<![CDATA[The First Age - Place for Dreams]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/ Wed, 27 May 2026 23:08:04 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Reclaiming Pack]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1935.html Wed, 24 Dec 2025 17:18:38 +0000 Tenzin]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1935.html hurry! Hurry!

Sierra, and dream, and Wyldfyre all blurred together, but fortunately Tenzin understood enough.

“I go I go,” she groaned, resorting to just shielding her face now with an arm draped over it. “Stop jumping! Need a moment, pup.”
When she opened her golden eyes next, it was in the dream. Never was still wriggling around joyfully on her lap, and she ran her fingers into his fur and smiled a little for his enthusiasm. “Lead on, then,” she said, and let the wolf take her to Long Eye.]]> hurry! Hurry!

Sierra, and dream, and Wyldfyre all blurred together, but fortunately Tenzin understood enough.

“I go I go,” she groaned, resorting to just shielding her face now with an arm draped over it. “Stop jumping! Need a moment, pup.”
When she opened her golden eyes next, it was in the dream. Never was still wriggling around joyfully on her lap, and she ran her fingers into his fur and smiled a little for his enthusiasm. “Lead on, then,” she said, and let the wolf take her to Long Eye.]]> <![CDATA["To the Dreamers"]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1899.html Wed, 22 Oct 2025 22:41:39 +0000 Colette Moreau]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1899.html Colette stood in a cathedral made of pure glass.

The walls shimmered like oil on water, rippling with light that had no source, as if the building breathed. The pews were carved from bone-white marble, but when she ran her fingers across them, they felt warm. Almost... pulsing. Organ music filled the air like something playing behind a locked door.

She didn’t remember walking in. She didn’t remember why she was here. But of course she was here.

In the front row sat a man with no face. He was wearing a familiar coat. She couldn't place where she knew it, but that sharp cut at the collar, the lay of the lapel... It was Adrian's coat. The night of the masquerade. The man wearing it didn’t look at her, but she knew, in the way one just knows things in dreams, that he was waiting.

She turned to leave, but the aisle stretched.

She ran. Her footsteps echoed too long, like each step was falling into the next dream.


Her eyes snapped open.

Darkness wrapped her bedroom, and crept up the familiar ceiling. The fan blades circled with a faint hum, stuttering in that half-second delay she'd come to recognize. Her chest rose in a sharp inhale. The blanket was tangled around her legs like a net.

She sat up, wiped sweat from her brow, and searched for the time

3:42 AM.

Ugh. Again? How many times had she woken like this this week? Five nights? Six?

She rubbed her temples, vaguely aware of the dream slipping away like fog through her fingers. There had been a cathedral. Adrian’s coat. No... someone else’s coat. Maybe.

Did it matter?

Colette laid back, rolling onto her side.

Don’t think. Just rest. You need sleep.

She exhaled.


Now she was in a city where the buildings were made of stitched-together books.

Towering novels, bent spines and torn pages, stacked and bound by clamps and glue. Words bled from the margins like ink that couldn’t dry. People walked by, faceless again, but laughing like a punchline was being told in a language she couldn’t speak.

She stood in a bookstore. There was a moment of peace about it, like it was somewhere safe. But as she looked closer, she realized none of the books had titles. There were only covers, and lll the covers were of her face. A hundred faces in a hundred different angles and expressions. But all her, and in every pair of eyes looking back at her, there was something behind them. As if they were watching her back.

She turned one over.

On the back, in tiny black font, it read: “You could’ve loved him, but you didn’t.”

Her heart pounded, and a rage crept up her arms. She threw the book as hard as she could, hoping it would crash through the window and break this place apart. Instead it landed open. The pages fluttered like wings and took off into the air, shrieking.


When her alarm blared, it felt like a firework detonating inside her skull.

Colette sat up and blinked hard against the light. Her mouth tasted like cotton. Her limbs felt underwater. She padded to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. She didn’t want to see how she looked.


This time, she was underwater, but breathing fine.

Her hair floated around her head in strands like seaweed. Around her, mirrors drifted in the tide. She caught glimpses of herself, but each one was... off. Her reflection blinked slower. Smiled too long. Then, in one mirror, she glimpsed a familiar face.

It wasn't the real Adrian, but it was a dream-Adrian. He was younger and sadder. Eyes like pits filled with silver tears.

“What?” she began, but her voice came out in bubbles. The figure in the mirror reached out, caressing the glass from his side, then in a flash, all the mirrors were his face.


Colette knocked her glass of water off the table. Tumbling to the floor, it shattered.

A waiter hurried over, picking up the pieces and attending to her. Those at nearby tables fell quiet, watching. She could feel their eyes judging.

That was when she felt the wetness seep into her skin. The water had spilled all over her dress. In a hurry that nearly toppled her chair, she excused herself to the restroom.


She tried sleeping on the floor. She tried staying up. She drank coffee. She played music. She left the lights on. Still, when her head drooped forward, the dreams like a hook just beneath her ribs. Like a hand on the nape of her neck. Tugging her back, inescapable, and so real she could have sworn she was actually there.


She was at an elaborate dinner table now. Silver cutlery lined the formally laid placings. Candles dripped wax that hissed as it touched the tablecloth. The guests were laughing, but still faceless. As she entered the room, she walked past a dozen places to a seat at the head of the table.

She sat.

Food was laid before her. The most exquisite and fantastical courses she could fathom. Champagne poured endlessly, and she was the celebrated hostess of the night.

Then, as she scanned her guests, she saw Adrian seated at the opposite end, so far she couldn't hear him speaking until he stood, raising his glass and tapping it with a knife for their attention. Everyone turned to regard him, but Colette just watched in concern.

He stood a glass. “To the dreamers,” he said, toasting.

And in unison, the guests echoed “To the ones who refuse to wake."]]> Colette stood in a cathedral made of pure glass.

The walls shimmered like oil on water, rippling with light that had no source, as if the building breathed. The pews were carved from bone-white marble, but when she ran her fingers across them, they felt warm. Almost... pulsing. Organ music filled the air like something playing behind a locked door.

She didn’t remember walking in. She didn’t remember why she was here. But of course she was here.

In the front row sat a man with no face. He was wearing a familiar coat. She couldn't place where she knew it, but that sharp cut at the collar, the lay of the lapel... It was Adrian's coat. The night of the masquerade. The man wearing it didn’t look at her, but she knew, in the way one just knows things in dreams, that he was waiting.

She turned to leave, but the aisle stretched.

She ran. Her footsteps echoed too long, like each step was falling into the next dream.


Her eyes snapped open.

Darkness wrapped her bedroom, and crept up the familiar ceiling. The fan blades circled with a faint hum, stuttering in that half-second delay she'd come to recognize. Her chest rose in a sharp inhale. The blanket was tangled around her legs like a net.

She sat up, wiped sweat from her brow, and searched for the time

3:42 AM.

Ugh. Again? How many times had she woken like this this week? Five nights? Six?

She rubbed her temples, vaguely aware of the dream slipping away like fog through her fingers. There had been a cathedral. Adrian’s coat. No... someone else’s coat. Maybe.

Did it matter?

Colette laid back, rolling onto her side.

Don’t think. Just rest. You need sleep.

She exhaled.


Now she was in a city where the buildings were made of stitched-together books.

Towering novels, bent spines and torn pages, stacked and bound by clamps and glue. Words bled from the margins like ink that couldn’t dry. People walked by, faceless again, but laughing like a punchline was being told in a language she couldn’t speak.

She stood in a bookstore. There was a moment of peace about it, like it was somewhere safe. But as she looked closer, she realized none of the books had titles. There were only covers, and lll the covers were of her face. A hundred faces in a hundred different angles and expressions. But all her, and in every pair of eyes looking back at her, there was something behind them. As if they were watching her back.

She turned one over.

On the back, in tiny black font, it read: “You could’ve loved him, but you didn’t.”

Her heart pounded, and a rage crept up her arms. She threw the book as hard as she could, hoping it would crash through the window and break this place apart. Instead it landed open. The pages fluttered like wings and took off into the air, shrieking.


When her alarm blared, it felt like a firework detonating inside her skull.

Colette sat up and blinked hard against the light. Her mouth tasted like cotton. Her limbs felt underwater. She padded to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. She didn’t want to see how she looked.


This time, she was underwater, but breathing fine.

Her hair floated around her head in strands like seaweed. Around her, mirrors drifted in the tide. She caught glimpses of herself, but each one was... off. Her reflection blinked slower. Smiled too long. Then, in one mirror, she glimpsed a familiar face.

It wasn't the real Adrian, but it was a dream-Adrian. He was younger and sadder. Eyes like pits filled with silver tears.

“What?” she began, but her voice came out in bubbles. The figure in the mirror reached out, caressing the glass from his side, then in a flash, all the mirrors were his face.


Colette knocked her glass of water off the table. Tumbling to the floor, it shattered.

A waiter hurried over, picking up the pieces and attending to her. Those at nearby tables fell quiet, watching. She could feel their eyes judging.

That was when she felt the wetness seep into her skin. The water had spilled all over her dress. In a hurry that nearly toppled her chair, she excused herself to the restroom.


She tried sleeping on the floor. She tried staying up. She drank coffee. She played music. She left the lights on. Still, when her head drooped forward, the dreams like a hook just beneath her ribs. Like a hand on the nape of her neck. Tugging her back, inescapable, and so real she could have sworn she was actually there.


She was at an elaborate dinner table now. Silver cutlery lined the formally laid placings. Candles dripped wax that hissed as it touched the tablecloth. The guests were laughing, but still faceless. As she entered the room, she walked past a dozen places to a seat at the head of the table.

She sat.

Food was laid before her. The most exquisite and fantastical courses she could fathom. Champagne poured endlessly, and she was the celebrated hostess of the night.

Then, as she scanned her guests, she saw Adrian seated at the opposite end, so far she couldn't hear him speaking until he stood, raising his glass and tapping it with a knife for their attention. Everyone turned to regard him, but Colette just watched in concern.

He stood a glass. “To the dreamers,” he said, toasting.

And in unison, the guests echoed “To the ones who refuse to wake."]]> <![CDATA[Dreams and Prophecies]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1887.html Fri, 17 Oct 2025 16:00:29 +0000 Casey]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1887.html
At the end she sent Elyse a message and found her quickly. To her surprise Jasmín was waiting there too. ”This is Anna - she kind of lives in the same building I do.”

Anna gave her a grin and the trio walked to a building a couple of blocks away. Anna and Elyse said good night and she continued up the stairs while Casey and Elyse entered a room. ”You can have the bed and I’ll take the floor if that’s fine with you.”

Casey shrugged. ”Its big enough for both of us and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to share.” Elyse was being careful to show that she wasn’t trying to make this about being intimate. It made a set feel more comfortable as a whole. 

Elyse nodded and they change into pajamas. That also didn’t bother Casey. She’d already seen most of what Elyse had to offer and generally didn’t care if others saw her. Casey climbed on to the bed and waited. 

”Im going to lead you through the exercises I go through to get into the dream. If it works, I’ll see you there in a moment. If not I’ll be back soon and we can try other things.”

Casey nodded as Elyse turned down the lights and got in next to her. Then Casey followed her instructions, mostly breathing exercises to calm her mind. Even so, she felt herself getting tired and sleepy. She let herself succumb. It was was she was here. 

Then she was there. She recognized it as that weird dream she had been in. Knowing that she decided to come here herself made it less scary and she looked around.  She was in Elyse’s room, but it wasn’t.  For now she was alone. She waited for Elyse to arrive. She said she would and Casey trusted that was the case.]]>
At the end she sent Elyse a message and found her quickly. To her surprise Jasmín was waiting there too. ”This is Anna - she kind of lives in the same building I do.”

Anna gave her a grin and the trio walked to a building a couple of blocks away. Anna and Elyse said good night and she continued up the stairs while Casey and Elyse entered a room. ”You can have the bed and I’ll take the floor if that’s fine with you.”

Casey shrugged. ”Its big enough for both of us and it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to share.” Elyse was being careful to show that she wasn’t trying to make this about being intimate. It made a set feel more comfortable as a whole. 

Elyse nodded and they change into pajamas. That also didn’t bother Casey. She’d already seen most of what Elyse had to offer and generally didn’t care if others saw her. Casey climbed on to the bed and waited. 

”Im going to lead you through the exercises I go through to get into the dream. If it works, I’ll see you there in a moment. If not I’ll be back soon and we can try other things.”

Casey nodded as Elyse turned down the lights and got in next to her. Then Casey followed her instructions, mostly breathing exercises to calm her mind. Even so, she felt herself getting tired and sleepy. She let herself succumb. It was was she was here. 

Then she was there. She recognized it as that weird dream she had been in. Knowing that she decided to come here herself made it less scary and she looked around.  She was in Elyse’s room, but it wasn’t.  For now she was alone. She waited for Elyse to arrive. She said she would and Casey trusted that was the case.]]> <![CDATA[The Wordless Ones have a Pack]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1834.html Tue, 22 Apr 2025 22:23:09 +0000 Aristomenes]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1834.html
Along the high rises, a cat kept its paces with him. When he had left the taxi, he had given it a piece of chicken. The cats of Istanbul were forever, and everywhere. They were hunters, like him. But they would still take a chicken wing. Pride was useless to a wordless one, though he prowled with a lions gaze. He hadn't eaten it yet. Ari began to notice that it wasn't really following him. Their intention only led them in the same direction. 

The people about him crowded a mind trained for solitude. It might have been more uncomfortable if it wasn't home. But without fatigues the clothing settled strangely on him. And the weight of his gear was gone. That wasn't very welcoming. I am just another son visiting his parents. The smells were overwhelming, it was hard to pick out who was who. Here a bit of fear, but they were only late for work. There a bit of love, they were only hopeful for a first date. And the acrid background of discontent, and residue of more drastic smells. Cities were like that now, as if the CCD had destroyed something inside him, and thrown him back to before even the most rudimentary tongue had developed. A beast looked upon a spaceship in bewilderment.

As he approached the courtyard, seagulls cawed over the ancient walls. A new Rome had found owning the hellesponte a convenient tradition. He wondered if he could ever lose the taste of their prey in his jaws. The Wordless ones mocked him in the dream for letting the state choose his hunt, and seeking no pack. The black cat did not waver from their shared path, entirely coincidentally.

 Above the walls, a warships communication tower revolved, a CCD banner flapping furiously in the wind. A bloody supply line, right from Moscow, bisecting the Black Sea. He lingered on it for a moment, like the cat, but drove on through the streets.

His house was as he remembered it. Anxiousness for their meeting wasn't just because of the departure he had made from his old self, or the too few letters once he became lost in the hunt. He wondered if the Vegas searched for him, or some other CCD power. Wouldn't they come here? The most predictable place to come?

He circled three times, but the people only appeared unsuspiciously. And the authorities had no eyes for him, attached more to the city than any particular dark, secret rooms. It was a risk he wouldn't have taken under normal circumstances. Was it cowardice, to merely place a letter in their mailbox?

In a dark alley, he watched the mailbox. It was the point he would get caught, if at all., The black cat pranced without a care past him, the piece of chicken bobbing heavily in his jaws. His nostrils sniffed as many others joined his feline scent, and he looked up to find a small gang of glowing golden orbs above him. They mewed and pattered down behind a dumpster, and feasted on the chicken together.

Ari smiled at their smacking lips, thinking that it was a worthy hunt after all, and that he should find some friends like that. Others added to the feline pot, but none so richly as the black one. None of them ate before they saw their pack. He took out his letter one last time, and read it through.

Mama and Papa,

I am sorry I haven't talked with you. It is hard to begin any other way with this letter. You deserve better from your son. The army has been like Papa said it would be; taking pieces of me and offering a poor replacement part. I don't want you to worry, but I won't lie. I am in trouble. But it's ok; I can take care of myself. I have left the army, because of Papas thing. But also because of something else. It's no use to tell you everything, but something is changing me, from the inside. 

I'm not sure if it is for the good, but I think it might be. I love you. I miss you. I promise I will talk more, but it will be hard for awhile. Im hoping to join something for the right reasons, this time. You couldn't be proud of what I have done, with resentment in my heart. This time you will see my work, and you will say, 'He is mine.' Forgive me for not listening. I will contact you soon. Look for the untraceable number.

Love,
Ari

The old letter he folded, streaked as it was with rare tears. To unbox his childhood felt like tearing out stitches before they were ready. Now that he had read it, he longed to risk the Vegas wrath, and simply knock on the door. He bribed a mischievous young man to drop it in the mailbox, and turned from the scene.

He found a dilapidated old bed and breakfast, the kind middle class tourists like, but thought better of it when he looked at his wallet. Instead, in the darkness, he deftly climbed hand over fist a drain-pipe, and swung over the ledge of a flat roof. Right here, he would sleep in the warm summer night. Looking up, the stars were grotesquely faded in the light pollution of the city, but the skyline was lovely. He unrolled his sleeping back, and laid back, with a brick for a pillow. It was comfortable enough, and free. Sleep came quickly.

The sensation in the dream was intense, for all his rainy sentry duty was boring in every other respect. Five of the pack, bounding athletically over the crest of a hill. A gazzele, trailing a pungent crimson spatter, fell before them. And then another, a hungry, lonely dog, with nothing to eat.

His camouflaged face regarded the thought, and spoke feebly in its human tongue in response. "Yes. I want it. Show me. Show me the pack."

A black wolf emerged, looking fierce and wise. "You. Do you come at night, because it is easy for you?" Amused, he sent an image of Ari himself, stalking amidst the stars in some forgotten jungle. "I know. Are you one of my pack?" In response, he simply ran. Without saying, it was implied; he chased after Night Hunter, and they played in this way. But just as present was the implication that they were going somewhere.]]>
Along the high rises, a cat kept its paces with him. When he had left the taxi, he had given it a piece of chicken. The cats of Istanbul were forever, and everywhere. They were hunters, like him. But they would still take a chicken wing. Pride was useless to a wordless one, though he prowled with a lions gaze. He hadn't eaten it yet. Ari began to notice that it wasn't really following him. Their intention only led them in the same direction. 

The people about him crowded a mind trained for solitude. It might have been more uncomfortable if it wasn't home. But without fatigues the clothing settled strangely on him. And the weight of his gear was gone. That wasn't very welcoming. I am just another son visiting his parents. The smells were overwhelming, it was hard to pick out who was who. Here a bit of fear, but they were only late for work. There a bit of love, they were only hopeful for a first date. And the acrid background of discontent, and residue of more drastic smells. Cities were like that now, as if the CCD had destroyed something inside him, and thrown him back to before even the most rudimentary tongue had developed. A beast looked upon a spaceship in bewilderment.

As he approached the courtyard, seagulls cawed over the ancient walls. A new Rome had found owning the hellesponte a convenient tradition. He wondered if he could ever lose the taste of their prey in his jaws. The Wordless ones mocked him in the dream for letting the state choose his hunt, and seeking no pack. The black cat did not waver from their shared path, entirely coincidentally.

 Above the walls, a warships communication tower revolved, a CCD banner flapping furiously in the wind. A bloody supply line, right from Moscow, bisecting the Black Sea. He lingered on it for a moment, like the cat, but drove on through the streets.

His house was as he remembered it. Anxiousness for their meeting wasn't just because of the departure he had made from his old self, or the too few letters once he became lost in the hunt. He wondered if the Vegas searched for him, or some other CCD power. Wouldn't they come here? The most predictable place to come?

He circled three times, but the people only appeared unsuspiciously. And the authorities had no eyes for him, attached more to the city than any particular dark, secret rooms. It was a risk he wouldn't have taken under normal circumstances. Was it cowardice, to merely place a letter in their mailbox?

In a dark alley, he watched the mailbox. It was the point he would get caught, if at all., The black cat pranced without a care past him, the piece of chicken bobbing heavily in his jaws. His nostrils sniffed as many others joined his feline scent, and he looked up to find a small gang of glowing golden orbs above him. They mewed and pattered down behind a dumpster, and feasted on the chicken together.

Ari smiled at their smacking lips, thinking that it was a worthy hunt after all, and that he should find some friends like that. Others added to the feline pot, but none so richly as the black one. None of them ate before they saw their pack. He took out his letter one last time, and read it through.

Mama and Papa,

I am sorry I haven't talked with you. It is hard to begin any other way with this letter. You deserve better from your son. The army has been like Papa said it would be; taking pieces of me and offering a poor replacement part. I don't want you to worry, but I won't lie. I am in trouble. But it's ok; I can take care of myself. I have left the army, because of Papas thing. But also because of something else. It's no use to tell you everything, but something is changing me, from the inside. 

I'm not sure if it is for the good, but I think it might be. I love you. I miss you. I promise I will talk more, but it will be hard for awhile. Im hoping to join something for the right reasons, this time. You couldn't be proud of what I have done, with resentment in my heart. This time you will see my work, and you will say, 'He is mine.' Forgive me for not listening. I will contact you soon. Look for the untraceable number.

Love,
Ari

The old letter he folded, streaked as it was with rare tears. To unbox his childhood felt like tearing out stitches before they were ready. Now that he had read it, he longed to risk the Vegas wrath, and simply knock on the door. He bribed a mischievous young man to drop it in the mailbox, and turned from the scene.

He found a dilapidated old bed and breakfast, the kind middle class tourists like, but thought better of it when he looked at his wallet. Instead, in the darkness, he deftly climbed hand over fist a drain-pipe, and swung over the ledge of a flat roof. Right here, he would sleep in the warm summer night. Looking up, the stars were grotesquely faded in the light pollution of the city, but the skyline was lovely. He unrolled his sleeping back, and laid back, with a brick for a pillow. It was comfortable enough, and free. Sleep came quickly.

The sensation in the dream was intense, for all his rainy sentry duty was boring in every other respect. Five of the pack, bounding athletically over the crest of a hill. A gazzele, trailing a pungent crimson spatter, fell before them. And then another, a hungry, lonely dog, with nothing to eat.

His camouflaged face regarded the thought, and spoke feebly in its human tongue in response. "Yes. I want it. Show me. Show me the pack."

A black wolf emerged, looking fierce and wise. "You. Do you come at night, because it is easy for you?" Amused, he sent an image of Ari himself, stalking amidst the stars in some forgotten jungle. "I know. Are you one of my pack?" In response, he simply ran. Without saying, it was implied; he chased after Night Hunter, and they played in this way. But just as present was the implication that they were going somewhere.]]> <![CDATA[Time to Train]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1748.html Sun, 02 Feb 2025 23:34:35 +0000 Marta]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1748.html
Splash was here too.  That was another thing.  Splash had a better understanding of the dream than she did.  Wolves just seemed to naturally get this place.  They were inherently connected to it. Splash also wasn't too happy that Marta had decided to come, but Marta did.  She couldn't learn how this place worked without being here.  She awoke in Nox's Building, but this wouldn't do.  She needed someplace else.

"Splash," she said, the words translating to images that she sent to her companion. "How to I get to the woods from here."

Splash sent her back the instructions.  She closed her eyes, and pictured the spot in the woods where she had met Elyse and Sierra, remembering every detail.  She even remembered the scents, and the way the wind rustled through the trees, and when she opened her eyes, she was there.

"Okay - I have to remember.  I'm real, not a dream, and I got to remember what I look like." her clothing, which had been shifting slightly solidified.  She smirked and thought of herself with a bow, and suddenly one was in her hands and she felt the familiar weight of a quiver on her back.  Now she just wondered what she should do now.

((OoC: Any dream walker is welcome - no plans here))]]>
Splash was here too.  That was another thing.  Splash had a better understanding of the dream than she did.  Wolves just seemed to naturally get this place.  They were inherently connected to it. Splash also wasn't too happy that Marta had decided to come, but Marta did.  She couldn't learn how this place worked without being here.  She awoke in Nox's Building, but this wouldn't do.  She needed someplace else.

"Splash," she said, the words translating to images that she sent to her companion. "How to I get to the woods from here."

Splash sent her back the instructions.  She closed her eyes, and pictured the spot in the woods where she had met Elyse and Sierra, remembering every detail.  She even remembered the scents, and the way the wind rustled through the trees, and when she opened her eyes, she was there.

"Okay - I have to remember.  I'm real, not a dream, and I got to remember what I look like." her clothing, which had been shifting slightly solidified.  She smirked and thought of herself with a bow, and suddenly one was in her hands and she felt the familiar weight of a quiver on her back.  Now she just wondered what she should do now.

((OoC: Any dream walker is welcome - no plans here))]]> <![CDATA[What Is Wrong With Me?]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1729.html Thu, 09 Jan 2025 13:04:36 +0000 Elyse]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1729.html here

Elyse hadn't meant to fall asleep, but when she felt the inevitability of sleep coming, she knowingly entered the Dream.  Elyse hated this place.  It's odd light and eerie silence made her cringe, and the place reminded her of her nightmares.  When she thought of them, she could still see them - and still vividly.  Nox had told her they would fade, but they hadn't.  She hadn't thought of them, but as she tried to recall them they were there.

Solitude was what she wanted, and even locked in her room, she couldn't feel alone in Nox's fortress. It was full of kids mostly - strays that Nox had taken.  And there was that creepy AI watching everything.  Elyse stood and left the dream version of her room.  It was empty.  She hadn't been there long enough to make a substantial difference in the Dream.  Opening the door, she entered the hallway.  It looked like it did in the real world, bathroom across the hall where Mara's room was.

Mara. One of the few people who lived in the house she hadn't met, but was the one who intrigued Elyse the most. Elyse thought it was simply because, like her, Mara wasn't connected to the Blackthorns. Elyse probably should have been polite.  She probably should have introduced herself, but she hadn't.  She hadn't wanted to pry.

Elyse sat on the floor and couldn't help but start thinking. She had come here full of hope - come here searching for something better. She had found Nox, and their time together had been short, but happy.  Until he cheated on her - like he said he would.  It was the only time he had almost lost to the wolf. When Nox's lover ran, Elyse had wanted to give chase.  She had wanted to tear his throat out for taking what was hers. Then she found Sierra, and her happiness returned. But Sierra was gone now. Then she had come to Kallisti, found a family and a girlfriend.  Just when she was getting happy again, her father decided to kill her. Now Mae was gone - they weren't broken up -  but Elyse wasn't sure what she wanted.  Right now, she knew she didn't want to think about it.  It was still too soon.

Her father - her father had piercing blue eyes.  Perhaps her nightmares had been trying to warn her about this.  That her father would come to hunt her.  She had never really understood what they meant.  What good were prophecies if they were so vague they didn't guide decisions?

Elyse suddenly realized she was naked.  She had fallen asleep that way, she put on clothes with a thought - a pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt.  Finally she allowed herself to cry.  She had come to the Dream for this, not knowing if her body was crying in the real world or not, but this place gave her the solitude she wanted.  No one would be looking for her here, and that's what mattered.  If she could, she'd have brought her body in here too.

Elyse knew isolation was bad.  She knew right now she should be seeking someone to talk to.  She almost had, but when she had grabbed her wallet, it had not been the number of Anna Rodriguez that she had punched in.  It had been Ana Vega. Ana had taken her in, and was almost a mother figure to Elyse. Sometimes you had to talk to your mom, but Elyse couldn't.  Her mom was dead.  Frustrated, Elyse had put her wallet back down and had fallen asleep.

"What the fuck is wrong with me??" Elyse finally screamed into the void. It didn't make her feel any better.]]> here

Elyse hadn't meant to fall asleep, but when she felt the inevitability of sleep coming, she knowingly entered the Dream.  Elyse hated this place.  It's odd light and eerie silence made her cringe, and the place reminded her of her nightmares.  When she thought of them, she could still see them - and still vividly.  Nox had told her they would fade, but they hadn't.  She hadn't thought of them, but as she tried to recall them they were there.

Solitude was what she wanted, and even locked in her room, she couldn't feel alone in Nox's fortress. It was full of kids mostly - strays that Nox had taken.  And there was that creepy AI watching everything.  Elyse stood and left the dream version of her room.  It was empty.  She hadn't been there long enough to make a substantial difference in the Dream.  Opening the door, she entered the hallway.  It looked like it did in the real world, bathroom across the hall where Mara's room was.

Mara. One of the few people who lived in the house she hadn't met, but was the one who intrigued Elyse the most. Elyse thought it was simply because, like her, Mara wasn't connected to the Blackthorns. Elyse probably should have been polite.  She probably should have introduced herself, but she hadn't.  She hadn't wanted to pry.

Elyse sat on the floor and couldn't help but start thinking. She had come here full of hope - come here searching for something better. She had found Nox, and their time together had been short, but happy.  Until he cheated on her - like he said he would.  It was the only time he had almost lost to the wolf. When Nox's lover ran, Elyse had wanted to give chase.  She had wanted to tear his throat out for taking what was hers. Then she found Sierra, and her happiness returned. But Sierra was gone now. Then she had come to Kallisti, found a family and a girlfriend.  Just when she was getting happy again, her father decided to kill her. Now Mae was gone - they weren't broken up -  but Elyse wasn't sure what she wanted.  Right now, she knew she didn't want to think about it.  It was still too soon.

Her father - her father had piercing blue eyes.  Perhaps her nightmares had been trying to warn her about this.  That her father would come to hunt her.  She had never really understood what they meant.  What good were prophecies if they were so vague they didn't guide decisions?

Elyse suddenly realized she was naked.  She had fallen asleep that way, she put on clothes with a thought - a pair of jeans and a yellow t-shirt.  Finally she allowed herself to cry.  She had come to the Dream for this, not knowing if her body was crying in the real world or not, but this place gave her the solitude she wanted.  No one would be looking for her here, and that's what mattered.  If she could, she'd have brought her body in here too.

Elyse knew isolation was bad.  She knew right now she should be seeking someone to talk to.  She almost had, but when she had grabbed her wallet, it had not been the number of Anna Rodriguez that she had punched in.  It had been Ana Vega. Ana had taken her in, and was almost a mother figure to Elyse. Sometimes you had to talk to your mom, but Elyse couldn't.  Her mom was dead.  Frustrated, Elyse had put her wallet back down and had fallen asleep.

"What the fuck is wrong with me??" Elyse finally screamed into the void. It didn't make her feel any better.]]> <![CDATA[What Is This Place]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1662.html Mon, 21 Oct 2024 12:03:35 +0000 Marisol]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1662.html
Marisol hated it here. It was so creepy. Everything was still and quiet. It reminded her of that old horror movie where they couldn’t talk at all because the monsters hunted by sound. And the light source wasn’t a sun or lamp. There was just sort of an ambient light that lit everything. And no matter what, Marisol felt like she was being watched. 

She was in her apartment building - some dream semblence of it. Her apartment itself was actually only an empty space without furniture and everything was insanely clean. She wasn’t a slob by any means, but still this just made the place seem even more empty. If she wasn’t going to have weird dreams why couldn’t they at least include a cute guy to give her a massage or something. 

”Christ, I haven’t even been on a date in years,” she said, her voice seeming to echo in the silence. 

It was a true statement. Marisol had been focused on her career. So much so, that she had been promoted to detective quickly and sworn in only last night. She was currently trying to sleep off the drinks from the bar that her coworkers had taken her out for to celebrate. Even at the bar she couldn’t find a man to have a drink with. Being one of a few women who were involved in law enforcement, she had been well protected last night. Maybe next time she’d ask one of them to be a wingman. 

Her thoughts came back to where she was and looking down she noticed her outfit changing constantly from a patrol uniform to a detective’s suit, complete with badge and sidearm. Marisol closed her eyes and thought for a bit, and upon opening them she saw herself in jeans and a light blue t-shirt. Marisol then headed outside here apartment, making her way to the street. Occasionally a neighbor would pop briefly into her dream and then disappear. At one time that startled her.  She’d rather be sleeping than here, but she was here and these dreams had to mean something. Perhaps she’d spend a bit of time here before “going back to her body.” These dreams had been her companion for so long. They had to mean something.]]>
Marisol hated it here. It was so creepy. Everything was still and quiet. It reminded her of that old horror movie where they couldn’t talk at all because the monsters hunted by sound. And the light source wasn’t a sun or lamp. There was just sort of an ambient light that lit everything. And no matter what, Marisol felt like she was being watched. 

She was in her apartment building - some dream semblence of it. Her apartment itself was actually only an empty space without furniture and everything was insanely clean. She wasn’t a slob by any means, but still this just made the place seem even more empty. If she wasn’t going to have weird dreams why couldn’t they at least include a cute guy to give her a massage or something. 

”Christ, I haven’t even been on a date in years,” she said, her voice seeming to echo in the silence. 

It was a true statement. Marisol had been focused on her career. So much so, that she had been promoted to detective quickly and sworn in only last night. She was currently trying to sleep off the drinks from the bar that her coworkers had taken her out for to celebrate. Even at the bar she couldn’t find a man to have a drink with. Being one of a few women who were involved in law enforcement, she had been well protected last night. Maybe next time she’d ask one of them to be a wingman. 

Her thoughts came back to where she was and looking down she noticed her outfit changing constantly from a patrol uniform to a detective’s suit, complete with badge and sidearm. Marisol closed her eyes and thought for a bit, and upon opening them she saw herself in jeans and a light blue t-shirt. Marisol then headed outside here apartment, making her way to the street. Occasionally a neighbor would pop briefly into her dream and then disappear. At one time that startled her.  She’d rather be sleeping than here, but she was here and these dreams had to mean something. Perhaps she’d spend a bit of time here before “going back to her body.” These dreams had been her companion for so long. They had to mean something.]]> <![CDATA[He did WHAT? [Finnland]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1603.html Fri, 22 Mar 2024 20:56:41 +0000 Zephyr]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1603.html
It was yet another fun filled rockstar of a night filled with a little vodka, a lot of sex and maybe even a relaxing shower or two. Jaxen's home didn't feel like home so every morning before training with Eido Zef slipped out of the warm bed and into her clothes while the man she'd started to enjoy more than just his body and sexual prowess slept.

The apartment was quiet, and they'd left a mess on their way to the bedroom which Zef straightened up on her way out.  She felt good, sore in all the right places and knew they'd be enjoying each others company again soon.

Zef flicked of the lights and opened the front door.  She stepped into the hall way, her heels clicking on a smooth jet black glass surface, the door behind her vanishing and the sounds of foreign currents tickled her ears.  What the fuck!]]>
It was yet another fun filled rockstar of a night filled with a little vodka, a lot of sex and maybe even a relaxing shower or two. Jaxen's home didn't feel like home so every morning before training with Eido Zef slipped out of the warm bed and into her clothes while the man she'd started to enjoy more than just his body and sexual prowess slept.

The apartment was quiet, and they'd left a mess on their way to the bedroom which Zef straightened up on her way out.  She felt good, sore in all the right places and knew they'd be enjoying each others company again soon.

Zef flicked of the lights and opened the front door.  She stepped into the hall way, her heels clicking on a smooth jet black glass surface, the door behind her vanishing and the sounds of foreign currents tickled her ears.  What the fuck!]]> <![CDATA[Seeking WyldeFyre]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1587.html Mon, 12 Feb 2024 19:43:03 +0000 Sierra]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1587.html "Sleep now.  Let's find Tristan."  She projected the image to Never and he settled but poor Bre didn't have that, Sierra held her close and calmed her with her fingers through her fur as she closed her eyes and drifted into the dream.

If Tristan were hurt maybe he's drift there too.  Maybe...


Sierra woke in the grove of the ancient one.  The place where Tristan had given her the flower -- a good memory, a warm one though Tristan was not there.  Sierra called out both in dream and her voice.  "Tristan. WyldeFyre."  The image of his name carried throughout the dream and the waking world calling to all the wolves in both.  She had to find him, make sure he was safe.  And hope that wherever he was Thalia was too.  She was of the dream but she didn't remember -- a thought that she couldn't ponder at the moment.

Never was there beside her but he lept through the trees and into the air and spread his own wings to fly.  He wasn't going to let her mortal constructs contain him.  He sent her back images that meant here he can fly -- soar like the eagles above.  And he'd find Tristan.  Or get lost in the dream Sierra thought to herself, but the pup was gone and seeking out their friend.

The wolves in the dreams echoed back their willingness to help but none knew where he was -- at least not yet.]]> "Sleep now.  Let's find Tristan."  She projected the image to Never and he settled but poor Bre didn't have that, Sierra held her close and calmed her with her fingers through her fur as she closed her eyes and drifted into the dream.

If Tristan were hurt maybe he's drift there too.  Maybe...


Sierra woke in the grove of the ancient one.  The place where Tristan had given her the flower -- a good memory, a warm one though Tristan was not there.  Sierra called out both in dream and her voice.  "Tristan. WyldeFyre."  The image of his name carried throughout the dream and the waking world calling to all the wolves in both.  She had to find him, make sure he was safe.  And hope that wherever he was Thalia was too.  She was of the dream but she didn't remember -- a thought that she couldn't ponder at the moment.

Never was there beside her but he lept through the trees and into the air and spread his own wings to fly.  He wasn't going to let her mortal constructs contain him.  He sent her back images that meant here he can fly -- soar like the eagles above.  And he'd find Tristan.  Or get lost in the dream Sierra thought to herself, but the pup was gone and seeking out their friend.

The wolves in the dreams echoed back their willingness to help but none knew where he was -- at least not yet.]]> <![CDATA[We've been waiting for you [[Finn]]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1558.html Fri, 10 Nov 2023 21:58:30 +0000 Jaxen Marveet]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1558.html Almaz; this scene isn't in the world of dreams, but this was the best option.]]


The room with the far was brighter than he remembered.

The walls were white? They should be stone. Wood beams. A sophisticated bar.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if Ashton saw what he saw, only, there was no Ashton. Instead, a curtain of light shimmered floor to ceiling like a portal.

“Uhh—“ he licked his lips, but when he reached out to swipe the curtain, it disappeared.

He turned in a circle. Almaz had transformed into an impossibly smooth tunnel. The world around him was awash with a brightness that seemed to have no source; the light simply was, as if the air itself exuded a soft glow. Everything curved and spiraled into itself—the ceiling, the floor, even the air seemed to twist in a gentle helix above him.

Now this should normally be a little distressing. Jumping from Almaz’s underground club to some sort of sci-fi looking world, but given that Jaxen lived through two similar experiences, he was more annoyed than disturbed.

He began to walk, stepping lightly to avoid drawing attention to himself until he better understood what was happening.

The architecture was a marvel, he admitted, an endless enigma of snakelike structures that defied the laws of physics as he knew them. The walls bowed outward, ceilings arched into impossible heights before curling back into themselves, and the doorways were rounded, as if carved by the spinning of a giant potter’s wheel. Jaxen walked through one of these doorways, entering a chamber that seemed to lead into another, and then another, each one a perfect circle, each one leading back to the last.

At first, there was a calm curiosity in his stride. He admired the fluidity of the design, the way the circular windows refracted the light into rainbows that danced across the curved walls. He might have thought it an elaborate illusion until he ran his hand along a banister, feeling the smoothness of its twist, impressed by the craftsmanship and appreciating how real it truly was. But as he walked, a realization began to dawn on him: no matter how far he walked, he was getting nowhere. Each turn, each spiral staircase, brought him back to a place eerily similar to the last.

Panic fluttered in his chest, and with a frown, Jaxen picked up his pace. The rounded hallways seemed to stretch and grow with his expanding alarm. He started to run, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the undulating surfaces, a maddening cacophony in the brightness. Doors that once seemed inviting now mocked him, leading him in looping paths that had no end, no escape.

His breaths came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself to run faster, the world blurring into a whirl of light and color. But no matter how desperately he sprinted, the realm kept him ensnared within its serpentine grasp, an endless maze designed not to confine the body, but almost as if meant to entrap the mind. Jaxen was beginning to realize that this alien world of curves and spirals might be more than just a labyrinth—it might be a trap from which there was no escape.

At the end of a final spiral, he clenched his fists and summoned the Ancient Power to his grasp. One way or another, he was getting out of there. A sly lick of the lips and he prepared to hurl a knot toward the wall.

That was when he heard a voice, not unlike the speech of the naga, but more sinister.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” it said.]]> Almaz; this scene isn't in the world of dreams, but this was the best option.]]


The room with the far was brighter than he remembered.

The walls were white? They should be stone. Wood beams. A sophisticated bar.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if Ashton saw what he saw, only, there was no Ashton. Instead, a curtain of light shimmered floor to ceiling like a portal.

“Uhh—“ he licked his lips, but when he reached out to swipe the curtain, it disappeared.

He turned in a circle. Almaz had transformed into an impossibly smooth tunnel. The world around him was awash with a brightness that seemed to have no source; the light simply was, as if the air itself exuded a soft glow. Everything curved and spiraled into itself—the ceiling, the floor, even the air seemed to twist in a gentle helix above him.

Now this should normally be a little distressing. Jumping from Almaz’s underground club to some sort of sci-fi looking world, but given that Jaxen lived through two similar experiences, he was more annoyed than disturbed.

He began to walk, stepping lightly to avoid drawing attention to himself until he better understood what was happening.

The architecture was a marvel, he admitted, an endless enigma of snakelike structures that defied the laws of physics as he knew them. The walls bowed outward, ceilings arched into impossible heights before curling back into themselves, and the doorways were rounded, as if carved by the spinning of a giant potter’s wheel. Jaxen walked through one of these doorways, entering a chamber that seemed to lead into another, and then another, each one a perfect circle, each one leading back to the last.

At first, there was a calm curiosity in his stride. He admired the fluidity of the design, the way the circular windows refracted the light into rainbows that danced across the curved walls. He might have thought it an elaborate illusion until he ran his hand along a banister, feeling the smoothness of its twist, impressed by the craftsmanship and appreciating how real it truly was. But as he walked, a realization began to dawn on him: no matter how far he walked, he was getting nowhere. Each turn, each spiral staircase, brought him back to a place eerily similar to the last.

Panic fluttered in his chest, and with a frown, Jaxen picked up his pace. The rounded hallways seemed to stretch and grow with his expanding alarm. He started to run, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the undulating surfaces, a maddening cacophony in the brightness. Doors that once seemed inviting now mocked him, leading him in looping paths that had no end, no escape.

His breaths came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself to run faster, the world blurring into a whirl of light and color. But no matter how desperately he sprinted, the realm kept him ensnared within its serpentine grasp, an endless maze designed not to confine the body, but almost as if meant to entrap the mind. Jaxen was beginning to realize that this alien world of curves and spirals might be more than just a labyrinth—it might be a trap from which there was no escape.

At the end of a final spiral, he clenched his fists and summoned the Ancient Power to his grasp. One way or another, he was getting out of there. A sly lick of the lips and he prepared to hurl a knot toward the wall.

That was when he heard a voice, not unlike the speech of the naga, but more sinister.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” it said.]]> <![CDATA[Nightmares Reimagined]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1542.html Wed, 13 Sep 2023 20:47:44 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1542.html
His nightmares were exponentially worse after seeing his grandfather's best friend again and the ignition of additional repressed memories horrified Nox. Every face in his dreams now had names -- except one, the random rapist he'd found on the street.  There was no name, only the feelings left behind by his slaughter.  If Nox had the horde then the man would not have been identifiable. 

His nightmares stoked by the horde's instinct obliterated any recognition of those scenes.  The faces were not randomly placed in a sequence of failures.  Nox relived the hunter he was in his nightmares.  They made his previous nightmares pale in comparison.

His mother being ripped to shreds, or ripping Raffe's heart out with his bare hands were nothing compared to the brutal murder of a child and his family.  Things exaggerated by the dream that had really happened.  Things Nox had chosen not to remember somewhere deep inside when he'd lost all memory of who he was.  He was not that person anymore.  He stopped -- he asked questions.  He didn't live by the strict credo of the Atharim any longer.  He was a monster but he wasn't that monster!  He wasn't a cold-blooded killer.

Nox woke every night before his alarm sweating and wheezing from the memories -- often afraid to go back to sleep or see the images floating in his mind.  But tonight was not one of those nights.  He'd taken something to sleep and it dragged him down deep into slumber unable to wake himself from his nightmares just so his body could try to rest.

A litany of scenes played in his minds eye.  On deck was his one and only god killing spree.  The boy at the top of the stairs, Nox's knife jutting into his back.  The blood spilling across his fingers making a sticky mess, looking past him as Uncle Jake smiled proudly at him.  Nox didn't want to see the pride on his face, feel the smile spread his lips.  He hadn't enjoyed the kill, but he had loved the look of pride on Jacob's face.  Someone was glad he existed in that moment. 

Nox shook in horror at his memories at the boy he was, the hunter he might have become.

[[ ooc: Nox doesn't remember his dreams so any dreamwalker is welcome to come play with Nox's nightmares and not affect any of his on going threads Smile ]]]]>
His nightmares were exponentially worse after seeing his grandfather's best friend again and the ignition of additional repressed memories horrified Nox. Every face in his dreams now had names -- except one, the random rapist he'd found on the street.  There was no name, only the feelings left behind by his slaughter.  If Nox had the horde then the man would not have been identifiable. 

His nightmares stoked by the horde's instinct obliterated any recognition of those scenes.  The faces were not randomly placed in a sequence of failures.  Nox relived the hunter he was in his nightmares.  They made his previous nightmares pale in comparison.

His mother being ripped to shreds, or ripping Raffe's heart out with his bare hands were nothing compared to the brutal murder of a child and his family.  Things exaggerated by the dream that had really happened.  Things Nox had chosen not to remember somewhere deep inside when he'd lost all memory of who he was.  He was not that person anymore.  He stopped -- he asked questions.  He didn't live by the strict credo of the Atharim any longer.  He was a monster but he wasn't that monster!  He wasn't a cold-blooded killer.

Nox woke every night before his alarm sweating and wheezing from the memories -- often afraid to go back to sleep or see the images floating in his mind.  But tonight was not one of those nights.  He'd taken something to sleep and it dragged him down deep into slumber unable to wake himself from his nightmares just so his body could try to rest.

A litany of scenes played in his minds eye.  On deck was his one and only god killing spree.  The boy at the top of the stairs, Nox's knife jutting into his back.  The blood spilling across his fingers making a sticky mess, looking past him as Uncle Jake smiled proudly at him.  Nox didn't want to see the pride on his face, feel the smile spread his lips.  He hadn't enjoyed the kill, but he had loved the look of pride on Jacob's face.  Someone was glad he existed in that moment. 

Nox shook in horror at his memories at the boy he was, the hunter he might have become.

[[ ooc: Nox doesn't remember his dreams so any dreamwalker is welcome to come play with Nox's nightmares and not affect any of his on going threads Smile ]]]]> <![CDATA[Anamnesis]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1511.html Wed, 26 Jul 2023 03:38:07 +0000 Adrian Kane]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1511.html Anamnesis is the recollection of innate knowledge acquired before birth, the claim that learning consists of rediscovering knowledge from within. Socrates' theory of anamnesis suggests that the soul is immortal and repeatedly incarnated; knowledge is in the soul from eternity, but each time the soul is incarnated its knowledge is forgotten in the trauma of birth. 
What one perceives to be learning, then, is the recovery of what one has forgotten.

+++

Adrian stood alongside his bed and when he looked upon the blankets he could almost see himself slumbering there, but that was another world. He looked upon himself, then, unsurprised to find his body beneath him. Every time he awoke in his home, he was in this form. When he awoke somewhere else it was within the shape of an entirely different creature. It seemed to be random how it happened.

He crossed to a window in order to peer upon the city of Moscow. As he focused through the buildings, across the river and over the cityscape, he beheld a sort of motion far on the horizon. He closed his eyes and the world shifted around him.

When next they opened, he was on the edge of a cliff. Pine trees poked up from the earth below like a spiky green carpet. A river wound its way through the valley, wide and flat in spots. Adrian was never an outdoorsman. This sort of view was unnatural for him, but for a moment, he pondered the beauty until the movement again snatched his attention, wandering beneath the canopy below.

Shift

Now beneath the trees just off the edge of the river, he stared at what had caught his attention all the way from the city, and he frowned. It was a wolf. Adrian’s eyes were wide as they stared into the yellow orbs looking back at him and in them, he saw memories. The side of a mountain. An axe dripping with blood. A feast table. Terrible lightning and endless howling.

“Lycāōn” he muttered with disdain and spit on the ground before the beast. It snarled in response, and he remembered that he tolerated the wolves. They operated among themselves; outsiders. He tolerated them because they were as much of this place as he was. All of them except this one: a rabid, monstrous creature. The first of its kind.

They circled one another, neither attacking, both wary. “Why did you summon me here?” he asked the elder wolf, but there was no response. The wolf began to back itself up, slinking into the darkness of the forest behind it until it was only a pair of yellow eyes and even those disappeared.

Adrian breathed a sigh of relief, and moved toward the water. On the rocky bank, he peered into the reflection of himself. His hair would be windswept but that there was no wind. His face was clean-shaven. His eyes cloaked with thought. Jaw firm. He wore simple clothes: slacks and a henley unbuttoned at the throat. He looked at himself as though he’d forgotten this was his form. He murmured and spoke into the bubbling water.

“Aletheia.”

He blinked at the sound that rolled from his lips. It was Greek, and he knew the meaning of its translation but not the intention behind what he sought.

So he spoke again. “Show me Aletheia,” and a second time, he cocked his head with curiosity. Was he asking to be shown aletheia, truth, or perhaps, awareness… remembering? Or was he asking to be shown something by Aletheia?

He frowned and shook his head at the futility of the exercise. When he gave himself away to the pull of the dream, strange things found him, and this must be one such moment. Perhaps nothing could be stranger than the rabid wolf.. but perhaps not.]]> Anamnesis is the recollection of innate knowledge acquired before birth, the claim that learning consists of rediscovering knowledge from within. Socrates' theory of anamnesis suggests that the soul is immortal and repeatedly incarnated; knowledge is in the soul from eternity, but each time the soul is incarnated its knowledge is forgotten in the trauma of birth. 
What one perceives to be learning, then, is the recovery of what one has forgotten.

+++

Adrian stood alongside his bed and when he looked upon the blankets he could almost see himself slumbering there, but that was another world. He looked upon himself, then, unsurprised to find his body beneath him. Every time he awoke in his home, he was in this form. When he awoke somewhere else it was within the shape of an entirely different creature. It seemed to be random how it happened.

He crossed to a window in order to peer upon the city of Moscow. As he focused through the buildings, across the river and over the cityscape, he beheld a sort of motion far on the horizon. He closed his eyes and the world shifted around him.

When next they opened, he was on the edge of a cliff. Pine trees poked up from the earth below like a spiky green carpet. A river wound its way through the valley, wide and flat in spots. Adrian was never an outdoorsman. This sort of view was unnatural for him, but for a moment, he pondered the beauty until the movement again snatched his attention, wandering beneath the canopy below.

Shift

Now beneath the trees just off the edge of the river, he stared at what had caught his attention all the way from the city, and he frowned. It was a wolf. Adrian’s eyes were wide as they stared into the yellow orbs looking back at him and in them, he saw memories. The side of a mountain. An axe dripping with blood. A feast table. Terrible lightning and endless howling.

“Lycāōn” he muttered with disdain and spit on the ground before the beast. It snarled in response, and he remembered that he tolerated the wolves. They operated among themselves; outsiders. He tolerated them because they were as much of this place as he was. All of them except this one: a rabid, monstrous creature. The first of its kind.

They circled one another, neither attacking, both wary. “Why did you summon me here?” he asked the elder wolf, but there was no response. The wolf began to back itself up, slinking into the darkness of the forest behind it until it was only a pair of yellow eyes and even those disappeared.

Adrian breathed a sigh of relief, and moved toward the water. On the rocky bank, he peered into the reflection of himself. His hair would be windswept but that there was no wind. His face was clean-shaven. His eyes cloaked with thought. Jaw firm. He wore simple clothes: slacks and a henley unbuttoned at the throat. He looked at himself as though he’d forgotten this was his form. He murmured and spoke into the bubbling water.

“Aletheia.”

He blinked at the sound that rolled from his lips. It was Greek, and he knew the meaning of its translation but not the intention behind what he sought.

So he spoke again. “Show me Aletheia,” and a second time, he cocked his head with curiosity. Was he asking to be shown aletheia, truth, or perhaps, awareness… remembering? Or was he asking to be shown something by Aletheia?

He frowned and shook his head at the futility of the exercise. When he gave himself away to the pull of the dream, strange things found him, and this must be one such moment. Perhaps nothing could be stranger than the rabid wolf.. but perhaps not.]]> <![CDATA[The cup and the knife]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1457.html Sun, 12 Mar 2023 01:46:51 +0000 Kiyohito]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1457.html
He began to walk along a crushed gravel path. As he reached the closest house, fog curled off the mountains, sweeping around his feet. He hurried inside just as the fog crept to the door and locked it out behind him. 

Within, he found a dark interior. The furniture was sparse. Mats were rolled in the corner. An iron stove was cold in another. 

There was an empty cup on the table. When next he looked, the cup was filled with a golden light. Curious, he picked it up and peered inside. When he upturned the cup, out poured gold coins. They clattered loud on the floor, pooling around his feet. Their light shone upward from the floor.

He knelt to scoop one up, studying the strange markings when a shadow appeared. The figure rushed him, and the gold coins were kicked in the scuffle. A knife flashed and burns erupted on his throat.

He fell to his knees, looking up at the assailant as blood poured out, glimpsing the attacker's face as he did.

+++

Kiyohito shot awake, sitting up immediately, sheet puddled haphazardly in his lap. His heart was pounding as his hands grasped his throat for injury. When he found himself unharmed, he sank forward in relief, chest slicked with sweat. 

He was breathing hard. Despite squeezing his eyes shut, the face in memory was burning like an echo in his mind now. 

Despite the time, 2 AM, Kiyohito left the bed and did not lay down again the rest of the night, contemplating what the dream meant for days afterward.]]>
He began to walk along a crushed gravel path. As he reached the closest house, fog curled off the mountains, sweeping around his feet. He hurried inside just as the fog crept to the door and locked it out behind him. 

Within, he found a dark interior. The furniture was sparse. Mats were rolled in the corner. An iron stove was cold in another. 

There was an empty cup on the table. When next he looked, the cup was filled with a golden light. Curious, he picked it up and peered inside. When he upturned the cup, out poured gold coins. They clattered loud on the floor, pooling around his feet. Their light shone upward from the floor.

He knelt to scoop one up, studying the strange markings when a shadow appeared. The figure rushed him, and the gold coins were kicked in the scuffle. A knife flashed and burns erupted on his throat.

He fell to his knees, looking up at the assailant as blood poured out, glimpsing the attacker's face as he did.

+++

Kiyohito shot awake, sitting up immediately, sheet puddled haphazardly in his lap. His heart was pounding as his hands grasped his throat for injury. When he found himself unharmed, he sank forward in relief, chest slicked with sweat. 

He was breathing hard. Despite squeezing his eyes shut, the face in memory was burning like an echo in his mind now. 

Despite the time, 2 AM, Kiyohito left the bed and did not lay down again the rest of the night, contemplating what the dream meant for days afterward.]]> <![CDATA[Lemosyne]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1392.html Fri, 20 May 2022 20:42:14 +0000 Thalia]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1392.html [Image: 7a33a231806ff98fed0360cdbc4801e8.jpg]
Sometimes she arose in the void, a half-place, unknowing and afraid.

Or maybe it had always been this way, and now she only remembered it more often.

“Jon?” She twisted to the call of old ghosts, seeking a foothold on where she was. On who she was. Around her the world swirled all its colours together like a cruel trick, and he was known for them (once?). Her surroundings dizzied her, a nauseous storm, leaching into a darkness that cloyed until it swept like a hand across her shoulder, turning her about. Presence lingered in her peripheral, unseen. A whispered voice, acid sharp, a puncture to the heart: “It was easy,” it said; smooth, feminine, and beautifully cruel. “To leave you.”

She did not listen. Refused to.

Her hand clenched a fist, then pressed tight to her chest; a lid, a lock, a plea. Eyes closed, afraid afraid afraid of that pulling feeling, like life and soul were naught but a tightly coiled thread, and one violent yank was all it might take to become nothing. Dream, memory, less than.

Gone.

She reached out wild and desperate, soul tossed about like a storm-wrecked ship seeking safe harbour, until when she next swiped tears from her cheeks the world had finally stilled. She blinked, no longer seeing an empty ‘scape of nothing, but the heavy shadows of deep underground. Her skin was cold beneath her pale garments, and colder where her palms patted the cool metal beneath her. She rested within a giant iron fetter, so large it curved around her body like a babe’s cradle. It should have been a nightmare. But she was not sure even Mara’s pets ever came here.

Her breathing stilled, but not her sense of disquiet. This was wrong, and she could not place the tip of her finger as to why, but it permeated until she trembled.

Beside her something moved, alive; something slow, and unfathomably large. More than one. Soft clinks stuttered in the silence, and her perch swung lazily in the air. A fetid lizard stink filled her nose and mouth as coiling bodies moved and shifted amidst their chains. Then, the scorched carrion-heat of a soft sighing breath, and a return to peace; the creatures were unperturbed by her intrusion, because they were used to it. Her fingers found the edges of a scale in the dark. Comfort and mystery.

“Do you dream?” she whispered.

If they did, perhaps it was somewhere else their souls fled. A constellation of worlds might lie behind those stone eyelids, for all she knew. They did not speak of it.

Her eyes closed, too. Content.

She visited because no one else ever did. If her grandmother ever troubled herself with dreams, it was not to look upon that which she presided over in the waking world. No one else would even dare, except perhaps Him, and never for this reason.

The thought suddenly left her mouth dry, and she wasn’t sure why. Her hands rose to press against the contours of her own face, panic beginning to beat again, but it was just a face. Seeking calm, she waded memory for her name. A touchstone. An anchor. But the one that came felt jagged on her tongue. Startled, her eyes flared wide.

The world lurched again, and settled again, and she curled into herself, barely daring to look.

Had it been a memory, or a dream? She did not know. It lingered like a taste of the Tiber waters that Noctua had decried. Not because it had felt bad, but because the peace found had not been a memory of hers. Old things surfaced from time to time; things she knew that she shouldn’t know; an awareness of others that transcended flesh and blood shells and recognised something older. But such things drifted away just as quickly. They never consumed like that, as fresh of feeling as if they had happened yesterday.

“My name is Nimeda.” She spoke the name into her knees, body curled tight. And prayed that it was true.]]> [Image: 7a33a231806ff98fed0360cdbc4801e8.jpg]
Sometimes she arose in the void, a half-place, unknowing and afraid.

Or maybe it had always been this way, and now she only remembered it more often.

“Jon?” She twisted to the call of old ghosts, seeking a foothold on where she was. On who she was. Around her the world swirled all its colours together like a cruel trick, and he was known for them (once?). Her surroundings dizzied her, a nauseous storm, leaching into a darkness that cloyed until it swept like a hand across her shoulder, turning her about. Presence lingered in her peripheral, unseen. A whispered voice, acid sharp, a puncture to the heart: “It was easy,” it said; smooth, feminine, and beautifully cruel. “To leave you.”

She did not listen. Refused to.

Her hand clenched a fist, then pressed tight to her chest; a lid, a lock, a plea. Eyes closed, afraid afraid afraid of that pulling feeling, like life and soul were naught but a tightly coiled thread, and one violent yank was all it might take to become nothing. Dream, memory, less than.

Gone.

She reached out wild and desperate, soul tossed about like a storm-wrecked ship seeking safe harbour, until when she next swiped tears from her cheeks the world had finally stilled. She blinked, no longer seeing an empty ‘scape of nothing, but the heavy shadows of deep underground. Her skin was cold beneath her pale garments, and colder where her palms patted the cool metal beneath her. She rested within a giant iron fetter, so large it curved around her body like a babe’s cradle. It should have been a nightmare. But she was not sure even Mara’s pets ever came here.

Her breathing stilled, but not her sense of disquiet. This was wrong, and she could not place the tip of her finger as to why, but it permeated until she trembled.

Beside her something moved, alive; something slow, and unfathomably large. More than one. Soft clinks stuttered in the silence, and her perch swung lazily in the air. A fetid lizard stink filled her nose and mouth as coiling bodies moved and shifted amidst their chains. Then, the scorched carrion-heat of a soft sighing breath, and a return to peace; the creatures were unperturbed by her intrusion, because they were used to it. Her fingers found the edges of a scale in the dark. Comfort and mystery.

“Do you dream?” she whispered.

If they did, perhaps it was somewhere else their souls fled. A constellation of worlds might lie behind those stone eyelids, for all she knew. They did not speak of it.

Her eyes closed, too. Content.

She visited because no one else ever did. If her grandmother ever troubled herself with dreams, it was not to look upon that which she presided over in the waking world. No one else would even dare, except perhaps Him, and never for this reason.

The thought suddenly left her mouth dry, and she wasn’t sure why. Her hands rose to press against the contours of her own face, panic beginning to beat again, but it was just a face. Seeking calm, she waded memory for her name. A touchstone. An anchor. But the one that came felt jagged on her tongue. Startled, her eyes flared wide.

The world lurched again, and settled again, and she curled into herself, barely daring to look.

Had it been a memory, or a dream? She did not know. It lingered like a taste of the Tiber waters that Noctua had decried. Not because it had felt bad, but because the peace found had not been a memory of hers. Old things surfaced from time to time; things she knew that she shouldn’t know; an awareness of others that transcended flesh and blood shells and recognised something older. But such things drifted away just as quickly. They never consumed like that, as fresh of feeling as if they had happened yesterday.

“My name is Nimeda.” She spoke the name into her knees, body curled tight. And prayed that it was true.]]> <![CDATA[Noctivagant]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1384.html Sun, 24 Apr 2022 23:18:05 +0000 Patricus I]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1384.html
The cliffs were looming in what felt like fewer steps than should have been possible. Yet he was so accustomed to the oddity of dreams that gave it no additional thought. Why was he here? Was this the manifestation of his subconscious or was this by sophisticated design? He thrust his hands in the pockets of a La Perla cashmere tracksuit, bright white as his papal robes. The cashmere was smooth as butter, but despite the environment, he wasn’t hot. Though when he ducked into the shade of a doorway, a coolness washed his face.

A tunnel burrowed into the rock. The other worldly light extended into the passage, though it was barely enough to see. Carvings were etched into the walls, and despite the many languages he could read and write, the glyphs were unknown to him. A 5,200 year old tablet of pictographs was the oldest writing on record, but it was a crude form of proto-cuneiform. The ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs dating to the 5th Dynasty would fit in the setting of this dream, but the shapes on the walls were far less pictoral and more script-like. They had the scratching reminiscent of cuneiform of ancient Iraq but more elegant. He didn’t claim to read such worthless nonsense, his knowledge was honed upon the languages that built the church, but he knew enough to recognize that this writing was intelligent, sophisticated, and complex.

They were probably a figment of his imagination, he finally decided and continued onward. The tunnel turned to stairs soon after with just enough light to avoid spraining an ankle. At the bottom there was a fresh scent on the air and for the first time there was a sound. He followed an echo of drips to their source, puzzled.

At some point in the journey, the passageway or ancient temple – whatever it was –  transformed into a more natural cave structure. So much so that he was careful to avoid smearing mud on his suit. A pool of cave water identified the source of the dripping, and Philip was about to carry on until he saw a glint beneath the surface. At first, he thought it was another key, which would explain the absurdity of this dream. He leaned over the incredibly still water, squinting to discern what was submerged when an unexplained ripple disturbed the surface. He could almost see the shape of it when he turned his face slightly, but the light was insufficient. He could get in the water, he thought, and swim down to it.

An unease touched his brow. There was no one here to explain the hesitation, and ultimately his curiosity stole the better of his senses. It was a dream anyway and he typically tried to not fight the pull of dreams.

He slipped into the water. The chill wasn’t unpleasant but nor was it relaxing. His feet could touch the bottom, but after a few steps they lost the shelf. He was about to gasp a lungful of air and submerge when bubbles erupted ahead of him. Likely from the disturbance of silt, he thought, and slipped under the water.

The dark was deeper beneath, but the glint of something vaguely metallic led his way. He reached out to snatch the curious item, wincing when he found it was sharp to the hand. Surely it had cut him, he thought, as he pulled it toward himself and started to push upward.

Something grabbed his foot and a hard jerk pulled down. He gasped a mouthful of water and kicked at it, but the harder he fought, the lower he was dragged.]]>
The cliffs were looming in what felt like fewer steps than should have been possible. Yet he was so accustomed to the oddity of dreams that gave it no additional thought. Why was he here? Was this the manifestation of his subconscious or was this by sophisticated design? He thrust his hands in the pockets of a La Perla cashmere tracksuit, bright white as his papal robes. The cashmere was smooth as butter, but despite the environment, he wasn’t hot. Though when he ducked into the shade of a doorway, a coolness washed his face.

A tunnel burrowed into the rock. The other worldly light extended into the passage, though it was barely enough to see. Carvings were etched into the walls, and despite the many languages he could read and write, the glyphs were unknown to him. A 5,200 year old tablet of pictographs was the oldest writing on record, but it was a crude form of proto-cuneiform. The ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs dating to the 5th Dynasty would fit in the setting of this dream, but the shapes on the walls were far less pictoral and more script-like. They had the scratching reminiscent of cuneiform of ancient Iraq but more elegant. He didn’t claim to read such worthless nonsense, his knowledge was honed upon the languages that built the church, but he knew enough to recognize that this writing was intelligent, sophisticated, and complex.

They were probably a figment of his imagination, he finally decided and continued onward. The tunnel turned to stairs soon after with just enough light to avoid spraining an ankle. At the bottom there was a fresh scent on the air and for the first time there was a sound. He followed an echo of drips to their source, puzzled.

At some point in the journey, the passageway or ancient temple – whatever it was –  transformed into a more natural cave structure. So much so that he was careful to avoid smearing mud on his suit. A pool of cave water identified the source of the dripping, and Philip was about to carry on until he saw a glint beneath the surface. At first, he thought it was another key, which would explain the absurdity of this dream. He leaned over the incredibly still water, squinting to discern what was submerged when an unexplained ripple disturbed the surface. He could almost see the shape of it when he turned his face slightly, but the light was insufficient. He could get in the water, he thought, and swim down to it.

An unease touched his brow. There was no one here to explain the hesitation, and ultimately his curiosity stole the better of his senses. It was a dream anyway and he typically tried to not fight the pull of dreams.

He slipped into the water. The chill wasn’t unpleasant but nor was it relaxing. His feet could touch the bottom, but after a few steps they lost the shelf. He was about to gasp a lungful of air and submerge when bubbles erupted ahead of him. Likely from the disturbance of silt, he thought, and slipped under the water.

The dark was deeper beneath, but the glint of something vaguely metallic led his way. He reached out to snatch the curious item, wincing when he found it was sharp to the hand. Surely it had cut him, he thought, as he pulled it toward himself and started to push upward.

Something grabbed his foot and a hard jerk pulled down. He gasped a mouthful of water and kicked at it, but the harder he fought, the lower he was dragged.]]>