The Man in My Dreams by Arealius the Sailor, Scribe of Port Olni.

This Gorean Fan Fiction was generated using MetaAI. 

Please note that the Gorean Saga is a fictional series, and its world, 

customs, and values may not align with modern societal standards or moral principles.

Gor is Copyrighted by John Norman

The Man in My Dreams

By Arealius the Sailor, Scribe of Port Olni

 Dedicated to Lady Aille, our amazing City Builder of Port Olni. 

             

I felt myself floating, my body heavy and unresponsive. The world around me was a blur, but I could sense others. A gentle voice, soft and reassuring, spoke to me, guiding me through the haze. I tried to focus, to remember, but my memories seemed shrouded in mist.

As I slowly came to, I realized I was being supported by a powerful arm, guiding me towards a place of safety. I saw the outline of a gate, and the figures of guards, their faces concerned but kind. The voice, belonging to a warrior, whispered to me, telling me I was safe, that I had made it.

The physician, a middle-aged woman with a calm demeanor, tended to me, her touch gentle as she assessed my condition. I felt a pang of panic as she asked me questions, realizing I couldn't remember much. My name, my past, all seemed lost to me. But the physician's reassuring words, and warrior’s presence, helped calm my fears.

As I rested, surrounded by the warmth and comfort of the inn, I felt my body heal. The softness of the bed, the warmth of the blankets, all seemed to envelop me, shielding me from the world outside. I knew I was safe, that the warrior and the others would protect me, and that thought allowed me to let go, to sink into the darkness of sleep.

But even as I slept, I knew I had to remember. I had to uncover the secrets of my past, to reclaim my identity. And I knew that the warrior, with his kind eyes and gentle voice, would be there to help me, to guide me through the journey of discovery that lay ahead.

As I drifted deeper into sleep, the warmth of the inn's bed seemed to melt away, replaced by the familiar comfort of my bedroom. I looked around, taking in the soft, golden light that spilled through the windows, casting a gentle glow over the room.

But something was different. The furniture seemed smaller, more childish, and my body felt... younger. I looked down at my hands, and they were smaller, more delicate, with a subtle softness to the skin. My chest was flat, my hips narrow, and my legs seemed to go on forever, like a colt's.

I was a child again, only nine or ten years old. My hair was shorter, more unruly, and my eyes seemed wider, more curious. I felt a sense of wonder, of magic, that I hadn't felt in years.

As I explored my childhood bedroom, memories flooded back. Memories of laughter, of tears, of whispered secrets and midnight feasts. Memories of my mother, her smile warm and loving, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

But even as the memories washed over me, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. That this wasn't quite real. That I was... dreaming?

No, I pushed the thought aside. This was my childhood, my past. I was reliving memories, that's all.

And yet, as I looked around the room, I couldn't help but feel that I was trapped in a dream, a dream that was both familiar and strange, comforting and unsettling.

My mother burst into my room like a sunbeam with a bad hair day, her wild curls bouncing with each step. She radiated warmth and love, but also a healthy dose of chaos. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow.

"Mother, do you have to be so... enthusiastic?" I mumbled, my voice muffled by the pillow.

She chuckled, yanking the pillow away from my face. "Enthusiastic? Ha! I'm just trying to get you to appreciate the beauty of a new day, child! Now, up! We have a busy day ahead of us. Your father may be a great builder, but I'm the one who's going to make sure you don't grow up to be a brick-headed bookworm!"

 

 

I rolled my eyes, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Mother, that's not even a real thing."

She winked at me. "Oh, don't be so sure, child. I've seen some of the people your father works with. They could give brick-headed bookworms a run for their money!"

I giggled, despite myself. My mother was a force of nature, and resisting her was like trying to hold back a tidal wave.

As I washed and dressed, my mother chatted about my studies, and how I needed to focus on my reading and writing. I nodded and made supportive noises, all the while thinking about how I was going to sneak in some extra time to practice my drawing.

My mother handed me a bowl of steaming hot porridge, topped with a sprinkle of sweet spices. "Eat up, child. You need your strength for a big day of learning."

I dug in, savoring the warm, comforting flavors. My mother smiled, watching me eat. "You know, Aille, I have a feeling that today is going to be a very special day indeed."

I looked up at her, my spoon paused mid-air. "What do you mean?"

She just winked at me. "You'll see, child. You'll see."

One minute we were strolling through the bustling streets of Sais, taking in the sights and sounds of the vibrant city, and the next, we were... well, I'm not sure where we were. It was as if the city had melted away, like a sandcastle in the tide, and we were left standing in the middle of a lush, green forest.

I looked around, bewildered, and my mother laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, Aille, isn't this wonderful? The world is full of magic, if you only know where to look!"

 

I grinned, feeling a thrill of excitement. Only in a dream, I thought, could we travel from the city to the forest in the blink of an eye?

As we wandered through the forest, I couldn't help but think of my father, and the incredible city he had helped design. I was so proud of him, and the way he had brought the upper and lower cities together with his ingenious lifts and stairways.

My mother, sensing my thoughts, smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. "Yes, your father is a brilliant man, Aille. But don't forget, he didn't do it alone. I was right there beside him, keeping track of his supplies and construction reports, making sure everything ran smoothly."

I laughed, knowing that my mother was being modest. She was the one who had kept my father's business running like clockwork, with her love of mathematics and her keen eye for detail.

As we walked, the forest grew denser; the trees becoming taller and the underbrush thicker. My mother seemed to know exactly where she was going, leading me deeper into the forest with a confident air.

I followed her, feeling a sense of wonder and excitement. Where were we going? What would we find? The world was full of magic, and I was eager to explore it all.

I ran to my father, my heart full of joy and love. But as I reached him, I saw the sadness in his eyes, and my excitement faltered. Suddenly, we were alone in the glade; the trees closing in around us like sentinels.

My father's eyes, warm and loving, gazed down at me, and I felt a surge of pride and affection. But as I looked up at him, I realized that something was off. He looked... older. His hair was grayer, his face more lined, and his eyes seemed to hold a deep wisdom that I had never seen before.

I looked down at my own hands, and my heart skipped a beat. They were my mother's hands, slender and elegant, with a smattering of freckles across the backs. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I realized that something was very wrong.

And then, I looked up at my father again, and my eyes met his on a level plane. I was no longer a child, looking up at him in awe. I was... grown. Nearly as tall as he was, with eyes that seemed to hold a deep sadness and longing.

"No!" I cried out, my voice echoing through the glade. "What's happened? Where did the years go?" I felt like I was drowning, like the world was spinning around me and I was powerless to stop it.

My father's eyes filled with tears, and he reached out to me, his massive arms enfolding me in a warm, comforting hug. "My dear child," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "I'm so proud of the woman you've become."

I followed my father's gaze to the ground, and my eyes widened in wonder at the sight of the beautiful tabuk. Its coat was a rich, dark brown, and its antlers reached towards the sky like a crown. But as I looked at the animal, I realized that it wasn't moving. It just lay there, still and silent.

I turned to my father, confusion etched on my face. "Why isn't it running?" I asked, but my words were cut off as I saw my father's face change.

He was wilting, withering away before my very eyes. The creases in his face deepened, his hair greyed, and his eyes seemed to sink into his skull. I felt a scream building in my throat as I watched my father, the strong and powerful man I had always known, fade away into nothingness.

In horror, I looked down at my own hands, expecting to see them wither away as well. But they were the same, unchanged. I felt a sense of disconnection, as if I was floating above my body, watching the scene unfold without being able to take part.

And then, I looked back at the tabuk. But it wasn't a tabuk anymore. It was a carcass, its once-strong body now gaunt and lifeless. Its muscles had wasted away, and its breath was gone. I felt a wave of despair wash over me as I realized that everything around me was fading away into nothingness.

us, its once-strong body now gaunt and lifeless. Its muscles had wasted away, and its breath was gone. I felt a wave of despair wash over me as I realized that everything around me was dying, fading away into nothingness.

I was trapped in a nightmare, and I didn't know how to wake up.

I stood in the familiar halls of my family's home, but something was off. The rooms seemed emptier; the furniture rearranged. I wandered through the house, trying to make sense of the changes.

As I entered the central courtyard, I saw my mother; her face etched with worry, directing the servants as they scurried about, packing up belongings. I tried to approach her, to get her attention, but she didn't seem to notice me.

"Mother!" I called out, but she just kept talking, her voice rising in distress. "It's the sickness, my dear girl. I'm sure of it. Elara must have been afraid she had it, and she ran."

 

I felt a pang of confusion. What sickness? And who was Elara? One of our kajirae, I vaguely remembered. But why would she run?

I tried again to get my mother's attention, but she just kept packing, her eyes brimming with tears. The servants seemed to prepare to abandon the house, and I couldn't understand why.

And then, like a splash of cold water, I remembered my father. I had to find him. I turned and ran, dashing through the halls, searching for any sign of him.

But the house seemed empty, the rooms echoing with silence. I called out for him, my voice hoarse with fear, but there was no answer.

Where was he? And what was happening to our home? I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, with no escape.

I walked alongside my mother, surrounded by the few servants who had remained loyal to our family. My mother herded us together, her eyes darting back and forth, ensuring we stayed in line. She reminded me of a vulo, fiercely protective of her chicks, guiding us through the chaotic streets of Sais.

We carried little with us, just a few sacks of clothes, some food, and botas of water. The two male servants, Ragnar and Tharius, bore the bulk of the load, their faces set in determined lines.

 

As we navigated the crowded streets, I gazed up at the ridge line of the upper city. Smoke billowed above the clay roofs, casting a dark, foreboding shadow over the city. The sky was a deep, ominous grey, like the moments before a thunderstorm.

But this was no natural disaster. The city was in chaos, people running wildly, screaming and shouting. Buildings were ablaze, and the sound of clashing steel echoed through the streets.

Mighty Sais, the cornerstone of the Vosk River city-states, was under siege. But by what or whom, I did not know. My mother's face was set in a determined expression, her eyes fixed on some point ahead, but I could sense the fear lurking beneath her surface.

I felt a shiver run down my spine as I clung to my mother's hand, my heart pounding in my chest. What was happening to our city? And where were we going?

I watched in horror as the scene unfolded before us. The woman's desperate cries still echoed in my mind as the warriors dragged her away, their spears pointed menacingly at her back. The kajirus's bravery was met with brutal force, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as I watched him fall to the ground, his lifeless body a grim reminder of the danger that lurked around us.

 

The warriors' leader, his face a mask of cold efficiency, gestured to the slaves, who scurried to gather the abandoned bags and satchels. They tossed them into a growing fire; flames consuming everything in their path. The smell of burning fabric and leather filled the air, and I felt a sense of unease as I watched the destruction of the woman's belongings. The possibly infected body of the slain slave was tossed onto the fire as well. I realized a similar fate awaited the slaves being used to handle the disowned baggage of those identified as infected. Now I understood what the billowing smoke from the upper city was from. 

My mother's grip on my hand tightened, her eyes fixed on the scene before us. I could sense her fear, her anxiety, as she whispered a silent prayer to the Priest Kings to intervene on her behalf, hoping that we would be spared the same fate.

The line inched forward, and we were soon face to face with the physician, who examined us with a detached efficiency. I felt a sense of relief wash over me as she pronounced us healthy, and we could pass.

But the image of the woman, her kajirus, and the burning bags and satchels lingered in my mind, a grim reminder of the danger and uncertainty that surrounded us.

The physician's eyes scanned my mother's body, her gaze lingering on each area as she searched for the telltale signs of the sickness. The physician peered at my mother's skin, checking for any darkening or discoloration. She examined her hair, looking for any signs of thinning or loss. She even checked her teeth, making sure they were all intact.

As the physician continued her examination, I could sense my mother's tension. She was afraid of being found out, of being discovered to have the sickness. I could feel her fear, her anxiety, as she stood frozen, waiting for the physician's verdict.

The physician's gaze moved on to my mother's joints, checking for any signs of pain or stiffness. She asked my mother to move her arms and legs, to bend and straighten, and my mother complied, her movements stiff and awkward.

Finally, the physician peered into my mother's eyes, searching for any signs of blindness or madness. My mother's eyes locked onto the physician's, her gaze calm.

After what felt like an eternity, the physician nodded, seeming to relax a fraction. "You may pass," she said, stepping aside to allow us to continue on our way.

My mother let out a breath, her shoulders sagging in relief. I felt a surge of gratitude towards the physician, who had examined us with such care and caution. We continued on our way, our footsteps echoing through the crowded streets as we made our way towards the docks.

I was paralyzed with fear as the physician's examination station was suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of frantic survivors. The air was filled with screams and shouts as people rushed to escape the impending horror.

"They're here! They're here!" someone yelled, pointing up at the staircases leading from the upper city.

 

My eyes followed the gesture, and I felt my blood run cold. Sightless, infected citizens and slaves were stumbling down the stairs, their minds consumed by the sickness. They were drawn to the noise and chaos, their empty eyes fixed on us with a mindless hunger.

The warriors were quickly overwhelmed by the desperate crowd, who will do anything to escape. Some of the uninfected people attacked the physicians, slaughtering them on the spot to gain access to the remaining boats and barges.

Chaos reigned supreme, with people fighting and screaming all around us. My mother grabbed my arm, pulling me close as we fought to protect ourselves. I clung to her, my fists and nails flailing wildly as we struggled to stay alive.

During the madness, I caught glimpses of the infected, their faces twisted in mindless rage. They were everywhere, stumbling and lurching through the crowd with an unstoppable momentum.

My mother's grip on my arm tightened, and I felt her pulling me through the crowd. We stumbled and staggered, fighting to stay upright as the world descended into chaos.

Somehow, we broke free from the crowd, and my mother pulled me towards the docks. The boats and barges were our only hope, but I knew we had to move fast if we were going to survive.

I screamed as I watched my mother stumble and fall, her body trampled by the desperate crowd. I fought my way through the chaos, punching and kicking to reach her side. But when I finally reached her, she was lying unconscious on the creaking boards of the dock.

I wept uncontrollably, holding her icy hand in mine, praying to the Priest Kings for the first time in my life. I begged them to intervene, to save my mother, to make this nightmare end.

But it was too late. The dock, already weakened by the weight of the crowd, gave way beneath us. The wooden planks cracked and splintered, sending us all tumbling into the waters of the Vosk.

I felt myself falling, my mother's hand slipping from mine. I screamed again, this time in despair, as I hit the water with a splash. The shock of the cold water was like a slap in the face, and I struggled to surface, my lungs burning.

As I broke through the surface, I looked around frantically for my mother. But she was nowhere to be seen. I called out her name, my voice hoarse from screaming, but there was no answer.

I was alone, surrounded by the wreckage of the dock and the desperate, struggling bodies of the survivors. The Vosk River was a chaotic, churning mess, and I was just another insignificant part of it.

A longshoreman grabbed me by the neck and started swimming, propelling us both through the ruined remains of the dock and the floundering of those struggling to remain a float. The infected did not swim, sinking to a merciful death below the turbulent waters. I gasped for air as I realised what my savior attempted and went limp so he could more easily tow me. Soon I felt the hands of other riverboat men pulling us out of the water into the safety of their fishing boat. I lay in stunned silence as the boat paddled its way upriver toward Tancred's Landing and the Olni River basin. My mind was lost....and the dream moved me again.

I lay there, stunned and silent, as the boat glided smoothly through the water. The riverboat men's gruff voices and the sound of their paddles dipping into the water were the only sounds that broke the stillness.

My mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, struggling to process the events that had just transpired. I felt numb, disconnected from my body and my surroundings. The warmth of the sun on my skin and the gentle rocking of the boat were the only sensations that seemed real.

As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I caught glimpses of the riverbank passing by. The city of Sais was behind us now, its buildings and towers shrinking into the distance. The landscape was changing, the dense urban sprawl giving way to rolling hills and verdant forests.

The dream seemed to pull me further and further away from reality. I felt like I was floating on a sea of uncertainty, with no anchor to hold onto. My mother, my father, my home – everything I had ever known was slipping away from me, lost in the turbulent waters of the Vosk.

And yet, even as my mind reeled with grief and confusion, I felt a sense of detachment, as if I was observing myself from outside my body. It was a strange, disorienting feeling, like I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of dreams within dreams.

As the crew scavenged the abandoned ruins of Tancred's Landing, the tension among them grew thicker than the dust that coated everything. The arguments that erupted were like sparks to dry kindling, igniting into full-blown fires of accusation and recrimination.

The fishermen, worn and weary from their labors, glared at the survivors of Sais with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. "You people brought this upon yourselves," one of them spat. "Your city was a den of corruption and blasphemy. The Priest Kings have withdrawn their protection from you."

 

The survivors of Sais, already reeling from the loss of their homes and loved ones, took umbrage at these words. "How dare you!" one of them shouted. "We are not to blame for the destruction of our city!"

But the fishermen would not be swayed. "Your High Castes, with their alchemy and their mechanical contraptions, have brought ruin upon you," one of them declared. "And your Warrior Caste, they are just as guilty. They failed to purge the scribes of their blasphemous ways."

The man's voice rose to a crescendo as he shouted, "Who needs running water and pumps when you have slaves to carry it? Your city was a monstrosity, an affront to the natural order. You should be grateful that the Priest Kings have seen fit to punish you!"

I watched in horror as the argument escalated, the two groups of men standing on the brink of violence. The air was thick with tension, and I feared things would soon spiral out of control.

I cowered in the boat's bottom, my eyes fixed on the chaos erupting around me. The fishermen and the refugees were locked in a fierce battle, their fists and knives clashing in a deadly dance. The air was filled with the sound of grunting and shouting, the smell of sweat and blood hanging heavy over the water.

I trembled with fear, my heart racing in my chest. I was trapped, unable to escape the violence that surrounded me. And then, I saw him. A wretched man, his face twisted in a snarl, stood over me with his oar raised. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow to fall.

But instead of the expected pain, I heard a voice. A voice that was familiar, yet distant. "Do not be afraid, my daughter," it said.

I opened my eyes to see the wretched man still standing over me, but his face had changed. It was no longer twisted in a snarl, but it was calm and peaceful. And then, I saw my father's face superimposed over the man's. It was his voice, his eyes, his gentle smile.

 

I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a sense of safety. My father's presence enveloped me, protecting me from the surrounding chaos. "I place you with friends, kind people," he said. "You are not alone."

As he spoke, the boat, the water, and the fighting men faded away. I felt myself being lifted out of the chaos, transported to an unfamiliar place. I was not alone, my father had said. But where was I? And who were these friends, these kind people, that my father had spoken of?

I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting to the darkness that surrounded me. As I became more aware of my surroundings, I realized I had been dreaming. The vivid images and emotions of the dream still lingered in my mind, but as I felt the warmth beside me, I knew I was safe.

I smiled quietly to myself as I reached out to touch the hand of my companion. The familiar touch was comforting, and I felt a sense of peace wash over me. The words I had heard in my dream echoed in my mind: "I place you with friends, kind people. You are not alone."

As I touched my companion's hand, I knew the words were true. I was not alone. I had someone who cared for me, someone who would stand by me through the trials and tribulations of life.

I closed my eyes, feeling grateful for the warmth and companionship beside me. The darkness seemed less daunting now, and I felt a sense of peace settle over me. I was not alone, and that knowledge was all the comfort I needed.