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Fermius Firefly

A Dream Log, whenever I remember the dreams I've had.

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Location: San Marcos, United States

Fermius is a pen name drawn from a series of short fiction I wrote when I published the small press magazine Stellanova (on paper.) I play RPG games to escape from my daily grind as a technology wage slave for the state of California. I eat out a lot in order to do my part in supporting our increasingly service level economy. I am butler to 2 feline masters. If you ask them they will tell you I'm not very good at it, late with dinner, don't have enough hands with brushes in them, and sometimes I even lock them out of their office.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Hidden House, Not the Chosen One

I dreamed again of the large bookshelf lined dome house, with its long spiral stair up to the second floor which was open to the floor below, with a grand round promenade that looked over the center of the house below and up into the sky dome above. The house was being rebuilt, and not everything was in place. There were unruly piles of furniture and books waiting to be sorted, a stack of floor lamps awaiting repairs and transportation back to their proper locations. Because of this there were large pools of darkness on the floor below, lending an aura of creepiness to the stillness. The house should have been buzzing with activity, but I'd sent the workers home, just wanting to sit and relax quietly under the moonlight coming in from the sky dome.

In the solitude, I began to hear noises, like conversation. Either someone had left a radio on, or someone hadn't gone home. As the sounds drifted up to my ear I could tell the tones were conversational, male and female, so decided it must be the latter. I made my way downstairs and followed the intermittent noise, made difficult by the acoustics of the dome. Eventually I found a doorway that led to an older part of the house. It had been covered in the rubble of the original disaster and had not yet been cleared. I dug it out, remembering that it went to an older, underground portion of the house. There was a back door of sorts, in the hillside across the berm that covered the servant living/storage quarters and separated my property from the graveyard property. I made my way down the long dark hall, now empty of its angry ghost, into the brightly lit yellow and white gingham kitchen, and there was N and her boyfriend, who she introduced as Derek.

I'd never seen him before, but was amused that he was a chubby, crew-cut, suit wearing sort. He was obviously older, but just as obviously was dying his hair, and scalp, where his hair was thin. The complete opposite of everything she had previously found desirable. Even though I was angry to find them in my home, this made me laugh.

Laughing as I told them to pack up their junk and leave made Derek angry. Fighting angry. He came at me swinging, but I backed up and tapped him on the nose over his missed swing. He went down with a howl. I politely suggested that he not get up for a moment. N made some comment about how I'd never fought for her.

I suggested that if I'd known about Derek when we were married I would have done far worse than merely bopping him on the nose like a bad puppy. I told her it's far too late to give me the opportunity for fight for her, so he's all hers and to take him away with the rest of her crap. It was a very tense dream moment, but also, oddly, satisfying when they picked up their stuff and began stacking it outside the door.

-----

This morning, I dreamed I was playing a mash-up World of Warcraft, Diablo III sort of campaign, and soon it was real, rushing around trying to avoid the undead, unleashing powerful magics and then leaping huge distances to clear surrounding hordes of evil undead. I raced through the map, avoiding creeps where I could and engaging from a distance where I couldn't. At the conclusion of the conflict I somehow managed to return home victorious. Others were gathered there, and greeted me as the "chosen one" who would lead them all to final victory. Now, I'd actually come to report my successes to the person who previously had been considered the "chosen one" and asked him to straighten everybody out. We went out to the crowd, who pointed out that I fit the prophesy.

I pointed out that I didn't. Their leader was the one with the one handed companion, not me. I didn't even have a companion!

A little gnome jumped up with a large axe in her hand, "I'll be your companion!" Then she raised the axe to chop off her hand.

I intercepted the axe and took it away from her. "I'd love to have you as a companion, but you can keep your hand."

"I'll just tuck it here in my belt, then." Well, she missed a little and her hand went right down the front of her pants, her big gblue eyes went wide at the error, causing a ripple of laughter through the crowd. I put down my magic bow, then knelt down and hugged her.

"It will be good to have help in the coming conflict, I'm honored."

A different Gnome picked up my bow, and held it aloft. It was an oddly designed thing, more of a harpoon gun than a crossbow, and so it had but a single large cocking lever outside, as the works were entirely internal. "Look, a one-armed companion to me!" The Gnomes in the crowd all hushed and then after the laughing stopped, a silence fell across the whole crowd.

"We should go plan your final campaign," the real chosen one leaned over to me. My Gnome companion took my weapon and, even though it was half again as tall as she, held it aloft and fell in behind us. I would rather have strapped the weapon back on, as I felt a little exposed without its heft at my side, but the pride of the Gnomes seemed wrapped up in my weapon, which I realized was likely an ancient Gnomish design (and proably why I had kept it and continued to add enchantments to it regularly.) "It appears you have fulfilled another part of the prophesy."

"How so?"

He looked over his shoulder, which prompted me to do the same. "That sure looks like you raised the whole Gnomish Army in a single minute." And there was indeed an army's worth of grim faced gnomes gathered respectfully in the courtyard behind us.

"I am not the chosen one. I don't even believe in the chosen one."

"It's not about what you believe at this point." He paused at the top of the stairs to look out over his outer courtyard. Portable forges were being set up everywhere. Gnomes, Dwarves and Men were working together to arm and armor the Gnomish host following us. "They have chosen you, that MAKES you the chosen one, by definition, really, it's quite simple."

That made me sad, because I was pretty sure that I wasn't even going to pick up the game again, as my subscription had run out and I didn't think I played enough to warrant the expense.

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