Dreams of Home

[mmat 7460]

 

“I hate the ocean. I have legs and not fins for a reason.” - Khaine Csarathaire

 

On an unnamed ship in the middle of an unnamed ocean did the Ember druid slowly return from his long exodus. After escaping from his elite mercenary slavers, the Elf found his way to a small port town from which a ship departed. Where it was going he did not know, as the name was unfamiliar to him, only that the transport carried various spices and wines which the crew would trade on arrival. In an unfamiliar moment of fortune, the captain considered the Phoenix elf’s story to be curious and entertaining, and so allowed him to stow away in the bowels of the ship. Many weeks into the voyage, we find our weary and sickly traveller laying down on a makeshift, and somewhat uncomfortable looking bed of straw. Accompanying the constant creaking of the often unstable feeling ship, the Csarathaire tossed and turned in his sleep. Various dreams and nightmares had tormented him of late, and no doubt they would continue to. No doubt his various bouts of sea-sickness had not helped him.

 

---

 

“Aewion, with me, around the lake!”

 

The familiar clanking of steel armour plate and tempered iron weaponry was only eclipsed by an even more familiar voice; his own. But he had not spoken, he knew that, but the command sounded familiar as through it was an echo of his past. Blinking and slowly getting used to his environment, he witnessed the two individuals in front of him. They were recognisable with a moment's glance; Aewion Silma, a close companion and comrade in arms for decades before his abduction, and.. Himself, in front; the military leader of the Dominion of Malin, slightly to the north of the place he now stood. The two did not notice him, and instead he chased them a few hundred metres north.

 

“There, we have them!” the armoured doppelganger shouted with a fire in his voice which was barely remembered by Khaine.

 

He knew what was going to happen before it did. A dozen or so armoured Elves chased another duo of masked figures towards Aewion and Khaine’s past echo, they had been caught in a pincer. The Csarathaire proceeded to deftly thrust his blade into the bandit’s neck whilst his comrade Silma slew a masked Orc a few feet to the left. It was only at this point that the observing dreamer admired their conduct. It was his swift thinking that had led to their capture, and their subsequent inability to bother his Elven people again, and it was their swift and adept fighting that had ended that conflict. For the first time in many years, he felt proud. Back on the makeshift straw bed, a small and genuine smile appeared on the slumbering Elf’s face, a smile which would not last long. The situation seemed to slow, and the doppelganger Khaine span around with a dissatisfied scowl. In a moment, it sprinted up and thrust its blade into its dreaming lookalike, who shut his eyes and shouted loudly in a phantom pain.

 

Upon opening his eyes Khaine’s comrade and his past self had disappeared, replaced by an environment which, while faded in his consciousness, was recognisable as the road to the centre of the Dominion. He saw the fountain in front of him, the shops to his right and the tavern to his left. The fountain, where he had spent so much time irritated; commanding small Elven children to get out of the water. The shops, where he had exchanged his hard-earned coin for arrows to supply his much-loved Virarim from his own pocket, purchased from their Dwarven allies. The tavern… where he never really went, except to keep the citizenry safe in case of a raid, and to check on the emergency equipment supply. All the thoughts made him smile again, and he reached his arms forward in his sleep to embrace a part of the straw as if it were a lover or a dear relative.

 

In front of him, a familiar woman whose appearance brought on an air of sadness to the hardened Elf. Perhaps a tear might have snuck covertly down his cheek, though he would never admit it. His adoptive sister. Long auburn locks were all that was visible of her as she faced away from him. That, and some nondescript trousers and a garment which shielded her torso from view.

 

    “Abominations like you will not be allowed to spread!”

 

The words shocked him immediately as they came out of his mouth, had he said that out loud? At the words, the woman turned around, revealing yellowish eyes, one of which was marred by a slash which marked her entire face. With a conversely strange feeling of shame running through him did Khaine run forward, an inexplicable grimace of hatred on his face. A reflexive but short scream exuded from the familiar woman along with a spurt of blood, as his metal gauntleted fist connected with her face. Why had he done that? He didn’t mean to. Regret. He reached out to the woman and opened his mouth to apologise, but nothing came out. Narrowing his eyes, he then reached the same hands to his mouth, feeling there was nothing there to touch.

 

Again, he attempted to scream through his featureless face.

 

---

 

“WILL YOU BE QUIET?!” a harsh and common voice shouted down the rugged wooden steps of the ship’s deck.

 

Blinking and rubbing his eyes, the Elf looked down to his bare chest and stared for a few moments at the Phoenix which sat proudly on it. It was a strange feeling he felt that morning, shame and pride merging like water and oil. Following the crewman who had chided him so loudly to the quiet dawn deck, he looked out toward the bow of the ship and smiled.

 

Land.

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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