To You, My Forlorn Dream

[Xx_BloodStalk_xX 2120]

Spoiler

 

TO YOU, MY FORLORN DREAM

━━━━━━━━━┛ ๑ ┗━━━━━━━━━

𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴
	𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦
		𝘈 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶

 

Dark Dael quietly sat straight after admiring his own words, resting his pen far from the papyrus he had just scribed upon. He looked up across the isles of Elvenesse, the place where had he remained for many years, and surveyed the seafoam climbing across the pale green waters that covered her beaches. Taking the scent of salt and seashells into his nostrils, a hand lofted forth to reach for his drink, but to his surprise there were two. He had not remembered taking two, and they were both in identical glasses; the first held a clear liquid, most likely water, and the second was further away from him. A muddled and bubbly concoction, which held the scent of freshly brewed liquor that had just escaped the confines of its oak barrel. He opted to press his stomach against the stout table, reaching for the drink farthest to him. The man quietly drank, until the glass had been emptied.

 

Retrieving himself from the velvet pillow he was sitting on, he'd take up a coat that was further down the table. A coat of woven of hickory-colored elven silks with a golden floral pattern. Underneath were black robes, and further beneath those were thin red ones, tied together with white cloth around his waist. His large, baggy leggings were azure, leggings that sometimes dragged against the bottom of his sandals. Everytime that happened, he'd think to himself of cutting the fabric but could never remember to do so until the next time it had happened again. Then, he'd reach down for his katana, carrying it by the sheathe as he began to walk. The path of dirt he followed was splotched with leaf-shaped shadows from the trees above, a blur here and there as something avian passed overhead. The Lord looked about as he walked as if he expected something to come out of the nearby undergrowth, blinking rapidly whenever the sun would hit his eyes.

 

"It is a good day for a walk." He uttered to himself, craving the sound of his own voice over the repeated chimes of a bird and the cracking of twigs. A few minutes later, a half-eaten fruit would drop in his path. He'd reach over with his cane and prod at it, examining the small bite marks before looking up, seeing a crowd of primates clinging to the branches above. Three of them, each looking to span across different stages in their lives. Watching them start to leave his presence after he sent them a glare, for whatever reason, brought upon passing memories.

 

---

The boy wiped away the peach's juice from his cheeks as he watched the guards prepare their helms and lining up in front of their superior, sitting upon the rooftop of the tavern he lived in. He was no more than five, bandages wrapped around his head that caused his overgrown curls to flock up in a pillar of orange hair. A nest of dirt that matched the grime covering the left side of his nose. A loud yell that echoed throughout the city square almost made him fall over the railings. "Dael'ran Reed Morgaine!" A woman called out, glaring up at him from below. The guards turned head, talking amongst themselves as the boy grasped onto the nearby flagpole, his mother watching him slide down without much concern. At the moment his worn shoes hit the ground, he felt her tugging at his ear, yelping out in pain and dropping the fruit in his hand. Her words did not last long, but they got the message across, eventually walking down the road with her so that they could enter her workplace, the clinic. The boy glanced over his shoulder with curiosity lining his bright eyes, watching the knights cross blades in their training.

"Mhm. He's a lot of trouble, this one.." Due to her lack of a right, the boy had to always keep to his mother's left so that he could hold her hand whilst she conversed with her mentor, the head doctor. "I swear, those hands of his were made for climbing." She said with some irritance in her tone, but she thoughtfully squeezed his hand.

 

---

By the time the sun had travelled a quarter's way down the horizon the Lord of Edenia had made his way to the city of Elvenesse. The sky had turned a dim orange, its light causing the wheat fields to glow, or so it seemed. Taking a right and off through those fields, strands of stray grass and petals blew past him. He had made it, to a pile of forgotten rubble. A mass of stone that had eroded due to circumstance and a lack of care, not a single feature of what was once there still present. Nevertheless, he looked up as if the statue's gaze was still down upon him, gripping upon their falchion of cobble with both hands. The man remained like this, hunched and leaning over his ebony walking stick.

 

A few minutes that felt like a good hour had passed, and the man took a seat. "I'm going to die soon, my friend. My era has long since passed, if you could call it mine." Dael said, grasping his legs with his hand and forcing them to cross. "Where did it go wrong? I've begun to reminisce. From the days of old I spent with my mother to the time I donned this accursed blade." Taking his katana by the sheathe, he'd allow it to rest in-between him and the debris. "I know well of a blade's burden now.. heavy, it is. But merely a fraction of the courage you held in your sheathe. For me, it's only darkness." The man fell silent, and so did the life around him. The wilds became serene and clear, even the winds having softened their whistling. His fingers reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, hunching forward. "Before I passed, I at least wanted to amend the wrongs I have committed. I search, but there still be no sign of the Ring's presence within this land." Dael returned his attention forward, his hand  falling to his knee. "They say they can extend my life. My seers. My council. Tubes of blood and muck, filling this body with horror to turn me into what I should've been, they say. Should I take this opportunity?"

 

"I'm always like this. Pondering over graves. To think I've become the very people I used to mock in my youth, bumbling old fools who cannot shake their specters from their heads." Dael said. "I have had dreams." He spared not a moment in-between his sentences. "I see a new world, a new era, from a youthful view. I wish to continue in this path. Will you watch over me, Vu-..?" 

Dark Dael had not the energy to stand up at such a quick pace anymore, merely turning his head as a figure soon arrived. He had not heard him coming, it was if the man had materialized a few paces behind him. Slowly, Dael reached for the hilt of his weapon, the very blade he cursed a few moments prior. Yet, as his fingers grazed the hilt, the stranger sat down next to him. His legs crossed as well, and the Lord looked to him in silence, his hand turning away from the handle. It was a young elf, ordained with many forms of jewelry and a curved circlet of gold around his head. Beads lined his black hair, and his body was thin and barely toned. Black paint mark his lower-eyelids, similar to Dael's red markings.

He stared for a moment longer before looking forward, and the two sat in silence for a while before the stranger let himself be the first to speak. "I know you." He said. What was he talking about? Dael thought. He was usually the first to know someone. "Do you?" Dael returned, neither of them turning their heads to look at each other. "Of course. You are the one that tends to this place. You polish each rock, making sure none leave their place. An undisturbed, broken thing." The stranger uttered in a swift, kind tone. Dael could not sense a hint of malice in it.

 

"You knew him, then?" Dael asked.

 

"I did." Answered the stranger.

 

"How did you know him?" The stranger asked in return to Dael's own query, to which he responded with; "We were friends." He kept it short, now just wondering if this odd elf had heard the words he spoke aloud to the broken statue. The elf lowered his head. "My condolences. Losing a friend is hard." Dael sighed at the stranger's words. "It's fine. It was a long time ago. How did you know him..?" The Lord trailed off as he looked to the elf, his brow raising in curiosity as he met face-to-face with a specter of gold, those eyes staring back at him tenfold. With a tilt of his head, he asked. ".. Don't I.. who are you?"

 

"You can't dream forever."

 

Spoiler

 

AND TO YOU, MY ACCURSED DREAMER

━━━━━━━━━┛ ₪ ┗━━━━━━━━━

 

 

"He won't dream forever."

 

The aged figure stated, watching as Dark Dael stirred within the trunk of the tree his body had fused within - plates of prismarine steel binded to his frame like armor, tattered red cloth around his head. The leaves were almost spent, a tree that bore no fruit, not even a single flower or bud. Its wood curved and stretched in the shape of agitated corpses wrought of maple and oak, old wood and new, twisting and turning until their hands grasped at the Dark Lord, keeping him bound to this prison. "I am quite aware." Said another figure bound within his own tree, but he did not stir. The elf seemed to embrace it, being held in the shape of wooden shells and curving roots. 

The realm that they were in was a realm unlike any other. A world of mountains, tall and strong. Small spirits travelled upon clouds, passing by pegasi and dragons. The stars that began to show as night fell held multiple hues, an array of color that reflected off of the clear waters offering  to the flowers and fruit trees that grew all around. Upon the tallest spire were where those twin trees sat, binding Dael and that elf in each. in-between them that figure paced, deep in thought and troubled by such. "If I have to stay like this for much longer.. we will all surely be ruined. I shall rectify it with time." Said the beast, opting to soon fix a faceless helm over Dael's head. His long, orange hair shrunk back within its metal, sprouting out in a single tail of white hue.

 

"The day is coming. This Lord's death. He does not belong here. He too, shall fade with the end of a new era."

[Zacho 1736]

Dael'ran The First stood idly on a distant land, one teeming with corruption and plague of the wicked void. Around him lay pieces of random materials and the blood of dead voidal creatures, those who dared reach for the mages power. His grey eyes stared off into the ocean that faded from its corrupted and dead black-purple into a distant hue of aqua, much like how the sea should be. "My span has been grand, perhaps too much so." He'd humble himself with a smirk as an idle hand reached out and drew forth a tear into the material plane, one peering into the impossibly close, yet physically distant, land of home. "Perhaps I should visit my descendants, their lives last only a fraction of mine..." He'd rub his chin one last moment before adjusting the ties on his robe, stepping into the portal. With a quick snap, he was gone into wherever his travels took him.

[WonkManBad 763]

The torn dreams of a turned-alchemical-horror cried out in anguish. Her ever-roaming muck of a soul reaching to grasp. . . something of her former life. Yet, she only dreamed of what was with this only ilk of hers.

 

A small encampment out of old Sutica; delegated to three. And only these three. It was her final eternity.

[bloomtiara 354]

          An elven woman sat within the depths of a small oaken basement, riddled with boxes and crates, the smell of rot surrounding her. Within one, prosthetics; others, toys and items as aged or older than she. A notable few, letters. Letters, all returned without responses. 

                                       Each and every scroll was marked with the scratches of an automaton upon the edges of every one of those pieces of paper. Each one, signed with her name, and pleas to his well-being. An unfinished one, even, lay upon the crate's top. Long now had she assumed she had outlived another one she once knew. Eleven, this made. . .

                                                       Eleven that had abandoned her to the lengths of time. Someone, to never again respond. Someone to never again teach, nor to speak back. 

       So then she continued, calloused fingers striking a harp's strings. It rung through the basement, the ground, the grass, into the ears of anyone near enough to hear. 

                     His student would, even surprisingly, never forget him. As she wouldn't forget any others.