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Lost in a dream

Started by Griznuq, June 05, 2006, 06:51:56 AM

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Griznuq

This takes place just after Laren left Ashe's in Kit's Life.

The sound of Ashe's door closing behind him was like the last spoken word of a sleep spell to the young Halfling. The end to a very eventful day that didn't seem to want to stop. He did his best to make his way back to the Thornhedge, but it seemed so far away.

The cool air of night-time spring softly wiped the beads of nervous sweat from his brow. The sweet smell of nectarbloom flowers reminded him of the scented soaps his mother made when he was young. It made him feel safe.

He could smell that flowery scent all throughout the house when she'd heat a pot of it. She would make cakes of it and sell it to the town. Laren's father always complained that it made the house stink, but Laren never minded. He had a feeling that his father didn't either.

The flowers were only in bloom for a fortnight out of the year. His weary body followed the scent off the road. The scent became diluted as it mixed with damp bark and the cool moss against his cheek.

He stood looking at the large knuckleroot tree just outside his grandfather?s farm. The tree had always been symbolic of strength and long life to the community, much like Laren's grandfather.

The midsummer sun beat down on Laren's shoulders as he walked beneath the tree.
=]V[=

Griznuq

The purple smoke twisted, floating along through the air, seeming to not want to dissipate. Even stranger, there was a sharp buzzing... but only in his right ear.

The sharp pain that followed jolted Laren to a sitting position, and he realized abruptly that he had been dreaming. He vindictively slapped at his ear to kill whatever flying bug that was trying to snack. He wiped the thing's blood from his hand on the mossy ground.

He scowled at the ground in front of him trying to make sense of what was going on. The harsh realization that it was still just the wee hours of the morning, and still quite dark meant that he'd slept only about an hour after leaving Ashe's house.

What a strange dream... he thought as small snippets creped back into his attention. 'One of those things that's best to ignore'...That's not like me... He dismissed most of the dream as just that; a dream... and dreams we weird. A part of him knew though, that his dreams of late were more than simple dreams.

... ugh he though, rubbing his aching head. Not the softest bed I've slept on, but certainly not the worst either.

He struggled just a bit to get back to his feet. the damp moss beneath the Knuckleroot tree had seeped through the seat of his trousers, but he didn't really care. He decided to wander down to the stump and see if there was anything going on, though he seriously doubted it. He decided that the walk would do him good regardless.

What the hell was up with that fish...I don't fish...I don't even LIKE fish... He grinned slightly to himself as he said out loud "Wouldn't mind 'smoking' a 'bowl' though..." He supposed that any weed that produce purple smoke wouldn't taste very good anyway.

This story continued in  The sorrows can swim
=]V[=

Wildfire

Laren went to grab a filleting knife and noticed a obsidian bowl on the table with a shallow curve and bizarre, carvings on the side that seemed to change. It stood out most peculiarly from the marble walls and the furniture within the room.

A foul, purple smoke emanated from the bowl and began to fill the room with forboding, luminous fog.
Wildfire

One should never underestimate the stimulation of eccentricity

Griznuq

What a very strange thing. Probably one of those things that's best to ignore. That'll make it go away. There seemed to be something fundamentally wrong with that thought, but it seemed logical at the time.

Laren entered the door to his father's old farm houes and gasped! The old man must have spent a little money on the place! The floors were now all marble, and the walls seemed to glitter like they were lined in silver! The furniture was all the same though. Still the same old ordinary cracked table and chairs. The floorboards were replaced though. They no longer squeeked and they seemed much stronger.

Laren flopped the abnormally large fish he had found himself carrying onto the table. I'd better finish preparing that before my grandmother comes home from the market. She hates the smell.
=]V[=

Wildfire

?Then I will take it by force!? the throned figure screamed. The figure at the man?s feet rose to its? feet and began to walk toward Laren. The demonic shadow that Laren cast to the ground separated from him and moved its? inky form to the approaching shrouded figure.

The two met halfway between Laren and the angry, amorphous shadow on the stone chair and began to twist and flow around each other in a ferocious duel. Sinister cackling filled the air and two narrow green eyes flared from the throne and bellowed, ?One shall win and claim you and the all seeing.?

Without hint or warning, the three oddities melded with the ground and was gone. Laren was left standing under the Knuckleroot Tree with Kossuth raining its? light down upon him.
Wildfire

One should never underestimate the stimulation of eccentricity

Griznuq

"I'm sorry, you aren't allowed in here. My grandfather doesn't want company. he's feeling a little under the weather." Laren felt that his response would be recieved poorly, but he wasn't sure why.

I wonder what he wants. Do I still have a book out from the library?

Laren's gut told him is was something much more important, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
=]V[=

Wildfire

Laren looked at the ground and could see his shadow mingle with the shadows of the boughs of the knuckleroot tree. Enjoying the day he cast his glance skyward and looked at the great divine orb of Kossuth. Closing his eyes he took in a deep breath absorbing the smell of fond memories.

He opened his eyes and looked down for a place to relax among the cradling, twisted roots of the tree. To his surprise he could see his shadow had changed. It now had outstretched, leathery wings from his back and was of deepest blue. His hands ended in wicked barbed claws and his head was a horned and toothy maw.

He quickly looked up in disbelief only to see a shifting, shrouded form sitting upon a simple stone throne. Crouched at the base of the throne was another figure in formless shrouds. In the crouched figures hand was a bloodhook. The sitting figure echoed out, ?I want it!?
Wildfire

One should never underestimate the stimulation of eccentricity