The silence of the night, and the lengthening peace, Jaune managed to fall asleep. He fell back into the Dream, pulling himself from the bundled grave. He was more heavily armored than he was in the waking world, with dense wrappings of cloth acting as almost a scarf, battered and dented armor. He had gone through so many sets of armor, he was frankly working a miracle in making this one last as long as it had. He let out a breath, watching it turn into fog as it drifted out of the desolate guards tower embedded on a side of the mountain that wasn't quite the main entrance. It overlooked the area mostly to the left of the rimed city, which was a surprisingly flat glacier field, with the hints of a mountain range in the distance. That or it was merely the snow laden winds tricking his eyes.
"You know, there are times where I wonder what some great painter would see here." Jaune mused to himself.
I imagine they would see a lot of white paint. B surmised. Jaune couldn't help but smirk at the idea. He supposed it would take up quite a bit of white paint, and maybe a decent amount of blue. It was a shame that he didn't have the visual talent to quite picture what it would look like, although he did think that Van Gough would do a fine job of capturing it. Or perhaps Ensor or Monet? He found it almost picturesque, really. He looked around at the top of the tower, searching the scape for something interesting or intriguing. He scoured the vista, like the watcher at the gate.
It was during this that he saw the side room, where some weaponry and other items that would be necessary for the post of the watch. The dreamer carefully pushed the door open, quickly looking inside for any hidden ghouls, or other things that would want to take his face off.
There was nothing. Well, the room itself had the usual cluttering of swords and crossbows and other armaments. But what really caught Jaunes eye was the large rectangular wooden box, almost a meter long and a third or fourth of that wide. A line of rope was pulled across a pulley, but clearly in a slacked position. It was propped at an angle by a kind of cross at one end. It was clearly supposed to be a mockery of a crossbow, but collapsed to take up the smallest possible cross section. And then someone took it into photoshop and hit the enlarge feature several times. He picked up the box, surprised by its weight. He was further surprised by the condition it was in, without major cracking in its frame or fraying in the tensile ropes. Inspecting the weapon, he saw that it was some form of heavy impact crossbow, designed to be shoulder mounted for some unfathomable reason.
It had an interesting cocking and reloading mechanism. A hole, about four inches wide in the front, where the cross point between the four tension points where, Or the bows B simplified, was where new ammo would be loaded. The bolt would then be cocked back by pulling on a metal cowbell shaped handle, pulling the bowstrings taught. Jaune hefted the weapon, feeling it and how it shifted in his hands. Hiking it up on his shoulder, so that the leather strapped rest was in position. He pretended to fire it, whistling as the imaginary projectile arched through the sky. Standing up, and lowering the weapon, he nodded. He would have to find or produce ammo for the weapon.
One could suspect that they would keep ammo for the weapon near the weapon's table, you know? B suggested. Jaune shrugged, quickly looking around for said ammo. The table was cleared, the ragged cloth moved to the floor. Jaue supposed that the red gray tinted scrap could have been at least a half decent table dressing. Underneath was disappointing, as there was absolutely nothing there. With a sigh, Jaune started to pull the room apart. First the bow racks were moved and checked behind. And the tapestries, and the windows and much of the rest of the room. Jaune frankly couldn't even remember the circumstances under which he found a small bundle of the bolts. There were only three that were usable, each about a foot and a half long and some small inches wide. He hefted the deft bolts before tucking it into his belt. Sure he could find some poor drunken chap to test his new weapon.
Moving silently through the upper bowels of the keep, he made his way to the top of this particular spire. There was a chattering sound on the draft, and Jaune couldn't tell if it was the wind whistling through and around the tower or if it was someone else.
Or something else.
Jaune continued to march up the spire, seeking what was at the top. The chattering sound got louder and more pronounced as he got closer. It was clearly someone, as the sound became more and more like a spoken language than the whisperings of winds. He treaded carefully, muttering a soft spell to grant him some reprieve from any watching eyes. The top of the staircase was a heavy wooden trap door. Pushing it up, he peeked inside the room. It appeared to have once been an observatory of some kind, with a decently sized state in front. What was on the stage is what really got the dreamer's attention. There was a man on the stage, reciting poetry to an empty audience.
" I see a sinking tower, floating in the air. A long dead thing stalks a sunless night and a moonless day, stitching meaning from a bottle. When the armies drown in a blood made of wine, in a sea made of blood, who will tell what has been done?
Sacrifices made in vain, a saccharine charade to hide away the sins we made new. So splice our lives in twain, making way for mercy." Their voice was raspy from speaking, hoarse and indiscernible. Jaune doubted one could truly assign them any actual features
Jaune pushed the door fully open. The man turned sharply to him, his emotionless porcelain mask providing an oxymoron to the overdramatized movement.
"Ahhh! The Jaune without a name, the dreamer lost and an abandoned moon. Welcome! To my theater!" The actor practically shouted, raising their arms up in welcome. Jaune raised an eyebrow, moving to take a seat in the back.
"And how do you know me, or my name?" Jaune asked the thespian. The man on stage just laughed, waiving it away.
Jaune could hear the smile behind the mask in the strangers next words. "There is neither the time nor the will to explain such trivialities." They turned away, walking off the stage and leaving Jaune a little stunned. He chased after them, looking for what they were heading off for. The Thespian returned, pushing a very large chest.
I wonder what's in there? B wondered. He didn't have to wait long to get his answer, as The Thespian threw it open to reveal a mismatched and disorganized bundle of… things. Jaune wasn't even sure what was even in there. It was like the moment his eyes left one thing to look at the next, the object he was looking at just disappeared from his memory.
The Thespian leaned on the open chest, their chin in their hands. "Surely I have something that will interest you, oh dreamer of mine." They said as a cloak was produced from the wooden box. "Like this, for example. Shimmerhide, a rare material from a long dead beast. Wear it, and not even the most skilled of trackers can find you, even when they look you in the eye." The cloak itself was made up of tiny iridescent sequins that shifted under the light, flickering into the shades of gray and falling apart paint that made up the stage. Jaune raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but the Thespian could see that it wasn't quite what he was looking for.
"Ah, done hiding in the shadows, are we? Then perhaps you are looking for something a little more, ah, direct." They reached into the chest, pulling out a carpenter's hammer and a small set of chisels, each varying in taper and length. "This is sure to catch your interest. They once belonged to a carpenter, far south from here. In the lands of grains, if you can believe it." There was a small chuckling, as though that was some kind of inside joke that Jaune wasn't a part of. "But when this world died, drowning in the spirits that were gifted to them, they found a new purpose in a violent world." The Thespian drew one of the chisels, sharp in both design and blade. "They yearn to feel the use of a skilled hand once more."
Jaune tentatively reached out, before stopping himself. His hand went to his chin, stroking the scar that scraped upwards, trying to reach his nose.
He finally prompted the actor to continue. "And what else do you have? I would hate not to explore your stock to the fullest." The Thespian cackled in response, shaking their head.
"I should have known that you would say that." They chuckled, digging further into the chest. They had bent over, burying their head into the contents. "The last time I saw your face, you said the same thing, oh stranger."
Jaune frowned at the Thespian, clearly confused as to what they meant. "We haven't met before." He stated firmly, sure that he would have recognized a friendly face in this lonesome and forsaken place. The Thespian continued on, either not hearing the dreamer or not caring for his question.
"And this is a particular treat." They said, holding out a scroll. "Long forgotten secrets of an old race, one that has long disappeared. I am sure you can find some use for it." they said coyly.
Jaune took his time, really thinking about it. He decided the allure of the unknown knowledge within the scroll was far more appealing. Reaching out for it, the Thespian pulled it away.
"Ah, ah, ah! Hasty, hasty. We haven't even discussed payment yet."
Jaune sighed, moving to grab his coin purse instead. He was halted by a sharp, disapproving clicking sound.
"No, no, no. I don't take gold." The Thespian explained. "Stuff's worthless anyway. Who would I trade it with?"
Jaune could follow the logic. Being in a world where most of its inhabitants were practically zombies, and had no use for gold probably would tank its value by quite a bit. "If you do not trade gold, then what will you trade?" The dreamer asked.
"Oh, various things." The masked person said, eyeing the chain of wooden disks hanging from jaune's hip. Jaune followed the gaze, and recoiled at the thought, tucking away the length into his hand.
"There is much I am willing to give you, my friend," he said with an audible growl, "But that is not available."
The Thespian backed away, holding up their hands in surrender. "Pity, pity, but it is not the only thing I will accept." There was a joking tone in it, but the dreamer could pick out the sheer panic hidden away in it.
Jaune couldn't help but smile a little, knowing that he was being taken seriously. You are a good actor, friend. He thought to himself, pulling out his own satchel of stuff. He offered several things, from gemstones to blades, until they found an agreement. Jaune traded away a journal he collected from the Eternal City for the scroll, and was convinced to give away a child's doll in the best condition for the chisel. Thanking the actor, he moved to leave the tower.
"Oh, and Dreamer?" The Thespian called out to him. He turned to look at the actor. "You will find your prey within a tower in the northern wastes." They said, tilting their head at him. "But I will give you some free advice, despite the fact that you will not follow it."
Intrigued, the man fully turned to give the actor his attention. "And that being?" He probed, prompting the actor to get on with it.
"There is a thing in the greatest tower in the mountain. Do not disturb it." They warned gravely. Jaune nodded, but could already hear A open his mouth.
Well, I mean now we have to go fuck around and find out. A smiled, gleeful at the concept of an area that was restricted.
We go hunt the dragon first, finish that job. Jaune placated the excited figment. Then we can go do things that are hazardous to our health.
Jaune had decided that the frozen waste was indeed hazardous to his health. He had forgotten just how harsh the biting cold was. And he already longed for the shelter of the mountain, even if it was only to have something to block the wind. But he couldn't stop now. He could see the ruined keep, shrouded in the snow. It loomed ominously as the dreamer approached it.
Jaune looked it up and down, already chewing on the inside of his cheek. A black banner, having spent eons in the harsh ice, finally ripped off from one of the walls and fluttered away in the wind. B shook his head, absolutely not loving the vibes this place gave off/
"50 gold that we find a necromancer in there." The dreamer wagers.
Awe, hell no I ain't taking that bet. B countered. There's probably two.
And a dragon. A reminded them. Don't forget the dragon.
Alright, another chapter done. Honestly, this might be one of the weirder chapters I've written in a while, particularly with the Thespian, one of the only characters that hasn't tried to kill Jaune on sight. The Thespian is also probably one of the more enigmatic characters so far, and one that is probably worth paying some amount of attention to.
Regarding my grammar/ spelling errors. I often end up writing the bulk of my stuff during late weekend nights (like at one in the morning.) so things absolutely escape me. I try to remember to hit it with a spell checker, but that always doesn't happen. So my apologies. (It is unlikely that I will go back and fix them, though, as that is a bit of effort. Writing is surprisingly difficult, man.
As you can see, I have decided to go with the dream. We haven't had one in a bit of a while and the next section is only going to be a little bit, unlike the next waking world section (which should be several chapters that I don't want to break up with dream segments.)
As always, leave an idea, thought, analysis, or comment in your review. I love reading them and really wish I got some more in depth analysis of this story, just to see what other people think about this and get a readers point of view.