<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/c4/a2/eb/c4a2eb3622a5fd5f4149b8e094a22fa3.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Danae Vine-Lott (https://www.dndbeyond.com/characters/13428552/mqOlTT)<br/><strong>Location: </strong>Island docks - camp<br/><strong>Wearing: </strong>Grey hemp blouse, navy blue felt breeches, leather boots<br/><strong>Content: </strong>Disturbed dreams<br/><strong>Tagging: </strong>Open<br/><br/>Sleep came like a ghastly pall - fitful, restless, full of voices and murmurs secreted in shadows.  There were eyes in the blackness - fey eyes like Faelyn.  Callers in the darkness.  Deranged chanting in the hills.  Medb the herbalist, tending the fire.  Aloisa the soldier, standing guard.  Corinne the sage - or sorceress.  Ciphers in her mind and beyond fixed images the blackness of the yawning nightmare.  Her wounds were healing, but how close she had been to climax at Baykur's lash.  A welling of guilt - it was the urge she could not control.  It must have been dark because Corinne had lit a fire, the sky above overcast and featureless like black canvas.  She rose, and went about camp, seeking any who might still be wandering. There were needs that she could take care of matter-of-factly, but the pulse of unfulfilled desire she felt paled in comparison to the unanswered question of what exactly was transpiring on the island.