((the dream takes place during the night of March 25 (or, perhaps more properly, the very early morning of the 26th), 2006, after the events of http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=938 on the 25th. Three of the settings come from the lyrics of “When Push Comes to Shove,” by the Grateful Dead, as does some of what happens. An element or two is taken from other songs of theirs. Frost’s poem, “Miles to Go Before I Sleep” is referenced, as is “Ozymandias,” which was penned by Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was Mary Shelley’s husband. In case anyone wonders at the connection to Frankenstein in the desert.))
In his dream, the Crimson Flash was running.
This was not all that unusual, in itself. After all, when one does something enough, it’s going to creep into their subconscious. Once that happens, it’s only a matter of time before it winds up in dreams.
But while he ran, things without faces screamed, gibbered, and called. That was brief. Before long, the things resolved themselves, became a man. He was sure he’d seen the man before, and eventually realized that he recognized him from his days in school. Goethe. Or was it Goethe’s creation, Faust? Either way, the senseless sounds shifted and twisted themselves into a human voice, speaking of reasons and callings. “What is the reason for a calling?” he seemed to ask. “Can a calling lead to reason?” was the question in response. Crim wondered if Goethe was having a conversation with Faust, all in one. Or was one of those voices his own?
As dreams tend to do, the scenery changed. He had been running through an undefined landscape, full of shadows and vague shapes. It could have been anywhere, really, depending on which angle you looked at it from. Except that it was no where, and the angles were all wrong. Triangles did not add up to one hundred-eighty degrees, rectangles did. Now, it became the city. Buildings rose up, wood and stone and steel and brick and glass. It was Rhy’Din, he was sure of it, but not any part of Rhy’Din he had been in before. Most of what he had seen was either medieval or modern, with small variations on those themes, in style. This was Victorian. Where was he?
He considered stopping to ask for directions, but one is not always in control of their own actions in dreams, and he could not stop if he tried. Besides, there were no people, any more. Not even Faust/Goethe.
He was running toward a great edifice on a hill, a towering structure built of brick. A blink, and the building is made of living lightning. No. A trick of the light. It is still brick.
He realized that the door would not open, nor would the windows. But he did not slow as he got closer, instead felt an adrenal surge. Muscles tightened, and his body shook.
When he reached the door, yards high and made of shining steel, he kept running. And passed through it.
Inside was another person from the books he used to read. Or two. Victor von Frankenstein and his monster, in one. Was Frankenstein always the monster? He didn’t have bolts in his neck, originally, Crim was sure of that. Hollywood added those.
Tesla coils sprang to life, and lightning shot across the room. A white noise, a scream that lasts for miles, an animal snarl and, more frighteningly, a human one.
Crim stopped running.
In his dream, the Crimson Flash was running.
This was not all that unusual, in itself. After all, when one does something enough, it’s going to creep into their subconscious. Once that happens, it’s only a matter of time before it winds up in dreams.
But while he ran, things without faces screamed, gibbered, and called. That was brief. Before long, the things resolved themselves, became a man. He was sure he’d seen the man before, and eventually realized that he recognized him from his days in school. Goethe. Or was it Goethe’s creation, Faust? Either way, the senseless sounds shifted and twisted themselves into a human voice, speaking of reasons and callings. “What is the reason for a calling?” he seemed to ask. “Can a calling lead to reason?” was the question in response. Crim wondered if Goethe was having a conversation with Faust, all in one. Or was one of those voices his own?
As dreams tend to do, the scenery changed. He had been running through an undefined landscape, full of shadows and vague shapes. It could have been anywhere, really, depending on which angle you looked at it from. Except that it was no where, and the angles were all wrong. Triangles did not add up to one hundred-eighty degrees, rectangles did. Now, it became the city. Buildings rose up, wood and stone and steel and brick and glass. It was Rhy’Din, he was sure of it, but not any part of Rhy’Din he had been in before. Most of what he had seen was either medieval or modern, with small variations on those themes, in style. This was Victorian. Where was he?
He considered stopping to ask for directions, but one is not always in control of their own actions in dreams, and he could not stop if he tried. Besides, there were no people, any more. Not even Faust/Goethe.
He was running toward a great edifice on a hill, a towering structure built of brick. A blink, and the building is made of living lightning. No. A trick of the light. It is still brick.
He realized that the door would not open, nor would the windows. But he did not slow as he got closer, instead felt an adrenal surge. Muscles tightened, and his body shook.
When he reached the door, yards high and made of shining steel, he kept running. And passed through it.
Inside was another person from the books he used to read. Or two. Victor von Frankenstein and his monster, in one. Was Frankenstein always the monster? He didn’t have bolts in his neck, originally, Crim was sure of that. Hollywood added those.
Tesla coils sprang to life, and lightning shot across the room. A white noise, a scream that lasts for miles, an animal snarl and, more frighteningly, a human one.
Crim stopped running.