#aslingtpm

If you asked the children of dreams how they view their memories, how they store those precious moments of the past you would get answers as varied as the stars in the sky.

To some, reality and memories are like waters in a flowing stream headed to the ocean, impossible to catch and hold in one place; eventually, the waters of reality meeting the ocean of dreams becoming inseparable from each other.

Others store them in library’s upon library’s of books, sorted perfectly, reality and dream separate and completely organized.

Some are like endless winding caves, memories and dreams stored in the geodes as a part of the walls, impossible to tell from the outside but the insides sparkle like diamonds. Treasured to be found time and time again by the wandering mind.

For Asling, the dream daemon turned god, his domain is peculiar even to his kin. His memories and the dreams he visits are stored on rolls upon rolls of film. His mind is a constant shifting plane of repeating the past, where he wanders into the moving portraits he plays. Asling is a greedy thing, unlike his breathers he has gotten a taste of the corporeal a sip from the cup of divinity, and he guards that with the possessive nature of a dragon guarding it’s hoard of gold. Behind the rows of film and projectors, hidden in the back corners are the diaries. The shelves of his most precious memories, books filled with those he deemed important. The diaries direct accounts of the past, of the memories he recalls, but all of them have thoughtful writing in the margins. Notes upon notes about what he felt, about the person the memories concern, and anything else he knows he wants to remember until the gods eventually strip him of his right to life.

In the darkest corner, hidden away from any prying eyes, is a shelf made of dark wood carved with care and bars to contain the dairies inside, as if by sealing them he won’t be tempted to reopen the past. A shelf whose label stands proud at the top, Amandine.

Despite the bars, despite being hidden so far away from the rest of his precious memories, despite the pain her name carries, it is clear from the lack of dust and the state of spines that these tombs are opened frequently. A path Asling often walks again and again, to relive a past long buried in the dirt.

If you were to pick the first journal about her from the shelf, you would find a journal well worn but cared for despite its constant use. The first entries detail a much younger asking flitting between dreams, none interesting enough to catch his eye for more than a night before he moved on. Humans often dreamed too much of the mundane, of what they could have if they just changed themselves, the mundane bored him to near tears. This goes on for hundreds of years, so boring it seems he never bothered to document most of it, and if he did it certainly wouldn’t be documented within the covers of this book. No those times are mentioned in fleetings words, to describe his state before he stumbled upon them. 

Her dreams aren’t like the others, her dreams are filled with magic unlike he's ever seen, the mundane occupies no place in her sleeping mind. He stops and watches in awe, at the spells she dreams to create at her bold plans and masterful craftsmanship. He doesn’t deem his presence necessary for a while, simply stops at her dreams from time to time, a frequent occurrence as time goes on.

 Over time Asling slowly makes a name for himself in the sphere of dreamers, a flirtatious dream specter inspiring novels across the plane, a figment of the imagination for many. It’s during this time he decides to step into their dreams, to become a part of the magic he craves. She's almost two centuries old, and she knows immediately when something nonhuman has stepped into her dream, but she doesn't protest and simply lets this little dream daemon stay a while. This goes on for a while, the demon enters her dreams and she simply lets her mind be a respite from the rest of the world. Eventually she will ask him to introduce himself, eventually the dreams will turn from the creation of magic to activities of lust, eventually these dreams cease to be dreams. 

It’s in one of those countless dreams of fancy, staring up at the fabric canopy above their bed they dare to ask how, how could they bring their dream spirit to reality. To bring dreams to life, and create more than a fantasy. Asling in all his years of wandering does not know, as far as he is aware despite his acclaim now he is bound to the plane of dreams, to simply be a fleeting moment in time. Amandine, whose almost two centuries of life have turned to three, refuses to take that answer at face value, and while they may not be a cleric or a warlock versed in the powers of the higher powers, she will find an answer. 

It takes time, nearly half a century of time, all carefully and lovingly documented by a smitten daemon whose devotion can never be fully expressed. Amandine has a drive unlike any other, she delves deep into the necromantic arts of old, rituals buried by the gods or by the mortals who feared what they created; she found them all, and she used every one she could. Until one worked, an old ritual that utilized the spilled blood of holy men to allow the eldritch a passageway on to the material, a way to create a small rift between reality and fantasy. And so the dream Daemon becomes unbound, finally able to dream for himself. 

There is celebration, but to be on the plane is no longer enough for the ambitious daemon so now he needs to be known. They harness Aslings acclaim and use it to their advantage, creating a small cult in his name, a place of revelry without shame. As his acclaim grows so do his powers, he notices it trickle in over the years as his followers grow in number. By the end of Amandine’s third century the cult is in full swing, and thankfully she is no selfish or possessive lover by any means. She adores watching Asling receive praise and worship, for she knows in the end her daemon's eyes will always wander back to her. Its during this time together they discover while worship feeds gods it can not create them, and the plans shift and become more drastic. Amandine had promised to see this through to the end, and by the gods willing or unwilling they will. 

They begin to harness Aslings' connections for something other than revelry and lust, they begin the search to turn daemon into god, to reach beyond the binds of fate. This happens quicker than expected, nearly ten years into this they come across tales of men who deemed themselves god, by consuming the flesh of the gods they killed by a disgraced cleric of shar. Whose lips were loose in the throes of passion and often let slip many things he should have simply lost. They find one of the few lost temples to Orborous, sealed in crystal and the work begins. The ritual takes years to perfect, so while Amandine works Asling must keep up appearances and continue to build his name so his power doesn’t fizzle out. He brings to host more appearances back in the plane of dreams rather than reality to spend as much time with his wizard and make sure they don’t lose sight of their limits. The ritual takes nearly three decades to perfect, neither willing to unbind the time god before they are sure it works.The first items replaced by the shackled god of time are the lungs, so that he may breathe in a new life and the divinity may fill his every pore. It is not painless and not without the risks taken, but when Asling takes his first breath with new lungs his body sings. The power of something more powerful than divinity flows through the air he breathes into the blood in his veins, and it's intoxicating. Adrenaline fades into lust, despite the blood and the gore the night is young; a new god is born and that forward motion can no longer be stopped.