“I walk through the garden with closed eyes. The dried pine transporting me to mountains past where subalpine wildflowers bloom in earnest and the Mountain Beasts stalk the isolated meadows searching for a meal to stave off the Winter’s gnawing hunger. But when I open my eyes, I only see dead pine.”

“The Sea has always captivated me. I recall a vertiginous uneasy engulfing me, & spitting me out as if I were swallowed by that menacing Blue; a Seabird’s cry always delivering me back to my clifftop perch I frequented as a child. One day I’ll catch a glimpse of the Ships said to sail out of time.”

The Troupe performed while few Scribes furiously notated the nebulousness filling the dank chamber. “Verdant vistas draped in tangerine twilight!” gurgled an unaccustomed spectator. “The Curator is among us!” shrieked another. But soon those souls departed, and only fierce scribbling was heard.

“I trust ye can look after yr’self”, rasped the Antiquarian, “take the blade by the portal for me own peace.” But instead of a hilt’s comfort the young Fellow felt a deep bite. The long shadow of a now-hooded figure startled the dripping man. “Now the ritual can begin” called a voice from beyond.