Dream Journal

The following dreams take place in Athens

Bus stop, vagrant man, asking me for money. I hand him coins.
Look beyond, a procession passes before the cross.
Longinus.
The Rat, taking a piece of the cross within a cloth.
I turn away.
A great tree.
Christ.

A great blue pillar of flame, reaching into the sky.
A strange city. A home designed to exist beneath the water.
An apocalyptic landscape.
People, stepping into the shaft of light.

Light, Dark.
Light, Dark.
Whip in hand.
Invictus of Athens before me, gagged, beaten, starved. Ferrum frenzied. Lord Advisor split down the center.
Laughter.
Marquis is why I’m here. He looks very different. Hair cut off, skin full of deep, deep cuts. Stripped naked. I begin to whip him.
I am very strong. Three heads to the whip. Chip the wall with the head of the whip.
“That’s enough,” feminine and masculine voice.
I’m a male.
Cut out a shadow and put it in front of them, the voice. The man who owns the voice stabs the Marquis in the heart.
Ashes.
“You can do the rest.”
The Alder Judex is next.
Ashes.
Every single one of the Invictus of Athens, including myself.
Ashes.
Empty Chains.

Dreams filled with the image of a changing moon.
Man in a forest making something
Dream where I walk on the surface of the moon with a small necklace
Man looks at me, I begin falling into the sky

Wakeful, I am home in my bed, back in Rome. Tiberius tells me something is wrong with mother. The first stages of her consumption. I relive the night where I need to abandon her to the disease. The ice queen, watching in judgement as I do surgery upon the nobleman’s child. Choosing coin over family.

The following dreams were as recollected from a short period of torpor

My trip to the college of Aristotle, my childhood friend guarding the scholars on their journey.
“Do you remember that time we snuck into the Colliseum?”
“I remember! F---n was there.”
“She’s wonderful.”
“She is.”
The young man I recall from my time in Athens sees F---n, accuses me of infidelity, kills himself. I am blamed for his death. Repeated journeys to the college, different circumstances surrounding his death. Occasionally, I kill him.

Waking upon the beach, Zagrias devours my childe alive and kills her. I split his back open with my hatchet and tear out his spine.

Waking in the hold of the ship, I find myself cornered by Zagrias and another, as they discuss waking me. Rather, as they discuss instead diablerizing me.

The following dreams are from after my period of Torpor, in Constantinople

A terrible nightmare about Lucia. When I examined the damage that had been done to our ship, it was determined some form of Sea Serpent had assaulted the ship. This serpent bit her in half in the dream.

Mist, as I stand upon a column of stone. Many people, carrying torches or flames. I attempt to move from my column to reach other people, but they move away from me as I approach. Looking down, the water begins to rise. People shooting each other. Woman arguing with a man. I can hear them but they can’t hear me. An outline of a man painting. They don’t notice the water getting higher. The ones on the lowest pedestals are washed away by the waves. The dream ends as I resolve to dive into the water, and see what’s down there.

Trees, sand, the ocean. I disrupt it, creating a forum. I debate with the Senex of old. A dream of my own creation.

Running through a dark forest, bow in hand. Dressed like some sort of barbarian. I am hunting. Bow in my right hand and a hooked arrow in my left. This forest seems strange, within are faeries, laughing horses. Running, up a hill, over a clearing, run through a gathering of merchants, tusked, horned, pig nosed, selling people. My hand is scaled, reptilian, clawed. Over large tracks, I stop and smell the ground. I begin to creep along, knocking an arrow, I draw and let fly. I hit, and come upon my prey. It is the Lord Arslan, dressed like a slave.

Room
Featureless wall
Black wet paint, oozing
Broken picture frame, picture torn out, large frame
Sandy haired man, pale, with wires, covered in wires, dressed in wires. He smiles as he makes more.
A room, with men speaking. They frown and look out at me.
“You never got your reward”
The scene changes to the colliseum.
The door opens to a bright light

Surrounded by gods, Mercury, Mars, Apollo, Minerva, Juno… all of them. Egyptian, Greek, their roman analogs. Prochorus is also here. They stand within the Forum Arcadius. I stand next to Adelmar. Prochorus stares at a doll, now in the middle of the forum. Large head, wooden body, hair burned off, missing an eye, coming apart at the seams. It smells vaguely of feces. Prochorus points at that, and all the gods look. His eyes never leave me. He opens his mouth and eats it. Everything goes black.

Desert, wind whipping sand into our clothes, everywhere. Men dressed in the Arabian style, faces are blurred. They gesture, and it’s nighttime. I am the Viscount Scipio. I see ruins half-buried in the sand. It looks to be the base of some sort of tower. The storm picks up the closer we get, no matter how hard we try. We lose track of the horses, buried in sand. The men are gone. Only I remain. Then, nothing but sand.

Wind whistles through the ice, a freezing desert. The Ice Palace lies in front of me, in ruins. The slaves have escaped. Whatever was being kept there (I know) is gone. Turning around, there is a smiling face made of snow. It winks, and opens its mouth and swallows me. I am at the bottom of a pit. It is dark, and water drips in the distance. Someone grabs my arm.
Voice: “Decimus is that you?”
Myself: “Yes.”
Voice: “How did they get you?”
Myself: “She did.”
Voice: “Who?”
Myself: “The Queen of the Ice.”
Voice: “Who?”
I turn around, it is my father speaking to me.
Myself: “Father?”
My Father: “It took you so long. Took you so long. But, your soul. It’s… faded.”
Myself: “You’re dead.”
My Father: “What happened to you?”
Myself: “You died.”
My Father: “You died 300 years too late. How old are you?”
Myself: “I’m not dead. I’m not dead!”
My Father: “We’re all dead here.”
There are more faces around me. My daughter, my wife, my mother, my cousins. Cavus.
Myself: “No she can’t take me here, she can’t take me here, I’m in control!”
My Father: “Decimus, you’re safe, you’re with family here.”
Cavus: “It’s not so bad. You get used to the darkness after a while.”
Myself: “Hello, Cavus.”
They open their mouths, but no sound comes out.
Myself: “Why have you brought me here?”
Their mouths open and droop like wax and disappear as I raise up.

I am walking in Constantinople. It is late in the night. There are corpses in the sewers, in the gutters, everywhere.
“Viscount! How Serendipitous that we should meet again,” says Trifon.
I remove the scene, and build my own dream of court, dealing with the problems of Men of Power. I get it wrong, time and again, but I learn from it.

“Good Evening Mister Scipio.”
Another man, very unrecognizable. His voice is soothing, his robes are regal.
“How are you this evening.”
“Poorly”
“Why is that?”
“I made rash decisions”
“Ah. You are one to do that. I recall that from our last ordeal. Of course, it seems, let’s just say, uncharacteristic, yet entirely characteristic.”
“I’d suppose so.”
“Do you?”
“I do not know when you are speaking from.”
“I did not hear what you just said.”
“I do not know when you are speaking from.”
“Right now of course.”
“When did we meet?”
“Here and there. I don’t find it surprising that you don’t remember me. But, you drank his blood. It’s quite simple, really.”
My perfect reflection shows blood red orbs.
“This is your waking self. Doesn’t look very familiar, does it?”
“No. Not at all.”
“So you’re going to go East.”
“Yes.”
“Word of warning, the Monster of the Forest lives East.”
“And Valens will be coming with me, I believe.”
“Like you said, sir, it might be inevitable.”
“It’s her choice.”
“Do you really want another one of them escaping on your head?”
“No.”
“No you don’t. And the next time you pull another stunt like that, it will be four. Maybe five. You could go with Petra.”

The following dreams are from after my period of travel, prior to settling in Tripoli

Walking down a city street, bustling. People all around, so bright, even in the middle of the night. Flameless lanterns light the street. People everywhere, men women and children. Loud roars as I pass by this track that goes around in this path, and people pay money to ride it. It plays horrible music, with no band in sight.
“Excuse me.” A man with a long overcoat and a briefcase, with a strange cloth around his neck. He hands me a briefcase, and I hand him one of my own. He’s lost in the crowd. I walk between two tents, and open the briefcase. There’s a blinding white light inside.

“Cleanup in Aisle 3”
Pushing a metal cart down a well-lit aisle
In some sort of store, a woman next to me.
“I’m going to go that aisle, get the diapers.”
“Okay honey.”
Strange writing on the packages that I cannot decipher. I pick one out and put it into my cart, I realize that they are pieces of human bodies. I just put a foot into my cart. The woman that is with me has a container full of baby heads.
“Just what we need.”
“Do we really need to buy that many?”
“Yes we do!”
There is an actual baby in my cart, with five heads.
“I think he’s hungry right now.”
She opens up a package of fingers and begins to feed it.
“That boy is ravenous.”
“Just like his dad.”
I feel an arm around my waist, as we go to the cashier. He has long brown hair and a beard.
“Have we met before?”
It’s Jesus.
“Christ almighty.”
“Haha! You’re not getting a discount.”
He moves the packages past some sort of light.
“Am I in heaven?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh he’s just being silly. Are you getting this or I am?”
“You should get it.”
Jesus bleeds from the eyes as he rings up my packages.
“I thought the Stigmata didn’t manifest that way.”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you feeling okay?”
We bring our packages out to our chariots, pulled by demon steeds. Skeletal horses.
“Our chariot is quite nice.”
She laughs. Jesus walks toward me, eyes gone, blood streaming down his face.
“You forgot this.”
He opens his hands, and I wake up.

Back in the attic with the man with the Golden Eyes.
We discuss my price for his golden eyes, my sins, and much more.

The following dreams take place in Tripoli

Sitting on a throne, entertained by flamboyant dancers. I hear myself laughing. Their faces look familiar. One is Petra. I clap and ask for the Court Jester. Zagreus walks up, in full Fester’s Regalia.
“Do you wish to be amused my lord?”
“Please.”
“Your life.”
Everyone begins to laugh.
“Don’t you get it? Your life is a joke.”
“How dare you. I rule here.” None can hear me over the laughter.
Rasui is behind me.
“Do you?”
Behind her stands Prochorus.
“Dance puppet, dance.”
I dance for their amusement. Everyone laughs.

Why’d you do it?
It was fear for my wellbeing.
Now I’m going to kill you too.
He pulls a knife.
I can get you out of this.
He stabs me in the gut and cuts me open, and fish fall out. Live salmon. He begins to laugh. He melts into the ground. Looking into my stomach, there is a whole sea inside. I dive in.

Riding on the back of a giant falcon with diamonds for eyes. Flying over some sort of city. It is bright, lit up with a thousand flickering fires. The falcon dives, and I fly off its back. I hit the ground hard. Someone grabs me from behind and puts me in a choke hold, pressing me up against the wall of a building. It is cold to my cheek. He grips my hair, pulls my head back, and starts slamming my head into the wall.

The Persian man, standing on the boat laughing. He has a certain animal charm. Soon I am sleeping with him. There is a lot of blood, and that makes it better. Everything is gone, just white surrounding me.

I am walking. I am holding Lucia’s hand. I’m happy about this. At least, as happy as I can be. Just running down a path with her. Then my eyes hurt, slowly. It creeps up on me, like a bulging sensation, until they explode out of my skull. They feel strange, like wax, but suddenly I can see again. Lucia is gone, and everything has a red haze to it.
“Evan? Anyone?”
Faraway voices, which I run towards. I make it to a mountain. When I climb, it just gets higher. There are people who make this mountain higher, as I climb, flying to the top, piling dirt and stones atop it. I keep climbing.

Climbing to the top of a pyramid. I cannot see the ground, just more pyramid and cloud. Looking up, it goes forever. Rocks fall, trying to knock me off. I am not alone on the side, many other climb. Some try to give me a leg up, some try to push me off, some pull knives. Someone pushes my shoulder, and sticks a knife into my shoulder when a large black boulder strikes me, and I begin to fall. It looks like a skull. Why does it look like Lucia’s face? “Lucia?” She says nothing. I embrace it. It turns to ash, as I hit the ground. I’m in a pit. My hands are covered in leeches. “Out with the bad blood.” Myself, with blood red eyes, smiles down at me. He begins to pour dirt into the hole. I am soon buried alive.

On top of a tall tower, the sea around me, ash rains from the sky. I dive off of the tower, come down in an arc above the sea, flying. The water is foreboding. I leave to find my sire’s dream.

At sea, on a raft. Everything feels familiar. An endless stretch of identical sea, that I know well. To the North, I see the tower from the night before. What is wrong with the tower? It is twisted, covered in spines. I can’t get a good luck, the raft is breaking apart on the waves. I start grabbing on, trying to hold it together. It breaks apart in my hands. I float in the water, hanging onto a log, but it breaks in my hands and I go under. I sink to the bottom, dark blue swirl around me. As I get to the bottom, I find a chair and sit in it. Sometimes things are more comfortable at the bottom of the sea.

Dark gray fog surrounds me. I walk for a time in the featureless void, until I begin to see faces. Laughing silently at me. I wave them away, when I feel something cold go into my kidney, one of them just stabbed me, but no one is there. I put my hand on the wound and tear it open more, as I begin to hear the laughter.

Opiated-out haze. I don’t really remember much. Parts were pleasant, comfortable, warm, tingly.

You are really drunk, sir. Really drunk.
Stumbling about with a good friend, I’m having a great time. Is that Cavus? He’s familiar, and I like him a lot.
Oh man, I’m tired, let’s go to sleep under this tree, and he gestures to the biggest tree in town.
Just under the tree?
But what about the sun?
The sun is setting.
What are you talking about?
I look at the sunset, it’s beautiful, just like I remember it. I am content in my drunkeness. Everything is great. Not long before I wake, it’s night now. My friend is laying next to me. I push him to wake up. I realize there’s a maggot in his ear. He’s dead.

I’m in a pure white snowy field. Each flake unique, each flake always melting. I reach down, pick some up off the ground, and look at the snow. Each flake is so perfect. So unique. It’s beautfiul in a way I cannot describe. But my hand is warm, so they all just melt. Snowflakes die. Perfection ends. I look up, and it’s not snowing anymore. There’s never going to be another snowflake like that. I begin to weep silently in the snow. It happens for I don’t know how long.

I am in a very small room, wood panelled, wood floor. I can’t see the ceiling. There are boxes, people in chairs sitting at boxes. Hundreds of them. The boxes are glowing. It’s strange. Are there pictures on them? It’s very strange. I notice a very bright green frog on the floor.
“Hello frog”
It jumps and starts biting my foot. I can’t pull him off of my foot. It hurts. A lot. People start yelling that the frog is biting me. They pry it off. I feel strange, and they kill the frog.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes” I open my mouth and a little tube comes out with a needle on the end, and it drives itself into his eye. He begins to scream as something goes down the tube. The tube detatches and he has tubes of his own. We begin to infect everyone.

I’m sitting at a table in a pure white room.
A conversation with Sphere.
The world is a dangerous place, you understand.
I understand.
There’s nothing you can do to stem its tide
It’s important to ride the current.
The moon drives the tide, as it does your dreams
When the moon is full is when your dreams are most important. When the moon is gone, your dreams are important as well. I can’t think of a time when it is better to interpret a dream. The lucid dreamer is the one who understands it least. By understanding that you are dreaming, you change the content of your dream in greivous ways. You dream best by not understanding that you are dreaming. You could learn to discern dreams from reality. But is that a good thing?

Scraping noise, in the basement of Petra’s Elysium. I open it up and find Gabriel, and myself tied to a chair. He is cutting me, again and again and again. My blood flows down my body and mouth and onto the floor. There are white maggots in my blood. He laughs. I can’t do anything.

Darkness, vague rough stone at my fight. Light from a crack widens. A pale hand gripping the side of the sarcophagus. Incredibly pale man, deep black eyes, tattered roman toga across his chest. He sits up, shaky, and steps out of the sarcophagus, moves to where I am, walking through me, presses his hands against the rocks, begins hissing and clawing at them. Breaking his nails.

A dream of the Major Arcana, the Chariot.

The ice fields of Germania, cold and empty. I find Evan’s dream. He was in a building, next to an oak tree with a vein of gold.

Tied down, strapped, helpless. I banish the dream, and look through the Augur’s library, in Rome.

Men screaming in the fire
Man turtle with a shell on his back, tentacles writhing out and dragging people into its mouth. (when did I dream this?)

The croaking of the frog. The screech of the beast. Knee deep in a pond. Frogs everywhere, plants everywhere – lilypads, seaweed, more. The thing on the lilypad closes its eyes. I walk to it, tendrils sprout from it, entering into my wrist, injecting me. Tadpoles swarm from my flesh, as my fingers rot away. Croaking, “murder”.

I buy the most powerful handgun made for 2,000,000 dollars American. The seller deals not in the 4th dimension, but the 6th. I had to sell that land in Kentucky to get the money to seal the deal.

A square room, with no exits. There is a grate in this room. The grate in the ceiling begins billowing smoke, filled with skeletal faces. The room fills with smoke, which tears down the walls. I begin to walk, in the fog-like smoke. I look down on the ground, because I was about to step on some sort of onyx round stone, but it’s a pure black stone, like Adelmar’s eyes. There is an optic nerve attached, as I pick it up. It splits into a thousand tiny leeches, and they all crawl into my hand.

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Unconquered MaxGiesecke