#taps watch at SE...crafted SoS weapons WHEN!!!

[aethernoise]

I wanted to call this "Azem's Arsenal" but didn't want people to come at me with "actually this is from SoS which means it's actually Elidibus" even though his WoL form was probably inspired by Azem and the (player) WoL. ANYWAY. Have fun!!

[salavante]

If you're still doing the OC asks, Patroklos?

So Pat is actually @saltineofswing‘s character, so I drew him, but Jacob filled out the questionnaire. And it’s super duper beefy - it’s pretty much an entire rundown of what the Threnghelleon muses are, how Patroklos operates, what his powerset and backstory is. So if you’re in the mood for some world building written by my better half and Co-DM, indulge. (My questionnaire for Wybjorn was filled out like five months ago, before Patroklos existed in the fiction, so I’ll take the opportunity now to say that I also am very into Pat and Wybie as a couple). 

Full Name: Patroklos, Poetic Muse of the House of Camaraderie

Gender and Sexuality: Male, Bisexual

Pronouns: He/Him, but like with a couple of the other stranger members of the Threnghelen sphere of divines, probably wouldn’t be put off by They/Them

Ethnicity/Species: Patroklos is a Threnghelen Muse, a race of beings that were created by the Threnghelen Pantheon and tasked with bringing inspiration, hope, motivation, and sometimes madness to the mortals of Threnghelleon and its Dominion. The race of beings known as the Threnghelen Muse is assumed by all members of Threnghelen society (save a very select and clever few) to be some sort of lesser deity; in the same way the members of the Circle of Glory were born when Jovix Diocunigast first experienced various emotions and conceptualized various ideas, the Muses supposedly popped up when mortalkind began to conceptualize complex ideas.

This is not true.

The Muses are actually a strange race of ‘quasi-real’ beings from the Unknown that feed off of emotions and other similar existential experiences, which is hard to explain; they can’t manifest in the physical world and can only be seen by gods and other divine beings. They’re really more like tulpas than anything else. Threnghelleon has a series of Houses and Bloodlines into which the Muses are organized, based on the domain over which they hold sway (and therefore the things they feed on); the Bloodlines are Dramatic, Poetic, Sacred, Epic, and Tragic. The Houses are the House of Pain, the House of Conflict, the House of Camaraderie, the House of Love, the House of Lore (or ‘history’), the House of Innovation, and lastly the House of Fear. Muses of the Epic and Tragic bloodlines are naturally more powerful than the others due to Threnghelleon’s system of values, and Muses of the Sacred bloodline become more powerful when tasked by a divine being.

The Muses of the House of Fear are the oldest Muses on Threnghelleon... and are also the strangest and most powerful. They’re the ones responsible for creating the others, developing the lie about what their race actually is, and had some very interesting early influences on Threnghelleon. More about that another time.

Patroklos is, as mentioned above, the Poetic Muse of Camaraderie; he is Also, incidentally, the Sacred Muse of Camaraderie. It’s not super unusual for a Muse to have two domains, but Pat is a bit special because Sacred, Epic, and Tragic muses are rarely double-classed, so to speak. He also doesn’t know that he’s actually a descendent of an extradimensional eldritch thoughtform.

Birthplace and Birthdate: Some time in the early ages of Threnghelen mortal history, after the conveyance of a spark from the Flame of Kaer Rhûndor to mortalkind and before the Red Age that spiraled out of the Bloodbath of Warns. Like many other Muses, Patroklos was created when some of the members of the Circle of Glory had a ‘spark of inspiration’... in other words, the Muses of the House of Fear planted the idea in the heads of the Threnghelen pantheon. As far as the Gods know, the Muses were ‘crafted’ in a secret forge somewhere on the White Hill, aka purgatory. The truth is a lot weirder and more gross.

Guilty Pleasures: Patroklos is not a terribly guilty person. He is very Shakespearean (all of the Muses are, they’re kind of like a Shakespearean chorus) in his temperament and preferences, and has sort of a classical stage actor’s grace and manner. Patroklos is effectively a phantasm, a being that lives exclusively in the Veil who is unable to directly manifest on the Mortal Coil, and so he’s never experienced eating or drinking or sleeping or any of the things that flesh-and-blood critters require.

But, Patroklos is very fond of watching people; the Muses have nothing to do with their time besides watch people, and if that sounds creepy it very much is! Patroklos is very nosy, he likes to eavesdrop and is a bit of a gossip, and watches people he likes more than he probably should. Whenever Patroklos and Wybjorn talk, because it’s usually in a dream, Patroklos usually goes on one ‘You won’t remember this when you wake up, BUT’ tangent and gossips about stuff he shouldn’t. Patroklos likes to watch people living their lives and going about their day-to-day. It’s something he, as an incorporeal spirit, doesn’t get to experience, and so he lives vicariously through others.

Phobias: Dying! Patroklos is in kind of a precarious spot right now. Threnghelen Muses can be killed, it’s just very very hard to do – and not only that, you have to kill them not once but twice. First, a Muse must be killed, usually by a divine being or enchanted weapon. They then become a Choral Spectre, trapped in the Veil or the Astral Plane, and they slowly lose the ability to leech energy off of their associated domain. In this state, a Muse is not only vulnerable to all of the nightmarish beings in the Unknown (where thoughtforms are made as real as anything in the Unknown can get), but also slowly starves to death. Patroklos is Once-Dead after appearing to Ethem-Cailo in a dream and trying to convince him to return to a more righteous path, and Ethem-Cailo had a tantrum and accidentally ‘smashed’ Patroklos with Mjolnir. Now, Patroklos is trapped in the Unknown, hiding from both the Helmsman and the many ghosts, horrifying Leviathans, and other monsters that the Glorious Incandesca attracts as the Wild Hunt skips from dimension to dimension.

Patroklos is also deathly afraid of being forgotten, as most Muses are; this sort of ties into his fear of death, but a ‘Forgotten’ Muse will eventually become a Choral Spectre and die anyway. Patroklos and the other Muses of Camaraderie were mostly utilized by Ethem-Cailo during his glory days as the God of Aspiration, but Patroklos saw less and less play as time went on and Ethem-Cailo became more bitter and nasty until he stopped being called on by Ethem-Cailo at all. By the time the Wild Hunt rolled around most of the Muses went undirected by the Gods, doing whatever weird bullshit they wanted and inspiring mortals however they saw fit, and Patroklos was kind of seen as an oddball by his siblings because he never indulged that chaotic impulse and preferred to be summoned before meddling in the mortal world. As a result? Not a ton of friends.

What They Would Be Famous For: Patroklos is, as all beings in the Threnghelen Pantheon, revered by the mortals of Threnghelleon. Patroklos was one of the more popular Muses of the House of Camaraderie, especially before and after the Red Age, and had a couple of shrines devoted solely to him – an honor usually bestowed only upon Epic and Tragic Muses, and Muses that were direct children of one of the Circle of Glory. This is partially because of his frequent partnership with Ethem-Cailo; the two were very good friends, and Patroklos was the Muse responsible for helping him with the famous Squiring of Raske Callhand – an extremely famous championship boxer/wrestler and the first mortal to receive a favor from the gods.

Additionally, Patroklos was one of the main Muses who helped Ethem-Cailo to develop the Art of Bardic Knowledge ability, by which an individual can tap into the poetic narrative of a ‘real-world’ event and verbally convey it with a magical visual accompaniment. The other involved Muses – the twin children of Awnrah, Feste and Fidele, Epic and Tragic muses of House Lore – were plenty helpful and ostensibly more powerful than Patroklos, but Patroklos put in the most time and effort on the project, who really wanted to bring Ethem-Cailo’s vision to life. As a result, he is usually cited as one of the primary creators of the art, even to this day.

What They Would Be Arrested For: Trespassing, evading/resisting arrest. Probably can’t get ARRESTED for this per se, but he might be the type of person who could get in hot legal water for breach of nondisclosure contract.

OC You Ship Them With: Wybjorn, full stop. Patroklos had a thing for Ethem-Cailo way back in the day, an unspoken crush that he never acted on and then squashed when Ethem-Cailo began so aggressively and pointedly denying his attraction to men after the Raske Callhand Fiasco. He never really got over it, even when Ethem-Cailo joined the Wild Hunt and started becoming a shittier and shittier person; Patroklos sees Wybjorn as another chance to connect with an old friend, in a way, and Wybjorn has a lot of the best aspects of Ethem-Cailo that made them such good friends in the first place. When Wybjorn tells Jovix-Cailo that Jovix-Cailo is the one who ‘stole his life’, and not the other way around, Patroklos is one of the things included in that umbrella. Now that Wybjorn is free of Ethem-Cailo’s influence and is developing into his own person, Patroklos can reforge a relationship with a person he has missed dearly, and who has in turn missed him just as much.

Patroklos also risked his life to bring Wybjorn back from the boundary to the White Hill after Jovix-Cailo almost killed him in the massive battle at the end of the Hunt, painstakingly breaking into the afterlife to drag Wybjorn’s soul away from death like some kind of super-romantic Orpheus and Eurydice bullshit. As seen in this illustration. If Patroklos had been noticed by Yawg-Cherogmoth, Keeper of Souls and guardian of the afterlife, he would have been exorcised with extreme prejudice.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Ethem-Cailo killed him, on accident, in a dream – which as described above has actual consequences for a Muse. But aside from that, Patroklos spent a LOT of time hiding from the Helmsman and other gods who could see into the Veil or the Astral Plane; if the Helmsman had caught a whiff of Patroklos skulking about in the Unknown while the Incandesca traveled from dimension to dimension, he probably would have pulled Patroklos apart just for funzies. Wybjorn was also genuinely concerned that Corvicarius, the Head Bitch In Charge God Of The Unknown Everywhere on Road-Prime, might just squash Patroklos like a bug for having rode in with the Wild Hunt and being a foreign being. Corvicarius assured Wybjorn that, especially because Patroklos helped save Wybjorn, Patroklos was safe so long as he didn’t fuck around with anything too important.

Favorite Book/Movie Genre: Anything with an extremely strong through-line of friendship and camaraderie. Patroklos enjoys a good romance as much as the next person, but he just loves it when two characters have that Unbreakable Bond and don’t need to have a romantic tryst in order to validate their relationship or dedicate their lives to one another. It’s literally the equivalent of fine dining to him.

Least Favorite Book/Movie Cliche: When someone is only providing love, friendship, and support with a clear sexual or romantic motivation. That shit is scummy. He also doesn’t like when one person has a painful crush on their best friend, but lets it go untended and then dies or loses their chance and has to live with the heartbreak. That one just hits kinda close to home.

Talents and/or Powers: The Muses all have a really peculiar selection of powers, and Patroklos is no exception. Most of the Muses’ powers are more suited to subterfuge and manipulation, and don’t really lend themselves to an out-and-out fight.

For starters, Patroklos’s natural state is one of invisibility and intangibility; if Patroklos somehow makes his way into a physical body he’ll lose his ability to become invisible, but the ability to become intangible is one he’ll never lose. Even then, he’ll still be very talented in the art of astral projection.

As a Muse of the House of Camaraderie, Patroklos has an affinity for ‘inspiring’ others in ways that bolster friendships and forge bonds. Individuals may find, while Patroklos is around, that diplomacy becomes much easier to achieve, group infighting is at a minimum, and compromise becomes easy. He is good at soothing tense situations and his suggestions, as they pertain to building positive bonds/smoothing over aggression/stabilizing relationships, are supernaturally difficult to ignore. But that’s not all he can do – it’s just what he prefers to do. All Threnghelen Muses are capable of, effectively, performing inceptions on people; planting a seed of an idea in someone’s mind, so seamlessly and flawlessly that they can’t distinguish it from their own idea, is the truest and most sinister power of a Threnghelen Muse, and Patroklos has used this power to his advantage and the advantage of Ethem-Cailo liberally in the halcyon days of Threnghelleon’s society. A Muse’s silver (golden) tongue is nothing to underestimate. At their most powerful they could even ‘inspire’ oh, I don’t know, the most powerful and Glorious god in the universe...

Otherwise, Patroklos has a minor ability to manipulate certain probabilities; he can influence events to maximize the amount of ‘camaraderie’ that is displayed by the individuals involved, such as altering the path of a bullet just enough to keep someone from dying in the act of sacrificing themselves for another, or ensuring that a strike made to avenge or protect a fallen comrade hits true. He could influence the ease with which someone rushing to the aide of a friend or loved one arrives at their destination, or keep someone with ill intentions (or bad timing!) from screwing up a tender moment between friends by impeding their progress. This power is relatively weak and can be easily superseded by more powerful divine domains – such as Glory’s ability to never lose, or Derog’s influence on the outcome of a conflict, or Ethem-Cailo’s ability to ensure someone achieves their aspirations. But this particular ability skyrockets in effectiveness when he is tasked by a divine being... which is why he and Wybjorn/Ethem-Cailo made such a good team.

Patroklos is capable of appearing to people in dreams and, while doing so, can control their level of lucidity and what they do or don’t remember about what occurs while he’s visiting – as I mentioned earlier, he starts a lot of really catty gossip digressions with ‘You won’t remember I said this when you wake up, BUT–‘.

When it comes to stuff that doesn’t have to do with his House or Bloodlines, Patroklos is an incredibly powerful teleporter – he can teleport almost indefinite ranges across spacetime and, more impressively, interdimensionally. Patroklos teleported from The Veil outside of Road Prime all the way to the Threnghelen afterlife without making a pit-stop in the Threnghelen mortal coil, which is an extremely difficult and precision jump that he was able to pull off (there and back, in fact) intuitively, without assistance, and without screwing up.

(Fun fact: when a Threnghelen muse teleports, their body goes first, and their eyes and teeth go last – so for a moment as their body fades away like a ghost, their giant golden eyes and teeth remain hanging in midair before they, too, disappear.)

Patroklos is technically a race of being native to the Unknown, and not hailing from any particular planar cluster; as a result he has an innate knowledge of how to travel in the Unknown. Which might not sound very impressive, but consider: the Unknown is a literal nonsense place, where the laws of physics conditionally rely on the perception of the individuals moving through it. The Unknown works off of dream logic and is endless. If you get lost in the Unknown, you are doomed to wander aimlessly forever until you forget who you are, where you came from, and what you were doing in the first place. So, the ability to intuitively find your way in the Unknown is an absolute necessity to traversing it.

Touching on the above, Patroklos can also just... make people get lost. He discovered this ability while hiding from monsters in the Unknown. You could be standing in your front yard and walk to the mailbox... and then you’d find yourself saddled with the unsettling horizontal vertigo of not knowing where you are or where to go, and wander the perimeter of your lawn for an hour and a half until the fugue state wore off and everything was suddenly familiar again.

Patroklos is also a talented shapeshifter, capable of transforming into a near-flawless imitation of any person that he has seen before, regardless of how much taller or shorter they are (within reason); he can also mimic voices so long as he’s heard them, and although it’s not part of the power set Patroklos is a naturally gifted mimic – he’s good at picking up body language, verbal and physical tics, and mannerisms, and that’s just a personal trait of his. The one problem with his powers: no matter who he changes into, his insides will always be made of gold. This is an ability that didn’t see much play back when the Muses were confined to Threnghelleon, but out in the Unknown any advantage is an advantage. Patroklos does have a ‘True Form’, additionally; it’s something rather terrifying, to the point that Patroklos explicitly told Wybjorn not to look at him while he tore his way into the White Hill to save his soul from crossing over. Based on the horrific ripping, grinding, and clicking noises, Wybjorn gauged later that obeying this request was the right choice.

(We’re almost done here, I promise, but I’m a perfectionist with this stuff.)

As long as Patroklos is in a spectral form, he is actually capable of possessing a mortal or a weak enough divine being or manifested spirit. It’s a difficult thing to maintain, and he can’t do any of his other tricks while possessing someone, but even in his current state it’s very doable.

LASTLY, Patroklos is one of the best in the game at utilizing Bardic Knowledge. By invoking Bardic Knowledge, Patroklos is capable of tapping into the ‘narrative’ of an event, a conflict, or the history of a person/place/thing. In this way Patroklos has a sort of limited omniscience; he can ‘feel out’ how things are going to go, or why things have happened, especially as it pertains to interpersonal conflict between friends. Like a lot of stuff that is related to or touched by the Unknown, Patroklos is very good at Knowing Things He Shouldn’t as a general sense, but it has a lot to do with the choral element of his being and his Bardic Knowledge – the narrator needs to know a lot of what is going on, and when Patroklos inhabits the role of the Unseen Narrator he can grasp the narrative in a very complete way, even if he isn’t completely omniscient. This is also helped by his ability to invisibly watch people from the Veil and his ability to move from place to place almost instantaneously.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Patroklos is unfalteringly loyal, has a great (if slightly strange) sense of humor, and is extremely supportive and optimistic. He’s really FUNNY. He’s got a rapier wit and has a very complex grasp of wordplay and humor. He’s very charming and crafty, but he is not very pretentious or self-inflated and is quite humble. In familiar company he’s boisterous and fun-loving, even if he’s a little shy around new people. He’s very good at conveying information and loves to tell stories. Patroklos has big theatre kid energy, he’s very dramatic and playful. He tends to be very earnest, is open with his feelings, and listens very well, but he’s not blunt and does his best to phrase things positively instead of negatively.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Patroklos is a HUGE gossip. A detrimentally huge gossip. Although I think he could keep his lip zipped if somebody told him some kind of huge secret I think he would have a really hard time keeping it to himself. Patroklos usually gets away with this because he can make people forget the stuff he tells them but that’s only when he’s invaded somebody’s dreams. The downside to him having a very open and earnest personality is that he doesn’t hide his feelings well, which can be problematic if he’s also too shy or humble or nervous to voice an issue he has. He’s kind of noisy, which can rub people the wrong way – not everybody has a high tolerance for loud and high-energy people. He also goes through moods where he can be very eldritch and strange, displaying his fickle and fae nature and doing weird shit just to amuse himself (‘Here, hold this’, he says apropos of nothing, and pulls a live centipede out of his coat and hands it to you). He is absolutely the type of person who points and laughs when somebody does something dumb or embarrassing and wouldn’t be above talking circles around someone because It’s Funny.

How They Change: Patroklos has gotten quieter, for sure. He’s matured a lot after his ordeals in the Unknown, and although he hasn’t lost his goofy side he has become much more mild-mannered and melancholy. He’s also taken quite a hit to his bravery; I wouldn’t call him a coward, but he’s become much more practical and keen to avoid fights, for obvious reasons. When he lived on Threnghelleon he was very immersed in their culture, and since being trapped in the Unknown his strange side has really taken over. Patroklos doesn’t really miss his home, although he does miss some of his siblings and the people he was friends with. Overall, though, Patroklos is a very new character; I only created him about halfway through the campaign when we were kinda fishing for more content to stretch it out with. How he’s going to change is largely contingent on how he’s treated and what happens to him; Wybjorn is going to go on a very romantic quest to figure out a way to return him to life, so I’m sure that will also have an effect on him.

Why You Love Them: Patroklos is just a lot of fun! He’s kind of swashbuckling and dramatic – all the Muses are named after Shakespeare characters, and I did it on purpose to inform the kind of feel I wanted them to have. They’re kind of meant to evoke that strange, ethereal, fun weirdness that some of that old theatre stuff is so rife with. I also really enjoy playing around with his weird-ass powers and his nebulous, lovecraftian undertones and behaviors. Patroklos is also a really cool character to bounce Wybjorn off of, he brings out certain qualities in Wybjorn that I think are a bit underplayed when Wybjorn is in other situations where he’s not the main character and provides a very interesting pathos to play around with between these two ancient beings that, in some ways, have wrapped all the way back around again to young men.

[codynaomiswireart]

“Gauze in the Wound” - Part 14

[“Public enemy number one, right?  In case you didn’t get the headline, or unless you’ve been living under a rock this whole time.  Oh!  Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing you there at the battle in Old Corona.  Too scared to come to the aid of your precious royals were you-?”]

In one sense, Varian’s quip hadn’t actually been completely off the mark.

While Xavier hadn’t been “living under a rock” per se on that fateful day, some would claim that he often had his head in the clouds with tales of lore and legend, which – ironically – sometimes lead him to places underground; deep beneath layers of earth and rock and stone.  On the princess’s birthday – one of the few days in the year that the blacksmith had off work – Xavier had devoted nearly all of those precious hours to investigating further the underground chamber that contained the legendary Demanitus Device, as well as the ancient seals that held Zhan Tiri’s demon followers at bay.  Xavier had of course noted the damage done to the seal that had once held Sugracha the Eternal, but fortunately no others seemed to have been damaged as badly as that one was.  “No worrying about any more demons today,” Xavier thought to himself with a sigh of relief as he turned from scanning the walls of the chamber.

It was also upon exploring this chamber further that Xavier came to find a chest hidden underneath one of the stone stairs.  Xavier had accidentally discovered it as his foot shifted loose the stone slab that covered it (nearly taking a tumble himself in the process), and found it contained several old tomes written by Lord Demanitus and his followers!  Some of which seemed to contain hints about the legendary Demanitus steel!

Naturally, the blacksmith spent hours in that chamber pouring over the tomes’ contents, jotting down in his own notes anything that seemed to bring him closer to achieving his life’s dream.  He also found references to living weapons and metal soldiers (very likely automatons and other such creations), elixirs the likes of which Xavier had never dreamed possible, and – most curious of all – encoded messages that seemed to indicate a forgotten city or kingdom far away to the east, and always the repeating symbols of the moon, the sun, something like a comet, and what appeared to be teardrops of some sort.

It was all most intriguing to be sure.

“Oh, is it that time already?” Xavier had finally asked aloud through a yawn as he looked at his pocket watch through tired eyes, and saw that the time was now nearly five o’clock in the morning of the day after.  He had literally been up all night.  Though Xavier knew he would be paying for it later, he couldn’t help but feel like he wouldn’t have wanted to spend his time any other way upon such discoveries as this.

“Best head back up then,” he muttered to himself as he stood and stretched his back and shoulders, both having gone stiff after sitting for several hours on the hard stone floor at the base of the Device.  While Xavier was not looking forward to making the climb back up so many stairs with his heavy treasure trove of books slung across his back in a thick burlap sack, he couldn’t help but feel that a good several minutes of step exercises would also be good for his now nearly numb legs.

“Take heart now Xavier ol’ boy,” he couldn’t help think to himself as he huffed and puffed his way up the many steps, and felt trails of sweat trickle their way down his brow as he went.  “It’ll be worth it once we get up there.  Just wait until his majesty finds out about this latest discovery!  This has truly been a great day in the history of Corona!” 

…But not even ten minutes later, Xavier had emerged back into the breaking dawn to find just how much of a disaster the day had truly been for the kingdom... 

The first sight that met Xavier’s eyes upon emerging from the underground tunnels was the entire palace square in complete disarray, with splintered wood, twisted metals, and torn canvas and play nets scattered all over the place.  Xavier looked about him, wide-eyed in bewilderment as he saw that several of the townsfolk had been working to clean up the mess, but now nearly everyone had gone still and were murmuring in nervousness to one another as all eyes turned to the troupe of soldiers returning from Xavier knew not where, and with one of the prison carts being pulled along gravely behind them.

What on Earth had happened here?

“Excuse me!” Xavier called out to one of the townswomen nearby, whose daughter clutched tightly at her skirts as if seeking comfort and protection from some enemy that might jump out at any moment.  “What’s going on here?”

“Oh Xavier, there you are!” the kindly woman exclaimed as she turned to him.  “Where have you been?  We looked all over for you when the king had called all of Corona’s capable fighters to arms for the assault, but you weren’t in your shop and-and we thought-”

“Wait, an assault!?” Xavier asked in alarm, nearly dropping his sack of tomes.  “Where?  What’re you talking about?  What’s happened?” 

There was a long pause as the lady stared back at Xavier with surprise, and her daughter nuzzled in closer to her mother’s side.  “Y-you mean, you didn’t…you haven’t heard that-”

But the townswoman never did finish what she was going to say, for at that moment the prison carriage came to a stop in the middle of the square, and everyone nearby went dead silent as the guards Pete and Stan unlocked the door, and dragged the reluctant occupant out from inside.

Xavier’s jaw dropped, and he felt his heart go cold and shocked inside of him as he saw whom the guards brought out of the wagon; the increasing daylight glinting meanly off a set of iron handcuffs clinging to his wrists, and the sunbeams casting a stark shadow across his hostile, defeated, tired, tearstained, and ice-cold eyes.

It was Quirin’s son - Varian!

If Xavier hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would’ve had a hard time believing anyone who told him that Quirin’s young boy had caused so much danger so as to be forcibly brought back to the castle in chains, and that the mess that greeted the boy and his raccoon companion as they existed the cart was of Varian’s own doing from only a few hours before.  But there was certainly no denying this, and while a dozen questions still buzzed about in Xavier’s brain about what exactly had transpired, there was one thing Xavier knew for certain as he saw Varian’s eyes dart briefly to the faces that surrounded him, and then turned to remain looking straight ahead in a hard glare as he was led away through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea to allow the guards to pass by with him; all eyes burning into Varian with mixtures of fear, anger, bewilderment, and some even with downright disgust.

Xavier was seeing a ghost.  A hollow shell.  A sad, twisted, angry, frightened (yes, frightened, even despite the pure rage more clearly seen), and broken version of what Varian had once been.  Xavier had once heard it said that the greater, more talented, more pure, or more powerful something was – whatever it was – it was all that much worse whenever it went bad.  Angels that were fallen were said to become demons, monarchs that were corrupted became tyrants, wizards that opened themselves up to evil became wicked warlocks, wordsmiths that applied their craft for propaganda became false advertisers at best, blacksmiths that once applied their trade for protection became engineers for bloody warfare, etc.  Xavier had figured that perhaps there was some wisdom to this idea (one who deals with weapons perhaps couldn’t afford to ignore it), though he had been so blessed to live in a land and a time where such drastic examples seemed so far away, that he hadn’t given it much thought really. 

But now, just seeing what had become of Varian…and thinking of how he used to be… 

Xavier felt an involuntary chill run down his spine, and felt as if a heavy stone sat in the pit of his stomach as he saw the state of that soul reflected in Varian’s eyes in the brief moment the boy passed by him, and Xavier felt his heart break and sink in tandem with the castle doors shutting behind the guards, with Varian locked in on the other side, and perhaps never to be seen by Xavier or the rest of the world ever again.

“…This cannot be…” was all that Xavier could think as the crowd began to mill about again, and most of the townsfolk resumed their cleanup attempts while they muttered and whispered to each other about the dangerous wizard that the guards had just succeeded in capturing and locking up.  Xavier could hear a few words here and there expressing some sort of concern for Varian (mostly due to his youth more than anything else about him), but most of it went something like: 

“Well, thank goodness that’s all done with!”

“I’m so glad the guards got him when they did.  Whew!  I know I’d never have been able to sleep through another night if that crazy kid was still on the loose with his monster.”

“Well, we don’t have to worry about him any more.”

“Such a shame really – Quirin’s only child and he turns out like this.” 

“What would his father think of him if he were still here?  Absolutely mortified I’m sure.”

“That little whipper-snapper is really gonna pay for the damage done to my stall, I can tell you that!”

“Insane I tell you!  Absolutely cracked!”

“Now you see, this is what a real overreaction looks like!  Huh!  And you thought I was such a drama king while we were courting!”

“Xavier-?”

Xavier found himself starting as he felt the gentle hand of the townswoman tap his shoulder, snapping him out of his keen eavesdropping as he met her concerned eyes and those of her daughter.  “Are…are you ok?”

“Oh!  Y-yes,” Xavier lied.  “Just…thinking, that’s all.”

“Mm,” the lady hummed in understanding, and now also caught sight of the large sack Xavier had been carrying over his shoulder.  “What’s all that you’ve got there?”

“Oh!  Uh, well,” Xavier stammered, suddenly now realizing he had all but forgotten his great discovery over these last few minutes.  But also now, suddenly…it didn’t seem to be all that joyful of a thing to him at that moment.  Not after all he had seen. 

“It’s…just a little something I found last night.  I was going to bring it to show his majesty.”

“Oh, that important huh?” the townswoman replied, trying to project a sense of normalcy into the current dim mood around them as she feigned interest.  “Are you going to show him now?” 

“Erm…no,” Xavier managed to say, shifting the sack back over his shoulder to a more comfortable position.  “No.  I…His majesty has enough to attend to right now I’m sure.  I’ll just drop it off real quick back at my shop and return to help everyone here where I’m needed.”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” the townswoman replied, and now moving to carry her daughter in her arms as the little girl yawned, exhausted.  “I’ll be back too.  I just want to take my little one home now that I know it’s safe to go back and leave her there.”

“Yes of course,” Xavier said.  “And-and do tell me more about what happened here later would you?”  The woman agreed, and she and Xavier bid their quick good-byes as they each attended to their respective errands. 

As Xavier trundled his way back to his shop, his sack suddenly felt a lot heavier than it did before.  He wanted to convince himself that it was only from being so tired, but he just couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that.  Everything suddenly felt a lot heavier after all that just went down, including the tomes’ contents hanging over his shoulder.

…And in more ways than one…if Xavier’s hunch was somehow correct…

And what a twist of fate if it were…

Xavier shook his head.  “None of that now,” he tried to tell himself as he continued on down the lane, and tried to prevent himself from thinking too hard about it.  “Besides, you don’t even know if you’re right, and there are more urgent matters at hand.  All of that must wait until another day…”

But now, it seemed, that day may have come, and as battle exploded onto the field before his eyes on this very night, Xavier had never felt a situation to be more precarious in his life.  And he was terrified about how it may end.

If his hunch was correct that is…and if he was forced to use it as a last resort.

The world burst into pinks and blues before Varian’s eyes as the vials he had thrown exploded in midair, and several arrows and crossbow bolts became trapped within the sticky consistency of the gooey, cotton-like cloud that formed upon the vials’ implosion.  Having successfully shielded himself from this first round of projectiles, Varian went dashing in behind Ruddiger, who had managed to crash his way through the main line of separatists, and sent several of them flying and sprawling around the clearing as he bowled his way through the crowd.  While Varian could hear a few sharp yelps of pain escape Ruddiger as a few arrows and bolts stuck into his shoulders and forelegs as he went tearing into the enemy line, most of the arrows and bolts either bounced off Ruddiger’s thick hide and hard skull, or else gave him no more trouble than if he were running through a cloud of toothpicks.  Apparently, while the male spy had certainly thought a lot of things through upon Ruddiger donning his feral form, he hadn’t counting on Ruddiger being quite so hard to take down initially.

If they weren’t in such imminent danger, Varian would’ve almost wanted to take the time to gloat over what a spectacular tank Ruddiger was in his attack form.  But as it was, there was too much happening too fast to even begin to think about any sort of boasting.  For after shielding himself from the first volley of arrows, Varian was now forced to engage in some hand-to-hand combat as several of the separatists’ scattered forces now made to attack him directly.  Varian had learned a few basic offensive and defensive sword moves from Quirin (as Quirin had insisted it was good for Varian to know these sorts of things when living in a village right on the border of Corona), but Varian never took to it very extensively.  That was why, despite his rage, Varian also felt a faltering in his courage as he brandished his Demanitus steel sword from its sheath, and soon was looking into the faces of two agents who were now nearly on top of him with their own weapons drawn, the silver steel of them glinting in the moonlight above his head.

But then, two things happened almost at the same moment, which soon renewed some of Varian’s confidence in how this battle may turn out for them.  The first thing was that one of the agents had suddenly dropped his weapon with a cry of surprise, and staggered back as an arrow from off to Varian’s right hit the man’s weapon smartly on the handle, causing him to grip his wrist in pain as the shockwave of the strike went up his arm.  Queen Arianna had made a direct hit on his weapon and disarmed him, and was now rushing in to take him on herself, leaving Varian only one opponent to worry about for the next few milliseconds.

“Don’t even try it boy!” the Saporian agent growled at Varian as he made to lock swords with the young alchemist. 

But as their blades made to cross each other, Varian came to discover perhaps another good reason why Demanitus steel had gone underground the way it did for the last several centuries.

…It was insanely powerful.

While Varian had little doubt that the Saporian agent before him must’ve been more skilled than he was at hand-to-hand combat, Varian found after only a few strokes exchanged that once he was able to land a direct hit on his enemy’s weapon, the Demanitus steel sword would cut the whole of the other steel cleanly in half, just like it did with the black rocks and the amber.  With a quick “swang” and a shower of sparks, the Saporian agent cried out in alarm as his two-handed steel sword was in the blink of an eye cut down to the size of a knive, and the tip of Varian’s sword barely missed grazing his nose by a few centimeters.

For a second, both Varian and the agent were frozen still, their eyes each darting quickly from the severed blade to each other’s faces as they each took in the marvel they just witnessed from the dark sword in Varian’s hands.  But while they both had witnessed the same marvel, their resulting expressions couldn’t have been more different, as Varian’s face suddenly lit up with a new exhilaration that perhaps only the irrational thrill of battle could bring about, while the agent opposite him had a look that definitely indicated words going through his mind that Quirin would’ve considered too vulgar for Varian’s young ears to hear.

The next moment, the agent was retreating with a scream to where several other of his comrades still advanced with weapons, with Varian right on his heels, and letting out his own caterwaul of delight.  Already Varian was reaching to grab another set of alchemy vials with his free hand, and made to repeat the previous process of launching them at his enemies, and then attacking with his sword once he was shielded and they were distracted by whatever bizarre chemical reaction resulted from their shattering. 

“We’re doing it!” Varian thought excitedly as the world again exploded into color in front of him, and he ran in slashing his way through the cloud of pink and purple smoke that rose up before him.  Again and again he felt one weapon after another cleave in two as they met the strikes of his own dark sword, and Varian began leaving a trail of angry combatants as they were left struggling in vain against the sticky substances that kept them rooted to the spot where the stood trapped and unarmed.

“We can actually win this!”

Xavier struggled desperately against his bonds as battle began waging around him, and he managed to duck just in time as several Saporian agents went flying over his head as Ruddiger bashed his way through them; the great beast scattering their forces like ten pins as he charged and swiped around him in a feral frenzy.  Looking frantically around him, Xavier soon saw the glimmer of a battleaxe dropped nearby him, and he quickly set to the awkward work of cutting the ropes that held his wrists behind his back. 

“Thank goodness they didn’t use irons,” Xavier thought to himself as he began to feel the fibers of the cords cut loose.  But just then-

“Oh no you don’t!” a deep voice bellowed in Xavier’s ear as he was seized by the shoulders, and the battleaxe was picked up by another man.  “You’re not getting away from us that easil- GWAH!” 

Xavier cringed as he could’ve sworn he heard the sound of a few ribs cracking as Ruddiger charged himself headlong into the man holding Xavier hostage, and with a quick swish of his ringed tail sent the other agent with the axe sprawling onto the grassy turf nearby.  With a quick nod of gratitude to Ruddiger before the beast again turned back into the fray, Xavier quickly worked again at getting his bonds off.  After a few more tense seconds (which felt more like whole minutes in the heat of battle), Xavier was able to get his hands free, and soon made to join in the fight himself as he quickly weighed the battleaxe in his aching hands.  While Xavier was of course one for vouching for any non-violent solutions to things before resorting to any physical confrontation, he also was not opposed to engaging in self-defense or the defense of others when the need called for it.

“Just hang on you two!” Xavier thought to himself about the queen and Varian as he began to take on the Separatists from behind, and found himself locked in combat with a couple of them as Ruddiger continued to bite and scratch at the enemies around them.  “Hang on!”

Meanwhile, Arianna was making excellent use of her bow and throwing knives in the fight.  While the scattering of the Saporian agents by Ruddiger had made it more difficult for her to guarantee hitting a target, it didn’t stop her from enacting whatever long-range support for Varian and Ruddiger she could give.  It was alarming work trying to switch quickly back and forth between her bow and her knives so constantly, and to avoid hitting her own allies by accident, but Arianna had been able to manage it before when battling pirates out on the seas near Gushambai, and also when taking on a clan of rogues just outside of the city of Vardaros.  True, she was a bit rusty, but Arianna found her confidence boosted when she disarmed several agents from across the way, and succeeded in pinning another against a tree with a couple well-aimed knives.  For the most part, she was able to successfully keep any combatants well enough away from herself so as to be safe, and to also cover Varian as he slashed through the Saporian armaments with his sword, and immobilized many of them with his many concoctions. 

But soon enough, Arianna found herself facing an opponent that required a bit more effort to defend herself from than a few well-aimed throwing knives, and she was forced to draw her twin sabers as he approached her.

“May I have this dance, your highness?” the male spy asked mockingly as he rushed forward, and soon he and Arianna were both in the fight for their lives.

“I must say your majesty,” the spy began between strikes, “‘tis a shame that you are indeed Corona’s queen.  What a waste it is to have such a noble and capable woman associated with the stain that is that pathetic kingdom and its disgraceful king.  If things were different, I’m sure we all certainly would’ve loved to have you as an ally to our cause.”

“If things were different,” Arianna retorted as their swords locked with one another, “I would have you and yours all rooted out from across the Seven Kingdoms, and all memory of Saporia would be blotted out from history.”

“Oh?  Is that so now?” the man replied with the sneer, the two of them pulling apart.  “And what’s stopping you from doing so now?”

Now it was Arianna’s turn to sneer back.  “Because I’m not like you and yours.  I’m better than that.” 

Immediately, the man’s sneer vanished and was replaced with a hard scowl, and he and Arianna were at it again, with Arianna feeling the strength of anger that now poured into the man’s strikes against her own. 

A few moments of hard combat later, a long, loud, and shrieking cry could suddenly be heard across the way, along with a brief glow of blue light, though Arianna wasn’t really able to take in either of these things as she and the male spy continued to go at each other.

“Ah!” the spy managed to huff out between parries, and a smile could be seen briefly flickering across his features as he blocked another one of Arianna’s attacks.  “If I’m correct, I believe that signals your time is just about up now, your majesty!”

Varian would’ve hated to admit it, but he had been downright giddy for the last few moments of the battle.  He remembered experiencing something similar (at least for a time) when he had been in the Battle of Old Corona on that one fateful day…but he didn’t allow himself to dwell on those memories.  Instead, Varian embraced the feeling in the here and now, and with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, and with his sword cutting through the Saporian’s defenses with such little resistance, it was little wonder that Varian found himself enjoying things perhaps a bit too much. 

“VARIAN!”

Upon hearing the calling of his name, Varian snapped out of his glee for a moment as he turned to find Xavier now running to his side, and the blacksmith roughly shoving away a Saporian fighter with the handle of his battleaxe.

“Xavier!” Varian exclaimed, though any further happy greetings were interrupted as the two of them were forced to stand back-to-back with each other as more agents came crowding in on them.

“Ha!  What a night for a rescue, huh?” Varian said through his giggles as he braced himself for the next wave of attack.

“Varian, get a hold of yourself!  This is serious!” Xavier scolded him harshly over his shoulder as he parried another warrior’s thrusts, not at all liking the euphoria Varian seemed to be getting from the battle experience.  “What were you thinking!?  You and her majesty- y-you two shouldn’t even be here!  Do either of you have any idea what could befall Corona if either of you got-?”

“Well that’s not very grateful of you,” Varian interrupted, though Xavier could hear the smile in Varian’s voice as he said it, and as he sent another volley of vials at his opponents.  “Ha!  See?  Bull’s eye!”

“Varian, please!” Xavier tried again, now very stern.  “You’re not thinking clearly!  You need to get out of here now!”

“We’re all getting out of here!” Varian shouted as he again crossed swords with another agent.  “I’ve got the Demanitus sword!  We can do this!”

Xavier again opened his mouth to reply, but he never did get to say what he was going to, for right then, on horrible cue, the tides of battle changed in an instant as a horrible cry broke through the dark night around them.

Somewhere, in the corner of his vision, Varian caught sight of Ruddiger rear his head back, his mouth opened wide in a loud, shrieking cry, and then the great animal dropped down hard on the turf as his form was simultaneously engulfed in a light blue glow.  Varian and those nearby all shielded their eyes from the bright light, and as Varian blinked in the ensuing darkness that came as the light faded, Varian could just make out the silhouette of the lady spy standing dark against the starlit sky, and holding up high with one hand the limp form of a de-transformed Ruddiger.

The lady spy held her cutlass up to the raccoon’s ragged form, and its sharp blade glinted a bright silver in the moonlight.

The euphoria Varian felt only moments before vanished instantly, and it felt as if the world stood horribly still for an eternity as he took in the sight of his friend hanging helplessly in the hands of an enemy that had a blade to his throat.

“NOOOO!” Varian screamed, and without even looking to see what he was grabbing, the young alchemist ran and chucked forward in the lady spy’s direction whatever vials he managed to grab from his pack, and hoping, praying that whatever happened next would somehow be enough to save his dear friend.

“NO VARIAN!” Xavier cried, and tried to reach out and grab Varian, but he was too late, and soon he and Varian were separated again as Xavier was forced to block the blow of another fighter attacking him from the side. 

Varian, meanwhile, threw vial after vial at the lady spy, but these all proved futile in any attempt to hurt her as she expertly dodged the ensuing explosions of green and yellow flames, and came to alight on a stack of boulders a few yards above Varian’s head, perching herself just over Varian who looked up helplessly at her as she continued to hold Ruddiger up by the scruff.  For a sickening second, Varian was certain the next thing that would meet his eyes would be the lady killing Ruddiger right then and there in front him, just out of Varian’s reach to be able to do anything.

Just like that terrible day, all over again.

But instead of bringing her cutlass back to Ruddiger’s limp form, the lady spy instead surprised Varian beyond all belief by simply letting Ruddiger go; the raccoon’s limp form dropping like a sack of potatoes towards the ground.

With a quick yelp of alarm and without even thinking, Varian immediately dropped his sword, and slid forward so that he just managed to catch Ruddiger in his arms before the poor little creature could hit the turf.  Words are slow, but in the few milliseconds that followed, Varian registered several things.  One was that Ruddiger was still alive and still breathing, though his breathing was shallow, frantic, and frightened.  Two was that Varian could also feel something warm and wet soak into a spot on his sleeve where Ruddiger’s fur made contact with it.  At first, Varian thought Ruddiger had suddenly wet himself in fright from the fight and the sudden fall (which Varian would not have blamed him for at this stage), but when he realized the truth, Varian rather wished it had been what he thought it was at first.  For in an equally horrible fraction of a second, Varian realized that what he was feeling wasn’t urine, but blood.

Ruddiger had been wounded, and he was bleeding!

But the next thing that hit Varian like a horrid thunderclap was that he was no longer holding his sword!  As Varian began to look around desperately for it, he suddenly felt himself being jerked upright from behind, felt Ruddiger fall out of his grip with a dull thud, and after a brief moment of struggling against the arms that held him, Varian went still as stone as he felt the cold, sharp side of an ebony blade – his blade –  press itself up against his neck.

“LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS!” the lady spy shouted to Xavier and Arianna passed Varian’s shoulder, and the both of them froze in horror as they saw her holding Varian against herself with a sword at his throat.  “BOTH OF YOU!  NOW!”

“NO!” Varian wanted to shout, but the feeling of the sword against his throat prevented him from trying to make any sound come out.  “NO!  NO NO NO!  WE…WE HAD THEM!  WE DID!  KEEP FIGHTING!  KEEP GOING!  WE CAN DO THIS!  WE CAN’T LOSE!  IT-IT CAN’T END LIKE THIS!  WE JUST HAVE TO KEEP-!”

But Varian could only stare at Xavier and Arianna wide-eyed as the both of them after a tense pause dropped their weapons, and each held up their hands in the air.

“No…” Varian repeated again in his mind, now feeling himself having to struggle to hold back any tears that threatened to emerge as it all began to register.

They had surrendered.  The both of them.  For him.  And the battle was over.

They had lost.

“No, please no!” Varian thought desperately, trying once again to wriggle his way out of the lady spy’s grasp, but it was no use as he could feel her grip on him tighten further, and he felt his legs turn to pudding as his skin detected the moisture of the first drops of blood his sword drew from anyone.  Of course those drops would be his own.

No.  The word repeated itself again and again in Varian’s mind as both Xavier and Arianna were also roughly grabbed now, and several agents moved to tie them both up as Varian too felt his hands being moved to behind his back, and Ruddiger was still left lying stunned on the grass.

“Heh, so sorry little brother!” the lady spy hissed in Varian’s ear as she drew the sword away from his throat, and Varian could hear some of the other agents begin to jeer and laugh at Xavier and Arianna as they too were taken prisoner.  “But don’t worry.  You and your sword will be used in a most worthy cause I guarantee you.  You’ll see.  And not only did you bring the formula to us too, but you even brought the very queen of Corona herself!  Ha ha!  I’m actually almost jealous of you, if I’m honest.  Do you even know how many Saporians would’ve loved to be in your shoes right now?  There’ll definitely be a big promotion waiting for you once you see reason and can- whoa!  Hey, don’t give me that look!” the lady spy scolded as Varian looked up at her with an expression that was borderline on grief-stricken.  “Yeesh, they really did do a number on your brains didn’t they?  You look almost if you really just betrayed your best friend or something.”

 “What?” Varian just barely managed to think as he registered her words.  Was…was that really how he looked?

Was that really how he felt?

…Yes.  It was true.  Varian had hardly any idea how, but he did feel that way.  And what was worse, it wasn’t just Queen Arianna, Xavier and Ruddiger that Varian had let down so badly this night, but he had also let down Friedeborg, the Captain, Pete and Stan, and perhaps even the whole of the kingdom of Corona in his foolhardy plan. 

And…he had let down Dad, too.  Again. 

“No…no no, please!” Varian thought desperately as he shut his eyes against the hot tears now began to prick at them, and as he heard more jeering and laughter as one of the men surrounding them took the opportunity to spit on the queen. Varian let out a choked sob as he heard it, and again saw against his darkened eyelids the image of his hands uncorking the vial that held the vial green liquid that he used to nearly encase the queen in amber on that other terrible day.

“No no!  Somebody, please-!”

“Varian…”

Varian’s misty, frightened, heartbroken eyes snapped open as he heard his name being spoken, and his head whipped round to where Xavier had gently called out to him from where he and Arianna were kneeling on the grass.  Varian was almost sure that Xavier would start scolding him again as he did on the battlefield just a few moments before…but something about his countenance was off.  Xavier didn’t look angry, nor even sad or ashamed.  He looked…conflicted, somehow – almost exactly as he did on that day he met with Varian, right before he told Varian that he knew about what had first caused Quirin’s encasement.

It was an expression that said, “I’m sorry,” though Varian was at a complete and utter loss as to why on Earth Xavier would be wearing such an expression in their current situation.

But in the next moment that followed, Varian found out why.

“I can’t do it!” Xavier had insisted to himself as his hands had once again been tied around his back.  “I can’t!  It might hurt him!”

“He’s hurting now.  And you know you’re just wasting time,” that small voice inside of Xavier argued with himself.

“But what if he’s not ready?  He’s never given no indication that he has any idea-”

“He is ready.  Or even if he isn’t, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be.” 

“How can I be sure?” 

“You can’t.  But you did promise Quirin, right?”

“That was just a passing thought.” 

“Was it?”

Xavier frowned hard, recalling once again all that he had found in those old notes by Demanitus, and also cringing as one of the men spat on the queen beside him, and Varian looked shattered all over again from where he sat defeated on the grass. 

“Don’t be afraid.  It’s now or never.  You have to try.”

With that, Xavier’s mind made itself up.  Sending up a quick, silent prayer, Xavier called out gently to Varian. 

“Varian…” he said, and swallowed hard as he made eye contact with Varian, and then began to speak the words that he knew would likely change the course of Varian’s life forever.

“Puer lunae Ab herede Demanitus Consurge, consurge Et da nobis lux vestra”

For a moment, Varian thought that perhaps his hearing had gone weird as Xavier began to speak to him.  But then, Varian’s brow furrowed hard as he realized what he heard had been Latin.  But what Xavier had said made absolutely no sense to him.  What was he trying to s-?

But then…Varian knew.  He didn’t know how he knew, but somewhere, deep, deep down inside of him, Varian knew, and the world around him was suddenly flooded with blue and silver, and his head began to blossom into pain as the light got more and more intense, and Xavier’s words echoed again and again in his brain, calling whatever it was deep down in him up into the light.

Consurge, consurge…ab herede Demanitus

Puer lunae 

“I’m so sorry,” Xavier thought, as he could only wait and watch to see what would come next for Varian.

...For the Heir of Demanitus.

...I suspect that some of you had to know that this was coming. ;)

The moon!Varian theory was first posted by @ghosta-r.  I just love this theory so much, I had to include it at some point in my fic! I hope that's ok!

Also, my apologies to anyone who knows Latin and sees that/if I happened to really botch it, or if Xavier's spell just really doesn't sound great to Latin-knowing ears. I did my best via Google translate, but whatevs. xP

I also don't often do action sequences in my writing, so I'm also sorry if this all came out a bit confusing or convoluted or whatever. Hopefully it's an enjoyable read though!

[loftyexecutor]

somnium vidisse se dicat in extremis orbis terrarum - 5

Chapter; 5 Rating; M WC; 2072 TWs; none this chapter Pairing; AddElsAin [transform] AU; modern/dreamsharing scifi Summary; Being the best in the industry had its perks. Herrscher’s name was known far and wide, work offers coming in left and right, extort this, extort that. But that still didn’t stop his boyfriend from getting too tangled up in one of his dreams and switching places with the shade in his head. The shade that he had offered to extort ages ago. Fuck, this is a mess. Notes; wwyd if you met yourself

PREVIOUS | AO3

“Five hundred seventy-nine. Five hundred eighty. Five hundred eighty-one.”

Iblis watched as Dox mumbled to himself. The three times she had peered at his phone, the clock on it said something completely different. She never understood the flow of time in dreams, because it didn’t usually matter. The repetitive words were already becoming ear-grating, but she limited herself to just a few huffs and puffs, opting instead to focus on anything that wasn’t him.

For all the glamor of Morphy’s dream, it lacked substance. It was nice to look at, sure, but there wasn’t anything in it. No people, nothing to do but look.

She didn’t get the point of dream expos. Why would you pay money to see a dream someone else had made when you could make something actually fun yourself? Hers and Anular’s dreams were always crafted so they could have fun, because that’s what dreams were meant for.

“Five hundred ninety-nine. Six hundred.”

Dox shoved his phone into his pocket and rolled his shoulders. “Get ready, everyone, I’m going to hop down and check on our recon team.”

She kept her eyes on Dox’s child-like body, because she knew Anular found the way Dox hopped interesting, and he was watching. Dox flexed his fingers and dug them into nothing, except the nothing came loose, air tearing under his digits to reveal an inky dark hole he pulled and pulled on until it was big enough to step through. Which he did, pulling the… air… back up like a tent flap.

And just like that, he was gone, the hole fizzing with faint luster until it repaired itself, no trace left.

She turned to Morphy, a question at the tip of her tongue that Anular didn’t have an answer for. “Does that destabilize the dream?”

"No, not really. If it's stable, it'll fix itself. If he kept doing it too much, or made a big one, and I mean big as in… big, then, yeah."

"That's good."

They were never shown the results of their dream testing, not that she'd care to read through the technical jargon. But she knew they've done a lot of tests with Dox's layer hopping, and some of those had ended…

Well, they've ended.

Anular tapped at the edge of her consciousness, and she let him take over, switching places with him. It was a subtle nod to tell her to stop thinking about it.

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The next portal Dox opened lead to layer two, and the first thing he noted when he stepped foot in it was 'Fuck, it is him. He's here, it's his dream.'

Realistically, he could've done recon himself, and it would've taken a fraction of the time, especially considering he knew he was in Immo's dream within the second. But the long seconds — all six hundred of them — spent counting had the side effect of calming him down, and he wouldn't put it past Herrsch for that to be part of his plan. The plan that made sense on paper (or whiteboard), but would definitely go south at some point. That's why he had been thinking of back-up options the whole time he was counting.

If it were just him, he could boot Immo back up to layer one and go there before the anchor fell apart. But having this many people on the mission both made it safer and harder. He couldn't do that anymore, because he couldn't risk getting Herrsch or Nova stuck, or dropped deeper, even with Nisha anchoring the layer beneath. There was always the risk of skipping over layer three altogether. But at least any layer was more stable with this many skilled dreamers.

He looked around at Immo's dream. One he had seen many a time by now; a castle, old yet well-kept, and its many winding hallways that would always lead to the courtyard, no matter which turn you took.

So, as always, Dox headed down some stairs, passed some hallways, feet dragging over the plush carpets, and, as expected, wound up in the courtyard, sounds assaulting him as soon as he passed the oversized wooden gate, like crossing an invisible barrier.

Immo was sitting on one of the benches rounding the central area, now filled with training equipment, dummies and weapon stands systematically placed to allow space to use them. He had a large sword in his lap, hand holding a rag and polishing the blade to a shine. He wasn’t looking down at it, however, and Dox would’ve been worried about him cutting himself, if he didn’t notice who he was talking to.

It was him.

Dox ducked back into the corridor before Immo or any of the other shades could see him. Well, this complicated things. Normal, random shades he wouldn’t have to worry about, but if Immo saw him together with the shade, it would spell a disaster.

He hid behind one of the statues lined up along the hall, even tearing himself a small hole to disappear into when he saw a shade of Nova passing by, holding a sword of its own.

Or maybe it was really Nova, though Dox couldn’t tell. The dream had messed with his clothes, turning what had been a frankly outlandish suit in Morphy’s dream into an intricate armor, too many clasps to figure out, and a giant muffler around his neck. He knew Herrsch, at least, could tell it was him, so he busied himself with peeking out into the courtyard until he was discovered.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dox has entered layer two as well,” Centurion announced, noting the spike in the reading of his REM cycle. “His activity is too high, though, I’m not liking this.”

Shakti took a look, having been fiddling with Laby’s IV. The girl had enough drugs in her now to knock out a mule.

“Oh, we should probably up the dose on him, it would be a problem if he dropped down to Laby and woke up in the middle of it.”

Centurion shook his head, adjusting the screen more towards Shakti. “We… can’t. He’s doped up well over what he should be already. He’s been dreaming for, well… at the very least nine hours in the last day, in three different instances.”

Shakti made a dejected-sounding noise, reaching out to ruffle Dox’s hair when his face contorted into a scowl. “Let’s hope he doesn’t drop, then.”

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“Dox? Are you the real one? Then again, you are hiding.”

Dox peered over the statue’s shoulder, barely tall enough to do so, and nodded. “Took you long enough to find me, jeez.”

Herrsch smiled, leaned down, and to Nova’s most exasperated groan, kissed him. “Really? Really?”

Dox shrugged, pretending his skin wasn’t flushing down to his neck. “Anyway… I did your job in a tenth of the time, want me to grab the others?”

“Mhm. We’re going to work on eliminating the shades so we can work uninterrupted.”

Dox nodded his assent again and then tore another hole into the thin air. “Be back in a jiffy.”

With him gone, Nova pulled out his gun from… the fold of his cloak, apparently. Even his prosthesis had changed with the dream, now much more claw-like than the impersonal silicone casing it was usually. How he didn’t rip his armor to shreds was a mystery Herrsch decided wasn’t worth solving.

He did, however, hold up a hand, shaking his head. “Incapacitate, don’t kill. Nisha doesn’t know there’s shades, she won’t know it’s not us if they drop down to her.”

Nova took a second to think it over, came to the same conclusion, and put the gun away again. “Let’s start with ourselves then, make it easier.”

They shared a look and turned towards the courtyard. Herrsch’s shade was standing by one of the weapon stands with a notepad, or the parchment equivalent of it, and was taking stock of available equipment. Nova’s, on the other hand, was on the outskirts of the courtyard, barking orders to some soldiers, because let’s not call a kettle a pot when it’s a kettle. Nova could be very loud when he put his mind to it.

“I’ll grab you, you lure me away after,” Nova said, eyes rowing over the small crowd. Everyone seemed, mostly, focused on their task, and Dox’s shade, talking to Immo, was placed in such a perfect spot even though he was the only one facing them; making Immo look away from Herrsch’s shade, and looking away from Nova’s. There couldn't have been a better opportunity.

With a deep breath, Nova straightened out his back and tried to look as intimidating as he could, striding his way straight into the courtyard. A few of the faceless soldiers saluted him, and he nodded their way, hoping it was the right thing to do, and thankfully none of them gave him a second look. He made his way towards Herrsch’s shade, shouldering his way through like a commander would — fuck, he… hoped he was a commander? Whatever, no time to think about it anymore, too late.

“Herrsch,” he said, and the shade looked up from his parchment, quill in hand stopping its scribbling. “I need a second.”

Herrsch’s smile curled up in a smile. “You can have more than a second, Nova,” the shade said, with just a hint of something at the edge of his tone. Oh-kay. Nova was not about to dissect this one.

“In private,” he pointed towards the gate, turning on his heel.

“Oh, am I in trouble?” Despite his banter, which Nova was sure wouldn’t leave the real Herrsch’s lips, the shade fell in step with him, obediently following into the tapestry-ridden hallway.

“Well, as a matter of fact,” Nova mumbled, kicking back with his foot and crumpling the shade to the floor before pinning it there. “You are under arrest for treason.”

“Cool it with the one-liners,” Herrsch commented, rolling his eyes. He tagged out, walking out into the courtyard, looking for all like he had never left, down to the piece of parchment he had picked up off the floor after the shade dropped it.

“You know, the real you is much more stern,” Nova told the shade. Because he needed it, a length of rope was conveniently in another sewn-in pocket of his cloak, ready for him to grab when he reached there.

“Fuck you, I am the real me,” the shade grit out, fighting him every step of the way as he tied its hands together behind its back. “Let me go!”

“I see a gag is also in order.”

“Fuck you,” was the last thing the shade was able to tell him before he stuffed a strip of cloth into its mouth, tying it through its hair much tighter than was probably necessary. It wasn’t real, and he had to remind himself of that when Herrsch’s almost-misty eyes glared at him with force of the deepest hate he’d ever seen.

He peered into the courtyard just in time to watch Herrsch reach his own shade and place a hand onto his hip. “Commander Nova.” So he was a commander. He was nowhere as familiar with this dream as Herrsch was. “May I borrow you for just a moment? News arrived that requires your attention.”

The shade scoffed, “I am in the middle of something, I can’t just go listen to every little thing, Herrsch.”

“Indeed.” He could feel the exasperation from Herrsch’s voice all the way from where he stood. He absently kicked Herrsch’s shade in the thigh when it tried to fight against the bonds. “However, this is a delicate matter. Privy only to two sets of ears, surely you understand.”

Nova’s shade sighed. “Yes, I do understand. Let us make it quick.”

Herrsch led the shade back towards the gate and Nova flattened his back against the wall, readying himself. He waited until Herrsch passed and turned, gave him a miniscule nod. His prosthesis wound around the shade’s neck the moment it was in reach and pulled it behind the corner, threatening cuts in addition to suffocating, with how pointed some of his joints were.

Herrsch made quick work of tying it up, and Nova’s stomach churned as he looked down at the two of them, bound and gagged on the floor.

“Never gets less weird to see yourself,” he muttered, and, for once, Herrsch had to agree.

“Let’s hide them before any of the other ones notice.”