69 Ashan 719
Sleep provided little rest, but great reward. For in the past trials, the biqaj – born to the name of Zarik Ki’Enaq – obsessively fixated on his newfound lucid relation with Emea. The ability to walk within dreams feeling as much sensation as if he walked along the bloodlit streets of Quacia… combined with the additional powers provided in such an ether-rich environment… it was an intoxicating power. One he felt, and knew, he could fortify himself with. He would protect his mind, he theorized, and his heart through mastery of the dream realm.
Tonight… or was it morning? He had started to lose track of time in the waking world… Regardless of what exact time it was in Idalos, it was Emea that mattered to him for the present moment. The young mage built his dreamscape from the void up. Every shade of color, every speck of light, every slight material, he purposefully analyzed with the keen eye of an appraiser. As such, the dreamscape was moderate in size rather than vast or tiny. Circular bounds kept in check, walls of latticed iron and stone that had red and violet velvet curtains nailed to the tall spaces where the interior architecture sloped into a ceiling.
The biqaj sat at the top of a ladder made from polished rosewood. He wore little, only a pair of form-fitted leggings of powder blue and a vest of gold satin. His feet were bare. His skin was smooth, without scars, unlike in the waking world. The mist of Emea kept him aglow with perfection. He held a straight-point dagger up, tracing the sharp edge over the stone of the ceiling to etch a fresco along the cathedral-like ceiling. The imagery was that of a landscape, sea and trees and wilderness without the touch of civilization.
As he sculpted, methodically choosing certain colors to bleed along the morphed lines of the ceiling, he contemplated various things in his life. He wondered if he might visit the Veil again. If he might find his new… colleagues… Miss Humming and Mister Kiwi. Since he’d last spoken to them, he had thought plenty about their offer of partnership – to save Idalos, to fix Idalos, however they wanted to word it. The creation of a network through use of Emea seemed so brilliant to him that he wasn’t sure why someone else hadn’t already accomplished such an obvious task. If he could… perform what the other two had shown by visiting him on the fortress battlements, then he didn’t even need to bother with the loud and obnoxious domain of Rupturing. He could acquire something much more valuable: the ability to appear anywhere in Idalos, from anywhere, with perfect stealth to his arrival… or his departure.
Zarik set down the blade, rested it on his lap, and held still at the top of the ladder where he was seated. He glanced over the dreamscape he’d created. It wasn’t ornate, but that was due to the practice of going through each detail so carefully.
He anticipated guests, though he knew not if it would be this trial’s dream or the next or the one after that. Whichever it was, he wished to prepare and display in his dreamscape that their choice of a trusted partnership with him would not go to waste.
His guests did not arrive together this time. He felt the familiar yawning sound that signaled the opening of a door into a dreamscape, and out came Miss Humming, the young woman with the neat bob cut and the handsome features who had claimed she was eighty-nine when they had first met.
Zarik leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and held the dagger loosely by the hilt so the tip pointed at the floor below. Though he was already much taller than the human woman, the ladder added at least three times his height to that difference. He smiled slightly and greeted her with a friendly, “Hello, Miss Humming.”
She looked up at him, shifted her gaze towards the ladder, and suddenly his ladder-enhanced height advantage dropped to a mere head. “Hello, Mister… what do I call you today?”
Though the change in height was swift and jarring, he merely stepped forward and left the ladder. He landed in front of her and holstered the dagger on a thin belt that hadn’t been visible until the moment it was needed. She asked for his new name, and he had one, though he wasn’t certain if it would be suitable… he’d spent a few breaks considering names and even researching them. He had one for himself, but what she asked for, that was for them and their future endeavors. He answered, a faint silver-blue blush rising to the bridge of his nose and fading over his cheeks, “Magpie. Mister Magpie, please.”
“I expected something a little more trite, I admit.” Miss Humming said. Her gaze turned from him towards his dreamscape. If she had any opinion on it, it wasn’t showing on her stony features. “Birds of prey, for example. The boys I grew up with loved the big raptors. The eagle, the hawk, the falcon. Thought it made them big. Thought if their thing they fashioned themselves after meant something, they supposed so would they one day. Not crow? It’s an intelligent bird. Filial to the family unit. Cooperative. Communicative.”
While the woman observed his dreamscape, the meticulously crafted interior of an almost monastic mockery of a Theocratic cathedral, he observed her a bit closer. Before, he’d been distracted by… so much. Visiting the Veil for the first time, answering so many questions, having his soul explored by her, but now he had a moment to simply look while he listened patiently to all that she had to say. She had a sharpness to her, yet there was no way to deny that she had the soft womanly qualities to her eyes and face and even her slight body.
“A magpie is related to the crow,” he informed her in response. “I did consider the crow for a long time. I have always felt an affinity for such birds, they were often my companions on the rooftops or in the trees when I would climb. Falcons, hawks, yes, I understand others’ interests in these… I must admit I considered such birds briefly, but… it would be disingenuous of me to even entertain such a concept as to apply it to myself. The crow, it is dark but perhaps too dark. Many magpies often display the light along with the dark.”
“Not the most elaborate reason,” he admitted. “But one that does well enough to suit me. And I hope… you?”
“My only concern is consistency.” she said. “You could have picked Mr Tit if you so fuckin’ wished.”
“He did not choose ‘tit’?” came Kiwi’s quiet, familiar voice as he stepped through his own door. Where before the man had been dressed in plain, simple clothing, he now wore nothing but a ragged pair of underclothes, scorched to the point where they were more revealing than concealing. His body was covered in soot and what looked to be scorch marks of the kind comparable to what one might find staining the sturdy stones of a hearth. His disheveled state, however, didn’t seem to affect him much. He still stood straight backed, bright-eyed, and aloof.
“Are you…” started Zarik. He paused, however, in notice that despite the other man’s appearance, he didn’t act as if he were injured or the like. Still, he concluded the instinctual question, “...okay, Mister Kiwi?”
The other man blinked once, and Zarik had the feeling Mister Kiwi wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked his question at all. “I am,” he replied before turning his attention to Miss Humming. “Carmella sends her… regards.” Something about his usually stoic tone sounded unfathomably tired.
“Duly noted.” Miss Humming said. Zarik was able to tell when her tone spat out an implied eyeroll. “And no, he has chosen the Magpie as his callsign.”
“Magpie…” Kiwi murmured. “And this is also a better moniker than ‘Mike’?” Again he addressed Miss Humming, his brow arched in a careful display of uncertainty.
“Kiwi.” Humming said in a voice very much similar to how a mother would address her child. “Mike is not a bird species.”
Bright eyes settled on Zarik, clearly whatever was going on was a continuation of some… argument? Discussion? It was difficult to tell with the seemingly always-angry Miss Humming and the nearly-emotionless Kiwi. “What is your opinion on ‘Mike’, Mister Magpie?”
“Uh…” he could tell this was likely a spot he didn’t want to wedge between, no matter how innocuous a difference in names might’ve seemed. Zarik cleared his throat, then said, “I think Kiwi suits you well. Mike would be much too plain for a man with eyes such as yours.”
“Don’t fuckin’ dodge the question.”
“Do not dodge the question.”
