Postby Bone Clothes » Tue Nov 06, 2012 4:36 am
Ah, Følgesvenn, how glad I am to find you awake. The nightmares still plague me, each night grows longer. I am sure I was meant to gain understanding from tonight's terror but I still can not make heads or tails of it.
Are the raven still sick? I would be interested to know if any of my fellow lords are active this night, I am also expecting important word tomorrow.
...these terrors are so vivid. Tonight, as sleep took me, I entered into a large hall and walked toward the head of a great table, around which sat all of my lords, but they barely acknowledged me. When I reached the head of the table I found a man with a sword across his lap, whose clothes were covered in blood stains. I stared at the sword as he lifted it to gently set it on the table. It landed with an impressive sound. Behind me I heard horse, turning I saw two great armies clashing on the field around me, at my feet were three bodies. Soldiers cut one another down, spears flashing in the sunlight, war cries filling the air. The battle raged, blood matted my hair, glory dripped from my pick.
There was a moment in the thick of battle when time seemed to stand still. The sun reflected off a knight's blade as he swung it with all his might towards you, Følgesvenn. I saw it before I heard it, I saw you open, glory soaked your clothes, and splattered the sword arm of your attacker. The sound reached my ears at the same moment as my enemies battle axe. I woke with a yell, but I wasn't in bed, and the room wasn't cold. I was outside, the ground was hard and cracked, the sun was hot. I couldn't see you but I knew you were there, I examined what other things I knew. Many lords from the battle were there. The knight that laid you low was there.
I sat, to meditate, searched for the split, but there was none, my spirit was whole. Where I had expected to find the tree I found instead an obelisk. Carved into it were worlds, one above the other, and carved onto those worlds were thousands of archetypes. The Paladin, the Scholar, the Fool, the Virgin. The worlds higher up contained fewer carvings, I watched as the carvings filled with blood. The thought that hit me upon seeing this was as powerful as a war hammer to the chest, it knocked me from my meditation and left me sprawled on the baked ground. I lay there, staring at the sky, unable to move, until I realized I was staring at my own ceiling. Looking out the window I found I had slept for no more than several hours.
I am unwell Følgesvenn, each night I get less sleep or perhaps more. I don’t even know what I know anymore. I sleep for years, only to wake exhausted, and find that hardly any time has passed. I hope they send word soon, I think knowing will bring rest.