#fharzai.2

[alrikhart]

@fharzai location: Hrimthur's Wasteland notes: The first night after the last night

The sun set over the refugees' first night since their last night at Nornwatch. Caked in ash and weary, Alrik didn't fight the pull of rest, in uncharacteristic fashion he jumped at the opportunity to close his eyes. Somewhere in this dream realm was a man he could press for information on Alessia, his sister was taken and somewhere out in this gods-forsaken-wasteland she was alive. Alrik knew beyond the shadow of any doubt that Alessia had survived the attack, he would know if she was dead.

In nothing but rags the witch opened his eyes to the dark of the cavern once more, years' worth of grime clung to his skin as he pulled himself to his feet. Made of resolve, Alrik closed his fist and found the talisman that he'd been given when last the druid had come to break him from this spell. Where Alrik had remembered Fharzai in his waking hours, dreams held a different power, consigned to these caves again and again, now he shouted-

"Fharzai!"

Alrik pressed forward as he shouted again, clutching the talisman tight as the world dissolved around him. Disintegrating as he trudged up the hill that Fharzai had set him upon before. This time the mountain followed, blight followed the hill as the grass and the tree atop it were eaten away by decay. "Fharzai!" Alrik shouted for a third time, "Show yourself!" The witch had no power over this realm, but the other had been certain of himself before. "I know you're there." Quieter now, more to himself than anything, "I know you can hear me."

[theportaraceli]

Harsh advice is found aplenty in Aventia, so Araceli doesn’t allow herself to feel the blow of the stranger’s words. Instead, she takes a moment to absorb them, their meaning and their reasoning. She knows he is not wrong, and has long since known what she must do. She had chosen to delay the choice, hoping to save just another soul, to protect just another person; but they were not playing games. Aventia would fall, it was inevitable, but they needed to ensure that the blight did not spread any further. Borderreach might suffer a blow, but it is crucial that the rest of Lysara remains safe. If it falls as well… The thought is too terrible to dwell upon. 

“My ruin could come with either choice,” she says, thinking of how even if she makes the correct choice, what is to come won't be easy for her. She will survive, she knows, but if she looks back, she will be lost. “But I realize that it depends on how I act after I choose that will make all the difference.”

Time was not on her side. It wasn't on either of their sides, but instead of leaving like he initially wanted, her words have Fharzai hesitating. "Every second you spend deliberating takes you further away from the ability to have options. You don't have the luxury of worrying about choices being hard. You have to decide. And you have to do it now. You cannot have it all." Now, he removes his hood, revealing that despite his harsh words his eyes brim with compassion. "Tests of strength only come about when courage is required. And courage isn't meant to shine in the face of simple options. Courage only presents when people are afraid, at their lowest, and against impossible odds. You must find yours, but you do not have the time." Darkness was already closing in on her dream, demonstrating that as soon as she opened her eyes to wake, what she did would be her choice. "If I could offer more advice, it'd be don't make the choice that will lead to your ruin."

[alrikhart]

Addressed to: @prcspero

Location Delivered: Prospero's Estate, Lysara

Postmark: Ymir's Spine, Iskaldrik

Notes: Troupe 2 - Aventia's Fall, Post Munin's Demise

delivered by Valr

Prospero,

I write as the darkspawns' war drums beat ever louder. I owe you an apology for my words before I left. You told me once that the Wheel gave you a new family, but what's a family without a few disputes?

Aventia is in dire straits. The darkspawn have come, merciless and relentless. Their numbers grow daily, and they march now toward Haven. Alessia, Froy, and I have seen them moving, a tide of darkness that seeks to swallow the city. We must prepare or the wolves will fall. They took us in when we had nowhere else to go, I will not abandon them.

After I left you at Neptunalia I traveled to the druidic sites with Fharzai. I sought wisdom and strength among the ancient trees and those old stones. Those moments grounded me, and I realized my destiny is one I can still shape for myself. He helped me realize that.

The other night Fharzai was drawn into a battle against Munin - Lothar was there, Alessia, and many others. Iskarans and Lysarans alike, we killed him. He sought to unravel us, but we fought fiercely and prevailed. Each battle brings its lessons, and we grow stronger together. I know now that with our combined strength, we can face whatever comes next.

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. Know that I value the bond we share, even if I struggled to express it before. I will stand against the darkness for all of us and carry your spirit into the fight ahead.

ᛚᛁᚢᛖ ᚹᛖᛚᛚ, ᛈᚱᛟᛊᛈᛖᚱᛟ

Yours, Alrik

[alrikhart]

Neither of them could control what would happen in the days to come, how their lives might be interrupted, or how the battle against the Dark could escalate. Now, more than ever, Alrik felt called to a purpose that was greater than himself. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Lothar and Alessia against Munin - with many warriors and was stronger than he'd ever been. That was not nothing, that was everything. "The wheel weaves," came Alrik's simple reply, quiet as he came to his thoughts and organized them in the best form that he knew how.

Fharzai tended to Alrik's wounds and, as the warrior had a habit, he fell into a story, one of his own design that had been inspired since putting Nornwatch behind him. "Long ago, before the Cataclysm broke this world, there lived Eirúlfr, a warrior cloaked in the scars of countless battles."

Alrik's gaze flickered between Fharzai and the shadows of the tall trees that loomed around them. Ogreish, broad-shouldered, with a roughened, battered look; scarred features with the most recent at his forehead's crest. "He roamed the lands beyond mortal sight, called by whispers from Hel’s darkened shore. But unlike those whose spirits had crossed, his heart still beat - a man caught between life and death, bound to serve Nótt, goddess of night and secrets."

His raven hair, untamed and unruly, fell just above his shoulders and caught glints of the fading light. "Gifted to him was the Gleipnir Vow, a tether to Midgard’s soil as thin as a strand of silk, yet stronger than iron chains. Should he fail his vow, his soul would be lost to the unseeing void, trapped forever in silence."

A beard, kept short and trimmed, framed his angular jawline, here and there it clenched slightly as he paused between words, his hands working over an owl figurine he'd carved to keep his hands busy. "Yet, even among the dead, Eirúlfr felt the presence of Ljósdís, a mortal healer marked by Frigg’s grace and blessed with hands that mended souls."

Alrik had more scars and tattoos than unmarred flesh, each told a separate tale of survival: an arc across his cheek, a jutting ruin along his collarbone, partially visible beneath the loose folds of his tunic."He was a son of Hlin, keeper of peace, charged with the power to ease sorrow and bear witness to the suffering that even the gods dare not touch. His heart, though pure, carried a heavy sorrow from a past he dared not reveal."

There was a softness to his voice as he spoke next, low and somber, tinged with something raw and still altogether foreign. He moved a hand to cover Fharzai's and then brought it toward his chest. "When Eirúlfr first laid eyes upon Ljósdís, his light shone like the morning star in the heart of a storm. Though destined never to be seen by mortals, Ljósdís could feel the brush of his presence, as if a gust from Nótt’s cloak had swept across him."

His eyes - deep, black-pitch with flecks of distant and recently unearthed gold - met Fharzai’s, he smiled. "Under starlight, Ljósdís would murmur to him, and in Eirúlfr silent presence, he found solace. Bound by fate yet divided by realms, their love bloomed - a secret passion, a forbidden union in the lands of men."

A long, drawn beat drew Alrik forth as he brushed some of Fharzai's hair behind his ear with rough, calloused fingers that drew across his lover's temple. His smile was sheepish, but hopeful in a way; this love only ended one way, he knew as much, but Fharzai had been cruel enough to inspire hope where there had been none before.

"I am still working on the ending... but in the end, it was you who changed me."

Fharzai finally understood how violent Alrik's hands truly were. In the fight with Munin watching him quite literally beat himself into a frenzy was alarming for a druid who typically avoided conflict. Fharzai didn't even need to imagine how this fight in Aventia was any different. Beneath the runes, the muscle, and the red hand print on his chest, there beat a hero's heart even if it was often shrouded in darkness.

It's why Fharzai didn't hesitate to clutch both of his hands over the back of Alrik's, willing their flesh to get even closer. Even after all he saw, Fharzai felt so safe and grounded by Alrik's touch. It was apparent now that their fates had been tied together in more ways than one, so even in the middle of the wilderness with devastation not far off, Fharzai felt at home. "Together. I'll always find my way back to you. It's inevitable." Ensuring his giant, ogrish lover could feel peace when he rested no matter how intensely he went berserk was a part of the obligation that dwelled within his own heart, and one he cherished as much as he did this simple touch.

"Thank you. Thank you for inspiring me to fight, and for being with me even when you aren't. I wouldn't have survived my nightmare without all the courage and strength you gave me. Holding you close to my heart has … well, it changed everything. So thank you." His hair, eyes, and skin all swirled with the glowing colors of the heavenly bodies and still Fharzai could be seen blushing from the reddish hues he gave off. This was, in his closest approximation, love. But it felt selfish to claim it for himself with all the disruptions in the pattern occurring at once. One day, when peace returned to the queendom and they could just be, a sliver of happiness wouldn't feel so much like a betrayal of his duty. He would be incredibly busy when he left, but for now he was Alrik's and Alrik's alone. Fharzai needed to be more than Alrik could want, he was positive of that. "I'm sorry our vacation got disrupted. When the queendom is safe again, I want nothing more than to get lost in the wilderness with you."

[alrikhart]

There was the cruel thought that a dream might just be the dream, a product of a fractured mind that had been fragile from the start. Alrik hadn't seen Fharzai until after the attack - now that Alessia was gone he was seeing him again.

No. Alrik dismissed it; he felt it in the marrow of his bones that this dream was as real as anything the witch had ever held in his hands. The beating heart he felt under Fharzai's pulse wasn't imagined, and when he arrived in Haven the druid would be there waiting for him.

Another errant thought: even if this was a lie, Alrik was all too happy to be deceived.

This was the part where Alrik would have started reaching for layers, shedding them back, and peeling them away until the two of them were just skin pressed against skin. Instead, his touch lingered and his thoughts stilled as Alrik gave way to the moment instead, gave way to the soft movements of Fharzai's lips against his own - matching the witch's more dominant strides as he felt an ache that began to throb between his thighs; errant want and unabashed need.

There was more on his mind, like what Fharzai's gray eyes looked like in the morning when they were still lined with fatigue, or what those curls would feel like if Alrik turned them around his finger. He found himself wanting to ask the druid a myriad of questions - things that the man had been as stubborn as an Iskaran when it came to answering them. For a moment he was consumed by thoughts of the other, selfishly so as his lips spilled the story that Alrik's silver tongue longed to say.

Alrik felt his lips part to ask something- anything, he opened his eyes and saw the cloth of his tent above him. The twilight of dawn illuminated the material and an intrusive whisper rattled off the wind. He afforded himself a few moments of personal intimacy and then forced himself to greet the day.

Strength and resilience reverberated through Alrik as clear as his heartbeat. Those who fight, while supported in their own way, were hardly ever cherished to a keeper of peace. When powerful witches waged war proper balance became incredibly difficult to maintain. Fharzai despised conflict because he knew better than most that the aftermath could be just as brutal.

It was always him to counseled Warriors who returned to the Tower after battles. The human heart could only bear so much, and he'd seen it reach a breaking point countless times over. He no longer needed to imagine the chasms Iskaldrik was able to inflict upon its people thanks to Alrik. Cracks formed and widened day by day, only to be filled by further darkness preventing healing altogether. It was tragic in a way that he hadn't seen in Lysara and yet Alrik was not defined by what he endured.

That's what made him so fascinating, and made Fharzai want to learn even more. There was compassion beating beneath his sturdy frame, tenderness dwelling in his calloused hands. Yes, he was a warrior capable of going places even someone as powerful as Fharzai would dare go, but that didn't mean he was undeserving of peace before he encountered his eternal dream of golden fields and rainbow bridges. "If your preference is for darkness, then I will have to try that much harder to change your mind, won't I? Even if that means venturing further into the darkness you cling to."

The push he received from their conflicting ideals, the pull of his touch, they both served to stoke his fascination with Alrik. No part of healing this Iskaran would be easy and yet Fharzai was so sure he'd see it through. It may not have been possible to completely pull him free of the cavern that infected his dreamscape, but that fact wouldn't absolve Fharzai from trying.

His hands slid slowly, yet just as deliberately across Alrik's chest. It made it easy to grip his neck when Alrik kissed him, giving him something to hold on to as his breath was stolen from him. Fharzai's lips received Alrik's, his tongue relished in the taste. He embraced it getting deeper and even peppered more along Alrik's jaw as he spoke, not letting any distance slip in between them. "I here, Alrik. For however long you need me. This is your dream, your draumskrok, and I won't let it end until you're ready."

Stroking Alrik's hair and kissing his cheeks weren't just for the witch's benefit. This was the closest Fharzai had felt to another in such a long time. He didn't want the dream to end either. "I am here, I am real, and you are safe in this realm. I promise." With the glimpses of cold he captured from Alrik's consciousness, he knew as soon as the witch opened his eyes he'd be thrust back into the hell of survival. Fharzai felt Alrik deserved as long as a reprieve as he could get. So he craned his head and dove in to kiss Alrik again, drinking up every drop of passion Alrik could offer.

[alrikhart]

Affection and empathy sat quietly on either side of Alrik's lonely, they laced their fingers through his rage and made the flame feel colder now. Not empty, but warm, like it was something that he could sit beside without burning. Safe and contained in its circle of stone, it wouldn't crackle or catch, his world that had felt like ash was something more akin to falling snow and the comfort that a nice fire could provide.

Maybe this was the light Fharzai spoke of, but while a contained fire wouldn't serve him for now, he felt the other's hands over his chest and suddenly became cognisant of his own heart. Despite everything that he'd endured so far it was still beating within his breast, defiant and steady, he breathed again and looked at Fharzai with the same fixed certainly he had always brought to the druid.

Alrik's fingers found their trail, a path down Fharzai's temple, the height of the druid's cheekbone, then it fell only enough for his hand to settle on the other's hip, quickly joined in symmetry by the other. Fharzai's body fixed against his, Alrik asked the druid whose hands had landed on the witch's considerable chest. "And if you find that I prefer the dark?" Fharzai might wish to stand on the fringes of the shadow for a time, peering within and shining light on the corners that others couldn't see, but standing on the edge of the abyss and stepping forward were two different paths entirely.

Alrik didn't know how much of him was left and if there was anything that could even be saved. He was a rotted dog fed cruelty from the time he was a pup, that harrowing violence had settled within him and Alrik masked it all with a smile that showed his teeth. Fharzai would try, maybe he would succeed, but there was no Hart without the other half of it, and in the darkened parts of the pattern, Alrik did his finest work.

A secret tugged at the edge of his tongue, but he wouldn't speak it; Alrik had sworn vows against divulging secrets that could lead to the Old Woman and the order that Alrik was indebted. He thrived in the dark and the shadows that haunted him extended far beyond the cavern. Instead, Alrik braced himself against Fharzai, hip abandoned for the small of the druid's back, and the nape of his neck. He had something else to say before he died, so he pulled the druid's head toward his own and kissed him, tasting the light Fharzai was so fond of spelling.

"Stay." For as long as the dream could hold them, so he might awaken rested and prepared to face whatever brutal cold these Wastelands had to offer. He'd march until his feet bled, until his mind fractured further until the blood on his hands passed his wrists - until he was bathing in it. Alrik kissed him again, deeper now.

"Be patient with me."

Fharzai found himself slipping into a bad habit that hadn't gripped him in decades. He didn't experience intrigue and fascination like most people. Curiosity shimmered in his eyes, turning his gaze from distant to directed right at Alrik. An unplanned tether, he wouldn't be able to look at the witch any other way until he understood every thread that made up the Iskaran's fabric. Fharzai wanted to know what it would take to unravel him, weave him stronger, stitch the gaps, and clean his tapestry. He desired to see Fate shift around him and converge as he walked a path even the druid himself lacked the courage to. He needed to learn how this moment was even possible.

He pried last time, only a little, and by all accounts, there was no reason someone as willful as Alrik would be willing to leap into Fate like this. Fharzai could tell that it didn't come from a place of desperation, Alrik was willing to take a risk. His heart was still capable of hope, cynical though he may be. The gravity of such a truth was not lost on Fharzai, and internally he vowed to not squander such a gift.

"Hold me to my word, call when you need me. The Iskarans won't be abandoned. You won't be forgotten. I know what I must do to balance the scales, and so I shall. I want–" Fharzai had to stop himself. Saying too much could've been dangerous, especially since the threads connecting them seemed to span so much further beyond them. Their meeting wasn't random, it was an act of Fate and his eagerness to see Alrik's pattern play out almost got the better of him. "Haven? Yes, I had a feeling it'd be there," he says rather cryptically, also not bothering to finish his interrupted thought. However, an uncharacteristic amusement graced Fharzai's features. He knew he'd have to get closer to the Mist for what he needed to do. Any of the druidic sites would do, but when a tether tugged for his presence, Fharzai it as the sign it truly was.

And he had a sense that this wouldn't be the last one. He was starting to feel an atmosphere of auspice when he came to Alrik's dreams. "One year. One year of restful nights without relying on my protection. If I can give you that, then I know you'll be saved from your shadows for good," he says, finding himself either unwilling or unable to end their proximity. Fharzai welcomed Alrik's touch, nonverbally inviting it with his own. Hands smoothed down the witch's neck until they rested at the center of his chest. "I say this knowing the mountain of darkness that haunts you. It will be no easy undertaking, but fortunately for you, I am very patient. No one is beyond saving, Alrik. Not even you. I'll weave as many dreams as I must until your spirit learns to do it without me."

[alrikhart]

Fharzai's age and the expanse of his influence was still unknown to Alrik, how far those gray eyes could see, and how far his reach could go remained beyond him. Alrik had already resolved himself to put his faith in the druid and he had no doubt that there were others among the refugees who'd taken to alternative methods of contacting the outside world. He had to believe that there were others looking for them, others fighting for them - Alrik was inherently pessimistic, but in this he chose to look toward the light. Perhaps Fharzai's influence on him was more tangible than Alrik had originally believed.

"There's nothing to forgive. Do what you can, that's all I'll ever ask." Breathed against the other's skin, Alrik suddenly became cognizant of their proximity. The Iskaran didn't think much about the physical, simple release, and temporary bliss were just a part of life - but he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever felt close to someone in this way that transcended just their physical proximity. It wasn't anything to entertain now, he couldn't even be sure if the druid had considered the same errant though - but those gray eyes continued to hold Alrik's attention, and the feeling of Fharzai's frame against his own was far from undesirable. Fharzai's touch raised the fine hair at the nape of Alrik's neck, bristling as telling static crept up his spine.

But now wasn't the time. As long as Alessia was in danger Alrik couldn't consider much else, at least nothing with the gravity it warranted.

The hands of someone who wove magic like a commoner breathed air landed on Alrik's temples. Across his synapses the druidic protection fell across his mind, threads of tightly woven spirit that were far more intricate than someone like Alrik could ever comprehend threaded over him. It was warm at first, then faded, the spell was present but not hidden from the witch's purview. It wasn't a trick and while he would never allow someone else to meddle with his mind, his mind was the only place where he could find the druid in front of him.

"Iskarans hold people to their word, I won't let you off easily." Alrik reprised what he'd threatened the first time the druid had wandered into his dreams. "If you don't, there's no end to the depths these horrors might drag me to." Fharzai was the light, deigned by design to find him here, Alrik accepted that now as he accepted that all things happened for a reason. His fingers brushed some of the other's hair from Fharzai's face, the witch's cadence low as the rough, calloused fingers of a blacksmith's son moved against the smooth expanse of golden skin that stretched the length of the druid's temple. "Meet me in Haven." That was the word of where they would land, Alrik knew little of the city of werewolves, but if they had a soft bed where he could land, then he would look forward to its embrace. Fharzai's as well.

Fharzai was more than a man. He made his choice to walk this path long ago, knowing just how perilous and lonely it would be. He was set apart so he kept himself apart. Besides another druid, there wasn't a soul alive who could grasp the weight of what he saw and knew. As such, this fracturing of his world hit hard even though he carried on. No one could know how much he was suffering, not when the very balance of all he held dear was in jeopardy.

Moreso than his shock at the ease with which his experience fell from his lips was his surprise at Alrik's comfort. Both that the witch could manage it and that his embrace felt good. Tranquility washed over his astral form in a way that resonated intensely with his body. "A warning. My dark reflection, the result of a waver. A reminder that the pattern is as it should be," Fharzai mutters in response, realizing he'd allowed himself to be haunted by the image of his Keeper brutalizing him to sift properly through the nightmare he endured. He knew exactly what he saw and that made the situation of the refugees more dire in his eyes.

Who knew how many more minds that abomination resided in. The Iskarans could've been harboring great darkness within their ranks, but that was a matter for him to resolve. Fharzai was the only one who could stand a chance against that thing, which meant that his time being idle was over. Looking into Alrik's eyes, he was reminded of his purpose in this pattern. "I have more sway than you know. Even if I have to arrange the aid myself, help will reach you. Keep holding on, this message will get passed along."

Something clicked within Fharzai's spirit as he said those words. It was like his dream unfolded before him with absolute clarity. He knew the steps to take and harbored no hesitation. The fear was there, but it wasn't debilitating anymore. He remembered who he was, permitting him to realign his spiritual center. Once he did, Fharzai pushed his hands down the length of Alrik's strong arms until he cradled the other's face as well. Except, his wasn't just a tender gesture. Fharzai's palms glowed brightly for a moment, pushing back whatever remnants of Alrik's mountain of shadows remained.

"I'll need to continue weaving protections into the minds of the other refugees, but hopefully this will protect your mind from an incursion by dark agents." He'd seen enough of the minds fleeing with Alrik to deduce that none possessed the skills to fight the abomination if it returned. In fact, Fharzai may have been the only one on the continent who stood a chance, which meant he really did need to embody Alrik's courage moving forward. At least now, even in this dream, holding Alrik's hands against his face made him feel close to the witch's unwavering beating heart. "Your own nightmares are a different story, but once I've gotten you and your sister to safety I'm sure we can begin healing you. I've not given up on you yet, Alrik. So if you can forgive my absence, trust I won't leave you alone again."

[alrikhart]

Fharzai was the measurement of calm when they had last spoken, confident in his stance in the light. Now, the druid was as shaken as the many who'd landed in Nornwatch Keep weeks prior. Alrik didn't take any pleasure in this, he hadn't been proven right, but the strength of the dark was not so easily dispelled. Some emissaries of the dark worked across the same dreamscape that Fharzai traveled. It sounded as though the other was just as formidable.

Gray eyes searched his own as Fharzai stammered, describing the attack. It incited something visceral within Alrik because for as much as he had shown the other his own darkness, it was only to cement the validity that the Hidden One was best suited to defend people against it. People that now included Fharzai, it seemed, because the thought of the druid being attacked, when he was only trying to help, made Alrik want to put his fist through the nearest wall.

He moved in and seized the other, the rough, calloused palm of Alrik's hand found the back of Fharzai's neck as he pulled the druid into the crook of his own. A strong arm wound its way around the other as he held the druid against his frame. Alrik's heart was steady and strong, certain and made of resolve. "You did what you had to do." Blood was blood and taking any life came with a toll; when faced with the all-consuming darkness that wanted nothing more than to tear a man's soul asunder, all a person could ever do was fear. The strength it took for Fharzai to stand his ground spoke volumes of his resolve. "But think," Alrik pleaded, he whispered as he spoke, "do you know of anything tied to the dark or the blight - or both, that could do this? That could overpower you here?" Fharzai was old, Alrik had garnered as much and was well-trained. It was clear that the dreamer knew his way around this realm.

Alrik released the other but only so he could cradle the man's face between his palms, staring up into those gray eyes with the cold, blue hues that were irrevocably tempered by the dark forge of his back. "Then don't abandon us." Alrik beseechd, he did not know if he would regret what would come from his mouth next, but he put all the faith he had left in the druid, speaking in absolutes, unwavering in his intent. "Tell your Queen that the King of Iskaldrik still lives, that refugees are moving through the pass, and to send aid to the Lostlands."

It was Alrik's courage and resilience that Fharzai lacked, though one would think after centuries of life he'd develop more grit. He'd tended to his nation, nurtured her along the right path, and created stability in the region for all citizens. He'd grown too comfortable soothing their worries and erasing their nightmares. Fharzai could see that now thanks to Alrik's plight. He would have never known how ill-prepared he was for the shifting wind without the witch.

Yet he still found himself struggling to find the right words. How much should he share? Would saying one thing tip the balance too much? Alrik was on a journey of his own and Fharzai feared yanking him from the thread that charted his course, but he found no other way to convey what he survived besides the truth.

"It was sent after me, when I attempted to walk the dreams of one of the Legion's commanders. Her dream was dead, consumed by–" Only at that moment did Fharzai realize he still couldn't find the correct words to encapsulate the blight he encountered, so vacuous was its darkness. "It didn't want me to see. I was rendered powerless, and then it sent that ... thing after me. It was a nightmare but it hurt me. I couldn't escape because its hold was so fierce, and when it dragged me to the waking realm I had no choice but to follow. I fought all night Alrik. I ... I didn't have a choice."

It felt unfair and unbalanced to lay so much on Alrik with all that he had to deal with, but Fharzai hadn't explained the depths of his ordeal to anyone prior. Once the words started, they continued to spill out. Alrik's measured response was so shocking that Fharzai actually felt to check his seriousness. "Alrik please..." He couldn't bear to risk darkening the witch's dreams with more turmoil, but he also remembered that he was dealing with a will more ironclad than most. Fharzai settles his spirit before continuing, "...tread carefully. There's a chance it afflicted others. I'm sure I wouldn't have been so frightened if I had even an ounce of your strength. I'm sorry that I stopped dreaming and listening for your call. I won't anymore, I feel secure in your dream." It was a lot easier to flee from his own nightmares within Alrik's scape, however, Fharzai would not ignore the path Fate was so clearly weaving before him. "I will admit to you how shaken I am only because we are in this realm. Still, I will do what I can to help you and the Iskaran's. All of them. I'll borrow your courage if I must, but I won't abandon you again Alrik."

[alrikhart]

The hair on the back of Alrik's neck stood on end; Fharzai was here, he knew that the druid was here. Somewhere just out of sight. He observed a butterfly blotting out pools of shadow with ripples of light and shouted again, making demands of a man that he still knew almost next to nothing about. Alrik's magic was primitive - laughable even - when compared to what this druid seemed capable of. If he had the other's power then he'd have already used it to track down Alessia, to converse in the dreamscape on the best course to save her.

One of the peaks blew away, sand from a shore cast adrift with the careless toss of a hand. Whatever darkness followed his heart was nothing compared to the problems he faced now. He didn't care for a debate between the light and the dark, stories traded over the world of dreams while somewhere in the real world his sister was being put through Odin knew what. Alrik had said once that he was not for sale, that he'd die before he traded his soul for a wish - but if Fharzai put a devil in front of him tonight he'd have given more to see Alessia to safety.

"Take me to my sister. To Alessia: she was-" Alrik's voice was cut short for a moment as his breath hitched before he steeled himself once more. "She was taken by the darkspawn a few nights ago, I've been looking for you ever since. I called but-" Again the witch cut himself short, Fharzai had said he would come when Alrik called, and he'd believed him. Even now Alrik still chose to believe him. "Why didn't you come?" It was only now that his intuitive eyes took in how the other appeared different, haunted in his own way though Alrik had no way of discerning anything about the druid that was physically off. It was a feeling, one of the sixth senses that told a person when their known world was now slightly off-kilter. He stepped in, unbothered by proximity as he wondered if Fharzai had been caught up in the attack somehow as well. "What happened to you?"

He wasn't better–-he'd never be "better" again after the attack–-but at least he was well enough to face his duties again. A Dúnedain of his circle who refused to dream was no better than the agents acting against Fate's pattern. Fharzai closed his eyes and embraced the wave of the realm he commanded.

He was missed. Fharzai's own dreams were a see of visions stories for there was always something occurring in the dream realm and his absence was noted. By the time his spirit was able to rise above the tidal of his own scape, he was able to see the myriad of festering nightmares that had multiplied while he cowered. The dark traveler did a number on his body, his mind, and his balance, but he couldn't let it be known how rattled he was. Fharzai couldn't help but think he was still being watched as if his nightmare could come back and take control at any moment. In a way, the streaks of light that reached out to him from the dreamscape sky were a strange comfort. Fharzai reached back, touching them knowing that they carried his name in their spectrum.

Floating in one place and then another, his movement throughout the dream realm was as abstract as ever. Perhaps it was out of shame for his shortcomings, but at first, Fharzai didn't appear as the visage of himself. He was a butterfly, flitting around to sprinkle light around the dark peaks that clung even tighter to Alrik than before. Between flaps of the wings, his spirit appeared as himself again, though with his back turned to the witch so he could touch the source of this rot himself. "Hello, traveler," he said somberly before shattering the mountain blotting out the light. "You're carrying around much more than last time..." Shadows still stretched across the hill, so Fharzai got to work weaving a better dream even as he turned unable to wipe the piteous look in his eye. "I should have done more, but I am glad you remembered my name. Surprised, pleasantly so, but glad. Were you calling for long?"

[alrikhart]

Alrik's eyes flickered open, the cool breeze carrying the scent of blood and ash from the fallen city of Aventia clouded the air above him, even from the distance he'd put between himself and the marred fallen city. Lysara was scarred now, just as Iskaldrik was. Fharzai knelt beside him, the druid's hand resting on Alrik's chest, a soft glow emanating from his touch. The rune knight's stern gaze met the druid's, and he offered a subtle nod of acknowledgment as the warmth of Fharzai's touch rippled along his skin. Already the places where his body had been split began to mend as tendrils stitched and tethered Alrik back together.

"Fharzai," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that quivered faintly like the thunder tattooed into his skin. He covered the druid's hand with his own massive, calloused one, pressing it firmly against his chest. The red handprint scar etched into his skin seemed to pulse with a dull ache as he thought briefly of Munin and what had transpired. Alrik did not understand it, but he knew that they were connected in ways that had not yet fallen into place.

Alrik sat up, his massive frame shifting with a subtle grace that belied his ogre-like physique. Above them, Valr circled lazily, her keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. Alrik reached out, his heavy hand cupping Fharzai's cheek. His gaze held the druid's, as he retained the same characteristic, Iskaran resolve. Intonation clear. "Together," he said simply, his voice filled with unwavering determination.

who?: @alrikhart where?: on the way back when?: after the fall

Aventia had fallen and Fharzai had slept through most of the siege. He had his own battle to wage, and while he'd mourn the Olympians who lost their lives, he wouldn't slow down. The boundaries between the realms he walked were even thinner for him now, making it easy for him to follow the thread around his heart through the dream realm. Someone was dreaming near him, someone who was hurt in more ways than one. Fharzai found their dreams and opened an onieric gate from their dreamscape, entering the waking world with the shimmering light of The Lumina flowing through him.

Dreammist swirled where he stepped, washing over the brave fighters in the area, healing them and granting them sweet dreams in equal measure. Fharzai's glow intensifies without brightening as he steps closer and closer to his favored warrior. All members of The Band were important and had roles to play, but Fharzai would always have extra time to give to one in particular. For Alrik, he would fall to his knees beside the witch's sleeping body and place a hand directly on his chest, healing every injury and strain he got while fighting. "I wish you could've tasted victory in this realm too," he says, his voice twinkling like starlight. "But I hope you aren't plagued by this defeat. You survived, and that is enough for now I promise."

[theportaraceli]

Nightmares followed her, both in the waking world and beyond. The weight of the decisions made and of those yet to be made settled over her shoulder with every damning breath, as the realization of what she had to do dawned clearer with every moment that passed. Stubbornness born from her childhood in Aventia and her own plans keeps her at bay, but the decision looms closer every day. The choice has already been made, she knows. Her mother does as well. It looms above them larger than life, a silent understanding of what must be done if they want their people to survive. 

But it had been Araceli who had taken control of the Aventia soldiers, it had been her that had interacted with the leaders of the other factions. 

It is her choice to make, and she knows she will make it. 

All she needs it’s a push. 

The push comes from the least expected direction, her dreams shifting from a nightmare full of misery and screams to a road of diverging roads. 

“Hello,” she greets the stranger politely, bemusedly. She is in the stage between dreams, not knowing herself asleep or awake, so she thinks it’s best to show respect than to risk offense. Looking away from the stranger, she finds her gaze lingering on the path leading to the black flames, the lights within shining oh so bright and hopeful. Pressing her lips together, she takes a shuddering breath and drags her gaze away and towards the darker path. “I know the choice that needs to be made, but it’s hard. Hard knowing it’s what must be done, hard knowing all that will be lost regardless.”

Her childhood and its dreams, the streets that she traveled while young. She discovered the world in Aventia, and now she would lose her world to build a future. It must be done, for a city can be rebuilt but the people cannot. It must be done, but never let it be said that the correct path has to be easy.

who?: @theportaraceli where?: the dreamrealm when?: the siege babey

Only recently had he woken again yet the dreamrealm was screaming for his help. Fharzai had quickly gleaned that the situation in Aventia had worsened during Munin's nightmare, but hope wasn't lost. He could still make a push with the light the pattern chose for him. Fharzai was more confident on his walks now, entering their dreams and understanding their situation more deeply than ever before. He wanted to weep but remained steadfast beneath the hood of his cloak. Nightmare plagued their sleep and the glowing light of his staff illuminated the darkness. Where he stepped, a peaceful dream would blossom. They would have a chance to enjoy it later in the night, but for now Fharzai had to help them adjust course. "Hello, traveler," he greets her as the last of the nightmare is washed out. "You're taking too long, it's time to go." She'd understand, his words were pertinent to the life she led. Fharzai still felt he shouldn't directly interfere with the paths of the living, but he'd push to the furthest limit his personal code allowed. What his words could not convey, the two paths stemming from her feet serve to represent. One led to a cluster of lights so close she could count each individual one, all set ablaze by hot black flames. The other led to a light far off in the distance, one she could barely make out at all. He felt the path she needed to take was clear, but the choice was ultimately hers. "One leads to ruin, the other salvation. You cannot take both and the longer you wait the likelier you'll get to choose neither," he says, pounding his staff down to pull dreammist to him. He had other paths to walk though he was curious to see what choice she specifically made in the end.