A Dream

Artist:Lubos de Gerardo Surzin 

A city lies before you on the rocky plain. Your steps are taking you towards it. You feel like you should turn around, but relentlessly your feet pull you southward, towards its menacing gates.

You feel exposed and vulnerable as you cross the open land. Hateful eyes are watching you, from above, from the jagged hills, and from within the city. There is nothing you can hide behind, and still, betrayed by your own feet you walk on. As you walk, you pass the enormous skeleton of a dragon.

Coming up to the gate of the city you become aware of the skulls covering the ground outside the walls. Thousands and thousands of them, small and large, broken and intact, so many they have to stem from the death of a people. You understand that the lord of the city will not be satisfied until the skulls of all the peoples of Argos litter these plains.

All of a sudden the portcullises start to open. Startled, you slip on the skulls and fall backwards, flailing out as you break the surface. Cold, dark water blinds you as you try to get hold of something. Anything. All sound is gone, you can hear nothing but the weight of cold water on your eardrums. Your clothes, soaked and heavy are dragging you down, and you know that soon you will have to breathe.

You wake up, gasping, and then you fall asleep again. You dream restless, haunted dreams for the rest of the night.

Storyteller's note: You dream this the last night in Septimus.

Despair

~Leviathan of Despair~

Artist: Patrick Schemat

Since the Prince of Nightmares, Lord Morfæus, disappeared, Lord Gilgul has continued to strengthen the Dreamshield in preparation for the Coming of the Olympos. However, without the leadership of the Dreamlord, the nightmares are changing.

When Morfæus forged the Dreamshield, he drew upon the fears of the Deep to gain strength, and while Lord Gilgul's Dream Wardens, as well as the Bearers of the Letter, will hunt and kill any nightmare that serves the Exarch, some dreams have become powers in their own right.

Lately, the Leviathans have begun to walk the Dreaming. Their Gift is Despair, and those visited by them will sink into depression and melancholy, often ending with sudden suicides.

Dreamwalking

Anette is late. Far too late. It is getting dark, and she is still not out of the forest. She has been visiting her aunt, and one of her cows had a hard labour. And now she is late.

She has been dreaming about this for two weeks now. And now she is trapped in the nightmare again, only awake this time. The forest has gone quiet. It's like all the colour has drained out of the world. And she knows that the beast is here. She has dreamt this.

In the dark woods something moves. A great black shape, glistening in blood and broken steel. It moves heavily, like a very large predator. It takes deep breaths, smelling the chill night air. Steam rises from the great, dark shape. Anette knows it has caught her scent. She starts running, as she knew she would.

Behind her the beast moves. It will catch up with her, and she can't stop running. She almost loses her footing crossing a small bridge, but manages to keep running. The beast is gaining. She can hear it now, the sound of its feet hitting the ground, its breath.

She comes to the small stream where she knows she will stumble. It will overtake her, and then she will wake up. Only this is not a dream. She stumbles. She almost manages to get up, but then one of her bare feet hit a sharp rock. The pain pierces through her, and she screams.

The beast is here now. She rolls over on her back, scurrying backwards in the cold water. From her foot a red mist spread outward from the wound. The beast is savouring the moment. It looms over her. It is so large it blots out the sky. Saliva is dripping from a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth. This is where she woke up when she was dreaming. She can't wake up from this.

The man comes from nowhere. He leaps into the creek, placing himself between her and the beast. He has a solid walking stick, and he holds it like a club. In his other hand he is holding a book. He holds the book infront of him like a shield. "I carry the Letter!" he shouts, then, "Get back, demon, she is not for you!" The beast roars. It's so loud it shakes the leaves on the trees like a wind. The man doesn't move. "I carry the Letter!" His voice is firm, and the beast roars again in frustration.

It tries to get around him, but he won't let it. "She is not for you, demon!" The beast roars again, frustrated, angry, impotent. "I call you by your True Name, N'Gartl. Be gone!"

The beast growls menacingly while it retreats into the forest, it's eyes never leaving the man.

He turns to Anette and kneels. "Wake up now," he says gently, and something stirs in the edge of her awareness. Her foot hurts, and she blinks away some tears. When she open her eyes again she is alone. No man, and no beast. It feels like she's just awoken from a terrible nightmare, and while the fear still lingers she can feel it diminishing by every breath.

Anette makes it home that night, and later, when she dreams, the beast does not return.

Storyteller's note: I got this idea after playing Sheperd last chapter. It started as Little Red Ridinghood, but it took a slightly different turn.

The last chapter

Storyteller's note: The first and last act of the last chapter was told by me and the middle by a very good friend.

The way Argos works, the Dreaming is a distinct Realm, sovereign unto only itself; and the Dreaming is ruled by nightmares. Not long ago, the entire Realm was built by the first of the Younger Gods -- a god so powerful it became a trinity, Morfeus, Geminon and Shaitan. Morfeus is the Lord of Nightmares, the force that bound all of Nightmare together. Now the Prince of the Realm has gone missing, and things are stirring deep in sinister dreams.

Act 1

The morning after M'narcel walked into the city of Assari and unleashed the Nightmare Demon, no one in the camp of Man had slept. Galan, having kept rigorous control his mind for so long without sleep, decided to take his rest.

M'narcel felt an urge to revisit the city in daylight, to see that things were safe now, but this was mainly shouted down by the Company until someone mentioned loot. Shortly thereafter, Banzel drove the Automotor  towards the nearest gate with M'narcel and van Zaar aboard. By now, they had received a few frightened looks and warding mutters from the soldiers in the camp.

Once at the gates, the trio starts debating the degree of danger inside the city walls. eventually deciding that only one should enter - and the rest should wait outside until one knew what one was dealing with. The logical choice fell on the volunteer, M'narcel. By now, they had debated long enough for some five hundred Green Dragoons to arrive. They, being an elite Macharite regiment, and being brave lads and all, had been ordered to investigate the city before allowing anyone else inside. Of course they would not stop the fine Gentlemen Adventures from entering. Exactly what what followed is uncertain, but tempers flared, and the trio stood aside while the primitives blew the gate open.

First fifty dragoons ride in, and as they come out dispatches start riding. Van Zaar, offended and disgusted by the incompetence of the military regimen stalks off towards the camp. After having vented his frustration by making sure he was perceived as properly unpleasant (menacing stares and cold laughter) by passing troops, M'narcel decides that he is supposed to be inside the walls. So he walks through the gate.

Banzel, waiting in the Automotor in the fields get a distinct feeling that something is horribly wrong, and rush back to the camp. There, van Zaar, being a Dreamer, is able to identify what's happening: By letting N'Garthl loose in such a manner, a hole has been ripped in the tapestry. A Dream Sink has occurred -- an incredibly awesome phenomenon, a Force of Reality in itself. Good news, he can inform, it will end by itself, and soon. Bad news, M'narcel is inside, and getting out may not be possible.

In a concerted effort, the cabal reaches out to each other from one world to another, and thus, Galan, Banzel and van Zaar enter the Dreaming through astral imersion, their souls leaving their sleeping bodies, huddled together for strength, behind.

The Prince sit vigil over the dreamers.

Act 2

Storyteller's note: Here I am playing Sheperd, one of the First Letters of the Dream Caste. Very little is known about the Dream Caste by those who dream, and nothing by those who don't. Their founding event was the dreamcast Franko da Cola made before transcending to Prince of Nightmares. Fifty letters were sent to Dreamers who answered the call.

Sheperd is a man of great faith, who sees the need for great sacrifice. The reason for his presence here seems to be two-fold, but he appears to be someone who belongs in the Dreaming.

Van Zaar is NPC'ed.

---

Once the cabal has entered the Dreaming, they come across a door in the empty dreams in the wake of the Dream Sink. Coming out of the door is a gentleman of indeterminable age, well dressed for walking. He introduces himself as Sheperd, and greets van Zaar by his given name, he then bids the cabal walk inside to the Corridor. From there he takes them to a peaceful location in a dream about reveal a nightmare.

Here Sheperd and M'narcel have a talk about the things M'narcel have done. The three summons of N'gartl is mentioned, especially the Scutino-incident. Sheperd argue the danger and irresponsibility of the acts, while M'narcel maintain that nothing he's done has been against the will of the Company. The two do not reach an agreement on the issue. Sheperd here passed on the warning of the Olympos to M'narcel.

Here the realities of being caught in the Dream Sink became clear. There was no way to get out, or so it would seem. Sheperd told the Company that he was going to the Castle of A Thousand Doors to find out what happened to Morfeus, and recruited the heroes in this endeavor. His path, he told them, was to locate the Castle, then enter through the Library. He also mentioned the possibility of finding a way out of the Dreaming from there.

And so they traveled through the nightmares, following one line of dreams after another, until they arrived at the shores of the Sea. The ancient nightmare of the unfathomable ocean proved to be difficult to cross without coming too close to the Deep -- these days you can get lost out there. M'narcel and Banzel had a brainstorming on the matter, and they came up with a plan for an airship to fly above the water. M'narcel then shaped the ship out of pure Spirit Essence.

Traveling in this manner, they found one of the Great Dreams, and through it they managed to get close to Grimfang Forest where they had to abandon the ship and continue on foot. At this point, Galan was starting to become worn down by the nightmare he had been trapped in. Apathy and a small seed of Desperation seemed to set in as he was dragged deeper and deeper. Inside the Primordial Forest, Banzel discovered a Ledetråd. A line, like a thread running through Creation, that could be followed.

The mysterious stranger, this dreamwalker, seemed content to let the heroes do most of the leg-work. While they traveled, he and M'narcel had a few conversations. The only way, Sheperd said, to get inside the castle itself is to enter when the doors between the Library and the Castle is opened to let the Nightmares flush the Library. Dangerous work, but he had to go there. The company could follow, or try to make their way out on their own.

Inside the Library, the company made sure to look for books of note. Only the Captain, knowing exactly which book he wanted, and knowing its name, managed to locate the Saragossa Manuscript. At this point, however, he was hard beset by Despair and wanting only to awake. He was convinced to go even deeper into the nightmare by van Zaar, and especially M'narcel. The latter now starting to glimpse the forces moving behind the scenes.

So, when night fell upon the Library and the doors were cast open, the Cabal walked with Sheperd through a maelstrom of raging claws and fangs and mouths, tearing, snapping and howling at them. Unscathed and inside, they come again to the Corridor. This time it takes them to the Throneroom. The very center of the Realm, now vast and empty, filled with nothing but sadness and silent echoes. Here, behind the Hybris, the throne of Morfeus, M'narcel sees a creature. Half featureless and half function, he is Möbel, the servant of Morfeus. His master is not in, he says.

Now Galan and Banzel make a feverish attempt to get out, but find themselves unable to leave this dream. M'narcel, however, speak of great things there, on top of one of the myriad of towers in the Castle.

Once he has spoken Möbel is again asked for the way out, and this time he answers truthfully. Sheperd bids the Company farewell, and reminds M'narcel that he is now part of the Chain, and that he now carries the Letter.

The heroes wake up.

Act 3 ~


Galan wake up and find himself spooned by Banzel and van Zaar. He feels terrible, and so does the rest. The three of them are obviously ill.

M'narcel at the same time, finds himself alone back in the city. Apart from a camp set up by some soldiers by one of the gates there is nothing inside the walls. Not even houses. He quickly appropriates a horse and rides hard up to the camp. Here he finds that a wide fence has been erected around their tent, and that solid-looking soldiers have been set to guard it, inside the fences. He is let through without any challenge.

The Cabal receives a letter from the Marshall stating that as they have been non-responsive for a while, he, the Marshall, have made sure they are as safe as possible. Now the heroes realize that three and a half days have passed since they entered the Dreaming.

They respond back, informing the Marshall that the Cabal will leave this theater. They plan to return to the Pius.

The First Letter

17 Sextum, YE 1013

This morning, when I woke up from the dream, I found the Letter on my bedside table.

---

The Olympos is coming,

you must prepare!

---


Storyteller's note: Entry in the diary of an Oneironaut.

The last chapter

Having made it to Drachenau, the Company were now faced with the task of finding their way back again. This proved to be anything but easy. The captain discovered this when he realized that he was unable to tell where he was, let alone how to get back to the citrus grove (for a Deciple of Space, this can be rather terrifying).

Luckily, M'narcel was able to locate a path. Van Zaar was certain that they were deep in the Dreaming, and that they should head for the port of Longing. On these precepts, they followed the path towards the ocean. Van Zaar also named a few particularly nasty locations and creatures, just to make sure everybody expected the worst.

After a while, the path led them to a gorge, with a small river that threw itself forcefully towards lower ground. On an ancient stone bridge accross the river, a man sat, smoking his pipe. Black haired, clad in a worn but well kept traveler's coat, with a black staff resting against the bridge's railing; van Zaar quicly reckognized Sir William, the Black Staff of Argos, arguably the greatest wizard of this time.

As it happens, Blackstaff was waiting for the Company, and in the manner of wizards, seemed to expect them exactly when they came. He was meaning to talk to them, he said, and for the next while that is what happened. The heroes asked himany questions, and he answered them to the best of his ability. They asked about libraries and Outsiders, about magic and the future, and about other things purtaining to the end of the Third Age.

"Where we stand now, know that defeat is the most likely outcome."

~Sir William Blackstaff

Blackstaff also told the tale of his Awakening; when Aziz, carrying the fallen Grishnak, led his followers accross the desert to the Broken White Tower. Where the ancient Living Prophet showed Blackstaff the path to Awakening before He was killed, and where he was given the Black Staff by the Master of the Ahl-i'Bahtin. He told them about Franko da Cola, a man he has been following ever since the Great Betrayal. He spoke of many more great things.

Upon parting, Blackstaff showed the Company the path back, then he wandered off into mystery again, promising that they would meat again.

"I walk the narrow path between what is and what must not be, between what will happen and what may come to pass."

~Sir William Blackstaff

Upon reaching the citrus grove again, the debate over what to do next erupted. They had been given leave to call upon the dragon Ahazverus three times, and here they had need of a powerful intervention. The discussion led towards calling the dragon down on first Assari, then Victoria, and in so doing, forcing Caracalla out into the open. But first they would meet with the Marshall.

Marshall Roeder seemed quite pleased with the prospect of taking two cities in as many days, and so their plan got his blessing.

When night fell over the besieged city of Assari, the plan had been altered slightly. Galan would create a magical gate from their own lines to a tower on the city walls. Through it, Aegir, M'narcel, and himself, would make their way to the middle o the city. There M'narcel would summon the great nightmare-beast N'Gartl, thus reserving the dragon for a later time.

Before the gate was opened, Banzel sniped off the three guards on the tower. The rest of the men on watch in that tower this night were dispatched by the Last Prince of the Enæïdan while the trio descended to street-level. The streets of Assari, quiet under the curfew, offered little to stop or deterr the infiltrating war cabal.

On the central piazza M'narcel called out to the dream-demon again, offering it every soul within the city walls. As the Hound of Morfeus tore into reality, Galan created another gate, leading the three back to their compannions, and to safety.

That night, none slept in the camp of the besiegers. From within the city, the screams of the dammned rose towards the heavens like flames from a great fire. Only come daybreak did silence fall over the empty houses, streets, and fortifications of Assari.

Crossroads

 Artist: Alexey Egorov

The plain stretched forever in all directions - the kind of forever that wasn’t merely a figure of speech. The sky that seemed to be a dull mirror of the emptiness beneath it was the color of the sea. There was nothing anywhere that broke the monotony. Nothing. Except from the Signpost at the Crossroads. It wasn’t the kind of signpost that actually helped to figure out where he was, as the signs were all blank. The four empty signs pointed down the four roads that met (or started, he wasn’t sure) at the Crossroads. The roads looked identical, and he’d turned around a few times and no longer knew which one he had come down. He was lost.

Ylvin had been here before. In fact he came here every night, and he was no longer afraid of the Signpost or the Crossroads. Why should he? Every night since he turned twelve he’d dreamt this place. It was his place, he knew.  Actually, he’d started to think that it wasn’t him, rather he was it. He still remembered when he’d thought of himself as a boy approaching manhood, looking at girls, dreaming of becoming a soldier (but knowing he’d end up a mason like his father). He still pretended to look at girls when he wasn’t dreaming, but he longed to return to himself, to become the dream that was him.

He apprenticed with his father on the construction site in Volvona, but he knew that he would never become a mason.  He simply did not care about the secrets of the trade. He was absentminded, and he never seemed to be able to keep his mind on the trivial tasks he was assigned. His mind was somewhere else, and he was always tired.

As soon as he closed his eyes he was there – no, as soon as he closed his eyes, he became There.

There were travelers on the roads, some nights more than others. He knew that one road led to the Dreamshell. Each night nightmares marched down that road to fight and die, in endless columns. Each night they killed until they were killed themselves, only to return the next night. That was their dream. The Crossroads was his. There were other travelers as well: dark riders and gruesome creatures, stalking the Dreaming, or doing their masters bidding. He never actually saw any of them, but they were in his memories when he woke up, like fading dreams. They didn’t concern him. He was the Crossroads. He was the Signpost.

Ylvin wanted to go back to sleep. Gods, he was tired. Always tired.

~o~

The Dreaming is very important in the world of Argos, as it is the domain of Morfeus, the Dreamlord. Of the Younger Gods, he is the oldest, and the most powerful. His last act was to forge the Dreamshell to guard Argos against the Olympos. Since then, he has not been seen. The vast throne room in the Castle of a Thousand Doors is empty and deserted, and Morfeus has lost himself in Quietus. The greatest of the Younger Gods has become a mad wanderer, and his servants no longer have a master.

 The Corinthian 

Artist: Abel Góngora

The three most powerful of the Named Lords of the Dreaming are:

• Lord Gilgul, the fear or righteous retribution. He appears as a tall shadow in a gleaming white suit of armor. He is the general of the armies of Nightmare, and the commander of the Dreamshell.
• The Corinthian, the nightmare of the Awakened. Beneath the Corinthian's cloak there is nothing but a book-pyre and the witch's stake.
• N'Garthl, the Beast of Thorns. N'Garthl is made of flesh, blood and steel, and is nothing but hunger. He was granted the right of Three Souls by Morfeus, and while he is the easiest of the Named Lords to summon, he will exact his prize.