Wandering through the gardens, Envoy has just read a letter from her friend Wynona detailing some of the work she's been doing on Rephidim and abroad. The Earth Mage also keeps an eye out for any plants she hasn't seen before.

As she studies one curious – and seemingly carnivorous – flower with huge, sticky purple blooms that trap insects, the tell-tale flap of wings alerts Envoy to the approach of another person.

Envoy shades her eyes with a hand, and looks up to see who it is.

The silhouette is of an Eeee, simply dressed in pants and a tunic that do not impede his flight. He lands before her, and with his body no longer between her and the sun, she can that he has black fur, and wears around his neck a chain of office, indicating his status as a mage assigned to the College Esoterica's embassy in Babel. His eyes are large, dominating his face, colored an intense, emerald green. "Envoy Lothrhyn?"

Envoy blinks, and says, "Yes, I am she." The green eyes make her immediately think of the Mystic, an Eeee she encountered in Inala's realm.

"I think … we may have met before." He executes a short, polite bow. "I am Cyprian of the College Esoterica Embassy at Babel. You do not look at all like the person I recollect, but perhaps that is to be expected, given the nature of the place."

"You were the Mystic, then?" Envoy asks, trying to sound casual.

He nods. "I was. And your dreams in the realm of the Beautiful One have continued?" The Eeee folds his arms loosely before his chest, the look on his face cautious, or perhaps concerned.

"That depends," Envoy says. "Can I trust you? Your presence there led me to believe you were in league with the Babelite mages that created the place."

The bat offers a wry, self-deprecating smile to the Earth Mage. "An admirable caution. Can you trust me?" His green eyes lock with hers. "Probably not," he admits. "But I am not 'in league' with the mages who created the Dream Realm – any more than the thousands of others whose belief in the Kindly Ones they have tapped, and drawn into their realm to populate and stimulate it. I am an unwilling pawn in their game, with, I suspect, too much free will for their taste and not nearly enough for my own. But were I you, I would not trust me."

"I see," the Aeolun says, her expression going blank. "Then I suppose you yourself are still active in the dreamscape, and have not succumbed to the coma-inducing traps?"

He shakes his head. "The coma-inducing traps seem intended only for Dream Mages," he replies, almost automatically, then catches himself. "At least, so we thought until your case. Before you, I'd heard of no other comas or unnatural sleeps that seemed tied to dreams … though, who can say?" The Eeee shrugs and sighs.

Envoy hmms. "What is it you do with your available free will in the Sisters' realm, might I ask?"

"Precious little. I've evaded – or at least tried to evade – serving as a focus for one of their games again, although in truth it's hard for me to tell what actions of mine will strengthen or weaken the realms." Another self-deprecating smile. "So, largely, I have tried not to act, and to wake up. The notable exception would be that I have attempted to provide assistance to the Lady de Bellefeuille, when I've encountered her."

"I think she is smitten with you," Envoy says, grinning. "Although I could be wrong. I am still a novice at telling such things. Can you tell me why you choose not to help strengthen the realms? These are your goddesses, after all."

"This dream realm contains representations of my goddesses," he corrects. "My goddesses are not generated by a coven of mages perpetuating a five-year old ritual."

Envoy asks, "But what if they became real, despite the mages? How would you react then?"

Cyprian chuckles. "If they become real?" His voice holds a chiding note. "My lady, one does not worship the Kindly Ones because they are a pretty story that one wishes were true. One worships because one knows they are real, and to do otherwise is to court disaster. I do not know what connection these dreams have between the actual goddesses. I'm not a theologian. I like to think that the Kindly Ones would resent the meddling of these mortals in their affairs as much as I do, however. The mages do not worship the Sisters – they seek to control them."

Envoy blinks a few times at this. "So then … what did you want to see me about, exactly?"

"I want to find out more about what has happened in the dreams that I have not seen. I have heard that you control your own actions in the dream realm through the use of some Sifran talisman, and I wished to know if that was true." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "In the main, I seek a better understanding of phenomena, since willing or not, I seem intertwined with it."

"Ah. I'm afraid I have no such talisman," Envoy says, somewhat apologetically. "I've only heard that some people may have them. There may be Sifran magic involved with my dreaming, but there is no way to really tell."

The other mage appears disappointed. "I see. So you don't know why you can control yourself in the dreams?"

"The most likely reason is that I do not dream naturally," Envoy says. "My dreams have always been lucid."

"Would that were all so fortunate," Cyprian says wryly. Coming from a distance, a piercing wail cuts across his words, accompanied by a the sonorous tolling of a bell.

Envoy nearly jumps at the sound of the wail, but says, "I would think your dreams would be very dull then."

The Eeee mage's ears have flattened back against his head at the wailing. "Funny," he replies, "I was just thinking the same of yours." He glances to the southeast, where the siren wail seems to be coming from.

The Aeolun looks towards the sound as well. "It couldn't be an air-raid alert … who would attack the College after all?"

"I shouldn't think it was an air raid," Cyprian agrees. Mercifully, the piercing wail cuts off at that moment. "The bell signifies an approaching ship, I know." The light breeze shifting the plants grows stronger, a steady current of wind travelling from east to west. There's something on the air, and the two mages exchange a look. "Magic," the Eeee says.

Envoy spreads her wings. "Air mages. I'm going to go see who is docking; are you going to come along?"

He nods, unfolding his own wings to join her in the air.

The fantastic landscape of Caroban unfolds before the two as they soar towards the southeast portion of the sky island, which houses the spheres of Air and Chaos. The port lies on the outskirts of Air, at the section nearest the heart of the island, for reasons that are obvious to any approaching them. The Spheres of Air and Chaos control what amounts to a rift in Caroban, a vast oval of empty air pocked with miniature sky islands floating in it, some drifting free, others tethered to the main island or each other by floating bridges. It reminds Envoy a little of the appearance of Paradise in the dream realm.

Cyprian lands beside an unoccupied berth. Nearby, a trio of Air mages chant and sway in a ritual circle. The wind blows, strong and steady, sending Envoy's mane rippling away from her face. In the distance, the approaching airship is just visible, sails full.

Envoy looks around for someone to ask about the ship, aside from the busy Air mages.

A few people mill around the berth, preparing it for the incoming vessel, while a small cluster of curious bystanders stand out of the way, watching the ship as it grows nearer.

As Envoy moves to join the other bystanders, they whisper amongst themselves at her approach, then fall silent as she comes close enough to hear them. At that point, she asks, "Excuse me, but does anyone know where this ship is arriving from, and what that wailing noise meant?"

A young Cervani student responds to Envoy's query with, "I think the ship's from Rephidim. It's way overdue, if it is. They were supposed to be here before Reckoning. The alarm means it's been damaged – that's why the air mages are here."

Envoy ohs, and looks back towards the airship, trying to spot any damage … well, when the ship comes closer, anyway. "It must have left before the Sunchaser did then."

"Think so," the Cervani agrees.

As the vessel draws near, the patches on the sails and the balloon become glaringly obvious; two of the air foils are missing entirely. The wooden hull the ship seems worse for wear, too, but the letters of the name are still visible, and seem all too apt: Vision of Battle.