Astanael

Tag: Dream

  • Coco Beach

    And then, of course, the islands!
    Palawan, Siquijor, Bohol, Coron. all filled with corals, thin sand, sun, sea… Living dreamscapes.
    We dip our feet into the warm waters, watching underneath multicolored fishes dancing around us. We feel like we’ve just step into a postcard.
    A place to forget ourselves in bliss.
    Not too much, though: watch out for falling coconuts.

    /* Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook – Porte-mine sur carnet A6 */

    Et puis, bien sûr, les Iles !
    Palawan, Siquijor, Bohol, Coron, toutes baignant dans le corail, le sable fin, le soleil, la mer… Paysages de rêves s’il en est.
    Plongeant nos pieds sous les vagues si transparentes que nous pouvons voir une ribambelle de petits poissons multicolore danser autours de nous, nous avons l’impression tenace d’avoir mis pied dans une carte postale.
    On s’oublierait presque dans cet océan de bonheur.
    Je dis presque, car veillons aux chutes de noix de coco.

  • Dreams of the surface

    I’m dreaming of the world above. I see them, crawling, suffering.
    How can they bear this giant glowing eye that burns the skin?
    They’re stuck here, unable to move up further, surely because of this eye.
    And yet, when it’s gone, they lay motionless, exhausted by their fight.
    This is hell. This is torture. And yet,.. it’s beautiful, noble.
    I swear, when the time is right, I will rise to save them all.

    /* Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook – Pörte-mine sur carnet A6 */

    Je rêve du monde d’en haut. Je les vois, ramper, souffrir.
    Comment peuvent-ils supporter cet oeil incandescent qui brûle la peau ?
    Ils sont coincé là, incapables de monter plus haut, surement à cause de cet oeil implacable.
    Et pourtant, quand il est parti il s’effondrent, immobiles, épuisés par leur lutte.
    C’est l’enfer. C’est de la torture. Et pourtant, que c’est beau, noble.
    Je jure, que quand le temps sera venu, je viendrait pour les sauver tous.   

  • Symbolic walk

    Leaving the latin alleys of my alphabet
    Walking the infinite roads of symbolism
    I see the fragments of universalism
    Constantly severed and reinterpreted

    ***

    Quittant les sentiers latins de mon alphabet
    J’arpente les pavés infinis du symbolisme
    Où la pensée universelle n’est que schismes
    Un mirage constant, sans cesse réinterprété

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook / Porte-mine sur carnet A6

  • Dream visitor

    Last night I had a dream. Not a pleasant one.
    We were walking along the corridors of a cyclopean city, made from steel and white concrete. The impossible architecture of the place were almost organic, living. We were searching for corpses. In order to bypass the security systems, we had to wear at all time skin masks made with the faces of the deceased inhabitants. That’s why we were searching corpses. The previous inhabitants were all dead. They were only human in appearance, and the skin was acid, slowly melting the flesh of our faces underneath, blurring our features

    ***

    La nuit dernière j’ai eu un rêve. Ou un cauchemar.
    Nous marchions le long des corridors d’une cité cyclopéenne, faite de métal et de béton blanc aseptisé. L’impossible architecture de ces lieux leur donnait un coté organique, presque vivant. Afin de tromper les systèmes de sécurité, nous étions forcés de porter en permanence des masques de peau, réalisés à partir des visages des anciens habitants. C’est pourquoi nous cherchions des corps. Les précédents occupants étaient tous morts. Ils n’étaient humains qu’en apparence, et leur peau acide faisait peu à peu fondre la chair de nos visages dessous, effaçant nos traits.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook / Porte-mine sur carnet A6

  • Sleep Guardian

    Sleep tight, tonight, the Guardian’s watching over you
    Dream far and wide, venture the realms of the unknown
    You’re safe, you’re warm, the Guardian is protecting you
    Embrace, hold tight, once you’re awake it will be gone

    ***

    Dors bien ce soir, le Gardien veille sur ton sommeil
    Rêve loin, rêve large, explore les contrées oniriques
    Ne crains rien, au chaud, le Gardien t’enlace et veille
    Puis à ton réveil, il disparait, c’est magique

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook / Porte-mine sur carnet A6

  • Treehouse II

    Treehouse II

    As a child, I always wanted to live in such a dream house.

    I still do.

    ***

    Gamin, j’ai toujours rêvé de vivre dans une telle maison .

    Rien n’a changé.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook / Criterium sur carnet A6

  • Masks of Nyarlathotep – Relaxation

    Cairo, Egypt, March 19, 1925

    Mouhammad reluctantly left the room of the Continental Hotel, letting Betty preparing the ritual with the various ornaments he fetched for her. That was a strange set of tools she asked him and he did his best to find them all. Buckler, arrows, arc, an ankh, a tiny sarcophagus… All this esoteric stuff was making him nervous, not that he feared the occult, but returning to the place he once worked was risky. He didn’t exactly leave a notice or any explanation of why he left his receptionist job, and “finding the love of his life” was not among accepted motive.

    Betty told him not to look. She told him to return in a few hours. She said she will invoke the Spirit of Nets the Huntress to beg her for rest and protection.

    He couldn’t resist and swiftly turned back. Using his pass on the door, he cautiously went back in the hotel room. He heard the words of Betty speaking softly some kind of prayer, in an unknown language. As he tried to hide behind the plants, he was overwhelmed by a sudden urge to sleep. He briefly saw a feline shadows, heard a strange metallic noise and fell to the ground unconscious.
    And now he’s here. They all are here.

    There is no time here. No past. No future. Only an eternal present. The grass is everywhere, taller than them. A gentle and warm wind is blowing. They feel presences out of their sight around them, furtive noises in the bushes of predators, but no fear. They feel protected, relaxed. Mouhammad saw Betty, alongside her sister. Betty was pregnant, and all signs of worry has disappear from her face. She was expecting, radiant, a true goddess. He fell in love again and sit with her. Keeva was slowly stroking the dog. John was alert, but calm and peaceful.

    There was no pain, no worries, no anxiety, not even the slightest discomfort. For the first time since ages, they could relax themselves and forget for a while the tasks at hands, the horrible fraternity of the black Pharaoh and the impending return of Nitocris.

    This was bliss though Mouhammad. He could stay here for ever. Betty leaned on him and said:

    – I want to hunt small critters. To run after they little tails. I want to sleep in the sun and to be petted. This is a dream, I know that. Not The Dreamlands, ‘though… This is the dream of a cat.  

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from an ongoing run of the “Mask of Nyarlathotep” campaign for the Chaosium “Call of Cthulhu” RPG

  • Bad dreams

    – Oh uncle. I’m so glad to see you!
    – ‘evening son
    – I must ask you for help. Would you kindly listen to me?
    – Sure, son!
    – I kept dreaming of a titanic figure, truly a god. Each night, over and over. At first it was blurred and vague. And now it is clearer and clearer each night.  Last was the worst! it saw me! And then it made a gesture.
    – Oh my! That is quite terrifying.
    – I’m scared. What can I do? I’m afraid to fell asleep again.
    – But you are dreaming dear.
    – oh…
    – like, right now. Remember, son: I died three years ago.
    – no…nononoNONONONONOWGAWD!

    ink brush doodle on A6 sketchbook

  • Masks – Unexpected help

    England, Hitchcock Manor, 22 February 1925

    – “Quick ! Follow me ! And do not, I said : DO NOT look behind you.”

    John
    couldn’t help himself. As he turn around, he felt more than he saw a
    cold shadow spreading around the flooded room. Slowly rising from the
    mud he woke into, a colossal snake was rising to the roof, dripping mud,
    algae and whatever was decomposing in these foul waters. Grotesquely,
    this creature had a human face that looked like the face of the spice
    shop owner Tefwik.
    – “Wha.. How .. Why !?”- “No time ! Come ! screamed Gavigan”

    Tefwik’s
    face split in two, revealing a protrusion of tentacles, mandibles and
    other unnamed appendices. John was paralyzed by the grotesque and
    terrifying sight of the creature slowly leaning to him, unable to giggle
    a toe. He could smell the foul and putrid stench of the abysmal cloaca
    ready to swallow his body and its soul, and yet his body wasn’t
    responding.
    Suddenly, he felt pulled back, and
    dragged in the mud against the flow, then saw the door close itself
    thanks to the undertow. That somehow rebooted his mind, and he soon
    could started to flee as anyone should reasonably do facing such a
    monstrosity. Grabbing his pistol, he shot some round behind as him and
    Gavigan were struggling to progress among the floating detritus. They
    heard loud banging noises on the door they left. John took a look at Sir
    Gavigan. He was dressed like the day they met him at the Penhew
    foundation, the exact same costume. As they reach the stairs, John
    noticed the entire manor was flooded. They could try to reach a window
    and jump outside, but there was a strange glowing fog that felt almost
    tangible outside. Sir Gavigan turned to him.

    – “We need power objects, artifacts, relics, anything of power !”
    – “hu… I dunno ! The attic ?”- “lead the way, this is your dream !”

    John
    climbed the stairs, followed closely by Sir Gavigan, just in time to
    hear a loud cracking noise in the corridor and a wave of mud coming
    toward them. He took position and let Edward pass him, then emptied his
    round in the mud, to no avail.
    – “Here ! I found something !”
    Following
    the voice, he ran in the fist room with the broken door and saw the
    most incredible gathering of magic tools. Everything was as he has ever
    imagined, whatever loosely related to the occult it was : walls and
    walls of leatherbound grimoires and massive books piled in dust covered
    huge shelves, chandeliers, ritual knives, cauldrons, African masks,
    bones, marking on the floor, robes, bottles of glowing fluids… They
    even was a living black goat munching a tapestry covered in occult
    markings !
    Sir Edward was already reading from a heavy black grimoire in his hands.

    – “Elhoim sabbaoth Nephren-Ka… Grab the sword ! Et Nyarl Ft’hagn sibbo Neth Ka..”
    John
    dropped his now useless gun and grabbed the sword, which started to
    glow and suddenly burst into flames ! Gavigan started to levitate and
    runes appeared all around him in the air, shining brightly like his
    sword. John heard the sound of the creature approaching and turned
    around turned around to face the door, raising his now blazing magical
    sword.

    As his brother William said, there is a time to think. And there is a time to act.

    Pencil doodle on A6 sketchbook
    Excerpt from an ongoing run of Call of Cthulhu Campaign : The Masks of Nyarlathotep (London arc)