Ithric's Dream Journal: Entry One

[Ithric 70]

IC:

Entry 1: The Three Faces of One Man.

Dreams. Dreams are a funny thing, they are. Sometimes they mean nothing, just wisps of the imagination fluttering about in the unconscious mind. That happens to be nine times out of ten. But that one other time, that fateful stroke of luck, or that debilitating curse. That other time is what's been happening to me, the dreams are becoming vivid books in my mind. Stories that simply must have a meaning to be deciphered. I write these dreams down not simply because I wish to delve into them and rip out their meaning but because I desire to share them. I require the outlooks of others, for these are mysteries no single person can grasp.

The first dream began with me walking upon a sapphire, silken carpet. Around me were walls of alabaster stone, pure and just, that rose to a darkened ceiling of unknown height, with the only light coming from the numerous masterful windows. As I reached the end of my journey I came up to a throne whose master was an aged, stalwart man. A man whose clothes were finer than harmony, whose face was furrowed and seasoned, and whose hair was brown and elegant. Upon his head sat a golden, almost luminous in perfection, crown with an assortment of precious jewels as numerous as the stars themselves. The man sat in a judging manner, feet planted firmly, posture high, and face rigid with thought. As I stopped he held up one hand and three men appeared from the shadows behind his stone throne and surrounded me on every side but my flank. The first man, the one in front of me, was built like stone. He was clad in iron, nicked armor that showed both his experience and his trade. Upon his belt laid a sheathed blade whose hilt was silver, but tarnished. Something else befouled the hilt, the blood of many. It covered the blade's hilt in thick blotches. Atop his might frame and armor rested his head, which was shaved completely. His white skin was tanned and scarred but the most prominent feature was his mouth. His mouth was sewn completely shut with pearly white, albeit somewhat bloody, linen. It appeared grotesque and as I looked away I noticed a coat of arms, branded upon his cheek in a proud manner but this was no coat of arms I had ever seen, it was foreign and indescribable. Within his hands was a bronze cudgel, which he held in an authoritative manner.

The second man, the one to my right, was a paler than the first but showed signs of both age and struggle. He was clad in white robes, as pure as a newborn child. He stood in a proud manner, the robes clinging to his structure like a curtain to a window. His head was held high and he looked down upon me in a judgmental way. Within his right hand was a book. A flaxen colored book that held lies written on promises and bound with faith. He held this book to me as if to preach from it, but all that came from his mouth was unbearable calumny. Within his left hand he held a black whip primed for use. He held onto it tightly as if it was his own child and he brought it up, preparing to strike but he waited. He waited for the third man.

I looked to the third man, who was to my left, and he was pale like death and wore purple garments of incomprehensible gluttony. His clothes screamed superiority and his look was one of disgust as he crossed his arms in disdain. His fingers were covered in rings of different crests and family names, adorned with wealth and luxury. He looked me over before shaking his head and scoffing. That was the beginning of my torment.

The master of the throne simply stared, as if searching for my soul, when the first man began to beat me down with his cudgel. Again and again he beat me, his lips unmoving and his eyes as cold as Hanseti. Before long the second man joined in with his chastising whip. He continued to utter falsehood against me in a judging manner, his eyes were those of complete disgust. His whip came forth, again and again as I fell to the ground bloodied and distraught. The man in purple simply shook his head, as if I deserved such treatment or possibly as if he didn't care as long as he wasn't the one doing it. But then I felt a presence, a gelid one that caused me to go wide-eyed in surprise.

The thrashing was silenced as the muffled footsteps came. I clambered around to see a hooded man, dressed in all black with skin that lacked both sensation and color. As the hooded man approached the throne's master arose from his seat, his posture took one of great fury and his face brought upon a look of animosity. He pointed a judging finger towards the hooded man before he bellowed "Seize him!", which reverberated across the hall. As he approached me he stuck forth his left hand and I sat there, staring blankly. The man in white opened his book of faith and distortion as he began to read from it, slipping the whip behind his back for no-one to see. The man in purple turned around, holding his head high and turning a blind eye towards the black figure. Finally the iron-clad, mountain of a man drew forth his blade. It oozed with sanguine blood as it flew from its sheath, screams fluttering as the metal ground with the scabbard. He pointed the sword towards the ebon figure but there was something strange. His hand trembled with uncertainty, his face pained with ignorance. Before long the sword shattered to pieces, each shard glittering in the light before dropping into the pool of blood. As I took the sensation-less hand the iron-clad fell to the ground with a thump.

Renewed vigor rushed through my body as my new friend helped me up, he approached my ear with his hooded face in a way that continued the mystery of his identity. His words were as fluid as quick-silver when he spoke. "The first test is passed, child." His words produced a calming tendril that wrapped around my mind. I was soothed, the pain was nonexistent, and I awoke to the real world, sweat upon my brow and anxiety racing through my mind.

OOC:

((Link to Entry Two))

[steelersfan1221 300]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.