Dreams to Reality - Gameldar Zidhadel
Have you ever had that feeling like you were called to something? After looking
at every angle I would have to say that this is what it is. A calling. It began
as dreams. One night, not any different from any other, I went to sleep, but
it was not a restful sleep but more as if I had been up half the night, lost
in thought or wandering around the woods. But I know I slept for the dream.
In my dream an enourmous, yet beautiful, black furred wolf with silver-grey
highlights and a pure white nose, appeared as if from no where and stood there
staring at me with careful and knowing eyes. Its gaze was calculating, examining
my every move and every step and every thought. But all it did was watch, and
track my every step.
Night after night the wolf kept haunting my dreams, ever watching with its
penetrating gaze, but never acting nor speaking, although surely it could for
it was such a beast, not the common forest wolf, driving by fear, famine and
ferocity. No, it was an intelligent and calculating beast, although I hesitate
to use the word beast, because it somehow undermines its splendor.
Such a pattern continued for many a night, and I found myself getting wearier
and wearier, as if I had not slept at all, but knew only the slumber of the
watchman, with an eye and an ear cocked to all the night noises. Other strange
things occurred, such as I would wake to find my boots caked in mud, when I
had neither been near mud nor lent them to any fellow. Tired of the watching
eyes I tried to communicate but found my mouth voiceless and my pleads and shouts
deaf. Perhaps my sanity was going, too much bloodshed, and combat, too much
stress and tension, but try sleeping or waking, or special miracles of the clerics,
nothing could cure my dreams nor my restlessness. I could feel something was
happening, but I could not pick what. Did my teeth seem larger, and my stubble
grow quicker? Did my eyes see more carefully, or my step be lighter? I could
not tell but slowly, ever slowly this feeling grew in my bosom of a pending
change, of a sudden fall, of a sudden... there is no word for it. It is not
gloom, or terror, it is not fear or loathing, it cannot be described save that
it is waiting, ever waiting to happen.
One night, as suddenly and suprising as that first night, the wolf spoke. It
was not the voice of one experimenting with voice for the first time, but the
sage words of one with knowledge and wisdom beyond comprehension, that had also
known how to speak, but had bided their time to the appropriate moment. The
words spoken were simple, although their meaning would knock a mountain off
its feet, and send it running into the sea. The wolf stated "You are the chosen".
Then it disappeared, leaving no time for response or repose. I awoke with these
words on my lips and the question in my mind. What did the wolf mean? By whom
or what was I chosen? How do I fulfil the role of the chosen?
And more perturbing were the nights to follow. When one has lived with noise
all ones life the silence can be deafening. Such it was for me, I slept uneasily,
as the wolf was no longer my companion in my sleeping hours. I was alone with
the blackness and unconciousness of sleep. Was reality regaining control of
my life, as the madness slipped away? Or was it more the cruel trick of some
evil deity to draw me further in the grips of insanity? Either, or none at all.
I could bring forth no explanation as I stumbled through the days where the
sun was too bright and the shadows being my friend. Still the pending... feeling
loomed in my soul rendering my somewhat useless with anticipation, as a dog
salivates before a meal. When could I know the truth? When would I be the "chosen"?
When would the wolf return to answer all my questions?
I was beginning to give up all hope, and slide fully back into reality, when
the wolf once again penetrated my dreams. It came silently, and did not speak
but presented, and then placed, a silver torc around my neck. A torc made of
purer silver than any I have seen before, with the head of a wolf at either
end with eyes burning red with rubies. That it was a symbol, and perhaps a source,
of power, I have no doubt. It was placed around my neck, never to be removed,
until my neck grows cold with the onset of death. Once presented, the wolf left
my subconcious reality. But when I woke, the questions of reality were sorely
tested, for around my neck I wore a silver wolf torc, the one I was presented
with by the wolf, and no replica, I am sure. I dare not remove it, for it was
placed such that only as a setting metal holding its final form would it fit
my neck and my neck only, nor could I hope to remove the enchantment that it
brings. The pending feeling was gone, and only my puzzlement and questions remained,
as I longed to dialogue with this beast and know the meaning of his words, of
this torc, of his world, and of the knowledge behind his eyes.
I have slept normally since that night, although once my dreams have been interrupted,
but now I know that they are not dreams, but of reality, with a segway between
the two that is so indistinguishable that it leaves one believing the dream,
rather than the reality. In this one 'dream', the great wolf came before me
again, presenting me with a cloak made of wolf skin, the present of a dying
councilor, a great wolf councilor. And with it came the answer to my questions
and doubts. I have been chosen as the defender and protector of the wolves,
and charged to defend with my life any of their kind and any they want defended.
For my blood is mingled with theirs in some lore lost in history, and as an
ancient's decendent I was chosen to defend and protect their race. It is something
I cannot, and will not question, but will undertake with vigilence, and dedication.
My blood speaks for me, and my heart knows the truth. I am a councillor, Zidhadel
- the upright one - and I will serve my kingdom and my blood.