He is no god, Carter, or even a being on par with those he occasionally thwarts or aids. But he has his abilities, and his ways of knowing.

And so it is that whenever Hastur comes, be it a minute or five thousand years after his release from pale humanity, the Great Old One will find the door unlocked for him, the Elder Signs and the wards carefully hidden and adjusted... and a fresh pot of tea brewing, two cups beside it.

Carter has, by necessity, taken up residence in the Nexus for the time being. It's not a terribly bad place to reside, either, despite the omnipresent madness (something Carter is certainly used to) -- a few cozy rooms near the Nexus Labs, and a portal to a desolate desert world.

But it isn't the same. It isn't his apartment or his planet or his universe, and it certainly isn't his home. The few books scattered about and weighing down the shelves aren't the lifetimes-worth collection he'd kept for decades, priceless knowledge at such a high price, some of them transcribed page by page from the dreamlands to the waking world. Night after night.

Yaddith wasn't his home, though, either, at first -- and he tries to console himself with that, the knowledge that if he cannot find a way to return to his home dimensions, he can adapt to this strange place between them, and grow to love it just as well -- he tries to console himself with that as he sits down to his nightly meal, honey-milk soaked bread and soft fruit.

What one must understand, first and foremost, is that the Dreamlands are far more than just a dumping-ground for the world's subconscious. They, it, is shaped by the waking world, yes. But it is not dependent on it. It is its own place, with its own peoples and its gods, sister to our own. Time moves slower there, and the sciences are several centuries less advanced. Guns, automobiles, aeroplanes... there has not been time, yet, for the dreams of our age to have left so deep a mark on that old, old world.

But this does not mean we, the children of this modern age (any modern age, as I know that my own time is not that of many who may read this) are unwelcome there. Dreamers are embraced as readily as any countryman, and the merchants and the priests greet them with the same wide smiles.

There is adventure, there is peace. There is joy and beauty and danger. There is death, and there is life. There is bright colour and magic to liven the drab, grey reason and dark teeth of the world outside.

It is not a place, or a life, for everyone. But for those curious, vibrant souls who still wonder at the world, who do not strive to chart and dissect everything that makes life grand and horrible, it may be enough.

Too humid in the Nexus, of late. It makes the chinks in my inner-plating hurt. And worse, it stinks of fish, and death, and blood magic. Curses, and friends changing... Too much, too much. Things are coming, nal-grathai Dagon, ia...

So I will not be visiting, I think. Until it either resolves itself, or the waters get deep enough for a decent sailing vessel. Unless I am needed or requested, of course.

Until then, be well. And I shall write things here, of gods and beasts and heroes from the land of Dream...

I am... concerned.

I know no one but her, who would know not only of the drink, but the fruit. And he comes, and he asks, and he refuses to answer my questions.

He claims he doesn't know where he heard it, old writings...

I am concerned.

Chnth.

Should have seen. Fool.

She's not human. Neither am I.

Why do I keep pretending?

Back.

Tired.

...it didn't turn out like I expected. I don't know what to do, now.

What are you afraid to say, unless it is anonymous? Say it here. It could be something you're afraid to say to me, to an employer, to a friend or loved one. Perhaps it is something you're afraid to say about your world or the nexus. Perhaps it is a secret you've been keeping. Say it here. ((And check to make sure you're commenting anonymously!))

((Read: I turned IP logging off, and anonymous post screening off, to ensure that your anonymous posts really are anonymous! If you are going to say something OOC, you do it in brackets. No other need to indicate who's talking.))

Face!

There may be dholes in the Nexus.

I... will be in my apartment. There are books I need to find.

Get your own spectral analysis from Area 23®

I doubt that most who do this 'meme' realise exactly what those pictures mean.

I have adopted a kitten. And purchased food, and other necessities. Now. What to name her...

Q'yth. She is Q'yth.

My mind strays, of late, to lost Yaddith. The part of me most human still shies, instinctively, from the memories of that ruined world and its fantastic people. From my own form, in the mirror. But so many cycles, and one can grow used to those same horrors. Can grow to love them, and mourn their passing. And I find myself of late watching the stars, and singing to myself the old praises of the Mighty Mother.

Had I known, then, that I would mourn for it all so deeply, I would have have taken some small time to linger, not even as Zkauba, on those five-jeweled sunsets and in the labyrinthe streets, would have gone to see the grandest of the high temples, and the Meteor-Gardens of City Three, and a thousand other wonders, when I had the chance.

But 'had I known' is all it will ever be, now. That planet is lost, gone forever to a dry, hollow death. All that remains of Yaddith, of those vast, crawling glaciers, and the shuddersome, hearts-deep sirens' song of the mate-days, and those bright and masterfully crafted metal cities, the loved-loathed planet they rested on, is Shub-Niggurath below the earth, and the insatiable Dholes that serve her. And I am left with only memories both too rich and too pale for my liking.

It is telling, perhaps, that it is Christmas day before Carter realises that he even has presents to give. Only two... but that's still more than he's had in a long, long time.

To Nadezhda, he sends a journal, bound in leather and filled with fine, handmade paper. Inside, in his uneven, scrawling hand, is written a heartfelt note of thanks. And the oldest folk tales of the Dreamlands, transcribed in his early waking hours from the Great Library itself.

...and left on his desk, wrapped in black cloth and bound with a gilt ribbon, is a fine (and very old) mirror... and a handful of cosmetics.

It's the thought that counts, after all. Right?

Still no word from the woman who claimed she held an acquaintance with one perhaps able to help me. This is... disappointing. However, I have just as quickly found another who claims also to be willing and able to assist. Nadezhda, she calls herself. (Russian...?) Apparently a magician of some persuasion... if not strong enough to extricate me from this position by herself, then... at least, enough to loosen the knot, and ease the way for further attempts of my own?

I hope. I must hope, else I wither inside this prison of a body, and become naught but dust.

(...as for... other matters? Those, I am attempting to simply put those out of my head as quickly, and as thoroughly, as possible. There are some things it is neither wise nor desirable to dwell on.)

...I have asked -- anonymously, granted -- and while I did not receive answers in the quantity I'd hoped, the consensus was clear. While that in itself would not tip the scales, there is another factor.

I have visited, investigating, a different part of this Nexus. Less formal -- no questions, and resembling nothing more closely than public lounge. The people there... I met with the metallic-armed fellow, Octavius, again (helpful, very helpful, and more informed in the secret ways of my own world than most here, but... for a reason. He bears the Yellow Sign, it seems, and thus must, despite his helpfulness, be approached cautiously), and with a woman who claimed to know a 'doctor' able to assist me.

Despite the risk... despite the risk, this is the closest I have ever been to success. And so, despite it all, I shall stay. If he comes for me, shudder though I do at the thought, then so be it.

Oh. Oh, this Nexus. There is... it is what I hoped for, and more. Possibility, opportunity... perhaps, finally, a way back to what I was. But there is danger, also, to match the potential rewards. The memories of that fantastic, prolix quest are clouded, by time and the trials of the waking world. But I remember him well enough, that beguiling, treacherous horror.

And there, then, is the dilemma. Do I risk that dreadful messenger's wrath, and perhaps discover, finally, a solution to all this? Or do I take the safer path, and continue to stumble about in a world of exhausted leads, my fear leading me to neglect this shining opportunity?

...or do I, perhaps, consult with them one last time, on this very issue, and see where it all proceeds from there?