Dreamt I was visiting a friend in a deep country town. My friend was already the “odd one” of the quaint (read: insular) town so my arrival was greeted with snorts of condemnations and a few stink-eyes punctuating warnings about “acting out of line”. But I had passed by the Old Man’s house on the way to my friend. He was sitting on his porch, in his old rocking chair, seemingly indifferent to what was coming to and fro.
I had nodded at him in polite greeting anyway. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-02-06.01
The woman sent a written request to Dionysus about her son as a matter of last resort. She wasn’t a follower of the Mad God, and was actually quite terrified of him as a good citizen should be, but she had seen the positive changes in her son’s life after he dedicated himself, so surely this god would listen to the pleas of a desperate mother after the city’s chosen patron god’s priests mocked her for not even having enough money to buy a beggar’s blessing from the city’s only temple.
Too bad every shrine in the city dedicated to Dionysus had been torn down or concreted over when the new god’s priests took over. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-31.01
In much the same way the name I once called the Antler Crowned and Green Masked Figure by is not his name, so to are the markers and name I know a certain Broker of Information by, not his. Continue reading A Thorn By Any Other Name…
The plane was supposed to crash. I was a passenger on that plane, and I decided that it was not going to. So the extreme turbulence ended and the pilot was able to regain control.
I knew it was a dream. No other way would I be holding someone else’s baby otherwise. My fellow passengers stopped panicking and praised the pilot. The pilot quietly accepted the words and thanked “whatever power is watching”.
The baby was the only one that saw me smile. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-29.01
Dreamt of a little shit boy with a freshly shaved head, robes aged twice as old as he is and twice as large as necessary running around with a cracked wood bowl.
He was supposed to be silently begging for alms and praying for those that walked past him, regardless if they gave any or not.
He chose instead to make a pest out of himself and “play” snatch bags until the target threw money and/or food at him to make him stop. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-26.01
The master villain knows I have a wicked and evil temper. That once I lose my shit, so does everything in a five block radius. He used this to his advantage and tricked me into fighting his fire elemental behemoth in full ifrit mode.
After all, you’re not supposed to fight fire with fire, amirite? Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-24.01
I stepped into the Bazaar by happenstance. It was my intention to go to the Ocean, as it has been for some time. I would not have been surprised to walk into the Birch Grove instead. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-22.01
I turned the small dark brown vial between my fingers. I don’t remember when it was slipped into my hand, only that a fleeing shadow lost itself into the surrounding crowd before I could register that I had been touched, much less that I had gained a thing.
Another reason I hate public markets. Someone is always up to some shit. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-18.01
The monarch of a small kingdom (population: her) had purged her small kingdom (holdings: the tower) of everything she deemed unworthy. She had demanded I come to her to run a message to the leaders of the not-small kingdoms carrying her demands for their surrender, and details for how their kingdoms were to be run.
I have carried many a varied message as a Courier. Messages that pained me to take away, that pained me to deliver, that brought an end to war, that brought an end to bloodlines. I have crossed gulfs, men, and gods. And each time I did so after willfully accepting the job offered and completing the service to the best of my abilities.
Every Courier has the right to decline the request for service.
I declined this one. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-12.01
Several weeks ago, I came out of work to find an unassuming twig stuck in a vent hole on the hood of my car. The fruitless olive tree above me was shedding weak twigs in the stiff wind, so the twig had nothing going for it except having stuck the landing.
When I plucked it from its makeshift stand, however, the twig felt very important once I touched it. I tucked it away in the car to ponder later. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-01-11.01