“The Kossith have decreed that all darkfriends and those who live under the will of the Shadow, be put to death.” Darkspawn and those who carry the Blight, but even as they walked Alrik did not look at the druid at his side. Eyes under shade, the features of the warrior’s silhouette clouded by long, unkempt hair that fell in greasy tousled strands.
Alrik did not stop moving forward as his boots pounded against the cracked stones of the village square, the elder’s house now looming before him - target and objective. Fharzai’s voice slithered into his mind, Ilmaveth, as the other was now called and it felt as though a ghost had come and leaned against his bones. There was no room for himself here, but Alrik was too large to be contained with ease and his body habitually flexed and tensed as it resisted the compulsion that overlayed his frame.
"No." The word was clipped, mechanical, a hammerstrike instead of a thought. His hands flexed at his sides and then curled into fists. "He is not a threat to the objective." His voice was low, almost guttural, forced through the thick presence of the a'dam. "Prospero is already contained and he watches because he cannot do otherwise.” Another beat passed as Alrik’s head fell, shadows obscuring his eyes and the same dark, tousled hair he’d always worn hung limply on either side. His pace drew slower, intentionally so while progress was still being made, no sul’dam was monitoring closely enough to force his feet to move quicker.
“I’m sorry,” he said into the stale air along their deliberate march to the home atop the hill, “for waking us that day: for not giving us the story you deserved.” In their next turning of the wheel, Alrik would make up a better one. "This one will be over soon."
There was a pull the other rahaat had, a familiar gravity that was strong enough for Ilmaveth to respond to even though he hadn't been directed to. His finger flexed slightly towards Alrik's hand, a subtle gesture of longing he knew he had no right to feel. When he accepted his new name he released everything from before. The Kossith won, Valkessh broke him, and rejection of his a'dam's pulse was something he lacked the strength to do. This was what he deserved, he was Ilmaveth.
Yet the ache of longing still pinched his heart, and Ilmaveth welcomed it selfishly. He had no right nor nothing to gain by remembering how it felt before when he could lend his aid to Alrik without hesitation or even look at him without shame, but such feelings came from a false entitlement to identity. He was a rahaat, they were rahaats. Desire would only lead to more pain.
"We should be grateful then to our sul'dams that our objective has nothing to do with him. For now, it seems the Kossith decree as it impacts Prospero won't be carried out by our hands. We are preoccupied." His telepathic speech was stilted and unfree. Ilmaveth could hide nothing from Valkessh. Though Alrik was not in her heart, she had no boundaries when it came to dominion. If she caught a hint of defiance from any rahaat, she would send Ilmaveth into their dreams. "Stay preoccupied. Think only of your orders. Remember only what we are now, especially around me. It's better that way."
This was the sentiment Ilmaveth forced the other rahaats to accept while they slept, but the slowing of his pace to match Alrik was more inline with what Fharzai would do. It hurt, maybe in part because his a'dam retaliated for his lack of haste, but there was no telling how long he'd have before Valkessh commanded him to sleep again. "Nothing would've changed. Not even my dreams are safe from them," he warns, not even remembering the last time he'd walked with light in another's dreams. "No one should apologize to rahaats. We are less than servants, and me even less than that. I'm a terror, a nightmare. I will hear the echoes of the screams I cause until the day my sul'dam is through with me. There is nothing else for me. For you though, there may be more. You're sleep has been spared at least in some part. For us…" Eyes forward, still moving slowly, still resisting the pull of Alrik's gravity, and doing everything he could to deny what little comfort this moment brought, Ilmaveth remained fixed on his objective. "…I can remember when 'us' didn't refer to my heart and not my Heart, but I don't want to spend my brief waking moments clinging to what I can no longer touch. I don't blame you for this nightmare, I could never."
OPEN to members of Troupe 3
locations: some island in the gulf of taravell
notes: content warning for all the kossith violence
An island of no consequence, a sky Alrik did not recognize, a people he did not know. The open ocean around them with a port well traveled by raiders and merchants alike. Picturesque with thatched roofs and simple furnishings. This was the sort of place that Alrik used to imagine as a young boy, somewhere beyond the sea. Somewhere where a person could be anything. If this village was ever remembered, Alrik hoped it would be how it was before he and his fellow rahaat landed.
Thatched roofs caved beneath his fists like parchment, chapel walls and the mosaic of some foreigner’s god shattered beneath his heel.
“Vaarnok.” The command echoed down the line - sharp, exacting. There was no lash, whip, or chain, the commanding note of his sul’dam was each at once, running like fire across his nerves as Alrik’s name was invoked. Alrik’s body turned of its own accord, his dark eyes, framed by matted raven curls, turned and settled on the source of the sul’dam’s direction.
A boy - eighteen, nineteen at most - stood defiant at the village center, arms spread, light trembling between his palms. A trickle of the power, but Alrik could feel his potential and by extension, Alrik’s sul’dam could feel his potential. With a sudden jolt, fire shot from between the boy’s hands but the runic warrior shimmered as the bolt was harmlessly redirected into the nearest wall with a gesture.
Break. Collar. Return.
Raksha didn’t speak, but Alrik’s body felt the direction. He moved autonomously and
With a roar that wasn't quite his own, Alrik surged forward, one massive hand outstretched. The boy shouted - brave, stupid - and flung another spell like it might save him. It landed, sizzled, but the giant of a witch didn’t register it. Looming above, he caught the boy mid-flight, slammed him to the earth, and helm in there with one arm while the other reached to the bundle at his hip and pushed the a’dam around his neck.
Alrik took a step back and watched the metal link into place, saw with his own black eyes the horror etch across his face. He wished to tell him that this was something that he could survive, but even with agency over his tongue - Alrik didn’t bother. The village burned, the boy was dragged away, and Alrik remained to eliminate whatever stragglers lingered. No witnesses, no survivors, these rest stops were training yards for the sul’dam and the rahaat brought under their control.
His eyes drifted now back to the dreadnought, to the prow, and to the father he never really knew suspended. Bleeding. Dying.
“Vaarnok.” Came the bark again, farther now but just as strong. “To the elder’s house next.” There was a bark of another command as another was moved to join him, their bodies moving in tandem to the last structure standing and whoever waited within. With every step Alrik resisted, nerves frayed, body broken, it didn’t matter if he fought - if he was even still fighting - it only hurt, it didn’t matter, but he fought.
As they walked, some agency was afforded, enough for the witch to ask, “That darkfriend on the prow, what do you make of him?”
The screamed protestations of the newly acquired rahaat meant nothing in the end. They were the dying embers of an entitlement to identity that was falsely placed upon him by this land. It was a pitiable display, one that would be handled by the Heart of Shadow. The Kossith had well-laid plans and no time to waste. Ilmaveth was to be Valkessh's tool to expedite the rahaat acquisition process so the Kossith could continue to bring this land to heal.
The moment the new rahaat's eyes clouded over and he fell silent was the moment Ilmaveth stepped into his mind, pulling him into a deep, dark sleep. It would be his first and last nearly a day, but his mental breaking would be well underway when he woke. Ilmaveth could bring forth his greatest fears, prime him for the horrors that would await him should he resist his natural purpose, and snuff out any places in his mind where hope was allowed to fester. Ilmaveth had been doing so for some time now and had grown quite adept at this practice under his sul'dam's command. His touch always left a specter of himself behind in the minds of rahaats infected, ensuring that the work would continue until the sul'dam he was assigned began his true training. Thanks to Ilmaveth, this boy would not suffer as he did. Hopefully, all notions of resistance would be destroyed by the nightmare.
Awaken.
On command, Ilmaveth's incorporeal form dragged itself from the mind of the rahaat he helped to torture. Lethargic limbs sprang from his forehead as bit by bit the rahaat infecting his forced sleep pulled himself out and became material. He could not be certain how long had passed since he was last permitted to do so, but as the cloudy haze of his continued sleep faded from his eyes, the increased volume of the screams echoing in his mind from nightmares he was still actively fueling told him Valkessh had been busy. There wasn't time to dwell on that though, he had new orders.
Understanding her will inherently, she invoked his name and he vanished from view and reappeared in step with the rahaat from the Heart of Flesh. The rest of the village can burn, he was there only to relay pertinent information a village elder would have to Valkessh. "The path in front of me is all I've been permitted to see. I make nothing beyond my objective." Pacified in his subservience, Ilmaveth speaks directly into the mind of the other rahaat. He prefers being awake and wants to spend as much time as he can with his eyes unclouded. That's why they do not waver from the house ahead. In fact, he's unsure if speaking to the other is wise but this sliver of autonomy is rare indeed. "Be blind to all but your orders. If I suspect you're distractible, I would have to report as much to my sul'dam," he says despite clinging to the chance to speak to another. It hurt, though he couldn't tell if the ache came from his a'dam or something else, so he continued, "Everything and everyone in this village that cannot be put to use will be razed, so a darkfriend watching our moves is inconsequential. Do you see a specific threat they pose to our objective?"
“I understand now why you resist. You aren’t strong… I don’t even think you’re all that stubborn. You’re lost, confused. You resist because of the lie you were raised on - this illusion that you’re still clinging to. You spent your whole life believing you are a person, when really, you are a mistake of flesh made animate. You are a rahaat. A tool to be used, nothing more. Do you know what rahaat means in High Kossathi? It does not mean servant. We do not bind our servants, we give them roles, names, honors. You are beneath that - so do not think we punish you for your resistance, we only work to correct your confusion and when you stop believing you are a person, you will stop suffering. You will know peace as only rah’tashan can.”
Rahaat
noun | High Kossathi
An instrument or tool - a person reduced to the status of a mere object, stripped of autonomy and identity, existing solely to serve the will of another.
A captive - a being whose thoughts and actions are no longer their own, forced into servitude through magical means, particularly the a’dam collar.
Usage: “You are no longer a person, you are a rahaat, a tool for our use.”
Rah’tashan
noun | High Kossathi
A perfected instrument - a rahaat who has been fully subdued and transformed, their will completely erased, existing only to obey without question.
A reprogrammed tool - a captured being who has been conditioned to embrace their loss of identity and autonomy, functioning as an ideal vessel of another’s power.
Usage: “She is no longer merely a rahaat; she is a rah’tashan, free from resistance, free from self.”
Shan'tar
noun | High Kossathi
A collective, a bonded unit formed of three or more rahaat, each bound by the a’dam under a sul'dam’s control, united in servitude. Loosely this translates to “Heart” though it is not used to describe the organ.
Usage: “You are not individuals, you are a shan'tar, nothing more than tools of the Kossathi.”
Prompts should be posted by Thursday May 1st, no IC response is required but is encouraged, the aim of these prompts is to help fuel IC interactions on the dreadnought. Anyone who has posted dreadnought content should receive a prompt, please discuss/plot/coordinate with your fellow captives on how your prompt might influence others.
PROMPT
They make you sleep, again and again. Never to rise, not truly. They trap you in ritual sleep and send you into the dreams of rebels, prisoners, even the sul’dam themselves. And when you’re in, they control your every move. They force you to unmake dreams. To flood hope with horror. You break people in sleep, and when you wake, their screams still echo. You used to build sanctuaries in dreams. Now you sow nightmares and submission. You’ve seen a version of yourself in those dreams - one you do not recognize. There will be no dreams of rebellion, no hope for absolution, because of you your fellow rahaat are given no reprieve.
Ilmaveth, the Kossith have renamed you. Dream-Spun.
They’ve assigned you to the Heart of Shadow, run by the sul’dam Valkessh. A Heart forged for fear, espionage, and psychological warfare. To Valkessh, her rahaat are instruments of subjugation through terror and illusion.
Make a cup of water…
Fharzai would not hear Valkessh’s words. He rejected them all. He was not a tool. He was not a weapon. Still, his sul’dam knew that breaking through his resistance was only a matter of time. She didn’t need to explain anything to him, but she did before issuing the directive. On her command, Fharzai could touch the One Power that the a’dam sealed him from. On her command, he could fulfill her order. Yet he did not, his path of peaceful resistance still seeming like his best option once he was taken out of his cage to begin his training. The order came but once, and as Fharzai kept his eyes closed in his refusal to even look at Valkessh, she understood the depths of his confusion and responded accordingly.
Pain wracked his body, and she left him there to suffer. It did not end because Fharzai did not let go. He wanted to resist, so the a’dam punished him for his misguided sense of self. He was a rahaat which meant his only options were obedience or pain. Eventually, it stopped, though his body curled in on itself, the residual ache serving as a phantom reminder of what he could expect when Valkessh returned. He flinched when the door opened, but Fharzai turned his gaze to look at her properly this time. The pain the a’dam inflicted on him seemed to get rid of his peaceful resistance. The fire of hatred burned in his eyes, which his sul’dam recognized as progress. At least now, the rahaat seemed to better understand its options. Again, her command was simple: Make a cup of water. Fharzai felt his connection to the dream realm and the One Power seep into his veins as his a’dam allowed him power in accordance to his sul’dam’s will. He could manifest anything, but the object that came to mind was not a cup of water. Fharzai pictured a knife, one that would fit into his hand, one that he could use to cut Valkessh’s heart out. He lunged as he willed the object into existence, but before it could take form pain more intense than the last bout hit him so hard that his back practically snapped from the recoil. Fharzai didn’t even get close to Valkessh before the a’dam retaliated for his disobedience. She didn’t ask him for a knife, she asked him for a cup of water.
The opening of the door, the issued command, pain; they continued this cycle until Fharzai lost all sense of self, until he could picture the cup of water gracing his cracked lips. Thirst, hunger, ache, and the anticipation of pain became his reality. The begging soon followed, the command to make a cup of water turning into a bell toll of suffering he had come to loathe and fear. Valkessh already said all she needed to, so she only offered the command. When the rahaat released the false belief that it was ever a person, its suffering would stop. Not a moment before, which was why there was no need for her to respond to its pleading. It knew what needed to happen. Inevitably, her command was fulfilled. The rahaat stopped resisting, stopped believing it could use its utility against its sul’dam and a cup of water appeared the moment she ordered it to. Fharzai trembled as he held it, relieved that for the first time in all this torture, pain didn’t immediately knock the wind out of his lungs for manifesting an object. He was so thirsty and licked his lips in anticipation, thinking that maybe one sip would be his consolation for following through. It was a selfish thought, one of a person and not of a rahaat, which is why Valkessh took the manifestation and poured the contents onto the ground in front of it. Fharzai watched the water stream from the cup and pool on the ground, not even lunging to slurp up what he could. His last semblances of will and dignity were in that cup, and by the time it was empty, he was empty too. He understood, he saw, which was why there was zero resistance when the next command came.
Sleep.
The training wasn’t meant to refine his skills, it was meant to define his limitations. Valkessh had no need for her rahaat’s manifestations or its consciousness. Its mind would be a much more useful tool if it drifted into slumber and remained there. His eyes clouded over and became swirling, bottomless gray pools. He was asleep now and would only sink deeper, his world becoming only what Valkessh allowed him to see. Through her, he could touch power again. He could walk in dreams and help others see the truth as he had come to learn it. It’s what he was created to do. A mere tool, an extension of Valkessh’s will, her orders filled this new world along with the horrified screams of those he harmed. They echoed constantly in his mind, for though he may have slept he would not get rest again, no rahaat would. He only required direction, maintenance, and the binds that Valkessh pulled to direct his Heart.
He felt nothing about being used because that was his purpose. He felt nothing about the nightmares he wove because her will to subjugate was now his too. He was something for Kossith to use, a unit in a Heart and nothing more. He knew the truth, that there was nothing beyond the darkness of his sleep, and that there was liberation in his submission to the will of another. He was finally free to look at the monster he saw in the minds of others, the one who feasted on hope and light with insatiable hunger, and nurture it without grief or remorse whenever he saw it in the dreams of other rahaat. To recognize the wight as a dark reflection of himself would be to admit he had a self, and he did not. He did not exist outside of Valkessh’s directives. He did not have purpose beyond serving his sul’dam.
He was asleep. He was the unrisen. He was Ilmaveth, and there was work to be done.
It had been a long time since he'd dreamt of the mines, the person that had been trapped within was a specter compared to whatever hero sat opposite from the druid now. All that time revisiting the same cave night after night, but that was not the prison where the witch had been left to rot, it was a chrysalis of his own making. Alrik had thought once that dwelling amid only the dark was what made him strong, it had kept him alive back then - but he didn't need it now. He understood that. "You've already saved me in every way that a person can be saved."
Pain didn't end at the Iskaran border, he'd known even back then that despite all the promises the Queendom held, that all places were like all places. Darkfriends. Rot. Decay. It didn't end at the Tower because the Tower said it must be so. But Alrik was just one more, one who didn't take on any burdens beyond the ones placed immediately in front of him - he couldn't imagine what it was to feel responsible for so many.
"No jeweler’s hand could ever craft what the gods placed in your soul, Fharzai. A strength that time cannot tarnish, no matter how the years have tried to wear you down." Alrik reached for Fharzai's hand then, rough fingers brushing over Fharzai’s calloused palm, tracing the lines time and toil etched there. Even as their dream dissolved into a nightmare, bringing them back to the tree, and then back into the waking world. He awoke as he often did, body like a vice around the druid, but he was still stirring, still speaking.
"Gold bends in the forge, but you, my love, stand as steadfast as the mountain that bears it." He exhaled, releasing something heavy from his chest. He lifted Fharzai’s hand to his lips, a voice as uncharacteristically soft as the breath of wind through old trees - the storyteller once more. "Maybe in our next turn of the wheel we'll get to lead simple lives, I'll work the iron while you keep your head in the clouds." Alrik hand folded over the graying rot of the other's: cold, numb, but not lifeless when the warrior could so clearly see who was attached to it. "But we have to fight for it." A pulse, a beat, then the hidden one asked, "What are their names - these people you think would be better off dead?"
Fharzai was not made to be seen, let alone remembered. It hurt, but he completely separated himself from that pain long ago. This was the burden the Arches prepared him for, and it was one he readily accepted. Not once in his life had he scorned Fate or his decision to serve the pattern. Still, there was something significant to Alrik admitting he'd been saved. The darkness wasn't gone and the scars of his past remained, but the witch who enraptured him in his giant arms was not the same man whose nightmares clung to him like his own shadow.
A heavy breath of acceptance flew from Fharzai's lips as he settled into the fact that his time with Alrik was truly well spent. For all the mistakes that he'd made in recent months, at least the decision to be a persistent light in Alrik's life wasn't one. "It's so much harder to go on when I'm involved as I am, but I still don't regret letting go of my detachment for you. I love my queen, I love the Tower, and I love Lysara. But it was always love from a distance, on my terms, like a cold mother watching her child from afar. I didn't know how to love with warmth until you. It overwhelms me and I lose myself to it. Caring for you makes it so I care for so many others more deeply than I ever have before and it causes me to cling too tightly. I'm sorry Alrik. I never should've tried to trap you in a dream."
Fharzai held Alrik's hand too, the mere feeling of it keeping him grounded now that his eyes were open. Blurring the lines was fine, but walking exclusively in the dream realm would be to turn his back on the mortal realm and the queendom he swore he'd protect. That meant allowing himself to get wrapped in the romanticism of Alrik's words was okay. Things may have been tumultuous in Lysara, but the Wheel would continue to turn and life would go on. The simple comfort of Alrik's body draped over his was to be cherished just as much as the fantasy of the life they could have Fate wove simplicity into the fabric of their lives instead of duty.
"No heartbeat is as steady and true as yours. I've only been able to involve myself more in this age without falling apart because of you. It's your courage that flows in my veins. It's your strength that inspires me to embrace love instead of detaching myself from it. If we must fight, then fight we will, for this realm and for the lives we'll get to lead in the next turn." Fharzai trusted Alrik. The witch was his light-filled dream now. If Alrik wouldn't scorn what they had, then neither would Fharzai. They didn't need to live in a fantasy because, for all the shadows that swirled around them, their reality was perfect. "I couldn't say. I don't see their names but their faces … it's like the Veil is trying to show me who they are. Or who they will become? My dreams have been muddled, but what I know for certain is that if I miss the chance to hurt them first, they will hurt me." As his heart flutters gleefully from the prospect of Fharzai causing pain, one hand drifts to his collarbone to rub just above it gently. It felt like a mantle missing the weight of something that was destined to be placed there…
Some people pulled at the pattern more than others. Fharzai had no answers as to why that was besides that they held importance that Fate decreed. Looking at Alessia was like looking at a burning star, she shined brighter than even her brother who held his heart. He could see the girl she was, the witch she is, and the Warrior she would someday become all standing side by side, so distinctive was the thread of destiny that foretold her life. Fharzai was no longer detached, so the compulsion to tell her exactly what to do was strong, but that wasn't his role. Alessia needed to walk to her destiny on her terms, so long as she remembered that she had so many walking with her, the Tower's druid especially.
"I know you are, and you're surpassing my every expectation. Truly, you are a talented witch. It's okay to be special, so let them see just how special you are." He has to let his fond smile stretch across his face, fearful he might say more than he should. Alessia would be fine, he could see in her eyes that she was already working out what she needed to do. "Olympians who are reckless and angry end up dead. No one earns the title without sacrifice, and yours must be learning to let go. However briefly. I, of course, will inform you of important findings. Your safety and well-being are more of a priority to me than you know. But you will not pass your trials with a foot in two worlds. After you've earned your stone, you can go where you please. Until then? Complete and undivided dedication is required. You must let go of everything outside of this Tower while Accepted so that you can reclaim what's important to you with power after you're an Olympian." Fharzai would not interfere with her Olympian path further, he'd provided all the guidance he could. The rest was up to Alessia, though he'd always be at her side even as an observer. "I need you. And I need you strong. I will always protect you, even if you don't agree with my methods. Reach the summit, then you and I will have all the time in the world to resolve this ring issue together. Only a fully-fledged Olympian witch can be of assistance to me. If that's insufficient, well, you know what you have to do."
There was a fond brightness in the druid's eye and it struck Alessia that he truly and unwaveringly believed in her. That Fharzai was placing more faith in her than she was even putting in herself It was... odd. Was he delusional? She couldn't help but wonder, because it was hard to believe that she wasn't just a dirty pawn, stained with blood, poked around by people more powerful than she could ever dream of being: a giantess, an archfey, a god. But it was impossible not to warm even more at the sight of his care. If her family hadn't been there to believe in her as a child, she would have been terrible. Then, if the friends like the ones she had made in the most pivotal moments in her life hadn't supported her, she would have been even darker than she was. The witch drew strength from the care that was put into her, and it made her burdens just a little easier to bear. The more she did not need to resort to darkness, the more she realized she had never wanted it.
Unfortunately, she was also stubborn and used to being suspicious for her own sake. Her eyes narrowed once more, as though she was considering whether to trust that Fharzai would truly be informative and wouldn't resort to unsavory tactics to keep her 'safe.' After a few seconds, Alessia seemed to relent and sighed. "Okay," she murmured, trusting, her shoulders relaxing from their tense posture. "Then you'll see me very soon. Because I'm getting that pretty jewel on the ring that I actually chose, and then I'm holding you up to the promise of me assisting." She pinned Fharzai with a sharp look. Ultimately satisfied, she nodded to him and turned to walk off. As he said, there was much she had to get done.
Whatever legendary warrior walked in his footsteps past surely, had to have been, less reticent than Lothar was today. Too many berserker brews, tinctures to help him tap into such reservoir of the giant blood within; he'd never been one for many words nor wisdom, and he can only raise a brow at Fharzai's ominous retort.
"I was never much of a dreamer before," the battle against Munin, each hero fighting for the dominion of dreams, it had awoken something in each of them, but within Lothar it directed him more curiously towards things he would have once scoffed at. The power of a dream, the glimpse into other fragments of the Wheel, such that were his own but in another lifetime, another place. He'd not believed it if the others hadn't lived it too. "I think I am too stuck on the past to take note of all this progress we're supposed to be celebrating," he meant no offense to the Lysaran culture Fharzai was rooted in, the one that the druid, as a Queensguard, was sworn to uphold and protect.
Fharzai knew that Lothar wasn't the only one. Iskarans lived their entire lives without dreaming for centuries all thanks to Munin and the Dark power that fueled him. It was unjust, but nothing could be done to repair the damage he inflicted except moving forward. Even Fharzai did what he could to heal those souls that remained in Skovgard, but in that he was limited. It wasn't his destiny to guide Mavis in her healing efforts.
Still, he looked forward because Fate flowed forward, never back. "You must move on. Like a leaf in the wind, you'll flit and fly in many different directions, but you'll never return to your origin. Not really. So much has changed for you it's impossible to go back. Then again, why would you want to?" Lothar's nostalgia may have provided him some comfort, but there was a purpose he was growing into here in Lysara that would've been impossible for him to reach in Iskaldrik. "The pattern has chosen you. Resisting will only cause you strife. Try to embrace change and progress, not just for the queendom but for yourself. You owe it to yourself to dream now that your mind is open to them, don't you think?"
who? Open to Members of Troupe 3 (Max 4 people)
where? Dreadnought Hold
notes: mentions of forced obedience
If there is something Belladona particularly dislikes, it’s losing control. She is far too old, far too smart to allow a situation to get out of hand without eventualities being set in place. That, and most of her work is done within the dream realm, where she rules. Far away from all dangers, but just where she needs to be to move her pieces. That is how she likes it, that is how it’s supposed to be. Her, with a glass of wine in hand as she considers what horrors to subject her victims next.
She is not supposed to be a victim.
Not again.
Never again.
She had given herself to the Dark One fully and wholeheartedly, had offered her soul, her oath; had gotten the position as his general in return. Belladona was meant to be the monster stalking the prisoner’s nightmare’s, the untruths guiding them towards the nearest crossroad devil. She was not meant to be caged, trapped without the magic she had spent centuries mastering and twisting into something that suited her as well as her name.
It was all rather frustrating, if she had to be honest.
“How long until it’s our turn, you think?” She asks, brows furrowing into an expression full of worry as she sees multiple Sul’dam gather their Rahaat, even as she feels nothing but cool detachment and irritation. She has to keep the act even here, after all. “I don’t. I am afraid to see what awaits us during training.”
Fharzai had been lucid dreaming for months now, blurring the line between dream and reality for months now. His mind stretched across this realm and others, uninhibited in its vast travels while accompanied by conflicting, sentient voices. Now, with the a'dam around his neck all was silent. Fharzai could think, he could sleep. And though he was bound to this plane of existence, he could grasp at the memory of the dreams he saw for an answer before his sul'dam stripped him of all he was.
In silence Fharzai found solace, enough to escape into as if he were dreaming. He couldn't succumb to fear or panic or torture. That's what the Kossith wanted, was it not? He was unbroken by his circumstance, consumed entirely by the scenes in his mind, actively avoiding the vacuous ache the collar severing his connection to the One Power left behind…
"In a breath it will be our turn, in a blink we'll be on to another moment entirely. I am not afraid because I have always had faith in the pattern. Whatever will come to pass will be impermanent," he says without opening his eyes, his meditative pose unwavering even as the ship rocks. Times of turmoil were the worst times to unravel. So long as he remembered who he was and why the Arches chose him, Fharzai could maintain balance within himself and find some way to detach from his waking reality in order to focus. He'd done so for centuries. "I don't believe it is my fate to die a Rahaat. Lysara can't afford for the Kossith to break me, so I…" Fharzai could not say he'd resist his a'dam and reject his sul'dam, because his acceptance of his binding already imposed some manner of influence on him. The balance he hoped to maintain within himself already factored in the band around his neck. "…I mustn't be broken."
Where Alrik's mind had begun to fight through the haze of confusion and fantasy, another wave seemed to wash over his psyche as Fharzai spoke. The war had ended, that was right, now they were free to pursue the world as they saw fit. The pair of them could travel, maybe Alrik could even show Fharzai his home - Iskaldrik in the flesh. There were stones there, they didn't feel like the ones that they'd traveled to in Lysara, but maybe there was something to it.
Iskaldrik.
Yes... Yes, it was. A life, devotion, a world that was at ease. Peaceful. Wanting it didn't make it real and weaving it wasn't going to change what was happening at home.
Aetheron.
Alrik had promises to keep, an oath to uphold, and the fledgling beginnings of an order that he'd see fanned and flamed. Whatever miasma that had been placed lifted as the first rune Alrik had been gifted glowed softly under the same palm that reached for Fharzai's face now. It was a gift from the dreamer, one that Alrik had worked to understand and make his own, now it broke the spell.
He placed a hand on Fharzai's cheek, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing idly against the smooth skin of the man he'd devoted every inch of his body to. "It's a beautiful dream, love," Alrik said quietly, voice deep and words heavy. "But you know as well as I that it cannot be." The domesticated man that Fharzai conjured wouldn't be the figure that the druid had met all those months ago, if the dreamer truly loved him, then he should see that Alrik couldn't just walk away from a fight.
"Wake us up." However tenderly he treated the druid, Alrik would not ask twice.
The ritual, the screams of witches being slaughtered, magic explosions all over the city; these were occurrences Fharzai simply lacked the capacity to acknowledge. The sight was too close to his nightmares, so he turned from them. The dream realm concealed what he did not want to feel, locked it away to some forgotten recess of his mind so he could enjoy this paradise with the one person he wanted to be with. Fharzai didn't get what was wrong at first, not even as Alrik denied the reality of where they were. Joy turned to confusion, confusion drifted to pain, and then he wavered. His mind attempted to maintain the block, sending him back to confusion and then hopefully joy again, but Alrik's voice was all-consuming. He'd be able to see this conflict play out clearly across Fharzai's face.
'Wake us up'… Such a simple statement, yet triggering all the same while reminding Fharzai that he walked alone. No matter what his heart yearned for, understanding was not in his Fate. He remembered now, he remembered everything, and the strain of his emotions caused him to clutch his forehead with his cursed hand, now fully visible to them both without the glamors of this dream. "We are awake, at least I am. I'm always awake Alrik, I don’t sleep anymore," he confesses as the dream around them begins to fracture. The objects return to mist and this pocket of the dream realm Fharzai unconsciously carved out for them started to rumble. Now that the truth was infecting his paradise, the druid could no longer sustain it.
"I walk so far, to forgotten realms, through the dreams of all the citizens, the dreams of dragons, of those who dwell in the underdark. I see so much, and I'm trying to find the answers but there are none. The line for me is gone now, don't you get that? Dream, reality, awake, asleep, it's all one in the same. So why not write our own dream? It'd be better than what's waiting on the other side…" That's when it happened. As the dream Fharzai built faded away, all that was left were his nightmares on view overhead. The Tower falling, Eterna burning, the Red Hand dead and defeated, the dream realms liberated from Munin's control reclaimed by the Dark. Fharzai hadn't dreamt until now because when he did, he only saw nightmares. Yet even in this dream where they stood, he was awake. Unable to handle his fears on loop, Fharzai severed the last threads holding this pocket together, sending him and Alrik back to their tree on a hill overlooking the dreamrealm, and then in a flash of light they were in Alrik's bed. Everything his mind suppressed came rushing back, reminding him of the duty he had turned away from for the first time in his life.
"I hate what's become of my queendom," he confessed pulling away from Alrik to clutch his decrepit ringed hand to his chest. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. I want to kill them, all the people who make balance that much harder to maintain. And then maybe I can sleep again." Fharzai hadn't even realized what he said or the implications, but he did wince as his dagger protested in his mind. "I can't keep my promise to you here. I can't save you here. You should've stayed with me in the dream, where we could be happy." Though Fharzai meant it, the shame of his words prevented him from looking at Alrik directly as he spoke.
Fharzai spoke bluntly. It was more alarming at the start, but, more comforting to hear by the end. She could trust he was being honest with her, trust now that he also had her best interests at heart. She trusted his wisdom - no one got to where Fharzai was, at the Queen's side, without something beyond impressive magic to get them there. Still... he didn't know the full picture. Alessia was inspired by and admired The Tower's witches. However, they would never hold her full loyalty and commitment. Before The Tower came The Hidden Ones... and before every organization that she had ever pledged herself to, came her family.
He was, at least, correct that she was no longer in Iskaldrik. It was senseless to keep grasping onto the habit of holding all her cards close to her chest. If The Tower couldn't have all her loyalty, they could at least have the closest thing to it: her best self. Alessia teeth bit at the inside of her cheek as she listened, her gaze cast over Fharzai's shoulder but her eyes looking at nothing in particular. She sighed and met his stare again as he finished speaking. "I'm trying," she finally replied, more softly than before. She took a deep breath, her eyes beginning to narrow. "But you're not doing all this... ring stuff without me, Fharzai. If you find something out, I need to know." She sounded frustrated, thinking about Freydis many months ago. "Everyone who keeps trying to protect me by keeping me out of business that concern me is only going to make me more reckless and angry. That isn't in my best interest, is it?" She crossed her arms. "Besides, I only have one more meeting with The Warriors to worry about before its over. I'll be ready."
Some people pulled at the pattern more than others. Fharzai had no answers as to why that was besides that they held importance that Fate decreed. Looking at Alessia was like looking at a burning star, she shined brighter than even her brother who held his heart. He could see the girl she was, the witch she is, and the Warrior she would someday become all standing side by side, so distinctive was the thread of destiny that foretold her life. Fharzai was no longer detached, so the compulsion to tell her exactly what to do was strong, but that wasn't his role. Alessia needed to walk to her destiny on her terms, so long as she remembered that she had so many walking with her, the Tower's druid especially.
"I know you are, and you're surpassing my every expectation. Truly, you are a talented witch. It's okay to be special, so let them see just how special you are." He has to let his fond smile stretch across his face, fearful he might say more than he should. Alessia would be fine, he could see in her eyes that she was already working out what she needed to do. "Olympians who are reckless and angry end up dead. No one earns the title without sacrifice, and yours must be learning to let go. However briefly. I, of course, will inform you of important findings. Your safety and well-being are more of a priority to me than you know. But you will not pass your trials with a foot in two worlds. After you've earned your stone, you can go where you please. Until then? Complete and undivided dedication is required. You must let go of everything outside of this Tower while Accepted so that you can reclaim what's important to you with power after you're an Olympian." Fharzai would not interfere with her Olympian path further, he'd provided all the guidance he could. The rest was up to Alessia, though he'd always be at her side even as an observer. "I need you. And I need you strong. I will always protect you, even if you don't agree with my methods. Reach the summit, then you and I will have all the time in the world to resolve this ring issue together. Only a fully-fledged Olympian witch can be of assistance to me. If that's insufficient, well, you know what you have to do."
He already envisioned her as weak; druids were still beholden to the truth, and so Agnes felt no ill feeling at her own confession. "The pursuit of power comes from the feeling of powerlessness does it not? Perhaps there is this fatuous desire I had to sit here and hope we could be considered worthy allies of one another. But I don't wish to fool myself at sitting here to convince you, I know how important actions are, and I do hope to venture to see you again on the frontlines, Fharzai." Something strange seemed to compel the dream druid momentarily, a darkness which she was not familiar to, btu she was wise enough to say little on it, merely make a mental note of it for later.
"Don't you dare to believe that submitting yourself to the woes of the pattern, doomed to be complacent in its faults, is something of a shared weakness? I dared to challenge the script, rewrite it in my favor. yes, that may be selfish, but we all have our weaknesses, don't congratulate yourself as holier simply because yours are not so easily read." Agnes brought her own tea to her lips, if he were to be scathing, she would return the favor, though she meant no disrespect. "I will not just be any other druid amidst the swarm of others," her eyes narrowed, flickering over his frame as he passed the plate of honeycomb to her, "-Though I figure neither will you." And that did not stem from his toeing the line, serving the pattern, it came from something she did not yet understand of him, but could sense rolling off of him in iniquitous waves. "Some do not go willingly into the dark. You may be older, wiser still, but even you can slip, even you are at the mercy of weakness."
Her fingers snapped a piece of honeycomb from the larger piece, propping the morsel into her mouth, with a mere shrug at his question, "Our paths cross because I've willed it so. The Dark One warned us," her and likely Zagreus, "Of our assistance within the Cove. It may be Zagreus' home, but if he is truly promised to the Dark, he could have resisted at any point, no?" She knew it was not so simple, not as black and white as she once hoped for, "After helping you all, I did indeed feel a loss of favor from the Dark. I strode towards him on the wonder of power beyond belief. I am strong not because I walk in the light but because I can see the error of my mistakes. I did this to offer myself fully to my circle, if the Dark wishes to punish me then I will face them." Her lip curled, she did not fear death, only what could come next, "You've never needed my permission but if what you fantasize comes to life - the will of the Dark overtaking me - then you may deliver me to him early if it's what your sacred pattern demands." The last bit was snarked, she was young in this life which wrought enough bitter resent at the pattern she was made to have served until she tossed such playbook away. Each path came with its share of darkness, she had known this, but she still had to live with what came next.
"Powerlessness is a delusion, a lie entitled people tell themselves to justify their shortcomings. When you're "powerless", suddenly you have an excuse to be passive and let the actions of others wash over you like a tidal wave. 'Why act when I'm powerless? It won't make a difference.' That's how people think, allowing them to feel no remorse for their passivity. Or, as in your case, claims to powerlessness bring about greed. Born with a specific lot in life, instead of reflecting on why you believe you deserve more, you simply took more in the name of shedding your falsely perceived powerlessness. Entitlement made you forget that you were never powerless, Agnes. And the Dark One preyed on that flaw."
When Fharzai's eyes meet hers, there is no judgment or anger in them. There's also not his typical aloofness either. Pity brims in his gray gaze as he spoke the plain truth as he knew it. If Agnes made her choices to become strong, this was not a strength that Fharzai could see. Her existence, her drives, they were all incredibly sad to him and he made no effort to hide this much. "Understanding a moment in the pattern is never about that moment. The moments leading up to it, and the moments that follow, the people interwoven and the lives they led; seeing these connections play out and ripple across generations is the highest form of observing the pattern. Druids are not simply watchers, we are meant to guide in order to maintain balance. When I saw the Tower of Olympia shining as a beacon amidst great darkness, I didn't simply wait for that moment. I ran towards it, supported the witches, and advised the queens who ruled it from the highest floor. I got involved, and Lysara endured many hardships as a result. I am a singular figure, and I have no swarm from which to differentiate myself. I travel far and see more than most, gifts from the Veil. If that is complacency to you, then I am complacent." Though, Fharzai knew differently. The plight of the dùnedain was perilous, but they weren't victims. They all had a choice, they all took that step towards the Arches. They shouldn't have gazed beyond the Veil if they couldn't handle the burden. To Fharzai, it was as simple as that, and why, no matter how heavy his heart was, he kept moving forward.
"There's no shame in being weak. The shame is in staying weak. I have made mistakes, but I learn and I go on. What else is there? Regret, I suppose, but I have resolved mine. Have you?" The more she talked, the deeper the sadness in Fharzai's eyes grew. She could spin her choices all she wanted, but the truth came right from her lips. "Were you special to Him? The Dark One I mean. Clearly not if one choice is enough to lose his grace. You were special to the pattern though, and a mistake would not have seen it obscure itself from you. I am a testament to that. You are not strong, Agnes. You gave that up. You'll always be weak and grow weaker the more you defy his charge for you. Even if you were loyal, you'd still be weak. Denial will only weaken you further. It's a vicious cycle, one that I do not envy. But that's the cost of your choices. Accept them, and go on as best you can." There was no healing or comfort Fharzai could offer a genasi, and he had no desire to anyway. He'd defeated the worst of them already. Agnes was not capable of the harm Munin caused even if she believed herself to be. Fharzai knew exactly what to look for when assessing the threats of his dark counterparts, and seeing her now he could say with certainty that for all her sins, Agnes was not a threat. That was the saddest part of all, the fact that he could drink tea with a genasi and feel only pity and compassion, no fear whatsoever. "I will not take action against you," he responded, though some small part of him rejected this claim outright. "There is no need. You claim to have wanted to be set apart from the swarm, but who are you really? Who have you become? Distinctive? Distinguished? I think not. A butterfly with her wings plucked by her master while I am free to view realms you couldn't dream of in my life of "woes" and "doom". It's all very sad to me."
He sighs, sipping his tea before putting his cup down again. Whatever Fate had in mind for her, Fharzai couldn't help her even if he wanted to. He had compassion for her situation, but held no desire to guide her toward something better. There were souls more deserving of his attention. All he could do is make sure her darkness didn't infect them too. "You and Zagreus took actions that helped the queendom I view as my child, that is true, but many things can be true at once. How can you say with certainty that your resistance was unexpected? That your punishment isn't a part of a grander design? Do you honestly think that the Dark One is done with you even as you defy Him? I can't tell if that means you think too little or too highly of yourself. I am not the one being made to submit, Agnes. Service to the Light is strength, the only strength in this life."
note: hello my son in law and fellow red hand, this will get better
Their paths seemed only insistent to cross when on the battlefield, whether that was in Fharzai's genuine dreamscape or here, in this scope of the world. Lothar hadn't ever had the chance to truly chat with the dream druid, and considering he was never a man of many words, Lothar often didn't know where he'd start if given the opportunity. Fharzai had done a lot for the Iskarans, it seemed each battlefield Lothar was, so too was Fharzai, and yet he was of the Queensguard, too. He was one amongst the crowd of those Lothar scrutinized, but one who could sway how the barbarian truly felt about Lysarans as a whole it would seem.
"Fharzai," Lothar greeted gruffly, nodding, "So we finally meet outside of battle," the barbarian wasn't necessarily known for smiling but his tone was softer than normal, borderline kind.
Fharzai looks at Lothar with an unreadable and far-off expression, completely in character for him. But amusement trickles across his features slowly in small ways. A glint in his eye, a twitch of the corner of his mouth, the drumming of his fingers against his mighty staff; Fharzai knew he should've had a little more grace, but he couldn't help but see the humor in Lothar's statement.
"We know each other well, or at least we did in another turn of the Wheel. And I've seen you in your dreams, as well as mine. That's plenty of meetings if you think about it." He nods forward, walking with his usual, measured pace. Fharzai always had a lot to say, even if there wasn't much he'd tell, but in either case, they didn't need a stranger in the crowd picking up on too much. "This is your first Progress Day. How do you feel about that now that things are in full swing?" he asks, though his uplifted mood gives way to a more somber one with each step taken. "You should enjoy it. I fear moments of revelry will become rarer. Enjoy yourself as much as you can."
"It is for us to decide what we do with our lives, you know how I'll live mine." Fighting. There was nothing else and the more the pattern made itself available to them, the more clear it became that one battle would just be replaced by another. Alrik's place was in the field, winning the wars that others would lose - he'd died fighting in his last life, if the Wheel repeated itself then he'd die fighting in this turn too - and with a smile on his face.
He saw it, briefly, the image that the dreamer shared as he pressed his lips against Alrik's forehead. He never cared for the Tower, he'd known even when he lived in Iskaldrik that there were darkfriends waiting within, cut one down among the ranks of the Scholars of Juno, and now they had to be a part of the release of Valerius. The reality was that while Fharzai ingratiated himself and remained within the Tower, his life was in danger every day. The servants that filled his bowls of incense, the nobles he lectured about their antics, even the witches that shared his confidence. "So, that's a no, then." Alrik said, a sheepish grin at the corner of his mouth as Fharzai offered a very long-winded way of saying that he didn't know. "It's nice," he said, "finding out that you don't have the answers to everything-" his calloused palm curved the edges of Fharzai's jaw, "but something terrible is coming." Alrik confessed, "I can feel it."
"I do," Fharzai acknowledged with a sad smile. If he had stuck to his conviction and remained detached, Alrik's statement would've filled him with joy. The sadness he couldn't push away was inevitable. Battle was Alrik's calling and Fharzai would be doing the pattern and the witch he loved a disservice by interfering. The best he could do was remain a source of comfort during those few precious moments when Alrik could tuck his rage away. "You've done so well despite all you've endured. Every time you act in defense of the Veil, the world gets a little brighter. I know these battles can seem endless, but they aren't meaningless. And you never wage them alone."
Callings and purposes weighed heavy on Fharzai's mind, especially now that he was thoroughly involved with this turn of the Wheel. Time stretched behind and in front of him, guiding his insights in the present. There was much to see and tend to, but since he'd grown closer to Alrik he wasn't afraid to look even in the shadows that threatened the peace he sought to protect. "If I were omnipotent, Lysara would be a utopia of my design by now. But paradise to one could be Hel to another. I'm glad I'm neither all-knowing nor all-powerful. There's beauty in uncertainty. For someone in my position, it can sometimes be a blessing." The level of insights Fharzai held across minds and realms was a curse more often than not. Alone but never alone, he walked a fine line, maintaining balance in all things. However, he'd yet to scorn the fate the Arches showed him, though he was more inclined to take these private moments for himself than he had been previously. Alrik's touch was his solace, a temporary distraction from the stretching of his psyche. No dream could ever take the place of their physical connection. "No Alrik, you're wrong," Fharzai whispered, holding Alrik's hand close just for the extra comfort. "Something terrible is already here. What's coming will be far worse. I'm terrified, but I can't stop. What will come of us if my nightmares come to fruition? The Tower can crumble, but it cannot fall. Lysara wouldn't survive."
The monster is big veiled in shadow and with a gaping maw which revibrates a snarl, letting it's prey know that it is hungry and teeth surrounded her from all sides, large drool pooling on the ink jet floor, the dreamscape does not keep the accord of the natural world and although she is druidic, the dreamscape is not her realm and without the ebb and flow of Gaia, she is without her bearings, she can not feel the Earth underneath her feet or the wind upon her cheek and she feels lost.
The nightmare warns her that there is a monster that is waking, she knows the dreamscape and the waking world are intricately tied and she is too devoted to the pattern to dismiss the warning for what it is, a weave of magic that she can feel with a ache in her soul that will menace them and echoes of old, it is an ancient beast that haunts them, the darkness warning that the end times are near with the monster that stirs and a orb filled with crystalized light floats in front of her guiding her but it flickers, goes faint and the golden glow turns to a burning red, a vermillion shade that signifies bloodshed and fire, she knows the road ahead won't be safe and yet she must walk it anyways, the only way is forward and she is just a piece in the puzzle, a point within the pattern and a servant to the natural world, determined to aid in keeping the balance of the elements and to not let darkness conquer all. He appears before her in an instant, present where he was not before, a light is brought with him and it's different than the horror that causes her to shiver. He speaks, an offer that sounds like peace and a hand outreached, she takes it. "This nightmare visits me often, I fear it is a sign of what it is to come. Of the battle between light and dark, good and evil and I fear it will take every soul in it's demands. A dream would be lovely, hope is needed. Please deliver me."
Fharzai was incredibly sensitive to the nightmares of the Dùnedain, especially in these trying times. Fate somehow allowed Prospero to slip through his grasp. Perhaps if Fharzai had been more vigilant, he would've been able to inspire enough light in the primal druid's heart to prevent him from ever being tempted by the Dark. Saving Prospero's dreams was a high priority, but so was preventing others from being dragged down as well.
Fharzai gazes at Lucy with compassionate eyes and grasps her hand, understanding the plight of nightmares all too well. That's exactly why he was here. "We do not step anywhere by chance. Fate has decided now is the time for me to intervene on your nightmare. There must be a reason for that." Fharzai had his suspicions of course; the gravity the beast gave off told him that this was an incredibly potent nightmare. It permeated every inch of her psyche, allowing for not even a trickle of light to seep in. A genasi of his circle would use a nightmare like this to trap her mind and feed off her power, but that was the opposite of Fharzai's intention. This was his domain, and while she may have spent many nights as a victim to this nightmare, clearing it away was child's play for one of his circle.
Fharzai faces the nightmarescape with his eyes completely clouded over. Harnessing the power of the dream realm, he can send strands of mist to every corner of this terrible sight. The torch atop his staff glows as he raises it, but the light doesn't destroy the nightmare, it merely pushes it back. Slowly, the darkness begins to fold in on itself, taking all the pain and worry it wrought inward so that the plague could be contained within an ethereal prison. The mist strands constrict despite the way the nightmare fought to be free, and once it gets smaller Fharzai wills the malignant dream energy to become mist as well and dissipate into the ether. Now, the light shines in to warm Lily's soul. "No worse than the ones I endure those few nights I allow myself to sleep, but still pernicious in its own right. The monster has never tried to hurt you before, has it?"
Not being told information was always vexing, but there wasn't reason yet to show more than some disapproval in her eyes. Her brows furrowed. If Eridani had to find out more later on this agent of darkness, she would find a way. However, if that was not the point of this conversation with Fharzai she could put it to one side in favor of what was most important. She was nothing if not reasonable, patient and open-minded - especially with those she had reason to respect for one reason or another.
He extended his hand but Eridani did not take it automatically, instead keeping her eyes on him as she spoke and listening. Her mind worked to acknowledge many different things that she observed at once: his posture, mannerisms, tone, words, personality, known history and everything alike to try to give her a vague picture of how much she should be listening to the druid. She did not say anything, but it was clear in the way that her expression seemed to soften as he spoke of the abuse of intelligence that she nearly agreed with him.
Eridani finally reached for his hand. "You have my full attention and my cooperation, Fharzai." For now, went unsaid. The druid was good with words and she felt the need to know what information he was offering, but there was still a ways to go before she understood what was happening. They all had their own agendas and it wasn't yet certain if his aligned with her's. Until she knew for sure that she could help Lysara with Fharzai, committing to work with the druid just because she was very curious was unwise.
Fharzai stayed apart from the Game, a druid in his position had to, but that meant it was taught to him against his will as the years of his service to the Tower continued. For better or worse, Agents of Minerva were the ones to teach him how to play. Every witch who sported those blue robes after them was prohibited from receiving the depths of his knowledge, both in navigating the dream realm and in pulling information from the human mind. Fharzai was not a spy, but he had acquired more of Lysara's secrets than any Agent because no mind was closed to him.
He was who he was, but no amount of pettiness would cause Fharzai to put an Olympian in harm's way. When their hands touched, his eyes clouded over, and then Eridani's did as well. He gave her his lucidity, his wisdom and knowledge to temporarily hold onto so that her mind would not be overwhelmed. This wasn't some astral mission where she'd project her conciouness into the dream realm. She was going to walk as Fharzai did. Dream mist poured into the room as he called upon the power of his circle, forming a sigil beneath their feet that transported their entire beings into the dream realm.
He released her hand, letting her take in the swirling colors and floating dream creatures with her own eyes. They stood atop a floating hill, but there was neither ground nor sky in the dream realm. "With practice, your mind will remember how to project itself here when you need it, but for now, this is both the most effective and most dangerous way to help you learn to navigate. Lucid dreaming is not possible for you since you are not asleep. Remember that. No matter what you see or what you may face, you are awake Eridani." His warning came with a serious tone, though he did not elaborate on why. Fharzai looks off toward the distance before stepping off the hilltop in the opposite direction. It looked like there was meant to be a severe plummet, but he walked as if on solid ground. Ripples reverberated from each step, but Fharzai stood suspended without concern. "The laws of the waking world do not apply, though I implore you not to let yourself be overcome with the splendor of this realm. Normally, you only perceive a sliver of it through your dreams. The power that exists here can be incredibly seductive for witches."
"Sometimes, the men who rage the hardest crave the gentlest touch. Don't go blindly into the dark, in every one of us shines the light of love. Even you, my fearless rune knight..."
prguitarman
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