by RW Krpoun
Dream
By RW Krpoun
Copyright 2015 by Randall Krpoun
ISBN-13: 978-1514373477
ISBN-10: 1514373475
Dedicated to my wife Ann, and to all the Black Talons who stood with the company.
Chapter One
Colorful, dramatic dreams weren’t anything new-Shad frequently had colorful dreams, often filled with odd historical or personal items. It was a disappointment to him that his dreams rarely continued in an interesting circumstance for long before morphing into something else.
So that this one was hanging together for such an extended duration was pretty interesting, even if it was just another variation of Gaming in a Strange Place. Whether it was war games, RPGs, or platform games, Shad preferred to game outside the public eye in order to avoid distractions, so a dream which he was gaming in public or strange surroundings wasn’t unusual.
This dream featured him and part of his regular group in a library someplace, empty but for them and illuminated only by a light coming directly from overhead. While Shad was normally the GM they were all creating characters using an unfamiliar rules set. The PC sheet on the table changed like an Xbox avatar as decisions were made, although there didn’t seem to be any dice involved.
As he pondered the choices yet to be made he noticed a second sheet of paper next to his character sheet that appeared to be a self-writing character roster, which he thought was useful as it should prevent class overlapping. Not that he really needed it-Derek would run an Elf who was either an archer or a mage, Fred would run a werebear if given the option, otherwise whatever the party needed, and Jeff would fill in any gaps. For some reason the rest of the guys weren’t at the table, but four was a good enough group.
The roster showed that Derek had gone with a Shadowmancer, Fred was a Bear-warder, and Jeff was a Night-grifter, all Human. None of the classes were familiar, but broad systems experience led Shad to mentally translate them as mage, warrior, and thief. Frowning at his sheet, Shad tried to work out how the healing system worked as it looked like that was the position that needed filling. Despite the books piled around the table all that seemed needful was to watch the sheet of paper until the combination of abilities emerged that seemed best. When they did, Shad found that he was a Jinxman, first level.
He shrugged-he could run with it. Human seemed to be the only option and the avatar on the sheet had settled into a pretty fair likeness of himself: a white male of average height & weight, short brown hair over brown eyes, thirty years old. It even had the small scar bisecting his left eyebrow from the time he had cracked his head against the breech of an M-2 heavy machinegun when an IED nearly flipped his HUMVEE.
Equipment followed but that was so basic that he zipped right through it. A Jinxman was secondary in combat, as Healers apparently must always be, but there was no prohibition on weapon types so Shad chose a short sword, dagger, and buckler. Armor was too expensive so he picked up the usual gear and made sure he still had some money left.
There was a voice overhead, perhaps a PA system set fairly low, but Shad resolutely ignored it in the hopes that the dream would continue in the gaming motif for a while longer.
It didn’t help: the overhead light dimmed and the library around them faded away. Shad found himself sitting on a rough bench next to Derek, elbows resting on a table that had been savaged by time, termites, and hard use. Across the warped and crumbling table-top Fred and Jeff sat on a similar bench. Instead of a library they were sitting in a thatched, single-room hut about twice as large as the table and in even worse shape. The doorway and window were simply holes in the lath and mud walls, and the thatch sagged and bulged overhead.
“Helluva dream,” Derek observed to no one in particular.
“Yeah,” Shad nodded, noticing that each of them was dressed in character. “Cool: a Live Dungeon event.”
Derek, Shad noted, was dressed in a dark cassock with bright symbols embroidered around the seams, with a belt that looked like it was made of chain mail supporting a dagger and several pouches. A pack and a staff leaned against the cottage wall behind him, the weight making a visible bulge in the decayed laths. Derek was a slender man a couple years younger than Shad with unruly blond hair and who stood a bit shorter than average, an assistant manager at Radio Shack who lived on his nerves and a diet of stress and caffeine. A dedicated neat freak, Derek generated the enthusiasm within the group for any undertaking, and was likely the kindest of the four except when angry-when enraged Derek was a fearless berserker. His temper seldom got away from him, but it was fearful to behold when it did.
Across from him Fred was decked out in leather armor decorated with fur, with a bear’s head, complete with glass eyes, worn like a hood-it reminded Shad of illustrations of Roman standard-bearers. He had a long dirk at his hip and behind him a pack and a two-handed axe strained the cottage wall. Fred was his usual calm self and looked every inch the warrior, being six foot two and solid from years of warehouse work at the Coors distributorship; even his burr-cut sidewalls and top locks worn long and pulled into a pony tail supported the barbarian look. He was the quiet one of the group, slower to speak and inclined to think more. He lived in utter squalor while maintaining good personal hygiene, a contradiction that was a source of constant harassment from his fellows which he accepted with somber good humor.
Jeff was also wearing leather armor, but a lighter suit than Fred’s and undecorated. He was intently examining an elegant hand crossbow and had a sword-rapier on one hip and a main gauche on the other. His pack, leaning against the wall behind him, had several bolt cases strapped to the outside, as well as a bundle of torches. Jeff was tall, easily six feet, with a thoughtful, scholarly mien which was enhanced by a neat mustache and balding pate, his reddish hair worn cropped short. It struck Shad that he had never seen the shop teacher, or Derek either, without his glasses but both were without their prescription lenses. Of the four Jeff was the only one who had been married, although was now divorced.
He himself was wearing a long untucked tan cotton shirt, a pullover held shut by three buttons in an off-set row like he had seen in pictures of Imperial Russian serfs, with brown trousers and boots that were similar to combat boots except that they were all leather and looked hand-made. A stout belt worn over his shirt supported a well-made short sword, dagger, and a belt pouch that was designed to hang atop the dagger’s scabbard low enough to allow the weapon to be drawn freely. A glance behind him revealed a pack with a couple leather tool rolls strapped to the outside and a buckler resting on top.
“This isn’t a dream,” Fred muttered. Despite his size he was the softest-spoken of the group and although the most brutish-looking he was possibly the most least violent of the group. On the other hand Derek looked like the sort of boy next door that motherly types adored and had a temper that could launch him into a psychotic rage, albeit rarely.
“Yeah, we’re actually here,” Jeff rolled his eyes. “You’re a pain in my ass even in my dreams.” Jeff and Fred were the closest of friends.
Shad started to say something and then caught himself as it had occurred to him that while their gaming group was larger, the four of them were the only ones who had served in the military. In fact, the four of them had served together in the National Guard, including a tour in Iraq. The Guard was how he had met the other three, and how Derek had met Fred and Jeff. Both he and Jeff had also served in the peacetime Regular Army, although they had never crossed paths during their enlistments.
“Well, that explains why we’re together,” he observed to the room at large.
“Why?” Derek asked.
“We were in Iraq together. I don’t normally dream of people I know except in the groups they are commonly in. I was wondering where the rest of the group was.”
The four sat at the table for a while, examining their various accouterments. “This has to be the most realistic dream I’ve ever had,” Jeff observed, cocking and uncocking the hand crossbow.
“My dream,” Shad and Derek said in unison, and froze.
“I’m tired of this,” Fred muttered. Drawing his dirk, he laid his left hand on the table and slammed the disk-shaped brass pommel onto his palm. The impact split the rotted board and the big man leapt to his feet. “Sonofabitch!”
Moments later Derek was eyeing a bright drop of blood swelling on his left index finger. “Guys…what the hell?”
Jeff sighed and thumped the butt on the crossbow into his temple, his look of disdain instantly contorted into a grimace of pain.
Shad shook his head, grinning. “You guys always forget who is in charge here.” Wrenching loose half of the board Fred had split from the table, he brought it smartly across his shin.
Derek examined the staff that had been beside his pack while Shad finished hopping around the narrow confines of the hut clutching his leg and cursing. “Hardwood, but nothing special.” He leaned it against the table as Shad collapsed onto the bench, nearly finishing off the worm-eaten item of furniture. “You done?”
“What the hell?” Shad snarled and stood back up, slamming a fist through the spongy cottage wall. “I’m not asleep!”
“Where the hell are we?” Jeff demanded, kicking a hole through the cottage wall and feeling the broken edge of the breach.
Fred reached over and grabbed Derek’s hand for a moment. “I feel me. I feel you. Do you feel me?”
“Yeah. So?” Derek scowled at the big man.
“So we’re both here. It’s not a dream. Practical joke?”
“I didn’t sign any release,” Derek shrugged. “Reality TV still needs paperwork.” He gestured towards Jeff and Fred. “That leather armor would go…I dunno, it’s better than anything I’ve ever seen at a ren faire. A couple grand each, I would think.”
“This axe is hand made,” Fred studied the weapon. “At least a few hundred bucks. It’s better than a Paul Chen, and those are nice.”
“So this isn’t anybody we know pulling a fast one,” Derek shrugged.
“These packs are oiled leather,” Shad rubbed his face. “Hand-made, very good quality, on hardwood frames. These are serious packs. There’s an outfit on the Net that makes a much simpler pack without a frame for two hundred bucks, they’re named for a city, I forget which one.”
“So, too much money for a practical joke or a YouTube deal,” Derek ticked off on his fingers. “No paperwork, so it’s not reality TV. We’re not dreaming. Where does that leave us?”
“Look, I was in a library with you guys rolling up a character,” Shad prowled around the interior of the hut. “I picked out a short sword, and here it is.” He slapped the scabbarded blade on his hip.
“Yeah, I remember that, too. It was dream-like,” Derek nodded. “But before that I remember crashing on the couch after watching a DVD.”
“Lord of the Rings Editor’s Cut, right?” Fred grinned.
Derek shrugged. “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t think I’m still on my couch.” He rubbed his lower back. “I’ve still got Uncle Sam’s steel in me.” Derek had a steel rod alongside his spine, a repair compliments of the same IED that had marked Shad.
“Abduction?” Jeff rubbed his scalp. “And why am I seeing twenty-twenty?”
“There was a voice in the library, like a PA system,” Shad pointed up. “I ignored it because I didn’t want the dream to change. Did anyone else hear it?”
“Yeah, it was like an infomercial,” Derek shrugged. “Lots of information, fast. I was wrapped up in the spell lists.”
“I didn’t pay attention,” Jeff admitted, and Fred nodded.
“I’ve got a tattoo,” Fred announced, holding up his left arm. He had unbuckled his bracer, exposing a tattoo of a complex symbol done in black lines about the size of a quarter. “Fully healed,” he observed, rubbing the lines with his finger.
“Crud.” Derrek slid back his sleeves, exposing a row of tattoos on his left arm, the one closest to his wrist identical to Fred’s.
“You can say that again,” Shad found an identical row on his left arm when he rolled up his sleeve. “I bet the leather twins have the full set, too.”
“What the hell?” Jeff pushed his bracer up enough to expose black lines. “We were abducted and tagged? Aliens?”
“I’ve never heard of aliens fixing your vision, loading you up with top-notch ren faire gear, tatt’ing you, and then sending you home,” Shad objected. “And that’s the sort of thing you would hear about.”
“Uhhh…guys,” Derek’s voice, normally high and stressed, had climbed several octaves. He was holding a prism in his hand, and a baseball-sized globe of light was rising majestically to hover a couple feet above his head.
Fred grabbed his axe as the other two drew their swords. “What the hell?”
“I did it,” Derek said, voice filled with fear and awe. “I chose Shadowmancer as a class…I decided to do a light spell…and it just happened.”
Shad jabbed his sword through the ball of light, which did not react.
“You’re saying you just did magic,” Jeff said flatly, slowly sheathing his rapier. “And apparently I know how to use a sword, by the way. I took a stance when I drew, pure muscle memory.”
“Boys, I don’t think we’re in Texas anymore,” Shad’s voice was hollow. “We’re not dreaming: we’re somewhere else.”
“Derek, sit down,” Shad snapped. The ball of light followed Derek when he moved and would travel a short distance on command, and the slender Shadowmancer had spent the last half-hour playing with the orb while Jeff and Shad argued possibilities and Fred scowled at the table top.
“This is so cool,” Derek grinned, but he sat down. Shad wasn’t just the group’s GM, he was the default leader, having been their squad leader in Iraq and the captain of the milsim paintball team they had founded, a leadership based more on force of personality than ability. If Derek was the most potentially violent and Fred the calmest, Shad was easily the most abrasive.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Shad rolled his eyes. “So, to sum it up, we know squat.”
“It’s like a campaign hook,” Fred rumbled.
“What?”
“ ‘You wake up in an abandoned cottage, with strange tattoos on your arms’ ,” Fred said. “It sounds like the opening line of a role-playing campaign.”
They pondered that, but before they could discuss the issue a polite cough was heard outside the hut.
The four froze. “You know how to use that thing?” Shad jerked his chin at the pistol crossbow.
Jeff nodded. “OK, load up, boys. Let’s take a look outside-I’m on point.”
The hut sat in a small clearing covered in tall grass and low brush and closely surrounded by tall pines; the sky overhead was a deep blue. Not far from the doorway a tall woman of august years perched on a stump that had been used as a chopping block in the distant past. Her white hair was bound in a complex plait which was tossed casually over her left shoulder, and she wore a long dress of what looked like pink silk which was almost entirely covered with tiny blue script that resembled Nordic runes.
“Ma’am,” Shad nodded politely, noting the mismatched but expensive-looking jewelry she was wearing and that her cloth slippers were unstained by grass or dirt.
She smiled as the four emerged, a pleasant-faced woman who had aged well, but Shad noted the smile did not reach gray eyes that were as hard as the axe Fred was holding casually at his side. “Good morning. I am the Exalted Guardian Yorrian.”
“OK,” Shad nodded. “I’m guessing you know who we are and why we are here.”
“I do indeed. We called you here.”
“Where is ‘here’, exactly?”
She shook her head, still smiling. “This is where…things go. Unwanted things.” The smile faded. “Wha
t you call legends. Monsters. Magic. The things Mankind cast aside. Things banished by the steel lines of technology, the harsh winds of the sons of Judah, the burning sun of the followers of Christ. Faith,” she bit the word out of the air. “Has power beyond that of anything else. So our ancestors were sent…here.”
Shad looked around. “Seems…like Earth. Nice.”
“Ah, yes. Nice.” Yorrian was openly sneering. “As a banishment, it is not unpleasant. None of us have known anything else, and few would leave even if they could. Over the many generations we have made lives for ourselves. Until now.”
“What happened?” Shad was all too familiar with this sort of exchange but saw no way out. Fred was right: this read like the onset of a campaign, only from the inside.
“You changed the rules. You started to…believe, in ways that we do not understand.”
“Believe?”
“In monsters, in magic. In an organized fashion, but not religiously. Belief has…power, even this strange sort of half-belief. It has warped our prison, twisting it to conform to new ways. For generations we have seen the power in our world re-shaped. At first we hoped it meant we were to return, but that was not the case. You simply twisted the powers that shape our world to fit patterns that you created, and we were forced to live with the results.”
“Uh-oh,” Derek muttered.
“So you brought us here for…what?” Shad deliberately avoided the word ‘revenge’ even though it was blazing in the forefront of his brain.
“You four are typical of the new belief, of the shapers who changed our world,” her eyes flashed. “Your arrogance is amazing, your hubris…this problem is of your making, and so you shall solve it.”
“What problem?”
“Five of your kind have crossed over into our realm. Those of us who watch have ensured that no others will come, but the damage is done. Five of you walk our world, and that is intolerable. Five intruders.”
“The tattoos,” Derek breathed.