Revelations (Invitation only)

[dplax]

The wheels of the world had been turning. Much things had changed since the last Meeting of the Gods. Most of the gods have left the world evolve as it has. Some of them still interfere. The face of the world is about to change. Can anyone stop it?

The one who weaves dreams sends out his newest dreams....

[ 01-16-2005, 04:28 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

For all the players

Many are the dreams.
But one is the dreaming.
And the one only dreaming
of the One only Dreamer
weaves itself into the sleeping
of the many who slumber .....
- Fragment from the Odes of the Weaver

The speaking of gods is a thing both terrible and wondrous, and often it is a hidden speaking, a thing of riddles and omens. And always, if the speaking one hears be indeed the speech of gods, it is a frightful thing, for great are those that stand apart from this world and mighty are their designs and never has a god been known to speak that the one to whom such speech has been given has not been claimed and changed in some decisive way. One does not hear the words of the gods without being claimed by them, and so it is that for these last weeks the sleeping of several has been troubled, for behind the tightly pressed lids of eyes shut tight in fitful slumber movements have intruded upon the edges of dreams and whispers soft and insistent have murmured just beneath the drifting of thought. Each night the movements have grown bolder in their intrusiveness and the whispers louder and more insistent in their speaking, and those grown weary by the passing of nights without rest find themselves glancing anxiously from the corners of their eyes and straining to hear words they feel lingering near the drums of their ears. And this edgy wakefulness of their days grows keener with their lying down to sleep as in their dreaming they begin to watch and to listen for a thing both terrible and wondrous ......

ooc: Something to allow folks to do a bit of roleplaying as I start putting the dream posts together.

[ 12-14-2004, 03:34 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

[dplax]

Lorax 58/58 56/56

Lorax woke up with a start. He could distinctly remember some details of this dream. As a shaman he was used to communing with the spirits, but this seemed different. It scared Lorax. The dream was becoming stronger and stronger as if a force were trying to send a message. Lorax dismissed the thought. He was but a shaman for a small tribe of half-minotaur. All he needed to do was to pray for better harvests and bountyful hunts. He must have just been having a bad period he thought to himself. He turned over and was asleep in a few minutes.

[ 12-14-2004, 04:53 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

[Bozos of Bones]

Ghar Dien 62/62 50/50
Ghar Dien sat atop his cliff on the mountain. It was the most peacefull place he knew of, and a beautifull place to meditate and think about something. And thinking was something he had an aboundance to do right now. Why were these restless dreams plaguing him? For the past several weeks, he has been waking in cold sweat, and always tired, like he was running through a thick forest. Rarely, he remembered some details of his dreams, and they were never the same. The only thing that the dreams have in common is hearing a voice speaking in an obscure language. The dreams have taken him to a point where he no longer ever wishes to sleep, but still craves for the dream. Hopefully, these dreams are not here to stay, but they are growing in intensity with every night, and Ghar Dien started to wonder wether he'll live through this ordeal or not...

[ 12-14-2004, 04:50 PM: Message edited by: Bozos of Bones ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

For Ghar Dien

Form, according to some, is more than merely shape – it is that which provides the very essence of things. Shapes, such an understanding holds, may change and shift and prove mutable in a variety of ways and yet form is sure and certain and essence is a stable and enduring thing. Stable. Sure. Firm as the very ground over which one moves ......

He stands in his dream and the shape of his standing shifts by turns from beast to man to brute to bird and yet it is he who stands upon the sure and certain earth beneath his feet, an earth as sure and certain as his very self. Laughter rises from this earth, first in whispers and then in a voice as sure and certain as were those stones and that soil upon which he stands. With the rising of the laughter there comes a shifting in the earth which melts away from the dreamer’s feet ......

He falls. And in his falling he shifts by turns from beast to man to brute to bird, and in his shifting and his falling all that is stable and sure recedes save the sure and certain mockery of the laughter. He falls, one whose shifting hands cannot press against his changing ears with sufficient strength to seal them against the laughter. He falls and soon all that is sure is the falling and the laughter, but nothing is certain nor unchanged about that one who falls from shape to shape to shape out of place, out of time and out of all that had once seemed genuine and true.

Suddenly the plummeting stops and he lands without even the painful consolation of a solid contact with the ground. In truth the falling simply stops and the mockery of the laughter changes its tenor to a more genial, even friendly, chuckling. Once more he stands, although there is no comforting firmness under his feet, only the evidence of his eyes that his shifting feet are placed upon what looks to be the hard packed earth of a trail. “No, my friend, nothing is ever so sure as one would like,” the laughter gives way to the speaking of a placid voice. “Already changes both sudden and great arrive upon the world, and those alone who might thrive where nothing is sure might influence the movement of such changes as these.” All things recede from sight and hearing and touch save the semblance of a road beneath his feet.

“Come,” the voice says with a soft and sure insistence, “for we must speak, you and myself and the others.”

Only then is a direction apparent along this road, for it would seem to lead to a port in city on the continent of Birg.

He wakes, then, and to his surprise finds that he is standing upon earth that at least seems to be sure and certain and stable.

ooc: I trust that’s sufficient for you to work with, Bozos. I also hope I got your character right.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

For Lorax

Sleep has been named by poets that most mighty and yet most gentle presence, a friend of both gods and men and one whose dominion extends over all who need rest, one whose gift to all is the comfort of repose. Beautiful words are these, and often they are true. But the friendship of Sleep is not a thing assured as any whose slumber has been haunted and restless can most readily attest. Such times as these Sleep indeed is mighty, but hardly is she gentle. And so it is this night as the shaman’s eyes grow heavy at her touch that Sleep arrives by quiet steps bearing gifts that have nothing of comfort about them .......

“Behold! I come in a vision of the night,” there is a painful and intense clarity about these words which erupt with sudden force from the stillness of an incipient dream. So great is the impact of the words upon the sleeping shaman that his eyes open fully. He sleeps and yet his open eyes fill with sight, the sight of shapes and faces distinct and yet not identifiable. “I come to you not as I come to these others,” the words lose nothing of their sharp and painful clarity as the speaking continues, “for you must find them, and you are to guide them to the place where I will speak with them.” Their features are not clear, but their bearing is the bearing of the dream-haunted, a bearing not at all unlike his own these last long weeks of restless slumber.

The shaman’s eyes fall closed once more and sight is replaced by darkness. Within the darkness there are only words, words that cannot be seen but are heard and felt as their ringing clarity fills the darkness with sound. “Go!” No directions are given, only a command. No clarity is provided save the stark and clear order to move expressed in a single absolute syllable.

It is daybreak when the shaman opens his eyes. How long the ringing of that single word sounded through the darkness of his dreaming he cannot say. He can say only that his eyes opened in the direction travelers move who seek out the great port city and that even as his eyes filled with sight he still heard within him the ringing of that single word, “Go!”

[Hivetyrant]

Taryness64/64 48/48
Once again, Taryness awoke with a shock, and could not stop shaking for some time, this had happened often lately, with no explanation, though he kept it to himself fearing ridicule from his elders. He vaugly remembered seeing something terrible, so terrible that it would not allow him to go back to sleep that night.
This was a problem, that day was the day when he was to prove himself to the elders of the tribe, this was extrememly important for Taryness as he had often been diss-allowed to even try due to his abnormaly sized wings.
Unfortunantly though, he had stayed up late training for the grueling test which he had only heard about and never witnessed.
It was customary for others his age to take this test, it was a way to make yourself recognised in the tribe.
But due to his lack of sleep, he knew that it would be extremely hard to perform.
He wondered outside, it was morning, already he could see some of the elders preparing for the day, Taryness went back inside and prepared himself for what was to come.
some time passed and he was finally called upon to leave for the test, but just as he was leaving his home he felt a knock on the back of the head. he was knocked out instantly....... and this time he could not escape the dreams.....

[Larry_OHF]

Jonal Turamarth 65/65 46/46

The streets were absent of any passerby and quiet. The night was dark, for the smoke blacked out the moon. Jonal casually walked away from the smoldering ashes of the small house, leaving behind another job well done. It was time to collect the other half of his payment from little rich-boy uptown.

...............

When he got there, he gave a distinctive knock that had been agreed upon earlier and the butler was quick to let the man in. Wet soot was tracked through the house upon expensive carpet as Jonal walked in to the library where Alix Jenker would be waiting nervously.

Jonal pushed open this door without knocking, which startled the small man inside the library from jumping up from his knees in a hurry. Obviously, he had been praying.

"I am here for my other half."

Jonal then tossed a bag he had been carrying onto the table near him. He opened it up, reached in and brought out a severed head. After getting the desired reaction from his employer, Jonal returned the head to the sack and closed it up.

"Your brother has been killed and his house is burning. Your wife was allowed to escape as you requested."

The nervous man who was now in tears for fear and sadness payed Jonal the agreed-upon amount of coin and turned and left his library, not saying a word more to his hiree.

Jonal smirked at this expected reaction, grabbed the purse of gold and placed it in his pocket. It was now time to get some sleep before looking for more work.

...............

When Jonal arrived at his place, he was exausted. He unpacked, undressed and fell into his bed in the most expensive hotel in the city.

[Cyril Darkcloud]

For Taryness

The sudden impact of object against skull gives rise to sudden pain and sudden collapse as with a gasp and a crumpling motion the youth’s body falls to the floor. Sudden also is the shift from nervous consciousness to a slumbering that is painfully alert. Footsteps. Approaching footsteps. The sharp impact of the iron-shod feet of horses upon stony ground. A relentless clip-clopping of sound moves through his dreaming thoughts in curious time to the throbbing located in the swelling bruise on the back of his head .......

Judging by their sound they have drawn very near, so near in fact that should have arrived, and still the sound of their approach increases as if simply arrival is not enough. This suspicion would seem to be borne out as the sound of iron shod hooves sounds now within him, as if the onrushing horses refused to stop at the external demarcation of his body and in their rushing approach stepped within it. His body begins to shake Still they approach these hoof-falls that draw nearer by the moment, their sound producing echoes that ring within his thoughts and his limbs which twitch as if in response to the beat of the movement.

A voice speaks from within the steady gallop of hooves, a voice stern and quiet and possessing a strange note of concern. “Foolish boy! There are no wings so great as to allow one to take flight from destiny when it shall claim him. Foolish, foolish boy. And ever a boy and ever a fool shall you be so long as fear should mark your actions.” Still the hooves move forward, the intensity of their falling becoming painful. “You seek a place among these others, but, in truth, your place is elsewhere.”

Elsewhere. At this word the hoofbeats fall still, and the stillness is all the more terrible and all the more painful for the suddenness of its arrival. The horses of his dream shift in form as great wings, like those of mighty eagles burst from their sides. Talons sharp and possessing a sure strength with which to seize the flesh of the living take the place of their front legs. Fearsome are their heads, tufted with feathers and with predatory eyes that look forward over cruelly curved beaks. The thunder of wings replaces the thunder of hooves as the horses become hippogriffs take flight. Long is the distance they move and swift is their flight and as the eye of the dreamer follows them they arrive at a great city, a city of ports and vessels that move about the great sea.

“Elsewhere,” the voice repeats.

The word lingers in the dreamer’s mind as he awakens. His head is sore and his limbs are stiff and in the in the village there is the sound of voices calling his name.

ooc: Your call, Hivetyrant – I ended things so that you could have the option of allowong your character to go forward with his test or not as you see fit.

[RoSs_bg2_rox]

Bruner 82/24
"Aye, fill me tankard up will ye!" Bruner shouted to the wench. Having too much to drink didn't seem like a problem when you were a dwarf, especially not for Bruner. The constant interuptions from his solitude in sleep were nothing to be cheered about, and Bruner wasn't in the best of spirits. "Will ye hurry with that ale! By the gods, what would your ma'm think seein' you like that. Get a move on!"

Bruner's patience had just about reached its limits, as the normally grouchy man was further agrivated by lack of what little sleep he got, always trailing into nightmares. Nightmares. A dwarf shouldn't have nightmares, it was unheard of! Nightmares were for puny humans, not dwarves, dwarves were hardy creatures; dwarves were grim enough as they were; dwarves were better than nightmares. Bloody nightmares! Bruner Slammed his empty ale mug off the table, "Would ye get me that bloody ale now, afore I get my axe and chop you like a peanut!"

Oh no, Bruner certainly wasn't in the best of moods.

edit to close font tag and to disable sig.

[ 12-18-2004, 09:32 PM: Message edited by: RoSs_bg2_rox ]