Dream, dreamt on the night of March 30th, 2010

I am once again a rather roguish character exploring a ruined keep surrounded by jungle or silent wood up the coast from a picturesque port surrounded by gypsies. I had heard of the ruin from an aged fellow of the Rom, and within I find golems of iron and steel and oil, a guardian of time itself: the crumbling stones of the keep. Narrowly avoiding the stones and falling debris, I pick a lock or two to a more pristine hall of golems fair in combat. They fall more due to rust and wear and tear than my blades, and on a pedastal trapped somewhat I find the hunting bow of a long lost king and 3 arrows of ashwood with featherings of crow and raven. I feel watched, and I hurry with my prize to the terrace above as a dark terror seems to emanate from my previous path. I make the terrace and come upon a medusa of stone and a golem of crystal and metallic. An arrow for each, and they fall in surprise, the arrow falling to splinters on each. I hurriedly gather up their loot: a blade of crystal, rings and baubles, wands of magic potential and jewels fat and rich, a helm of cobalt and leather of a hundred perfectly skinned snakes. As colors bleed into one another, the keep explodes, throwing me atop a minaret of old gold into the sea. I wash up on the shore near the gypsy camp, and before I can gather my possessions and steal a horse a woman waithe runs off with the helm of blue stone. I follow for a time, but, weary and battered and wet, I lay off and take rest in a palatial inn.