[Walking into Porthos’ dream is something like walking into the center of a five-pointed star, with several different paths leading outward from the center of it.
One pathway leads towards a dark alleyway, with scaffolding and people in masks – indistinct but there, making noise if you turn towards them by banging weapons against walls, etc. If you listen, you might hear a distant lullaby – a woman’s voice, soft but pained, but it’s indistinct and difficult to hear. If you listen further, you might hear another woman’s voice, younger, begging you not to leave – and then cursing you when you don’t listen. The second pathway is just a pretty stretch of grass, where noblemen and women walk off into the distance – and there’s one particular woman, beautiful, walking away without turning around – and she seems to float in and out of focus the further she goes. The third pathway is a dimly lit manner, a table spread out and that strange dream-like emphasis on a portrait lying on the table. It seems to grow larger the more you look at it. The fourth pathway leads to a dusty room, empty and dimly lit, as well. There’s a white book of poetry on the floor, a discarded bolt from a crossbow. There’s a man’s voice, one you might recognize as Porthos’, far-away and quiet, I know who I am, and what I am.
The fifth pathway, the most distinct, is a long lane lined with trees, their leaves bright red. It’s autumn. This is the clearest path. It’s also the one that makes you feel the most pained, looking at it.
No matter where you walk, though, you just can’t seem to turn towards him, your back constantly to him. You know he’s there, though. Everywhere around you is starting to go fuzzy, though, safeguarding against the images around him; maybe they don't mean anything to you, but he's suddenly very protective, even in this dream. Maybe don't stray too far towards one of the pathways, unless you landed there accidentally.
At least, you’ll be able to look at him when he actually notices you and calls out to you. Something quiet, just a small, tentative hey. Confused. Where are we? He’s pained, obviously. This dream is just dragging up memories, after all.]