• Mature • [Memory] This World, My Heart

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[Memory] This World, My Heart

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92 Zi'da 718

Through the door, a portal of writhing tentacles, Zarik slid past a tunnel of ichor and into another dreamscape. He fell directly into a hedgerow, leaves fluttering outward like butterflies as he crashed into the thin branches. The biqaj rolled aside, landed on an undulating grass, and sprinted. He didn’t pay a single iota of thought to the unusual formed creatures that meandered around the courtyard grounds. This was not his dreamscape. It was not Kasoria’s. It was some random person, and he wasn’t about to stop and look, no matter what Mister Kiwi had taught him about quiet patience. Not while he had another dreamwalker hot on his heels.

In the sky, past the portal, the Eidisi walker followed. Skin of blue and fur cloak floating like a shadow behind the man, Zarik didn’t need more than a glance to know he didn’t have time to linger.

Zarik grabbed onto the fabric of the dream, tore open a door, and slid through it in the hope that the Eidisi would not follow.

Such hope was misplaced -

- as it had been for all the other attempts to rid himself of his stalker.

The Eidisi slipped past the torn dream, grabbed onto the biqaj’s shoulder, and stabbed the metal end of what was known as a Videnese extractor into him. Hooked clamps embedded into the curve of his muscle like the talons of a hawk. Zarik swore, took hold of the taller man’s wrist, then yanked him through to the Veil. They stumbled together and he felt ether melt from him and into the vialed container. Whether true or not, he didn’t know but he reached to remove the implement from his emereal skin.

“Not so,” said the blue-skinned entity. He blocked Zarik’s attempt.

Yet the biqaj was tired of this. He was weary of the chase and they were not in the physical world, no… they were elsewhere. Zarik grabbed the fur cloak with both his hands. He left the extractor to its painful clamp on his shoulder, then he pulled the Eidisi to the side. The other man didn’t seem to expect the direct aggression. They crashed into one of the tables - however it appeared to the Eidisi within the Veil, Zarik didn’t know nor care - and he picked up one of the quills. He stabbed it into the blue skin just under the ear and when he pulled it out, light brightened around them.

Away from the Veil, the two landed in a bank of icy snow. The Eidisi removed the extractor, a hissing snap sounded from the removal, and then he started to crawl along the ivory dune to get some distance from the increasingly desperate mage. Zarik realized where they were. He'd finally found an advantage over his pursuer. This was the Eidisi’s dreamscape. He grinned slightly, at the small sense of victory, then took after the other man.

“You chase me all night,” called Zarik, in a mocking tone. “Then I come here and you’re going to leave finally?”

“I got what I wanted,” sneered the Eidisi over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed in a glare. “You can go about your dour life again now.”

Zarik lifted through the sky, his gossamer wings spread, and he flew in a darting pattern to land roughly in front of the Videnese man. “If I ever see you again…”

“You’re in no position to make threats. You’re inexperienced here. You know not what you contend with.”

“That may be, but it still stands,” insisted Zarik. “If I ever see you or with my…”

He hesitated, unwilling to refer to Kasoria as he wished to. Regardless of his hesitation, however, the Eidisi filled in the blank for him: “your branded?”

The leering smirk that thinned the nearly lipless mouth filled Zarik with a certain frustration. He swiftly reached and swiped the extractor from the other man. He lifted in flight, through the snowy air, with the implement and whatever of his that had been collected in the vial. Whatever it was, it shone a pale blue in the light of the frigid dreamscape.

“Fool! That does not belong to you.”” said the Eidisi, who lifted a pillar of ice underneath his feet to take chase into the air.

“It does now,” replied Zarik simply. For a moment, he searched for a door and then remembered what Mister Kiwi had taught him. One does not find a door… he turned, prepared to leave, only to feel his wings give out. Frost had frozen them in place, guided by the Eidisi’s hand. The young mage plummeted through the dreamscape. He felt a pull on his hand, to take the extractor back, and then…

…a door opened up. He let go of the extractor, fell through, and it closed behind him without the Eidisi in pursuit.

Zarik continued to fall, past a bloodlit sky, and he landed on a soft bed of flesh.

The blond, silvery-skin biqaj rolled onto his hands and knees. Wide-eyed, irises of crimson, he looked around at a dreamscape that looked as if it belonged in the internal organs of a human. It wasn’t his first time in such an environment, but something about this one felt… different. He glanced under his palms, where the soil of flesh squished with fresh blood.

He placed a hand out, but found no door to grasp.
Off Topic
Reviewer's Note: Got approval from Pegasus for Zarik to be lucid in this dream series even though it's dated prior to his initiation in dreamwalking.
Last edited by Llyr Llywelyn on Fri Jul 05, 2019 11:04 pm, edited 4 times in total. word count: 948
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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The smell of musk filled the air, the scents of life surrounded him in perhaps the strangest example of what a person smelled like, beneath the layers of aromatics and cleanliness. It was a raw display of humanity. As though someone's stomach had been slit open, and allowed to dry upon the open air. Sweat glistened off of the surface in which Llyr found himself upon. The dull thrumming of energy pulsing beneath his feet, he could feel the electric impulses flaring off, responding to his touch. Rather than a system responding to the likes of disease, more like a body finally being touched and curious about the sensation itself. The sky streaked, suddenly, as a crimson vein grafted itself upon it. It looked like a blood red example of a flash of lightning. Yet no matter how many times the sky flared in expectancy, it never once clapped with the primally afeared clap of thunder. This place wasn't antagonistic to his presence, yet.

There was no sun, but the landscape was alight by some strange, unseen design. The sky itself seemed to glow faintly of some sort of off white color that blended into the very background, perhaps the color of bone itself, if one was familiar. Shadows did not exist here, except for the wrinkles of the flesh beneath Llyr's feet. It was soft, and pliant. Perhaps betraying any sense of this being a visceral nightmare, the only thing that stood out as outwardly threatening, was the marks left upon the flesh. There looked to be claw marks upon it, slashing deeply within the dreamscape, tearing into it like an animal that had been trapped by a hunter, desperate to escape. Or perhaps it was more like a predator trapped within a cave, clawing at the walls of its prison, desperately awaiting an escape. Fighting against the eventuality of its starvation by impotently clawing and harming the very walls of he place itself. Beyond strange.

This place continued for miles in any direction. Completely uninterrupted by the likes of anything that would normally denote a place of natural design. There were no analogs to trees, no analogs to buildings. Colors swirled in the sky, pulsing in strange vein like formations that nearly seemed to share the same consistency of tossing colored sand within a glass tub of clear liquid. Impulses were on display here. The very Genesis Chamber of the mind was laid bare before Llyr. Or perhaps some strange abstraction of it. Though aware of his presence, it didn't seem to stir from its sleep. Either not cognizant enough to do anything, or its purpose not being anything reactionary, only to convey warnings.

Before him, the ground began to give way to something. Not directly opening, but instead summoning an avatar of its will. Like a tree sprouting from bloodied soil, something began to take shape from the pillar of flesh that was beginning to rise from the mounds of unending human matter. The distant sounds of a thrumming heart could be heard. The air almost turning solid, as the thing began to take shape. At first, it was round in shape, its rotund, harmless form beginning to take on more and more human qualities. The process itself was something that barely took much time, in all honesty, but the formation of life before him was hardly rushing. It knew that it had time. Or didn't care.

The first to form, was its eyes. To see Llyr would be the first thing that the dreamscape wanted to perceive. Milky white globs of gelatin formed within empty sockets, before developing a pinpoint black speck in the very center of it. Dilating, the pupil began to expand and contract, like the aperture of a camera's lens. Its vision didn't look particularly good, cloudy with what could only be cataracts, but it seemingly didn't see much need in seeing much more than the general shape of Llyr. As though it was only looking for confirmation that he was even there. It had no eyelids to blink from, instead only relying on the fluids dripping from above its mass to keep its eyes hydrated. The next to form, were holes on the sides of the head, at first taking on the appearance of trumpets, to better listen to his sounds. Llyr could be perceived by what the entity deemed to be the most important. Too see, and to hear him.

Its pupils began to dilate, as it finally understood what it was that stood before it. But it remained silent, as the darkness began to threaten to envelop its entire sclera. Irises began to form, turning a pale blue color, to absorb as much light as it possibly could. Its sensitive form was something that was not yet hardened to the harsh elements of what was outside of this dreamscape. Finally, it began to develop its own set of eyelids, curtains of flesh that allowed it to rest its eyes from the arduous task of perception, allowing it to develop. With every blink, the eyes became less and less cloudy, colors beginning to blur within the creature's vision, finally even able to see colors.

It remained silent, almost expectant. There wasn't any expression that could be read from this creature, but it lacked the means to directly harm Llyr. Its purpose unknown. Could it be an avatar of the host's will? Some sort of servant to this strange, fleshy construct? Perhaps a prisoner, kept here, among the unknowing masses of flesh? There was no answer provided, but the mouthless thing seemed to be able to perceive him, loosely. Simply choosing to listen.
word count: 952
"No mass graves."

-Vri 720, scolding Sybil for disposing of necromancers.

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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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Perhaps if Zarik – Llyr – didn’t know he was in a dream, he would have felt a sense of fear, or at the very least, anxiety. He understood, in a profound sense, that where he was – was in the mind of another person. While he didn’t know who, his focus turned away from the elusive door and to the dream itself. Without the Eidisi stalker, he felt able to return to the simple process of observation to learn of a dream. It wasn’t the first mindscape he’d gotten stuck within, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

Which suggested to him that there was something to do; some act to perform or role to play before the door to the Veil would allow itself to be known.

As the ground gave way, he stood and his wings fluttered to help his balance. He watched the formation of what looked like… a mud doll of sorts. It reminded him of the little shapes he used to make on the swamp shores when he was a boy – only of flesh and blood rather than wet dirt and moss. The biqaj moved closer, as eyes formed.

He glanced, briefly, to see that he wore the same thing he’d been wearing when he departed Kasoria’s dreamscape. The black sweater and simple trousers, and his frayed trenchcoat had been left behind, and his mask, which covered the lower half of his face from view. His crimson eyes changed hue to amber when he saw the eyes form in the sockets. He leaned in, closer, to peer back at the specks of pupils that came into existence.

How barren, he thought and then he whispered, “How fascinating.”

He walked around, however, untethered to his spot and curious whether the shape would follow him. The tall mage nearly prowled around the form, as what could only be described as practical ears formed. Once he’d gone around in a circle, returning to the place where he’d started, he glanced around in every direction of the dreamscape.

His gaze gradually returned to the entity that stared at him – only now it blinked – silent and watching, silent and listening, silent and…

“Aren’t you lonely here?” he asked the fleshy creature. He crossed his arms over his chest, then pointed to the bloody sky above them. “My teacher wouldn’t like me to interact with you… but I’d rather not spend breaks staring back at you. Is there something you need, perhaps?”

So I can move on through this dreamscape… he didn’t share the latter, though the thought crossed his mind. While Emea operated in different times than Idalos, he didn't like the thought of remaining asleep for so long while he still resided in the precarious position of being a captive in a pirate's hold. He placed his fingertips to his mask and lowered it to reveal the rest of his face. The blond tapped his lips, then said, “Can you speak?”
word count: 505
Please — consider me a dream.
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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A slow rumbling was the only thing Llyr got in response, at least in that immediate moment, to his question. He could feel the vague sensation of the world starting to slowly shift in the back of his skull. It wasn't like it was an earthquake, but it was something that was able to be perceived. As he tapped his finger against his lips, the bulbous mound of flesh began to change. Four fingers down from its milky, dilated eyes, a mouth began to form. It was a mirror copy of Llyr's, as though it had very little concept, or at least very little care, of its own mouth. At first, it hanged agape. Unable to produce noise, and unable to even do something as basic as breathe, it looked more like a mask than anything else. Its eyes further dilated, as more and more of Llyr entered its field of vision. It wasn't long before he could hear a raspy breath escape its lips, as though trying to mimic his voice, without using words.

Something that Llyr could easily find out, was that he was indeed untethered. The world itself was not keeping him in one position. He was free to explore this barren, rolling mound of flesh to his heart's content, should he find the want for such a thing. The creature would simply move its head, which entailed moving most of its fleshy mound with it, in the direction of Llyr. It was easy to keep an eye on him, since he was the only thing that wasn't apart of the grand organism that splayed itself like a frog tied for dissection. The world reacted, however, to his movements. Something that would display itself upon the very sky itself. Every step he took in any direction, he could see the sky pulse with reddish colors, as though to reflect the sensation of being walked on. Though, surprisingly, there weren't any grunts or groans of pain. Aside from the very audible heartbeats, there was a dead silence that made hairs stand on their ends.

"Flesh." It stated. It was less of a statement to be frank. Its mouth was underdeveloped, seemingly more like a slit in a rubber sheet than actually functioning lips. As it parted its maw open, it let out a gasping, burbling noise. The sound had the quality of a migraine formed from a mixture of drink and insomnia. It seemed to rumble out its words from somewhere other than its mouth, it simply wouldn't work, through the malformed avatar this dreamscape was presenting itself with. "We are." It finishes. It had very little concept of loneliness, as it had very little understanding of most things that were deeper than 'hunger', 'fear', 'anger', 'elation'. It was the most basic part of Sybil's mind.

Finally, it began to attempt to mimic the inner workings of a mouth. Though to be honest, the process of doing such was something that almost made one wish that it had just stuck with leaving it to the imagination. As it gave raspy breath, one could see what its teeth had become. Starting from smooth gums, it had become the texture of jagged glass, slowly forming into something more blunt. It cut into the fleshy lump of a creature, as it attempted to breathe in the stale air of this place, "Want." It says, pupils contracting in the direction of Llyr. "Flesh needs life." It speaks, giving some nebulous answer to something that was easy to give a direct answer to. The thing was trying to commune through impulses, smells upon the air, flashes of the synapses... But it was no empath. It was relegated to primitive forms of speech.
word count: 627
"No mass graves."

-Vri 720, scolding Sybil for disposing of necromancers.

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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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The form could mimic, it could change, it could learn. It was gruesome, it was far from precise, it was a mockery of what it’d seen – but it was a mouth that came into formation and a breath that escaped its lips. Was this the dreamer or merely an extension of the dreamer’s mind? He considered that the entire dreamscape might be the dreamer and, in a way, a slight realization that all dreamscapes were truly the dreamer… though crafted with the essences of Emea, each dreamscape connected to the mind of – if not resided within – the dreamer.

What then was it within this dreamer that created a world of this shape and form?

He’d only ever seen this sort of landscape in one other dreamer… and that was himself. His own dreams had taken similar shape before he’d fully possessed his dominance within Emea. All before he’d snapped his fingers in that defining moment that cemented changes that had brewed within him after he’d initiated into magic and offered his soul to a spark in exchange for power. He’d lessened his momentum under the tutelage of Mister Kiwi and Miss Humming, for the way the other mages spoke with him, the naïve biqaj had come to an understanding that he shouldn’t be developing as fast as he was – in any of it, but especially that which had to do with ether. That there would be consequences to such swift pace, that he’d already could observe them in the shape of the wings at his back, halo above his head, and the crystalline glimmer to his legs. And in more unseen ways, more insidious changes to his mind and soul… was he even still the same man as before? Zarik was unable to know, and he understood that he likely would never know. The rare few he knew before he’d initiated said he’d changed, his father had said as much, and who had known him better than his own father? He assumed it meant he had become an adult finally, broken the chains of his role as the obedient son, but now… now he wondered if something fundamental within him had been altered outside of his awareness to realize. Certainly, his spark guided most of what he did – even his exploration of Emea made his connection stronger, ever since the realm had sung a siren song to him during the initiation he almost didn't return from. Even under mentorship of powerful mages, none of them agreed with one another about the nature of sparks. They had vastly differing perspectives. Zarik didn't know what to make of something that had no discernible answer from books or respectable minds. Was his spark him or was it creating him?

Zarik closed his eyes, then. He listened to the silence. Kiwi would like this place, he thought… if only it wasn’t so flesh-ridden. No. That wasn’t correct. He opened his eyes as he heard the creature speak. This was a dreamscape that would purely resonate with only himself, perhaps. Such a thought encouraged him to interact based on his instincts, reckless though they may be and as much as Kiwi might disapprove of such measures. He hadn't died yet, wasn’t that what the Quacian had told him… He wasn’t dead yet. So, he couldn’t freeze in uncertainty. There was no right or wrong, there were only things to do or not do, and that which bloomed from his cultivation.

The biqaj set his hand against the fleshy doll entity. It sounded like it was in pain. His fingers spasm upon touch, tensed even in their emereal and non-physical form. The tips of his fingers dig into the flesh, like putty or wet clay rather than forcing through skin. He moved closer and watched the teeth manifest.

Flesh needs life.

Though it seemed to be spoken as an answer, he responded as if it’d been a question. “Flesh is life.”

He removed his hand, strings of blood and sinew following as it had attached to his palm. Zarik observed and he wondered if he might wake up from this dreamscape now that he was free from the Eidisi’s attention. He stepped backward and grabbed at the sinews to remove them, but only managed to get the mess of crimson on his other hand. Like a matted patch of swamp moss, he found his fingers tangled up in the substance. He spread his arms, stretched the sinew, and then looked to make eye contact. His irises spun in amber colors, crimson flashes, with hints of periwinkle that stood against the warmth in cool slices through the revolving pigmentation.

“Who are you?” He asked in a clear voice that echoed in the dull silence surrounding them.
word count: 813
Please — consider me a dream.
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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Llyr had let his instincts take over. Choosing the first thing that came to mind, The Flesh considered his offering. Sliding his hands within, and stretching its sinew. The action was almost akin to that of checking a cow during its pregnancy. A disgusting, but strangely enough, something that caused something to shift within The Flesh's constricted pupils. Finally, it had an example, a taste of the flesh it was so curious of. Its form now knew what shape it sought.

As he pulled out, his hands would be covered in the vein like substance, a mixture of coagulated blood and veins that had simply fallen from their suspension within The Flesh. It paused for quite a while, its eyes dilating further, and further until... It began to crack. The sound of flesh being torn like paper, and bones being constructed instantly after being brutally snapped into dust, the bulbous mass began to crack open like some sort of macabre egg.

And unceremoniously, like an animal giving birth, something emerged from its broken visage. Peeling in half like a blossoming flower of skin and bone, there was now something that appeared far more human than The Flesh. Perhaps it was the same entity, but now it was humanity, writ monstrous. Long, blond hair poured from the revealed upper torso of the body, revealing an impressively formed set of jade eyes. A nose was present, even paired with twinned, far more human ears. It was far less efficient in design, far less based on the carnality of pragmatism. Now, something deeper was forced to the surface. The figure's face, like that of a woman who had seen no sun for all her life, now looked upon Llyr, eyes unfocused but knowing. A ringing paradox of perception. It didn't seem capable of seeing, or at least didn't pay attention to him in gaze alone, but the world responded through them. The heart of this wasteland was finally revealed.

The entity was something of a taur like form. Its upper torso that of a human, but once it reached where the bellybutton should be, it was hopelessly merged with the world of flesh. It, just like the entity that came before it, was one with this place. The two existences simultaneously different, but belonging to the same mind. It was akin to comparing the ownership of a liver and a heart. While they most certainly had the same owner, they carried out vastly different functions. Eyes began to peel in the sky, looking down upon Llyr, to see him from more angle than one. He was now a subject of curiosity to this world of a single creature. A foreigner in a land in which shared every thought. The one thing that had free thought of its own. For a long time, it was as though it forgot the man's question entirely. But eventually, its lips parted, revealing a stark understanding of what a face's innards look like. Either it had learned quickly, or always knew.

"We are The Flesh." It answers. Its voice was something strange. Belonging to something that was entirely different than what was proffered before. Less scratchy, though still retaining some imperfections in the voice alone, when it came to displaying humanity in aesthetics. "We curate the Scrape. Ensure that what lies within does not leave, to murder and to pillage. This is what the Higher demands. We obey." Never once referring to itself in the singular, the creature's frame hangs loosely, arms refusing to move, aside from the occasional twitch. Its pupils remaining dilated, as it looks upon Llyr, injecting itself with dopamine through the fleshy construct of the mind itself. It dulled the pain of the creature it contained.

The entity insisted that its name was The Flesh. An odd choice, all things considered. But many had pseudonyms. It was strange, however, that this creature, while the very embodiment of a living 'thing', seemed to have little concern in the affairs of the living. As though its only goal was to survive. All else simply served the purpose of such. "Do you bring us the Ichor? We crave a means to a short relief. To make the pain cease. But she defiles us like a predator. Drags her hands across our corridors. Stabs deeply within our wrinkles and pits. Our mounds subject to her painful outbursts." It remains silent, for a moment. Its eyes going glassy, as it processes something. Blinking rapidly, however, the look is gone, "If you do us a kindness, and ease her influence upon the Scrape, we will open our curtains, to allow you to flee further. You look like a rabbit to the hunt. We, may be a hole in the fence, for such a kindness."

The nude figure took a moment to breathe, as its eyes twitched. Looking down towards the ground, it was as though it had to speak with limited air. As though the action of keeping verbose conversation was a task that it was not prepared for. As though it was unnatural for this entity. It far preferred the means of impulses to speak. Pheromones, the non-verbal, the Fleshspeak. So many names for something so simple, so unseen.
word count: 878
"No mass graves."

-Vri 720, scolding Sybil for disposing of necromancers.

NPCs: Karlsson, Margaret
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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The young mage observed the cocoon of flesh crack apart. Perhaps to others, it may have been unbearable to watch. To others, those with faint hearts or gentle minds, those who weren’t accustomed to the ways of the flesh, the methods of bones, the flow of blood as life vanished into death. Zarik wasn't others. He was intimately familiar with the sound of beige marrow snapped apart and muscle torn asunder. Not only had he witnessed such things from an age before he even reached his father’s shoulder in height, but now he had a personal connection.

It wasn’t only his spark of Transmutation that resided within his soul, but he’d become a home for the spark of Becoming as well. While modest, almost demure, by comparison, while he watched The Flesh form into the upper portion of a humanoid body, this spark vibrated with resonance. He was not disgusted. He was not repulsed. While he would’ve preferred different scents to the dreamscape, he found it easy to endure such things.

He cleaned his hands by gathering the sinew into a ball of veins and then tossed it aside. It bounced a few times before rolling over the mounds. The hint of a smile revealed at the corner of his lips. This place was peaceful. It felt familiar in so many ways. He leaned close and examined the Flesh’s face that it’d built itself. He observed no boundaries within Emea, no propriety to attend to with an unusual dreamer such as this.

Zarik set his fingertips on the pale woman’s face. He caressed the contours with a sense of fascination while he listened to the entity speak. His own face was not far, so close that his iron-tinted breath breezed over the Flesh’s visage. The Scrape, he wondered what that was. The Higher, he could assume certain things about that one. He contemplated these names, the way they were referred to – almost like both location and minds… he wondered.

His fingers traced over the lower lip of the Flesh. He gently pinched the skin as if testing its toughness, then continued his exploration to the chin, to the hollowed spot where neck became chest between the clavicles. The young mage inhaled sharply. His other hand guided over the curve of a shoulder, testing the merit of the limp and twitching arm. He lifted the hand, to observe the digits and the fingernails that were meant to be there. How accurate was the form, how precisely crafted?

“The Ichor?” he repeated quietly. He wondered if the she was the dreamer… His gaze glanced around the landscape of human tissue and muscle, to where he’d seen the marred carvings, and he hummed in recognition. His gaze returned to look at the glassy eyes, the blinks, then the continuation of an offer. A bargain.

The hint of a smile returned to the blond man. What was it with everyone observing him as a rabbit, or some prey animal to be hunted? Even here in Emea… even here, with a monstrous entity such as this under his hands, they only saw the weak and small in him. Zarik lowered his gaze to the hand he held. He decided, then and there, that such a thing was acceptable. He’d been taught to be seen that way. His father had expertly honed him to appear vulnerable, every aspect of his mannerisms and behaviors and the way he groomed himself, meant to create that sense of weakness and inability, something to take advantage of, of someone to be pitied, someone pathetic who needed rescue, who needed mercy, who couldn’t make it on their own. Maybe, if he maintained such image in the external perspectives of others, it meant that he hadn't changed that much at all -

- despite his sparks,

despite his greater awareness of the world,

despite everything -

- maybe he was still that same Zarik he'd once been.

His eyes turned blue in deep shades that contrasted all the red of the humanoid fleshscape. The biqaj nodded slowly and said, “What is this Ichor you speak of? Where is this she that harms you? What of the Scrape must be known?”

He returned his gaze to make eye contact with the disconcerting eyes. “I will help you, The Flesh. Do you wish for me to rid you of her?”
word count: 738
Please — consider me a dream.
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Sybil Malach
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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"She may not leave the Scrape. We have suggested devouring her, but upon deaf ears. Her death is freedom. What Lies Within must remain in bondage. The Higher has deigned it so." Comes the response from The Flesh. As Llyr begins to touch the form, it barely seems to respond to it. Having little notion to the idea of personal space, outside of those that pose a threat, it seems that it simply brings with it a sort of laissez faire approach to its own existence. The Flesh feels warm to the touch. The skin quakes beneath the man's fingertips, in response to the touch itself. The nerves are sent alight with stimulation. To The Flesh, this would be the first time in a very long time that it's been touched outside of scratched and mauled. "What Lies Within will promise you salted meats and marrow, in exchange for her release. We will not stop you, if you choose to listen to her. But you will be harmed by her. As have we."

Tracing along The Flesh's face, its eyes slowly begin to glance down at the finger that's doing most of the stimulation. It appears to be easily distracted, and completely uncaring at the task at hand. As though it were some child in charge of something that was important to something else, rather than itself. The Flesh's chest rises and falls like that of a normal human. The thrumming of the heartbeat can be readily felt within the creature's skin. It was very much alive, and very much something that was getting its energy from somewhere. "We cannot take the form of What Lies Within. This is the form of the Higher. It exhausts us so, keeping its shape. It speaks in tongues and teeth that would be better off used for chewing and biting. But it is the Higher, so we prostrate our desires." It explains in a way that's almost painfully vague. The Flesh is posing as someone else, but can't show Llyr what What Lies Within looks like?

Slowly, something begins to form out of the flesh near where Llyr stands. Splitting open, as though being gashed by a knife, sinew begins to part with a surprising amount of elegance. It's only like watching woven fabric unweave itself, and return to the likes of string. The process is painfully slow, but nothing that's too outrageous considering the fact that time here seems to be behaving strangely. A hard to explain thing. Almost as though adrenaline was constantly forcing perceptions to slow down the areas around the two, but the two themselves retaining their normal speed. A simple glance towards the sky would be able to cue Llyr in to the stimulus that unweaving the flesh is giving unto the entity. A slow, meandering pulse of yellowish red painting the sky, its form like static, or the drips of a drizzle upon a puddle. It didn't seem major, so it couldn't be representing any strong response, like pain or euphoria... Strange.

"The Scrape is The Flesh. We feel all that happens to our corridors. Trace an eye with the veins upon the wall, if you would like us to see. An ear, for us to hear. But we will feel all your movements. We ask that you do not harm the Scrape. For such actions harm The Flesh. Such is a reality that What Lies Within has used against us, and made us punished by the Higher." The entity known as The Flesh tries to explain. The figure that is now serving as the avatar of The Flesh's will seems to twitch, slowly, as it's dragged within the cocoon once more. The process is slow, as though the representation was a noodle being slurped back into the cavernous maw of some sort of patron in a restaurant. Llyr can already see it beginning to pull itself apart, its body becoming slack, as the sinews serving as threads could be seen, barely holding the figure together. It twitched and spasmed, before going limp.

"She lies within us. Follow the entrance that has been offered. Travel within the Scrape's innards. You will find the Guts, where she is being kept. What Lies Within holds the Ichor. Draining from her cavernous maw. It will pool around her. We ask that you feed the Scrape its share of Ichor. Do this, and we The Flesh will open our curtains, so you may glance behind. Find your Warren through the Hole In The Fence." These were the last words offered by The Flesh, as its avatar was unwritten from existence. Returning to the brain like texture of the Scrape. Leaving Llyr all alone, next to the hole in the ground.
word count: 804
"No mass graves."

-Vri 720, scolding Sybil for disposing of necromancers.

NPCs: Karlsson, Margaret
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Llyr Llywelyn
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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Information came readily from The Flesh. Llyr listened, closely, but closer still he continued to trace his fingertips over the entity’s form. He felt it quake in response to his touch, the stimulation that shot through the formation. Salted meats and marrow, he smiled slightly at the thought of such a negotiation. He listened to its heartbeat, the pulse inside of The Flesh, of the words spoken about What Lies Within, of the Higher’s form, of being exhausted by having t o appear like it did.

The sinuous mounds of the ground split open. He lowered his hand, glancing over at the sight as the muscular fibers unwove slowly. His wings fluttered behind him. His halo brightened, then dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed. The irises of his eyes spun in colors before settling in the amber haze that surpassed the bounded rings and glowed around his lashes.

Llyr nodded slowly as The Flesh continued to explain in the cryptic manner that most dreamers explained things. Clear, yet obscured. It was simply something he’d have to accept, as Mister Kiwi kept trying to teach him to do. No right, no wrong… only action and reaction. He nodded slowly and promised so as to remind himself, “I will not harm the Scrape for I do not wish to harm the Flesh.”

The entity receded, drawn back into the greater environment. He accepted the instructions. It seemed if he wished to depart from this dreamscape, he’d have to go that way. The biqaj glanced at the hole in the ground. Well… he sighed lowly. His wings stretched out. He stepped to the very edge of the opening, then he took one more step and allowed himself to fall within – to travel through the Scrape’s innards and find the Guts and What Lies Within.

word count: 305
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Yrmellyn Cole
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Re: [Memory] This World, My Heart

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Sybil and Llyr, Overview
One thing I always like when people write dreams is how they describe the surreal environments and the way they change and transform while the dream goes on. You both do this so well. It was a pleasure to read a collaboration between two so talented writers. I particularly liked how odd it was when the two dreamers met and their weird first impressions of each other. Enjoy your well-deserved rewards!

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