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Stronghold of education and learning, this fortress is in one of the coldest areas of Idalos and home to many knowledge seekers in a variety of disciplines. However, unknown to most, below the city are those who suffer for the sake of science. While all are welcome, not everyone will be treated as they expect.

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Llyr Llywelyn
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60 Vhalar, Arc 719

He'd returned to Viden, but this time he didn't follow the path through Emea to his initiate's brand. Instead, Llyr Llywelyn made his way to a different brand. Not of either initiate that lived within the cold northern city, but one that wouldn't look at him when he arrived. One that wouldn't expect things of him. He stepped out from Emea and into the corridor of the Carnelian Prism. He looked ahead, then behind him. It was sheer luck that he'd arrived without any witnesses. Then again, it was the darkest of the night when most people were fast asleep and dreaming.

Llyr closed his eyes for a moment, to gather his thoughts and bearings, then he cloaked himself from detection. It was as if he were no longer in the world... yet he was. He most definitely was. The student tightened the belt of his winter coat, then found his way through the corridors to the outside. It was cold in Viden, but he'd dressed for the weather. He was learning this city, of its cold and its people, and he'd started to get a grasp on certain things regarding it.

He left the Academy dorms, headed into a different part of a city... not to the library, nor to the Obsidian Prism. Llyr had business to attend to. Even here, in the north, where it seemed he went to escape into his research...

Things were not always as they seemed. For Llyr, this often was the case.

The blond made his way into the poorer districts, where voices could be heard muttering in the frigid alleys and crashes, brawls, and screaming echoed within the boarded-up homes...



…By dawn’s light, when the morning came, Llyr found himself in a completely different place than where he’d began the night. He stood in the center of Doran’s kitchen. His hair would have been disheveled, if it weren’t for the Edashan magic that made it as attractive as it would otherwise be. The biqaj sat on the countertop and stared up at the ceiling… though he didn’t stare at nothing.

Llyr had a journal in his lap, and a charcoal stick in the other. Dark inky smudges of charcoal were all over him, ether-cracked fingertips coated in the dust, patches of it smeared over his pale silvery skin. He wasn’t wearing much, only in a pair of tight black undershorts and a tall pair of stockings that went to mid-thigh, so his crystalline legs were covered from view. His wings stayed spread out behind him, like a dragonfly’s wings laid in wait. Above his platinum blond hair, the ether light in his halo slowly spun to one side within the bounds of the thin ring shape.

He scribbled on the journal while he stared up, his elfin-shaped eyes filled with the iridescent colors of his ether. His feet lightly kicked out, in gentle sway, while he tracked the various shapes he saw within his own ether. He tried to sketch the shapes onto the journal pages. A light sweat gathered on his skin, which caused him to glisten in the morning light that streaked through the kitchen windows.

The Ambrosia in his system helped him focus on the tiny little shapes, but it also made him breathe a bit shallower and his body temperature ran higher. Beside him on the counter, an ashtray with a rolled stick of half-burnt ambrosia laid smoldered and forgotten. The young mage had snuck into the kitchen not too long ago… or had it been hours ago? He’d lost track of time. He’d sneaked into Doran’s home easily, under the cloak of his imperceptible dreamwalker magic, and he didn’t realize that the sunlight meant that the servants would likely soon arrive to prepare breakfast for his lover and initiate, Doran Thetys. He, also, didn’t fully acknowledge that it’d been nearly thirty trials since he’d last seen the alchemist. They had parted on good terms, blissful terms even, and he’d promised to trust that Doran might help him overcome the thirst caused by his flaying but… things in Etzos had gotten busy upon his return, and he’d lost track of time.

Llyr heard footsteps and a noise nearby, but he didn’t look away from the various drifting symbols that remained within the ether that filled his own eyes. It was easier to distinguish them when he used the ceiling as a backdrop, he found. He quietly scratched the charcoal against the journal page, and attempted to draw the overlapped sphere and pyramid shape he witnessed.
Last edited by Llyr Llywelyn on Fri Apr 24, 2020 4:36 pm, edited 3 times in total. word count: 791
Please — consider me a dream.
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They had parted on good terms, on blissful terms even, and yet the son of Ziell couldn’t help but wonder. He hadn’t heard from Llyr in several ten-trials. He had not seen him, not even in his dreams, and there had not been a single letter from him. He missed him – he had never gotten the chance to let him know that he felt the same way for him, that he loved him, without a doubt, at least not clearly enough – and besides that, he worried about him.

Llyr had told him that he had flayed, and he had offered to help him, to make the Thirst go away or at least make it easier to bear, so that it would be safe for them to be around each other again. He was positive that he’d be able to do that. He had invented a new branch of alchemy, after all. Working with something that already existed, that had likely been studied before, should be easy in comparison to creating something entirely new.

He tried to distract himself. He spent breaks in the library or in his study, working on his thesis or trying to find something that might be able to help his lover, filling page upon page with his handwriting, he trained, sometimes with his sword and sometimes without it, in the hope that physical exertion and exhaustion would keep him from thinking too much, from wondering about his lover – but in the end the image of Llyr, the way he had been during one of their last meetings, always appeared in front of his inner eye.

He thought about how Llyr had told him that he loved him, how he had cried, how he had held him in his arms, back in his office that had become their refuge for a few breaks, how they had kissed and embraced each other, almost desperately, because they hadn’t been sure what would happen in the future. Falling in love with Llyr had been such an unexpected occurrence.

There had been a time when he hadn’t been sure if he wanted to fall in love, with anybody, when he hadn’t thought about love much; meeting Llyr had changed everything though and made every part of his life better. The etherist who was several centuries his junior had made him hear and see, really see the world – he felt as if he had been blind and deaf before. Llyr had opened his eyes. He had made him want to feel again, and he had made him feel alive again – and he almost couldn’t bear being without him.

Despite that, despite that uncertainty, despite that yearning, he was never tempted to turn his feelings off again. Even missing him, even that still somewhat unfamiliar pain was better than not feeling anything, better than what he had had before, better than a life filled with emptiness; besides, there was the hope that he would return to him one trial.

~~~

He rose shortly before sunrise, as always. He enjoyed those moments shortly before dawn, when the world was still asleep, but there was already the promise of a new trial, when everything was quiet, but filled with so much potential at the same time. He’d only stayed in bed longer when Llyr had been lying next to him; with him gone, he saw no reason to do so though. Besides, he had work to do. He still hadn’t accomplished what he’d planned, although he had made some progress.

For that reason, he put on his clothes, simple pants, a shirt and a dressing gown – incidentally the same black and silver one that he had worn after his first night with Llyr, he dressed more casually when he was in his own home – and made his way to the kitchen. Somewhere down the hallway, he could already hear his servants, moving about. Elias was likely taking care of the fireplaces before he proceeded to make breakfast for him – it was always a little cold here.

He wouldn’t eat anything before the mortal had done so, but he’d get a cup coffee and drink it while he worked on his research. With that thought in mind, he opened the door - only to stop dead in his tracks and stare. The sight in front of him was so unexpected that he almost didn’t believe his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, but simply stood in the doorway for a few moments, motionlessly, and looked at Llyr sitting on the countertop and watched him draw, admiring him, marveling at him, almost breathless.

Llyr was wearing very little in the way of clothes, he noticed with a hint of amusement, which made him wonder where he had come from and how he had gotten into his apartment – had he come through Emea again? – and it made him remember how he had touched that silvery skin that was covered with smudges of charcoal now, how he had held him close and kissed him and caressed him and made love to him.

“Llyr”, he said as he finally walked over to him in order to attract his attention so that he would hopefully look at him. The alchemist held himself fairly straight, as always, andthere was a smile there where there had been nothing once upon a time. The look on his face was questioning, and full of surprise and joy and happiness at the same time because he was just so glad to finally see him again. “How long have you been here? When did you arrive?” he wanted to know before he closed the last meter between them, in order to embrace him and kiss him, if Llyr let him, if he dared to let him, despite the fact that the threat of flaying might still exist, because it had been much too long.

“I’ve missed you. There is so much that I want to tell you, so much that I wish I had told you before you left. Llyr, love, how are you?” he asked. He wanted to know how he had been, what he had done – or anything else that he was willing to tell him, anything at all.
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Llyr

At first, he didn’t respond to the name. It hadn’t been his name for nearly all his arcs, a chosen name of his own making rather than the one chained to him in his mortal father’s honor. But the biqaj did respond to the sound of Doran’s voice. He raised a finger in gesture that he needed to finish this last sketch of a shape first… and he scribbled on the journal with the charcoal. Blinking a few times, he swiped the last angle of a line, then finally lowered his gaze to look at the other man.

Llyr smiled. It was a pretty expression, with all the Edashan-potion magic that coursed through his veins and made it all so perfect in appearance. He recognized the black and silver dressing gown and felt a little disappointed that there were pants and a shirt underneath. His smile hinted at the corners of his pursed lips while he set the charcoal and journal aside. Doran didn’t look upset with him for being gone, or not sending any communication in the trials that he was gone, and instead the mortalborn just smiled at him.

“Oh… I don’t know,” he answered as to how long he’d been in the kitchen, nor when he arrived. His wings fluttered like dragonfly wings and he lifted slightly from the counter. He didn’t go far, however, only landing in Doran’s arms. The tall blond wrapped his arms around the muscular alchemist and he kissed him in eagerness. Behind the fond greeting, he added, “Not long. Sometime this morning.”

His eyelashes fluttered around eyes that swirled with ether still, an amber gold-tinted iridescence that filled the elfin orbs in an opaline ocean of colors. His hands ran along the fabric of the older man’s dressing gown, and he pressed to feel the shape of his body underneath. A silvery-blue blush rose to his cheeks and dusted across the slender bridge of his nose when Doran referred to him as love.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to miss me so after… after everything we shared,” he admitted in a sincere response. His hands slid forward. He pulled at the lapels of the gown, playfully, and then smoothed the fabric out with a happy little sigh as he touched the luxurious fabric. “I missed you, too. There’s been… There was a problem in Etzos, with my business, that I had to attend to.”

The brightness of his gaze faded. The ether dissipated. The round irises returned in the color of ocean blue around his pupils as the wide black dots resurfaced in his eyes. He traced his fingertips over the other man’s brows, then up to press the dark hair back. Llyr kissed his lips again, then moved to step away. His gossamer wings folded behind him while he turned in an attempt to walk around the preparation table.

“I have been… good.” Though he said it, it didn’t sound like he meant his emotional state. He seemed to hesitate for a few trills, then elaborated, “I haven’t given in, and flayed again. Not a soul, that is. It is difficult… but I find that addictive substances sourced from the earth seem to help me, such as alcohols or... ambrosia, if you are aware of that? It’s a bit contradictory to what I would have assumed, but it does.”

“I feel it the worst in the earliest of the mornings, and… well… you didn’t come in here to talk about me,” he offered a weaker smile. “Coffee, yes? I could use some, if you wanted to sit and… we can be good together for some time before you must attend to your courses? I don’t intend to get in the way of your trial and work.”

word count: 650
Please — consider me a dream.
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Doran had been wondering, where Llyr had been, what he had done, why he had been gone for so long – and why he had never contacted him – but all those questions ceased to matter the moment that the younger man smiled at him. He had missed that smile - and he had missed the look on Llyr’s face when they talked about everything from Emea over magic to the nature of the Immortals – Llyr had always been the only one that had been able to keep up with him, that even surpassed him from time to time, or when he had made love to him. That single, brief gesture made him think about all those things again, about all the moments that they had shared. It had been such a long time since he had last seen him, but at the same time it felt like it had only been a trial ago.

When Llyr landed in his arms and embraced him, he did so well without hesitation. He just held him tight for a moment, feeling the etherist’s body against his own, before he returned the kiss, as if he wanted to make up for all the time that they had been apart and all those missed opportunities. “It has been a while since I’ve been able to do this”, he remarked nearly breathlessly and kissed him again because one kiss wasn’t nearly enough, not after all those long trials during which he hadn’t even seen him. He had missed kissing him, and he had missed the way that he blushed when he talked about certain things. He had missed every single little thing about him. “I love you, Llyr. Being apart from you made me realize how much I do. I wish I had told you then.”

“Don’t be sorry”,
he murmured, his arms still around Llyr, and looked into the younger man’s eyes that seemed to be made of pure gold now whereas his own eyes were the same cool shade of blue most of the time. “The only thing that matters is that you are here with me now. If you ever want to talk about what happened though …”, he continued. He left the sentence unfinished. He wouldn’t force Llyr to talk. It would be up to Llyr how much he revealed, and if he didn’t say anything, he would be okay with it as well. There were things in his own life that he struggled to talk about as well, after all.

They kissed one last time. When Llyr moved away, so did he, but he didn’t move too far away. Even though they had stopped touching each other and kissing each other, he wanted to remain at least somewhat close. Even though they had first met only a few seven-trials earlier, he had rapidly grown attached to the etherist, in a way that he hadn’t thought possible, but that he was eternally grateful for. He wanted to tell him, so many things that he had only been able to think about and not share with anybody while he had been gone, but then Llyr moved further away from him and began to speak again.

“I know what ambrosia is”, he confirmed in a calm tone of voice and inclined his head. He appreciated the fact that Llyr told him. “I’ve been looking into things that might help while you were gone, natural as well as magical substances. I could probably make the ambrosia more potent or last longer so that you won’t feel the thirst as strongly when you wake up in the morning - and reduce the side effects … if that’s something that you are interested in …”

“I’m not sure if I care about my courses at the moment”,
he replied and laughed. “I’ve hardly ever taken a trial off since I started working at the Academy, apart from when you initiated me. Trandino can wait a while. I’d rather spend the trial with you than with a group of teenagers and an old man who harbors views that were already becoming unpopular a century ago. I’ll make coffee for us though”, he added and continued, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “My coffee is probably not as good as Elias’ – I don’t use this kitchen nearly as much – but hopefully, it will at least be acceptable.”

With that, he turned around (somewhat reluctantly as a part of him just wanted to look at Llyr and hold him and do all kinds of things to him) in order to remove a jar with ground coffee from a cupboard and filled the coffee press before he lit a fire in the stove and heated some water. A few bits later, the delicious smell of fresh coffee began to waft through the room. “There are sugar and cream as well”, he remarked and set a porcelain cup filled with coffee down in front of Llyr. “But then again, you told me that you prefer bitter over sweet. Do you remember the first time that we drank coffee together, after our first night?” he asked as he took a seat next to him, close to him and looked at him.

He still did. He remembered everything that they had talked about that morning, and he would always remember.

word count: 902

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Warmth flooded through Llyr when the mortalborn confessed his love to him so clearly, so blatantly, and it overwhelmed through his ambrosia-laced senses. Bashful, his eyelashes fluttered. He looked away in obvious shyness. For how fast his heart pulsed in his chest, he felt like he might simply pass out. A thin smile showed, if only because he couldn’t keep from suppressing it, and he shook his head while he glanced back to look into the other man’s cool blue eyes. A quiet almost-whimpered sound caught in his throat, but it sounded happy in tone. The things that Doran told him, how romantic the words were, it made the youthful biqaj feel far too blissful than he suspected he should feel. He kissed again, but then moved away to simply calm down from the overwhelmed emotions that ran through him. Llyr didn’t wish to cry or act silly due to the sensation of love and acceptance from the mortalborn. While he had no expectations as to how Doran might greet him, after their time away from each other, he felt unprepared for such positive reception.

While he walked around the preparation table, he slid his long fingers over the edge in a smooth caress of the surface. The etherist surveyed the kitchen, and then went to where he knew the mugs and cups were kept. He retrieved a couple – remembering which style Doran preferred to use for coffee – while he listened to the other man’s comments about researching the Thirst.

Llyr didn’t like that he took up Doran’s time with something such as this. While he said nothing of it, because he knew the older man would simply refute that it was a purposeful choice that he researched it… Llyr doubted that Doran would have gone in that direction if it weren’t for his own condition and his confession that he’d flayed. Doran hadn’t even been a mage before he’d met Llyr, nor a dreamwalker, and Llyr kept in mind that no matter how much older, how much more refined and established that the alchemist was, no matter how legendary he was the Hero of Oscillus… Doran was still his initiate, rather than the other way around. He set the coffee cups on the table.

An easier smile showed when he heard Doran’s laugh. It was nice to hear the sound, after the past trials and Llyr felt the weight of his stressful problems lift slightly by proxy. He inclined his head to one side, combed his fingers through his white-blond hair and walked around to return to Doran’s side. “Okay, if you want to take the trial off from the academy… I’ll stay with you, too. I’m happy to have your coffee, I can’t imagine it would be any worse than mine since I’m not even an alchemist.”

It was the slightest attempt at humor, and self-deprecation that held truth. While Llyr had a great deal of experience with preparing tea, he was not as skilled with coffee. It was still a new drink for him, one in which he’d only learned to appreciate while in the company of Doran. He caressed over the other’s shoulders, then went to lean rather casually against the table while he observed his lover prepare the coffee for them. He grabbed his journal and opened it to flip through the pages some, but his attention remained mostly on the other man. While Doran went about the act, he spoke up some more: “And I don’t know if a more potent ambrosia would help, or… I don’t know. I suppose it wouldn’t be terrible to try? I am not fond of how addictive the sap is, but it is better than wanting to taste a soul. Far better, for however long… I hope it will not last much longer. I would have never, if I had known it was like this, I would have tried to figure out a different way…”

Llyr sighed, while he scribbled with the charcoal under some of the sketched symbols. “I suppose that’s a part of learning though, yes? To make mistakes and try to overcome the results of it. Someone has to make them eventually, for things to be discovered. I only wish that I might be able to focus enough to write the experience down so others might be able to benefit after I’m gone.”

He said it simply, without much thought. While he seemed stable on the surface, Llyr was exceptionally high on ambrosia even as he spoke with Doran. It’d been nearly twenty trials since he’d started frequent use of ambrosia, so he’d gotten used to reasonably handling it though. From the back of his journal, he slid out a thin cigarette case and then recovered a narrowly wrapped smoke. He placed it between his plush lips, lit it quick with a match, then leaned over the table while the thin white vaporous mist hovered around his perfected features. His eyes of crystal blue followed Doran while the coffee finished brewing and one of the porcelain cups got filled, then set down in front of him.

“Thank you,” he offered and then pressed the cigarette case in offer for the other man to take one if he wanted. He added to inform the other man, “They’re laced with bug-berry. Clean tobacco, though, from fields near Rharne.”

He smiled as the man sat near him, though he didn’t sit down himself. Llyr remained leaning against the table instead, angled into a comfortable posture while he crossed his legs at the ankle. His toes tapped against the floor and he considered the request for recollection of their first time… drinking coffee. Llyr quietly laughed as he summoned the memory. He smiled brightly, showing his teeth, and he tapped his cigarette to the side so the ash fell onto a tiny tea-plate. Sucking in another lungful of smoke, he nodded. “Oh yes, how could I ever forget?”

“You had gotten your witchmark,” he reached over and placed his fingertips lightly against Doran’s chest where he knew the Transmutation witchmark laid underneath. He slid closer and pressed his journal aside. Close enough, he carefully blew the bug-berry laced tobacco smoke aside so it wouldn’t get in the older man’s face. The biqaj leaned closer and kissed Doran’s neck before he lowly whispered in his lover’s ear, “…and I told you to make it last, even though you wanted to give in so badly and you felt incredible.”

He leaned away, to pick up his coffee and take a small sip. When he lowered it, he added in a casual tone as if in normal conversation, “Ambrosia tastes so bitter, I think I’ve started to gain an appreciation for sweet as well… Perhaps, bittersweet, then? Yes. That is it. I enjoy the bittersweet flavors.”

Llyr reached over and drew the cream closer. He poured a little bit into the black coffee, with a sway to his hips. Still only dressed in the tight black undershorts, he glanced over his shoulder in a knowing manner at the dark-haired man. A sly smile graced his youthful features. “Ah, I did have something I wished to speak to you about… before we get too distracted from such things.”

This time, he moved away to sit in the seat beside Doran. He stretched out, arms raised above his head, and his gossamer wings spanned outward while ether churned through the thin ring of his halo. “Are you familiar with a Marshall Webb in Etzos?”

“I have come into an opportunity to research his collection of artifacts, of which he has many,” explained Llyr while he took another sip of the creamed coffee. Another drag of smoke. Another rush of ambrosia through his thoughts while he ignored the underlying need to grab onto Doran, kiss him, and steal his soul. He crossed his legs at the knees, a straight-backed posture to his tall spine. “Of particular interest, I think you might find, is one he acquired from a rather mysterious figure called the Prince of Eternal Mercies…”

The platinum blond paused, just long enough to glance over Doran’s expression and take another drag of his cigarette, before he continued, “A gauntlet, specifically. He wishes to uncover its uses and potential. Given your own experience with artifacts, such as that headband… perhaps you know of something like it? From what I have gathered, it’s meant as a form of aggression or oppressive strength?”

Llyr went quiet then, though his foot moved out to gently tap against Doran’s leg in playful affection. He kept turned so he faced the other man, rather than faced the table they shared.

word count: 1487
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It had never occurred to Doran to react negatively to the fact that Llyr had disappeared so abruptly. He was not mad at him, and he doubted that he ever would be. What he had told him had been true. The only thing that was important to him was that he was here with him now, that he could see him again and talk to him again and hold him in his arms again. The trials that had passed since their last meeting didn’t matter anymore; and he didn’t mind all the things that made their lives complicated and would continue to make them complicated either. Without them, they would likely never have met.

Without them, he might not have fallen in love with him.

“Perhaps I should take up cooking as a hobby then”, he mused, his tone of voice tinged with a hint of mirth, as Llyr talked about coffee and admitted that he wasn’t even an alchemist. “It’s all about combining different ingredients in order to achieve a certain result, isn’t it?” he asked before he fell silent again for a few moments. As Llyr caressed over his shoulders, he leaned back, against him, closed his eyes and let out a soft and pleased sigh. There was something about the younger man’s mere presence that made him relax and filled him with warmth, in spite of the numerous problems at hand.

He occasionally looked at the younger man while he made coffee. He found himself unable to turn away from him for longer than a bit at a time, at most. He noticed how Llyr let his fingers run over the edge of the preparation table and how he rose from his chair in order to retrieve two mugs. The realization that Llyr still remembered where everything was brought a smile to his face, a smile that only the etherist ever got to see.

“I can most likely remove the addictive component”, he mused as he worked. “You know that I’m not only an alchemist, but also a skilled chemist”, he pointed out. He had in fact been a chemist for decades before he had become an alchemist and was still among the greatest chemists in this part of the world. “Modifying substances is part of what I do.” It pained him that Llyr was suffering like that; that he had to choose between addiction or devouring a soul. Sometimes, he wondered what it was like – to taste a soul, to feel the rush, to have so much power at your disposal – but he would never try it out. He never considered condemning Llyr for what he had done either; he only wished to make him feel better.

“Indeed”, he agreed as Llyr spoke about mistakes and trying to overcome the results. “You cannot live without making mistakes. I made mistakes as well, too many to count them all”, he admitted. He wasn’t aware of how high the younger man was; he seemed perfectly coherent and stable to him, and he was just like he remembered him. He decided not to elaborate on his own mistakes, of course – even though one of them had almost cost him his life and any chance at happiness, even though he should never have done it – he was focused on his lover now.

When Llyr held the cigarette case out towards him, he looked at it for a moment before he inclined his head, took a cigarette, lit it and took a drag. “I made a tincture from bug berries once”, he murmured thoughtfully. “But I’ve never smoked them before”, he admitted. He found the effect and the taste that was different from a normal cigarette quite interesting and pleasant though, and he had no problem with the berries’ questionable legal status. He simply raised the cigarette to his lips again and took another drag, furrowing his brow fractionally before he smiled lightly. “Thank you”, he told the younger man.

When Llyr touched the spot where his witchmark was hidden and slid closer, he slid closer as well. “It was incredible”, he remarked. “And so were all the times after it”, he continued and kissed, if he let him, him before he drew back again. Truth to be told, everything, even the most mundane of things, felt incredible when Llyr was with him, even now, when they had to deal with such complicated matters.

While Llyr only added a bit of cream to his coffee, he added a teaspoon full of sugar as well – he had a certain preference for sweet things – before he raised the cup to his lips and drank slowly – the coffee was still rather hot, and he had no interest in burning his tongue. He would have to send a servant with a message to the Academy sometime that morning, he decided, as he set the cup down again, and let Trandino know that something had come up. He had hardly taken a trial off since he had started teaching two arcs earlier, but just not showing up was not acceptable.

“You know”, he remarked a moment later. “I can’t help but wonder where you left the rest of your clothes. Not that I mind your wearing so little, of course. In fact, I like it”, he admitted, smirking slightly, before he abruptly sat up a little straighter. It was quite easy for him to get distracted when Llyr was so close to him, especially when he was like that. He didn’t mind that though. On the contrary, he liked the fact that the etherist was so distracting. He had allowed too few distractions in his life in the past. He had been too focused on his research.

Llyr’s admission that he wished to speak to him about something did catch his attention though, and he raised an eyebrow and looked at him questioningly. “I am familiar with Marshall Webb”, he remarked somewhat slowly and with perhaps the tiniest hint of confusion, wondering why Llyr had decided to bring the Marshall up now. He expected the etherist to say a lot of things. When he mentioned the Prince of Eternal Mercies and the gauntlet, he couldn’t help but look at him in surprise though as that was almost too much of a coincidence.

A moment later, he remarked in a somewhat dry tone of voice, “There’s nothing particularly mysterious about the Prince of Eternal Mercies. He is, as far as I know, not a real prince. He is a Half-Avriel and only has one wing, although I’m not sure if he was born that way or had an accident of some sort – I never asked – or maybe he was a Half-Avriel. I’m not sure if he’s still alive. It has been a while since our last meeting.”

“As for the gauntlet”,
he continued. “It essentially neutralizes substances that you touch with it and negates energy. I have heard of it. I even held it in my hands. I can tell you exactly how it was created and what kind of reagents were used for it – and I can even make another one. I made it Llyr. I was the one who made the gauntlet that you speak of”, he admitted and looked at Llyr, wondering how he’d react.

“It surprises me that the Prince parted with it”, he added, smiling lightly as he felt Llyr’s foot tap against his leg, returning the gesture, before the expression on his face grew more serious again. This was a somewhat serious matter, after all. ”Why do you ask though?” he wanted to know.
word count: 1284

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“You? A cook?” returned Llyr with similar amusement in the tone of his own voice. His lips quirked in a restrained smile. “I suppose so. Maybe you could create a new dish of… blood soup!”

While he collected the mugs, and Doran attended to making to the coffee, Llyr considered the idea that Doran was a chemist as well. He seemed far less surprised by this than the suggestion that Doran take up cooking as a use of his time. Llyr nodded, and with the ambrosia swirling around in his body and mind, he mentioned, “A chemist is only one letter off from Alchemist. Do you think alchemists existed before chemists or the other way around…”

Whether answered or not, Llyr didn’t mind. Perhaps he might have been distracting from the idea of discussing his Thirst directly, or about his voluntarily chosen addiction to ambrosia. A silvery-blue blush rose on his cheeks, while Doran remained so accommodating regardless, and he retrieved the cigarette case then offered one to the other man. He smiled when Doran accepted one to join him in the mild habit. Llyr suspected that any tinctures made by Doran would be amazing, and he reconsidered the idea of the masterful alchemist and chemist to create ambrosia for him.

Moving closer, they kissed, though it did not last for long. Llyr sighed and leaned back against the kitchen counter with his elbows rested on the surface. His long legs stretched out, and crossed at the ankles, while he looked up at the ceiling for a moment before he switched to attend to his coffee. Llyr laughed, a sparkling sound as bright as the ethereal gossamer of his wings or the thin halo above his head. He agreed, “That is a good wonder. If only I knew…”

Where the rest of his clothing had gone, he couldn’t quite remember. He suspected they might have gotten ruined though, but then he was in his natural-born body so it couldn’t have been a transformation. He focused on his lover instead, while his touch wandered over to caress and then smooth out the dressing gown lapels. The fabric felt nice under his fingers.

Marshall Webb, though, was a far more pressing matter than most anything else.

…and it struck Llyr as odd that Doran didn’t answer immediately about it. He tilted his head but busied himself with a sip of coffee. The biqaj didn’t discount that his sense of time lapse might have been influenced by the ambrosia, so he tried to extend patience and allow Doran a few moments to consider what he’d asked about.

Llyr continued to sip at his quickly vanishing coffee when Doran answered him. Everything that his lover said, matched with what he already knew about The Warlord of North Etzos, though with more detail than the prostitute he’d inquired about the matter earlier in Vhalar. He didn’t interrupt though, interested in what the other man had to say.

It was a small boon that when Doran admitted he’d made the gauntlet that Llyr had already finished his coffee. Otherwise, he might have spat it out. Instead, he set the empty mug on the counter in a gingerly careful clink of the ceramic against the countertop. He licked his lips slowly, eyes a flurry of changeable colors, then he looked over at the mortalborn and remembered just how many arcs that Doran had lived for. Centuries. What else had he accomplished in that time? That Llyr didn’t know about…

Can even make another one…

The offer repeated in his mind. He absently realized that his body had moved on its own, split for a moment between thought and want, and then he looked at Doran with slightly widened eyes at the question of why he had asked. Llyr considered lying… for a few trills.

“Marshall Webb has the gauntlet, as I said,” he told the truth instead. He rested his elbows back on the counter, but this time he leaned forward. His gaze fixed on the empty mug while he focused instead on smoking his cigarette that’d been slowly dwindling to ash during his focused state. “I have agreed to research it for him… I….”

Should he tell Doran about the assassination plot? No. He couldn’t. Even if he wanted to. He couldn’t risk the plan and he couldn’t implicate Doran anymore than he already had. Llyr sighed, took a drag from his cigarette, then tapped his fingers against the countertop in a quiet patterned click of his nails.

“This gauntlet, then,” he decided to focus on that matter. “It is abrogative in result? Do you still have your notes from when you created it? Perhaps I might be able to read over them with your help in making sense of it?”

“How… wide is the range of it, if you recall? It seems to be highly sensitive to touch, and I was told it has paralyzed and disintegrated those who have touched it without caution. Do you know of any way around this danger? Perhaps a way to fool the gauntlet into recognizing me as its owner. You don’t happen to have any… samples… from this Prince of Eternal Mercies, do you? Such as a feather or the like. I wonder if a body is enough to fool it, or if the gauntlet examines the soul within.”

Llyr spoke rather quickly, not thinking to pause more than a few trills between his thoughts. The ambrosia helped his mind along, even quicker than usual. He put out his cigarette in his empty coffee mug. Moving closer to Doran, he gathered the dressing gown lapels in his hands so he could feel the luxurious fabric, then he laid against the broader man to rest while he continued, “Do you think you might be able to create an item that… negates the gauntlet itself? So I might be able to research it safely, or I suppose I don't need to research it myself, if you still have your notes.”
word count: 1018
Please — consider me a dream.
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“I’m not completely sure“, the Mortalborn admitted in a somewhat thoughtful tone of voice when Llyr wondered if alchemists had existed before chemists or the other way round. The younger man might not have expected an answer from him, but he chose to address his question regardless as he considered it to be somewhat interesting. “I think that people have always been curious about the world around them and tried to change it. Such is human nature. Maybe both sciences developed at the same time. I was a chemist first though”, he continued. “It seemed prudent to me to research how different substances interact before I attempted to imbue items.”

The statement was followed by a light shrug and another drag from the cigarette before he leaned slightly back against the counter as well and looked at his lover one more. When Llyr addressed the matter of his missing clothes and admitted that he didn’t know where he had left them, he let out a soft laughter and shook his head slightly in amusement.

The way that his lover let his fingers run across the dressing gown effectively put an end to any other thoughts that he harbored for a moment, and he leaned just a little closer to him. He didn’t do anything else though, for the time being at least, as there were certain matters that they needed to discuss before they could focus on other things.

With a soft and somewhat regretful sigh, he eventually drew back again and proceeded to finish his coffee, pushed the now empty mug slightly away and continued to smoke – bug berries were a substance that he could see himself getting used to - while he listened to Llyr’s answers to his questions. He was quite aware of the fact that there were likely a few things that the younger man was keeping from him, but he didn’t mind that he had secrets. He readily accepted the secrets and all those other things together with the rest of him.

While Llyr tapped his fingers against the countertop, the son of Ziell sat completely still, his entire attention focused on his lover. “I have my old research notes in my study”, he told him and inclined his head fractionally before he continued. “Feel free to take a look at them whenever you want. As for whether the gauntlet is abrogative in result – there was no domain magic involved in its creation. I didn’t use a single drop of mage blood. The main reagent was a powder that the Prince gave to me, a powder that was far different from everything that I had ever seen before, an extremely potent neutralizer that causes other substances to become nothing.”

He paused for a moment in order to take another drag from his cigarette that he had almost finished now and furrowed his brow fractionally as he tried to recall the details of his meetings with the Prince of Eternal Mercies – he had last seen the half-blood more than two arcs prior. Finally, he spoke, “When I asked him where the powder came from, the Prince told me that he had found in a dark place that was deep underground. He was unsure if there existed more of it or if it was the only one of its kind. He called it something that was beyond the comprehension of mundane things. Those were his exact words. Of course, the Prince was neither a Transmuter nor an alchemist”, he remarked in a somewhat dry tone of voice.

“I’m not entirely sure in regard to the exact range of the effect – the gauntlet creates a field of sorts when you activate it - and I do not have any of the Prince’s blood left”, he admitted a moment later. “When I created the gauntlet, I also made sure that it would be safe for me to touch though as I had little interest in being harmed by my own invention. We could use my blood, some of the remaining powder or both in order to make the gauntlet safe for someone else to handle. The Prince gave me the remaining half of the powder. Furthermore, he gave me the bag that it was originally kept in. I was of the opinion that studying the bag might provide me with additional clues in regard to its origins”, he explained.

He was speaking a little faster as well now, although he didn’t speak quite as fast as the younger man, and there was a certain shimmer in his blue eyes as he considered the various ideas that he had for the gauntlet and the remaining powder. When Llyr laid against him, he fell silent for a moment though and put an arm around him in order to hold him close once more.

“Modifying the gauntlet or creating the kind of item that you speak of would be a somewhat risky and time-consuming process though”, he admitted a little later, still holding him, one hand stroking his bare skin, as he continued where he had stopped before, the tone of his voice a hint softer now. Llyr’s close proximity was distracting, but it was worse when the etherist wasn’t near him, and he couldn't touch him, he decided. “And of course, we’d have to find a way to get it to Viden first”, he spoke. It would be impossible to tell for sure if the gauntlet was safe for another person to handle until the person in question actually touched it, and transporting it to Viden would constitute a bit of a challenge as nobody but him could touch it without risking paralysis at the moment.

“As I said, my old notes are yours”, he added. “Hopefully, they will be sufficient when it comes to your research.”
word count: 979

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Llyr could certainly believe that people had always been curious about the world around them. If he'd been a younger man, though, he would have questioned whether that curiosity led to the willingness to change things. Now that he'd gotten older, though, and left the purview of his father's household, Llyr suspected that it might also be true. Besides what did he know of human nature that a nearly 400-arc-old mortalborn didn't know? He thought it interesting, though, that Doran had been a chemist before an alchemist.

The bugberry smoke that drifted between them filled the air with a sweet herbal scent that mixed with the aroma of fresh coffee. Llyr enjoyed it, as much sa he enjoyed the large kitchen space and the fine loungewear that Doran wore. None of it though, compared to how much he enjoyed the other man's presence while he settled into the company of his lover. Though his mind ran through many topics, and problems that required solutions, he allowed himself just a moment to relax. He felt... safe when he was with Doran, and he couldn't say that about many other people anymore.

If it were not for his time with Doran, and sitting in on a couple of his classes, then Llyr would have been lost when he spoke of the powder and neutralizers. As it was, however, Llyr nodded. He wondered where the powder came from. It wasn't so important as he just needed the notes to slowly convince Webb that his attention on the artifact merited allowance of him into the Marshall's private home. He moved closer to Doran, and rested gently against the other man while he continued to run his long slender fingers over the dressing gown's lapels.

A dark place deep underground ... yes, most places underground would be dark, supposed Llyr. Now, if it'd been a bright place, that would have been interesting indeed. Llyr kept quiet about this though, while he listened to Doran closely. He did murmur in whispered repeat, "Beyond the comprehension of mundane things..."

A quiet, almost shy giggle escaped Llyr when he heard the dry tone of Doran's statement that this Prince wasn't a Transmuter or alchemist and thus, suggesting that the half-blood probably had a boring definition of comprehension comparably. It was likely true though. Llyr kept having to realize that ordinary people weren't as aware of things like Emea, nor magic, nor even the simplest basics of Transmutation. Certainly, he knew of no one else but Doran who could actually talk to him about the worlds and of potential further theories to expound on that knowledge. Llyr felt a slight moment of gratitude then, and he moved closer still to the older man. He rested his head on Doran's shoulder with a breathy sigh, eyes of varied colors as the irises switched from greens to blues to yellows. His gossamer wings fluttered, then folded neatly along his backside where the inky design of his mystical tattoo continued to perpetually morph in abstract shapes against his silvery-pale skin.

Llyr didn't mind that Doran had fallen into a quick, and almost eager, mode of talking about the gauntlet and potential ways to handle the safeguards. It was easy to keep track of it all. He gazed up from his rested spot against the man's shoulder and smiled when the dark-haired man wrapped an arm around him to keep him close. The blond watched Doran's eyes as they seemed to shimmer from sheer enthusiasm and his fingers lowered to Doran's midsection where he gathered the dressing gown's fabric belt into a gentle fist. Doran's stroking hand on his bare skin sent a pleasurable shiver through Llyr. He nuzzled against Doran's neck, and his lean body pressed against the older man with increasing desire.

A quiet moan of approval hummed behind closed lips. He closed his eyes, enjoying it all - enjoying Doran being there with him, enjoying the way that the mortalborn touched him, enjoying how he willingly spoke in such depth about the artifact and of potential ways to handle it, enjoying how perfect Doran was about it all. Most of all, he enjoyed that Doran had not chided him, nor scolded him, nor told him he were wrong for any of it - not for the ambrosia, not for the flaying, not for handling research of the gauntlet. Doran didn't judge him, he only sought to help. Llyr had never in his life experienced unconditional loving acceptance before Doran.

"Thank you, Doran," whispered Llyr, then he opened his eyes again to look into the mortalborn's blue eyes. He repeated himself, a bit more clearly to assure that he'd been heard. "Thank you. For everything. I missed you, did I say that already? I did. I missed you so much, but I didn't even know how much until right now and now that I do, gods, Doran, if only I could just stay here forever and ever and never feel anything else except what I feel with you in this moment and nothing would ever have to change."

The ambrosia-minded biqaj inhaled sharply. He smiled, then, bright and brilliant and perfect from Edashan magic, and then he asked with little pause or concern about the change of subject, "What about gloves?"

"What if we... could we lace the gloves with your blood? Or if it's blood - oh, Doran, if I created a totem of you through my Becoming spark, do you think that if I bled... it would be your blood?" Llyr's eyes widened. "It would be? Wouldn't it? I would bleed red, and thus, it is not my blood because my blood is silver. Think of that, Doran, I could Become you and then you'd have double the amount of blood. Maybe an item wouldn't have to be created then, the gauntlet might recognize the totem as you if it is based on your blood and not your soul. We should test it!"

Llyr wrapped his arms around Doran's waist and hugged him close so that their hips pressed against one another while he moved around to face Doran directly. He kissed him on the lips for a brief but enthusiastic connection. Halo brightened, his wings spread out behind him in a happy display of dragonfly-like shape as the ether glittered from the morning light coming through the kitchen windows.

The blond laughed in a spirited manner and shook his head so that his pale blond bangs flipped aside. "Though Webb might very well keel over right there, just from seeing your face! You know he has a doll of you! I found it in one of his drawers. I think if I brought him a lock of your hair that he'd kiss it before he went to sleep at night. In fact, maybe that's what he does with the doll... or... maybe..."

Foxish in his smile, his eyes iridescent with glowing ether, he loosened the dressing gown's belt. The youthful etherist leaned close and purred, "...wouldn't he be jealous. He has a little doll, but I have the actual Hero of Oscillus, right here... under my touch... I can feel every strong muscle, every powerful pulse of your veins, Doran. Hmm? Wouldn't you like to discuss our research elsewhere, maybe in your bed? You can tell me all you want about risk, and time-consuming processes, and mysterious powders..."
word count: 1270
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Doran felt the same way when he was Llyr. Despite his lover’s thirst, he felt safe and content and relaxed – and happy, nearly indescribably so, in fact - and he couldn’t imagine that that would ever change. He hadn’t felt that way with anybody, at least not in a long time, perhaps not in centuries. Llyr’s eyes didn’t glaze over, and he didn’t zone out, no matter how complicated the things that he talked about were, but proposed theories of his own. The etherist knew what he was and what he had done – that he had tried to kill an Immortal - but he didn’t seem to mind. He had used to think that he had everything – he had been a rich and influential scholar long before he had met Llyr – but his life had been empty, before. Something had been missing, but he hadn’t even known what it had been.

When Llyr nuzzled against his neck, the Mortalborn leaned his head just a little closer to him, breathing in his scent, that mixture of coffee, tobacco and bug berries, still holding him, still caressing him. The way that Llyr pressed against him was almost overwhelming, but at the same time it wasn’t nearly enough. While Llyr closed his eyes, his own eyes remained open, because he wanted to look at him. He hadn’t seen him in such a long time. He wanted to see him and feel him and smell him, and he wanted to kiss him again, and he was tempted to just let gauntlets be gauntlets and marshalls be marshalls for a while, although such wouldn’t be wise as those things needed to be discussed.

When Llyr thanked him, he turned his head for a moment and raised an eyebrow before he pulled him even closer even though there was hardly any space left between them as it was. “So did I”, he replied as he looked into the etherist’s brilliant eyes, even though he had already told him that he had missed him before. “I missed you so much more than I thought I could ever miss anyone – mere words can’t do the way that I missed you justice - and if I could, I would hold onto this moment forever, never leave and never let go of you again. If I could, I would spend entire seasons and cycle – no arcs – just kissing you and loving you”, he admitted because he truly couldn’t imagine anything better than spending forever with the younger man.

Llyr’s question about gloves made him pause and quirk an eyebrow, but only for a moment, before he replied, “I hadn’t thought about gloves. Gloves might work though. As for Becoming”, he continued and nodded. They had only talked about Transmutation in depth so far, but Llyr was a Becomer as well, of course; and of course, the possibility of Llyr making a totem of him didn’t bother him. On the contrary, he found it fascinating. “If you created a totem of me and Became me, you would bleed my blood. You would Become me in every way that matters. The gauntlet doesn’t care about the soul that inhabits a body. We wouldn’t have to create an item!”

He laughed, abruptly put both arms around Llyr and met his kiss, passionately. before he remarked, “I can’t help but wonder what my body would look like with your mutations. Which part of me would you take though, if you decided to Become me? What would you ask of me?” he asked with curiosity and raised an eyebrow. He had studied Becoming before. He had familiarized himself with that domain of magic (as well as several other domains of magic) long before he had ever met Llyr, long before he had become a mage himself, and he knew what totems were and how they were created. You needed someone’s blood, bone and hair in order to make a totem, but not always literally, it seemed.

“A doll?” he asked, shook his head and joined in on Llyr’s laughter. There had been a time when all those dolls and action figures that they had made of him (and the plays that they had written about him, some of whose writers had used a lot of creative license) had irritated him to some extent, but he couldn’t help but find the notion of Webb keeping a miniature Doran in his drawer amusing now. “Do you think that the doll lies in his bed at night and keeps him company? Nobody ever thought of giving one of those dolls to me, even though I was the one who inspired them”, he admitted, momentarily feigning disappointment, before he helped Llyr loosen the belt and opened the dressing gown only to pause in order to lean closer to him once more.

“If the Marshall knew, he would be very jealous”, he agreed before he took the dressing gown off, let it glide to the floor and took Llyr into his arms once more, smiling almost mischievously for a moment as he admitted, “There is nothing that I would like to do more.”
word count: 873

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