Towertop

[Anastasia]

At the moment you have a ton o' stuff to pursue from your last haul. What's the first of them?

[Iron Dragoon]

Quickest/easiest: Return the painting to Morwel.

[Anastasia]

Cool. How are you planning on doing that?

[Iron Dragoon]

Have Emily use a sending to whoever she knows in the court to tell Morwel that we have it and intend to return it when she wants and then just 'port over with it.

[Anastasia]

Who's going assuming you get the okay, you and Emily?

[Iron Dragoon]

I don't think anyone else had interest. Unless maybe Ianvasah had interest?

[Anastasia]

That's fine, then.

It's not long for Emily to send a message. She quickly stops, mere moments after.

"Ah." Emily says, "Are you tired by any chance, Alyssa?"

[Iron Dragoon]

Alyssa stretches a bit.

"Not really? Oh, is she wanting to meet in a dream again?"

[Anastasia]

"That's it," Emily says, "She wants to talk to us about that painting."

[Iron Dragoon]

"Well... I guess I could have a few drinks and lounge in a warm place for a nap. Care to join?"

[Anastasia]

"You don't turn this invitation down," Emily agrees.

Thus you slip away into rest.

You sit on the shore of a beach. A sunny beach, wearing nothing but a light dress. The waves lap against your toes, Emily in the same dress drowsing besides you.

[Iron Dragoon]

Alyssa raises an eyebrow and wonders if she can use some sort of willpower to change the design of her dress, but looks around while turning the idea over.

[Anastasia]

You look behind you. There is another shore line behind you, waves almost coming close enough to lap at your rear. Another ocean, but this one is a verdant green color, like emeralds crushed into a liquid.

On a small boat far in the distance you can see a single woman. She stands there, long auburn hair blown in the breeze, and faraway enough to be indistinct otherwise.

[Iron Dragoon]

Alyssa nudges Emily and points.

"I wonder if this is what inspired the painting?"

[Anastasia]

Emily slowly awakens and turns. The woman slowly drifts out of sight and yet you hear the sound of bells ringing behind you.

Behind you is now a village, sunny and well kept. Everything is new, nothing is without damage or grime. On an easel dead ahead is the painting, as if it was always there.

I once gave this painting to a dear friend a long time ago. It seems the sands of time have pried away from her grasp, for time is every the agent of change.

Where ever did you find it?