Today I fell asleep before it went off, so I tried waking up again that I wouldn't be too full of energy all through the day. I couldn't, though, and I turned and turned until it was time to move. Getting into waterfalls and other kinds of downward headed bodies of water, getting into the usual gondola to the graveyard, I kept trying to prepare myself semi-consciously for the scenes I was about to witness there.
Eventually I left the fuming two-storey gondola and blew a nervous cloud with a faux-wand. Walking in, I realised new gravestones were placed all around the cemetery, and mine has landed blissfully close to the edge, a silent corner with many open graves all around. The vampires were bustling around as always, performing various magicks on each other and themselves, in an ever-lasting power struggle they have been cursed to be locked in for all eternity. Or, until relieved of service.
A great many new messages were scrawled over my new gravestone, the first one from a rather pleasant sanguinist - it requested me to attend a little invocation later on the day. The gravestone didn't appear to gather in the voices of the The Punished from below, so I had to switch to a more finely tuned spot to lend an ear for all the sinners in hell.
The initial calm lasted quite long this time, I managed to transfer a lot of shame from The Cursed to the dead fields around me without feeling a little impatient. I created three more clouds and had about two dozen more hell spawn feel righteous and entitled. Their blame and failure solidifying to a wall around my temporary gravestone, I felt like the fellow summoners were further away than they really were.
The pleasant vampire then escorted me to an enclosure, where we agreed that I need to take more of the transferred powers into myself; cursed, hateful, heavy of guilt as they were. It evidently made for a more skilled summoner, if I did.
From experience, I already knew that it would only make me an unbalanced dark craftsman, but I didn't comment on the matter, as the smiling bloodsucker's usual spell of the thousand faces has considerably lost from its usual potency, and I assumed the poor thing must be going through a tough time nowadays.
After all this, I slipped a little on my inner calm, as it was slowly squeezed out from the soles of my feet. All the formless voices poured their disposable hatred and rage in from the top, you see. Advised to let it flow through the barriers, I have stood and paced and chanted until my throat was coarse from all the scratchy, empty words, and my form empty of almost all calm.
A little, withering little bubble in my chest (where a heart would be for most awake humans, I was taught), a bubble of serenity has kept holding on to my bones through the showers of horror I washed my insides in. That little bubble, it lead me through the forest, already stingy and bright with the dawn passed by. It sat me down in my spacious crypt, even forced a few gulps of blood down for sustenance.
It then had me expel all that horror on a large canvas that has grown dusty and grumpy from disuse. It formed something peculiar - not pretty, but it certainly told a story. It also made the edges of forms billow gently, and sent a shiver through those waves.
And I feel so clean, as if there is no repetition in these dreams.
I wave off this thought and focus on the fact that I can be awake soon for a short while, and if for a short while, get away from this nightmare.
Eventually I left the fuming two-storey gondola and blew a nervous cloud with a faux-wand. Walking in, I realised new gravestones were placed all around the cemetery, and mine has landed blissfully close to the edge, a silent corner with many open graves all around. The vampires were bustling around as always, performing various magicks on each other and themselves, in an ever-lasting power struggle they have been cursed to be locked in for all eternity. Or, until relieved of service.
A great many new messages were scrawled over my new gravestone, the first one from a rather pleasant sanguinist - it requested me to attend a little invocation later on the day. The gravestone didn't appear to gather in the voices of the The Punished from below, so I had to switch to a more finely tuned spot to lend an ear for all the sinners in hell.
The initial calm lasted quite long this time, I managed to transfer a lot of shame from The Cursed to the dead fields around me without feeling a little impatient. I created three more clouds and had about two dozen more hell spawn feel righteous and entitled. Their blame and failure solidifying to a wall around my temporary gravestone, I felt like the fellow summoners were further away than they really were.
The pleasant vampire then escorted me to an enclosure, where we agreed that I need to take more of the transferred powers into myself; cursed, hateful, heavy of guilt as they were. It evidently made for a more skilled summoner, if I did.
From experience, I already knew that it would only make me an unbalanced dark craftsman, but I didn't comment on the matter, as the smiling bloodsucker's usual spell of the thousand faces has considerably lost from its usual potency, and I assumed the poor thing must be going through a tough time nowadays.
After all this, I slipped a little on my inner calm, as it was slowly squeezed out from the soles of my feet. All the formless voices poured their disposable hatred and rage in from the top, you see. Advised to let it flow through the barriers, I have stood and paced and chanted until my throat was coarse from all the scratchy, empty words, and my form empty of almost all calm.
A little, withering little bubble in my chest (where a heart would be for most awake humans, I was taught), a bubble of serenity has kept holding on to my bones through the showers of horror I washed my insides in. That little bubble, it lead me through the forest, already stingy and bright with the dawn passed by. It sat me down in my spacious crypt, even forced a few gulps of blood down for sustenance.
It then had me expel all that horror on a large canvas that has grown dusty and grumpy from disuse. It formed something peculiar - not pretty, but it certainly told a story. It also made the edges of forms billow gently, and sent a shiver through those waves.
And I feel so clean, as if there is no repetition in these dreams.
I wave off this thought and focus on the fact that I can be awake soon for a short while, and if for a short while, get away from this nightmare.
