Charlie’s Shaman

The following is a journal type entry of a dream I had last night. In case you never read my first entry, I tend to write my dreams exactly as they were, noting specific details like color and such but putting them in 3rd person as if it were a story. I think it helps me practice ^-^

Also, as a note, I know it may be unpleasant to read, especially since most of the ‘main characters’ don’t have names but I only recorded the names of those I remembered and put my name in place of the character who was supposed to be me in the dream–though I think her name was different, something Native American.

The three of them travelled together. This time they got off of a rowboat and onto a dock where there were two men. The first one past by and traded her brand new shirt for the second man’s dingy one, making him smile proudly. The three women, looking like a medieval Charlie’s Angels, walked down the dock and sat down in a grate type area. The first man, jealous of the other’s good fashion started a fight and shot at the man in the new shirt. He missed and the bullet went through a man in front of the women.

“I’ve been shot!” Carol shouted hysterically, the front of the three women, brushing her blonde hair out of her face.

“Oh no! Let me see!” The other said as she leaned over Carol’s foot, the place she was throwing a fit over. Then she shook her head. “Carol! It barely got you, it’s not even a graze!”

Carol didn’t pay any attention as she continued to go into how she was going to die.

In the meantime…

Two men were travelling together. A human and an elf. The elf had strong features, and long, straight blonde hair.

“It’s time for me to go on. She is gone, and there is nothing left for me…” The elf was saying.

The man shook his head. “This is what he wants!”

“I know, but I don’t have a choice. Goodbye.” The elf climbed into a contraption of all black that looked more like the mold he might have come out of instead of a coffin. Peacefully, he layed back into the coffin, his eyes closed, ready.

The human stood and watched in aggravated sadness, but also with resignation. As he was about to turn away, the elf strained upwards, his face in pain, his voice growling with it. Startled, the man looked back at his friend and watched with puzzled wonder.

Why is their voluntary passing filled with such pain? He looks as though he’s going to have a heart attack… Just as suddenly as the elf went into pain, he disappeared.

Light brown sand covered the elf and desperately, he pushed through it, like he was swimming through extremely thick water. Unable to breathe he began to lose conciousness. It was then that the sand just fell away and he was standing in front of him in a desert surrounding. His robes were of deep crimson and black…he had betrayed them this whole time…it was he who was responsible for the death of his beloved, he who wanted him dead…so why bring me here?

“You.” The growl came out, almost involuntarily.

He laughed. His dark, rich voice mocking, a twin to Tim Curry’s. “Surprised?” He gestured and a yellow and white worm-like monster appeared out of the wall of sand around him…

* * * * *

Saronai got down on her hands and knees to cross the log over the chasm behind her friends. The log thinned in places and she was too afraid of heights to attempt it on her feet. Unlike the old Shaman who was with him. All of the friends had just recently met, but Saronai and the Shaman had something in common, where no one else in the party did. They were both of Native American decent. Saronai brushed her thick black hair out of her face and felt it caress her hips when she shook her head slightly, looking up at the elder Native American. He was the only one out of the five of them that crossed the logs (for this was not the first one they had to cross) standing.

“I must put my trust in the ancients,” he said in reply to all the looks he was getting. Trust and you will cross.

Saronai looked down at the ground, a bit ashamed of herself and brushed her hair away again as she stood up, determined to cross on her feet. Trust in the ancients hm… She took her first step quite unsteadily, and was beginning to make it, though very slowly. She glanced back at two of the other three behind her, seeing that she had only took one step over the chasm, the rest of her balancing act was on the log on the ground behind her. I’m going so slow…I don’t wish to be a pain.

Saronai stopped walking and looked down at the spiralling chasm, her heart beating faster. She felt her head sway and began to back down the log and onto the ground behind her. “I’m sorry.”

The shaman laid his hand on her shoulder, his kindly face smiling. “It looks as though our punch-out queen is trying to become a priest-queen,” he laughed, referencing her more white upbringing instead of the Native American terms. Saronai looked down at her feet and waited for the rest of them to cross and then got down on her hands and knees to cross behind them.

Sand fell away from around her, as though a few tons of it had been poured over her and she still came out on top. She looked around, bewildered, to see a pale man, with black hair, in a black and blood colored robe, laughing. A giant, funny looking yellow and white worm’s head poking out of the sand wall behind him. Saronai could feel the evil emanating from him.

“It’s you!” She exclaimed, not quite knowing what ‘you’ he was. Just that it was him, the opposing force of her group of 5, the whole reason they travelled, even though none of them knew it. They thought they were only travelling for something better. Quite suddenly Saronai realized that they were the ones meant to stop all the suffering this man was causing. And she wouldn’t be able to handle it as a simple warrior…for she was meant to be the main opposing force to this man, and he had taken a fancy in her.

He knows… She scrutinized him. He smiled deeply, as if trying to be charming but reminded her more of a shark grinning at its next meal. He doesn’t think I realize how vital I am to his undoing…He wants to persuade me to his side. “Who are you?” She demanded.

The robed-man bowed slightly. “You will be mine…”

She was taken aback by his abruptness. Does he think that’s charming? “I am no one’s! Especially yours. I don’t have to be a shaman to know you.” Her own growl suprised her.

“Then I guess we have no further business. Leave, if you can.” He set her with a challenging gaze, his smile wide and sneaky.

Looking back to keep an eye on his still figure she ran out into the desert. As she got out further she sensed him release the giant worm to get her. Her awareness went above the desert to her figure running in its sands, the worm chasing, and safety so far away…

No. It wasn’t her. This figure had long blonde hair, to his waist like her own, pulled back in a partial pony-tail. He was elven…And then she was back with her party, crouched in the middle of the log, her face white and wet with a cold sweat. The others were already acrossed, looking back at her curiously. Saronai searched through the faces of her recent friends and her gaze fell upon the shaman. His look was the only one unpuzzled, but it was worse than the others. His eyes were flat, his mouth set grimly as he looked at her, knowing what she’d seen and not liking it at all.

Ok…that’s it, now that you all probably think I have this big ego problem ^o^ Unless you already thought that…  -.-

I really don’t, just my dreams seem to lol

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About Saronai

I'm an eclectic amalgam of confusingly combined oddities. PS If I liked your post it means I really liked your post. You don't have to visit back, but it would be nice. Either way, I read it because I wanted to and liked it because I did. I don't do the fake like for returns thing :)
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