Dreams
Last night I had another of my epic war dreams. I have had these maybe biannually for most of my life. They all have similar themes in which I play a similar role, but the details are always vastly different. But the fun part is the complicated plot-lines and the fact that I always remember them in great detail. I think my unconscious may be trying to tell me to be a fantasy author. Because all of these dreams would make great books.
Highlights:
-My brother and I are descended from a (nearly) extinct race of magic using warriors. Generations ago, this race was created by a power-hungry wizard who used them to wage war against the empire. Despite their great power, the wizard was defeated and his warriors destroyed. My brother and I know nothing about this heritage, and throughout the empire it is believed that the warrior-race was completely annihilated.
-Somehow in childhood, my latent powers were triggered, but my brother's were not. They are mainly undeveloped, because I was urged not to use them, but I have been ignoring this advice and using them instinctively to prevent accidents, whenever I perceive that someone around me is in some kind of danger. No one knows that I have been doing this.
-We are living peacefully in an island kingdom, when empire warships appear and we are attacked. I manage to escape, by virtue of my powers, but my brother does not.
-As it turns out, the use of my powers alerted the empire of our existence. They have come to finish the job. I am pursued while their armies take over our island nation, rounding up anyone suspected of being descended from the warrior race, and putting them to death. My brother is captured.
-It comes to light that the original warriors were destroyed through the use of Hazel wood, a powerful substance that is capable of immobilizing any warrior whose magical talents are active. I am captured, and thrown in the middle of a thick forest of hazel. I can barely move, completely unable to stand, or even crawl. My captors leave me there to die.
-In the morning light, still unable to move, I find myself surrounded by the gravestones of the original great warriors, hewn with care. And a woman is standing behind me. I am saved!
-She takes me to a tiny village hidden in the wood, populated by the miraculous. Magic-users of the same stock as I, gone undetected for generations and seemingly unaffected by the wood around them. I am greeted as kin.
-I learn their secrets and undergo a ritual. A cut is made on my chest, and ash from the hazel wood rubbed into it. A scar will mark me, but the hazel will run through my veins, lending me its power, its strength. It will no longer be able to harm me, instead the hazel will be a source of protection. The use of my powers will no longer be detectable. My body will be strong, arrows no longer able to pierce it. This is the secret the wizard discovered and used to create the warrior race: The hazel is in our soul, the spirit of the wood entwined with the spirit of the human. Exposure to the source of our powers is immobilizing because it overwhelms, because the spirit of the wood overtakes the spirit of the body. But when it is also in the blood, in the bones, there is true union, and power greater than the wizard ever imagined.
-Renewed, I take a piece of hazel and return to my nation. It is overrun with soldiers. My brother is being held in a cell in under heavy guard, and is to be put to death in the morning. In my absence he has become a leader, and his execution is to be attended by the empire's generals. I sneak to his cell, and give him the wood, telling him how to make the cut and rub in the ash. I have no time to tell him the reason behind it, only that he must trust me. If he carries out my instructions, I may be able to save him. If not, he will surely die.
-The next morning, he is about to be executed. He stands in the center of a plaza, surrounded by soldiers, generals, officials, onlookers. A crossbow is aimed at his chest. Did he carry out my instructions? The bow is fired.
Wake up!
Highlights:
-My brother and I are descended from a (nearly) extinct race of magic using warriors. Generations ago, this race was created by a power-hungry wizard who used them to wage war against the empire. Despite their great power, the wizard was defeated and his warriors destroyed. My brother and I know nothing about this heritage, and throughout the empire it is believed that the warrior-race was completely annihilated.
-Somehow in childhood, my latent powers were triggered, but my brother's were not. They are mainly undeveloped, because I was urged not to use them, but I have been ignoring this advice and using them instinctively to prevent accidents, whenever I perceive that someone around me is in some kind of danger. No one knows that I have been doing this.
-We are living peacefully in an island kingdom, when empire warships appear and we are attacked. I manage to escape, by virtue of my powers, but my brother does not.
-As it turns out, the use of my powers alerted the empire of our existence. They have come to finish the job. I am pursued while their armies take over our island nation, rounding up anyone suspected of being descended from the warrior race, and putting them to death. My brother is captured.
-It comes to light that the original warriors were destroyed through the use of Hazel wood, a powerful substance that is capable of immobilizing any warrior whose magical talents are active. I am captured, and thrown in the middle of a thick forest of hazel. I can barely move, completely unable to stand, or even crawl. My captors leave me there to die.
-In the morning light, still unable to move, I find myself surrounded by the gravestones of the original great warriors, hewn with care. And a woman is standing behind me. I am saved!
-She takes me to a tiny village hidden in the wood, populated by the miraculous. Magic-users of the same stock as I, gone undetected for generations and seemingly unaffected by the wood around them. I am greeted as kin.
-I learn their secrets and undergo a ritual. A cut is made on my chest, and ash from the hazel wood rubbed into it. A scar will mark me, but the hazel will run through my veins, lending me its power, its strength. It will no longer be able to harm me, instead the hazel will be a source of protection. The use of my powers will no longer be detectable. My body will be strong, arrows no longer able to pierce it. This is the secret the wizard discovered and used to create the warrior race: The hazel is in our soul, the spirit of the wood entwined with the spirit of the human. Exposure to the source of our powers is immobilizing because it overwhelms, because the spirit of the wood overtakes the spirit of the body. But when it is also in the blood, in the bones, there is true union, and power greater than the wizard ever imagined.
-Renewed, I take a piece of hazel and return to my nation. It is overrun with soldiers. My brother is being held in a cell in under heavy guard, and is to be put to death in the morning. In my absence he has become a leader, and his execution is to be attended by the empire's generals. I sneak to his cell, and give him the wood, telling him how to make the cut and rub in the ash. I have no time to tell him the reason behind it, only that he must trust me. If he carries out my instructions, I may be able to save him. If not, he will surely die.
-The next morning, he is about to be executed. He stands in the center of a plaza, surrounded by soldiers, generals, officials, onlookers. A crossbow is aimed at his chest. Did he carry out my instructions? The bow is fired.
Wake up!