Poster caught this one's eye on way to market. Didn't spot before but inspired chuckle. Precious yowls wondering why pretty picture amuses. Will explain later for sure.

I. Foundations of Astral Construction Building a keep is not a one-time visualization; it is an iterative process of densification. You are essentially "anchoring" thought-forms into a specific coordinate of the astral strata. - The Blueprint: Before entering a trance, sketch or write down the layout. Consistency is what grants the keep "weight" and permanence. - The Anchor: Choose a physical object (a crystal, a specific ring, or a sigil) to act as a "key." Holding or viewing this object helps trigger the shift in consciousness required to travel there. - The Entryway: Establish a fixed entrance, such as a heavy oak door or a shimmering portal. This creates a psychological boundary between "mundane space" and "sacred space." II. The Great Library (The Information Hub) The primary function of your keep is the storage of wisdom. In the astral, information does not have to be stored in paper books. - Living Tomes: Books that, when touched, play back memories or sensations rather than just text. - The Akashic Terminal: A central podium where you can "query" the collective consciousness. It might appear as a pool of liquid silver or a hovering crystalline sphere. - The Scroll of Intent: A dedicated wall where you post your current goals. Seeing them "etched" in the astral reinforces your subconscious drive to achieve them. III. Specialized Magickal Chambers An Astral Keep is modular. You can "build" new rooms as your practice evolves. 1. The Purity Waterfall (The Cleansing Chamber) This room is designed for energetic hygiene. It is usually an open-air courtyard within the keep. - Mechanism: The water is not H2O; it is Liquid Light. - Usage: Step under the falls to strip away "astral sludge," parasitic thoughts, or the energetic "clinging" of a stressful day. Visualize the dark grey mist washing off your form and being neutralized by the pool below. 2. The Scrying Sanctuary (The Divination Room) A room of deep shadows and high focus, used for remote viewing or communicating with higher aspects of the self.

Days can be long, and longer with few customers. Some fancy-pants retrieves hand-painted eggshell button and claims scams. Does not know the value of a lost wish, the yearning desire that earnestly sought a humble item. Loud fuss frightened potential coins, stall avoided, business lost, now is a new location required. Merely another day. Maybe should set up near well, but is a competitor. Dilemma. The coins are light and rations low. This one waits until tomorrow for a more satisfactory meal. Today's likely undercooked anyway. Why risk painful rumble? This one has all that is required. Empty bag and silent company comfortably resting on back. But rumbles sound. This one sighs but realizes rumbles are from spine. Curious. Then a sharp crack! "No, no, no!" this one must protest, lifting egg from back to gently set on ground. Cracks form not following egg pattern, inconsistency is amusing but panic is prevalent, "Not now! Not right time. Tomorrow much better, yes?" But emergence is not negotiable. In exploding thunderous cracking, the shell bursts away to reveal new life. A small hatchling dragon remains, inky raven black scales covering his wet hide, cracked traces of glowing embers where he stretches as he reaches out his unsharpened claws and fragile wings to fullest extent. The sounds that escape him are mewls and growls and this one's heart can barely contain. "This one must admit your arrival was expected," voice is kept soft and gentle as hatchling's eyes have yet to open, this one scoops the hatchling up and helps to clean him with scarf, "Who knew it would be this night?" When his face is clean, his eyes open as if barely risen but their bright golden fire lights the darkness. He sees this one and his eyes widen. He climbs and clambers forward gripping the clothes nuzzling himself under this one's chin before bringing his face close to cry out his plea. "Of course, you hatch hungry," this one holds the hatchling in one arm and tightly grips the pouch holding only a few coins.

...The dancer froze mid-twirl; I froze mid-step. For a heartbeat we all stared at one another... Then the cloaked traveler blinked, looked from Sunny’s smoking snout to my frozen, half-crouched form in the bushes… and burst out laughing. It wasn’t mocking or sharp — it was bright and genuine, the kind of laugh that chased the tension straight out of the clearing. She pressed a hand to her chest, tail flicking behind her as she caught her breath. “Well,” she said, grinning wide enough to show sharp little fangs, “not the strangest percussion this one has danced to — but certainly the cutest.” Sunny chirped, proud despite himself, and hid halfway behind my leg. I raised my hands slowly. “In our defense,” I said, “he sneezes when he’s excited. And you were… very exciting.” Her ears perked. “Ah! Then this one accepts full responsibility.” She gave a playful bow. “This humble entertainer is at your service.” Her bright blue eyes sparkled as they met mine. “And may this one know who you are?” “Jack,” I said, relaxing at last and stepping into the clearing. “And the menace is Sunny.” Sunny puffed a harmless curl of smoke in greeting. The cat crouched to his level, utterly unafraid. “A fire-breather with manners,” she murmured approvingly. “You travel in excellent company, Jack.” She gestured to her pack. “Come. You startled my song, but you have improved my morning. Sit. Eat.” I hesitated, patting my own near-empty ration bag. “I won’t say no… but fair warning — town is the only thing between us and starvation.” Her whiskers twitched. “Then fate is efficient today.” We shared dried fruit, flatbread, and something spiced and unfamiliar that made Sunny sneeze again — thankfully without flames this time. The dancer listened as I spoke of the mountain pass, the long road, and the village below. “This one travels that way as well,” she said, tail curling lazily. “But not with haste. Paths are more interesting when they twist.” I smiled. “We’re a bit more… straight-line thinkers.”

Morning crept over the mountains in pale gold ribbons, and I woke to the soft crackle of cooling embers and the faint rustle of wings. Sunny sat just outside the tent, alert and proud, as if he’d been standing guard all night. I crawled out, made sure the fire was properly dead, and packed my gear with the practiced motions of someone counting the last of his supplies. The ration bag was nearly empty. “Looks like it’s town or nothing, buddy,” I told him, earning a hopeful chirp and a small puff of smoke. We had barely made it a short distance down the mountain when music drifted through the trees—soft at first, then clearer. Curious and hungry, I followed the sound until we peeked through the brush to find a cloaked traveler alone in a forest clearing, her pack set aside as she danced freely in the chill air. She spun, clapped, and sang to the rhythm of her own memory: “Fire cracks in the black of night, dancing, cackling, burning bright…” Sunny’s eyes widened, mesmerized—and then, at the worst possible moment, he sneezed. A tiny fireball popped from his mouth with a surprised squeak. The dancer froze mid-twirl; I froze mid-step. For a heartbeat we all stared at one another...TO BE CONTINUED!