on a normal conversation. Azmere moved in an indirect path towards the sound. He made careful steps to mask the sound of the grass dragging across his boots. They were slow and deliberate which also gave his mind something else to do other than repay his worst memories.

“Your fault!”

Another whisper broke the silence and the watchman turned so rapidly that he nearly tripped over his own feet. The archer recovered his balance and heard more talking so he moved in an arc using the shadows of pavilions to guide his course. The female’s voice was strangely familiar but the fog seemed to be distorting the true sound. It was odd, in the watchman’s mind, that such oddities could be caused by the weather but there didn’t seem to be any other logical answer. It was at this point when Azmere decided to close his eyes and focus upon the stars within them. He took a deep breath as he brought his body to a standstill. His ears listened idly to the world as he felt the djed tingle behind his eyelids. When he opened them again, he could see the paths of a few animals or people who had passed along this route earlier.

The Drykas looked around in the direction of the voice and began to make out traces of color amidst the eerie haze that blanketed the Sea of Grass. Azmere moved towards it as he ignored the sounds of voices from his mind blaming him for their deaths or circumstances. The ankal was starting to see twisted visions of his friends and current family look at him in disgust but he had a light to focus on that allowed him –at least for the time being- to ignore it. He saw a glittering outline of a horse and rider. As he drew near, there was a deep crimson coming from the rider that almost washed away the color of the horse which reminded Azmere of a summer rain shower.

The watchman made a few quick steps then slowed again as his leg was pained by the exertion. He watched and when the horse turned, he recognized the brown hair, tanned skin and vibrant green eyes. Relief washed over the right side of the man’s face as he jogged up to her. His face was alight and joyed to see the wild woman. It wasn’t that they were close friends but the watchman knew that he had never failed her so there was surely no love loss.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

As she continued, they still followed, whispering among themselves. She caught words, glimpses of their conversations, all muttering rumours of what she had once done, what she had achieved. Some, like her being blessed by Alcor and crossing the Sea of Grass practically alone, were true, and others were stories she only wished were true. About her grappling with a Grass Bear and defeating it with only a knife, about how she sleeps on the furs of Night Lions she hunted, how even Dira feared her.

She was a legend to these people, and she wasn't going to go around correcting them to prove them wrong. Instead, she basked in the simple knowledge that she wasn't simply known - but she was important to them. Envied, admired, almost feared. It was incredible.

The fog, in her mind, had been there to serve the evil, to let it come out and hide it from everyone else. The fog was meant to bring the bad and stifling to them. But it hadn't. It had brought only the good, only the dreams she had always had, but never really known or understood before. Now, everything made sense to her. Everyone knew her. Everyone was there to support her.

She turned, and a figure burst from the fog, almost jogging up to her, face in a smile of relief. No, more than that - it was all alight, shining with happiness of seeing her. Just like all the other faces she could make out through the fog - amazed and in awe of the woman before him.

Azmere? Azmere! Azmere. She didn't know how to react to his presence. By his expression, he was here for the same reason everyone else was, but she never would have expected him in this position. He was clever, tactical, a good hunter and good watchman. Which of her things had impressed him enough for him to come, him to have that expression on his face?

But he had to have been impressed, or he wouldn't be here. And, the more she thought about it... He was one of the few people who knew about Alcor, in the sense that he had seen that alternative form of hers. How else would everyone find out? Not only was he in awe of her, but he spread it around - he wanted people to know about her.

With a beam that showed how impressed she was at him, at how he had done this for her, she rose slowly on her horse, sitting up as straight as she could to tower over him. "Azmere!" she said quickly, greeting him specifically and giving him far more attention than she had with any of the others. She had to reward him somehow for giving this to her, while still keeping the respect of everyone else. How better than to pass some of that respect onto him. "Thank you!" she added, with another short smile, "You're a good man, Walot."

Her eyes flew over everyone again, gathered with gifts and awe in their eyes, before pressing her fingers against the soft throw Eryunt wore under his yvas and through his mane, softer and smoother than it ever had been. She was more than grateful to him, but she couldn't let it all show. She was still herself, and herself meant she wanted to keep most of this fame to herself.

"Pavi"
Grassland sign
"Common"

[Azmere]

“Azmere!”

The sweet voice carried with it a tone of anger and disgust. The ankal felt his shoulders sag and his heart drop with such force that he feared his stomach was in danger. The young huntress and the watchman had shared their differences but they had also bonded on several occasions that left the man feeling like there was a mutual bond. Apparently, this was wrong. Like the other people he had encountered so far, the pretty brunette was hurling insults.

“Walahk!”

The man’s face went from sorrow to rage. He was a Drykas and not one who stole from his neighbors. There was a brief moment where he reached for his weapons but bore none so –thankfully- that instance passed. His mind warped and bent into a thousand ugly trees as the archer watched her parade around on her stallion and call him names. A broken heart needed time to heal but the scars would be on the inside. If she was going to abuse him with her tongue then her crimes would be marked on her lithe frame.

The novice mage spent a few minutes focusing on his anger and decided to channel his energy elsewhere. The contrasting gaze scoured the ground until it found what the man sought; a small rock. He picked it up and held it in his fingers. The surface was smooth and cool and there was a small nick out of the flatter edge. The grey pebble with black swirls was held up for inspection then made to disappear in the fist of the archer. Azmere poured himself over the stone. He felt the consistency of the thing change in his grasp. In truth, it was not the stone that changed for a barrier was being placed around it. It tingled and rippled like a syrup or honey. The beginner flipped his small rock from his left to his right palm and in the transfer he turned his hand up so that his splayed fingers exhibited the object. The worn piece of earth looked the same but it felt like it was alive. Azmere could feel the magic moving all around the stone so he began to impose his will upon the djed –to give it purpose.

After several chimes of wordlessly telling the shield what to do, Azmere decided to give it a test. He tossed the thing straight up about a foot and a half off of his hand, the blue and gold orbs watching intently as the stone crested then fell. When a dull ‘thwack’ announced the pebble’s landing, the watchman closed his fingers around it once more. He noted the distinct differences from the previous grip. The djed felt even and smooth like the rock but it was warm and solid. The sensation of a moving or shifting surface was gone. The ankal squeezed on the thing with one hand then he put it between both his palms and applied a great deal of force. His arm flexed and instantly began to shake from the exertion of trying to crush the pebble in his hands. Azmere relaxed for a moment and took a deep breath but left the rock to remain in its present spot. Upon his next inhale, the scarred man repeated his earlier show of strength. His fingers were lined up to mirror one another and as he pushed one palm against the other with all his might, he still felt no change in the shield.

The man felt his shoulders tremble and his chest muscles began to burn along with his triceps while a strained feeling began to creep along his back. Azmere was satisfied and allowed his body to relax once more. He tossed the stone up into the air, caught it then began walking after Merevaika. He was suddenly aware that the insults and terrible visions had stopped while he was focusing on his magic. In an effort to prevent any further shaming, the watchman pushed some djed into the stars that filled his eyes. He blinked them shut then back open and saw the blood-red patches trailing behind the fiery huntress like the feathers of a wild bird. It was this path that he followed with a quick pace. His legs pumped up and down as he closed the distance between them. Once he got within six or seven feet, he called her name but his voice faltered. Then an echo chased him down and landed in his ear.

“Weakling!”

Azmere shook his head and sprinted to get in front of Eyrunt the turned and offered her the pebble coated with a djed shield. His hands signed that he needed to ask her a question. His eyes pleaded as the voices had returned.

“Hypocrite. Failure! You’re fault!”

Azmere prattled off like a child tattling on his sibling to Merevaika, one hand resting upon the yvas blanket near her leg while the other still clutched the stone. “You know me, huntress. Tell me I’ve never failed you.” His hand jumped to her leg as his desperation for some kind of approval instantly pushed him onto the edges of a frenzy. “They killed my family but it’s not my fault! It’s not, I swear!!” The voices continued to taunt him and his face revealed the dismay with a lack of color in his skin and wide, searching eyes.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

The man seemed to shrink at her voice, and she wondered why. She had only given him praises and respect. She rode up towards him a little more, taking a closer look at him. He had shrunken back forward, head down - was that respect? Like a servant to his mistress, he was bent, and he reached over, as if he was bowing to her. Was that truly how he viewed her? Had she really earned his respect like that - more than gifts and stories could ever show?

Her eyes turned to the others, the admiring crowds, and her heart almost stopped again, still not truly believing it. It was so sudden, so surprising, she hadn't been expecting any of it. But it was true - everyone was still there, everyone was still handing her gifts and speaking of her greatness. They couldn't be joking, or mocking - she could sense the truth in their eyes, and she cast a pleasant smile over them, a queen over her people, and for once she felt like she was in her place: above the rest.

She waved lightly at her people, stopping once as a meal was brought to her by a young boy, who reached up on his toes to hand it to the woman. It was clear he wanted to give it to her lips, to not let her have the bother of bringing food to her mouth, and it was only his height that stopped him. Deciding that she would even pat him gently on the head, she left that as a thanks, and looked at the feast prepared for her in the finest of baskets: oatcakes soaked in honey, berries and nuts in small parcels, pieces of bacon wrapped in flatbread, and fresh cheeses that smelled strong and delicious. Tucking in, she let herself fly from piece to piece testing each lightly against her lips.

It all tasted so perfect.

Then Azmere was beside her again, resting lightly against Eryunt and pushing something forward in his hand, speaking quickly, like a child speaking to his mother. Begging for her respect, for her to take him as her servant. He claimed he had never failed her - or was it would never fail her? - and she wondered whether he was telling the truth. He had never shown this before. He had never shown this respect, even worship, towards her, but now, he was asking for her to tell him he was worthy.

Her eyes flashed back down to the stone he held, before lighting in delight as she realised what it was. As it glinted in the light, it cast beautiful colours across the palms of his hands, and the Drykas woman leant gently, her whole body folding to be more at level with the man. Her breath touched his skin as her chin almost rested on him, taking a deeper look.

A gem, a beautiful gem, like an amethyst but so much more beautiful, bigger, smoother, rarer, worth so much more. Her eyes followed it as it moved in his hands, and she almost forgot about him, fingers reaching out and gently removing it from him. She held it up closer to her face, letting it sparkle against her skin, then reaching down and placing an open palm against the man.

"Thank you, Walot," she spoke softly, straight to him, "You are worthy enough to me." But he would still worship her, she could see that look in his eyes. The look of admiration, of devotion, of a man who was looking at a goddess and not an ordinary human. And she wanted it far more than any riches in the world.

Not that she wasn't going to keep the riches.


"Pavi"
Grassland sign
"Common"

[Azmere]

The man bristled and recoiled from Merevaika. It was a shock to hear the words she spat about his failure at the ravine; a hand instinctively climbing up to run across the scars where the wolf had taken a piece of his flesh. Azmere remembered things differently but the voices rallied through his mind with such a ferocious cackle that the watchman was unable to recall the images of what had actually taken place. Maybe they were right –the voices.

Your fault!

Like she had kicked him in the face, the scarred ankal staggered backwards four steps. His boots hit a rock and the damp grass took care of the rest. The man’s center of gravity shifted beyond his base and Azmere went over backwards with his hands flying up. The air rushed out of his lungs as the flat of the ground met his spine. For a few moments, the archer was immobilized.

Failure! Liar! Fraud!

Azmere couldn’t move! He couldn’t get up! He twitched his fingers but that was it. He tried to open his mouth to speak but the tendons in his jaw were slack. The man tried to move his toes, his feet but nothing was responding. He looked around and saw color everywhere. The paths seemed to be converging over him like the very fog that held him in the mud. The paths took the rough shapes of people and as the contrasting gaze darted from head to toe; side to side, he found that these people formed into lives from his past and present. The voices no longer scolded him. They didn’t bother to tell him how worthless his every endeavor had been and would always be.

They laughed.

Azmere tried to force air out to scream, flail, anything. He had nothing to offer and nothing more to give. His fingers still responded, however, and he found this to be encouraging. It was a sudden realization that he realized his pebble was gone. The ankal began to tune out the sounds, colors and voices. He let his mind wander to the tiny shield he had laid upon the stone. His mind wandered and he found nothing. Suddenly, a solution dawned on the Drykas. Azmere let go of the djed in his eyes and ignored the rippling bubble of protection around the small rock. He closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the laughter and scathing remarks. A moment went by and the man slipped into the web.

The web was normal and Azmere was able to move freely through it. The ankal moved around the immediate area until he found the big stallion and small brunette. She was holding his stone and admiring it. There was something in her expression that didn’t sit right with the Drykas. He was angry at the way the day had been but here, within the web, he had clarity and peace. There was something in the physical world that was trying to drive him mad. It had the huntress giddy. Not one to ignore a plight, the watchman began to move round the city and found many similar results to his own situation and that of Merevaika’s. People were falling over themselves in terror, joy, drunkenness and many other forms of excess. The middle-of-the-road warrior was beside himself as he witnessed friends and neighbors acting like fools. He didn’t experience sensations when in the form of his awareness but he felt an eerie tingle settle over him as face after face that he came across as not the person he knew.

Azmere flashed back to his body and rejoined the world. When he opened his eyes he was able to sit up instantly. He didn’t want to risk falling prey to whatever had caught him before so the ankal made a bee line for Merevaika. His closed his eyes in a brief pause to reactivate the stars that lived in his vision. When he reopened them, the colors that swirled before were back to normal but the voices were coming back in full force. The red fire that was the huntress was broken only by a small white ball that must have surely been his pebble. He stopped short of approaching the horse and focused on the white sphere. Through his connection with the djed, the shield began to crawl over the woman’s hand. As long as he remained centered on his task, the voices were just noise in the background.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Merevaika]

Merevaika

He staggered back, falling in admiration. Merevaika almost blushed at the trip, watching how his focus on her took away from all his other senses. Was she really there, like that, that important? Was his movement to the floor representative of her position against his - against all of them?

Her mind was distracted by the clamouring of the people around her, and she shifted in her seat, taking a look on her adoring fans. There was no way to explain any of this, she knew that. It was almost a dream, but at the same time, she knew it couldn't be one. No dream felt this real. This was reality, and she knew it well. However strange it was, it was wonderful. Perhaps this was her reward for dealing with what the gods had thrown at her.

No, not perhaps. This was her reward. She couldn't think of any other explanation for everyone's reaction, for the start of her ascension towards godhood.

"Azmere," she called out, wanting him to join her, to come up from the floor and not cower before her like the others. "Azmere, Walot, where is your horse? Let's ride, I feel like riding. And we can have these people..." Her cast against them again, "A feast can be prepared!"

Her eyes fell back on him, wondering where his reply was. He was straggling behind, doing nothing, staring into space. Perhaps.... was he watching the paths she knew he could see? "What do you see?" she asked, curiously, too prideful to try herself and fail. Then again, today, she felt like she couldn't fail.

oocI don't know what to write. sorry for the short reply, and the long wait

"Pavi"
Grassland sign
"Common"

[J'Ak]

G R A D E



A Z M E R E

Click :

xp

Logic +1
Running +1
Pathfinding +1
Shielding +1
Body building +1
Rhetoric +1
Webbing +1
Investigation +1


lores

Logic: Deducing hallucination from reality
The Mysterious Fog
Fog Hallucination: Haunted by failure
Azmere: Begs Merevaika to name him worthy
Body building: Testing one's strength against rocks
Rhetoric: Pleading one's innocence
Investigation: Investigating the mysterious fog through the web
The Web is untouched by the mysterious fog

M E R E V A I K A

Click :

xp

Animal Husbandry +1
Rhetoric +3
Logic +1


lores

Animal Husbandry: Being firm with Beast
Azmere: Clever, tactical & a good hunter
Merevaika: Desires fame & devotion far greater than riches
Azmere: Begs Merevaika to name him worthy
The Mysterious Fog
Logic: Weighing up potential explanations
Fog Hallucination: Admiration, fame & devotion from all


rewards

+ 1 smooth stone gifted by Azmere

N O T E S

Click :

I loved the contradictory hallucinations Azmere & Merevaika were having simultaneously, and the way their hallucinations of each other revealed the mutual respect they share in their relationship. Great work on those mysterious, dream-like vibes!

If you feel I missed anything let me know via PM.
Merevaika, don't forget to edit your grade request here.