Athos awoke, the sun streaming in through the window casting patterns of light across the floor. The restless nights he?d experienced lately had drained him of his usual energy, and his regular meticulous care of his mount and armour had been carried out more out of habit than anything else. A close observer may have noticed that, while by no means in bad need of repair, the usual gleam emanating from the valorite was somewhat duller than normal.

Athos? thoughts strayed to the urn he had found some time ago. Safely stored away, he had hardly given the matter much attention in some months. He never had found the translation for the ancient script around the neck of the urn, and as time passed, and with so many other things to do it seemed to lose its urgency. The past few weeks, however, contained restless nights, where the urn and the chapel in which Athos had found it predominated his sleeping hours, leaving him feeling dull and unrefreshed. Talking with Medric had helped. The older knight?s counsel eased some of the matters on the younger knights mind. As he tended to things around Tel?mar, Athos reflected on Medrics concluding words to him.

Indeed, his place was in Tel?mar, he was worthy to be one of the knights, and maybe the dreams were a message from the goddess. Ceridwen, Messah among her names. Could these dreams be a call, a message, a quest? Carrying out daily mundanities in the most cursory way, Athos felt an unease in the peaceful vale where the knights dwelt. This same unease had persisted in his dreams. Something not right, not drastically wrong, but like a part missing from the whole, a feeling, elusive and yet nagging to be put right.

Pausing in his actions, Athos lets his mind wander ?.
Ilshenar ? that was where it all had started, that was the place in his dreams. The ruins of a once-grand building. Somewhere important ceremonies had taken place, a place of worship, of hope, where maybe some day in the distant past, knights like himself had pledged to follow their dreams and their allegiance to their order. Wisps of mist drift among the ruins, and it is as though the place is both whole in its full glory and the ruins of an ancient building, neither one quite disguising the presence of the other. Rows of knights, in the building in its youth, faces turned toward the altar at the front. Young, eager faces betraying a naivety about the path they have yet to follow. Older faces, their features more set, showing battle-won scars, or a pain behind their eyes that their younger counterparts cannot yet comprehend. All eyes young and old, are fixed at the front on the tableaux there. It appears to be some kind of initiation ceremony. Three young knights approach the altar, kneel and receive a benediction of sorts. The urn currently in Athos? possession is part of the regalia on the altar. The urn, to carry blessed water, a sword, with which to carry out the initiation . Each knight lays down his arms, and kneels with head bowed before them. A presence, felt rather than seen, presides over the ceremony, and prayers are muttered with a true reverence. Some of the knights seem more aware of the presence than others, seeming to hear words, or see visions which later they will follow as a personal quest.
The knights fade, leaving the image of the ruins that the building will later become imprinted on Athos? mind. Once grand pillars lie crumbling, the ivy and trailing plants that have covered them over the years disguising the existence of the building.

A voice breaks the reverie, Athos looks around, hearing his name, but there is no one there. A brief look of puzzlement crosses his face, before a thoughtful look takes over. He?s heard that voice before, when he found the urn. Maybe he ought to find out more about it, continue what he started?. But first, there were things to attend to, a horse to collect from the farrier, supplies for a journey.
He travelled to Trinsic, and there met Madeline. She was restless in the city too. Both could think of better ways to spend the evening than watching a public flogging. Horses retrieved, they headed for Ilshenar, to Spirituality. It was Maddy who wished to travel there, to gather the harpy feathers she preferred to use for her arrow. Athos? motive was different, he was eager to travel around Ilshenar, to try and find the place again he had come across once before, but was not quite sure whether or not it was all a dream.

Having finished the feather gathering, Athos returned to Tel?mar. He walked around each building, pausing to read some of the tales of virtue.

He returned to his study, and sat, quill poised, as he pondered his course of action.
The note he carefully scripted he placed in the postbox outside Megan?s house. Then left another in the room Maddy had been staying in, in the hope that she would see it.

Note left in the postbox:

Dear All
I have been having dreams and visions of Ilshenar, where I found the urn some months previously. I feel I must travel there to try and find out more.
Yours
Athos