[Written Sign] 10

First real dream here. It doesn't seem to be more than a cumulative mental expression of the past two weeks, if not the same for since the night before I first dreamt of Danger (which has, as of now, been two months). I do want to write it down, though, because Nicodeemus has started me thinking about the importance of dreams--he studies them--therefore, in spite of presently being severely disconnected from having a remote interest in learning dreams, I know that if I should wish to examine this one later, I will be pleased to have a respectable account of it.

I lived in a small house which was mine. It had four rooms and a porch, I knew I had lived there for some years. The house was on the edge of a strange little town in an area of that town set aside for residences only; "west side--residential." But there was a tiny general store out of a woman named Heleah's house within two blocks which I visited every day whether I needed to buy something or not. I get the impression that I intentionally did not purchase all I would need at the stores in the business area so that I could legitimately go to the store every day. I was older, about 100, and I had a job in town which I also went to every day. I knew that I was not on Warthadell though I did and do not know the name of the world where I was. It is interesting to note that I know Haleah --and she is the same-- from Warthadell where she keeps a shop in Drizden, but I did not during the dream associate Haleah anywhere but at that shop.
At the start of the dream I was shutting my front door to walk to the shop. It was cold-wet and slightly misty, I had on a heavy black cloak made of wool with a black fur lining. As I was walking up the street which was on a very slight incline I became aware that there was someone walking behind me. I could not hear anyone yet I knew someone was there. It would not have been wise for me to have tried to confront this person because I lived in a fairly




[Common Elf]

rough sector and that day I carried no weapons, so I remained aware of the person and pretended not to know.
When I approached the corner, one of the hired clerks from Haleah's shop approached me. He had been walking across a bridge which joined my block to the one Haleah's shop was on, crossing a canal. He recognized me, saying, "Join me; I have something to show you." Nicodeemus was beside me, and it seemed the clerk had spoken to him rather than to me. It seemed entirely reasonable that N had been the one on the road and had been walking beside me since I noticed, while I pretended not to know anyone was there and became convinced myself. The clerk used my real name then, and let me know that I was to be included.
We converged on a statue which was more of an obelisk than a statue, but was supposed to represent the city somehow and was niched and formed in spots. The clerk opened the small door on the obelisk that had always obviously been there but was not to be opened. Inside there were documents. The clerk took one out and showed it to me, I could see that they were vouchers for taxes paid. People began to buy them from him. I noticed all the vouchers were for the same amount, but he sold them for different amounts and not one voucher was sold for more than ten percent of its value.
Once it all started to seem extremely illegal to me, I looked over at N who was just standing there apparently objective and slightly amused. The clerk asked me if I would take one because he wouldn't dare try to sell one to such a regular customer. I told him that I was exempt from taxation, and he seemed a bit surprised, questioning me. N gestured at me to leave with him and I did.
It was night. I do not know when the change actually took place, but I am nearly certain it was at this point. Nicodeemus had taken me to several places where things I did not fully understand were happening, apparently




[Kettich]

all involving him either directly or indirectly, and all seeming somewhat suspicious. The last of these occurred in front of a mansion on a road in the center of nowhere woodland. He got a package from somewhere beside the house or by a post in front of it, I do not clearly remember which. The package would not have been hidden except that it so obviously could have been there that it would be overlooked (such as in a deeper shadow made by an obvious light source which was considered "reasonable" or "normal").
I must have somehow been giving away the fact that I was thinking he was being a fool because he asked me about it. "What do you think?" he said, holding up the package.
I simply said "It's no wonder you never get any sleep with all the running around you do when everyone thinks you're sleeping." I chose to say exactly that because I knew he would catch me in any lie. The sentiment I gave him had crossed my mind earlier.
We were leaving there. I didn't know where he would go next but I definitely wanted to go home. However, when I thought of home I did not think of my house, I thought of another place which I presently could write for days concerning, a place that I have not been, waking or dreaming.

There was alot of obtuse repetition in this dream so that, waking, it sincerely registers as a reoccurring dream. The most odd aspect of it was the genuine fondness I had for N in it; I knew he was a fool




[Common Man]

only because I cared that he would be associated with illegal activities. The place which my mind called "home" made up an entirely unique occurrence; I have never known so much in a flash waking or sleeping, never gathered such a strong impression from so small a reference. It is for a fact, something I seem to have carried with me waking, causing the same reaction in me now --to think of that place "home" from the dream. I will trouble none of this.

Since I have some room left on this page, there are some things I have been meaning to include for future reference.
The host is an interesting individual. In thinking about my life I have formed the hypothesis that each person has a "curse" of some sort. I do not know him well enough to guess at his, though he does seem to be showing signs of having a distinct one, and knowing what it is. Perhaps I will ask him. He always seems to be busy, which helps to form that last dream, because I really do wonder if he sleeps. It does not seem to be an intelligent pursuit to be surprised by anything about or around the host. This keep, for instance, is a place he utilizes time and so is guilty by association. I have often wondered why he allows --no, encourages-- me to be here and to learn here. I don't know what his association with the one woman (the one I think of as a queen) is, but I do not believe that this is the sort of assistance she requested of him.
It has occurred to me that I do not need to learn patience. I have already proven to myself that I can endure anything which is necessary, even leading to death, and patience would seem to inhibit that in me. Additionally, this patience vs immediate departure is causing me some unnamed confusion.




[1/2 ling] 11

Yet another oddity. I cannot ascertain if this is generated by my mind or if it is external. I will spend the day in contemplation of it, no matter if I should decide on a plan half way through. Another dream...

I saw Mojo walking slowly and looking paranoid. When I greeted him he asked if I had seen his fiancee Shechema. From Bentley on Warthadell, the goddess of magic who had come to this place, and brought Mojo, of her own accord. He asked me for "another" lullaby, and, though I do not recall having discussed lullabies with him previously, I sang one to him. He wanted some help dealing with Shechema, and I suggested Nicodeemus. Mojo is going to climb Mystic Mountain to try to locate N at the M.U. guild up there.

Since I did speak with Nicodeemus last night, the dream is reasonable. Except for Mojo. I need a way to test this; I should very much like to know if I can expect to have this new kind of dream regularly, and what kind of dream this is. Unfortunately, Nicodeemus is the only person I have really met here....It seems to require some serious thought.
There are some other factors to be considered with any plan I might think up. I want to find out if Mojo exists, and, if he does, if he is the same as in the dreams. Then and only then can I work on knowing why.




[Minotaur] 12

Confusion dream. Not confusing awake. The thoughts of "home" as I perceived them in the first dream here, the newfound realities in the new dreams in this place, the elusive potential of the borderland between day and night, from here to there and back again -- this time dreaming, this time properly. I thought I would like to find out what is behind my dreams; so much emphasis on intangibilities. What was I doing?
Warthadell isn't where I'm supposed to be. It's just a feeling, in an effort to hold any trouble back. Feelings I don't have often, and they're always wrong, but I pay attention to them. They have to mean something. Manifestations of such:

First a darkness reflecting nothing except the idea of death in its depths. A gentle mental fading into Warthadell. To myself, so privately that none of it showed on my face, I kept remembering the dream that brought me from there. I knew I was hardly more than a shadow, but I was myself, the shadow I had always been on Warthadell.
The setting confused, half everywhere I have known. I was as passive and nonexistent as my talent, experience, and determination could have made me, and no one noticed me. Not that I wanted it that way, just that it was. I remembered "home" and I knew I could get there, yet the knowledge was too faint to be certain -- and too intimate to be ignored. Until.
"You've had this problem before?" The scenery had changed, less people, less familiar, very like that which I can imagine might be the place "home" though I remain clueless in actuality.This one, this speaker, remained vague. Perhaps like some benevolent spirit, and so I refused to despise him -- as I would such a pretensive spirit -- not even allowing it down in the secret places of my being where I keep my




[Common Elf]

dangerous (and stupid) emotions hidden. Second to despite, I ignored him, which sometimes is just the same.
"My lady, learn. To be like me. Before it's too late." I looked again for some tangibility or stability and found one thing. And so it was the warnings urged me to flee, to do anything to get away.
A shift. To another place. More people, more familiar.
In a friendly way, to no one in particular, "You will not complain of my company, I think." His direct attention was compelling while this behaviour was quite effective, reducing my existence to mere possibility.
A small, vexed frown pinched me. The mute nothingness -- the only quality I could ascribe to my uncertain existence -- became very noticeable, and the familiarity of the setting was half the Village half everywhere else on Warthadell. The objects about me seemed to lead abruptly downward, though nothing expressed the authority having a thing to do with falling. I thought to do something (wake up, perhaps?). Action was for those who didn't seriously doubt their own presence in the world.
He laughed, his humor built on confidence, and it promised results even though he may be jesting.
"Shut up." I said, startling myself. This rebellion quickly fading, yielding less and less of the emotions that lead to demands and rejection. 'He believes I do not exist,' I was sure. An object? No, a thought pattern. At a stopping point I would be able to use a stylus and see my existence proven in the black letters I make on paper.
"Although you are female, I suppose you may eventually have importance."

"None of this has anything to do with me." You don't



[1/2ling]

even know my name. "I can't help you."
All stop. Drizden. Everybody out of the oxcart. Very normal, very solid.
"Are you happy here?" He was tangible but I cannot remember him. I remembered nothing but Warthadell.
Without warning the dread and despite and confusion was replaced by a desire to cry.
"Are you necessary?"
What a question. I am probably the most replaceable fact of anyone's life.
"You don't look happy. And I don't see anyone else here with you. Are you alone?" At least he had the decency to sound careful about his questioning. "Are you betrothed? Are you in love?"
Laughter, mine. An improvement from crying, which enabled me to look at him directly.
"You are not happy here. You are not needed. You are not loved. It may be that you must leave, if only for the sake of your dreams."
"Don't you think it might be a good idea to ask me who I am?" All vestige of persuading myself to tolerate him was gone. I wasn't convinced that a decision to leave (Warthadell) should be random, and it would be supremely insulting to think I had been chosen for the reasons he stated. I again remembered this as a dream in its sequence, and all things waking.
"Will you deign to grant me the sublime honor of your name and station?"
"No." Astoundingly enough I woke at this point.

Although I had thought I'd put Warthadell behind me




[Written Sign]

completely, I suppose I hadn't. Now that I will soon be exploring this world, it seems I had to get all that refuse out of my system.

The other dreams apparently contain real entities. They are dreams as far as settings &c. Now to wonder why, though I'm thinking it's Mojo doing it. There's a calming thought.









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NICODEEMUS' PRACTICE IN WRITTEN SIGN








this is the point at which DB tore a page from her Journal book in order to write poetry to Nicodeemus.
There will no doubt be some sign of the page she tore out.


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