Carabas

A place based on the Heian era, a woman's emerging from behind a curtain that partitions off an inner room and moving between two wooden tables where a couple other women, her friends, are eating and talking. She's dusting the tables as she talks with them. I'm standing off to one side and watching her, feeling fond but bemused. I've just noticed the wrinkles she's developed, and I wonder how long it's been since we first met. When she gets to the end of the table, I stop her and ask why she's dusting - she knows this place is an illusion I'm creating for her, she doesn't need to clean it. She says she's probably being silly, laughing, and she hands me the thing she was using to dust. I'm feeling vaguely sad about this.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm walking across the moors, heading towards a building I think of as haunted - then I mentally correct myself, it's not haunted, it's a dream of a haunted place. This distinction matters to me; something deliberately created to present a certain experience.

I'm walking through the basement of a tower, grey stone walls. There's some kind of chaos going on on the main floors above me, a distraction while I was taking care of something in the dungeon on the next floor down - but now that it's time to go, I want to avoid getting caught in whatever's happening on the main level.

There's two people waiting for me with two different escape routes - neither of them knows exactly what I was doing here, neither of them knows me personally, and neither them knows about the other. There's a person I work with who'd arranged for a man to meet me by the stairs up to the main floors, but I'm having second thoughts about trusting him. And there's a woman waiting by a wooden door that leads elsewhere; she's not involved at all, she just wants to escape whatever's going on upstairs and is willing to take me with her, recognizing me as a friend of a friend. I believe she would be more sympathetic to what I was doing here, if it came out.

Deciding to go with that woman at the wooden door, I'm doubling back, passing by the stairs leading down to the dungeon. I debate whether I have time to go back down there - there had been something else I'd wanted to look into down there, though it's not a priority. I start down those steps, but it becomes so dark I can't see, and I have a vague impression of massive chains. I can hear a woman's voice crying. I decide I don't have time to be fumbling around in the dark, and I head back up the stairs.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

A man is looking at a wall recently painted green in an attempt to emulate some other place, and talking to someone about a man he knows, saying that while he wasn't looking, the man went and got married to people so unsuited - people, plural, meaning both the wife and the stepkids - people he'll have to keep secrets from.

I'm watching light play over the features of the man in question in an interesting way. He's looking at a signet ring with an image of a rose, which he's just removed from a hiding place in the base of a lamp. I'm hearing a kind of tinkling sound like a music box repeating a single measure over and over again.

I'm in a hospital, speaking to a doctor. There was some information I'd wanted to get from him, but he's assumed I'm here about something else, a person who's been checked into the hospital with a specific condition. I hide my surprise and go with his assumption, only expressing my surprise that he'd known about this patient, since the ward they're in isn't his responsibility - has he kept an eye out for this condition since the last time we met? I'm privately thinking that if that person's developed that condition, then this both simplifies my job and complicates it; I no longer need the information I'd come here for originally.

I'm discussing this development with three other people in an empty hospital room - a man with a shaved head, a teenage girl, and a person whose gender I'm not completely sure of but I'm going to go with 'she'. Black hair, ragged like she cut it herself, short in the back and long in the front; pale with bad skin; and a grey hoodie zipped up, making her look heavier than she is.

Talking about that patient's condition, the guy with the shaved head had just been saying something about how dreamers have it rough. Talks about how badly things can go wrong just from being interrupted at the wrong moment; talks about people traveling through a dream being dumped back into reality wherever they happen to be at the moment, and hoping you're lucky enough not to be overlapping some physical object at the time; and that's just the passengers, the dreamers themselves get it worse.

The person in the hoodie shrugs this off, says at least if you can heal people, no one cares what nastiness you've got going on; they're content to leave you be in your swamp.

The guy with the shaved head is disgusted by this, says yeah, you enjoy making yourself the worst person you can be.

She says to him that she learned in prison, "There's no such thing as letting go of vanity, Wade."

In some small early 20th century village, I'm the youngest in a family of three sons, and for years now it's been expected that I'll marry the neighbor's youngest daughter when we grow up - we've always been good friends. In the previous scene we'd all been sitting around my family's dinner table; now I've gone to meet her down by the river, which is so full of plants it gives the impression you could walk across them like a bridge. The girl's here waiting, but before I go to meet her, I'm distracted by another girl, a stranger, standing in the center of the river. The observer side of me thinks, I have to remember this.

Her hair is probably blonde, but it's so matted and dirty that it's hard to tell. She's dressed in old-fashioned men's clothes, a shapeless and colorless coat over a blue velvet waistcoat with a pattern of rosebuds. Then I realize that while I've been focusing on remembering the details of her appearance, I've been missing the conversation the character side of me is having with her. I drop back to focus on what the character side of me is doing.

Years later, but near that same river. One of my brothers is handing me a silver pocket watch that belongs to our father, and telling me that he's in Madrid - they've known this all along, apparently. My brothers got me to come back here on the pretense that our father's missing - I'm annoyed but not surprised to find that was a lie. There's a woman here, somehow connected to that girl in the river but not the same person, and something about biting down on a chain, and her little fangs.

I'm carrying one end of a wooden box through what looks like an abandoned house, with that woman holding the other end - it's not particularly large or heavy, just large enough to be awkward for one person. I'm looking at our hands on the box, close enough to be nearly touching. Her nails look thick and discolored, greyish; there's blood ingrained around the nail, but I'm thinking that the blood's not what's causing the dark greyish appearance, since there's blood all over my hands too.

That woman is kissing me and holding me in place, not letting me turn my head to see what's going on, telling me not to move when I try to. Something is very wrong. There's other people here; the observer side of me recognizes this moment and I switch to third person to avoid it. The scene still continues in front of me, they kill her, but I don't see much of it, focusing on remembering the earlier scenes.

There's a woman who is retrieving a certain object for me, while I watch in third person. The object is in a cave, in the possession of this large, strange creature who she's speaking to now - she's got two or three people with her. He's willing to make a deal. But after discussing terms for a while, the woman ultimately refuses; she isn't willing to agree to his terms. He accepts this, clearly believing she'll be back eventually - she has no other choice, she needs that object.

She and the others start to leave, but one of the others evidently has their own plan - another woman starts playing a strange kind of music that puts the creature into a kind of trance. She encourages the leader of their group to simply take the object. The leader is conflicted, so the woman with the music does it herself. The creature's trance is deep enough to allow her to get close to the object, but it snaps out of it once it recognizes that they're stealing from it. They run.

The cave is in the center of a sort of maze of tunnels, but although it looks confusing, the tunnels are all interconnected; as long as they keep running in the same general direction, it doesn't matter which tunnel they choose, they'll get out eventually.

They come out of the tunnels into a place that I think of as a certain type of dream, a sort of desert-like place, barren brown rock, with various dreamers here and there like landmarks. In one dream, there's a family in a yard where grapevines are growing; two heavyset old men who are brothers, and two grandchildren playing a little distance away. One brother leans in to say something to the other in a language I don't recognize, and the eyes of the one listening turn all black, which I recognize as an outward sign of the usual effect of staying in this particular type of dream too long. He's the dreamer here, these others are illusions. They see the group passing near the edges of the dream and just watch them.

The group comes across a dreamer they know, a man who the leader of this group is in love with. The others hang back on a ledge overlooking his dream, but she approaches him. He's sitting in front of the ruins of a small house - it's meant to be their house, his and hers, though they've never actually lived together outside of this dream. There's dead bodies lying around outside, things he killed, but too late to save this place from them. When he sees her there, he says, "I tried," with a sort of smile, as if this was inevitable and the only surprising thing was that he tried to save this place at all.

Then he sees the object she's stolen, and there's a shift - he stops paying attention to the storyline of the dream he's in. He asks her why she went to all the trouble of finding that thing, when there's no guarantee that the man she got it for will be grateful for it. There's an association here with trying to help a scorpion - the story of the scorpion and the frog, doing what's in your nature rather than what's in your best interest. She agrees with him, there's no guarantee that this will have the result she wants, but she wants to help the 'scorpion' anyway. She makes a joke about having a weakness for older men - lifetimes older, in this case. Her man doesn't find this funny.

I'm standing in a place covered in snow that I think of as "at the edge of all things" - although all I can see is snow to the horizon, I'm thinking of this place as a kind of boundary line. I'm with a woman wearing a black fur hat, and below it some strands of her hair have come loose, the wind keeps blowing them into her face.

I've just said something half-joking to her to the effect of, it's fine, I'm used to traveling. I'm thinking about the way I arrived in this reality in the first place, tracking her.

She, entirely serious, says something to the effect of but if you do this now, you won't ever be able to stop.

I'm walking out of a large red tent in the woods. In the previous scene I'd been having some kind of argument with two guards who work for me, but we were interrupted by a man who's now following me out of the tent, someone who I have some kind of deal with. He'd mentioned my son. I want to continue the conversation more privately.

Deeper in the woods, there's no underbrush, and the ground's covered in old fallen leaves. I drop the illusion I'd been using. I've been borrowing the identity of the man those guards used to work for, some kind of ruler, dead now. Without that illusion, there's a sort of shadow over my skin, like a photo overlaid by an image of something else - I (correctly) remember that I've used that specific comparison before in another dream; though I don't remember the details until after I wake up, I'm aware the parallel's intentional.

I'm dismissing whatever the other man has just said, angry. I tell him, "I swore to make this journey a thousand times, but you - you didn't uphold your part, did you?"

I'm wading through icy water, tracking someone down. It's dark, the water looks black, and there's this mist in the air, I can't see very far. There's bodies floating in the water, wrapped in cloth. There's another man here with me, he calls me by the name of Logan. I'm focused on the dampness in the air - it caused problems earlier when we couldn't get a fire to catch.

Thinking about fire makes me see another time, standing in a large stone hall, standing off to the left of the woman presiding over some ceremony, having to remain still throughout her speech, wearing armor, uncomfortable. There were rows of people arranged in front of us, and as she called each of them up she'd hand them a lit candle, symbolic, but I was looking at those candles and thinking of them as never enough to hold off the chill.

Back in the icy water, we've found the person we were looking for in a little area surrounded by bare trees. He's standing off to one side and watching an old woman perform some kind of ceremony, something like a funeral for the old ruler here - I have a vague impression of something strung up among the trees, either the last ruler's bones themselves or at least something representing them. She knows who we are. She tells me that just because I've killed the old ruler, that doesn't make this place mine. The territory is passed down through the blood, and there's still someone with the elf blood to inherit it - the man we've been tracking down. He's not related to the old ruler, and he's more human than anything else, as is she, but that doesn't matter; this territory will remain in the hands of his people, not mine.

The man in question objects to this - this is a situation being forced on him. He tells me he's sorry. The guy who'd tracked him down with me makes some sarcastic comment, telling him to quit the humble act; but I believe him, this isn't something he'd wanted. Nonetheless, the old woman's in the right; there's nothing I can do here, we've lost. I tell him it's all right. It's only when I speak and hear the tone in my voice that I (the dreamer side of me) realize he and I (the character side of me) had been sleeping together; we're most likely going to have to end that now.

The old woman resumes her ceremony, now involving him. It doesn't take long, just a few words. There's a wreath of pale yellow flowers which he accepts from her; as soon as the ceremony's done he drops it and it falls apart in the water. I'm thinking of the moment I first met him, when he'd been locked up in a cell.

A fragment - I'd just been fighting someone who's run off, and I'm looking at the way our fight has corrupted patches of the ground, feeling regret over that.

A woman is riding in a carriage and carrying a baby, with a small tapestry depicting an angel hanging opposite. She speaks to the angel in the tapestry, referring to it as the baby's father. The angel in the tapestry speaks back.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

An odd level of lucidity. I thought of it as feeling exactly like my waking perspective, which I disliked - I felt like I was stuck halfway between something. I had difficulty controlling anything, or even flying properly, though I could float just a bit off the ground. I was at my IRL home, and since I failed to change the scene at the front door, I started walking down the road, figuring that once I got far enough that my surroundings were less familiar, the scene would change naturally.

At the end of the road - which indeed has stopped resembling its IRL equivalent fairly quickly - I come across a small construction crew, and there's immediately an accident involving a passing car and one of the machines. I'm called over to speak as a witness. Eventually the construction worker invites both me and the driver of the car back to dinner at his house, saying that it's too late to be outdoors, it's not safe.

Some barely-lucid scenes at his home in which I meet one interesting young woman with some chronic disease; otherwise I'm mostly focused on finding an excuse to avoid eating anything and keeping my appearance hidden behind the high collar of my coat, which causes people to come to some wrong conclusions about me. I don't correct them. I eventually find an excuse to step outside.

He was right, it is dangerous to be out this late - many people have been infected by something like madness or bloodlust. It's a kind of miasma. I come across infected people in the woods armed with farm equipment, pitchforks and that sort of thing; they've been waiting in this one patch of shadows to ambush whoever comes along. I enjoy this. Whatever this miasma has done to them, it doesn't affect me directly, not in the way it affects them at least; but their resulting madness is something I sort of feed off of, it's exhilarating.

At a crossroads I come across a group of four people who work for me - a blonde woman with her hair in a bun, a very pale man with long black hair, a small man wearing glasses, and a bald man with a tattoo in the center of his forehead. They've plainly been enjoying the night. As we greet each other, that young woman from the house emerges from the woods and attacks me with a sword. She makes this stunningly noble and upright figure, in stark contrast to the general miasma; I like her instantly.

One of my men intercepts her, and as she's fighting him, she's accusing me of being responsible for everything going on around here. She says she recognized me at the house - apparently I'm someone in the public eye in some way - and that she'd always suspected me of being corrupted, and now I've proven it. She's not exactly wrong. I'm not the one who corrupted this place, in fact I'm trying to hunt that person down - but I am part of the corruption, she's right about that much. When my man's got her restrained, I try to explain this to her; we have a mutual enemy. If she wants to hunt him down, my corruption could be useful to her.

I'm talking to a little boy, elementary school age, while possessing the body of his older sister. He's upset with me/her because (prior to me possessing her) there was a baby photo of him that she'd shown to others. But she'd been using an edited version of the photo, cropped so that he was the only thing in the picture. The original photo was from the crime scene where they'd been found, and he'd been lying between the bodies of their parents. He's upset that she would take this image, remove the ugly parts, and present it to others as just a normal baby picture.

This takes my host completely off guard. She hadn't thought of it from that angle, even while she'd edited the photo to make it acceptable to show to others. She's emotionally attached to the photo as a whole, it's something to remind her of her family from "before." She used to look at it and dial what used to be her mother's number, listen to the answering machine - there's no answering machine at that number anymore, but she'll still dial and hang up just out of habit, the familiarity of that number displayed on her phone.

Based on DA. There's this kid whose father had been an apostate and a friend of mine; I've been his guardian since his parents died, but I'm not around much. There's this old dwarf woman who's been acting as his tutor, and she's been telling me that the kid's started to show signs of inheriting his father's magic. Strange dreams, mostly. She's worried he'll attract a demon, get himself hurt - she wants to send him to the Circle to be trained. I completely refuse. His father worked hard to stay free of the Circle, I can't do that to his son. There must be someone else who can train him. In the meantime, we say nothing to the kid about any of this.

But we don't find anyone else, and eventually the old woman informs me that she's written to the Circle about him. They'll be sending templars to pick the kid up.

So I take the kid and we leave town. I don't explain why, and he thinks it's just a short trip. As we're walking on a path through the woods, he's telling me about a fennec he'd found out back, and how he's been trying to befriend it. But as he talks, his voice changes, goes deeper, and he starts saying strange things; I stop and turn around to look at him, and find the features of his face are shifting slightly, starting to resemble a sloth demon. That fades away, his face and voice returns to normal, but he's frightened - and he recognizes that was the beginning of possession.

He'd watched a friend of his become possessed once; he says he'd rather be killed than go through that. He runs off into the woods. I follow, but I don't find him.

In a cave, a young modern couple were confronted by two women, guards of something sacred who'd been hunting this man down. They fought, and now those two sacred guards are lying on the ground, one unconscious.

The man rises to float slightly in the air, and the guard who's still conscious believes this is a sign he's about to kill her - but he just scoops up the woman he's with, carrying her in his arms, floats over where that guard is lying, and keeps going. He says to the guard, "Seriously, go away."

Then he phases through the cave wall, where a mural is painted in gold. As he passes through the wall, the guard momentarily sees a different face overlaying his, someone she recognizes and greatly respects - either a religious authority who's recently died, or a god, or both.

I came across a mirror lying on the floor, remembered the TOTM and went lucid. The mirror's rather small for this - I take hold of the edges and pull it wide enough to stretch out on top of it. Initially, unusually, the mirror showed me my reflection - I focus on the background behind it, and it goes black. I briefly imagine stars in that blackness, but don't actually see them; that acts as a trigger, and I sink into the mirror as if it's liquid.

On the other side, I'm walking out of an apartment building into an alley. I have a thought that this is supposed to represent somewhere in Wyoming; but looking around at the buildings, the vending machines, this definitely looks like Japan. I wonder if that's just my mind filling in the setting with familiar memories, or if this is actually meant to be Japan; I keep walking, figuring it'll work itself out, and I had no particular goal here anyway.

I cut through a shopping area where people are eating, listening to them talk, no one saying anything particularly interesting to listen in on. I'm uncertain whether I'm visible to others; my initial impression had been that they couldn't see me, which is how I preferred it, but there do seem to be a few people here and there who notice.

Out of the shopping area and onto a main street, there are Christmas lights in the trees here. I cross the street and find the sidewalk's lined with little garden plots, blocked off by ropes - some kind of display, or some kind of competition maybe. One such plot holds a tree that fascinates me - it's white, not much taller than I am, gnarled, no leaves, and covered here and there in pale green moss with small blue flowers. Very beautiful.

There's a human woman who, when looking at a particular vampire through a mirror, would see a reflection of him that no one else could see - or rather a sort of different version of him, seen far off and from a distance, performing different actions. She's never been sure exactly what this means. He believes that she's been seeing something like his soul, or another side of him - he saw it as something like a hope for salvation. Right now, though, he's leaving town; he's loading luggage into a car, and both he and his sister are dressed in a drastically different, more formal style than she's ever seen them wear before - she thinks of it as out of character. But it only seems that way to her because they're destroying the personas they've been using with these particular identities and creating new ones, and she's never seen them do that before.

She's standing on the sidewalk, talking to his sister, and she's saying, but what about those visions of "the man in the glass" - how can the two of them just leave her without finding out what her visions meant? The sister says those visions were just illusions that he's ready to move on from.

I'm in a fortress that's been evacuated, watching a woman who's been advising me as she treats this survivor we'd found lying unconscious in the hall. Now that she's conscious again, my advisor comes to me and says we're in luck; the woman's the head of a noble house and she considers her loyalty as being to the throne itself, not to any particular claimant, so she's willing to pledge her sword to me. I'm aware that there was some previous meeting that had declared me the legitimate claimant to the throne, and that's what's determining this woman's decision, not that we've saved her life; if the meeting had declared in favor of someone else, she'd be supporting that person instead.

The character side of me is surprised by this statement about pledging her sword; I say to my advisor, what, again? I'd had to find three noble houses to declare their swords to me, I'd managed it, there'd been a ceremony - that part's done now, isn't it? My advisor can't believe I'd say such a thing; exasperated (rightfully so, the observer side of me thinks), she explains that I need all the swords I can get, especially now as we're making for Hightower - I have a mental image of entering a military encampment and seeing the top of a round tower of brown stones in the distance. I see her point now that she's said it, and I think about the route between here and Hightower, and all the noble households located along that route. I hope we don't have to repeat the actual ceremony each time.

(Woke up. Back to sleep.)

I'm part of a group of people protesting some issue, focusing on a sort of police force in a particular community but with broader implications. Trying to figure out how best to handle this, I enter the mind of the man in charge of the police force, trying to see what would sway him, what approach he would listen to. I find that the problem isn't our approach, it's that nothing coming from this source is going to sway him - even if my group convinced every last person in the community to unite and speak up, this man sees our community as a problem to be solved, a situation to be managed. If the police force is going to change, it needs pressure from someone else.

I travel to the mind of that man's superior, a political position. He's more sympathetic to the issue in the community, but he won't act just based on sympathy; it's important to him that he make "impartial" decisions about where to focus his limited time and resources. If public opinion among the area he serves as a whole was pressuring him to focus on this issue, or particularly influential groups or political powers, then he would focus on it. He considers this the most responsible approach.

Following the trail of political influence, I eventually come to the ruler of the country. He would be surprised to be asked about this issue at all; he considers it outside of his jurisdiction. This is the church's responsibility.

I come to the leader of the church, the equivalent of a pope. She also believes this isn't up to her; this is an issue for each nation to decide.

I'm disembodied, following a man as he walks out of a stone fortress through a side door. He's upset. I'm trying to mentally push him into making a choice that he doesn't see yet - there's a group of people staying at this fortress, and when they leave, I want him to leave with them. I need him working with them, and he'll be much happier as well. It only hasn't occurred to him yet because that would be desertion, which I think of as a minor nuisance. He's in a position of command in this semi-military, semi-religious order, a position he'd never wanted, and I've been mentally pushing him to focus on all the ways he feels trapped here.

The fortress is surrounded by an evergreen forest, and there's a little snow here and there. He stops right outside the door, believing that he's just getting some air. He's thinking about that group traveling through that I want him to leave with, and thinking about how his order can't show emotion, contrasting it with that group. He's looking at something on the ground that I can't see, and he's thinking that he'd be crying right now if he was capable of it.

I push him to walk further from the door - he thinks of it as walking aimlessly, but I have a direction in mind. There's several tables set up from something going on here during the day, mostly empty now. He looks over the devices assembled on one of them - he doesn't understand how any of them work, but he feels like he's spent all day protecting this stuff from overly curious onlookers, and managing the nobility, and running errands for the great and the good - it seems completely ridiculous to him that this is his life. It's the opposite of where he ever expected to be.

He keeps walking. I make sure he focuses on the little pool of blood on the stone ground here, a dozen or so dead crows around it, deliberately placed in a certain formation. One of his men had called it "a battlefield for crows" earlier. He has absolutely no idea what this disgusting thing is for, it's just one more thing he's had to keep people away from today. As he's looking at it, he sees someone standing at the edge of the woods. He's startled; at first glance, it looks like the man who used to be in command here, who'd moved on a few months ago and left him in charge. He feels relieved - and by feeling the extent of that relief, he's just now become really aware of just how much weight's been on his shoulders since that man left. But then the person moves and breaks the illusion. It's not him.