Friday, May. 27, 2005 - 01:14

Hello gentle Reader.

Before retiring for the night, just wanted to jot down the dream I woke from Thursday morning. In it, I found myself standing on the roof of a Victorian era mansion. It over looked a square shaped, man-made lake. There were numerous other mansions of a similar style lining the edge of the lake.

It was coming upon dawn. There was a man standing beside me on the roof of the mansion. My memory of the man is poor. I can recall only that he was quite tall and had medium length, dark wavy hair and seemed to be of an age similar to my own.

Planted on the grounds of the house were numerous tall trees that rose up higher than the roof of the multi-storied house. A breeze picked up and caught the trees and they swayed gently in the morning gloom.

Then I noticed that the house began to move. It was sliding to the right; smoothly, as if floating on a gently running stream… I looked to the man beside me, somewhat startled. He assured me everything was fine, and then pointed to the ground.

“Look, it’s ok, the houses are all on tracks,” he explained in a reassuring tone. And sure enough, I looked to the ground below and noticed tiny ‘train tracks’ that appeared to run the circuit around the lake. All the houses were mounted on small casters or wheels that fitted the tracks, and the tracks themselves were no wider than a skateboard.

Thus, all the mansions that surrounded the lake took part in this elegant but eerie dance… spurred on by the soft breeze they rolled first to one side, then slowed, then rolled back to the left as the breeze changed direction.

It was kind of peaceful and pleasant. But then I noticed that the trees near us were beginning to bend in an ungainly fashion; the breeze was picking up, growing more powerful. I frowned and looked over to my companion.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

He looked worried, too. “This could get dangerous….” he remarked through tight lips.

The sun was rising behind us. And it was to that direction he looked, then pointed. “The wind… it is coming from there… They are on the move,” he said, as if I should’ve known what he was talking about.

I turned around and beheld a magnificent sight; a mountain range shaped like a wedge that sloped up into the clouds... it stood so tall that it would’ve made Mount Everest look like a mild swelling. The base of this mountain seemed only a short distance away, rising as sheer rock from a green and fertile pasture.

The mountain itself was of dull grey granite. But what was truly marvelous and remarkable was what had been carved into the side of it.

Archways, windows, pillars, doorways… beautifully worked from the rock itself, and not an inch left untouched. I thought to myself: ’It must’ve taken centuries to build this!’, and wondered at how the people who had done this work had managed to climb down the side of the mountain to do it…

The man beside me spoke. He was explaining the origins of those that lived within the Great Empire, within the city carved into the side of the mountain. He called them by name, referring to them as the last descendants of the ”…H---something-or-other Empire…”…. It sounded a bit like he’d said Ottoman, but that isn’t exactly what he said.

He added that they had been banished to the mountain and had remained there for centuries… and now, for whatever reason, they were preparing to come down from the mountain. It would mean death and destruction for all that got in their way.

I could feel the wind stir and it did indeed seem to be coming from the mountain, from the darkened windows and arches that stared back at us like black eyes.

… Then suddenly I was in the Great Palace at the heart of the mountain. I stood within what was once a grand ballroom. It was enormous, being able to accommodate hundreds and hundreds of people. It was lavishly decorated and spoke of great wealth and appreciation of artistry… yet it seemed a cheerless place, and dusty with neglect.

But it wasn’t empty. There was indeed a great multitude of people standing within the ballroom, all richly dressed in elaborate attire, as if they’d just stepped out of the era of the French monarchy, with embroided waist coats, powdered wigs, extraordinary gowns for the women and the scent of talcum powder floating on the air...

They seemed to smirk at me with a mixture of contempt and arrogance. One man seemed to be the leader… an emperor or Prince of some sort. He commented that I was ”… too late,” and then gestured for someone to open the huge double doors of the ballroom.

In flooded hundreds of white-grey wolves. They stood taller at the shoulder than a Great Dane, with thick, snowy coats, faintly peppered by flecks of grey in their fur. Behind them lumbered gigantic polar bears.

It took me a moment to realise something; the wolves were not ‘normal’ wolves; they were werewolves… indeed, as the realisation hit me, some of the people in front of me laughed as they transformed and morphed into more of these remarkable looking animals.

When I was the last human standing in the room, the wolves turned on the polar bears… but they didn’t kill them merely wounded them. And so, the polar bears transformed, becoming werepolar bears! But this wasn’t the end either.

The werepolar bears now turned on the werewolves, and to my surprise, the werewolves just stood there and allowed them to attack and injure them. Somehow the werepolar bears ‘infected’ the were wolves so that they became part-werewolf, part-werepolar bear... and it was at this moment I understood that this had been the plan all along.

The empire of werewolves had wanted to ‘cross breed’ with the polar bears so as to take on the best characteristics of these animals… and so, before my eyes, I watched as the strange new hybrid ripped off its old skin and revealed a new creature that embodied the aspects of the bear, the wolf and of humans; I had the height of a polar bear (standing several feet tall), the musculature and skeletal blend of a human and canine, being quite lithe and sinewy but all power and muscle. They moved upright on canine-like legs and boasted a head that was largely canine in nature.

They emerged from their old ‘skins’ covered in the blood of their re-birth, but quickly new soft white fur grew to cover their flesh. When they were whole, they turned their attention onto me.

The last thing I recall was being encircled by this new menace, as well as some of the werepolar bears, and realising I was about to be ‘drafted’ into their society… They pounced with snapping fangs and roaring snarls and flashing yellow eyes… and then I woke up.

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