Hobbiton-Bywater Library System

The city is burning.

From his vantage point at the top of the falls, Loquacious can see it all, spread out before him in smoking rubble crushed under the weight of unfathomable bodies. He knows he should feel the wind whipping past his face, icy cold since the atmospheric generator failed hours ago... But all he feels is numb, trapped behind a glass wall and unable to do anything but watch as his city turns to ash.

Faint screams echo in the distance and the Herald shakes himself from his reverie. There's no porters to help him now but he knows if he just takes one step, he'll be where he needs to be. His foot slides forward and the glass blurs , sending him hurtling forward into the streets.

The screams are louder here, but anyone he sees is nothing more than a dark shadow rushing past. The street might as well be empty, curling inward on themselves... He shakes his head and the walls are straight as they have ever been, except where they are reduced to smoldering wreckage.

With a frown he reaches out through Laerryn's telepathic bond. "Where are you? We were supposed to meet at the falls."

Nothing. Not even static.

Dread pools in his gut. He needs to be where Laerryn is, needs to see that she's safe from the horrors they brought down on their own city.

Loquatious takes another step, mind focused on his ex-wife. The glass blurs again and the memory spits him out in the heart of the city.

He remembered the room blaring with klaxons, lights flashing a warning red. The smell of ozone and spent magic filled the air. Laerryn bent over her precious leywrite, hair fanning out around her as she frantically punched coordinates.

But this time it's something different.

The room pulses like the inside of a beating heart. Cables and wires twist like snakes with a mind of their own. Laerryn is not where she should be, instead she's screaming as she's pulled towards the crawling walls.

But the words are the same, calm and collected, pulled from memory and a horrifying contrast to what he is seeing.

"You're the only one I can send. Run, Quay. While you have the chance."

In his memory she'd gently pushed him through the glowing platform of the Astral Leywrite, fingers lingering as the city shuddered to pieces around them. The gentle light of his home plane had beckoned him forward and he'd felt like a coward for running... But he had to survive. Someone had to try.

It is not so gentle here. Loquacious lurches forward, frantic and uncoordinated, and screams as a cable wraps around his foot. He struggles forward, clawing at the ground as the room starts to split, giant fingers cracking the rotting city open like an egg. He won't make it in time. The safe glow of the feywild is dimming beyond his reach. He's screaming and can taste blood in his throat and...

"WAKE UP!" A sharp slap across his face jerks the fey back to reality. He sits up, coughing against the stinging of his throat. When he speaks his voice is rough.

"Whatever was that for, my dear?" He frowns down at himself, sprawled inelegantly on the ground instead of curled up soft and small in his usual form. "I appear to have arrived in the night."

"Yeah, and you were screaming." The concerned face of Jester Levorre swims into focus. "Are you ok, Artie?"

He thinks about pasting a smile across his face and deflecting, but instead he draws his knees up and looks out across the room. 

"Nightmares and memories, Jester. Our adventures lately have... Reminded me of things I would rather forget."

Jester leaned against him, following his gaze out towards nothing. "Anything you'd like to talk about?"

Artagan smiles faintly, a ghost of his old bravado. "No, it was another life."

Loquacious died with Avalir, alongside his friends as he should have. He'd rather keep it that way.