Tales of the Dreamscape - Treasure House - Part 2

Part 1 is here.

The staff -
Symbol Unreal,
Topped with serpents’ feathers.
Blood is in their eyes and hearts -
They fight.


* * *

For escape eternal we still yearn,
From words of pain and worlds of hate,
The corroded key has one last turn.

The passion, the craving, still they burn,
We rail against the Dreamscape’s fate
For escape eternal we still yearn.

The key itself has one concern
To open up each potential gate -
The corroded key has one last turn.

Before we choose, we still must learn
How our hunger we can sate -
For escape eternal we still yearn.

The last door we have yet to earn,
How can we sit, and pause, and wait?
The corroded key has one last turn.

But the edge of the door we can discern,
And pray it won’t arrive too late,
For escape eternal we still yearn
The corroded key has one last turn.

Tales of the Dreamscape - Treasure House - Part 1

The deepest cave in Dreamscape’s shifting land,
Beneath the wondrous home of Duke and consort,
Contains the greatest treasures that the world
Has ever known, or dreamt in midnight hours
When the moon is low, and the stars are free and twinkling
In the cloth of softest night and darkest sky.
Wherever gold has glittered, silver shone,
The cave of dreams is there, gently waiting -
And all your treasures are contained within
Where all desires begin.

And when the wind blows cold from northern climes
With diamond snow from Dreamscape’s farthest shores,
The proud and lordly Duke of Dreams trembles,
Seeks refuge in the cave of ancient trove,
Wandering winding ways among the gems,
That shift their forms as the dreamer lingering stares.
He finds a treasure never seen before,
Inspects it with his bright and piercing gaze -
The choicest prize your mind has deftly wrought,
Is there as solid thought.

Dreamscape - Behind the Scenes

So far I've posted seven tales of the Dreamscape, posted in the order in which I wrote them. They are:
•Gladiator
•Birth Day
•Sir Gallant 1 and 2
•Genesis
•Prophecy
•The Dinner Party 1 and 2
•Woman of his Dreams 1 and 2

But I haven't written anything about why or how I began to write this cycle. I decided that that ought to change.



Origin of the Dreamscape
I've been working on stories in this world for a long time. I distinctly remember when the first words of Gladiator came into my head as I was walking to the train station in Bristol having spent the weekend with my future wife. Suddenly the opening words coalesced in my mind, and I had to keep repeating them over and over so as not to forget them before I had a chance to write them down.

That was about 7 years ago.

The initial idea was, I believe, the science-fiction element - a dystopian London where the homeless are driven underground and forced to live in the dark and filth. There I imagined they created their own parallel reality of dream and fable, a place where no one suffered and everyone could have all they wanted. I believe that the element of the dream world was very much inspired by Neil Gaiman's Sandman (which is my favourite book of all time and if you haven't read the series, you really must).

Development of the Tales
But what made this idea better than many others I've had over the years, I think, is that this world provided a frame for far more than just science-fiction stories. In this world of dream and fable I could explore ideas of religion, fantasy, mythology and fairy-tale.

I realised that within this one world I could tell stories in every genre I love.

(more after the jump)

Tales of the Dreamscape - Genesis

Forgive the intermission to Radiance. If all goes well with school work, we will return to the kabbalistic world of Asher and Virgo next week. In the meantime, here's a tale of the Dreamscape to keep you going.

Older Dreamscape Tales are Gladiator, Birth Day, and Sir Gallant part 1 and part 2.

    “In the beginning was the silence, and the silence was deeper than the deepest words, blacker than the blackest night. But the Unreal Gods broke the silence and spoke the first words.”
    “But Father Hope, I have never understood even this much - why break the perfect silence?”
    Father Hope looked deep into the indigo flames, that danced in unison around the sacred wood.
    “In the end,” he answered quietly, stirring the embers with a long stick, “we cannot know. Perhaps they were bored and sought company. Perhaps they were curious. One should not get wrapped up in the reasons why things happen - that way lies the all too real.”
    “I am deeply sorry, Father, I will try to improve in future,” replied Brother Fearful, living up to his name.
    Father Hope laughed, and then smiled at his student so he wouldn’t misunderstand the gesture.
    “Don’t worry so much - you are still young and have much to learn about the world. Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, the first words. Do you know what they were?”
    “I was taught that there are many schools of thought,” Brother Fearful said, and closed his eyes, reciting by rote. “The Visualists say that the Unreal Gods first pronounced ‘Let there be light’; the Amorphics say that they began with the single word ‘Dream’; and the Vedics say they began with the question ‘What must there be?’.”
    “Very good, I see you have studied well. And which do you believe to be most
true?”
    “Me?” Fearful asked, looking panicked. “I don’t know, Father, it’s not my place.”
    “That is, perhaps, debatable but suit yourself. In time you will come to your own views.”
    “If you don’t mind me asking, Father, which view do you hold?”
    “Well, I have a rather obscure position. You see I have always thought that the first words were ‘Oh no, not again’.”

Tales of the Dreamscape - Sir Gallant part 2

Here is the second and final part of the tale of Sir Gallant, first knight of the dreamscape.

The Tale of Sir Gallant the Firmhearted
Sir Gallant fell and fell. He stretched out his hands and tried to brace himself for the ground but it did not come. The blackness rushed past his head faster and faster. He could see nothing, feel nothing - only the wind racing past, the blackness through and through him. He could not feel his hands, nor his legs, could not weave the dream. This was it - once he hit the ground it would all be over. He would die here in the blackness. Or would fall forever, spectral fingers tearing at his insides.