A DREAM CONTRIVED OF SAND

[Melpomenne 2032]

Spoiler

 

 

 

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A DREAM CONTRIVED OF SAND

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  A depiction of the Grand Vizier of the Miyhaar, Ur-Zainab

 

A CURSE

 

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A tranquil woman. Though, hardly did she rest- never did she dream. Ever since her youth within the warm lands of Ramasar, she felt comfort with this fate of hers. Cursed, the village children called her. 

 

Years pass, and she no longer found herself running through the busy streets of Miyhaar, but nestled within thin silk sheets in her personal quarters of Chaldees. Her nights usually consisted of drafting missives and letters, or peering out of her window- out towards the ruins of the Qalashi-folk. The young woman dazed, daydreaming of how the ruined village of yore once bustled with life. Watching the stagnant homes, withered by sand and storm, she would almost hear the Qalashi sing; she would almost see the Qalashi dance. 

 

“A mirage is but a slit between then, and now.

   Or, perhaps it is a fool’s folly to think so.”

— CHRONICLE OF BAAL-HAZOR,

1732.

 

Nevertheless, this one day, she felt incredibly weary. So, she appeased her spiraling mind and sought relax her form within her cushioned bed. The waves of red fabrics draped over her bed’s canopy, swaying as the warm air pushed in through her opened window.

 

“A storm. . . a war.” 

 

The thoughts within Zainab’s mind blared, bouncing off one wall of her skull to the other- wailing. Balls of sweat formed upon the nook of her brow, dripping down her warm features as she rolled within her silk sheets. She could not shake those visions she saw just hours before. For the woman did not dream, how could such an odd figure bestow something she had lost a decade before. 

Something so lucid, something so real.

 

Sooner than naught, the Grand Vizier fell beneath the veil of rest. She’d expect nothing of it, only for her to rise as soon as she had fallen.

 

When the Grand Vizier rested her head upon her pillow in the eve, she dreamed. Fabricated by the hands of dreamweavers and manipulators. Far from her knowledge. It contained no image. No smells. No physical stimuli. Simply the resounding collection of voices; male, female, undisclosed; all repeating the same phrase in common, elven, dwarven, blah, flexio, moon-speech, some utter gibberish to the ears of the matriarch. Any tongue she might decipher was spoken in the continuous word:

 

CURSED

 

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Spoiler

 

TYSM to Wonk for the amazing RP.

Formatting is inspired by Hephaestus.

TYSM Goon for proofreading.

 

 

[Spindle 655]

2 hours ago, Melpomenne said:

Though, hardly did she rest- never did she dream.

Prettiest string of words in Lotc history

[would not know 799]

Spoiler

Wonderful writing, especially from an LT. That last paragraph was so well put together. Where do you get your inspiration from minty?

 

[Melpomenne 2032]

58 minutes ago, NotAWonk said:

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Wonderful writing, especially from an LT. That last paragraph was so well put together. Where do you get your inspiration from minty?

 

 

Spoiler

 

A little birdie named Wonk ^____^