Dreams from France 2

[Dermont Falin]

Deep in the heart of France a man sits on the edge of an empty bed. The man removes a mask setting it next to him and begins to speak “The holidays are finally over trying to balance two social lives is a pain in the ass” he says into the darkness. Flopping back he closes his eyes and quickly falls asleep.



The room was large dark and cold a feeling of familiarity washed over the man sitting in the corner who was watching the young lady sitting at the table. The feeling of frustration begins to feel the man as he comes to the realization the no matter how much he picks at here shields they never seem to weaken enough for him to get into effect her magically. It was about that time that a servant walked into the room carrying a cold iron tray that contained a goblet of wine and plate of food. The man’s eyes focused on the women with her nose in a book as the cold iron gets closer to her, watching as she recoils from pain of it being in the same room as her. “Just put the food and wine over there and take the tray with you” she says gesturing to the end of the table trying to stay as far back as she could. After the other woman leaves the room Moira relaxes some with the tray no longer in her proximity taking a sip of wine she returns to the ever growing stack of books around her. The man pushes himself off the wall and slowly glides to stand in front of the table keeping his face masked in shadows. “Any luck yet? It seems that you have been at this for some time now” he says as a smile begins creeping across his face when she jump not noticing that he was there. “I’ll tell you what I have a few even older tomes hidden away in a different chamber to keep them safe I’ll pull them out and in the next day or so I’ll take you to that room so you can see if what you are looking for is in the older books” he says and begins to walk out of the room.



A knock at the door pulls the French men from his sleep “Jean-claude êtes-vous là? Aucune dissimulation de moi.” A smile slide over his face “well I guess the party is still going on.”

[Moira ap Eiluned]

Moira couldn’t begin to guess how long she’d been sitting there, pouring through the stacks of books around her. Her back aches and her stomach growls, but she ignores both and reaches for another tome. There had to be an answer in here somewhere, she was sure of it. The books were powerful, and some of them must be warded, for she could feel pressure on her shields, but she ignores that too. Irrelevant information. She has to stay focused.

She hears the footsteps behind her, light and measured, a servant’s step, a bare heartbeat before she feels the sickening wave of pain crash over her. It takes her a moment to focus past the nausea and consciously recognize it as the miasma of Cold Iron. It has never affected her this badly before, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. She looks over her shoulder to see a servant girl carrying a full goblet and plate of meat and fruits on a tray of the cursed metal. A tradition of certain border baronies, she knew, especially those near war zones; a way to show that the refreshments on the platter were not bound with sorceries. Any such enchantments would be worn away in moments near such a quantity of Cold Iron, so meals were often served in this manner when company was about.

She stifles her reaction, limited to a flinch and a tightness in her voice. “Just put the food and wine over there and take the tray with you,” she says, gesturing to the end of the table. She pulls back as the servant leans over to do so, taking any extra inch she could manage to keep clear, the memory of her shadow ripping away fresh and painful in her mind. As the servant walks away and the foul aura abates, she relaxes and turns back to her books.

From the corner of her eye she sees a man push himself off the far wall, walking with a smooth and graceful pace over to her. His face is deep in shadow, but she knows him, knows she knows him. He was the one helping her, the one who had offered his library to her research. Why couldn’t she remember what he looked like? She thought this should bother her…

“Any luck yet? It seems that you have been at this for some time now…” She jumps, startled by his voice, another point of familiarity that she can’t quite place, and a strange, utterly misplaced pulse of fear flashes through her. “I’ll tell you what. I have a few even older tomes hidden away in a different chamber to keep them safe; I’ll pull them out and in the next day or so and I’ll take you to that room so you can see if what you are looking for is in the older books.” Moira turns to look at him full on, but sees only his back as he walks away. She needs those books, she knows that somehow the answer is there…but she can’t shake the feeling that the answer is not to the question she is asking…

A loud knock startles her, and Moira’s head shoots up from her chest. She blinks rapidly, sees that she has fallen asleep at her office desk again. Good thing the door was closed. “Come in,” she calls, and turns her mind away from the strange fading dream and back to the necessity of her job.