It was evening on one of those muggy midsummer nights, when the sun sets gold and orange over the west rocks. Heat still swayed up from the flagstones in the sun-yard, and even in the shade of the patio, sheltered by creeper thick on the trellis above and to the sides, and pungent with the aroma of summer flowers, it still felt sticky hot. My clothing was sticking to me, and I could feel the slow, agonizing trickle of sweat as it ran down the back of my neck. The only comfort to the heat was the chill glass of djaubna in my hand, the ice cubes clinking as they melted lower into the cup, diluting the deep red of the beverage to a hue almost pink.
Through the opening into the sun-yard, the sun was climbing the far clay wall, the bottom just touching the swirled paintings of running gazelles. Behind us in the house, the dog slept on its rug in a patch of crawling sunlight, twitching in its small, canine dreams. In the very slight wind, too small to cool us at all, the prayer strands on the olive tree were sparkling, sending glittering trails across the dry grass and into the house.
The sounds of children playing in the dusty street came remotely, with calls of "Anah!", "Saa!" and "Lamtaa!" the air singing with their youthful voices, mixed with the sound of a ball being thrown between them. The birds were already in their nests for the night, chirping and whistling, the long-legged har'a'da bird spreading their ruby red wings, rocking the nesting bush slowly, crying out its name-sound as the sun fell beneath the distant mountains.
Karja sat across from me at the glass-topped table, his djaubna long finished, the clicking ice cubes and water the only remains. He was chewing on the worm, shifting its rubbery body around his mouth slowly as he thought. Our shared meal of kaju-bread and golden hummus only a crumb-covered plate between us. He was stroking his greying beard thoughtfully with a weathered hand covered in pale scars, his dark eyes staring at nothing in particular. I watched a bee hum to itself as it visited the flowers in the hanging baskets, its sisters doing their last rounds to the boxes around our patio. This was our nightly routine, to sit on our shaded patio as dusk fell, eating a shared meal and drinking cold, fiery djaubna.
"Sat'na tells me that the eastern hills have been troubled lately," he said, after a moment of thought, chewing on the worm, "he says he has walked out there among the Stones and heard drums from the bone-holes. He says the sky will rain blood and the Nightmare-kin will come for the wicked and take them back to their Lords Dark Palace."
"Sat'na is an insane fear-monger," I commented, taking another sip of my drink, swallowing it without tasting it. "You remember the time when he claimed that the Kei'ka would flood with the corpses of disease-stricken aldu-fish? Nothing happened, and the nets were full with healthy catch that filled many stomachs."
He chewed on the worm for a few more moments, and I reckoned that it had lost its spicy flavour a long while before. He clicked it in his mouth, and we for a long moment listened to the sounds of the children playing. Soon, I wagered, their mothers would come to the doors of their walled in yards, calling their names, followed by the word that brings all good Tif'n children home on time: dinner. He was stroking his pale beard, and I had been chewing on an ice chunk, crunching it between my teeth. I tried not to think of how it sounded almost like crunching bone, to me.
"He need only be right once, my friend," he spoke, after a time. "Some say he is a prophet sent by the Dreamers to tell us when we must do what we must do. That we will be punished for being evil and wicked. That we will be cast into the pits of the Nightmare-Lords prison, to become fell beasts and His distorted, Nightmare-pets for what has been done. Some believe him."
"Are you one of them, Karja Kalseth? I thought I knew you better than to believe such a sack of foolery from the mouths of madmen, no matter what the rumours say. Next you will tell me that you truly believe that a great dung-beetle rolls the sun across the sky as its smaller brethren roll balled faeces across the ground," I sat forward in my seat, the wicker creaking in protest as I shifted my weight. I ran a hand over my bald head, and looked at him in stern questioning.
"No, of course not, old friend. We've been through far too much to blindly believe what others say of things," he looked away, and when he returned his gaze to me, his eyes looked haunted. I did not ask why, for I already knew. I had been there too, and entertained the same ghosts as he. I eased back in my chair again, and took another sip of the djaubna, letting its spicy, bitter-sweet taste roll around on my tongue for a long moment before swallowing.
"Does your conscience trouble you for the past? You could visit the Pale Spire and have such things taken care of, if it bothers you greatly. Those women would gladly grant you forgetfulness and peace... though the price is steep." I ran my fingers through my thinning hair, then straightened my own beard, before looking at my hands. They bore the same pale scars as Karja's, in different criss-crossing patterns. I tried not to think about it too deeply.
"No. No, of course not. We did what we had to. You were there. You know that we did no more than must needed to have been done. We had no choice. We had to." A frown set upon his face, making his wrinkles crease further, shadowing deeper in the falling light, "We had to."
We fell silent for a long time then, him stroking his beard and staring distantly off into space as he was often prone to do, and I finishing my djaubna, chewing on the ice cubes, then swallowing the worm at the bottom without bothering to chew as I normally did. The sound of children playing faded as they were called away to dine, being replaced only with the sounds of the wandering bees and the odd surprised yelping of dogs in their yards, having chased and finally caught one in its mouth, receiving the stinging reward of a successful bee-hunt. Likewise, we chased the trail of our own thoughts as well, but unlike the unthinking dogs, we both hoped to never catch the stinging prize at the end of it.
Karja spoke before either of us reached that point, "More storming clouds are coming in. It will rain soon."
I looked up to the east at the pinkish-grey anvil cloud slowly drawing in from over the eastern hills, and nodded, "Good. The farmers will like it then, and it will give the children puddles to play in. We'll lose the dust for a while, too, and that is always nice. It will be a good change from this horrible humid heat we have. Even the crocodiles seem unimpressed this time."
"The crocodiles are always unimpressed when the water is getting low, though they grin always," Kajra laughed a little, "perhaps they grin because they are laughing at us? No matter how many crocodiles wait, the gazelle must drink." Remembering something, his face became haunted again, and he looked away, returning to the paths of his own thoughts.
I sighed, today was not a fine day for memories of the past, but no day really was, especially in summer. We both fell silent for a long time again, as the bees finished their visiting and flew back to their nests just as the slight cool of the oncoming night invited families outdoors into their patios. We heard the sounds of others drinking and laughing, and somewhere the sound of a low whistle struck up, in some jaunty dancing tune, much to the gaiety of the listeners on that near-distant patio. Our silence was common, and as we were used to it, not uncomfortable, yet we both fidgeted to try to elude our own thoughts, though it did neither of us any particular good. The sun had disappeared from our wall, touching only now the topmost branches of our olive tree.
When it began to rain, warm like the sweat we had endured earlier, we sat for a few more minutes, staring up at the sky and at each other, the red droplets splashing across our faces and down our white-clad bodies, spattering like blood, colouring our pale hair and skin dark red. We could hear frightened wails from the surrounding homes, and children screaming. It tasted metallic and familiar in my mouth.
"Do you suppose the Nightmare-Lord lets His pets have djaubna?" Karja asked after a moment, his eyes clear for the first time in a long while. He was looking at his empty cup with a sort of longing. For djaubna or justice, I could not tell.
We started for the house to finish the last of the barrel, and quickly, just in case He didn't.
31.8.08
Mind-Spew: Snake Song
And I found myself standing on a vast, empty plain. The sky above was a dusty brown, the ground below dry and filled with great, parched cracks as far as the eye could see. Distant, volcanic mountains, black as ash, cut a jagged line across the expanse, a sawlike ridge to separate the dust coloured soil from the dust coloured sky. Dotting the plain, following no pattern I could discern or comprehend were great spires and formations of an organic appearance the colour of dark, glassy obsidian. A rough track was carved on the plain, as if walked upon by ten thousand feet before mine.
I became aware of movement above, and, looking upward, I could see serpentine creatures slithering madly across the dirty sky in non-euclidean paths, their great bodies shimmering with silver light, their tails but ghosts of light behind their rapidly travelling forms. In their great clawed hands I could see shining stars. Their doglike heads with catfish whiskers faced the same way as I was apparently travelling, down that rough, dusty road in that empty place, and those distant, craggy mountains.
I walked for a long time, or rather, what I perceived as long, for it seemed that time as I knew it before had no meaning or measure in this place. At some point I became aware that I was not walking anymore, but flying at great speed, my sense of form having changed from that of a bipedal apelike creature to that of a sinuous serpent-dragon. My long body coiled and uncoiled across the sky, the landscape below dropping away and passing rapidly and strangely, for my path was in no way straight, but a writhing, twisting way, dizzying in unparalleled complexity.
Within my clawed, shining hands there shimmered and swirled a star, safely clutched. I knew at once that it was my spirit that I carried thusly on my strange path through grimy skies. It seethed and roiled, burning brightly with both fiery heat, and freezing chill. From it came a vibrating sensation, tingling up and down my twisting, writhing, undulating form.
Before long, I found myself before a gate, an arch of carven black stone, yet it seemed to me more carved by nature than by the hands of any intelligent being, though it did almost disturbingly appear that it was once alive, as if some strange gorgon turned it to stone. It was the great snake, forever regurgitating and consuming its own tail: the Ouroboros. It's single, visible eye of dark tone stared at nothing save for infinity.
Nothing save the parched and thirsty landscape was visible through the ring of the great snake, and without trepidation I passed through that gate, my sinuous form sliding into eternity, and my burning spirit held safely within my claws. The universe and all it held, as I knew it, fell away into nothingness.
I came to myself again, back on the Earth, with a feeling of having walked through a vast field of tall grasses bent by a soft breeze, of having grasped those waggling strands within my hands. Though, my head was full of exploding stars.
[[This is from an entry to my paper-and-ink journal, dated 27/10/2k7. I have no idea what bade me to write this, but I do remember writing frantically (my writing was all hard to read chicken-scratch, telling of my speed of somewhat-intelligible scrawl), hurrying to keep my pen up with my racing thoughts, as images and feelings rapidly blossomed in my head. This writing still feels as if it is somehow not complete, as if I did not quite capture everything that burst through my brain at that particular moment (which was in the wee hours of the morning).
The Ouroboros is a significant symbol for me, and it is used in my personal spirituality, in similar vein as a circle is: eternity, cycle, unity, All And Everything. A snake that eats its own tail, formed into a ring. Where a circle means merely Eternity And All It Encompasses, an Ouroboros for me seems to mean something more concrete.
I have been told it resembles a collar, as well.
Interesting.]]
I became aware of movement above, and, looking upward, I could see serpentine creatures slithering madly across the dirty sky in non-euclidean paths, their great bodies shimmering with silver light, their tails but ghosts of light behind their rapidly travelling forms. In their great clawed hands I could see shining stars. Their doglike heads with catfish whiskers faced the same way as I was apparently travelling, down that rough, dusty road in that empty place, and those distant, craggy mountains.
I walked for a long time, or rather, what I perceived as long, for it seemed that time as I knew it before had no meaning or measure in this place. At some point I became aware that I was not walking anymore, but flying at great speed, my sense of form having changed from that of a bipedal apelike creature to that of a sinuous serpent-dragon. My long body coiled and uncoiled across the sky, the landscape below dropping away and passing rapidly and strangely, for my path was in no way straight, but a writhing, twisting way, dizzying in unparalleled complexity.
Within my clawed, shining hands there shimmered and swirled a star, safely clutched. I knew at once that it was my spirit that I carried thusly on my strange path through grimy skies. It seethed and roiled, burning brightly with both fiery heat, and freezing chill. From it came a vibrating sensation, tingling up and down my twisting, writhing, undulating form.
Before long, I found myself before a gate, an arch of carven black stone, yet it seemed to me more carved by nature than by the hands of any intelligent being, though it did almost disturbingly appear that it was once alive, as if some strange gorgon turned it to stone. It was the great snake, forever regurgitating and consuming its own tail: the Ouroboros. It's single, visible eye of dark tone stared at nothing save for infinity.
Nothing save the parched and thirsty landscape was visible through the ring of the great snake, and without trepidation I passed through that gate, my sinuous form sliding into eternity, and my burning spirit held safely within my claws. The universe and all it held, as I knew it, fell away into nothingness.
I came to myself again, back on the Earth, with a feeling of having walked through a vast field of tall grasses bent by a soft breeze, of having grasped those waggling strands within my hands. Though, my head was full of exploding stars.
[[This is from an entry to my paper-and-ink journal, dated 27/10/2k7. I have no idea what bade me to write this, but I do remember writing frantically (my writing was all hard to read chicken-scratch, telling of my speed of somewhat-intelligible scrawl), hurrying to keep my pen up with my racing thoughts, as images and feelings rapidly blossomed in my head. This writing still feels as if it is somehow not complete, as if I did not quite capture everything that burst through my brain at that particular moment (which was in the wee hours of the morning).
The Ouroboros is a significant symbol for me, and it is used in my personal spirituality, in similar vein as a circle is: eternity, cycle, unity, All And Everything. A snake that eats its own tail, formed into a ring. Where a circle means merely Eternity And All It Encompasses, an Ouroboros for me seems to mean something more concrete.
I have been told it resembles a collar, as well.
Interesting.]]
Fragment: Nocturnal Wanderings
I awoke near dusk, the pale crescent moon hanging above the mountaintop, surrounded by a sea of twinkling stars. Warm wind from Summer's golden heat was still trembling across my bare skin, blowing in from over the rolling, grassy plains next to which I had camped, just under the shelter of the tall ancient trees. Already the crickets were chirruping, though the sky was still a greyish-blue, deepening slowly to some darker shade. I curled slowly out of the position I had been sleeping in, the last whispering tendrils of a dream slowly unravelling from my mind as I settled to a sitting position.
I had walked for a day and a night solid over the grassy expanse dotted with erratic boulders strewn about the landscape as if thrown by giants. My only companions had been my shadow, and my thoughts. Upon reaching the edge of the wood I had decided to camp. Figuring myself alone, I had undressed, removing the weeks grimy travel clothes from my body, and spread naked and pale upon the soft grasses under the deep jade boughs of those old trees. It had been morning when I had drifted off to sleep, the sun shining in dusty rays through the canopy and mottling across the underbrush of ferns and bushes and mushrooms that covered ground and the trunks of those dark trees and wildly gnarled roots that twisted all over the earth. I had not seen any large wildlife since I set off across the plain.
I sat for a long time watching the stars and moon over the distant mountain whose base I had left some four days previous. Stars ringed the crescent moon, and spread like jewelled fire across the sky over the plain and forest whose shelter under which I sat. Bats were flitting about, catching bugs, occasionally I would see a glimpse of one of their small shadows, darting in wild ways above. The air smelled of greenness and loam, of living things and mid-spring. The mountain across the plain was dark in the starlight, a towering giant of stone capped with snow.
A fire was alight at the fortress halfway up its slope, no larger than the mote of a firefly to my eyes, but I knew it to be a great bonfire. They were signalling for aid from the Skywalkers, and burning the plague-riddled dead this night, as they had for the last two nights previous. Luckily I had avoided the place, for fear of the dark things that are said to dwell in the deep caverns beneath it, and thus escaped certain death at the hands of the Red Tide.
It was said that the Red Tide was a creation of the Nightmare Lord, Darujistab, to punish those that would not respect his power. A curse upon those that would insult him. Its purpose was spread fear, chaos, and dissent. Its first symptoms were a yellowish, spotty rash somewhat resembling razor burn, fading to a fiery orange, then turning to a dark bloody red that covered all the body of the one afflicted. At that point, violent, raging madness would settle in as fever and wracking pains began. Two days after that the victim would be dead, a burned-looking husk, the last stage of the plague blackening their skin to a dark bruise.
Yes, I was very lucky indeed to not enter a place where such a disease was rampant. Though I knew it would never harm me, I have no desire to witness such acts as can be performed by a crazed and frightened populous. Even those unafflicted with the sickness are prone to wild behaviour in attempts to ward it off, or appease the great spirits to withdraw the illness. I have heard horror stories of sick families being bricked up in their homes, of children being burned and orgies of blood and pain to dark spirits. I had no want to witness such savagery and barbarism at all. I have already seen enough in my time wandering, and would doubtless see more some other time.
I contemplated my luck as I sat there, still naked under the great trees, my pack and clothes nearby on the grass, and came to realise that I was being watched from somewhere nearby. I quickly gathered my things and retreated further into the forest, though the feeling still persisted. I scanned the branches above me, as well as the undergrowth and everywhere in between, however my vision was useless after a distance of about thirty feet in the unlit darkness. I shivered with the ominous implications of the feeling, and gathered from my things my staff, and stowed my clothing swiftly, for it would not be well to be caught in the middle of donning the garments.
As I began to continue on my way into the woods, I mused that if I were indeed being watched (and in this I am seldom wrong), that if the observer were anything of a human variety, especially the male human variety, that they may be impressed to see a beautiful naked female of pale skin and silver hair, wandering alone in the woods. Almost assuredly they would be tempted, however attempting to forcefully follow through with such temptations would prove more than a little painful for them. Then again, if whoever was observing me were not of human descent, then I may appear simply as naked, wandering meat... or fuel for some far darker purpose, though of such I could hardly fathom after what I had already been through to this point.
I quickened my stride with the last thought, and soon the feeling grew, and I knew that indeed I was being observed in my nocturnal travels. I gripped my staff firmly, feeling the wood beneath my hand warm and stir to my touch. My vision widened slightly, and I became aware of certain... figures.. moving quite silently in the darkness around me. With the staff's magical enhancement to my senses, I could hear them as well as see them, my senses now extending around me quite far with my focus.
Nenguua. Crawlers of the darkened woods. Deadly bane to travellers and creatures once partially human. Horrid creatures that feed on the flesh of the still living, revelling especially in the fear and pain that sentient beings give off during such feeding. At least as pale as I was, of waxy skin bordering on rubbery, bulbous humanoid heads possessing of a pair of beady black eyes, a snub nose, long, nearly elfin ears, and a large mouth filled with sharp, jagged teeth. They did not have proper legs, but more half walked and half crawled on four pairs of long arms ending in almost human hands save for the inch long yellow claws tipping each digit. A snakelike tail ended the creature, making it perhaps six feet from tail to snout.
They were advancing slowly on my position, seeming to build some courage in numbers. I sensed that I was surrounded by them on all sides, and that they were slowly closing a circle around me. What a fool I had been to wander further into the forest! I now grasped my staff in both hands, preparing to make a stand. I could hear their clawed hands moving over the ground, see the darkness glinting in their eyes, and sense the hissing of breath between their teeth as they scuttled towards me, tightening the ring to the point where I had perhaps ten feet on either side of me that was not inhabited by a nenguu. They clung to trees and branches, crawling above and around me, circling as sharks.
But they were not approaching further, as if they were scared to do so. They hissed to each other and gazed upon my flesh hungrily, clicking their claws together, their tails swishing, ears twitching. One lunged in my direction with a hissing roar, and was immediately thrown backwards into the midst of the pack, shrieking as if on fire. The others patted the ground and bobbed their heads, sniffing the air and looking about, uncertain.
I had not moved a muscle. It was not of my doing. I sensed a new presence nearby, something far worse than a pack of nenguua. My skin crawled at the realization that I recognized the feeling of the presence, and knew what it was.
The dark figure floated down from the treetops, landing softly nearby, its entire mass a void of solid darkness. Tendrils of it coiled about it, twisting and writhing in a sickening fashion as it stood for a long moment, its softly glowing yellow eyes surveying the scene. One of the tendrils stroked against my bare ankle with a touch reminiscent of the most chill and frightening winters, and I twitched at its touch, shifting my foot away from its grasp.
One of the nenguua lunched at the dark thing, shrieking madly. The thing reached out a long limb and the pale beast screeched in pain, twisting and writhing in agony before disappearing entirely. At this, the rest of the pack fled, retreating into the darkness from whence they came, their movements loud, hurried crashes through underbrush and treetops, leaving me alone with it.
Somehow, I was not comforted. Especially when it turned those yellow eyes on me. I prepared to run, but in a flash it had me entwined within its frozen coils, against which I struggled in vain. I sensed it crawling over my mind for a moment, a prickly sensation somewhat like pins and needles from a waking limb. Its name blossomed in my mind: Ahntelkasoratphelsz. Accompanying the knowledge of its name was an image of falling rain, dark caverns, and the trunks of great trees. The knowledge also came to me that it knew who I was, as well.
I twitched in its grasp, afraid, my staff falling from my hands to the loam. A tendril of darkness traced down my spine, and further knowledge appeared in my mind: I would have safe passage through this woods, that a sixteen minute walk north from our current position would place me on a path that led to a town humans had called Kansche, which would be reached in two days easy travel, that there would be an inn with a hot bath and a warm meal. That I was expected within a week at Kessaneir Tower, and that if I did not wish to be forcefully gathered, I would willingly appear. The location of the tower appeared also, as well as precise directions, the knowledge rooting itself well in my head.
With that, the creature released me, so suddenly that I fell to the ground before it, a numbing sensation crawling across my skin in a most unpleasant fashion. When I was able to move again, the dark thing was gone, and I was once more alone. It was very cold comfort.
I had been summoned by a Nightmare to one of their dark towers, and it was never a good thing to be so. I donned my dirty travel clothes, picked up my staff, and headed north.
I had walked for a day and a night solid over the grassy expanse dotted with erratic boulders strewn about the landscape as if thrown by giants. My only companions had been my shadow, and my thoughts. Upon reaching the edge of the wood I had decided to camp. Figuring myself alone, I had undressed, removing the weeks grimy travel clothes from my body, and spread naked and pale upon the soft grasses under the deep jade boughs of those old trees. It had been morning when I had drifted off to sleep, the sun shining in dusty rays through the canopy and mottling across the underbrush of ferns and bushes and mushrooms that covered ground and the trunks of those dark trees and wildly gnarled roots that twisted all over the earth. I had not seen any large wildlife since I set off across the plain.
I sat for a long time watching the stars and moon over the distant mountain whose base I had left some four days previous. Stars ringed the crescent moon, and spread like jewelled fire across the sky over the plain and forest whose shelter under which I sat. Bats were flitting about, catching bugs, occasionally I would see a glimpse of one of their small shadows, darting in wild ways above. The air smelled of greenness and loam, of living things and mid-spring. The mountain across the plain was dark in the starlight, a towering giant of stone capped with snow.
A fire was alight at the fortress halfway up its slope, no larger than the mote of a firefly to my eyes, but I knew it to be a great bonfire. They were signalling for aid from the Skywalkers, and burning the plague-riddled dead this night, as they had for the last two nights previous. Luckily I had avoided the place, for fear of the dark things that are said to dwell in the deep caverns beneath it, and thus escaped certain death at the hands of the Red Tide.
It was said that the Red Tide was a creation of the Nightmare Lord, Darujistab, to punish those that would not respect his power. A curse upon those that would insult him. Its purpose was spread fear, chaos, and dissent. Its first symptoms were a yellowish, spotty rash somewhat resembling razor burn, fading to a fiery orange, then turning to a dark bloody red that covered all the body of the one afflicted. At that point, violent, raging madness would settle in as fever and wracking pains began. Two days after that the victim would be dead, a burned-looking husk, the last stage of the plague blackening their skin to a dark bruise.
Yes, I was very lucky indeed to not enter a place where such a disease was rampant. Though I knew it would never harm me, I have no desire to witness such acts as can be performed by a crazed and frightened populous. Even those unafflicted with the sickness are prone to wild behaviour in attempts to ward it off, or appease the great spirits to withdraw the illness. I have heard horror stories of sick families being bricked up in their homes, of children being burned and orgies of blood and pain to dark spirits. I had no want to witness such savagery and barbarism at all. I have already seen enough in my time wandering, and would doubtless see more some other time.
I contemplated my luck as I sat there, still naked under the great trees, my pack and clothes nearby on the grass, and came to realise that I was being watched from somewhere nearby. I quickly gathered my things and retreated further into the forest, though the feeling still persisted. I scanned the branches above me, as well as the undergrowth and everywhere in between, however my vision was useless after a distance of about thirty feet in the unlit darkness. I shivered with the ominous implications of the feeling, and gathered from my things my staff, and stowed my clothing swiftly, for it would not be well to be caught in the middle of donning the garments.
As I began to continue on my way into the woods, I mused that if I were indeed being watched (and in this I am seldom wrong), that if the observer were anything of a human variety, especially the male human variety, that they may be impressed to see a beautiful naked female of pale skin and silver hair, wandering alone in the woods. Almost assuredly they would be tempted, however attempting to forcefully follow through with such temptations would prove more than a little painful for them. Then again, if whoever was observing me were not of human descent, then I may appear simply as naked, wandering meat... or fuel for some far darker purpose, though of such I could hardly fathom after what I had already been through to this point.
I quickened my stride with the last thought, and soon the feeling grew, and I knew that indeed I was being observed in my nocturnal travels. I gripped my staff firmly, feeling the wood beneath my hand warm and stir to my touch. My vision widened slightly, and I became aware of certain... figures.. moving quite silently in the darkness around me. With the staff's magical enhancement to my senses, I could hear them as well as see them, my senses now extending around me quite far with my focus.
Nenguua. Crawlers of the darkened woods. Deadly bane to travellers and creatures once partially human. Horrid creatures that feed on the flesh of the still living, revelling especially in the fear and pain that sentient beings give off during such feeding. At least as pale as I was, of waxy skin bordering on rubbery, bulbous humanoid heads possessing of a pair of beady black eyes, a snub nose, long, nearly elfin ears, and a large mouth filled with sharp, jagged teeth. They did not have proper legs, but more half walked and half crawled on four pairs of long arms ending in almost human hands save for the inch long yellow claws tipping each digit. A snakelike tail ended the creature, making it perhaps six feet from tail to snout.
They were advancing slowly on my position, seeming to build some courage in numbers. I sensed that I was surrounded by them on all sides, and that they were slowly closing a circle around me. What a fool I had been to wander further into the forest! I now grasped my staff in both hands, preparing to make a stand. I could hear their clawed hands moving over the ground, see the darkness glinting in their eyes, and sense the hissing of breath between their teeth as they scuttled towards me, tightening the ring to the point where I had perhaps ten feet on either side of me that was not inhabited by a nenguu. They clung to trees and branches, crawling above and around me, circling as sharks.
But they were not approaching further, as if they were scared to do so. They hissed to each other and gazed upon my flesh hungrily, clicking their claws together, their tails swishing, ears twitching. One lunged in my direction with a hissing roar, and was immediately thrown backwards into the midst of the pack, shrieking as if on fire. The others patted the ground and bobbed their heads, sniffing the air and looking about, uncertain.
I had not moved a muscle. It was not of my doing. I sensed a new presence nearby, something far worse than a pack of nenguua. My skin crawled at the realization that I recognized the feeling of the presence, and knew what it was.
The dark figure floated down from the treetops, landing softly nearby, its entire mass a void of solid darkness. Tendrils of it coiled about it, twisting and writhing in a sickening fashion as it stood for a long moment, its softly glowing yellow eyes surveying the scene. One of the tendrils stroked against my bare ankle with a touch reminiscent of the most chill and frightening winters, and I twitched at its touch, shifting my foot away from its grasp.
One of the nenguua lunched at the dark thing, shrieking madly. The thing reached out a long limb and the pale beast screeched in pain, twisting and writhing in agony before disappearing entirely. At this, the rest of the pack fled, retreating into the darkness from whence they came, their movements loud, hurried crashes through underbrush and treetops, leaving me alone with it.
Somehow, I was not comforted. Especially when it turned those yellow eyes on me. I prepared to run, but in a flash it had me entwined within its frozen coils, against which I struggled in vain. I sensed it crawling over my mind for a moment, a prickly sensation somewhat like pins and needles from a waking limb. Its name blossomed in my mind: Ahntelkasoratphelsz. Accompanying the knowledge of its name was an image of falling rain, dark caverns, and the trunks of great trees. The knowledge also came to me that it knew who I was, as well.
I twitched in its grasp, afraid, my staff falling from my hands to the loam. A tendril of darkness traced down my spine, and further knowledge appeared in my mind: I would have safe passage through this woods, that a sixteen minute walk north from our current position would place me on a path that led to a town humans had called Kansche, which would be reached in two days easy travel, that there would be an inn with a hot bath and a warm meal. That I was expected within a week at Kessaneir Tower, and that if I did not wish to be forcefully gathered, I would willingly appear. The location of the tower appeared also, as well as precise directions, the knowledge rooting itself well in my head.
With that, the creature released me, so suddenly that I fell to the ground before it, a numbing sensation crawling across my skin in a most unpleasant fashion. When I was able to move again, the dark thing was gone, and I was once more alone. It was very cold comfort.
I had been summoned by a Nightmare to one of their dark towers, and it was never a good thing to be so. I donned my dirty travel clothes, picked up my staff, and headed north.
Dream: Meow.
I awaken under the desk, its worn wood dark and cavern like above me. The cushion beneath me is warm and comforting, filled with my smell, for I sleep there often. Soft light comes from the ceiling, spreading diffuse shadows about my resting place. I rise, slowly, and stretch, languishing in the feel of my muscles and tendons over my bones, the arch in my back. I settle and scratch the back of my ear, closing one eye, smiling.
I woke to noise. People wandering about the house, the graceless thump and crash of them as they go about their business (loudly, but for them that is quite normal). Their treads are familiar to me, so I do not worry. They are part of my home, too. I hear one of them enter the room, and smell his familiar smell of his aftershave and soap, on top of that dry grassland smell that is usually his. I cannot see him for the bed obstructs my view, but I hear the springs creak as he sits in it, and speaks words I do not recognize to the other person. I walk across the plush beige carpet, the fibres soft against my paws.
I jump up onto the bed, my legs coiling then springing, and gracefully, I am there, looking at him. I see the back of his head full of dark brown hair, his wide, strong shoulders, and his fine coverings of woven furs that smell mildly of chemicals and sweat. He has the bedside drawer open, and he is placing things beside him. A pleased expression is on his face, reflected in the mirrors against one wall of the room, hiding where he puts many of his other strangely smelling coverings.
I walk across the blanket and peer at what he is putting out... a long thing that smells of leather and oil, a rough coil of something that smells like dried plants and sweat, a strange looking ball that smells like chemicals, some strange looking elongated roughly tubular shapes with at least one rounded end (they also smell like chemicals), and a longish black strip that also smells of leather and oils, but with a shiny buckle and rings on it. My whiskers twitch as they touch the items gently.
He sees me peering at the things, and speaks softly, and though I only understand a couple words he says, I am comforted and begin to purr. He then strokes my head and scratches behind my ears, and i half close my eyes and sit there, my tail twitching happily. I open my eyes and look at the door as the other human, the female with long black hair and skin as pale as milk enters, wearing a long blue covering, which she removes when he speaks a few words to her that I do not understand.
I lean against the male for a moment, purring and nuzzling against him, before jumping down the bed. I exit the room, the tip of my tail slowly rolling from one side to the other behind me.
I do not think I will ever understand humans.
[[Oddly, this was not a lucid dream, as a great many of the ones I remember are.]]
I woke to noise. People wandering about the house, the graceless thump and crash of them as they go about their business (loudly, but for them that is quite normal). Their treads are familiar to me, so I do not worry. They are part of my home, too. I hear one of them enter the room, and smell his familiar smell of his aftershave and soap, on top of that dry grassland smell that is usually his. I cannot see him for the bed obstructs my view, but I hear the springs creak as he sits in it, and speaks words I do not recognize to the other person. I walk across the plush beige carpet, the fibres soft against my paws.
I jump up onto the bed, my legs coiling then springing, and gracefully, I am there, looking at him. I see the back of his head full of dark brown hair, his wide, strong shoulders, and his fine coverings of woven furs that smell mildly of chemicals and sweat. He has the bedside drawer open, and he is placing things beside him. A pleased expression is on his face, reflected in the mirrors against one wall of the room, hiding where he puts many of his other strangely smelling coverings.
I walk across the blanket and peer at what he is putting out... a long thing that smells of leather and oil, a rough coil of something that smells like dried plants and sweat, a strange looking ball that smells like chemicals, some strange looking elongated roughly tubular shapes with at least one rounded end (they also smell like chemicals), and a longish black strip that also smells of leather and oils, but with a shiny buckle and rings on it. My whiskers twitch as they touch the items gently.
He sees me peering at the things, and speaks softly, and though I only understand a couple words he says, I am comforted and begin to purr. He then strokes my head and scratches behind my ears, and i half close my eyes and sit there, my tail twitching happily. I open my eyes and look at the door as the other human, the female with long black hair and skin as pale as milk enters, wearing a long blue covering, which she removes when he speaks a few words to her that I do not understand.
I lean against the male for a moment, purring and nuzzling against him, before jumping down the bed. I exit the room, the tip of my tail slowly rolling from one side to the other behind me.
I do not think I will ever understand humans.
[[Oddly, this was not a lucid dream, as a great many of the ones I remember are.]]
Fragment: An Ocean Of Stars
The night was warm, and a soft wind was blowing in from the autumn-coloured sunset, which set large in the west, accompanied by multitudes of high, fluffy clouds reflecting orange and red, deepening to purple and blue. Bright, pale stars peeked out through the clouds, and a single moon was a high crescent against the deep blue sky ringed by the darker clouds. The ocean swelled and sucked in dark, rolling waves, reflecting orange and gold from the setting sun.
She stood upon one of those lone rocks in the wide ocean ways avoided by ships and men, for the expanse of water was treacherous with hidden reefs, and mysteriously deep shafts into the dark depths. The waves rose and fell around her perch, falling in musical rivulets through small holes eroded into the strange stone. Her feet were bare, and the water stroked and played over her toes before falling away. Her clothing was airy, billowing and flapping around her, seeming half alive in the mild ocean breeze. She raised her violet eyes, and pale arms to the encroaching night sky, as if entreating some divine power in prayer.
As if in answer, a strange luminescence awoke in the deep circle of water ahead of her, ringed by reef. The lights played below the waves, circled, danced, and shimmered in pale hues. They rose closer to the surface, and spread out to the edge of the ringing reef, wandering in and out of holes in the holed stones and between plants. Soon, below the lights there came a dark shadow with many tendrilous limbs, and a very small bulbous body.
The woman stepped into the water, walking across the shallow rocks below the waves, her transparent white gown waving in the water behind her as some strange fish before stepping into deeper water, and treading. Her long black hair streaked with silver and ornamented with feathers and beads was a long serpent behind her in its braid as she swam to the middle of the deep waters, turning small circles as a few of the pale lights followed her and weaved between her feet and toes.
The shadow rose slowly, as some leviathan might, from the cold, empty depths. Long, suckerless deep green tentacles rose around the woman's small form, threading themselves around and between her limbs, coiling about and grasping her arms and legs, her wrists and her ankles, in their firm boneless grip. A few circled her waist, holding her immobile in the water. It's grip was as chill as death, and as strong as steel.
With only a moments pause, only long enough for her to take a deep breath, it began to pull her beneath the water, inexorably downward into the darkness, followed only by the light motes. The water that was once warm became chill and burned against her skin and clawed at her lungs to give up their captured breath. Before long, she gasped, losing her air to the chill waters... yet nothing swelled in to fill the space.
What felt like an age of breathless travel in darkness, the pale followers having faded far behind, broke into a dazzling shower of falling, floating, flying lights. Glowing diamond dust strewn in the darkness, passing quickly with small whisperings of song and the sound of chimes. Still, her shadowy captor drew her on swiftly through the cacophony lights.
Soon, the lights were replaced with twisting galaxies of singing stars, bright nebulae bursting with colour and light, birthing stars and planets, lone asteroids rolling through the vast emptiness, cold balls of pocked rock of arcing towards their distant destinations. Space, filled with the pulsing music of creation, the long, slow drumbeat of the heart of all.
The traveller slowed, and its captive passenger spied planets passing by in their slow circles, clouds rolling over their spherical bodies, vast oceans tinted green and blue... and stranger colours still. Barren moons and barren planets passed beneath them, grey or dark, covered in craters and impact trails, cones of volcanoes, and raging acid storms. They passed a comet taking luminescence, its tail swung out far behind it, burning in chill brightness as it swung towards the star that would be its eventual melting demise.
Nearing a planet, the creature slowed further allowing her a view of the slow creep of dusk across its curved edge, the fuzzy demarcation between air and emptiness, the pale clouds swirling over its surface, curled into shimmering storms over darkened landscapes. Oceans the colour of emeralds and mountains pale with caps of pure snow. Deep forests thick with ancient, tall trees and expansive rolling grasslands blowing with tall grasses dotted with boulders. Vast deserts filled with waving, blowing dunes and grassy swamp riddled with tea coloured waterways.
It passed over the creeping darkness of night-time, passing into the atmosphere, carrying its captive still. It passed over vast ancient bogs, spreading woodland thick with tall evergreens, hills and valleys, and lakes reflecting the light from a single, full moon. Strange constellations wheeled above them, bright and alien. It floated near a meadow in some vast, near-trackless wood thick with hanging moss and twisting, gnarled trees, slowly falling towards the treetops, then threading delicately through them, leaving the sleeping birds and creeping animals undisturbed.
It deposited her near the meadows edge, where through the tree trunks she could see the bonfire burning, and the flickering shadows of the animal-headed dancers, smell the roasting beast, hear the drumbeats and the lilting song. orange firelight reflected off of tall totems bearing the faces of animals and spirits, gods and demons alike. The air was crisp against her skin, but not unpleasant. It withdrew its chill limbs from her, and passed back upward through that sky, silently wandering back into the starry night, empty, yet so full of life, as she picked up from the soft loam the mask of a bird...
She stood upon one of those lone rocks in the wide ocean ways avoided by ships and men, for the expanse of water was treacherous with hidden reefs, and mysteriously deep shafts into the dark depths. The waves rose and fell around her perch, falling in musical rivulets through small holes eroded into the strange stone. Her feet were bare, and the water stroked and played over her toes before falling away. Her clothing was airy, billowing and flapping around her, seeming half alive in the mild ocean breeze. She raised her violet eyes, and pale arms to the encroaching night sky, as if entreating some divine power in prayer.
As if in answer, a strange luminescence awoke in the deep circle of water ahead of her, ringed by reef. The lights played below the waves, circled, danced, and shimmered in pale hues. They rose closer to the surface, and spread out to the edge of the ringing reef, wandering in and out of holes in the holed stones and between plants. Soon, below the lights there came a dark shadow with many tendrilous limbs, and a very small bulbous body.
The woman stepped into the water, walking across the shallow rocks below the waves, her transparent white gown waving in the water behind her as some strange fish before stepping into deeper water, and treading. Her long black hair streaked with silver and ornamented with feathers and beads was a long serpent behind her in its braid as she swam to the middle of the deep waters, turning small circles as a few of the pale lights followed her and weaved between her feet and toes.
The shadow rose slowly, as some leviathan might, from the cold, empty depths. Long, suckerless deep green tentacles rose around the woman's small form, threading themselves around and between her limbs, coiling about and grasping her arms and legs, her wrists and her ankles, in their firm boneless grip. A few circled her waist, holding her immobile in the water. It's grip was as chill as death, and as strong as steel.
With only a moments pause, only long enough for her to take a deep breath, it began to pull her beneath the water, inexorably downward into the darkness, followed only by the light motes. The water that was once warm became chill and burned against her skin and clawed at her lungs to give up their captured breath. Before long, she gasped, losing her air to the chill waters... yet nothing swelled in to fill the space.
What felt like an age of breathless travel in darkness, the pale followers having faded far behind, broke into a dazzling shower of falling, floating, flying lights. Glowing diamond dust strewn in the darkness, passing quickly with small whisperings of song and the sound of chimes. Still, her shadowy captor drew her on swiftly through the cacophony lights.
Soon, the lights were replaced with twisting galaxies of singing stars, bright nebulae bursting with colour and light, birthing stars and planets, lone asteroids rolling through the vast emptiness, cold balls of pocked rock of arcing towards their distant destinations. Space, filled with the pulsing music of creation, the long, slow drumbeat of the heart of all.
The traveller slowed, and its captive passenger spied planets passing by in their slow circles, clouds rolling over their spherical bodies, vast oceans tinted green and blue... and stranger colours still. Barren moons and barren planets passed beneath them, grey or dark, covered in craters and impact trails, cones of volcanoes, and raging acid storms. They passed a comet taking luminescence, its tail swung out far behind it, burning in chill brightness as it swung towards the star that would be its eventual melting demise.
Nearing a planet, the creature slowed further allowing her a view of the slow creep of dusk across its curved edge, the fuzzy demarcation between air and emptiness, the pale clouds swirling over its surface, curled into shimmering storms over darkened landscapes. Oceans the colour of emeralds and mountains pale with caps of pure snow. Deep forests thick with ancient, tall trees and expansive rolling grasslands blowing with tall grasses dotted with boulders. Vast deserts filled with waving, blowing dunes and grassy swamp riddled with tea coloured waterways.
It passed over the creeping darkness of night-time, passing into the atmosphere, carrying its captive still. It passed over vast ancient bogs, spreading woodland thick with tall evergreens, hills and valleys, and lakes reflecting the light from a single, full moon. Strange constellations wheeled above them, bright and alien. It floated near a meadow in some vast, near-trackless wood thick with hanging moss and twisting, gnarled trees, slowly falling towards the treetops, then threading delicately through them, leaving the sleeping birds and creeping animals undisturbed.
It deposited her near the meadows edge, where through the tree trunks she could see the bonfire burning, and the flickering shadows of the animal-headed dancers, smell the roasting beast, hear the drumbeats and the lilting song. orange firelight reflected off of tall totems bearing the faces of animals and spirits, gods and demons alike. The air was crisp against her skin, but not unpleasant. It withdrew its chill limbs from her, and passed back upward through that sky, silently wandering back into the starry night, empty, yet so full of life, as she picked up from the soft loam the mask of a bird...
Dream: Serpentine Dance
I found myself wandering in a vast meadow ringed by dark trees after dusk. The air was pleasant against my nearly bare skin. My sandalled feet stepped softly on the rough trail through the long grasses, whose windblown stalks caressed my ankles, knees, and waist. The sky above was dark midnight blue, and flecked with clear, diamond stars. All of the moons were shrouded, but the stars were more than bright enough that I could pick my way down the path, winding around and between great, grey boulders covered in lichen, and surrounded by flowered grasses, their bulbous heads waving in the soft midsummer breeze that also sent my gauzy dress waving and undulating around me as if it were alive.
I stepped off the path into the tall grasses, my fingers brushing their tops as I passed, their leaves whispering against each other when the breeze ruffled them. Ahead of me there was a great boulder, looking as if some long time ago it had been carelessly flung by some great giants hand. Lichen had taken to its grey, weathered shape, speckling it with pale, almost phospherent greens, yellows, oranges, and rusty reds. Some errant creature had carved the symbol of stars surrounded by the great serpent upon its face, the etchings thick and half lost under the splotchy lichens.
Reaching the boulder, I climbed its side, finding familiar footholds and handholds in the ancient stone, still warm with summers sunny kiss, and settled atop it, looking above to the jewel-encrusted starry sky. The stars seemed so close and so far away at the same time, as if I could reach out my hands and pluck them from the sky. I nestled atop that lonely stone in the meadow, gazing at the beauty above me, revelling in the feeling that the jewel stars were so close as well as so far away.
And then the aurora began. It started with a shimmering like of falling gold dust caught in the suns rays, flickering across the sky above, north to south. Soon pink and purple began filtering their ways into the gold, long ribbons of colour waving across my vision, as if some starry wind were ruffling those ephemeral strands. Blue and green crept in, coiling, swirling, dancing in the dark sky, the bright stars shining through the colour.
Suddenly it seemed as if the aurora was a great serpentine dragon, its coils of many scintillating hues, its beautiful, long body winding above me to the south in a strange, non-euclidean path that somehow was a circle that circled all the world, and all the stars too. Flecks of green and gold fell away from its impossibly great body, rippling and fading to nothing in the cool summer air. Pink and blue began falling away, swirling and rotating off into nothing. Finally the last of the aurora retreated to the south, passing over dark woods and distant mountains.
The stone was still warm, and the faint breeze played with my hair, toying with the strands, whispering by my ears. After a moment, I slid down from my perch upon the carven stone, its dark, reassuring bulk firm under my fingers. I picked my way through the waving, pale grasses, back to that lonesome, winding trail through the meadow. With a last glance to the silent stars above, I continued on my travels.
I stepped off the path into the tall grasses, my fingers brushing their tops as I passed, their leaves whispering against each other when the breeze ruffled them. Ahead of me there was a great boulder, looking as if some long time ago it had been carelessly flung by some great giants hand. Lichen had taken to its grey, weathered shape, speckling it with pale, almost phospherent greens, yellows, oranges, and rusty reds. Some errant creature had carved the symbol of stars surrounded by the great serpent upon its face, the etchings thick and half lost under the splotchy lichens.
Reaching the boulder, I climbed its side, finding familiar footholds and handholds in the ancient stone, still warm with summers sunny kiss, and settled atop it, looking above to the jewel-encrusted starry sky. The stars seemed so close and so far away at the same time, as if I could reach out my hands and pluck them from the sky. I nestled atop that lonely stone in the meadow, gazing at the beauty above me, revelling in the feeling that the jewel stars were so close as well as so far away.
And then the aurora began. It started with a shimmering like of falling gold dust caught in the suns rays, flickering across the sky above, north to south. Soon pink and purple began filtering their ways into the gold, long ribbons of colour waving across my vision, as if some starry wind were ruffling those ephemeral strands. Blue and green crept in, coiling, swirling, dancing in the dark sky, the bright stars shining through the colour.
Suddenly it seemed as if the aurora was a great serpentine dragon, its coils of many scintillating hues, its beautiful, long body winding above me to the south in a strange, non-euclidean path that somehow was a circle that circled all the world, and all the stars too. Flecks of green and gold fell away from its impossibly great body, rippling and fading to nothing in the cool summer air. Pink and blue began falling away, swirling and rotating off into nothing. Finally the last of the aurora retreated to the south, passing over dark woods and distant mountains.
The stone was still warm, and the faint breeze played with my hair, toying with the strands, whispering by my ears. After a moment, I slid down from my perch upon the carven stone, its dark, reassuring bulk firm under my fingers. I picked my way through the waving, pale grasses, back to that lonesome, winding trail through the meadow. With a last glance to the silent stars above, I continued on my travels.
Short: The Song Of Dead Sparrows
They gathered, insubstantial, as the silver horned moon reached its zenith. Their bright, moon-like eyes glittered and shone as they mingled in the night. Only the silent stars were witness to their wispy, ethereal forms.
Descending, they wheeled and swooped, dancing in the cool air above the small town. Ghostly, eerie cackles, imagined memories of half-forgotten sound, escaped their vaporous, phantasmal bodies. They flew and fell to the town, alighting upon gabled rooftops, fields and the empty, silent streets.
Not a single living, sleeping human stirred at their passing, as they cavorted and gallivanted in the deserted streets, lit only by the dull glow of the mute moon. Their smoky, boneless limbs twisted and writhed about them as they leapt in the streets and slithered across rooftops. Their eyes glittered hungrily, happily, glowing as the full moon does on clear nights during midsummer, as they slid down chimneys, down eaves, down the boughs and trunks of sleeping winter trees void of leaves. Coiling, uncoiling, and coiling still, they passed through alleys, crept up staircases, and oozed down sewer drains. The smell of rotting roses followed their passing, clinging to places like an idle winter chill.
They then spun and cavorted under the star-dogged, horned Devil's moon of that lonely winter night. They danced merrily in the fields where the fall fireflies lights once stirred. They swayed quietly at the feet of children's beds, their forms but vapour shadows. They leapt over tombstones, laughing raucously in the cemetery. All with a sound of a whisper, less perhaps, and to music only they could hear.
And then, they left, fleeing upwards through a cold sky barren of clouds, their forms swirling as they sped over rooftops, trees, fields and yards. Their many, ephemeral limbs coiling behind them, their bright, moon eyes joyous and full. They floated up from sewers, chimneys, trees, and tombstones, falling back towards the stars from whence they came.
At dawn, the children awoke from vague, terrible nightmares, their covers flung about them from their nights fear-caused thrashings. There was no birdsong that morning, no lonely crow greeted the cold suns arrival, and no sparrow sang, for all the birds in were frozen and lifeless within their nests, their crannies, and holes...
[[This was written in my paper-and-ink journal, dated 18/08/2k7.]]
Descending, they wheeled and swooped, dancing in the cool air above the small town. Ghostly, eerie cackles, imagined memories of half-forgotten sound, escaped their vaporous, phantasmal bodies. They flew and fell to the town, alighting upon gabled rooftops, fields and the empty, silent streets.
Not a single living, sleeping human stirred at their passing, as they cavorted and gallivanted in the deserted streets, lit only by the dull glow of the mute moon. Their smoky, boneless limbs twisted and writhed about them as they leapt in the streets and slithered across rooftops. Their eyes glittered hungrily, happily, glowing as the full moon does on clear nights during midsummer, as they slid down chimneys, down eaves, down the boughs and trunks of sleeping winter trees void of leaves. Coiling, uncoiling, and coiling still, they passed through alleys, crept up staircases, and oozed down sewer drains. The smell of rotting roses followed their passing, clinging to places like an idle winter chill.
They then spun and cavorted under the star-dogged, horned Devil's moon of that lonely winter night. They danced merrily in the fields where the fall fireflies lights once stirred. They swayed quietly at the feet of children's beds, their forms but vapour shadows. They leapt over tombstones, laughing raucously in the cemetery. All with a sound of a whisper, less perhaps, and to music only they could hear.
And then, they left, fleeing upwards through a cold sky barren of clouds, their forms swirling as they sped over rooftops, trees, fields and yards. Their many, ephemeral limbs coiling behind them, their bright, moon eyes joyous and full. They floated up from sewers, chimneys, trees, and tombstones, falling back towards the stars from whence they came.
At dawn, the children awoke from vague, terrible nightmares, their covers flung about them from their nights fear-caused thrashings. There was no birdsong that morning, no lonely crow greeted the cold suns arrival, and no sparrow sang, for all the birds in were frozen and lifeless within their nests, their crannies, and holes...
[[This was written in my paper-and-ink journal, dated 18/08/2k7.]]
Dream: The Egg
The Dreamer dreamed of an ocean that swelled with tides unknown. Of stars falling gold and silver, settling against the dark waters as flower petals tremble in the wind. Of a night blue sky filled with glittering jewels. Two moons full and bright, one haloed with paleness. Silver dancing on the water. Wetness between the toes, and the roughness of stone.
The Dreamer extended a hand towards the falling stars, and cupped one within the palm. A baby sparrow, its innocent eyes gleaming with question. With a slight tilting of the head, the Dreamer smiled softly. The sparrow spread its wings and became an albatross flying away towards the east, trailing golden fairy dust.
Then rising, falling upward into that sky filled with the dust of diamonds. Feet losing touch with ground, gravity losing its hold. The bright stars fading away. Up and up and up...
Darkness.
Sensation in darkness.
Breath. Slow, in and out, in and out. Lying cradled within an egg-like nest, curled over on one side. Limbs distant, half imaginary things at the back of the brain. A stroking feeling against the head. Movement, gentle and slow.
The Dreamer opens an eye with deliberate, groggy care.
Soft white light pours in through the crevasse of reality. Shadow move against the light, passing unfocused through the crack of minute awareness.
Voices pass through the Dreamer's head, falling through as water through open fingers. Soft sounds. Comforting sounds.
The Dreamer smiles softly, and makes a whispering squeak of a noise, barely audible. An involuntary, weak curl of a hand that may have held a bird in some other place.
Pressure on some faraway, half-imagined limb, encircling it. A pinprick, barely felt.
Darkness creeps in on the Dreamer's vision, and invisible fingers pull a heavy eyelid shut. Low murmurs seem both voices and the gentle lap of the ocean waves against some lonesome rock, far out at sea.
The cackling of gulls, and a slowly rising sun, yellow and gold in the east. Warm water with little swimming motes of light pass between the Dreamers fingers, fleeing to shadowed crevasses in the rocks. Following them with one relaxed hand, the Dreamer picks a shell out of the rock, an oyster, still shut. Careful fingers pry open the little box, and find within an iridescent pearl, shimmering with the hues of the rainbow.
Peering closer at the glimmering colours, the Dreamer sees, reflected as if on a mirror surface, an eggshell pod, opened halfway. Figures in white robes walk around the pod, performing almost sacred seeming acts. Lights flash along the outside edges, flickering like the light of a candles flame. A frail, emaciated figure wrapped in metallic coils about its bony limbs, curled on one side, seeming asleep, its head buried in a nest of slowly undulating golden strands connected to the pod itself.
The shifting colours change, and once more, the pearl is a pearl. A seagull chatters loudly from nearby. The Dreamer drops the inert sphere into the swirling warm ocean water, and turns to look at the suddenly scintillatingly coloured creature.
The Dreamer extended a hand towards the falling stars, and cupped one within the palm. A baby sparrow, its innocent eyes gleaming with question. With a slight tilting of the head, the Dreamer smiled softly. The sparrow spread its wings and became an albatross flying away towards the east, trailing golden fairy dust.
Then rising, falling upward into that sky filled with the dust of diamonds. Feet losing touch with ground, gravity losing its hold. The bright stars fading away. Up and up and up...
Darkness.
Sensation in darkness.
Breath. Slow, in and out, in and out. Lying cradled within an egg-like nest, curled over on one side. Limbs distant, half imaginary things at the back of the brain. A stroking feeling against the head. Movement, gentle and slow.
The Dreamer opens an eye with deliberate, groggy care.
Soft white light pours in through the crevasse of reality. Shadow move against the light, passing unfocused through the crack of minute awareness.
Voices pass through the Dreamer's head, falling through as water through open fingers. Soft sounds. Comforting sounds.
The Dreamer smiles softly, and makes a whispering squeak of a noise, barely audible. An involuntary, weak curl of a hand that may have held a bird in some other place.
Pressure on some faraway, half-imagined limb, encircling it. A pinprick, barely felt.
Darkness creeps in on the Dreamer's vision, and invisible fingers pull a heavy eyelid shut. Low murmurs seem both voices and the gentle lap of the ocean waves against some lonesome rock, far out at sea.
The cackling of gulls, and a slowly rising sun, yellow and gold in the east. Warm water with little swimming motes of light pass between the Dreamers fingers, fleeing to shadowed crevasses in the rocks. Following them with one relaxed hand, the Dreamer picks a shell out of the rock, an oyster, still shut. Careful fingers pry open the little box, and find within an iridescent pearl, shimmering with the hues of the rainbow.
Peering closer at the glimmering colours, the Dreamer sees, reflected as if on a mirror surface, an eggshell pod, opened halfway. Figures in white robes walk around the pod, performing almost sacred seeming acts. Lights flash along the outside edges, flickering like the light of a candles flame. A frail, emaciated figure wrapped in metallic coils about its bony limbs, curled on one side, seeming asleep, its head buried in a nest of slowly undulating golden strands connected to the pod itself.
The shifting colours change, and once more, the pearl is a pearl. A seagull chatters loudly from nearby. The Dreamer drops the inert sphere into the swirling warm ocean water, and turns to look at the suddenly scintillatingly coloured creature.
Fragment: Fish In The Desert
It was some years after the old cities fell that I was wandering in the western desert alone, four days out from Los Caido when I met him. I had been to lay to rest some artefact of my ancestors making in the ancient city, and had found the entire ordeal somewhat more than what I had expected.
I had never believed the stories the old women of Tarlas had spoken of Los Caido, where the dead walk. I had written the tales off simply as that: tales. As it turned out, they also flew, and feasted, and danced, and sang. Never shall I return to that place ever again, so long as I can help it. Perhaps one day I will tell you of my time there amongst the insomniac dead with their raucous and macabre celebrations, but that is for another time.
Not a living soul had I met along the seldom used caravan trail and I marked time only by the passage of the sun and the number of tall, lone markers to mark the trail from New Ashen to the necropolis of Los Caido. In the empty desert air I could see the last twisted structure of stone and metal far behind, and the next in the near distance ahead, its abused metal glinting darkly, wavering in the afternoon heat. I had passed seventeen of them headed that way already.
It was near dusk, and the sun was sinking low over the dry stone hills to the west. My shadow was long and twisted to my right, my robes making it seem eerily wraith-like in nature. My footsteps were a long double line to the south-east over the dunes. I would be camping at the eighteenth marker on the western side to keep the first of mornings immolating rays of the sun off until I was ready for them. I was weary from my days walk, and my tongue was coated with a tasteless layer of sandy grit. Of course, I was in little danger of dehydration, for my dripper kept me well hydrated. I was merely uncomfortable and longing for a bath.
He was already camped in the place I had wanted when I got there, a small fire burning before him. Smoke coiled above the pitiful flame like a twisting snake, and he did not even spare me a glance as I approached. He was naked, save for a band of gold set with round lapis lazuli gems about his neck. His skin was the colour dark caramel. He had an almost noble, otherworldly cast about his features. His hair was long and dark. His eyes glimmered like stars with the reflected glow from the small fire. He was still as stone, and his body looked as if it had been carved of the same stone as the desert itself, though he seemed to be of the same age as I. A single long feather, the same shade of blue as the gems about his neck was clutched in his left fist.
I noted with some trepidation that he had no equipment save for a small cloth bundle against which he sat cross-legged facing away from the fiery sunset towards the tower. I thought he would make a most peculiar bandit. It was not until I had warily drawn my dagger, not quite so invisibly as I had hoped, that he took action at my presence.
"You have no need of that here, traveller," his voice was like the wind passing over the dunes. His teeth were the palest shade I had seen before. He motioned to a place across from him at the fire with a glance of his darkly reflecting eyes.
I sheathed my dagger and settled warily across from him, regarding him with a fair measure of suspicion. It is not often that one comes across ill-clad men in the desert, more than a week from the nearest living settlement, and seemingly lacking in much useful equipment. To cover my nervousness, I began to eat one of my travel rations, a hand-sized morsel of dried fish that I had bought for the outrageous price of six silver from a dealer in New Ashen.
He stared for some length of time more into the fire as I ate, the fire reflected in his eyes dancing. Behind him the great marker was fading from orange to black as the sun sank large and golden behind me. Above, the stars were peeking out, as fresh and as beautiful as they were in ages past before man had even fathomed the concept of fire. I pondered the nature of time as I chewed, my tension beginning to ease towards the stranger.
At length, he spoke in his empty desert voice, his eyes never leaving the same point in the fire he had been gazing at since I saw him, "You are coming from Los Caido, yet you are not of the dead. It is seldom that the living come back from such a place."
I nodded, unsure as to what to say, but he continued as if my silence was answer enough, "I am thankful I have no reason to go there, for I do not wish to see what the dead do. You still smell of that place. It is wrapped about your being as the chill shroud of Death's touch. If you are lucky the desert will have swallowed that scent by the time you reach Kharval to rent a skwylvch back to New Ashen, but it seems particularly strong on you. Skwylvchen do not enjoy the reek of death."
I had already had a few rather nasty incidents involving skwylvchen. I would not be even making the attempt to rent such a beast for travels, soon or ever again. In general I find the feelings between us quite mutual. He was quite correct in knowing that they do not appreciate at all the stink of death. I swallowed the last of my fish and remained silent.
He tilted his head to the side slightly, and for a moment he looked at the stars somewhere above my head, his suddenly unreflective eyes unreadable and commented, "It has been long since this land has last seen rain."
The statement was from nowhere, and it took me aback by its suddenness. I believe he must have seen the surprise in my face, for he fell silent after that. We watched the fire for a time, the crackling flame sending shadows skittering across the old structure of stone and twisted, skeletal metal in strange, almost mystical ways. After a time, he pulled out of his little cloth bundle a dark blanket and lay in it some small distance from the smouldering fire, still clutching the blue feather in his hand. I watched as his breath evened out into sleep.
I moved and positioned myself against the marker, so I could watch the sleeper, the fire, and the distant worn stone hills silhouetted by the last failing rays of sweltering day. The moons were shrouded, so I watched the glimmering, diamond like stars in the otherwise empty sky as I sucked on my dripper. I realised that I had never said a word to the strange traveller, nor had we exchanged names. I decided that I would perhaps speak with him sometime in the morning. Sleep swept upon me surprisingly quickly, and my dreams were of strange places far away.
When I awoke, the strange man was nowhere to be found, though his blanket was wrapped around my otherwise undisturbed form. There was no evidence of a fire, and the first drops of rain were falling around me, large, warm and wet.
I had never believed the stories the old women of Tarlas had spoken of Los Caido, where the dead walk. I had written the tales off simply as that: tales. As it turned out, they also flew, and feasted, and danced, and sang. Never shall I return to that place ever again, so long as I can help it. Perhaps one day I will tell you of my time there amongst the insomniac dead with their raucous and macabre celebrations, but that is for another time.
Not a living soul had I met along the seldom used caravan trail and I marked time only by the passage of the sun and the number of tall, lone markers to mark the trail from New Ashen to the necropolis of Los Caido. In the empty desert air I could see the last twisted structure of stone and metal far behind, and the next in the near distance ahead, its abused metal glinting darkly, wavering in the afternoon heat. I had passed seventeen of them headed that way already.
It was near dusk, and the sun was sinking low over the dry stone hills to the west. My shadow was long and twisted to my right, my robes making it seem eerily wraith-like in nature. My footsteps were a long double line to the south-east over the dunes. I would be camping at the eighteenth marker on the western side to keep the first of mornings immolating rays of the sun off until I was ready for them. I was weary from my days walk, and my tongue was coated with a tasteless layer of sandy grit. Of course, I was in little danger of dehydration, for my dripper kept me well hydrated. I was merely uncomfortable and longing for a bath.
He was already camped in the place I had wanted when I got there, a small fire burning before him. Smoke coiled above the pitiful flame like a twisting snake, and he did not even spare me a glance as I approached. He was naked, save for a band of gold set with round lapis lazuli gems about his neck. His skin was the colour dark caramel. He had an almost noble, otherworldly cast about his features. His hair was long and dark. His eyes glimmered like stars with the reflected glow from the small fire. He was still as stone, and his body looked as if it had been carved of the same stone as the desert itself, though he seemed to be of the same age as I. A single long feather, the same shade of blue as the gems about his neck was clutched in his left fist.
I noted with some trepidation that he had no equipment save for a small cloth bundle against which he sat cross-legged facing away from the fiery sunset towards the tower. I thought he would make a most peculiar bandit. It was not until I had warily drawn my dagger, not quite so invisibly as I had hoped, that he took action at my presence.
"You have no need of that here, traveller," his voice was like the wind passing over the dunes. His teeth were the palest shade I had seen before. He motioned to a place across from him at the fire with a glance of his darkly reflecting eyes.
I sheathed my dagger and settled warily across from him, regarding him with a fair measure of suspicion. It is not often that one comes across ill-clad men in the desert, more than a week from the nearest living settlement, and seemingly lacking in much useful equipment. To cover my nervousness, I began to eat one of my travel rations, a hand-sized morsel of dried fish that I had bought for the outrageous price of six silver from a dealer in New Ashen.
He stared for some length of time more into the fire as I ate, the fire reflected in his eyes dancing. Behind him the great marker was fading from orange to black as the sun sank large and golden behind me. Above, the stars were peeking out, as fresh and as beautiful as they were in ages past before man had even fathomed the concept of fire. I pondered the nature of time as I chewed, my tension beginning to ease towards the stranger.
At length, he spoke in his empty desert voice, his eyes never leaving the same point in the fire he had been gazing at since I saw him, "You are coming from Los Caido, yet you are not of the dead. It is seldom that the living come back from such a place."
I nodded, unsure as to what to say, but he continued as if my silence was answer enough, "I am thankful I have no reason to go there, for I do not wish to see what the dead do. You still smell of that place. It is wrapped about your being as the chill shroud of Death's touch. If you are lucky the desert will have swallowed that scent by the time you reach Kharval to rent a skwylvch back to New Ashen, but it seems particularly strong on you. Skwylvchen do not enjoy the reek of death."
I had already had a few rather nasty incidents involving skwylvchen. I would not be even making the attempt to rent such a beast for travels, soon or ever again. In general I find the feelings between us quite mutual. He was quite correct in knowing that they do not appreciate at all the stink of death. I swallowed the last of my fish and remained silent.
He tilted his head to the side slightly, and for a moment he looked at the stars somewhere above my head, his suddenly unreflective eyes unreadable and commented, "It has been long since this land has last seen rain."
The statement was from nowhere, and it took me aback by its suddenness. I believe he must have seen the surprise in my face, for he fell silent after that. We watched the fire for a time, the crackling flame sending shadows skittering across the old structure of stone and twisted, skeletal metal in strange, almost mystical ways. After a time, he pulled out of his little cloth bundle a dark blanket and lay in it some small distance from the smouldering fire, still clutching the blue feather in his hand. I watched as his breath evened out into sleep.
I moved and positioned myself against the marker, so I could watch the sleeper, the fire, and the distant worn stone hills silhouetted by the last failing rays of sweltering day. The moons were shrouded, so I watched the glimmering, diamond like stars in the otherwise empty sky as I sucked on my dripper. I realised that I had never said a word to the strange traveller, nor had we exchanged names. I decided that I would perhaps speak with him sometime in the morning. Sleep swept upon me surprisingly quickly, and my dreams were of strange places far away.
When I awoke, the strange man was nowhere to be found, though his blanket was wrapped around my otherwise undisturbed form. There was no evidence of a fire, and the first drops of rain were falling around me, large, warm and wet.
Real Life: Introductions, after a fashion.
I am moving my journals here from livejournal, as they have decided to add unsightly advertisements to the journals of basic accounts there, in an apparent attempt to bully their users into paying for an ad-free journal. I despise visual spam and those that push it. It is quite disappointing that the LJ staff have decided to do such a nasty thing to their users. I could not stand for it, so I have resurrected my account here for use. No ads here. Wondrous!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)