The Dream

Cydd stood alone in the damp chamber, the smell of decay assaulting his nostrils. A low, green mist curled around him at the knees, lighting the area with a soft green glow. He couldn't see more then a few feet in front of him, but he knew from the cold and emptiness he felt that the area was massive in size. The mist flowed lazily around him, sometimes forming soft tendrils that would travel up along his thigh, feeling cool and soft, like a lover's caress. His right hand tightened around his silver dagger as he tentatively he took a step forward.

Suddenly, the mist's glowed flared, revealing the sheer vastness of the cave he found himself in. The walls and ceiling were beyond his view and as far as his eyes could see the ground was covered in thick fields of black sickly mushrooms, many of which towered several feet above him. So thick was the fungal growth that Cydd could not see the floor in which they grew. From under their caps, the mists came, swirling over, under, and through the mushroom forest.

It was on the very edge of the darkness that something caught Cydd's eye, an amorphous shape slowly rose up, hundreds of feet tall and twice again as wide. Though Cydd could make out no details of the thing, he could sense it's overwhelming presence. In the darkness, he could hear a wet, rhythmic sound and make out the subtle undulations of the silhouette. It was breathing, it was alive. At once Cydd was gripped with insatiable curiosity and sheer terror.

At that moment, Cydd's mind was assaulted by two distinct, yet wholly the same, voices. One was deep, sounding sickly and wet, the other soft, soothing, and feminine.

“Power...” the voice whispered into Cydd's brain, “such power could be yours, join me, become one with me.”

From beyond the darkness, a massive tentacle shot towards Cydd, the sickly mass glistened against the glow of the mist. Nearly as big around as Cydd was tall, it moved with impossible speed and wrapped itself around him before he could react.

Cydd jumped up from his bedroll with a start, sweating. A DESCRIPTIVE dog at his side lifted it's head with alarm, before nuzzling it into Cydd's face.

“It's okay Thorn,” Cydd said softly, scratching the dog behind the ears, “just bad dreams.”

The group has set-up camp in a small clearing, about a mile into the woods that followed along the Old Trade Road. The spring night was cool and clear, and the moon, nearly full, shown brightly in the sky. They had elected to sleep under the stars, and their four bedrolls were laid out around a large fire, now burned down to only glowing embers.

Cydd rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he looked around. far to his left, he could hear the horses snorting amongst one another and, much closer to his right, he could hear another, louder snorting, as Maormo laid on his side, facing Cydd, snoring. Behind the large mercenary, Eyrnod lay so still and quiet that Cydd could be convinced he was dead, though he dare not disturbed the mage to find out.

Brenton's bedroll was empty, as it was his turn to sit watch, on the lookout for whatever horrors stalked the untamed woods. He sat on a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing, a torch wedged into the split trunk provided some vision into the woods, but mostly only made the shadows dance about ominously. His mace leaned against the tree within arm's reach and he polished his shield as he peered out into the darkness.

Cydd slowly got to his feet, gently patting Thorn on his side. He approached Brenton, stretching his arms with a yawn.

“Dark dreams?” Brenton asked, without even turning around.

“Indeed,” Cydd replied, “but, with what we've seen, is that of any surprise?”

Cydd walked around fallen log and sat beside Brenton and the two fell to silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.

“And that's only the beginning,” Cydd finally broke the silence, “who knows what else is out there?”

“All manner of vile beast,” Brenton answered, setting down his shield, “But even more good people that need our help. Why else would we do what we do?”

“Having a crisis of faith Father?” Cydd said with a grin.

“Not at all, my path is clear, but it is through Aristemis that the road is laid out before me. However, what about you? Why is it you travel the lands, staring death in the face amongst the company of people you hardly know, risking everything to help those you may never see again?”

Cydd thought about it for a moment, taking in a deep breath, “Adventure, excitement, riches, the chance to make a name for myself. There's a part of me that was born into this and another that is searching for something very important.”

“Well then my friend,” Brenton smiled warmly, placing a hand on Cydd's shoulder, “You and I have quite a bit in common.”

Brenton got to his feet, gathering his mace and shield, and began to walk back towards his bedroll, “I suppose now is as good a time as any for me to retire and you to take over watch.”

“Suppose so,” Cydd stood as well, returning to his side of camp to don his armor, Thorn got up, excitably wagging his tail at his master's return.

“A Cydd, don't dismiss your dream so easily,” Brenton pulled his tabard over his head, carefully and meticulously folding it so that the icon of Aristemis was visible on top, “Many gods use Ôæ's realm to communicate with us, as do many less savory beings.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Cydd said, securely fastening his leather cuisses to his upper thigh, he grabbed his cuirass and looked down as his canine companion, “Okay Thorn, let's earn our keep.”