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In the world of dreams, you wake.
Sitting in a forest, it would seem; a warmth at your back, faraway birdsong, and soft afternoon light dappling the fallen detritus.
Ah, a pleasant one, at long last, you think.
You fully relax, and whatever you have been propped against gives a little. You close your eyes, and take a deep breath. Fresh air-
Hmm. That's odd.
You smell blood.
Not faintly. It is here and it is strong and it is warm.
Your stomach drops as you become fully aware of what is behind you.
It is large.
It is unmoving.
It is warm.
You turn, hand flying to your mouth as you take in the carcass you have been sleeping against. The air turns cold and the blood seeping from its neck turns hot and alive and wrong.
You stumble to your feet and watch as it resuscitates, shambling into a monstrous form wholly unlike one the corpse had held.
It snarls, and the blood is still pulsing and bubbling and boiling, and its breath puffs and huffs in clouds that dance before its nostrils.
You freeze, uncertain which way this encounter might end. On the one hand, running from the danger is paramount; distance does indeed cure all wounds. But to turn one's back to such a creature must only end poorly. On the other hand, to stay would be madness; but a challenge might infuriate or frighten the creature, and you're suspect this animal might have passed the point of following base instinct to survive.
It was, in fact, already dead, so there was that.
Caught in indecision, time seems to stop.
The creature moves in slow motion, snapping downward towards your legs.
At the same moment, a flash of golden pink energy bursts in your periphery, as a deep voice booms: "By the grace of Melora, begone!"
The light returns, and grows, and brightens, as the creature hisses in fear and pain. It turns tail to flee, but it is too late.
Like so much dust in a strong breeze, the creature's form disintegrates.
The light fades.
You blink as your eyes adjust once again to the everdusk under the forest canopy.
You stand in the same grove as before, though it is now clean and devoid of shambling undead and their rotting blood. The air is crisp, fresh, and clean.
And in the center of it now stands a tall, thin firbolg with grey-white fur and an astonishing pink shock of hair cascading down his shoulders.
"Hi. Caduceus Clay. Nice to meet you," he says amiably, offering his hand to you. His other hand, you notice, is holding a staff with a bright purple gem fastened organically to the end of it. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but it seemed to glow, ever so faintly.
Wordlessly, you take his hand and shake it. It is warm, and alive, and... gentle.
Wary of how quickly such things can turn, you remain alert.
"Oh, don't worry about it, you're safe here," the firbolg says. It is uncanny, how quickly he caught up on the way your thoughts were spinning.
The look on your face must amuse him, for he lets out a short chuckle. "Ah, I see. Not a problem. But you might have some better luck now that I'm around, is all."
With that, he turns and walks to the opposite side of the clearing. He brushes some stray leaves from the base of a large tree - looking around, it is the largest tree on the edge of the grove - and sits down, shuffling to get comfortable.
"Feel free to join me if you feel like it. I mean, it's not like you're going anywhere soon," he calls out.
You cast a look into the forest beyond.
No sign of any creature, man or animal. The chill in the air is gone, that initial mild breeze glancing along your skin. You know this is a dream (it always is.)
Fuck it , you think. At worst, you are tricked again and must fight off another undead monstrosity - and that's already happened in this dream.
You make your way over and lower yourself to the forest floor, right in the spot that Caduceus had cleared for you in the time you took to deliberate.
He looks up at the sky through the leaves. You follow his gaze up.
You don't see anything in particular.
A glance back at the firbolg tells you that he is still watching the leaves sway, a soft smile on his lips. You look back up.
The two of you sit there for a while. It is quiet, it is calm, and it is safe.
Over time, you realize that you have leaned against Caduceus beside you, so that you are now gently supported by his arm.
A touch embarrassed, you sit up again, and finally Caduceus breaks from his trance. "Ah, you're still here. That's nice," he rumbles.
He speaks like a mountain. There is no urgency to his tone in the slightest. He knows he need not shout to be heard. He simply is, and that is how things have been, and how things always will be.
You hazard a tiny smile back (you are greatly unpracticed) and he smiles the tiniest bit wider. "There you go. How are you holdin' up?"
You look yourself over, almost habit to that question. You shrug, finding no issues, no blemishes or wounds.
"That's good, that's good." He pauses, giving you a once-over. "Do you want to leave now?"
You look around, at the forest, at the peace that's lasted longer than most anything in your life up to this point. At the person who seems to have control over this little plane that you spend your restful hours in. At the first place in years where you have truly been able to let yourself go, if only for a moment.
You shake your head.
Caduceus nods knowingly. "Not many do," he admits. "Come here." He gestures for you to move closer once more.
After a moment's hesitation, you lean in again, and his arm swoops up and over your shoulder, bringing you closer to him. "Is this alright?"
You nod, squished but comfortable against his side.
"Good."
The silence falls again.
Suspended in time, you dream.