An Imp's Advice
"Follow the River, Remus," All Father played upon his harp, the rythm ringing into his ears. "They will help you." The river rushed by at Remus's left, tempting him for a resting stop, to soak his dry pelt, and quinch his thirst in the baring sun. Carefully he scaled a slope, the scabber of his sword weighing down with his armour surprisingly hard, there the weary wolf breaked at a might oak. Wiping his sandy brow, Remus panted, "Dagda be scorned..." He unlatched his belt and freed himself of all armour. The relief was wonderful, his chest free to expand. As he lowered his head into the river he swallowed with a lustful tounge, grateful for the cool water. Even the breeze flowing through his elk hide shirt felt refreshing and new. Clank. Remus raised his head from the bank and gazed around the open field. Nothing but calm grass. The tree's bark was even moist in the shade as he leaned against the trunk, closing his eyes for rest. Clank.
"What?" Remus frowned, wrinkling his nose in distaste as the sun shined down through the trees. The only thing before the wolf was his armour, glinting playfully in the sun, as if to mock his weary eyes. Inhaling, Remus rested his aching body into the ankle deep grass, even the dew that now hugged his fur acted like a blanket, lulling him to sleep. Clank. "Damnit," He hissed, raising from his sleep, "What in Dagda--"
The movement was quick, and the thief fled out into the field, the thicker brush of the plain hiding him well. Remus saw the item stolen, he beloved IvoryToll in the hands of a filthy robber! Snarling, the warrior charged after the him, the price of thieft in his villiage was the loss of a hand, and he would loose two! The scent of fear flooded his senses, edging him towards the man, his lips pratically drooled for the taste of blood as his primitive mind began to whirl with action. Lunge, Attack, kill. Digging his feet into the ground he lunged forward over a small body, a welp of fear, and all thought vanished, white flowed through the fabric of the All Father's world. Silent and never ending.
Remus groaned and searched the world with burning eyes, his body felt airy and free, though new armour clearly covered his body, and now an endless toll of bells rang from beyond. A new land... It formed around him, bursting from the seems of his imagination, every detail, every blade, all perfect. It was his last Sanctuary, and the only place he could truely find it was within death itself. Why? He scanned the bountiful flowers and cherry blossoms, the emerald grass. His gaze found the twilight sky, even the constellations seemed familiar, though all too perfect to be real...
"No," A voice chimmed, almost like a small bell. "You're not dead, Remus." The voice beconed the wolf, and he followed. Now, standing tall and alone in the emerald grass was the only worthy oak of growing skyward it seemed. At the trunk was that filthy theif. Upon the base of a tree sat a bulbous raccoon, tinkering with IvoryToll, a mocking gleam in his yellow eyes. Remus frowned and stepped towards the red skinned bandit, his bronze gaze barring down upon the little creature. And he knew it's name well. "Boggart," he bit his tounge, and it sneered back up at him, though no words left it's grinning lips. "He won't return your sword," The same voice spoke, clearly Boggart was not the source: Too stupid to speak, no doubt. But Remus took a step away, searching the garden again for the voice, "I suppose you're the one who did this. All I want is the sword, Imp." Almost with hesitation, there was a silence, then he spoke, "Imp," it chimmed, sadly. "Hardly befitting of me, Remus." A rustle came from the mighty trees' canopy, and before him fell an unusual form. "Pooka," Remus gulped. The Pooka was a source of blessing and fortune, surely not an imp! But what would Pooka need of him? The raccoon looked up into Remus's face and it's grey tail fluffed with hesitation. Though it simply began to mindlessly preen himself, as though the wolf was not there at all. The pelt of this racoon was snow white, and surely not as fat as the selfish Boggart. "Why did you call me," Remus asked when the Pooka finnished cleansing himself. "And why is your pelt--" "White?" it chimmed, pulling itself up the tree's base, finding a suitable branch to rest upon, "Times have changed, and anything dark is associated with misfortune and death." All Pooka were seen as normally dark colored, not usually white. "As for the other question," Pooka streched out on his brach, yawning, "It is about Dagda's calling. He has asked for us to assisst you in defeating him." "Him, him, Him, who is him?!" Remus growled, him was the only thing the All Father called the new found evil. However, the Pooka did not reply, "I sense a new change within him, one of scorn and hatred. Though I also see something even Morrighan did not see." Clinching his fist, Remus raised to the Pooka, "Damnit! I'm tired of these games, Pooka, tell me the name of this evil!"
As if offended by the comment, the Pooka wrinkled it's furry brow and frowned. "I cannot anwser your question, though I leave you with a small word of advice."
The world around Remus began to melt, fading away into oblivion, and he was flowing with it. As the world burned back into the clear white it once was, the voice of the Pooka echoed among the realities, it's voice now louder than church bell. "Blood is thicker than water"