Ye Wizard's Guide to Elfen Psychosis by Ward J Foster

Author:Ward, J Foster
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Evil Genius Society
Published: 2020-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

***

The second night the dreams were worse.

Without his stolen spells from the Tome of Eibon, Jak felt useless. He tried not to think about Deleria never returning from the elvenhome and losing them forever. He’d been too complacent about letting her keep them; he should have found a way to steal them back before this.

But the fact remained he had few tools to fight the elven dreamplague. He did have some, though. Ditching his tasks for the day he locked himself in the powder room belowdeck and summoned his vanishing chest to dig through the items he’d collected in his travels. Among the elven artifacts retrieved from Gwahrl were nearly a dozen silver tubes which he had at first mistaken for one of their annoying pan flutes. A closer inspection with the second sight revealed they were inscribed with magic writing and when exposed to the radiant glow of an ethereal lamp they revealed their secret. When they were rolled across a sheet of paper the silver tubes left a burnt etching of the writing inscribed on them – each was a spell.

Typical fucking elvish bullshit. Turn your spells into the most annoying musical instrument ever made. He was shocked they didn’t have to be worn like false nails and dragged across chalkboards to reveal their magic. After printing each spell he began deciphering them.

Jackpot.

Most of them were various elven glamours or illusions. But among them was a second-tier incantation for opening the doorway to the thoughts of others called the Mind Reveals All. With a bit of modification he could use it while he slept to see into the heads of the crew while they were dreaming.

When night fell he made a pillow of his coat and lay down on the deck inside Tack’s cabin. Reciting the spell he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift into sleep.

Instead of a forest he found himself in a garden. A sprawling, perfectly manicured garden of flowerbeds as big as ships, rows of golden apple trees, blossoming pink hedge-mazes and paths of perfect white gravel. It was the same grey dawn or twilight and this time he wasn’t alone.

Among the garden paths and wandering the lawns or sprawling under trees were the crew of the Darling. Each of them seemed to be play-acting like the horrible mimes of Minandor. They spoke to people who weren’t there, poured drinks and drank from cups that didn’t exist, struggled with tasks that didn’t exist and – in the case of a sailor named Brand – fucked partners who were only figments. By concentrating on each one at a time he began to see a ghostly outline of what they must be seeing: darning socks with a granny who had no eyes, swimming in a river clogged with weeds, chasing butterflies that snapped and sparked, walking across a bed of sharp bones, and even more subtly disturbing illusions surrounded each of the crew.

He searched for the girls. His body felt warm again, and steam seamed to rise from his skin.

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