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LucrataNexarii

Ephemerist
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Time and days

1 min read

Life has not afforded me much time, and thus art which is not functional has little time to flow. Personal creativity, art, and works have either become shadows in stasis in my sketching tome, or simply wait patiently as specters in the mind. There has been kindness among you, and you have my thanks. You remind me of my works and my place here, and when time is more lenient, I wish to share more of my creations. Community is sustained with both memory and patience. For those of you here who have the chance to create aplenty (yet alone compared to my own output), know that you bring a glimmer of ease or gladness to the days.

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Time's passage

1 min read

Although I would say that time easily outpaces me, my ideas and hopes have never left. Set in threads of script and ideas, or little waymarkers of pieces and fragments in my tome of sketches... I will return to them one day, slowly, as life stabilizes. For those common names that I see from time to time, you have my thanks here. For all that time passes, there is stability and thankfulness in what we choose to maintain. I would give specific names here, but I am honestly not sure of the nature of social politeness as of Journals, posts, and the like.


For now, most of my artwork or creativity is locked away in writing or books and creations that are not quite solely personal art - but I will share them here when the time arises. The spirit and reference or focus behind them, the philosophy of their creation, and reflection on (or via) my nature is easily seen to those who are familiar with my focuses and tendencies. Thank you all for also being here.

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Absence

1 min read
I will be gone for a week as of this entry.

Pardon to those who are waiting for information or replies. Good fortune to all of you while I am away.
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Dreams trace a course of differences, expected or not, and imaginative or mad. Here is another, presented solely for it's involvement of Bartholomew Kuma.

A joking synopsis: Zombie-apocalypse (Or something reasonably like it)! Also, a Pacifista gives a presentation ... They must make riveting orators. :roll:
On a more serious note: violence and killing, mention and content of war.

This would mark the first time I've noted both involvement of Pacifista as distinctive elements in dreaming, and also the presence of Kuma as an influence on a global scale in the events and concept of said dreaming.

Often Kuma is found at later points to take on the role of a subtle benefactor of humanity or society in some manner. This is no less found in the following notes. In my genesis of dreaming of him, Kuma rapidly gains inertia as an engine of insight, often one with a sense of observation and complexity of outlook which exceeds my own.

Section is as follows:

The segments of the dream began seeming normal enough, in a situational way. I was residing in the basement of a house: I don't know the purpose of why I was there, but it seemed to be study purposes; it was a little cluttered, though mostly with interesting trinkets and items, along with many books, and models of objects. Upstairs lived a respectable and decent family, and I had a sense of ease in the place.

        I'd gone upstairs into the kitchen for something, searching absently. It was a nondescript and small home, but functional and relatively inviting; I recall the clean, white surfaces of walls and cabinets, and the dark, faux-stone of countertops. The people there did not share my habits, but I was musing while standing by the kitchen table, absently staring at an ash-tray sitting there - but there was something strange, as suddenly a terrible anger or fury had come over me. It had a forceful power to it, entirely uncalled for, irrational, and overbearing, and I had the feeling that if I didn't resist it at the moment that something terrible would happen; a sort of voice from within told me that in order to resist or detach from that, I had to do only one thing, which was pray. Even in attempting to make the effort, it was as if the same anger-force itself was also attempting to confine that action. Just as anger is a primal emotion, that conscious will to be calm also had it's fundamental essence. (Although I am not a religious individual, while the site and flare of anger was specific and infectious, it seems that the essence of calm was one embedded in a cultural or conscious site in the mind; I felt it could take on any number of possibilities for others. This was merely the first and most basic reaction from deep in my memory.)

        Confused as to the events, I decided to go for a walk - but my thoughts were continually drawn to the ashtray of cigarettes. Something seemed odd, as what came to mind was dust... A layer of very fine dust which had settled throughout the house , much as any home possesses in minute quantities. I knew in the dream that the dust had a kind of response to it, as if it were some kind of responsive or affectative material, like a network of programmed chemicals or nano-substances.

        There was something about common borderline-ingestable substances... Not a kind of material which could be added to food, as that would be too easily detected, but instead put into secondary substances, such as aerosols, cigarettes, common scent-sprays, coatings of  ventilation filters; this was some form of advanced toxin or reactive/targeted chemical substance which had long since waited, dormant, over very many surfaces (it seemed to cover the whole large town/small city where this place was, indicating some form of wide dispersal through other means, perhaps agrarian), and it's various layers and threshold of density allowed it to activate some form of programming in itself, activated remotely, or maybe even powered remotely, by radio waves or some similar signal from somewhere in the world.

        The dream jumped to what must have been about an hour hence, and I was jogging rapidly down an obscure street, watchfully. There was a colored man about my age with me, and he seemed to be a friend of some form - we were moving in tandem, being careful not to be seen, if we could... Because where we could see, there were bodies in the street: people who had been cut down attempting to flee or fight. They lay in doorways, or having fallen in heaps against walls. I tried not to pay attention, and luckily most had died huddled, trying to protect themselves, or strewn upon the ground, on their faces, as if having been pummeled or trampled. I could not see any instances of cutting or lacerating trauma, but I knew that armed conflict was occurring elsewhere.

        There was something terrible happening, a sort of Hate-Plague had come over virtually all of the population of the world... People were suddenly turning on one another, in simple divisions of the Plagued, who were very numerous, and those who were not - just innocent people attempting to live their lives, suddenly thrust into this carnage. It seemed that about 70% of the people had become Plagued... And those 30% who were not were hardly prepared. This hellish 'civil war' was rapidly having devastating consequences to all populations. In their fury, the Plagued had set to the innocent with fists primal anger; now that this virus or toxin was working deeper into their cognition, they were beginning to bring primitive weapons to bear.

        My friend and I were running along somewhat of a certain path, searching for something. I recalled receiving a message a few hours ago in that dream, an email, perhaps a letter, showing a certain part of the city, though not one definite: some place with a reasonable amount of open space, outside. There was edited into the picture the sign of a sort of target on the ground, and that was it.

        It was a message sent carefully and with caution, as if the message would have been tracked somehow, or by someone. It was also done in haste, as if there were many which would have to be sent, such as to diverse or dispersed groups across the country.


        My friend seemed to have a little bit of formal training in the military, or at least a liking of such conduct. All he had at hand was a kitchen knife for defense, and I was unarmed... Regardless, we kept on running, intent on finding this place in the image, if we could - we knew we had only about 10 minutes to find it, as it'd been a little over an hour since this disaster began. We knew  that bands of roving Plagued were roaming the main streets and along the highway, chasing and killing innocent people. So far we didn't really see anyone except for those already killed, and the few who were in shock, or who had come out of hiding and were wandering the street in shocked confusion. I recall watching one man virtually stumbling aimlessly and wordlessly down a distant alley.

        My friend and I  were running towards the first clear place, a sort of small park - it would have been a rather beautiful little setting: trapezoidal, with one main, gated entrance, such as for vehicles to pull in, leading to a small stage or podium, backed by large trees. It was walled on all sides by a reasonably tall brick wall, except for a main iron double-gate, and two smaller side entrances.

        As we were running through one side entrance, cutting across the park to the opposing side, we spotted some discarded memorabilia from some form of minor presentation or public speaking which had happened just a few days ago... There were kerchiefs left carelessly in a few corners of the area, or long since wind-swept under bushes, dropped or left by those who didn't really care about events. These seemed important to us, and we managed to snatch one for each of us. Briefly holding them up to see their designs, they were either black with that white target-symbol/cross of the Pacifista's jackets emblazoned across them, or the same design with a kind of abstract in the center of the target-mark: a kind of red-toned set of geometries and curves which struck me as being more like a human heart, or a rose, or reminiscent of the pierced/immaculate heart of the Mary, often seen in some religious Christian divisions.

        My view in the dream changed due to a recollection: In that public speaking from a few days ago, I remembered watching a Pacifista there, speaking clearly and slowly with great meaning and significance. Though it lacked what could be considered much animation, it's message was clear: remembering past wars and the persistence of human values. As it seems, it had been nearly three decades since some form of last World War; Pacifista had been developed and deployed as a countermeasure in this war, and due to their ferocity, there had been an armistice called. I could briefly recall their numbers only being in the low thousands, but that being far more than enough to affect the outcome of the entire war on a global scale; the singular presence of any Pacifista was enough to easily quell vital fronts of enemy resistance, and strike their surroundings with a chilling psychological impact because of their inhuman strength, capability, destructiveness, and invulnerability. Since then, their use of their primary laser weaponry had been strictly outlawed by all nations - it seemed markedly more destructive than known, and seemed linked to a secondary effect: acting as a 'paint' mark to an orbital defense network which could dispense a weapon known as 'Heaven's Judgment' from satellite emitters. (For some reason, such laser weaponry could not be removed or deactivated from the Pacifista, but that they could be trusted not to use it again if it were outlawed, as they were lawful or trustworthy entities.)

The Pacifista themselves, with Kuma as their sole true consciousness, had since become known formally as "Decommissioned Sentient War Devices," and were given basic rights as legal persons. Since the war had come to an end, nearly all nations had agreed to disband war as it was once known; however, virtually all nations still kept a formal military, due to fears of invasion or mutual protectionism still existing. In the passing of this last War, the Pacifista had also been exposed to many of the tenets and effects of war; collectively, they had become the single entity most acquainted with war and it's tragedy, suffering, tactics, strategy, and human and environmental impact. Although they were at one time both purveyors of destruction and also hired out to many of the world's powers like mercenaries, they  had a strong insight into the effects of war, and the dynamics of the world's governments, known and unknown...

        Even though most people did not consider them fully self-aware entities, they had gathered a large amount of collective information. Since the war and their decommission, as they could not be destroyed morally, or fully deregulated or incapacitated under formal action of any government or body, be it military or otherwise; so they instead formed a sort of representative anti-war protectorate, or a borderline political entity, though of a passive kind. I recalled the term 'Militarized Pacifists,' and remembered images of Kuma at the head of this dispersed organization, spread worldwide; himself, walking before assembled lines of individuals, or standing, speaking to gathered crowds. It was treated respectfully like the Legion of veterans, and maintained a sort of private 'army,' but that was only more as a kind of discipline-based organization, such as people having the right to know how to defend themselves, operate machinery, organize themselves, be disciplined, and have a sense of camaraderie, and to feel the knowledge that they should be able to protect themselves and their families and what they value.


        Overall, though, it was a marginalized operation, heeded only formally and in passing by world powers and any political entities (from federal to municipal), virtually nobody felt threatened by the Pacifista themselves, who acted as Kuma's agents (although there were people who worked for him and his organization under it's administrative wing who were also known simply as 'agents'). Moreover, Kuma was seen more as a figurehead, one whose influence only waned as the decades were passing into more cunning and underhandedly dangerous forms of war and control.

        In this public speaking, the Pacifista had come with this message of recalling human values and the conditions which should precede peace, and that everyone should maintain a virtue and a vigilance against war, hate and disrespect. At that gathering, not many in the crowd were paying much attention - they were only there for the novelty of it, seeing something as socially defunct as the massive Pacifista speaking over values long repeated, which few cared for. Not everyone considered the Pacifista 'people' or worth listening to, as they were not regarded as fully conscious entities; they were sentient, but not sapient, though at some point they had been granted a token extent of self by Kuma's decree - a courtesy to them as technically living beings, even though they were still linked to him as a singular entity  via some unknown means.

        Although most people thought the Pacifista quite slow and inattentive (due to the way they act), I knew that human agents there had been handing out these kerchiefs, perhaps as reminders; I could see them, men and women in formal, black clothing, dutiful and easygoing. Most people accepted the kerchiefs politely, but otherwise disregarded them, or tossed them away like one would pamphlets, or perhaps ridiculed them as 'old junk' from a past and forgotten war and time; somewhat of the same regard was held towards the Pacifista as well. Still, the Pacifista there was watching with rapt attention to the reactions of people, and their initial response to the imagery on these cloth tokens; little could be garnered from it's blank, white-lensed stare, but there was an inhuman attentiveness and sense of calculated purpose in it's mind. There was something in the symbolism which was significant; the kerchiefs were meant to be easily taken in hand, or held or stored. Their black tone seemed suddenly more like a shade of mourning and that target-symbol was a reminder of war, or inversely a light of directed focus against the hidden, obscure shadows of the past. That central human heart/abstract seemed just as significant to the overall design, and as a whole the entire image seemed designed to elicit a certain division subconscious response: hope, or hate.  Taken as a set of symbols, it could be taken many ways.

        Back to the present in that dream, my friend and I had taken up a couple of these (we had our own, but they were long since abandoned at our homes), and folding them roughly in half as we were jogging through the park, I tied mine around my head like a headband, and my friend tied his around his arm. We knew at the time that somehow the Pacifista knew this disaster was going to occur, and that they were only capable of giving a cryptic warning. To have given a direct warning would only have a worse effect, causing an underlying layer of fear, which would have made the Hate-Plague all the worse. Something in the attention of the few 'clear individuals' there at the public gathering had been just above a certain level, leading the Pacifista agents to be able to disperse a quick warning or beacon in the form of that image of that single place in the city; because of the disaster, the 'Pacifist Military' and all other capable military would be recalled to the nearest agency center. To that end, there was a helicopter en route past the city, but they would literally have only a span of minutes to stop, or else they would be swarmed and killed by the roving Plagued...

        My friend and I continued running, and we knew we had to cross a main highway which bisected the town. The highway was on higher ground than the rest of the town itself, and provided a fair vantage point - but it was also a congregation point for the Plagued.

        The Plagued were essentially still people.... But this dust-substance had affected them and essentially rewired their brains: anger and discrimination had taken over. They no longer had any compassion, only a loyalty among themselves. The only physical feature of them was a slowly graying skin, or yellowedness, also a certain blotchy complexion and darkness around the eyes and areas of blood mass... They banded together, and had a cocky, arrogant attitude, but were rather slow to react, as if somehow dis-coordinated or drunk, but no less deadly towards others. Many were armed only with basic armaments, knifes, bottles, rocks, whatever they had at hand... But they didn't hesitate to kill others.

        As we neared the highway, the chaos was continuing. Regular people had fled their homes, and were attempting to leave on the highway, but vehicles were mercilessly smashed, and the highway was virtually empty. When my friend and I managed to sneak onto the highway, we were no longer sure where the pickup point for the helicopter was... There was only one reference image, and it was quite unclear - nothing more focused could be managed, as there were others actively hunting for information or reason to incriminate or hunt down the Pacifista agency or anyone potentially even lightly affiliated with them.

        My friend and I were starting to despair, as we wouldn't have been able to make it to the pickup point anyhow - Plagued had found us, and were moving to block off our progress.... We were near the edge of the town, and it was surrounded by tall conifer forest. We briefly ran that way, and found there were youths (teens) there who had run into the forest to try and survive. Though most had run far away, a few stragglers with a sense of responsibility had snuck near to the town again to look for survivors... But they could not stay long, as they would soon be hunted by brave Plagued. I remember the youths yelling at me 'Don't go to the lights!' before they fled back into the forest.

        The Plagued still acted like people, superficially. The town was 'their territory,' and they sought to clean it of all those unaffected by the Hate-Plague... But the Plagued themselves didn't want to go into the forests, as they still seemed like unsettling, dirty places to most, full of underbrush and bugs and filth. Just as there were those who were immune to the Plague, there were also Plagued who took on extremes of affectation from the substance.... They became like 'ghouls' ... Night-hunters, with a light, like a torch or flashlight, in their face; their bodies were distended and wraith-like, with gossamer filaments of wispy flesh hanging from them. They hated the cities, but instead moved, roving into the forests to hunt. They were the 'lights' which the youth had warned against. I could see that the youth were already at least learning to survive....

        My friend and I had to turn back. There was nowhere else to go, but we knew that eventually some military vehicles would be moving from the north towards the city, and it would take them past this city - we could only pray that they would return to the park to check for those who were able to combat the Hate-Plague: very few, only myself and a handful of others. It turns out there was a reason why the Pacifista had chosen that one area to speak from: It was rather defensible, with only two entrances, essentially.... Perhaps enough for an isolated group to defend themselves for a few hours. The Plagued were slow and cocky, and were inclined to wait out their prey, once numerical superiority was achieved... It was our only hope.

        As we turned back, I could see a handful of sane individuals had banded together and were trying to fight off the Plagued. One middle-aged man had a chainsaw, and was yelling at the Plagued threateningly, and behind him cowering in the safety of their ruined house were his two daughters. Another man had an antique sword, and was swinging it about to make himself look more threatening... Meanwhile, a gang of Plagued were slowly approaching from the highway, calling insults. Reaching down, I picked up some large rocks and started hurling them at one of the Plagued, a middle-aged woman. She didn't react to the pain, but kept on coming forward. My friend eventually dashed at her and tackled her down, and was forced to kill her, presumably. At the same time, another Plagued male, a youngish man dressed in  a sort of gangster-fashion, was coming at me steadily, brandishing a small switchblade, taunting me. I wasn't armed with anything, but found a pair of nail-clippers in my pocket. Quickly flipping out the sharp file/pointed section, I bared my fists, with the point in one hand, and the Plagued man came at me with a clumsy, downward stabbing motion....

        Grabbing his wrist, I stepped behind him quickly, and put my arm around his neck, jabbing the filepoint into his jugular, and tearing it open in a fit of adrenaline. Letting go of his wrist, I tried to snap his neck or jar his head, before kicking him to the ground. I didn't really wish to kill him, but I didn't believe that he had to suffer in his death, and I'd tried to knock him unconscious.

        I could see for a moment that this Hate-Plague had been dispersed throughout most of the world. Not having known full war, or any war, for decades, much of the world had grown complacent. Only the Pacifista agency and a few groups had any resistance towards the 'new war methods' which people were now using.... The Pacifista group and their agents had managed to safeguard only a few cities through active boycotting of certain products, or bribery or inserting of their own activists into certain shipping or industrial complexes, in order to keep certain products from being dispersed across most of these cities.

        Now that the cataclysm had occurred, they would have to worry first about securing their borders, and attempting to gather the survivors of this massive disaster. Because of the Hate-Plague, essentially all of the world would have been sent into a state of civil war. I could see Kuma for a moment, speaking to an assembled group of his loyalists and the coordinators of his military; there would be much to do in containing damage, reducing casualties, and dealing with the political backlash of the sudden chaos. Even then, the Plagued were still essentially people, but would no longer be capable of caring for themselves or maintaining themselves for any more than a week before food supplies ran out - logistics would be a shambles. Essentially so much of the population would then be political hostages, tokens to those behind this terrible act of domination.
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Dreams are often innavigable, but posted here is another, linked only by one factor: Bartholomew Kuma.

Sometimes dreams have embedded in themselves their own sense of history or continuity, and so also Kuma is not always a direct presence, but found somewhere in that creation's own history. At times this can be quite late in the dream itself, but it tends to set the entire chain of events as something cohesive.

Despite the odd situations found in dreams, yet alone Kuma's massive size and difference of appearance and proportion, nigh everyone seems to accept him simply as another (type of) person. Somehow that general acceptance/indifference amuses me. Of course it is Perfectly Normal TM for a 22-foot tall man to be wandering about in the area. =p

Virtually all of this writing is not formal, nor very refined. It serves as a mere record among a long list of files of similar purpose. Chronological order seems the only way to go about displaying them here. So, for your amusement, here is the next.

Section is as follows:

        In the first part of the dream... I recalled seeing a very large space vessel. Because of it's immense size, (It was more like a flying city, and must have been at least 20-kilometers/7.5 miles long) it had a rather basic overall shape, rather like an arrowhead, or perhaps a Star Destroyer.

I recall looking at it from some form of digital display, my perspective set at a distance behind it, looking onward from an angle. Although it's shape was basic, it's overall surface was quite... Artful. It was divided into sections discernible by mild surface color or contours/ridging, and I knew that it was also divided within into various 'cities,' many of which differed widely in function and environment. These sectors were interlinked and symmetrical throughout the ship, each vane connecting to another, yet where the overall patterns it traced also happened to be specific to each species' instincts of wayfinding. It was a complex harmony interwoven into the ship's functionality, to the point where technologies better serviced by any given race were also at the junction of living space for that given type of people.

The outer hull was traced with polygons and ridges, and I remember one section of the outside being more of a mild impression into the surface, with what appeared to be large, glowing 'windows,' but which were actually shielded, exposed living space of a sort of luminous radiation - workspaces for it's people. The glowing, azure windows were linked by golden columns and lines in a rather beautiful geometry, set amid burgundy exterior shielding panels.

I could also see the thruster area of the ship, which was just as wide as it's base, with many groupings of differing thruster types, the active ones strong and bright with blue thruster-radiation... But the interesting thing was that the shielding of the thrusters/aft of the ship was laced with energy-recapture gridding which trailed just behind the ship in the path of the thrusters' expulsion trails ... But that this gridded material was like sculpted calligraphy. Furthermore, the firing pulses of the ship generated great energy, but they were staggered, so that the ship's thrust/movement/maneuvering itself became a code. A long line of the ship's history would be traced outward to be read by any who happened across that light and force.

It surprised me as a relatively unique idea. A lot of energy goes into thrust and power... Why not make it a message to the stars, to be carried for eons?

I recall then being on the inside of the ship - some section of it that was more alive than synthetic; a very alien technology(long since lost to time, and perhaps deliberately from memory), symmetrically dispersed throughout the ship's structure for nearly half of it's mass; clearly this race had helped build much of it... The surfaces were very dark, like lustrous carbon, but were organic, flowing in their finer surfaces, and ridged, with glowing light of different colors within the ridges, rather like a bioluminescence.

The corridors within this alien zone were reasonably enough like our own in dimension, being rounded or ovoid (only the floors bearing a functional flatness), but they branched into odd, empty rooms (only with spherical organic forms embedded in the walls, like empty tanks). There were, in some important junctions/corridors, places where more 'human' technology was embedded in the walls for ease of access and communication, but I had the feeling that no humans, or any other people, ever really came here. It was more like a place that people would give one another double-dares to go... But that nobody really wanted to be near. Uninhabited and sterile, they became the site of something like urban legends, unexplored and unsubstantiated over the decades (if not longer), places to fill with rumors and uneasy tales.

I remember walking among it, and thinking something as I was going; this seemed my habit to relax, a place of solitude which I could walk in as clear-minded as the corridors were empty. I was absently running my hands on the walls, looking for patterns, thinking of patterns and the similarity which this place had to something I was thinking of before, like a recording of mind.

I was looking into various empty chambers, wondering at their purpose. I remembered seeing blank panels set into the walls, like windows or monitors, imagining how some surfaces in the rooms almost described landscapes... I guess I must have done something, because the walls, or the place, seemed to recognize the activity, and began to... Awaken. It was not quite alive, nor was it quite sentient or aware, but it was responsive, as if it knew it had something to do.

I could see in one of the rounded monitor-surfaces of the wall a place nearby in an adjacent, larger, curved chamber that something in the floor was... Alight with ... Not quite radiation, but information. Almost like a geyser of odd fluid-light, or perhaps a fine powder, like something to convey information to a living mind. I knew that was somehow meant for me... But someone in the ship's bridge was detecting the activity... And the alien places were always quiet. This was a clear anomaly, so I was immediately called back to the bridge. A nearby human-styled wall-monitor reported my proximity.

I recall feeling a little wistful, as that strange source seemed directed at me, but the next thing I remember is looking into the bridge, where a human communication's officer was going to make an emergency shutdown of the ship from it's 'warp' travel. (Warp in this case referring to some form of entropy or stasis shielding it used to protect it's massive bulk from damage while travelling). Activity in the alien section of the ship had not been recorded before, and it was nigh unprecedented.

However, I knew this person had some form of his own greedy intentions in mind, something regarding the technology in the ship, and those vying to pay very well to have it as their own... A kind of illuminati among the many cities within it. With this sudden activity in the mysterious corridors, it could open the opportunity for even minor, though valuable, technology to be seized. In further confliction, I could also sense that some races of beings were encased in their own 'hibernation bubbles' and that taking the ship out of warp would threaten them and their own technologies - this being both a threat to life, future growth of colonization efforts, and also darkly an event which could yield damaged goods to be taken away by willing hands.

Many other human bridge crew saw what he was going to do - although his action was only the press of a button away - and swiftly reacted to restrain and stop him.

That section of dream ended there, but somewhat continued on a linked notion shortly after.

The ship was in orbit high above a very Earth-like world, one colonized by human beings, but whose technolgy was virtually only that of the 1500s. There were some greater areas of technology/modern technology on the planet, but those were not utilized except by despots. The people chose not to embrace higher technology so that they would not be so able to plunder the world's resources. The world was still essentially pristine, and gathering and creation of valubles, such as gemstones and 'relic jewelery,' was considered a devotional task. Many historical arts and ways of life were replicated on that world, and from them came it's value in culture and exports.

However, the ship was only passing by that planet. I knew there were those on the ship who needed to be on a planet for a little while, perhaps for the gravity and ambience and their matter of health, both physical and psychological... A section or shuttle from the main vessel detached, and camouflaged itself - amusingly, as a large 1600s barque - proceeding to fly down to the ocean. I could see an image of it briefly, streaking hull-first through the atmosphere towards the water's surface, the brightness of atmohspheric entry across it's seemingly wooden hull. It did not splash down, but set down carefully, with three great columns of light and fire lancing from unseen thrusters (and later minor, dispersed light), bringing it to a gentle rest once the water around it had settled.

The people of this world knew of such travellers, and respected those who followed the rules of contact. On the rocky coast was a large estate and timber mansion or hostel. Because of the manner of it's building, it had rather low ceilings, but was built strongly, four stories, with hewn inner rafters and structuring, largely of stained dark wood, and impressed with graven carvings and images of the place's history, including some of it's folklore and fiction. It's low ceilings allowed for easy heating in the area's cold winters. It's windows were layered, so panes could be removed in summer, and brighter, mildly stained-glass could shed depictions of light clearly during warmer times; darker, thicker stained glass was in place during the winter. Shutters, crafted well and very protective for the ornate stained-glass of the summer, were closed on some of the windows.

I recall seeing something like a pub or main lobby on the entrance level area, full of  seafarers, world-bound travellers, and curious people. It's walls were darkened with age, if not smoke and decades of residuum of candles and other light-sources. It had a great sense of age, but also hospitality; carved wooden pictures hung on some areas of the walls, dyed or burned with further details. I was standing near the atrium and main doors of that place, taking in the sight of many there; people talked idly, calm and at ease, even with the arrival of  a couple scores of travellers. Helpfully, one man handed me an old, stylized oar to use as a walking stick/staff; the man's face was weathered and tanned, but he had an understanding gaze and kind smile - I could see him watching and taking note of those who passed by. I remembered that as a very kind gesture, as that person could see that I liked to walk and explore, and I was looking often out at the coast/beach. I felt that many people of this world traveled here for the sake of being welcoming to the spacefarers who were seeking rest; in return, they gained both an ease of mind, heart, and many curious tales.

That same man was telling me that strange, small stones would wash up on the coast, and that seafaring men brought many of those small stones to this area, but left them just at the coast, in the water. It was kind of a ritual to leave those strange stones and geometrical rocks here so that 'distant travellers' could take what called to them. It was kind of a courtesy and ritual.

I walked outside and was staring at some other docked ships, true sea-faring vessels, as our disguised vessel was rather farther out on the coast. There was an extended, hardwood dock that went out over the water, but also a smaller pier in the shallow water for schooners and smaller one-man boats. I went walking along that one, then, looking down to judge the depth, I removed my shoes and rolled up my pants, and leapt down into a shallow area of the water.

The water was cold, but clear and refreshing. I could see on the sea bed/ground the stones which the man was mentioning. Most were smooth and round, but some had odd shapes, and odd inclusions of strange rock in them. Many had the appearance of being in some way carved, as with triangular or rectangular geometries. Reaching down into the water, I traced a few lines of the geometries with my fingertip, wondering at what unknown forces had made these things.

Wading slowly back up onto the shore and the few people milling about the stairs leading up to the estate hostel, a local, watchful salesman in a dark, 1600s suit and hat addressed me. He held a large box full of old materials, record-books and journals; such was the bulk of this that a part of this box was held to him by a leather strap around his back. Within were strange objects he said he received from another traveller who was wandering the world on some search. The salesman said that he was asked by this traveller to look for a woman from the 'far places' who had an absent look about her, and kept wandering; he said she would know immediately what the objects in the box were; all others would be apt to find it uninteresting ... Of course, he only told me this as I was looking through the contents with a gentle but enthusiastic sense of recognition of them. His conduct and respect made it seem as if he had decided to take that request as his personal mission - and in a world of relative leisure, that was a kind of honor.

I recall one object being a small figure, rather like a matrioshka doll, but made of precious stone, whose manner of nesting also included a segmentation which was almost like a puzzle; there were various books and journals; a metallic sphere of filligree metal seemingly depicting a strange map of this world; two needles of metal rather like dowsing sticks, but whose orientation to one another must have been somehow compass-like, yet not seeking anything I could discern; there were many other objects I could not recall clearly, each with a purpose and strange link to some history of this world. Despite all of these curiosities,  one other item I recognized immediately: an old and worn, large bible of strong make, whose spine was a little damaged due to time and travel; the pages were fettered and a little discolored, but I had the sense that it was very old; much older than a human lifetime, oddly. It was Bartholomew Kuma's bible.

The salesman told me that these were some of the former belongings of 'a very tall man' who had once somewhat resided in the area as he was scouring the landscape on a slow journey, seeking something. He had left a series of journals and records behind, as well as a few meaningful objects.

I could see for a moment Kuma as he was on that world. For being human, among them as they were, he was very tall indeed, I wager about nine  feet or more in this dream (which would not be his canonical height, but certainly he would tower over almost anyone) -  The people accepted him as he was; more of a novelty to them, they knew him as a traveller from elsewhere. Dressed in fitted dark clothing and a heavy cloak, with many belted cases beneath, he travelled with a powerful wooden staff as a mark of his purpose. Nigh indefatigable, I had the image of him traversing many types of landscape, lashed by rain, calm in daylight, and even traveling after nightfall, able to see in some spectrum no others could.

I could briefly see him standing at the central meeting hall of what must have been a cathedral or castle of the most prominent rulers of the continent and most of the world; as those many nobles looked on, he was requesting that he be allowed to reside upon the planet for a time, as he searched for a specific religious artifact. He needed only to see it for himself for a time, and afterwards, in return for their generosity, he would give it to them to keep safe and open for the people of the world to see....
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