Roman’s nightmares

The earliest memory is a vision of the anger of the half-orc / she-banshee.
I’m not fond of this lot, but my mind’s eye is full of their exploits.
I honestly cannot sit in meditation without having to sit through their endless debates. Shilly-shally, willy-nilly, willy-wally, blah-dee-blah.

There was a fat one, and his friend the half-orckette with the dog in tow. They roamed the north lands, and got frightened in a marsh. Too many mosquitoes: ehe ehe ehe. They drifted into an abandoned village, only populated by triffids and zombies, and so they freaked, squeaked and gibbered until a druid gave them the refuge of teleportation.

Now in the big city, the fat one evaporated, and the (‘arf) woman became my neighbour. She was haunted for a while, and saved by the pharmacist. Later the pharmacist adopted a child that sulked. Apparently she had been a street kid, and some shmuck had decided to pluck her from the gutter and deliver her to this good soul ‘cos the shmuck had better things to do.

Anyway, I’ve never been baking so many cakes to so little effect. The woman orc / neighbour made a deal with a squiddly-squat hideously chatty writer and haunted the ruined pub at the end of the yard with her stinking pork bellies and her bacon. The place was abandoned, and also occupied by a ghost, not-so-friendly but willing to re-open the premises. And then another fat one came, and started to tend the bar. He was kidnapped, and then he returned. At least he made me a meal when I showed up, and cleaned after me. In the basement, the neighbours kept a tear in the wall with some magic oozing out, and at some point some sharks. But that’s too much of a digression.

And so, after some saving of teenagers and some of my timely farts, more people came to disturb my dreams. There was a little woman, not willing to give her twat at any cost, but flaunting the damn thing at the four winds, and there was a even littler megalomaniac that played with her feelings, and won. He was the least likable and the most fake of the lot.
Then there was a miniature half-person that could not sing for shit, a member of a circus gang that has since left the city. He fucked off, but not before embarassing himself a few times. He had an owl that died in a dungeon, where the weary lot found a large toad and a library, and a fountain of a defaced goddess. The blood flowed, and they befriended a cat person. After the half person fucked off, there was a hiatus, and in his place there came another fat one (he also fucked off pretty soon, but not before trying, and failing, to be brave), and another half-person. This last one half-person, a monk, stayed, and kicked some ass. There was a druid who died, and then his twin brother showed up. Don’t remember the druid doing much other than maybe turning into a tiger, and perhaps shilly-shallying some more.

In the midst of this coming and going, I continued to bake, fart, and cake the toilet with my artsy-fartsy art. I left a big dump in the pub (oopsie, I never admitted to that). I think the megalomaniac died, or rather was killed by the orckette at some point, and then he came back, courtesy of the lady of the city. This is a good one, a magick lady who lately lost her powers. Now she wants her mummy.

I spent my days in the city half-naked and half-alive. Drinking myself into oblivion, and then some more. I fucking hate them all. There’s no point in anything.

My mind is haunted by these people. Wherever I go, they seem to follow me. Now I am hidden from my deepest fears. We’re together in some shithole village ‘cos the kickass-dumbass decided to burn the city, and the treasure they were seeking has been mucus’d to ashes.

I try to keep a straight face when they speak, but my guilt and anger haunt me, I can’t remember much before the recent times. Flashes, is all. I know the curse of lineage is strong in my life, and ancestry is a demonic joke.

Other people in my life are a russian thief, a german-swedish vendor of any garbage with religious underpinnings and at some point there was this posh english half dork that has somehow disappeared. And there has been plenty of monstruous coming and going, for example a many-eyes thing, and a rich lady with the police in her pockets.

Bombs have been set off (multiple times) outside my window. People, many people have died. I gots to burn a few shits myself with my wall of fire tricksy. The police have come and gone, and now the city is in the (one) hand of a wizard trying to cleanse it of a recently returned proto-god that really just wants to see the world bum out.

I think that should cover it for now. I really don’t want to open my eyes. I fear some horrible thing will happen soon.