//------------------------------// // Interlude 1: A Cry For Help // Story: Rising From Avarice, Gaining New Friends // by KingReptarAlmighty //------------------------------// Spike’s dreams were haunted. No, not menaced by some part of his past that he required closure on, but quite literally haunted. At some point, he’d evidently picked up a ghost, because the same figure of semi-intangibility floated by his side as his dreamscape shifted through various locations, repeating but two words in a pleading voice, yet never moving or even appearing to open its mouth. It didn’t blink, merely shifting colors and sliding around the ground as Spike walked through the forest of his dreams, as though the area surrounding him was a backdrop for the space that he and the spectre occupied.  ”Help me.” Spike blinked, and the dream didn’t hesitate to change, as dreams do, becoming an empty meadow instead of a thick pocket of forest, and those two words echoed through the area, bouncing off invisible walls and returning to Spike’s ears again and again. ”Help me.” A hill, this time. Overlooking a village some distance away. ”Help me.” They were in the village now. It had a large and uniquely ornamented fountain at the center, with bridges arcing towards the center, and benches positioned where the water of the fountain would cascade harmlessly behind them. The town was quiet, and the lights were off in all but one house.  ”Help me.” They were inside the house now. Dark wood floors were scrubbed clean as the sole pony inside desperately shoved anything they could inside a pair of saddlebags. Eyebrows furrowed in unwavering concentration, they pulled the straps closed, but Spike could see as their ears twitched in all directions, listening carefully for something, something Spike wasn’t aware of. They sighed as they finally clipped the last button on their saddlebags, and it was with a horrifying start that Spike looked between the identical silhouettes of the pony and the specter, and listened as the two said in unison: ”Dolos, help me.” Kipkirui stared at him with wide eyes as he finished explaining his dream, coffee forgotten on the counter as an absent smile settled onto Kipkirui’s face. “Anyway, that’s my dream.” “Hm.” Kipkirui took a sip of his coffee. “Well, that sounds like either a prophecy, or a magical cry for help. Which, based on the fact that they said the name of the God of Disguises and Trickery, I would hedge my bets on them being a practitioner in danger reaching out to the nearest source of divine magic they could for help.” “Why do you figure that?” “Because I had a nearly identical dream. First two locations were different, but I still got the hill, the village, and the house. Only, I must’ve gotten there earlier, because I saw them scrubbing the floors.”  Spike furrowed his brow. “The floors were extremely clean when I got there.” He stood up, already headed for the ladder. “I’m guessing we’re going to the village?” “I’m pretty sure that’s literally your job description. Protect and help the innocent and all that.” Spike nodded.  “That’s what I thought. Let me get my staff.”