Dream Journal – Not Skyrim

Broad, rolling snowdrifts. Deep black and grey rocks jutting from beneath. Miles and miles of flurrying snow. Horses that didn’t care for us, footsteps beneath us that trudged wearily against the ground.

Me, and at least two others. The Empress and the Fox, a barbarian. We sought out the language of dragons. I spoke it, in a moment of desperation, to destroy a wall and save us from an onslaught.

And then –

“That’s not how you conjugate that.” Said the barbarian.

“What?”

“It’s not pronounced in that tense.”

“I – ”

“Look, I’m glad we’re okay now, but if an actual dragon was here, you would be so embarassed.”

The Empress liked to nit pick in how the Dragons wrote their words on the runes and in the old scripts. The Dragons were sloppy and informal, and she liked pointing out when they used the wrong word. ‘That’s not what that means,’ she said.

An hour of questing, we realised we had no idea what we were questing for. So we told Mispy to put on a princess dress while he coded, and we would rescue him.

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