Symmetry-of-form
"Hey, it's my favourite customer, want some noodle soup for the road?"
"Yes please." I always wonder. What would her reaction be if she saw the real me? I mean, the Giant Marten War-Form that's spattered with the blood of my enemies. How would she react to that?
But lately, my dreams have gotten strange. I've been dreaming I'm this man, this 'dude', really. Tall, rangy and slim, with hair like sheaves of wheat. Wearing mismatched pieces of armour. Well not wearing, they're all over the floor, I'm in her bed. This petite, intense, dark-haired woman's snoring gently under my protective arm. Her armour wouldn't be caught dead on the floor. it has a name, and probably enough of a personality to fly onto its rack there, by itself, but regardless, it's there. Baldaquin, it's called. Broken Thunder they call me, and Shadow-of-Mars is her name, apparently. It's quite the dream.
Baldaquin calls out to Broken Thunder: "You're not dreaming, you've made me, but now you're in a different skin, and your bond calls out to its bond mate. You're meant for more than soup stalls in the wilderness outside the walls of Nexus, and quick snatches of 'valuables' bah! You once made me! A prince's ransom I would fetch in these lands, were she to try to sell me, but too precious am I, by far. Broken Thunder, are you broken?"
I always wake up, unable to answer the question from not knowing the answer, and from being utterly silent in the dream, anyways. And this chick, apparently is dead, now they go by 'echo'. I hear voices, calling out 'echo' 'echo'. I see nice masculine clothes, smell a nice perfume. Guys haven't impressed me lately, mind you, I ain't decided to switch teams either. Ugh, why is my life complicated? Being a caravan guard is sposed to be simple, easy, you defend against bandits, you beat up people who should have known better. Well, not too hard. I assume they're like mercenaries, just doing a job, just don't do it if I'm watching, fellows.
I walk out into the nearby village, hear them talking about this Serene Nova, she's apparently a peach. She also apparently glows in the noonday sun enough, people can tell she's around a mile out... I've glowed silver once, out to a hundred paces, it was distressing... She's like this echo person, glowy, intense, attention-grabbing.
"Yes please." I always wonder. What would her reaction be if she saw the real me? I mean, the Giant Marten War-Form that's spattered with the blood of my enemies. How would she react to that?
But lately, my dreams have gotten strange. I've been dreaming I'm this man, this 'dude', really. Tall, rangy and slim, with hair like sheaves of wheat. Wearing mismatched pieces of armour. Well not wearing, they're all over the floor, I'm in her bed. This petite, intense, dark-haired woman's snoring gently under my protective arm. Her armour wouldn't be caught dead on the floor. it has a name, and probably enough of a personality to fly onto its rack there, by itself, but regardless, it's there. Baldaquin, it's called. Broken Thunder they call me, and Shadow-of-Mars is her name, apparently. It's quite the dream.
Baldaquin calls out to Broken Thunder: "You're not dreaming, you've made me, but now you're in a different skin, and your bond calls out to its bond mate. You're meant for more than soup stalls in the wilderness outside the walls of Nexus, and quick snatches of 'valuables' bah! You once made me! A prince's ransom I would fetch in these lands, were she to try to sell me, but too precious am I, by far. Broken Thunder, are you broken?"
I always wake up, unable to answer the question from not knowing the answer, and from being utterly silent in the dream, anyways. And this chick, apparently is dead, now they go by 'echo'. I hear voices, calling out 'echo' 'echo'. I see nice masculine clothes, smell a nice perfume. Guys haven't impressed me lately, mind you, I ain't decided to switch teams either. Ugh, why is my life complicated? Being a caravan guard is sposed to be simple, easy, you defend against bandits, you beat up people who should have known better. Well, not too hard. I assume they're like mercenaries, just doing a job, just don't do it if I'm watching, fellows.
I walk out into the nearby village, hear them talking about this Serene Nova, she's apparently a peach. She also apparently glows in the noonday sun enough, people can tell she's around a mile out... I've glowed silver once, out to a hundred paces, it was distressing... She's like this echo person, glowy, intense, attention-grabbing.
Children
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