Hello, again! 'Tis I! Shinoa!
I know, this is not my original account, but I was quite surprised to hop on a long time ago to find that not only was my account deleted, but all the stories that went along with it. How rude! So, I made this one, under a new Pen name, because I like fancy pen names. This is something someone on my old account suggested I should do. I have no idea why, and he wanted The Longest Journey first, but I can't for the life of me change that game into a story that doesn't bore to pieces. So, here we have Dreamfall.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything really in here. The idea is not mine, the concept is not mine, and if you really want to know who thought this fabulousness all up, go play dreamfall, and press the credits button in the opening screen. Watch for five minutes. It'll bore you to hell, but you will see who all did this o.O. That being said, I DO own some things, such as how this is portrayed, and you will notice that sometimes I do not follow the game to the letter. I like to make things interesting instead of terribly boring.

This being said... Enjoy!



April 1933, Tibetan Monastery

The room was bare. Practically uninhabited, it seems. The bed, though made and tidy, looked hard, wooden, and with a pathetic pillow made of feathers and a little sheet to cover them. It was a prisoner's bed, almost. Not one most would chose to want to live in. Other than the bed, there was nothing in the room, save for the corner in the upper right, where a slanted desk stood. It was more suited for an actual living space than the bed. Made for an artist it would seem, and placed under the only window for lighting purposes. Wasting candles during the day was most expensive. Sitting at this little desk on a small wooden stool was an older man, only about 32 years old at the most. He was wearing well-worn clothing, and his shoes showed proof that he was a traveller, as his face also did, as it showed signs of wear, and long stubbles of hair lined his chin, to show days without a mirror. Hard brown eyes squinted at a well-used journal before him, messy starting grey-streaked hair occasionally falling into his eyes as he wrote.

I am at the crossroads between waking and dream. One path leads back to the world I left behind. The other path... The other path leads to a place of shadows. Between the familiar and the unknown, between certainty and doubt, my choice would seem obvious. Any sane man would turn around, return to the world he knows, forget what he has learned, and live his life in blissful ignorance. But in truth, it is too late. My choice was made many years ago, when I first embarked on this journey. I cannot turn back. I am at a crossroads, but for me there is only one path. I leave behind these words in the hope that, someday, they will serve as a map for someone else. To whomever reads this, Godspeed on your journey. If you ever decide to follow in my footsteps, look me up.

-Brian Westhouse

Brian's name was not written in a beautified flourish as most would write their names in that time. He wrote it purposefully and legibly, so that there was no mistakes if someone were to find this and read it. Possibly follow him in his hopeful footsteps. He wanted them to know his name, be able to ask for him on the unknown streets he was about to wander on, discover what he was about to discover, and possibly come to share notes with him. Brian stared at his last words to be written in his journal with a small smile, put down his ball point pen, and closed the book for the last time, patting the top of is lovingly. The monks had promised him they would take care of his journal, keep it in prime condition, and ready for the next traveller that wished to follow in his footsteps. He and Manny had taken quite the time in getting up here, and he had put his faith in Brian that he would succeed in his quest. Manny, of course, had other things to do apparently. He said they would meet again if it were permitted. This made no sense to Brian of course, but then again, nothing Manny ever said made sense to Brian.

Thoughts of his travel here swam through his head, the hike up the windy mountain, Manny telling him not to give up, as the door to his room swung open with a quiet knock. In came the man who had pulled him off the cliffs not too long ago. The Superior Lama. The head priest of this monastery. His orange robes flowed down to his ankles, and the only part that covered his upper body was just one corner of his robe that seemed to be carelessly thrown over one shoulder. For decency, it was supposed. He looked at Brian with old crinkled eyes and opened his mouth to portray startlingly perfect teeth to speak to Brian in a Mandarin dialect. Having been in Tibet quite sometime, Brian had picked up the language, so at this stage, there was no struggling for understanding between the two. In his clear and important voice, the Superior Lama's instructions came out smoothly and slowly for Brian, still remembering when they had troubles at their first meeting. Translated to English, he told Brian "We are ready, traveller. Your journey is about to begin. Follow me." Brian nodded, and followed the small man out of his room. He left both his journal, and the bag tucked under the desk behind.

The lama led him down a decorative hall of monastery. Along the walls were Mani Wheels, little brass and bronze bell objects that had the mantra 'Om Mani Padme Hum' written in Mandarin upon them. Brian had been told they were a blessing. Knowing them not to be liars, or talkers for that matter, Brian tended to believe them. At the end of this hallway, there were two great doors, which two monks opened for himself and the Superior Lama. Inside was a huge round room, in the middle of which was a huge circular dais. Four monks sat praying on it in spots Brian assumed was the points on a compass. Before each of the monks was a nicely scented candle, in the middle of the dais, particular leaves and flower pedals had been strewn about with no apparent order to them, and finally, carvings Brian could not interpret had been long ago etched into the stone. He wondered what they meant, but it did not look to be Mandarin, so, he decided not to waste time asking their meaning. Instead, he wandered a bit to the left as he waited for his turn to be called, and casually eavesdropped on two monks hiding in the shadows. He caught the conversation half way through a high pitched voice.

"--ceremony. We waited long. Will he be the one?" A taller monk said, his features rather similar to the one he was speaking so quietly to. A brother maybe? Or a cousin? The shorter one opened his hands hopefully. "He is eager. He is open. He is perfect." His voice, in comparison was rather low. His taller companion answered rather negatively, "I hope you are right. He is our last hope..." The smaller one, that Brian now noted to be older, put his hands on the younger's shoulders. "Have faith. The undreaming will be unleashed, and it will--" The tall one finally caught Brian in the corner of his eyes and shushed the man across from him with his finger. "Quiet, brother. The walls have ears." Brian blinked at them as they almost immediately started to discuss the lovely weather they had been having, hands moving about animatedly. Soon he shook his head and turned his attention back on the Superior Lama, who seemed to be getting ready to call him over, which he did beckon to him two seconds after the two monks behind him started discussing what flowers they should plant in that pot near the door.

Upon stepping onto the steps on the Dais in front of the lama, the Superior Lama looked him over for a moment before stepping aside and holding a hand out to the middle of the dais behind him. "The ritual is ready. Step onto the dais, traveller." Brian nodded quietly and stepped up onto the Dais, going straight for the dead center. He turned back to look at the Superior Lama, who stared at him with his old eyes. Brian could swear he saw wonder there. Tilting his head, he looked down to realize he started to glow. In addition, the leaves and petals had started to lift up into the air. And he was so shocked with this fact, having never really been a religious man, despite his upbringings, that he didn't even notice until he felt the pull in his stomach that he himself was being lifted in the air. He would have clutched at his stomach and screamed if the sound had not seemed to catch in his throat, and the pull had moved into his arms. Finally, sound escaped in his lungs as the light got much too bright for his eyes and he screwed them shut and screamed.

Then he was gone from the Monastery.

Time within Time, Storytime

Suddenly Brian was standing, no harsh landing, or anything, on an icy blue plain. He looked around himself with mild curiosity, not having expected anything like this. It was as if the ground beneath him looked to be of ice, but felt like dirt. There was a ravine behind him; at least, it looked like it, and before him, there was a small hill, where Brian set eyes on the first non-earthling in his life. Gathering up his courage, he took a tentative step forward, checking to see if it was slippery on instinct, and then realizing that it was about as slippery as a piece of dry wood. Not thinking about how silly that must have looked, he marched up the hill to the tall and seemingly black man before him. He was bald, wearing a long purple robe, and had strange designs, similar to the one he had seen on the Dais, etched into his face with black ink. Strange eyes glared at him from behind the safety of his fire, hand clutching the staff in his hand, seemingly made from the warped dead tree beside him. This all caused Brian to gulp loudly as he approached him.

Finally, this man opened his mouth and pointed at him with his free hand, and out of his mouth poured English. "What--? What are you doing here? You cannot be here! It will find you!" Brian frowned, both from not expecting the English, and from wondering what exactly will be finding him. "I...don't..." He shook his head, remembering to ask the required questions first. "Where am I? What is this place?" The man scowled more, and flicked his hand at him as if shooing a stray dog. "How did you get here? Go back the way you came! Quickly! You cannot stay!" His staff started to raise up in his hand as the Man stared at something behind him. Brian stuttered in a small voice, a unusual thing for him, "I-I don't...know how to go--" The Man's staff moved to be held as well in his other hand, like a block, as his head hung. "It is here. What have you done?" He started to back away from his fire and Brian, "What have you done?" Brian shook his head, lost by everything this man said. "What do you mean? What--"

The man backed away more, almost ready to turn and run as his staff pointed to something behind Brian's head. "The Undreaming..." His voice was filled with both wonder and fear as Brian turned to see what he was pointing at, remembering the Undreaming from the Monk's conversation. He didn't see the man behind him bolt away. His eyes locked on the black tentacle like thing that seemed to be coming from a black hole in the sky. The tentacles twisted between themselves easily, and Brian started to stumble backwards, not caring the fire was right behind him. "...God. What...is that? What...?" Then the tentacles started to reach quickly for him, and Brian slipped onto the ground, narrowly missing the fire. He started to yell "No!" repeatedly as he struggled to get to his feet and run like the Man had. He failed. As he just got to his feet, the tentacles snatched him up and pulled him into the air, engulfing him in blackness within seconds.