HOME | DD

Description
A splitting headache threatens to force your eyes out of their sockets. You hold your palms to your brows and find little relief in finding no bulges where you expect them to be. You open your eyes, yet all is darkness. You wonder if your eyes have been missing all the time.

As you blink in throttled panic, a robed figure seeps into your vision from the blackness. Silken azure pours from his shoulders and passes beneath his golden waist cloth over his stubby legs. A layer of crimson linen churns against his form as he walks towards you. His skin is gray and warps against the dark. You make out the tips of a sprawling beard when he begins to speak.

"An adventurer? A dreamer...perhaps both." Lines of sympathy gently crease his face.

The old man's voice is deep, slightly gravelly. You feel his words flow through you like a purr through a cat. They seem to heal you.

"You have fallen into a deep slumber, my friend. I do not wish to disturb you, but I'm afraid waking up will not be as simple as a rude intrusion."

You sense unsettling news, but the wounds you brought with you into this dream world have healed. Softly, you steel yourself.

"This is no dream of yours, nor is it even mine. It is a dungeon tucked in the darkest recesses of a mad wizard's mind."

Your experiences as a hired adventurer return to your mind like a startling knock. By instinct, your eyes sharpen and the ancient man becomes less trustworthy.

"I understand what I have just said may be...alarming. But I am not this madman, and I have no intention of manipulating you. I created this bastion to protect myself, not for mere trickery. You are my guest here, and I have used the powers I've kept to myself to address your needs without question.

You rub your arm where a terrible flame had licked the skin off your muscles. It could all very well be trickery, but you are in no mood to express ingratitude. You are, after, all, without your weapons. Your nod is reluctant, but not ungracious.

"Thank you for your trust, my friend. I will not tamper it." He returns your nod with a humble bow.

"I could continue explaining the dilemma which confines us, but I believe you would rather witness the answers yourself. There is a place not far from here. It is beyond this domain, and so I cannot accompany you."

The darkness recedes and you find yourself in the dilapidated remains of a manor. Embroidered patterns leap and spin around tapestry only to collapse on frozen tatters. Webs whisper in and out of vision as if straddling the past and present. Melted candles illuminate an oaken table whose shiny surface gives into its innumerable scars. As the ruins of a once elegant home expand before you, you lose weightlessness, and the sudden pull of gravity nearly topples you. You find your footing upon the snickering floorboards.

"The ward around this manor keeps the monsters from entering. Nevertheless, you must arm yourself before you leave. We cannot take chances."

You glance around you for your weapon of choice but it is, indeed, nowhere to be seen.

"I'm afraid your weapons were confiscated before you lost consciousness and so they did not follow you into this realm. I cannot brandish a weapon for you, but I can help you retrieve a weapon from your memories. I simply need to know its creator." His utterance of this particular vocation chimes with a surprisingly youthful sense of wonder, even curiosity. "Do you know of any blacksmiths?"

For once, his eyes ease without losing their integrity. He strokes his beard and paces briskly enough to reveal mats of hair over his stout feet.

"I have surnames in mind which may have survived the years since my waking days, but perhaps you know of others."

A rush of heat returns to you as you recall the forge of a fledgling blacksmith you'd met not long before your slumber. A tall, pretty Elf woman named Kara. She had begun her apprenticeship months ago at a mountain village whose name does not return to you. Unfortunately, neither does her surname.

The creases on his face reappear. The tips of his beard curl ever the slightest from a smile.

"Her family name matters not, friend. For if she resides in your memories, surely we can bring her here to assist us. Or rather, we can bring you to her."

He casts a glassy orb from the air between his palms and lets it hover toward you.

"Concentrate. Recall every detail you can of Kara. And let your memories be shared with this vessel."

Unease has not left you, yet neither has this dreadful dream. You close your eyes and try with all your might to remember Kara, if it would allow her to manifest here somehow.

First her appearance...

Then her personality...

Finally, details of the mountain village for what it's worth...

You open your eyes and place your hands over the orb, unsure whether you are supposed to. From the tips of your fingers, thin lines of smoke travel into the orb and fill it with swirling clouds of pink and olive, brown and gray.

The bearded man received the orb into his hands carefully as one would a sacred gift.

"Thank you. I must warn you that you my method may be...a little jarring. I am a sorcerer of forgotten spells. But please have faith."

The orb vanishes and the clouds spiral around his fingers and travel up his sleeves. The manor pulses and fades back into the weightless nothingness.

"You tread a dangerous winding path. Every curve of the road leads to a final fall. The air is thin and a curtain of fog hides everything between the edge of the cliff and the horizon beyond."

His words paint this memory across the black canvas around you. You feel the sensation of motion and the sound of boots crunching against soil and rock. Even your own exerted breathing. You check yourself to see you are neither walking nor exhausted. The sorcerer's eyes are closed.

"The soil eventually gives into wet cobblestone. Chimneys rise around you. Only a few breathe at this hour. Amidst the log cabins you search for the blacksmith. You follow the rhythm of a banging hammer. Amidst the gray, you see the pink strokes of a busy elf's hair. Her ears like wings."

You squint before realizing she is transparent. Her colors trail behind her motions.

The sorcerer breathes deeply, absorbing everything you see. Then, he reaches for his ears.

Next: Part 2/5
www.deviantart.com/faceslider/…

Description
A splitting headache threatens to force your eyes out of their sockets. You hold your palms to your brows and find little relief in finding no bulges where you expect them to be. You open your eyes, yet all is darkness. You wonder if your eyes have been missing all the time.

As you blink in throttled panic, a robed figure seeps into your vision from the blackness. Silken azure pours from his shoulders and passes beneath his golden waist cloth over his stubby legs. A layer of crimson linen churns against his form as he walks towards you. His skin is gray and warps against the dark. You make out the tips of a sprawling beard when he begins to speak.

"An adventurer? A dreamer...perhaps both." Lines of sympathy gently crease his face.

The old man's voice is deep, slightly gravelly. You feel his words flow through you like a purr through a cat. They seem to heal you.

"You have fallen into a deep slumber, my friend. I do not wish to disturb you, but I'm afraid waking up will not be as simple as a rude intrusion."

You sense unsettling news, but the wounds you brought with you into this dream world have healed. Softly, you steel yourself.

"This is no dream of yours, nor is it even mine. It is a dungeon tucked in the darkest recesses of a mad wizard's mind."

Your experiences as a hired adventurer return to your mind like a startling knock. By instinct, your eyes sharpen and the ancient man becomes less trustworthy.

"I understand what I have just said may be...alarming. But I am not this madman, and I have no intention of manipulating you. I created this bastion to protect myself, not for mere trickery. You are my guest here, and I have used the powers I've kept to myself to address your needs without question.

You rub your arm where a terrible flame had licked the skin off your muscles. It could all very well be trickery, but you are in no mood to express ingratitude. You are, after, all, without your weapons. Your nod is reluctant, but not ungracious.

"Thank you for your trust, my friend. I will not tamper it." He returns your nod with a humble bow.

"I could continue explaining the dilemma which confines us, but I believe you would rather witness the answers yourself. There is a place not far from here. It is beyond this domain, and so I cannot accompany you."

The darkness recedes and you find yourself in the dilapidated remains of a manor. Embroidered patterns leap and spin around tapestry only to collapse on frozen tatters. Webs whisper in and out of vision as if straddling the past and present. Melted candles illuminate an oaken table whose shiny surface gives into its innumerable scars. As the ruins of a once elegant home expand before you, you lose weightlessness, and the sudden pull of gravity nearly topples you. You find your footing upon the snickering floorboards.

"The ward around this manor keeps the monsters from entering. Nevertheless, you must arm yourself before you leave. We cannot take chances."

You glance around you for your weapon of choice but it is, indeed, nowhere to be seen.

"I'm afraid your weapons were confiscated before you lost consciousness and so they did not follow you into this realm. I cannot brandish a weapon for you, but I can help you retrieve a weapon from your memories. I simply need to know its creator." His utterance of this particular vocation chimes with a surprisingly youthful sense of wonder, even curiosity. "Do you know of any blacksmiths?"

For once, his eyes ease without losing their integrity. He strokes his beard and paces briskly enough to reveal mats of hair over his stout feet.

"I have surnames in mind which may have survived the years since my waking days, but perhaps you know of others."

A rush of heat returns to you as you recall the forge of a fledgling blacksmith you'd met not long before your slumber. A tall, pretty Elf woman named Kara. She had begun her apprenticeship months ago at a mountain village whose name does not return to you. Unfortunately, neither does her surname.

The creases on his face reappear. The tips of his beard curl ever the slightest from a smile.

"Her family name matters not, friend. For if she resides in your memories, surely we can bring her here to assist us. Or rather, we can bring you to her."

He casts a glassy orb from the air between his palms and lets it hover toward you.

"Concentrate. Recall every detail you can of Kara. And let your memories be shared with this vessel."

Unease has not left you, yet neither has this dreadful dream. You close your eyes and try with all your might to remember Kara, if it would allow her to manifest here somehow.

First her appearance...

Then her personality...

Finally, details of the mountain village for what it's worth...

You open your eyes and place your hands over the orb, unsure whether you are supposed to. From the tips of your fingers, thin lines of smoke travel into the orb and fill it with swirling clouds of pink and olive, brown and gray.

The bearded man received the orb into his hands carefully as one would a sacred gift.

"Thank you. I must warn you that you my method may be...a little jarring. I am a sorcerer of forgotten spells. But please have faith."

The orb vanishes and the clouds spiral around his fingers and travel up his sleeves. The manor pulses and fades back into the weightless nothingness.

"You tread a dangerous winding path. Every curve of the road leads to a final fall. The air is thin and a curtain of fog hides everything between the edge of the cliff and the horizon beyond."

His words paint this memory across the black canvas around you. You feel the sensation of motion and the sound of boots crunching against soil and rock. Even your own exerted breathing. You check yourself to see you are neither walking nor exhausted. The sorcerer's eyes are closed.

"The soil eventually gives into wet cobblestone. Chimneys rise around you. Only a few breathe at this hour. Amidst the log cabins you search for the blacksmith. You follow the rhythm of a banging hammer. Amidst the gray, you see the pink strokes of a busy elf's hair. Her ears like wings."

You squint before realizing she is transparent. Her colors trail behind her motions.

The sorcerer breathes deeply, absorbing everything you see. Then, he reaches for his ears.

Next: Part 2/5
www.deviantart.com/faceslider/…