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The Waking (for grantuseyes!)
The human child grows up eventually, and becomes a healthy young man by the time the dream begins to grow thin, as though mist is creeping through cracks in the world around them. He finds a town to live in, and finds a profession to pursue, and is well-loved by others as a kind and brave soul, ever ready to help others in need. There are short visions of him doing deeds of good, bandaging the hurt when they are injured, helping struggling people and animal to high places during a flood, offering food and coin to the poor, taking up a blade and a shield when monstrous beings breach the town’s stone walls to plunder and kill. Rarely is he seen from the ground, instead the view is often from above, and that is where the demon woman floats, ever watchful over her mortal son. She cannot be seen by any other human, and as the man lives longer in the human world, the less she can offer him as a mother or a guardian, except her own power that keeps him safe.
The demon woman remains the same through much of this far away dream, pristine and beautiful, an unchanging constant alongside the human child she has raised from infancy, to childhood, adolescence, and then adulthood. Something about her feels more real than the rest of this dream, almost as though she has lucidity, almost as though she knows of the other presence that has been trailing along as these scenes proceed. It must be something to do with the nature of her deity, because her robes signify her as a priestess, similar to another eyeless one that the formless presence knows.
“You’ll not see the conclusion, I am afraid...” Her voice is gentle, looking down below as she floats close to the other presence with her. “You may not even remember you were dreaming of this place. But it doesn’t mean that we were never here. Nothing is truly destroyed. We only change. We persist long after our descendants have forgotten our lives, as stories, as part of the air, earth and sea, as a name, as a wish... in dreams...”
Her voice grows faint, and there is an odd feeling of heaviness descending on the scene. Below, there is a crowd in the middle of a vast courtyard, their voices becoming drowned out by a thick silence. The priestess descends to a platform where a figure is held in chains, and then inky blackness and complete quiet bleeds into the vision until there is no more.
-
Abysa stands over the bed where Micolash rests, dressed in full priest garb, his mouth is a thin frown as he looks upon the human he has kept in enchanted sleep. All this time, Micolash's face has looked peaceful, and there have been no signs of rotten dreams or night terrors. Even though it was wrong to induce this magical slumber, he nearly feels guilty that he must wake Micolash at last, and re-introduce him into their harsh reality. He clasps his hands together and bows his head slightly, finding the magic in him to concentrate on, to mentally utter the spell that awakens, magic that originated with the late Lord of Dreams, and lives on well after his death.
When the human shows signs of stirring, Abysa pulls up a chair with his telekinetic power, and sits patiently by the bedside. Henry the cat jumps down from his perch on a bookshelf and leaps into the demon’s lap, rubbing against him with his fluffy cheeks. This at least makes Abysa smile a little bit, giving him a few pets. At any other time, he would find great humour in a cat reassuring a centuries-old demon, but knowing what must follow, he accepts that comfort with complete and genuine gratefulness.
The demon woman remains the same through much of this far away dream, pristine and beautiful, an unchanging constant alongside the human child she has raised from infancy, to childhood, adolescence, and then adulthood. Something about her feels more real than the rest of this dream, almost as though she has lucidity, almost as though she knows of the other presence that has been trailing along as these scenes proceed. It must be something to do with the nature of her deity, because her robes signify her as a priestess, similar to another eyeless one that the formless presence knows.
“You’ll not see the conclusion, I am afraid...” Her voice is gentle, looking down below as she floats close to the other presence with her. “You may not even remember you were dreaming of this place. But it doesn’t mean that we were never here. Nothing is truly destroyed. We only change. We persist long after our descendants have forgotten our lives, as stories, as part of the air, earth and sea, as a name, as a wish... in dreams...”
Her voice grows faint, and there is an odd feeling of heaviness descending on the scene. Below, there is a crowd in the middle of a vast courtyard, their voices becoming drowned out by a thick silence. The priestess descends to a platform where a figure is held in chains, and then inky blackness and complete quiet bleeds into the vision until there is no more.
-
Abysa stands over the bed where Micolash rests, dressed in full priest garb, his mouth is a thin frown as he looks upon the human he has kept in enchanted sleep. All this time, Micolash's face has looked peaceful, and there have been no signs of rotten dreams or night terrors. Even though it was wrong to induce this magical slumber, he nearly feels guilty that he must wake Micolash at last, and re-introduce him into their harsh reality. He clasps his hands together and bows his head slightly, finding the magic in him to concentrate on, to mentally utter the spell that awakens, magic that originated with the late Lord of Dreams, and lives on well after his death.
When the human shows signs of stirring, Abysa pulls up a chair with his telekinetic power, and sits patiently by the bedside. Henry the cat jumps down from his perch on a bookshelf and leaps into the demon’s lap, rubbing against him with his fluffy cheeks. This at least makes Abysa smile a little bit, giving him a few pets. At any other time, he would find great humour in a cat reassuring a centuries-old demon, but knowing what must follow, he accepts that comfort with complete and genuine gratefulness.