Many of the greatest dreamers are Poets; that most doomed of folk, who can barely scratch a living in the Waking, and can never find their home in Dream. But for those that can find no home, it follows that one must be made. This land, though sparse and small, is a haven of solace for the Poets of dream; far from the towers at Iv, where only madness lies. Read on, I invite you. Don't get lost.
Gybon, Land of Poets
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Somewhere in the grassy eastern plains of dream is a truly unremarkable commune, full of truly unremarkable people. All of them competent in their way- this one gardens, this one knows a fair bit about carpentry, this one knits and sews and darns just enough. They eke out a living here, among the brush, in lopsided tents and shacks, on a greyish plain of perpetually wet grass and ceaselessly drizzling skies.
This is Gybon, a place forgotten by the Denizens of dream. No shifting mirror-scape, no doomsaying prophets, not even a shimmer in the air to indicate that you are not in the Waking. But that is not to say it is close by; for if one could walk through a dream, and arrive on the other side, they would wake in Gybon- a place so forgettable that even the owl-scholars at Nane know little of it.
But to those who live here, that is the most wondrous thing about Gybon. Here, there is no jealousy; every dreamer is allotted a similar square of land, and similar daily rations (among which, of course, there is always a sheaf of paper and an inkwell). There is no Fear, for nobody truly cares enough about this marshy place to interfere in its business. There is no cruelty, for many of these Poets are veterans in Dream, and have seen the wickedness of the Nightmares time and again.
So every day, these folk work and play and eat- but mostly, they write. What else is a poet to do, at this last outpost of their kind? No more travel may be done, for to go any farther East would take you into the Mist, towards the Veil and dissolution. No, it is better to look back on Dream, and to write of what you saw there; undisturbed, preferably.
The poets are wary of travelers, sometimes fearing a Denizen has walked into their midst. Proof of goodwill is fairly easy, however; especially if you bring something wonderful to eat. The ink-stained folk will guide you, grinning, to the Pavilion, a rickety platform on which cushions and chairs are arranged around a huge central table. Their cook, a greybeard known to me as Pythagoras (no relation, he insists), will welcome you with a booming voice and accept your offering. When dinner comes, one of the younger poets titters and promises: "Don't worry- gibbon is almost never on the menu." This never fails to rouse a laugh from the table.
The poets feast nightly, and the most favored dish is Pythagoras' signature: roast duck on wild rice, coated in a sweet apricot sauce. They mount the platform one by one, to a lectern better-kept than anything else; and they read. Oh, the things they read!
Of every imaginable place in dream- the salt flats at Cathad, the red-and-gold Sands of Nane, the twining labyrinth of the Underbath. Of every possible Denizen's beauty: The ephemeral Mist-nymphs in service to the God in Marble, the boyish face of the Thrice-Young King, the impossible hips of the Black Abbey's adherents. Of every song that can be sung here in sleep: the hum of rose-quartz, the wishing choirs at Zimdazaar, and the drizzling mists of Gybon itself.
And when they are done, Pythagoras, the oldest poet, selects one of the poems to go in the Book of Days, the highest honor a Gybonite cane receive. They live and breathe by the written word here, and the Book is a proof of immortal word; some say it was created in a pact between Shakespeare and the Sandman himself, though that is strictly hearsay.
And when you leave this place, it will be as though you leave the Waking- the poets will weep and tell you to come back soon, Pythagoras will laugh and wave you on, with misty eyes, and the inky blackness will swallow you as you sleep once more- only to find yourself awake, in your own bed, back on this side of the Dreamlands.
Until I can get pictures for each of the locations, the Observatory stars will have to suffice. Look out for a change soon!
Return to the Observatory...