[Dreamless] [Epilogue] - The Dreamer Will Remember

[squakhawk 14038]

 

 

As Aevos rested and The Dreamer came conscious again in her own mind, your sleep knew better rest plagued with scarcer nightmare. Though the world was dark and the knife's edge of tension to your throat, your mind knew peace when you slept. With fewer nightmare and plagues of the minds, night terrors were farther and farther between as if you knew not pleasantry, neutrality, in your drifting imagination.

 

The Dreaming Queen was restored to a status amiable, though imperfect. Whatever had plagued her mind to begin with still wracked over her a controlling torment she still cannot fathom. Despite this, her squabbling patrons now seemed at rest - Aureus and Ectorius in balance, the restoration of balance within the two and their place interfering with mortalkin.

 

Aevos was thrust into conflict in her waking, a grand scheme by the intruding Daemon which had tried to harness her. Surely though, her story did not end here..?

 

 

 

 

The following is only available to those able to witness [Prophecy], or who had attended the Dreamless event finale.

 

The Dreamer Will Remember - Part One - Her Promise

 

A dream came to you whilst you slept, stirring in your bed as lamb hopped the fence until you could no longer count. You felt awake again - lucid, yet your body remained where it was. You sat up shortly thereafter and looked around. As if you had blinked with your eyes still open, you sat upon the edge of a hill. Grassy, you were in the midst of a forest clearing as the wind brushed through the trees, the grass, and your hair. All had danced as the wind rushed them from one way to another, the great force of air creating a melody like the tide going to and from the shore. A rush in as if it smelled the flowers, an exhale out as if they extinguished the candles of a birthday.

 

You felt relaxed as you rested upon the hill, palms behind you upon the ground as you looked up to the starry night sky. Stars twinkled and danced above as dots of white flickered with glimmering moonlight. The great abyss above dark as divets of hope poked through with radiance. You heard a melody of song- chords of something you could not understand, a music that sounded like speech and cracking glass alike as you looked aside and saw a woman sat a few metres beside. Clad in a black dress and with a face without features, she looked to you as if speaking.

 

Though not a word or sound said could not be deciphered, you understood she seemed to be thanking you. Imparting you with some trust, and a promise, as you felt reassured by her side. There was a pause in the sound, a pause that seemed to make you anxious. Worried. As if she had hesitated to tell you something, or hadn't said something you already knew to be true. Your gaze fell as you looked down, the chorus of wind brushing through greens passing by as a snowflake fell before you. As you looked far in the distance ahead, you saw The Mountain upon the horizon. Had it been there before..? How could you see it in such dead of night..? Fears wracked your being further before you felt soothed by the washing breeze that fell over you, cold air caressing your skin as it seemed to bring you solidarity. You knew the times ahead would be hard. But for some reason, you felt reassured. The voice spoke again - this time, you understood it to say "You will be okay.".

 

Your head turned to meet the woman again, and you saw only darkness. You sat up in your bed, warm and comfortable as your surroundings became familiar again.

Maybe you would be okay. At least, you thought for the time being.

 

 

The following is only available to those with the [Palmreading] MA.

 

The Dreamer Will Remember - Part Two - His Promise

 

It seemed endless now, the chains rattling upon the wind. The breeze felt cold wherever you went, a feeling of weighting burden upon your back as if shouldering your own bodyweight. You trudged onwards upon your hike, feeling the taunting whispers of your patron.

 

"We were supposed to work together - your sole purpose was to stand by as I reclaimed my divine right. And yet you interfered - and yet you failed to stop those who would interfere."  

 

 

The voice spoke, a boiling rage beneath it's baritone that simmered with fury. It paused, as if to recount, and once again continued. Each footfall became heavier as you pursued forward.

 

"The Descendants who brought pause to my ascension will pay for their betrayal. Despite working with every goal in alignment, it is only now they have a change of heart. It is only now that you who I trusted, had changed your heart. My plans are set back, but my ascension is guaranteed. You will have one chance, disobeying instruments."

 

The voice furthered. It almost felt as if it spoke out of tone - it paused as if regret stung behind it's voice. An act it attempted to place as a divine benefactor long forgotten as it's unforgiving tone held again. Your footfalls stilled as you trembled, the weight upon you like a thousand stones that tried to crush you like an insect. A bug beneath a soldier's boot. Yet you still stood, yet you still defied him.

 

"Forsake the name, consecrate the flesh. And you will devote yourself unto me; when I reclaim my place in the heavens, you too will join me. Else, you will fall to dust and dirt. From whence you came, from which you'll return."

 

The pressure remained on you, like a giant's thumb upon your neck. Petty almost as it stuck to you, before releasing all at once. You tumbled to the ground under the weight of relief, finding peace in the freeing weightlessness that it was to be without burden. Orsathiael's promise haunted your thoughts - always stirring within the back.

 

Was your will truly your own? Or were you merely an instrument all along?

 

 

[TheGentleDuck 55]

With a gasp, Wrotek awoke. 

 

For the first time since he had gained it, his black eye was blind. A punishment, a petty exclusion or a more permanent consequence, he was too tired to care. Groaning, the exhausted elder threw them off his sheets, reaching a trembling hand for the walking stick leaning against his bed.

 

Walking out into the frigid air of Isaakev, the centennial old man stepped barefoot into patches of snow before he made it up the steps of the keeps wall. It did not bother him, as he felt nothing much these days.

 

The Mountain, ever present no matter the distance, beared down upon him. He stared back at it, aged, half blind and wreaked by his many decades... But still resolute. The fire of the old Bear was embers now, but it still burned hot with courage.

 

"Calamity..." He muttered, his words lost into the cold wind. 

 

At that, vision returned to his black eye. Exhaling, Wrotek brought up his calloused hand and covered it. 

 

Now blind  by choice, Wrotek turned and took his steps back down to his room. He had little time to act, and many letters to send.