|
|
Post by Jack on Oct 16, 2019 8:13:24 GMT -6
Another dream, or was it a nightmare? She had a hard time distinguishing between the two anymore, but she had woken in another cold sweat and knew what had to be done. At least this time she knew what was happening instead of like last time, when she had gotten the green and brown egg. It still hadn't hatched, but it wiggled from time to time as though it was waiting on something, maybe it was waiting on this... Jack threw on some clothes, grabbed her bag and her coin, and hurried out the door before letting the door close behind her. It was dark out still, but she could find her way as she tried her hardest to remember the dream. "I had another dream, the dreamer was fleeting," she started when the question was asked after she got to the pool again, "I know I saw black, lots of black, but dark purple and dark blue at the same time. I remember five toes, and stars..." Jack trailed off and then smiled a little, "It was watching over us, guiding us, and it seemed... pleased..."Shaking her head, she looked down at the coin and ran her thumb over it for a moment before tossing it into the pool among the others she assumed were there. Hopefully she would meet the dreamer. ((Galaxy themed, mentally spacey but smart, dark purples, dark blues, and black. Five toes.)) |
|
Darky
Flea Market Artist
Veritas et Aequitas
Posts: 1,920 
|
Post by Darky on Oct 28, 2020 11:55:28 GMT -6
Tink.. tink.. tink..
A soft swoosh and a silence.
The coin disappears among the riches.
There is laughter again, bells in the air as the ghostly tat-lung reappears and disappears again, floating through the air.
Mist begins to gather from the tunnels branching off into darkness, floating in towards the centre of the room, swirling and gracefully drifting in gentle vortices before the great pile of treasure. It comes from all around and yet the bulk of it seems to bellow in from one particular one, unique to the person perceiving.
"A fine dream, fine indeed," the tat-lung jovially calls from the nothing they're in. "I wonder what the dreamer thinks of that?"
A laughter and the air changes.
There's a core to the mist, something empty, something heavy, a constant pull.
A shadow forms among the vortices, long and thin, drawing themselves into reality itself.
The colours dance in spirals around it - purples, blues and black, speckled in starlight, and the air is filled with the scent of void.
The form finalizes, hovering before you, studying you with ancient eyes.
It speaks and its voice is foreign, yet always known.
"All creation gravitates towards the heart of the world. We cannot escape it. We should not."
Then, the vision fades, the form swooshes down to the ground and coalesces into something small and round.
As you pick it up, the ghostly tat-lung's face appears mere inches beside yours and they whisper in echoing bells: "Its time to wake up."
The world turns, the dream becomes a blur and gravity seems to pull you all the way back along your path like a rubber-band snapping.
You jolt awake, outside, standing at the front of your residence in the cold of the night.
Cold and clammy all over, but for a strange warmth in your hands.
You look down, and feel a tug on your soul.
Is it time to wake up yet?
|
|
