Oneireia: Part 1
*Note: something odd happened that caused me to lose ALL the progress I had made on this part of the story last night, and so this is a result of searching my brain for the missing bits and pieces of the story. The next instalment will be a little late in coming, but do enjoy what I have out thus far!*
The garb is strange. I am in armour: an ornately-patterned golden breastplate shields my chest and torso from damage, magical and non-magical, to an extent; under the skirt of my white, bell-sleeved gown, I feel the presence of shin guards to protect my lower legs, while sandals protect the soles of my feet from being affected by temperature differences between them and the ground. A headband of sorts seems to be pressing down on my hair.
A slash at my shield spell jolts me back to the present: I am on a sandy battlefield, fighting off hordes and hordes of enemies, and I had cast the shield spell to protect me from damage. I cast it again, just in case its effects wear off by the next blow at it, before pelting damage spells into the midst of the rampaging waves of foes. The battle is wearing, however, due in part to the seemingly infinite number of enemies I have to fight off, and partly due to my own impatience.
Wishing to move forward, I charge, pushing my shield spell on as I cast Recede (a spell that pushes the enemy ranks back by ten metres per second) for five seconds. Something that I cannot exactly define makes me slow down after running for a few metres. The emotion tears at my heart, compelling me to stop to examine the bodies of the warriors I have slain. I see that most of them belong to people to whom I was close; Elisheia, Channa, Nikeia and Meliora are among them. Tears fall from my eyes like broken strings of crystalline pearls as I hold Meliora's body. Why does everything have to come to this, I wonder. Why?
My shield spell breaks with another enemy blast. I cast Recede again, taking care to hold off my foes for longer. Emotions well up inside me, hitting me as forcefully as breakers on a sandy beach, as I continue to hold up my hand, from which I am casting the Recede spell against my foes. It is then that I hear a bawl, one that I did not hear while in the thick of the fighting; the army must be so far away that I am unable to hear their war-cries anymore. Still, not daring to risk an onslaught, I continue to keep my hand up, walking backwards at the same time. My curiosity has been piqued by the odd bawl that sounds every few seconds or so. As I walk backwards, I glance back with every few steps I take.
The bawling seems to be coming from the direction of a raised block, which appears to be made from sand, but is much more solid. A figure in blue is sitting on it, apparently bending over something. As I approach, I realise that the figure in blue is a woman, tending to a young child who looks no older than three. The woman has a gold circlet upon her head, and the sapphire-blue thing that she is wearing is a gown, which is tattered and torn in places; only odd patterns from the embroidery that should be on the sleeves are visible - the rest is missing, as is a chunk of the fabric from the skirt (it was supposed to be floor-length; now its rough, jagged hemline only reaches its wearer's knees). The woman herself looks weary and haggard, and I guess that this is due to the heavy damage that she has sustained; blood is still dripping from some of her wounds. Having been inflicted by the most malicious of damage spells, her wounds are of the type that will never heal, regardless of whatever is done, and will slowly sap her energy, eventually claiming her very life. The child's wounds are of the same nature as hers; with my rudimentary skills in medical magic, I would not be able to have them recover, let alone relieve the suffering of either. Yet the royally-dressed woman is trying to dress the wounds of the child, who gives a bawl every time she touches them. Finally, exhausted beyond measure, she collapses into a sitting position of sorts, leaning on the side of the block. I drop my casting hand and hasten normally to her side, re-casting Recede once I reach her. Only at this point do I see that she is Fenfang, another of those to whom I am close.
I grab Fenfang's hand. She responds by grasping it firmly, before turning her head towards me and looking me in the eye. She begins to speak, in a weary voice that is heavy with resignation, "Penelope, I don't think I can hold out much longer - you must carry on the battle - uphold justice - "
"No! Fenfang, you will be all right, I'm sure of it..." Tears welled up in my eyes as I said so. It pained me to see her in such a state - she, who is almost always aflame with optimism, a beacon to those in despair...
Fenfang takes a sharp breath in. The very action pains her, but she manages it, and then continues, "Carry - on - the - battle ... the arcane ... must ... be ... stopped!" Her voice is becoming more and more airy as life fades from it. She inhales sharply again. "Enough ... has ... been ... done ..." Fenfang tries to say something more, but the light flickers out of her eyes as her grip on my hand suddenly slackens. Succumbing to gravitational pull, her head turns towards the ground.
"NO! Fenfang, you can't..." I howl, as I shake her limp, lifeless body. No response. Why? Why her, why now, I wonder again. She's only a year older than I am... come to think of it, all of them are... they had so much potential, as I do...
Damage spells hit me, drawing blood; my shield must be down. I try to cast it, but find that I cannot cast my shielding spell anymore...
I awoke with a start to find myself in my bed. So, it must have all been a dream, then - albeit the most bloody one I had ever been in (thinking of this, I immediately checked for blood on my limbs and body, but found instead that I was drenched in sweat), and the one in which I had been the most isolated; I felt more alone than in any other dream or nightmare that I had had before. I wept again, out of fear, gratitude (finally, it was over) and relief.
It was then that I heard the menace-tinged snickering. "Who goes there?" I demanded, as I gave my head a sharp turn.
"Ha, that was just about my finest work yet, don't you think?" said the tiny and nasal, yet somewhat haughty and proud voice of whoever it was who had snickered at me. Seeing no point in blindly firing questions into the pitch darkness of my room, I dragged myself out of bed, staggering towards (and groping for) the light switch. The little voice continued to giggle - this time, at my movements. It was still snickering when my hand finally found the light switch.
"Let's see who has the last laugh, shall we?" I ask, my voice betraying a hint of vindictiveness as I turned the switch on.
"Oww! That light is blinding!" howled the voice; its owner was obviously in pain.
"Ho, so now it hurts, eh?" I asked, as I looked for my glasses. Locating them relatively quickly (they'd been on top of my A-Math textbook), I put them on.
"Can't you dim it a little?!" screamed the voice, which, as I now saw, belonged to a creature that had been hovering directly under the light. It was almost like a human being in miniature, save for the long, pointed ears, the shiny silver-tinged skin and the leaf-shaped wings on its back. In addition, it was wearing a do-rag on its head, a scarf on its neck, and - for the most part - Peter Pan clothing.
"You're a rogue, you little dream pixie," I said to it.
"Wh -? Hey, how did you know all that, you sneaky siao zha bor?!" asked the dream pixie in a softer, but infinitely more wary, voice.
"Oh, read it from somewhere," I said, dismissively, being immune to being called a crazy little girl in Hokkien. "Now, begone, Dræm; I don't wish to have to do this to you again."
"Wait... HOW DID YOU KNOW MY NAME?!" Dræm demanded, raising his voice.
"I didn't know; I just guessed that you'd be called 'Dræm', so that's what I called you," I replied coolly, meaning to irritate the pixie.
"Still, you'd better mark my words; I'll be back!" So saying, Dræm flew out my window, cursing under his breath, though I could still make out the words "smarting ... eyes". Chuckling, I made my way to the light switch (it was only four in the morning, as I saw when looking at my clock, which was directly above the light switch) and flipped it off. Next, taking off my glasses and settling them onto another part of my desk (which was clear save for the A-Math textbook), I dived under the covers and, being more tired than I had ever been, slipped into sleep once more.
Dræm troubled me no more that night.
~~~~~~~~~~
DISCLAIMER: I'm not death-wishing anyone; any resemblance of any characters in this story to any real-life people, living or otherwise, is not intentional. And I OWN THIS STORY, thank you very much; please give credit where it's due. Thank you.
The garb is strange. I am in armour: an ornately-patterned golden breastplate shields my chest and torso from damage, magical and non-magical, to an extent; under the skirt of my white, bell-sleeved gown, I feel the presence of shin guards to protect my lower legs, while sandals protect the soles of my feet from being affected by temperature differences between them and the ground. A headband of sorts seems to be pressing down on my hair.
A slash at my shield spell jolts me back to the present: I am on a sandy battlefield, fighting off hordes and hordes of enemies, and I had cast the shield spell to protect me from damage. I cast it again, just in case its effects wear off by the next blow at it, before pelting damage spells into the midst of the rampaging waves of foes. The battle is wearing, however, due in part to the seemingly infinite number of enemies I have to fight off, and partly due to my own impatience.
Wishing to move forward, I charge, pushing my shield spell on as I cast Recede (a spell that pushes the enemy ranks back by ten metres per second) for five seconds. Something that I cannot exactly define makes me slow down after running for a few metres. The emotion tears at my heart, compelling me to stop to examine the bodies of the warriors I have slain. I see that most of them belong to people to whom I was close; Elisheia, Channa, Nikeia and Meliora are among them. Tears fall from my eyes like broken strings of crystalline pearls as I hold Meliora's body. Why does everything have to come to this, I wonder. Why?
My shield spell breaks with another enemy blast. I cast Recede again, taking care to hold off my foes for longer. Emotions well up inside me, hitting me as forcefully as breakers on a sandy beach, as I continue to hold up my hand, from which I am casting the Recede spell against my foes. It is then that I hear a bawl, one that I did not hear while in the thick of the fighting; the army must be so far away that I am unable to hear their war-cries anymore. Still, not daring to risk an onslaught, I continue to keep my hand up, walking backwards at the same time. My curiosity has been piqued by the odd bawl that sounds every few seconds or so. As I walk backwards, I glance back with every few steps I take.
The bawling seems to be coming from the direction of a raised block, which appears to be made from sand, but is much more solid. A figure in blue is sitting on it, apparently bending over something. As I approach, I realise that the figure in blue is a woman, tending to a young child who looks no older than three. The woman has a gold circlet upon her head, and the sapphire-blue thing that she is wearing is a gown, which is tattered and torn in places; only odd patterns from the embroidery that should be on the sleeves are visible - the rest is missing, as is a chunk of the fabric from the skirt (it was supposed to be floor-length; now its rough, jagged hemline only reaches its wearer's knees). The woman herself looks weary and haggard, and I guess that this is due to the heavy damage that she has sustained; blood is still dripping from some of her wounds. Having been inflicted by the most malicious of damage spells, her wounds are of the type that will never heal, regardless of whatever is done, and will slowly sap her energy, eventually claiming her very life. The child's wounds are of the same nature as hers; with my rudimentary skills in medical magic, I would not be able to have them recover, let alone relieve the suffering of either. Yet the royally-dressed woman is trying to dress the wounds of the child, who gives a bawl every time she touches them. Finally, exhausted beyond measure, she collapses into a sitting position of sorts, leaning on the side of the block. I drop my casting hand and hasten normally to her side, re-casting Recede once I reach her. Only at this point do I see that she is Fenfang, another of those to whom I am close.
I grab Fenfang's hand. She responds by grasping it firmly, before turning her head towards me and looking me in the eye. She begins to speak, in a weary voice that is heavy with resignation, "Penelope, I don't think I can hold out much longer - you must carry on the battle - uphold justice - "
"No! Fenfang, you will be all right, I'm sure of it..." Tears welled up in my eyes as I said so. It pained me to see her in such a state - she, who is almost always aflame with optimism, a beacon to those in despair...
Fenfang takes a sharp breath in. The very action pains her, but she manages it, and then continues, "Carry - on - the - battle ... the arcane ... must ... be ... stopped!" Her voice is becoming more and more airy as life fades from it. She inhales sharply again. "Enough ... has ... been ... done ..." Fenfang tries to say something more, but the light flickers out of her eyes as her grip on my hand suddenly slackens. Succumbing to gravitational pull, her head turns towards the ground.
"NO! Fenfang, you can't..." I howl, as I shake her limp, lifeless body. No response. Why? Why her, why now, I wonder again. She's only a year older than I am... come to think of it, all of them are... they had so much potential, as I do...
Damage spells hit me, drawing blood; my shield must be down. I try to cast it, but find that I cannot cast my shielding spell anymore...
I awoke with a start to find myself in my bed. So, it must have all been a dream, then - albeit the most bloody one I had ever been in (thinking of this, I immediately checked for blood on my limbs and body, but found instead that I was drenched in sweat), and the one in which I had been the most isolated; I felt more alone than in any other dream or nightmare that I had had before. I wept again, out of fear, gratitude (finally, it was over) and relief.
It was then that I heard the menace-tinged snickering. "Who goes there?" I demanded, as I gave my head a sharp turn.
"Ha, that was just about my finest work yet, don't you think?" said the tiny and nasal, yet somewhat haughty and proud voice of whoever it was who had snickered at me. Seeing no point in blindly firing questions into the pitch darkness of my room, I dragged myself out of bed, staggering towards (and groping for) the light switch. The little voice continued to giggle - this time, at my movements. It was still snickering when my hand finally found the light switch.
"Let's see who has the last laugh, shall we?" I ask, my voice betraying a hint of vindictiveness as I turned the switch on.
"Oww! That light is blinding!" howled the voice; its owner was obviously in pain.
"Ho, so now it hurts, eh?" I asked, as I looked for my glasses. Locating them relatively quickly (they'd been on top of my A-Math textbook), I put them on.
"Can't you dim it a little?!" screamed the voice, which, as I now saw, belonged to a creature that had been hovering directly under the light. It was almost like a human being in miniature, save for the long, pointed ears, the shiny silver-tinged skin and the leaf-shaped wings on its back. In addition, it was wearing a do-rag on its head, a scarf on its neck, and - for the most part - Peter Pan clothing.
"You're a rogue, you little dream pixie," I said to it.
"Wh -? Hey, how did you know all that, you sneaky siao zha bor?!" asked the dream pixie in a softer, but infinitely more wary, voice.
"Oh, read it from somewhere," I said, dismissively, being immune to being called a crazy little girl in Hokkien. "Now, begone, Dræm; I don't wish to have to do this to you again."
"Wait... HOW DID YOU KNOW MY NAME?!" Dræm demanded, raising his voice.
"I didn't know; I just guessed that you'd be called 'Dræm', so that's what I called you," I replied coolly, meaning to irritate the pixie.
"Still, you'd better mark my words; I'll be back!" So saying, Dræm flew out my window, cursing under his breath, though I could still make out the words "smarting ... eyes". Chuckling, I made my way to the light switch (it was only four in the morning, as I saw when looking at my clock, which was directly above the light switch) and flipped it off. Next, taking off my glasses and settling them onto another part of my desk (which was clear save for the A-Math textbook), I dived under the covers and, being more tired than I had ever been, slipped into sleep once more.
Dræm troubled me no more that night.
~~~~~~~~~~
DISCLAIMER: I'm not death-wishing anyone; any resemblance of any characters in this story to any real-life people, living or otherwise, is not intentional. And I OWN THIS STORY, thank you very much; please give credit where it's due. Thank you.