The slam against the carriage was strong enough to send David reeling forward, causing a rather intimate relationship between the wooden walls and David's nose.
He didn't notice Eleanor's get into the carriage, but he was fairly confident she was there given the increasingly long string of words he was almost certain was swearing. That, or some particularly vulgar chant to some god.
He did pick out a few words, though.
One word he had no trouble understanding was: "polsalaud", a particularly vulgar word made by people from the east, for people further east. Roughly meaning "polite bastard" due to some eastern regions being seemingly designed by some higher power to be both as inoffensive and snobby as possible.
For a moment, David worried he could have been a racist, but that wasn't why the word stuck out to him. No, for some reason, David knew that the word was meant for him.
Whoever he was before, that word must've been meaningful. A part of his identity that he held dear.
The thoughts were interrupted by new window that had just been installed in the roof.
He couldn't breathe.
He had tried to ignore the sensation as long as he could, hoping it would pass, but something was very wrong.
A body fell from the ceiling, and was quickly kicked through the carriages door hard enough to, well, need a new door.
'Stand… you idiot…'
The carriage kept taking sharp turns. It was a bunny ride. If David had to guess they probably weren't even on a road anymore.
'Is that wood splintering…? Gods I can't hear…'
He closed his eyes for a moment.
He felt a tug
It was more than a moment.
But, when he opened his eyes again, they were still in the carriage, they were still moving, and he still couldn't breathe.
Considerably more of the carriage was missing. It might as well have been just a cart at this point, but or rather just a sheet of wood with wheels attached. A cart might be too generous a definition.
Weirdly enough, it didn't look as though it had been shattered, but rather burned down until just the walls were gone. With precision.
They were still being chased.
The whole town's population of people that might as well have been a wave of tearing flesh and cracking bones continued to surge towards the carriage at supranatural speed.
Somewhere in that mess of bodies, David felt like there was something alive. Truly alive, not like the puppets were "living". Something that felt things.
He reached out a hand towards the mess of bodies.
'What, 30 feet behind us? Generously… What can I do… damnit… where the hell even am I?
He couldn't tell
He looked at where the walls of the carriage normally would have been. It was one of the only things he could force himself to focus on.
He briefly pondered how something that seemed so sturdy, so secure, so safe could be gone so easily.
Then he noticed the smoke.
It should be leaving a faint trail following them. Instead, instead, it was flowing up.
That's not all it was doing, he knew smoke should travel up, but not this fast, and, it definitely shouldn't be doing it so uniformally.
His gaze wandered slowly towards the grey sky.
'No…'
It wasn't the sky. It was a cloud of smoke.
Not too soon after this realization, the cloud dispersed, swallowing them and the horde.
Almost immediately, they took another sharp turn.
It was all he could do to keep from being thrown off the platform.
His eyes began to close. For a moment he felt a set of hands grab his head gently.
Still, though, his already extremely limited oxygen supply was quickly depleted as his lungs only managed to find smoke in their struggle for air.
It was more than a moment.
He felt a pull.
White.
All he could see was white.
He wasn't sure how much time passed, but it felt like an eternity.
Eventually, after a billion years, or two seconds, he saw himself.
He was handsome. More than he thought he was at the tavern, anyway, but maybe being the closest thing to dying and barely escaping it had to have had its toll. Still, he was dressed in white robes.
He smiled.
He wasn't David. He was him. Who he was before a few hours ago.
"Welcome."
David stared at him for a moment.
"Where am I?"
"Your dream. Only, you don't really have one yet. Kind of boring here, isn't it? Don't worry. I'm sure you'll spice it up in no time."
"Why am I here?"
"Why? You made I made a deal, that's why."
David would have sighed if he could have. But he was more than happy enough to settle for asking himself more questions.
"Who are you? Who am I?"
"Why would I know?"
He smirked. David really wanted to punch himself in the face.
David flailed his imaginary arms vaguely in his direction.
"Why wouldn't you? You're him!"
"Ah… yes… kind of."
"The hell do you mean kind of?"
David hated how amused he looked at this conversation. He clenched his mental fists.
"You see, I'm only as much of him as you have in you. It's not a lot right now, but I'm sure I'll grow."
He smiled especially wide as he said the last part and raised his arms as if anticipating a hug.
He didn't get one.
His dream self lowered his voice and spoke more candidly.
"All the same, you'll be able to come here whenever you want pretty much now. You've done it once so it'll be a lot easier to do it again."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"You'll find out soon. And when that time comes, much like our goddess, I'll take a more passive role."
David thought for a moment about the absurdity of the day so far, and asked another question.
"So what can I do? Like, magic, I mean."
The smile returned to his face.
"Already hungry for power, are we?"
"No its just todays been-"
"-I don't know."
David fell silent.
"I don't know the specifics, I mean."
His smile disappeared again before continuing.
"Just… only what you need to do.@
"What do I need to do?"
"Reach."
"Reach? You can't seriously believe that's useful in any-"
"-our natural time is up. If you want to come back, go to sleep. Or meditate. It doesn't really make a difference. Maybe you won't even need to do that one day."
If David had a ground to stomp he might have done just that, instead, he was tugged back to reality.
It was a weird tug. It felt like someone was stretching his break out with a rolling pin, or wringing it out over a bucket, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant.
Still, when he came to, he realized his day was far from over.