Trancing was usually a relaxing experience. Filing away the day's memories, sifting through a century's worth of old ones, reliving any that felt particularly relevant or appealing. But today, wherever she went, Aya couldn't shake the feeling someone was following her. Little flashes of purple or silver at the edge of her remembered vision, additions that fit the scene but certainly hadn't been there at the time. All the same, they seemed to make perfect sense, as though they had always been present and she simply never noticed. Returning to her favourite triumph, she catches a flare of power from the arrows that ensured a dragon's demise; even in her oldest memories, she can see faint grey threads running through the forest floor as the blood sinks into the hungry loam. And always, someone behind her, just out of sight and taunting her with its presence. Throwing away her hesitation, she dives through memories as fast as she can, surrendering to the strangeness and seeking only to experience as much of it as she can.

When she returns to the present world, the late afternoon sun catches on silver threads that glimmer with a promise of power, and she feels a connection to the goddess that before was but a vague understanding. Staring at the symbol, she smiles in comprehension, and asks her first blessings of Mystra.


On their way to the assigned place, Aya whispers a prayer, and grins in satisfaction as the world comes into even sharper focus than usual. The whorls of the knots in wooden buildings, the texture of the canvas sails in harbour, the eddies in the air as breezes blow at cross-purposes, even the hint of fire in the contact's eyes; the whole world was simply more... pleasant this way.

Still, Jorran? I was right not to discount the unexpected... glad it's not me, at least. Tilting her head curiously, she allows her hood to fall back slightly, giving her a better angle to scan the surroundings for Ambrath's copperskins. "Friend of yours, Jorran?"