The shaman entered the shrine, slowly, and with a mixture of reverence and terror. He knew of dragons only from the witch that taught him magic; he didn’t really believe they existed- how could something so massive, powerful, and ancient be in the world? Surely some arrogant fool with a horde of brainwashed cretins would have exterminated them all by now?
The shrine was ancient, older than anything the troll had seen or touched. He could feel, somehow, that the stones were even older than most of the ground he walked on. On a subtle level, he even had cause to wonder…was it even of his own world? Could a whole place somehow exist in multiple dimensions?
As he walked down corridors lined with columns carved with scenes of dragons involved in various scenes from histories he had no knowledge of, he began to feel an odd disassociation from time itself; began to feel as if he was in world between worlds, a dream between dreams. Even the architecture…he couldn’t be sure of what was carved basalt, and what was living dragon.
The interior space opened further and further, eventually becoming an otherworldly space of floating platforms and circling glowing arcane runes swirling through space. Against this backdrop the troll found himself on a singular platform, outlined against the abyss, and face to face with an eldritch being whose essence he could barely guess at.
“So much to learn….so much to do….” the vast creature spoke, but it was a sort of shudder, a sonic attack that caused Olikuaat to cower as a creature that had never known submission. Never had he sensed a life so massive…so powerful. He was dwarfed, completely. This creature existed in time far before him, and would exist far after he had passed.
“Not so. I know your thoughts. I know your place. You do not know yourself yet. Where are you from? You know not. Where are you bound? None know this. You have a place, beyond place, shaman. Your pattern is outside of, across, the other patterns- you alone can see, across a perspective none other can fathom. Your vision, shaman, is the one vision. Use it. You will perceive. Continue your dream.”
The troll started to speak, to say he didn’t understand. His voice wouldn’t work, his breath came up short. His vision began to feel speckled, like when you get up too fast from a pleasant repose.
The scene dissolved. He shook his head. No stone. No dragon. Nothing but pleasant rolling countryside. He was on the ground; had he passed out, dreaming?
