The Aphotic Rose - Nightmares of a Knight

Greetings House Velahr, my name is Eabrem, Chronicler of Danten Torg, the K'Vaktrah of House Velahr. My liege has recently been on a most troubling adventure. It seems as if he has been suffering from torturous nightmares for many months, nightmares of such sorrow that they cause him great pain. He receives little rest during his slumber. I have been wondering why he looked so fatigued.

Late one evening after making record of the days events, I decided to enjoy a nice cup of Kithicor Blackroot tea before going to bed, I do so enjoy the fruits of conquest. While walking near his quarters, I heard a muffled scream and the shattering of glass. I hurried down the hall and met a confused sentry standing at the entrance to the K'Vaktrah's quarters. I stood a second, waiting for his action, but quickly determined that this guard could not muster the courage to break open the door. I took the guards weapon from his hand and gave it to my minion with instructions to destroy the door. Being a large man, I also put a shoulder to it and in less than a minute we were inside. I ran to my liege's bed, only to see him sitting at the edge of his bed resting his head in his hands, unharmed, yet visibly shaken. Scattered on the floor were pieces of a vase that had once stood on his nightstand, the ebon roses that it had contained were also strewn about, torn to pieces.

Quietly, I dismissed the sentry and closed the bedroom door. I was a bit nervous myself and could have used that relaxing tea, but it was more important to determine what had troubled the knight. Gently I asked what had happened. I received no immediate response, but slowly he raised his head. His watery eyes were horridly bloodshot and I could see the dry tracks of tears upon his cheeks. With a trembling hand he pointed to a small desk on the other side of the room. He often used the desk to write letters to he mother and brother in Neriak. Upon the desk lay a single ebon rose, lying in a small puddle of scarlet liquid. I examined the rose as I held it in my hands. It was a beautiful blossom, perfect to my eyes. Upon it's petals, just like the morning dew, gathered small beads of scarlet. Periodically, enough beads would gather and drip from the petals. I could instantly recognize it as blood.

I set the rose down and sat at the desk. I encouraged him to speak his mind and share his pain. At first he did not acknowledge my concern and then, cautiously he began his story. He hesitated as I gathered a quill and parchment then, in acknowledgement, he proceeded. This is his tale. I have embellished it in some spots to provide atmosphere, but I assure you the tale is his.

And so I stand
Before the dark light
A faded shadow
Shielded from my sight

The barrier of slumber
I have broke through
Surrealistic vision
I no longer know what is true
Growing weaker, my spirit screams
As I stand before the origin of dreams

The broken heart of my nightmares
Has driven me to this place
Torturous dreams of beauty
And loves embrace

As if she had placed a dagger
In my heart
My ebon rose decided to part
And as she lay
Upon our bed
My heart poured out
Crimson red

Now I wish
For the sleep of the dead
My nights are filled with her memory
An ebon rose
Crimson red

And so I've come
To the realm of delusion
To put an end to my nocturnal misery
To my pain, a conclusion

Wave after wave of dread
Assaulted me
A symphony of sorrow
Deafened my ears

Encumbered
I made my assault in vain
For my shield was useless
My blade could cause no pain

But even as I faltered
Waiting for defeat
My taint of reality
Weakened my antagonist's conceit

We fought for what seemed ages
But neither of us retreated
We battled to standoff
And could not be defeated

Wounded and defiant
I stated my demand
To suffer no more nightmares
I had made my stand

In an act perverse
I was granted my wish
And inflicted by curse


My nightmares would cease
I would sleep like the dead
But in my waking ours
I would be reminded of my dread
A haunting icon
An ebon rose bleeding red

So you see my friends, the courageous knight fought the origin of dreams himself and won relief from his misery. He no longer dreams I can assure you for I have seen him sleep. He truly sleeps the sleep of the dead. He is cold to the touch and barely breathes when deep in slumber. When he awakens he is as well rested as one could be after a good night sleep, in fact, better than he has been for some time now.

Yet, to be reminded of his pain every waking hour must cause him great grief, but it hardly shows. If the truth were told, his spirit is better.

And the rose, yes the perfect ebon rose, as long as it bleeds he is protected. I know this to be true, but he does not. I�ve seen the rose when my liege is in the company of a certain female. The flow of blood seems to falter.

Perhaps the rose is not a curse after all, but the blossom of a healing spirit, ridding itself of its disease.