A Dream Of Blades

The fighter receives a dream the first time they lay down to rest.

 

They find themself…

• in a moon-lit glade whose grasses sway and flutter in the absence of a breeze
• on the coast of a dark lake whose waves kiss lecherously at the rocky shore
• in a silent tomb decorated in cobwebs and ancient runes
• atop a moss-covered log laying across a babbling creek
• knee-deep in the bone-choked graveyard of an ancient battle
• outside a decrepit church whose shattered windows let birds come and go

that is occupied by a…

• naked woman, her taut, shiny skin rippling with firm muscles lurking just beneath the surface
• bearded man full of mirth, wearing a kilt and excessive chest hair
• voluminous matron, whose magnetic smile pulls you close
• forgotten prophet, his frail body only partially obscured by a patchwork mess of grey and brown furs
• child with shining eyes, whose gaze pierces you like starlight

who asks…

• “who do you respect over all others?”
• “what is your greatest shame?”
• “when will you stop?”
• “where can paradise be found?”
• “why did you abandon that dream of yours?”
• “what is best in life?”

 

The character in the middle of the locale is a weapon of Legend.

They brought the fighter here to take stock of the adventurer. They will strike up conversations and ask questions of the subject. They will almost certainly know whenever the fighter is lying. You can lie to yourself, but even the dullest blade is far too sharp for such deception.

After this process concludes, and the weapon approves of the fighter, it will implant into the fighter’s mind waymarks to guide them to the weapon’s resting place.

Legendary weapons are fickle things, and they must be appeased lest they wander away or betray their bearers at the worst of moments.

Additionally:

A band of feral, animalistic people hang around the outskirts of the locale, most pulling away from the fighter if approached.

(each figure is a weapon carried by someone in the party. Only the ones the fighter has built a rapport with are brave enough to let the fighter approach without scurrying away. When a weapon is broken, shattered beyond repair, the fighter will find them here the next time they fall asleep.)

A few example weapons:

Truth

A long spear whose leaf-shaped obsidian blade bears a lovingly-rendered inscription of an acacia branch. The long hilt is made of a deep red wood that bleeds profusely if cut or broken. She is stern, and takes no prisoners. When drawn, the sound of beating drums pounds in perfect rhythm with your heartbeat.

Greed

A sledgehammer moulded from a single piece of copper, whose surface ripples with a living green patina. He demands you keep your friends close, and ensure they want for nothing, at the expense of everyone else. While drawn, the sound of a crackling fire, raucous laughter, and drunken joy warm you from the inside out.

Regret

A heavy, rust-licked bardiche hastily fashioned from an enormous plowshare. Fresh leaves sprout from the splintered wooden handle, falling like snow to blanket each body left shattered and broken in her wake. Drawing the weapon is considerably more difficult than carrying it, as if she truly does not want to be brought to bear. While drawn, tears well within your eyes, and the droning of summer cicadas can be heart from all around.

Rage

A shimmering collection of seashells, each ground to a razor-sharp point, and held in sequence by a rope of pure-white, glistening sand. The sand and the shells refuse to touch the ground, coiling maliciously like the appendage of an unknown sea-predator. A razor-whip that offers no protection to its wielder, and demands a life be taken every time it is unfurled. While drawn, it purrs like a living creature, sending vibrations along the wielder’s arm, and howls in ecstasy when it makes a kill.

Hope

A small engraved dagger made of shining silver. Every line, curve, pit, and divet of the blade is perfectly clear to anyone who sees it, no matter how far away. As you pluck the blade from his sheathe for the first time, you find yourself holding the scabbard tight to your chest. When drawn, you feel the small fingers of a child gripping your pinky tight.

 

This page was directly inspired by another article:
https://rolltodoubt.wordpress.com/2024/01/12/the-fighter-who-was-promised/

After reading, I immediately found myself conjuring a mental image of what the sword dream would look like. An image I had to write down, lest it be lost to the sands of time forever. An image I present to you, to do with as you please.