Cthulhu slept; dreamed; stirred. When you live in a world of dreams, strive to be the nightmare.
Excerpt: Awakened.
By HPL.
If you live in a world of nightmares, it’s best not to dream. These dreams can cause lasting damage, damage that can hound you back to reality. Last night Gideon had such a dream, one that refused to let his mind go. The young man woke in a sweat, the dream had pulled him into it's world. He remembered very little of the dream upon awaking, but those few memories sent chills down his spine. The darkness had spoken to him, called his name. He had tried to run, but he sensed it knew him, knew where he lived. There was no escape. He tried to shake the fog from his head, denying the dream. He opened his eyes to an afternoon sun from high over head glaring into his shanty.
The sun shone through the cracks of the ill-fitted lumber, bringing a light into his darkness. His head was still fuzzy from the dream, the grogginess not quite ready to release him. He rose from his pallet and looked through the cracks of the ill fitted boards. He hoped for clear skies and good weather today, but that wasn’t the case. There was a light drizzle and clouds darkened parts of the sky. It’s only a few gray clouds, maybe the storm will blow over. If not, I’ll still need to find a way to eat, the stomach isn’t taking the day off, he thought. His shanty was nestled in a corner on the rooftops where two warehouses met, one taller than the other. They formed an alley of sorts high up above the streets. At the end of this alley he had punched a hole through a wall into a crawlspace. This crawlspace was in the upper rafters of the smaller building, designed as part of the support structure for the roof.
This nook had become his home, a place he had survived in for many years. With the addition of a piece of wood here and some sheet metal there, he had made a floor for the narrow alley to his hidden home. With a few more pieces still, he hid the face of the alley itself. He’d lived in the favela over the years and built this shanty into the sanctuary it was today. Some said the lower districts of Rime weren’t safe, but he disagreed, you just needed to know how to navigate them. Gideon knew his home, knew the places you shouldn’t go.
He worked his way out of the crawlspace and into the tight space of the alley, then he crawled through his little shanty’s exit. He carefully shimmied the impromptu door aside and made his way out onto the rooftop. From here he could see how safe he truly was. The climb up to the roof was difficult. The narrow path made things tight and the jumps were treacherous. The larger boys couldn’t hope to follow a much more agile scamp like him. His size allowed him to squeeze through places they couldn’t go. This feature alone had saved him countless times over the years.
He rubbed his head where he’d bumped it while exiting his little shanty. Not for the first time in recent weeks he had thoughts about moving to a better location. Thoughts that he may have outgrown his home. He’d always been small for his age, but had hit a growth spurt recently. He was becoming like the older boys. Maybe I’m a little too big to live up here anymore? I need to look into other options soon, I think it is time to leave this part of the lower district. There are plenty of younger scamps that could use this place. Boys that need the safety it provides. He checked his head again for a bump. Finding none, he stretched and yawned, finally shaking off the last bit of sleep.
The sounds of the market below pulled him back into this world, they were what told him he was truly awake. They provided a familiarity, an anchor of sorts to his home. They echoed oddly from the alley, but the echoing sounds were music to his ears. They were an invitation, a sign of opportunity, the sound of lots of people and busy streets. When you lived on the streets, you had to take advantage of any circumstance. A pocket to pick, a naive traveler to swindle, or even a sweet lady to charm. Gideon’s thoughts raced as he looked around. I wonder what opportunities will present themselves today. Maybe I can charm my way into a coin or two, because I’m done picking for sure after that drunk. He’d nearly caught me.
Gideon knew his clumsy fingers weren’t suited to pick pocketing, but he’d been starving. The man had chased him through the streets, but he knew them better than the drunk. He’d lost him, but for a moment the man had gotten a hand on him. Gideon had bitten the man to get loose and quickly disappeared under the docks. Never again, he thought. He didn’t know what the streets were going to bring his way, but he knew thievery wasn’t on the list. He knew one thing, nothing was truer than the fact that the congested streets always provided.
He stepped out into the open air of the rooftop, the thick smell of salt struck him. Damn, maybe the storm isn’t going to miss us, because it smells like rain is in the air. He looked around carefully before stepping out of the shadows of the building. He saw the position of the sun. As I thought, it’s nearly afternoon. I must’ve slept the morning away. Oh well, I needed the rest after yesterday. He hoped the bullies stayed in their district today. He had a few bruises already and had no interest in collecting more. His thoughts turned to food and the other necessities of life. I better get moving, I don’t want to go hungry. His stomach chose that moment to protest the lack of breakfast as if he weren’t already thinking about it. “Hush, I’m working on it,” he told his stomach.
He took off in a sprint toward the northern end of the building, the pitch of the roof slanted sharper until it became a sudden slide. He gained speed quickly as he slid down the roof. As he approached the edge he used his momentum to kick off of the rooftop. He soared over the gap to the adjacent rooftop, landing with a roll. He was above the bakery now and could smell a vague scent of bread. The smell was very faint. Mrs. Webster must have already went to the market. I’ll have to find her if I hope to get some breakfast, maybe she’ll have saved me a roll, he thought. The baker’s wife had a soft spot for him and would sneak him a roll when there were extra, but the baker himself was another story. The man didn’t like scamps in the slightest. One of the other boys had caused some trouble in the past. The Baker held them all responsible and he wasn’t one to forgive easily.
Gideon continued north along the connecting rooftops until he came to the small smithy. The building was built into the southern face of the hill on the north side of the favela. Brom’s Bastion the sign read. It was a quaint little place, that by all accounts sold good quality wares. The smithy was partially built into the rock and dirt of a large hill. The road to the Poverty Gate looped above the backside of Brom’s Bastion. The roof to the smithy merged into the wall that the road rested on. The design of the building helped the smithy retain heat, while shielding the rest of the city from the potential hazards of the forge.
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After a simple jump to the smithy roof, he was able to step out onto the road. He glanced north toward the gate and the guards manning it. The upper parts of the city were protected from those like him. I’m going to get my access license, I’ll make it up there someday and escape this place. I’ll become an adventurer. The boy didn’t dislike his home and had learned to accept his place in life, but he aspired to be more. To be strong, powerful; an adventurer. Unfortunately there was a large hurdle to overcome, he was a scamp.
Rime was a three tiered city; the lower districts, the walled city, and upper districts. The lower districts started at the water front where the docks dominated a large portion of this sector of the city. The second tier started above the bluffs, looking out over the lower districts and the ocean. This is where the gated community of Rime lived behind their giant walls, immune to the issues of the lower districts. The main gate onto the plains was here on the northwest portion of the city. Above the walls and the gate was the third tier of the city. On this tier he could see the mountain for which the city was named; Mount Rime. It dominated the northeast horizon.
Part of that horizon consisted of three towers that reached high into the sky, they extended from the Academy of the Awakened built on the mountainside. Each tower represented one of the guild houses of the academy. The academy was the ultimate goal. He knew that the nobles and the Parliament of Rime were also in the upper reaches of the city, but the nobles and the Palace in the Clouds didn’t concern him. The academy was all that mattered. He watched as a train traveled slowly up the mountainside to the next tier. He sighed and turned away from the gate and the academy beyond. He started down the hill, letting his mind drift into thoughts of adventure. He followed the road and returned back to market square, but this time he would visit at street level.
Gideon was lost in thought as he walked down the road and around the front of the smithy shop. A voice startled him and brought him out of his reverie. “Gideon my boy, you best not be messing up my tiles climbing around up there,” the man paused and scratched his beard, “but I suspect you’d let me know if you did,” the man sighed, “and probably try to fix them as well.”
Gideon turned to face the voice. “Of course Master Brom. Everything looks good up there. You shouldn’t need to replace any tiles before the storm season comes. But I told you this last week. Have you been stoking the fires a little too long old man? All that smoke is bad for you,” he said with a laugh. Brom was a very large man and couldn’t fix his own roof without the risk of falling through it. Gideon had made fast friends with him when he was young, always getting caught climbing on the man’s roof. At first the smith would yell at him, then one day he stopped yelling, soon after that he started talking about little things, stopping the boy when he passed by. He would ask the boy about his day; his plans. Then one day, the old smith asked Gideon to make some repairs on the roof for him. “I’m afraid I have a leak,” the smith had said.” I’ll fashion the tiles and nails for you, then you climb up there and use them for the repair. Simple as that. There’s a meal or two in it for you. It’s a small job for one just such as you.” Gideon never liked his small size getting pointed out, but this small task formed a bond.
The smith and his wife had taken to the boy and cared for him many times over the years when he was unable to provide for himself. They had supplied him with food and even scraps for his shelter. “A wasted piece of sheet metal,” the smith would say. Gideon knew the smith had fashioned it for him, but never called the smith out on it. Charity was a sticky thing, once you gave to one boy, the rest of them would become like a pack of wolves smelling blood. Gideon learned to count his blessings, but that he was to never share in them. Sharing always resulted in loss. He was tired of losing.
He knew the smith had unlocked his alpha and beta abilities. He even had a few skills and levels to go with each. He had been working for years on unlocking his gamma ability with no luck. The smith had told him once, that if he could unlock his gamma he was sure to get a convergence, the three primary abilities would form his delta ability. His class. Once he had a class, he’d move from the lower districts and set up a shop in Rime proper, behind the safety of it’s walls. Safety for his wife Sara, safety for the family he was resistant to start. After arguments with Mistress Sara he would always say to Gideon, “How can I bring a child into this,” then he would gesture around him, pointing out the high poverty levels in the lower district. He knew by the way the smith treated him that Brom wanted children. It was a shame that coin is what prevented them from having a family, prevented Mistress Sara from being the mother she dearly wanted to be.
He watched the smith shift things around as he prepped his forge. “Master Brom, I bet you inhale that smoke on purpose! You do it just so Mistress Sara doesn’t put you to work in the house after your day at the forge.” Gideon did a fake cough. “Oh Sara, I can’t breathe tonight, the forges you understand. Can you get me an ale?” He beamed a smile at the smith.
The smith laughed at the boys pitiful performance. “Off with you, you little scamp, I don’t know why I put up with your theatrics,” he said sternly, “and keep yourself out of trouble today, you here.”
“Scamp,” Gideon mumbled to himself, his smile faded. He hated that word, but even he used it. He knew that Brom didn’t mean anything by it, it was a common term, but he hated being reminded of his station. One of the unfortunate. One of the cursed individuals who’s first ability had never awakened. The world used scamp as slang for people like him. He was voidless, powerless, and unwanted. It was a common practice to abandon children for being voidless, having never awakened an alpha ability. The drain on a family was a lifetime of hardship. The person had no guiding path, even the System had rejected them. That child would never grow to be a productive member of society. It was thought to be a kindness to let the child be claimed by the System, they would just disappear while everyone looked the other way.
He hated people thinking he could never be more than his handicap. I know I will find a path, I know I will awaken. I just know it, he thought. Until that day, he would walk the path he chose until a better one presented itself. With a slight frown he looked to Brom and solemnly and said, “You put up with me because Mistress Sara told you too. It’s the same reason you started talking to me all those years ago. As for trouble, you know I’ll find it, I always do.” He waved to the smith as he walked off into the market.
The smith groaned and mumbled to himself, “Does he intend to get into trouble or avoid it?” Gideon laughed at the smith’s mumblings as he walked away. He hadn’t gotten very far before the sound of the bellows pierced the air with their rhythmic tune. As usual, the smith had work to do.