The Varsh
09-04-10, 03:11 AM
Varsh found himself in what appeared to be a vast, gray, featureless plain. Around him swirled eddys of shifting colors. Mingled voices could be heard. As he moved through this landscape, seemingly carried by an unknown force, the whirls became vortexes. Each vortex called to him, pulled him towards it. He was filled with a feeling much like a child trying to pick his favorite toy for a long trip. Time seemed awash in this land. It was strange and yet strikingly familiar. "The Dreaming..." he heard himself whisper, and the small dream vortices scattered at his speech.
After what seemed an eternity the landscape began to fill in. The gray featureless ground became a grassy expanse. Headstones came next, dotting the land around him. Clouds materialized, darkened, and began to pour down their contents upon the newly formed graveyard. Ghosts of people wandered by. Vague shapes that flitted past him. They too slowly took on more of a definite shape. Mourners, dressed in the traditional full black garb, strode by with the heavy gait that only a funeral procession can bring. Soon, the whole picture was in view, as if Varsh was actually in this graveyard viewing the sad event. And then, like a hammer, the weight of the emotion in that somber place settled over him.
He could tell that the woman standing closest to the fresh grave was a young mother. And the small coffin that had been lowered into the ground was her son. He had died of disease, a terrible ordeal that had left his once vibrant and youthful body twisted and dried up. She wept, as did Varsh, for her sadness at this terrible loss was like a dagger in him. He knew what she knew, loved as she loved, grieved as she grieved. He was rooted to where he was, overcome with emotion. He wanted to walk to her, touch her, speak to her, tell her that she was never alone. But before he could the world fractured violently as though the entire world were made of glass and it had been struck with a solid blow. A voice, booming and forceful came to him then.
"'Ey! 'Ey! You's cannae' sleep 'ere! Ya snorin' boderin' the otter patron's!" Varsh's eyes snapped open at the voice. A slightly disheveled man was shaking his leg (which had been propped up on an adjacent chair) and snapping a finger in his face.
"Hmm..mmmmrrrwwhaaa?" Varsh said thickly. He then realized he'd been dreaming. Or weaving, or walking, or whatever the hell it was called. He opened his eyes and sat upright. He took in the slightly darkened tavern and slowly worked his mind back into gear. He'd worked that job, digging a ditch all day, and had gotten enough coin to buy a drink for himself. He must have fallen asleep in his chair here, and now the bartender or whoever he was was fervently trying to awaken him. "Sorry sir...sorry...didn't realized I had drifted off. Won't happen again." he said after stifling a yawn.
"You right aboot dat." said the man, "I'll trow you oot meself if'n it does." and with that he walked away, presumably back to the bar.
"Surly..." Varsh muttered and stretched, it was then he reached up and felt the tears that had fallen for the woman in his dream. "No...her dream..." he thought to himself. It was becoming more and more prominent, the...visits. He wiped his eyes quickly and took an idle sip at the beverage that had been on the table before his impromptu nap. He sat back in his chair and scanned the room idly while his mind returned to the dream. This one had been the most vivid of all. He became lost in his thoughts among the soft light and quiet conversation of the tavern.
After what seemed an eternity the landscape began to fill in. The gray featureless ground became a grassy expanse. Headstones came next, dotting the land around him. Clouds materialized, darkened, and began to pour down their contents upon the newly formed graveyard. Ghosts of people wandered by. Vague shapes that flitted past him. They too slowly took on more of a definite shape. Mourners, dressed in the traditional full black garb, strode by with the heavy gait that only a funeral procession can bring. Soon, the whole picture was in view, as if Varsh was actually in this graveyard viewing the sad event. And then, like a hammer, the weight of the emotion in that somber place settled over him.
He could tell that the woman standing closest to the fresh grave was a young mother. And the small coffin that had been lowered into the ground was her son. He had died of disease, a terrible ordeal that had left his once vibrant and youthful body twisted and dried up. She wept, as did Varsh, for her sadness at this terrible loss was like a dagger in him. He knew what she knew, loved as she loved, grieved as she grieved. He was rooted to where he was, overcome with emotion. He wanted to walk to her, touch her, speak to her, tell her that she was never alone. But before he could the world fractured violently as though the entire world were made of glass and it had been struck with a solid blow. A voice, booming and forceful came to him then.
"'Ey! 'Ey! You's cannae' sleep 'ere! Ya snorin' boderin' the otter patron's!" Varsh's eyes snapped open at the voice. A slightly disheveled man was shaking his leg (which had been propped up on an adjacent chair) and snapping a finger in his face.
"Hmm..mmmmrrrwwhaaa?" Varsh said thickly. He then realized he'd been dreaming. Or weaving, or walking, or whatever the hell it was called. He opened his eyes and sat upright. He took in the slightly darkened tavern and slowly worked his mind back into gear. He'd worked that job, digging a ditch all day, and had gotten enough coin to buy a drink for himself. He must have fallen asleep in his chair here, and now the bartender or whoever he was was fervently trying to awaken him. "Sorry sir...sorry...didn't realized I had drifted off. Won't happen again." he said after stifling a yawn.
"You right aboot dat." said the man, "I'll trow you oot meself if'n it does." and with that he walked away, presumably back to the bar.
"Surly..." Varsh muttered and stretched, it was then he reached up and felt the tears that had fallen for the woman in his dream. "No...her dream..." he thought to himself. It was becoming more and more prominent, the...visits. He wiped his eyes quickly and took an idle sip at the beverage that had been on the table before his impromptu nap. He sat back in his chair and scanned the room idly while his mind returned to the dream. This one had been the most vivid of all. He became lost in his thoughts among the soft light and quiet conversation of the tavern.