Norman Withers was having a really bad day. One that didn’t appear to be ending anytime soon. When he came to, he couldn’t tell where he was, other than that there was blackness all around him. It took him a while to realize that it was the sky, and he was on his back on some very rocky ground. Every part of him ached as vague memories of some sort of demon woman danced around in his head. How he ended up here was anyone’s guess.
Almost in spite of himself, he forced himself to sit up. The image that greeted him was even more shocking than he expected. He could only describe it as a desert, but that wasn’t right. If it was at least a desert it would imply some sort of familiarity and comfort. The landscape that awaited him here was a gray wasteland of craters. He sat there taking this in for another long while, waiting for the shock to wear off.
He soon found himself walking- to where he had no idea. It was all pretty much the same: black on top, gray on the bottom, some holes in the ground. Every once in a while there would be some sort of creature buzzing by. It appeared to be a fly, only the size of a housecat, some even as large as a goat. They paid him no mind. He lost track of time, but just kept putting one foot in front of the other despite every fiber of his being crying out in protest. Eventually, a hazy form appeared on the horizon. This complete break from the norm gave him renewed strength and he ran towards it, whatever it was.
What he came upon could only be a mirage. It was a table, a simple coffee table supporting a single bottle of unknown liquid. There was a note attached to the bottle.
Drink me
This is where Norman knew it had to be a dream. He was certainly unconscious back in the basement of the historical society… he wasn’t even a fan of Lewis Carroll, so he knew it had to come from some unforgotten region of his mind. Still, dream or not, looking at the wasteland around him, he knew he had few other options.
He picked it up and removed the cork carefully, pointing the bottle away from him just in case. Seeing no explosion of pressure, carbon dioxide or otherwise, he pulled it closer to his nose to take an experimental sniff. He knew it was dangerous, but better to inhale it than ingest it first. It smelled sickeningly sweet- like honey. Also vaguely alcoholic. “Mead?” Why was there mead out here in space? Was his alcohol headache from this afternoon really having that much of an influence?
Seeing no recourse, he resolved himself and brought the bottle to his lips, taking a sip. All at once the effect hit him. Time slowed down as it hit his tongue. He felt the world spin and he staggered backwards. Everything around him took on a faint glow as he dropped the bottle. Yet, he still for some reason swallowed. As it travelled down, the feelings intensified as he was knocked out flat on his rear end, his mouth speaking in strange tongues he couldn’t, yet could, understand. At it reached his stomach, everything exploded into a symphony of kaleidoscopic colors. Space was awash in hues of blue, green, fuchsia, pink, lavender, sepia, gold, silver, grey, white, black, blue, green, fuchsia, pink… The stars winked at him with knowing eyes. Animals of all sorts came out to greet him and the overgrown flies from before were nowhere to be seen. He was conversing with a clever sheep and an honest duck when a resounding cry filled the air.
Immediately, all the animals vanished as he could see a vague blur swooping down on him from the skies. It was hard to make out, but as it positioned itself silhouetted in the smiling moon, he could at least determine its form. Almost like a pterodactyl, or a reptilian wolf with wings. Either way, it terrified him but he could not for the life of him bring himself to move. It closed in, swooping in for the kill and did, in fact, grab him as he feared. He closed his eyes before the impact, but felt nothing except the wind.
Hesitantly, he opened his eyes to find himself flying through the air, his long beard fluttering up into his face. He was confused, and even more so when he discovered he was actually on the back of the flying thing, travelling back towards a large blue ball. Just as it filled his vision, it suddenly disappeared behind a large, white, glowing circle, and all at once he was back in the basement of the historical society where he left off. Only now, the white gate was behind him and remained open. Norman stroked his beard, pondering what to do next. The only thing he did know is that whatever was responsible for this, this Nultros, needed to be stopped at all costs.