The rain is pelting down and the rocks are hard under Arthur's feet as he flees through the forest looking for somewhere to hide.

Behind him are thundering footfalls, the sound of a band of knights in pursuit.

Arthur picks a bad moment to look over his shoulder to see if his pursuers are gaining ground on him, suddenly he's tripping on a fallen log and tumbling down a steep embankment to the bottom, collecting any number of bruises and scrapes.

The wind is knocked out of him for a moment and he finds himself unable to move for a moment, which is long enough for faces to appear at the top of ditch, the knights of Camelot! Coming for him!

They have however, grouped themselves together and Arthur sees his chance. He scrambles to his feet and makes a desperate gesture, his eyes momentarily flash gold - so quick one would be hard pressed to notice - and a large heavy branch falls on top of the knights knocking them down.

It gives him precious time, time that he can use to escape...

If there even is escape.

Magic in Camelot will get you killed.

(OOC: No prizes for guessing the Chessboard flip - Arthur's warrior skills have been replaced by magic. He's now a Druid and an enemy of Camelot...)

[ the patterned silk cast shadows over the large cloth tent Riku sat in. he frowned as he watched the shadows of the dancers outside twist and stretch over the material, letting light and darkness settle over the cotton that lay beneath him and the stuffed pillows strewn about.

he'd had this dream--what, three times?

he glowered at the entrance to the tent, the flap blowing lightly in the breeze. then, his gaze flickered downwards, to the crystal ball atop the table before him. he knew there was really no point in trying to get up and leave. his ankle was already tethered to the bottom of the ball, like he was a prisoner in a cartoon. and, like the last three times, he was in costume, too, an orange tunic on his back with patterned pants tied about his waist, a shawl covering most of his body afterwards. ]

This is ridiculous.

[ what did recurring dreams mean? recurring problems?

ugh, he couldn't even remember, anymore. his mind hurt too much from the folksy songs the gypsies outside were singing and from the differed timelines each one of their steps took.

the dream always ended when he gave a guy his fortune. fine. he'd just wait until that moment came. ]

[ ooc: permissions post yet again! ]

[ Nothing seems (too) out of the ordinary at first within the dream.

Greeting whomever steps within the boundaries of the dream is the city of Paris. In the distance the Eiffel Tower can be seen along with other familiar landmarks. Faceless people make their way through the streets and through the shops, all completely unaware of the fact they weren't real or that they had company for that matter. However, the sky over head was not the familiar shade of blue that a normal person would be accustomed to. Instead, it had taken on the color of burnt orange, while the once-typically green grass was red and green leafed trees that dotted the side walks were now silver.

But again, not a single one of these faceless people noticed or even cared. They simply continued on about their business, speaking in a variety of different languages. Some were familiar ones that originated from Earth while others were alien. Very alien.

And seated at a table behind a fence of a cafe was a woman with blond hair and wearing a high collared blue blouse with an ankle-length black skirt and short heeled boots to match. Hanging from her neck was a medallion with an engraved symbol upon it as well as a necklace where a strange looking key dangled from. Sipping her tea Romana glances up over the rim of her cup, her left eyebrow arching up slowly, as she sets down what looks like a newspaper. A newspaper with text written in not only another language, but it also seemed to be moving, ever changing.

It's fairly obvious that even in sleep her mind is always moving and thinking. Not very healthy, really. ]

I admit I wasn't expecting company.

[Who ever said a dream had to be restful? Someone boring, probably. Certainly not any self respecting doctor of archaeology. At least not one answering to the name of River Song. And for fortunately anyone entering this specific dream hoping for adventure, that's exactly what she answered to.

The people who didn't would still have to run from a giant rolling boulder--classics were classics--and might have to deal with getting a little lost in the alien temple, too. They'd just enjoy it less.

At the center of the temple (deceptively close to the starting point, as dreams often were) sits River sprawled atop something that might look suspiciously like a certain ark, sipping from a golden goblet and laughing at a joke just missed. Or a joke all her own, given there's no one else in the room.]

You're late.