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Sleepwalker - Morrighan - 01-13-2019
Some bridges are meant to be burnt, some roads are never meant to be traveled again.
The market was abuzz with activity, more so than usual if one could believe that. It was this very reason Morrighan didn't spend much time around here - crowds weren't exactly her thing. There are several performers drawing groups near them, all being dramatic and doing the unthinkable. Personally she was most annoyed by the fire breathers as she hadn't quite yet tapped into any sort of fire magic of her own. Overall, it was over-the-top and many of the "tricks" could be explained by more careful observation. Yet, so many spectators fell for the game with their mouths dropping in awe. It made her eyes roll.
So what exactly brought someone like her here? In all honesty, she didn't exactly know. Typically she spent her time in the wilds exploring, but there was a pull here today that she couldn't explain. Almost as if there was an invisible rope wrapped around her neck that something - or someone - was pulling to force her forward.
Morrighan passed the moon carving in the center, but did a double take. Squinting her eyes at the monument, she realized she had seen this in a dream. There had also been this… strange mare that beckoned her forth, but before anything else happened, she had woken up. Was this a sign?
She snorted, not really wanting to believe any of this crap. Of course, it was this unexplainable shit that got her to the Night Court in the first place with her sign from Caligo. Maybe this was her doing too so she would see something - or Mor was just going crazy. Yet, the glint of something further down the path caught her eye and she noticed fire. Immediately she felt that invisible pull again and her hooves carried forward on the stone road.
The smell of wood smoke filled her lungs as she got closer and there was a sense of calm. The dancing flames had her mesmerized for a moment, but then her eyes locked onto a tent. It too looked strangely familiar, but she wondered if she should be following through with this. After all, what she was remembering was just a dream, so there was no way to know of what actually lied behind the curtain. Although, she felt pretty damn curious.
"Eh, screw it. It's not like I have anything to lose."
Mor let herself in, pushing the curtain aside with her nose. She got halfway inside when she noticed this was set up for a psychic. It had been hard to tell of her surroundings in the dream, but now things were much clearer. There were odd items everywhere, some more questionable than most. A single mare with striking silver eyes watched her come in - the one from her dream. Before she could say anything, the mare instructed her to sit and asked if she wanted to know what the cards said. Was that the whole reason her curiosity led her here?
There were a few seconds of silence before Morrighan let out a small laugh. "Sure, why not," she said to the mare, taking a seat but not letting herself get too comfortable. If this got weird, she was out of here.
Mor wasn't a stranger to psychic abilities and customs, though she hadn't partaken in any herself. What she at least knew about tarot cards was that you typically needed to think of a question you wanted to ask the cards. Something about putting specific energy in or something. She wasn't sure if she actually believed in any of it, but here she was, and the mare was waiting for something.
"Oh great mystical cards, what do you suppose I do next?"
It might be a vague question, but it was the only one she wanted an answer to. Plus, she was curious just how good of a mind-reader this mare was.
"Speaking."
So what exactly brought someone like her here? In all honesty, she didn't exactly know. Typically she spent her time in the wilds exploring, but there was a pull here today that she couldn't explain. Almost as if there was an invisible rope wrapped around her neck that something - or someone - was pulling to force her forward.
Morrighan passed the moon carving in the center, but did a double take. Squinting her eyes at the monument, she realized she had seen this in a dream. There had also been this… strange mare that beckoned her forth, but before anything else happened, she had woken up. Was this a sign?
She snorted, not really wanting to believe any of this crap. Of course, it was this unexplainable shit that got her to the Night Court in the first place with her sign from Caligo. Maybe this was her doing too so she would see something - or Mor was just going crazy. Yet, the glint of something further down the path caught her eye and she noticed fire. Immediately she felt that invisible pull again and her hooves carried forward on the stone road.
The smell of wood smoke filled her lungs as she got closer and there was a sense of calm. The dancing flames had her mesmerized for a moment, but then her eyes locked onto a tent. It too looked strangely familiar, but she wondered if she should be following through with this. After all, what she was remembering was just a dream, so there was no way to know of what actually lied behind the curtain. Although, she felt pretty damn curious.
"Eh, screw it. It's not like I have anything to lose."
Mor let herself in, pushing the curtain aside with her nose. She got halfway inside when she noticed this was set up for a psychic. It had been hard to tell of her surroundings in the dream, but now things were much clearer. There were odd items everywhere, some more questionable than most. A single mare with striking silver eyes watched her come in - the one from her dream. Before she could say anything, the mare instructed her to sit and asked if she wanted to know what the cards said. Was that the whole reason her curiosity led her here?
There were a few seconds of silence before Morrighan let out a small laugh. "Sure, why not," she said to the mare, taking a seat but not letting herself get too comfortable. If this got weird, she was out of here.
Mor wasn't a stranger to psychic abilities and customs, though she hadn't partaken in any herself. What she at least knew about tarot cards was that you typically needed to think of a question you wanted to ask the cards. Something about putting specific energy in or something. She wasn't sure if she actually believed in any of it, but here she was, and the mare was waiting for something.
"Oh great mystical cards, what do you suppose I do next?"
It might be a vague question, but it was the only one she wanted an answer to. Plus, she was curious just how good of a mind-reader this mare was.
RE: Sleepwalker - Official Night Account - 01-20-2019
A Reading,
If she has dreamed of the paint mare, too, she shows no sign of it.
But there is still something knowing in her gaze as the woman steps into her tent as though already knowing what she will find there. The shed-star says nothing to her response, only smiles tight-lipped and begins to shuffle the cards.
Between them drifts the scent of incense, smoke twisting in the candlelight. It twines like snakes above the velvet of the table, it blots out the smells of the world outside. There is nothing but the flicker-thwack of her cards against the table, worn and creased at the corners, ink gleaming like old blood.
When the question comes the reader looks up, and her gaze is pointed. Now, only now, is there a ghost of smile against her wrinkled lips; her eyes reflect points of candlelight through drifting silver smoke.
It is not a kind smile, but she is patient, and well-accustomed to questions so spoken.
Her muzzle drifts over the table as she at last sets down the cards. She cuts the deck and flips up three and the rectangles of ink and paper fill the space between them: the mother of wands, the moon, the two of pentacles.
The shed-star leans back, and perhaps there is satisfaction on her face as she regards the mare. Perhaps it is understanding.
“I suppose,” she says dryly, and her voice is like her cards: old and rich and creased with years and use. “that whatever I say it is only yourself you will listen to.” She indicates the first card, the mother of wands. On it is a snake twining about a clutch of eggs, her brood; a single branch splits the card like a lightning-fork. “She is proud, she is determined, she will protect those given under her care to the last.” She is you, she does not say - but her gaze seems to suggest it, when she lifts it from the card to the woman before her. “When you discover your path you must devote yourself to it. Only that will lead to success.”
When she indicates the moon - a sliver, bold yellow, hung in the black between two towering trees - her grin turns almost wicked. “The Moon is for dreaming,” she says, and the candles flicker and gutter, carving hollows into her cheek, putting darkness in her eyes. “And also for fear. Do not be hasty in parsing your path - but do not be afraid of the darker sides of yourself. Listen to your intuition, and look to the new moon to begin.”
The last card is a butterfly, with pentacles caught in its wings, bound with a swathe of color. Almost the shed-star laughs. “Change is coming for you,” she says, “more than you have seen already. You cannot escape it - you can only face it with the grace of the Mother. If you are brave, if you do not lose your way, it will bring you balance.”
At once she flips the cards, shuffles them back into the deck. They are lost amid the multitude, and when the old mare looks up again her eyes are as distant and inscrutable as the moon.
“Now,” she says, and her grin is like another canyon carved into her face, “I suppose you go, and pay attention to where you dreaming-self takes you next.”
@Morrighan // credit goes to griff for this one
But there is still something knowing in her gaze as the woman steps into her tent as though already knowing what she will find there. The shed-star says nothing to her response, only smiles tight-lipped and begins to shuffle the cards.
Between them drifts the scent of incense, smoke twisting in the candlelight. It twines like snakes above the velvet of the table, it blots out the smells of the world outside. There is nothing but the flicker-thwack of her cards against the table, worn and creased at the corners, ink gleaming like old blood.
When the question comes the reader looks up, and her gaze is pointed. Now, only now, is there a ghost of smile against her wrinkled lips; her eyes reflect points of candlelight through drifting silver smoke.
It is not a kind smile, but she is patient, and well-accustomed to questions so spoken.
Her muzzle drifts over the table as she at last sets down the cards. She cuts the deck and flips up three and the rectangles of ink and paper fill the space between them: the mother of wands, the moon, the two of pentacles.
The shed-star leans back, and perhaps there is satisfaction on her face as she regards the mare. Perhaps it is understanding.
“I suppose,” she says dryly, and her voice is like her cards: old and rich and creased with years and use. “that whatever I say it is only yourself you will listen to.” She indicates the first card, the mother of wands. On it is a snake twining about a clutch of eggs, her brood; a single branch splits the card like a lightning-fork. “She is proud, she is determined, she will protect those given under her care to the last.” She is you, she does not say - but her gaze seems to suggest it, when she lifts it from the card to the woman before her. “When you discover your path you must devote yourself to it. Only that will lead to success.”
When she indicates the moon - a sliver, bold yellow, hung in the black between two towering trees - her grin turns almost wicked. “The Moon is for dreaming,” she says, and the candles flicker and gutter, carving hollows into her cheek, putting darkness in her eyes. “And also for fear. Do not be hasty in parsing your path - but do not be afraid of the darker sides of yourself. Listen to your intuition, and look to the new moon to begin.”
The last card is a butterfly, with pentacles caught in its wings, bound with a swathe of color. Almost the shed-star laughs. “Change is coming for you,” she says, “more than you have seen already. You cannot escape it - you can only face it with the grace of the Mother. If you are brave, if you do not lose your way, it will bring you balance.”
At once she flips the cards, shuffles them back into the deck. They are lost amid the multitude, and when the old mare looks up again her eyes are as distant and inscrutable as the moon.
“Now,” she says, and her grin is like another canyon carved into her face, “I suppose you go, and pay attention to where you dreaming-self takes you next.”
@Morrighan // credit goes to griff for this one