The Broken Wards

Every night before bed, before sacrificing myself to the gulf of limitless dream, I have a ritual.  There are wards – symbols and sigils and herbs known to only a few, only spoken about in books that should have been lost to the pyres of darkest history.  The Gellspachen, the Uurza, burned leaf of Tinzane, the sigils of lost Lemuria.  They are known to me, oh yes – they have come to me in dreams, or sent by other travelers who have come to know me.  The wards are powerful – they make the very air hum with their power, yes – and they have kept me safe for these long months.  Safe from harm, safe from ‘other’, safe from the black wings and the piping and the gate…   Safe

Last night sleep came fitfully, I tossed and turned and sweat drenched the sheets as I was swallowed by black and venomous dreams.  I felt the pull, felt hot winds blowing across my skin and sharp rocks under my feet as I walked, disoriented, uncertain of where I was.  I heard a sickening hum that filled my head with cold writhing tendrils that made me shriek.  I looked upon the black stone landscape and my eyes burned with the wrongness of it all. Continue reading