• Mature • 4. From Chaos Choreographed

[Lars]

Previous: Chapter 3

Chapter 4
3rd of Ymiden, Arc 720

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It sounded so easy for his dream’s tall intruder. Lars lifts the dagger first to his own face, and cuts the veil of lace away from his starry, silver eyes. The jewels that drip from his mask land and roll over the polished marble floor, unaffected by the lull of time that drags the dancers in place. He adjusts his hold on the lord’s arm, fingers holding tighter to the connection, and then he walks them forward.

Beyond the crowded floor, up the grand stairs, in so little time that Lars is unsurprised to see that the landscape of his dream has simply shifted to bring them to his destination.

The mirror. Heavy and tall, exquisite and intricately designed. It is untouched by the swirl of the starry, cool-toned mist that has overtaken the rest of the hall, and stands before them an emblem of glimmering gold. Within the silvery, reflective metal rests not the mirrored image of the dreamer, not in his current state, but it is close enough. Lars nods, and with a step closer to the mirror, he stabs into the reflection.

It cracks outward from the source of its splintering. In the gaps, a darkness waits, cold and unclear. Whatever silvery image has displayed itself before, it shatters into iridescent pieces that fall around their feet. They are ground to a shimmering, rainbow dust beneath the steps of his dark heels, and Lars leads his new companion through the frame and into darkness.

A darkness that dissipates, as if thrown completely from existence, as soon as they step through. His heels step softly on the packed dirt below. Bright silver eyes sweep the misty forest clearing – for he is unaware, still, that it appears any different to any other dreamer – and then look up to Lord Charon, as Lars smiles in delight for having pulled them into the Veil. It is but a small achievement to someone like the tall biqaj beside him, he thinks, and the smile softly fades as he glances back to the borrowed crystalline dagger.

“Other worlds, you said,” Lars’ soft voice reminds, and he turns over the weapon in his hand, while his other holds still to the lord’s elbow.

“You have seen them?”

It is hard to resist his curiosities, in the almost giddy aftermath of having found some sort of control. Even in dreams, Lars feels his anxious heart race, as the chaotic mess of his thoughts overwhelm. He lifts the dagger once more, while he awaits response, and the tip of his tongue traces the edge of the crystalline blade. Scarlet blood lines the pink within his mouth, as a small slice is left behind on his curious tongue, but the starry-eyed dreamer does not seem to care.

Urges satisfied for the moment, Lars wipes the red upon his dark dress, and hands the blade back to Lord Charon. He gazes up at the taller blond and thinks to ask if he has ever lived within another world, if he, too, has found himself in a reality so strange and unknown… but he does not dare to hope, and does not know how to ask.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

3 Ymiden, Arc 720

Action, pure and true, and without any hesitation. Llyr follows without comment, or interruption, while he allows the dreamer to cut away the veil so the starry silver eyes are revealed again. The jewels roll past them, like precious little beads, but he keeps his sight locked on the shorter blond. They walk forward. This time, Lars leads their path.

In barely a blink, they arrive to where the dreamer wishes to go. A hint of a smile twitches on the corners of Llyr's pale lips. He considers whether it had been intentional or not. How interesting that Lars has taken them to a mirror. He stays quiet while he observes the dreamer's instincts unfold in front of him. When the dagger stabs into the reflection, Llyr's smile flickers on his youthful features.

The darkness feels cold... as cold as the icy winds that cut across the tundras of Viden. Llyr follows though. He has been cold, before. He has lived in darkness. So, he does not fear this cold dark, either. He merely follows without the slightest sound in doing so except the click of his heels while they step through, and he enters the glass and crystalline world of the Veil.

He wonders, momentarily, what it is that Lars envisions in the abstract world. For once, though, he doesn't ask. Maybe in the future, he would. The future was not now, though.

Now, the dreamer smiles at him. In delight for his accomplishment. Which means that Lars is aware of what he has done, and why it is important. The delight is well-placed so when he watches the smile fade, Llyr lightly clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a tsk tsk.

Other worlds, you said?

Llyr nods once.

You have seen them?

Llyr smiles, then. It is far more sincere than his smile from before. The thin expression shows in his eyes, in a slight crease of the icy blue orbs. He doesn't answer immediately, and instead, he watches while Lars glides the crystalline blade over a pink tongue. The human's red blood lined the muscular flesh. Dagger cleaned by the dress, he tries to hand it back...

"Keep it," says Llyr instead with a wave that he will not take the blade back. "Let it be your's. You can create doorways between the worlds using it as much as you need."

"As for other worlds..." he begins while he starts to walk along the Veil, in literal escort of his newest companion. "You are in one as we speak. All that you see around you, it is called the Veil and it is within a world unlike Idalos. The Veil fools and it creates a place that does not exist, yet exists at the same time. A paradox, if you will, of sensory indulgence. Yet within it, all dreamers of Idalos are connected. Many of whom are unaware of this connection, many who you might... visit. This greater world that encases the Veil is called Emea, as I am sure you've heard before. It is true and real, and through Emea, other worlds can be entered."

"This world of Emea is not empty, either, Lars. There are others, and beasts, that roam through as they would any world. You and I, we are alone right now because I guide us through. Because I know that we have to keep our energies diluted and our souls quiet. Otherwise, we could attract a predator who would pin you down and feast on your soul rather than bother to walk with you like this. If you come here on your own, if you decide to enter the Veil without me, this security might not be the case. Beasts might find you," he mentioned and though it was a warning, his tone of voice proved lighthearted and casual as if talking about the weather. The tall biqaj smiled while he looked down at the inexperienced dreamwalker and he asked, "Have you ever seen a spirit, Lars?"

"Would you like to?"

[Lars]

3rd of Ymiden, Arc 720

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Lord Charon wanted him to… keep the blade? But how beautiful it was, in crystalline construction and sharp capability, and Lars wonders if it is no longer wanted because of his use. Because of his curious, reckless tongue. Surely it was not being given out of the kindness of his heart, but… the dreamer decides not to worry, not for now, and he simply nods in grateful response.

He holds the dagger down at his side, though his restless fingers tap against the cool surface of it. Lars walks beside Lord Charon, free hand resting lightly at the crook of his elbow, and his fingers begin to tap there too. Pale silver eyes flutter shut, until the older blond walks blindly, and allows himself to be guided through the Veil by a man he knows better than to trust so completely. In all of his naïveté, he is at least aware of this, but he lacks the self control to take it into proper consideration.

Lars listens to the sound of his deep voice, casual in tone in spite of its warnings. He listens to the sound of their shoes stepping lightly over the dirt path below. He listens to the swaying of the trees, and the leaves rustling overhead that formed their sky-covering canopies. He listens to the breeze whistle through, unhindered by branches or underbrush, and he imagines the smell of soil and sap and an incoming storm. Though the temperature around him has not changed, he shivers in his imagined cold.

The Veil… Idalos… Emea. Lord Charon implies that he should know the name, but he hardly even knows a thing about the others. The Veil was easy enough to comprehend, as he felt the strange layer of reality all around him, and Idalos… he still does not know much of Idalos either. But if his guide has given him the truth, if one held the power to move between such worlds through this Emea…

His wandering thoughts are drawn inward again with talk of others, and beasts, that travelled as they did through the world of dreams. Lars opens his eyes again, his brow slightly furrowed. With a glance to his winged companion, he considers the notion of predators, of beings that sought to feast upon his soul, but is he certain that he is even in possession of one in the first place? After dying, after life?

Certainly he must have one. Which meant that soul-consuming beasts were of concern. But why would he wish to enter the Veil without Lord Charon’s guiding arm?

Lars is looking up at him through snow-white lashes, still, when the icy blue orbs meet his gaze. A question is posed, a smile shown.

“I…”

“Yes,” he decides, with a return of the smile, and his hands are stilled where they rest. “I have not seen any spirit. Not that I can remember… though I can not remember ever hearing of Emea, or of the Veil, or of soul-feasting beasts.”

Or of Idalos, he thinks, but does not add. He has already confessed so much more than he would ever dare to give in the waking world.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

3 Ymiden, Arc 720

Restraint, necessary and wearisome, and in every little thing. So much of Llyr considered all of that he could do with his pretty new pet, but just as much of him felt a deep sense of yearning empathy to help the other dreamwalker. Much of his restraint was required for how he wanted to aid, whatever that meant and however he could. If it were not for the incorporeal sense of their bodies, then he would find it much more difficult to refuse the temptations that presented themselves with each step they took together.

Llyr was nothing, if not disciplined though. He had not gotten to the point he had, with four sparks nestled in his soul, and a mark across his face, and Emea at his fingertips - if it were not for his ability to restrain himself and deny his own pleasures.

Not all pleasures had to be denied, though.

Such as when Lars returned the smile and admitted he had not seen a spirit. Llyr moves him around, so that they stand opposite one another instead of side by side. He runs his gloved hands over Lars' shoulders, as if to fix the gown though it needed nothing of the sort. For a brief few trills, it seems almost that he might lean down and repeat the warm and bright kiss that he'd given the other dreamer in their last meeting.

"Ah, perhaps that is why then," he replies. "If you never heard of the realm of dreams, of Emea, or of the dangers that lurk... maybe that is partly to blame for why you have remained within your dreamscape like you have. There is a distinct difference between dreams that are fleeting, and places or scenes that a dreamer visits again and again and again."

"As if in a loop of a dreadfully boring, never-ending life," muses Llyr while his thoughts get away from him. He smiles slightly, then glances upward before he lowers his gaze back to look at Lars. He keeps one hand on the other's shoulder and the other lifts with the palm facing up. A slight movement bulges and warps the sleeve of his fine attire.

"Come along then, no need to be shy," he speaks to the writhing bulge along his forearm. From the cuff of the sleeve, a creature climbs out.

The little diri crawls onto the palm of his hand, not much larger than it and comfortably seated in the center. Black fur stuck out like a mane and bristled along a spine into a fluffy tail along the earthen brown sleek limbs that were more animal with claws and hooves. A white mask painted and sculpted with an approximation of a smiling face tilted up at Lars. The expression doesn't move in the slightest, frozen in place with a curious friendly attitude.

"This is NoThing," introduces Llyr while he holds the tiny-appearing spirit up for Lars to look at. NoThing crawls around in a circle, then stands up with its clawed hands on its hips. "This is what is called a Diri. Have you heard of diri spirits before?"

[Lars]

3rd of Ymiden, Arc 720

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Uncertainty, obvious but brief, crosses over Lars’ fine features when he is moved to stand in front of Lord Charon. His hand falls away from the taller blond, fingers curling lightly where they rest at his corseted waist. Has he done something to upset his patient guide? Perhaps his inability to show him what he wanted – that which was meant to be hidden – had frustrated the more experienced dreamer more than he had let on, and his admitted and displayed peculiarities were simply too much for him to easily ignore.

So when the other’s hands lift, he expects them to push him away. It is unnecessary; though he lacked the know-how and experience that might have been needed to safely return to his dreamscape alone, Lars was confident in his ability to handle whatever sudden rejections might come. He expects them, in spite of Lord Charon’s kindness.

When they do not come, and the lord’s gloved hands smooth over his shoulders instead, the dreamer is surprised. His smile – which had not faltered in his doubt – seems to brighten, if only for a moment, as silver eyes curiously travel over Lord Charon’s youthful features.

The pleased expression dampens just as soon, as he reminds himself not to lean into the warm feeling regardless. It does not matter what the taller thinks of him, so long as he keeps him safe and informed during their venture through the Veil, but he can not convince even himself that he does not yearn for his patient guide’s approval. That some part of himself does not hope, shamefully, for his touch to remain upon the lace sleeves of his dress.

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, Lars tilts his head. A loop of a dreadfully boring, never-ending life… he has lived it before. Over and over, the same trial stretched into many different ones. So many arcs of his life, spent in such a terrible loop of servitude and shame. He knows that Lord Charon suggests something else – that his dream is such a loop, revisited again and again and despite its beauty and differing shapes, he knows it is the truth. It does not hamper his spirits, this revelation, when his guide reveals it so calmly. As if it is nothing but an unfortunate inconvenience, and not the dreadful, dooming truth he might have taken it for all alone.

Lars’ eyes flutter downward to the hand he is presented. Something emerges from Lord Charon’s sleeve, a creature of fur and fluff and sleek brown limbs. It crawls outward and into the taller blond’s hand, and Lars observes the smiling mask with a curious expression of his own. He thinks of skittering feet and tails and claws, as he looks over the odd little creature, before his silver eyes lift to Lord Charon’s face.

“A Diri…” repeats the white-haired dreamer, and he looks back to the spirit called NoThing. “No, I haven’t. What are they?”

Aware of Lord Charon’s hand on his shoulder, he lifts the opposite hand (the one unoccupied by any blade) and holds it close to that which held the little diri. Was it friendly? What did it do, how had Lord Charon acquired one to sit within his sleeve? Lars does not attempt to poke or prod at the creature, unsure of its demeanor. “Are they… from here, within Emea?”

And for that matter, were they? He and Lord Charon, or anyone else? Another question he leaves unasked, in his desire not to reveal the whole of his ineptitude. Lars is only glad to note that he has no strong desire to lick the little living (unliving? Was it alive?) diri, as he was prone to do with inanimate things.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

3 Ymiden, Arc 720

𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖔𝖓 Llyr watched. Beneath his unblinking gaze, the dreamer smiles and the dreamer holds patient in the lace and satin gown, fingers finger tapping not anymore but he slowly lowers the pupilless sight down to the tips like he expected them to move while his own fine sleeve churns with the life of the diri transforming into some sort of shape. Llyr does not know this shape, this little fur and fluff and sleek brown limbs, but he doesn't question the transformative diri. At times, NoThing (pronounced right between the threshold of no-thing and nothing, and nowhere else) chose forms he didn't know. Llyr didn't control the diri's choice of shape, only linked with the diri in a way that created quick but simple communication between them.

NoThing tilts their head, the ivory mask immobile in its smiling curiosity. It lifts its clawed hands high up, then leans aside... and onto them until performing a handstand on Llyr's palm while its squinted happy little eyes stay fixed on the dreamer. A tiny noise escapes, muffled behind the mask, and it's hoofed feet kick at the emean air while Lars looks back to Llyr instead. The noise almost seems to whine through the barriers lookatme lookatme lookatme.

"A diri is a particular sort of spirit," explained Llyr simply, with little tone to how he might have thought about the creatures. He fixes the lace on the dreamer's sleeve, with his other hand, though there is nothing to fix. "They tend to be friendly, or bothersome at other times, depending on the kind. From what I understand, they form around various things in Idalos, or in the minds of mortals, perhaps. NoThing, for instance, is a very specific type of diri."

Aware - just as aware as the mortal and mortalborn - NoThing flips back around to stand normally (or as normally as a hoofed tiny diri does), and starts to walk to the tips of Llyr's fingers. The diri jumps off, as if about to dive, but instead did a leap of faith to grab onto Lars' hand instead. Another tiny noise sounds from it... a form of squeaking? It doesn't sound right though. Like the noise itself is bent and wrong and twisted up.

"No, diris aren't generally from Emea," answered Llyr. "Except for those who are, I suppose. NoThing is from Emea, I believe... but I do not know for sure, and I do not think NoThing spawned here either, if that is what you mean by here. Somehow, NoThing got caught up and stuck inside, but does not belong here when alone."

Regardless if caught by Lars' hand or not, NoThing spins in a somersault upward through the air. Butterfly wings burst out of the diri's back, large and expansive with colorful designs. It spreads its limbs wide and flies to hover in front of Lars face. Arms wide, legs wide, it becomes obvious that NoThing is trying to block Lars' sight to look at Llyr. And still the perpetual smile sculpted on the white mask stares back, almost mockingly for its obstruction...

...almost, and then most certainly mocking when a halo bursts into existence above the little creature's mane of black fur. An exact mimic of the mage's halo, the diri flutters in front of Lars. Limbs draw in, prim, with clawed hands folded at the lower back. NoThing starts to march against the air, in mimed mockery of its own companion while it exaggerates the stiffness of the tall posture and wobbles its head as if talking at length. The diri paces through the air, back and forth, directly in front of Lars' eyeline.

"Don't have to be rude..." mutters Llyr, for once under his breath.

NoThing sends a chorus of sounds, exactly to the rhythm of the murmur while pacing, then turns around and smacks at their backside in a rather obscene gesture toward the tall blond. The accompanying noises made are enough to send just a hint of a silvery-blue blush over the bridge of the biqaj's nose.

Llyr clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then snatches the diri from the play with a swift grab of his hand. His gloved fingers curl around the diri while he folds the wings down so flight isn't possible. He warns, low, "Enough. Another time for your shows."

Whines high-pitched and loud and awful, like he'd somehow hurt the little creature by the grab, echoed through their space in the Veil. However, it soon turns into hisses as the diri slithers out of the shape. Like mist, it trails between the fingers and palm of Llyr, then lands in a rolly-round squat bipedal shape of a cloud. On the stump of cumulus legs, the cloud creature sprints through the Veil, with laughter that cracks like thunder.

"...merda," swore Llyr. His hand - that remained near Lars' shoulder - slides down to grab the other's wrist. He pulls Lars along while he runs runs runs after the diri. His long legs prove to have a wide stride, and he goes faaaaassssst through the emean atmosphere. "Can't lose them, keep near, don't get lost. Hurry. NoThing, NoThing, don't you- don't you go in there- stop!"

The cloud paused long enough to wave a cloudy hand then slid through one of the thresholds into an unknown dreamscape... Llyr swears again, in Ith'ession rather than Vahanic, then glances at Lars and then the entrance. "...good as time as any to learn. Hold tight to my hand, and stay close. No matter what... stay near me."

With that said, Llyr grabbed onto Lars' free hand and then headed after the diri - headfirst - into a stranger's dream.

[Lars]

3rd of Ymiden, Arc 720

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Such a curious little thing, with its claws and fur and hooves, that resides on Lord Charon’s hand. Eager for the dreamer’s attention, it seems, or so Lars believes as he lets his eyes drift back down to the diri. Handstands and kicks and high-pitched whines draw his focus away from the tall biqaj for only a moment, however, as the hand against his shoulder – smoothing out the lace that must have surely been disrupted – brings his silver gaze back to Lord Charon. There is no acknowledgement of the continued touch on his face, but this is in thanks, solely, to the sense of grounded control that very touch seems to provide him.

Diri were… particular sort of spirits, formed around various things in Idalos and the minds of mortals, that could either be friendly or bothersome. It is not that hard for the human to believe, as he watches the creature jump from Lord Charon’s fingers and dive to grab onto his own. He does not know what to think of such a thing… Lars observes with his head tilted slightly to the side, in unintentional (for the most part) mimicry of the diri’s curious look.

This time, his silver gaze does not leave the diri, even as Lord Charon speaks. He has never seen anything – diri or otherwise – request his attention so blatantly; he has never thought of his attention as something to be won. The dreamer decides that the little diri named NoThing must be a vain creature, then, to find such eagerness within itself, to vy for the attention of someone like himself. So he allows it, and watches the somersault and sudden transformation, the wide spread of limbs in clear obstruction, the bursting of a familiar halo into existence above its head… and he does not react, not outwardly, to much of it.

While the displays are charming and curious, and a part of him wants to see more, another part of him cannot help but feel disdainful for a creature so quick to disobey. Perhaps Lord Charon has given no orders, no instructions, no guidelines for behavior, but Lars feels them all the same.

(He is reminded, as much as he can be through the haze of fading memories, of those who would speak out and go against his former masters. And he is reminded, by the odd feeling of disdain, of the way that he had always despised them, despite his agreement with the need to be free. It only ever took one rotten soul to spoil the whole bunch – or simply to earn enough punishment for the lot of them.)

NoThing lifts from his hand to pace through the air, rigid and proper in posture. Lars’ fingers curl inward and he lets his hand fall back to his waist, where he begins to tap steadily at the corset hidden beneath his gown. His pale gaze flits from the diri to the biqaj and back again, as if he is uncertain of which to give his attention, and the tapping of soft fingertips against his waist starts to stutter and stray from the steady pattern. Quiet, it worsens as NoThing slaps a hand against its backside in defiance of Lord Charon, and is returned to the chaotic tapping of the dreamer’s habits.

The faint coloration over the bridge of Lord Charon’s nose – blush? Was he blushing? Why did it look silvery-blue? – catches Lars’ focus for a trill, but there is hardly any time to dwell, or to wonder if he had even seen it at all, before NoThing escapes the biqaj’s grip. His head tilts again to the side, as the cloud of a creature takes off and away from them through the Veil. A soft, unintentional sound of surprise escapes Lars, and then another, when his wrist is grabbed and then used to pull him behind Lord Charon’s chase.

Lars’ fingers curl into a light fist as he attempts to keep up with the quick-footed dreamlord. Through the gaps in the never-ending trees, he sees the diri slide into an archway of twisted bark that he now recognizes as a door. Lord Charon’s dream? But… no, it couldn’t be – it was someone else’s dream. And his patient (but certainly not slow) guide takes him straight to it.

“...Hold tight to my hand, and stay close. No matter what... stay near me."

What? But – Lars’ silver eyes widen and he feels Lord Charon’s hand take his own.

There was no time for fear. It was just a dream, right? Just someone else’s dream.

Anxieties lessened by the physical connection, Lars does away with hesitation, and walks without question into the dream.

Next: Chapter 5

[Doran]

Llyr:

Knowledge:
Teaching x4
Rhetoric x2
Etiquette x2

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

Laures:

Knowledge:
Detection x3
Etiquette x2
Discipline x4

Loot: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

- - -

Comments: I enjoy the dreamy atmosphere in this series of threads. Changing the tense to present tense only adds to that in my opinion. Llyr’s explanation about the Veil, Emea and Diri were fascinating to read – as were Lars’ thoughts on those things. Are they from Emea as well?

No’Thing is really cute. I also liked the picture that you provided. I found it interesting that Lars apparently has a desire to lick inanimate objects. I cannot help but wonder what happens if you try to lick a Diri now.

With that being said, I look forward to reading the next thread in this series!

Enjoy your rewards!