Oz has a vague recollection of the tribe Shaman speaking about such a thing once, where one could go walking in their own dreams, fully aware and fully in control. He's tried to put such nonsense long behind him, but when he stumbles into a place so alien and so bizarre it cannot be real, that's the only explanation he can think of.
Nightmares are not usually something that plague him with great frequency, though they sometimes come at him with the smiling faces of the tribe that took him in, cooing about how proud they're going to be when he finally takes his place among them. All while they lash him to a tree with thick rope, all while they pack their things and move on. In those dreams, freedom never comes. Only the slow and agonizing end as he starves or gets ravaged by wild beasts.
This place is unlike any he has seen, within his dreams or without, and so he can't be certain if this is a nightmare lying in wait or just an oddity that he will half remember when he wakes up later.
Just as he's poking around a large and cavernous room, someone calls to him. Oz turns quick on his heel, all gangly teenage limbs as the rest of his body struggles to catch up with his sudden upshoot in height. There's a broadness beginning in his shoulders, however, a swell to his upper arms covered in a simple black tunic, and it becomes apparent why when, like Dimitri, he reaches for a weapon that isn't there only to have it materialize in his hands: a massive broadsword. A two-handed affair that he hefts in the direction of the voice, alert but not looking to attack. ]
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Oz has a vague recollection of the tribe Shaman speaking about such a thing once, where one could go walking in their own dreams, fully aware and fully in control. He's tried to put such nonsense long behind him, but when he stumbles into a place so alien and so bizarre it cannot be real, that's the only explanation he can think of.
Nightmares are not usually something that plague him with great frequency, though they sometimes come at him with the smiling faces of the tribe that took him in, cooing about how proud they're going to be when he finally takes his place among them. All while they lash him to a tree with thick rope, all while they pack their things and move on. In those dreams, freedom never comes. Only the slow and agonizing end as he starves or gets ravaged by wild beasts.
This place is unlike any he has seen, within his dreams or without, and so he can't be certain if this is a nightmare lying in wait or just an oddity that he will half remember when he wakes up later.
Just as he's poking around a large and cavernous room, someone calls to him. Oz turns quick on his heel, all gangly teenage limbs as the rest of his body struggles to catch up with his sudden upshoot in height. There's a broadness beginning in his shoulders, however, a swell to his upper arms covered in a simple black tunic, and it becomes apparent why when, like Dimitri, he reaches for a weapon that isn't there only to have it materialize in his hands: a massive broadsword. A two-handed affair that he hefts in the direction of the voice, alert but not looking to attack. ]
Who are you?