In my dreams
I stand before a wall
of perfectly aged stone
That crumbles at the mere touch.
Inside lies a more perfect beauty-
The city within.
I stumble up the grand, weathered steps
and lose my thoughts to the waterfall
that trickles down across the city
and through the silfr mines.
where the sun reflects off the water
and dances on the simple slivers of silver.
I continue on my way
and wander into the keep
where the ruler, the king, the jarl
sits high upon his Dwarven relic
and watches his city from the understone.
There, I wait and listen to stories of old,
from the great, dreadful tales of the mighty dragons
and their dark and treacherous rule
to their most foul leader, a corruptant of dragonbane,
to the legends of those born to speak the dragon tongue;
I wait and listen.
At the water-filled brim of nightfall
I clamber up to the highest peak
to the roof of the temple of their goddess
and gaze at the sky.
Moons or a deeper amber and oaken ash
fill this black canvas
and are bordered by the lives of fallen heros.
I ponder a moment and let my mind slip into Vallhalla
and I watch these heroes live off the lives they have lost
as I fall into darkness.
On the daybreak of the 8th of my visit
I stand at the gates of a once and still great city
and continue on my foot trodden journey
down a tripstone path into danger below
and mark my way deep into the heart
of the wilderness of my home.