uluithiad: (samwise the fierce)
Samwise Gamgee ([personal profile] uluithiad) wrote2012-12-29 03:22 pm

Sam's Dreamscape

You will start by a river. Its water is cold and dark. You couldn't see the bottom through the dark water, if you were to look; if that is for the deepness or the murkiness of it, you aren't sure. The soil of the bank will be muddy, as if the river had swelled recently and flooded the forest. The air will be bitingly cold, though there is no wind blowing. In fact, as you listen, you will discover that there isn't any sort of sound here. An eerie quiet blankets the place.

At your immediate side, there will be a thick wall of forest and vegetation. Where trees do not block your way, bramble thickets and other bushes and shrubs will. The river itself is quite wide, but you might see across if you peer through the mists. You can walk along the river's bank infinitely, if you wish, but the forest will never thin enough to allow passage inside, nor will you be able to tell if the water is shallow enough to wade across.

If you walk long enough, you might find a short dock coming from your side of the bank. An old fishing rod, just beginning to gather spider-web and dust, will be lying there, the end of the line snapped and the bobber dangling off of the edge. Some white egg sacs are at the reel, trapped in web. Looking off of the little dock's edge yields nothing in the water that you might not have known before.

Walking forward awhile, you will find an old, worn dinghy, tangled in the various bushes and bramble of the wood. There's one full oar, though it is rotting and soft, and one broken oar. It will stink of mold and rot. If you find a way to patch it up, you might use it to cross the river, if you ignore the various insects infesting it. If it is repaired and pushed out to the river, it will be an unpleasant trip across. The little boat will creak and groan with each movement. Even stranger, the river will start to move; you will hear it, and nothing else.

The sudden current will carry with it a dead, pale fish in the water. Another will come after, and then a few more, all in various states of decomposition. By the time you are halfway across the river, the water will have been filled with dead fish; enough that the river-water itself has, indeed, started to flood over both banks. Your boat will be beached there; you can get out and walk over the fish, or force yourself through with your oar, though there is little telling how long the rotting paddle might last.

If you cross the river, the banks will be more muddy and puddled then before; you will find yourself ankle-deep in icy, muddy water. The wood on this side will be a little thinner on the opposing side, so if you try, you might force your way through the bramble and damp vegetation. Otherwise, walking further down the river may yield you another way through to the wood.

Inside of the forest is dark and gloomy; even moreso then the river. The trees are thick and impossibly tall. Trying to climb themonly makes the treetops grow endlessly far from you, no matter how long you climb. As soon as you enter, you will find the the smell of rotting, dead fish grow very suddenly distant. Instead, you'll be met with the smell of drowned vegetation, pulpy and waterlogged. You will notice this, but perhaps you will not understand why; until you turn around and find the river gone. The oppressive quiet will still surround you. You might bear witness to any great number of things happening in the forest. A group of Hobbit children sloughing through the mud, building a fort out of the chunks of wood and sticks they can gather; walking a little longer might yield the very same little fort, rotted apart and abandoned. More boats, perhaps, beached somehow in the middle of the forest. An empty cabin, filled with books damaged beyond reading by water and smelling of mold. Disembodied voices, singing and beckoning in a flowing and lyrical language. A flooded smial, or an inexplicably smoldering campfire with various cooking apparatus and food scattered around. An engraved silver vase, held shut by vines and tree-roots. Most of what you'll see is significant to Samwise somehow; some obviously so, and others that only those who know him well will recognize.

After some wandering, you might take notice of something; the trees themselves are hemming your path. Roads might change, subtlety, from what you might remember. The forest will actively work to herd you away from its center.

If you do somehow make it to the core of the forest, you will find a quiet, drowned glade. It's even quieter then the rest of the forest, something one might think impossible. Footfalls and leaf-rustle have no place here. Pale light illuminates the meadow. Pools of shallow water pockmark the grassy little plane.

Here, you will find a familiar hobbit, and that hobbit is Samwise.

Sam might be found doing a number of things; sitting idly, wandering, pacing along the tree wall or even poking at small, aquatic creatures in the various puddles. Speaking to him will not yield much; he will ignore you entirely, or respond absently, perhaps with things that aren't related to you or what you might have said at all.

Even this small amount of interaction is assuming that you haven't damaged the forest at all to get through to him.