The Dreammaker [I]

[KidKrinkles 2043]

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[!] This interaction would only be known to Victor and Einin, and those they've personally spoken to.

 

[!] ADDITIONALLY; those who hold the object '🌸🧚‍♀️🌸 Whimsical Wand of Memory 🌸🧚‍♀️🌸' and focus upon it might relive this memory as if through Victor's eye; including the dream lived-- as it was crafted by the man.

 

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The Kingswood was quiet that day, save for the whisper of wind through the branches and the subtle rustling of underbrush. Victor moved with practiced caution, Azurewrath in hand, the thahnic blade’s red glow dim beneath the shade of the haunted forest. The rokodra shield, cold as death itself, lay strapped to his arm. He was hunting the witch of these woods, a plague that had seeped into the land, twisting it anew.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Moving past the painted over ruins of a desolate home within the woods; which had been meeting grounds to both beast and ranger in time’s past, he’d step down, and thud into the beaten dirt path from Numenost to the Divide. His eye drifting either way, catching a young lass he must’ve startled to his side. A registering gaze as he simply proceeded forward, wordlessly, armaments in hand, disappearing into the familiar greenery that wrapped his form and welcomed the ranger-knight as it always did.

 

 

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The girl had approached him, following along quickly, stepping out from the underbrush with a curious expression. A child, no older than six, with a familiar face; something he could not quite place, or at least, he wasn’t certain of.

"What are yea doin’?" she asked, eyes wide and unafraid.

Victor answered honestly, and flatly; as was his nature. “Witch-’untin’.”

"Witch huntin’?" she echoed, confusion knitting her brow.

Victor considered her from where he was, standing up amidst the brush, before simply saying, "Ye’ can follow, if ye’ like."

She considered this for a moment before responding simply, "Okay." Then, as if in a declaration, she pulled out a stick—her "wand."

He studied her for a moment, a brief pause as the lone-eye wandered her up and down, before cautioning, 

 

 

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Together, they crept through the Aryn-en-Eryn. Victor’s mind always drifted to the thoughts of the shapes in the shadows: antlered men and women, slowly growing closer should one stare, their hollow white eyes and limbs outstretching-- and of otherworldly beasts that crept and crawled. The lingering influence of the Voidal Horror, Delgorthad, that beckoned him to hunt it long, long ago. A lifetime passed, brought to memory, written upon each fiber of bark and thread of leaves. 

They moved in silence, watching, listening. Old blood marked the ground—likely the remnants of a hunt, nothing unnatural. A doe and her fawn grazed in the distance, their forms bathed in the dappled light of the thinning woods. A nurturing swing of the mother’s head upon the deerling, leading the way for the younger as it bounded and followed. It was refreshing to see some manner of creatures brave enough to return to the once barren wood. It was hauntingly serene, a fragile thing in the midst of what was the shell of a corrupted land.

Eventually, they emerged from the treeline into the farmlands, Steadfast, beyond, where the fields stretched toward Numenost. They’d appeared behind some barns and homes; a stillness from those shelters, the breeze of the wind bidding them a farewell, the ‘moos’ from the barn welcoming them home.

Here, where the world was not shrouded in shadow, words came easily; the choking tension of the Aryn-en-Eryn letting its grip on their throats loose. "Nae witch!" Einin observed with a perhaps excited tone, a quest complete!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The young lass did look up to the ranger-knight, who chewed his cigarette and looked back down to the young girl. “How’d yea lose yea eye?” She asked, innocently enough.

Victor did continue to eye the young girl, a slight smile coming to his features as he’d crouch down, elbows resting on his knees as he did so. His hand came up and tapped at his left-eye, “Ah, t’is ol’ thing? Bandit took it. But, a’ got ‘em for te’ trouble.” He did hum, sparing the child the gorey details. He wasn’t fond of them either.

“Where’s your folks at, lass?” The bowie inquired, a question for a question. A chipper tone, something softer than his usual gruffness. The man had a parental fondness for the youths of the land-- someone had to show them some goodness amidst the dark times.

“Oh! Ea live with mea grandparents!” He spoke up, her hands shooting down to her sides and standing on her tiptoes, eager to answer the question; practically throwing the words back up to the man.

“Oh aye! Course ye’ do! Who’re yer’ grandparents?” He’d ask, that smile still hanging, his head lulling to either side.

“Well mea gramma’s name is Maeril, and mea grandpa’s name is Edwyn!” She did answer.

Victor’s eye went a bit hollow in his head, a vacancy forming in his iris, as if he’d look through the girl as if she were a ghost. The weight of realization settled upon him then. Faeleth had children. 

 

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A pang of regret shot through his chest, a shadow of shame hanging. Faeleth and Victor had known each other for some time… he prided himself on knowing nice details of his peers and friends. He’d never seen her carrying a child, nor even with a partner. His desire for pursuit enwrapped him; to know the who, what, where, when, and whys of it all. He paused his verbal stride, a lull in the conversation, and the girl, sharp as she was, caught it.

"Yea look sad," she said simply.

Victor hesitated, trying to pick up his cadence and energy as if he had never put it down; simply to move past his hang up. “Mm? Oh uh, no. No. I was just thinkin’ about yer grandparents is all. We were supposed te’… ‘ave lunch together. Guess our plans got lost, heh.”

But the lass’s reaction was unexpected, as much as her analysis of the man before her. “I ea’m sorry yea miss her.” Her tone was surprisingly venomous, perhaps, not understanding the weight of the words carried, or of the tone used. A verbal sledgehammer to the head; the one eye did blink with surprise, still stunned.

But she did carry on. “Ea just… everyone keeps sayin’ Ea’m sorry and bein’ sad but Ea don’t even know her.” That venom souring in her mouth, her features twisting. A mixture of anger and sadness worn upon the unscarred and unblemished face of a new life in this world. 

“Ea’m tired of hearin’ about it. Ea’m tired of people talkin’ to mea about it. Ea don’t know her-- Ea don’t even know mea pa!” Her hands tossing up, with some tears forming in the corners of her eyes, a soft tremble to her lips.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Einin, as children do, rode the wave of her emotions like the wind shifting directions. Her frustration still lingered, but as she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her tunic, something else seemed to take hold—a distraction, a change of thought, anything to pull her away from the sadness pressing down on her small shoulders.

She sniffled, kicking a rock with the tip of her boot before suddenly looking up, a glint of pride cutting through her upset.

“Ea lost a tooth,” she declared, as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Victor let out a breath—something close to a chuckle—and knelt before her.

“Oh wussae?” he asked, a grin creeping onto his face. “Ye’ ‘appen te’ know te’ tooth fairy?”

She nodded eagerly.

Victor feigned a quiet conversation, murmuring nonsense as if speaking to an unseen fae; thee Tooth Fairy. “Oh?” He’d hum, peering to the space above his left-shoulder with his sense of whimsy did form the invisible bone merchant. “Ye’ think so?” He’d query to the space, before turning back. Then, with a grin, he held out a coin. "A trade," he said. "For your tooth."

The girl did narrow her eyes, suspiciously, holding the tooth behind her back, her foot kicking. “Well iffin a’ give it to ye, when will I get it back?”

Victor feigned a quiet conversation, murmuring nonsense as if conferring with an unseen fae—The Tooth Fairy herself. A final hum before giving a nod to it as if acknowledging the ever-wise and fair fae’s words. 

“Ah. Ma’ friend said she’ll put’a new one in yer’ mouth in’a few months! Ye’ll be none te’ wiser!”

Einin seemed amazed by that idea! “What! How? Really! Alright!”

She placed the small thing in his hand and took the coin, her fingers curling around the gift. He ruffled her hair in return, a contented smile upon his face. 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It was hard to explain what the palm reader saw but… eyeing the tooth and listening to the young lass… he could feel a sensation pour over him and through him; something base, tied and rooted to his connection to the Mountain. A yearning to control, and to shape. He could help Einin through his own efforts, through his design. The tooth disappeared into his sporran with a quick motion. “Right. Let’s get ye’ ‘ome.”

But Einin was independent, as Faeleth had been. "Ea can handle me’self."

Victor did not argue. He let her go, but he followed at a distance, his spyglass in hand as he’d skulk through brush and leaf as he always did, ensuring she reached her home safely before disappearing once more into the night.

 

 

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Victor sat in his tent at Mistwatch Point. The palisades shot high into the air, bare and stripped, still unlike their swaying brethren just beyond sight. A small fire crackled in a lantern as the bowie did remove the tooth, looking over it. A faint shimmer of green moved over it, matching that of his lone-eye sitting in his skull. It felt natural to him: reaching out, and shaping the dream. His body almost moved on its own, knowing what to do.

He did lay back in the bed roll and the man did roll the tooth in his fingers, pinched, his thumb coaxing it forward, and backward, and forward… and backward…

 

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He felt himself grow distant from his body, but his spirit felt lively; as if the ethereal identity of Victor could simply step out and away from his body. He struggled, often, with dreams that bombarded him while he was awake. Now, he knew he was asleep, but could not help but be attentive.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

His darkened hand reached out, cradling the tooth. It was as if he were lifting a precious gem—or a wounded animal, fragile and uncertain. His hand did tense around it, squeezing, a faint green-light emanating from within his grip and shining against the blue and gray canopy of his tent-home.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The tooth did fizzle, and sizzle, and from its softest root did it begin to fade and return to dust, light green motes drifting up like fireflies in the dark. Victor’s unconscious body did not move, nor stir, but the fog that accompanied the man did swirl and churn, thickening. Its volume expanded and pressed against the edges of the shelter, and out under its flaps into the nearby wind.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

His head snapped in the direction of the child; a distant visage of her walking from Ildon once more. Ever adventurous. A dream crafted. A dream sent. A thin green line wove itself between the shadowed man’s spirit and the child—growing taut in an instant, unseen and unfelt.

 

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Victor awoke with a sharp breath, his chest rising as if breaking through deep waters. He swatted at that damned, cursed fog that clung to him—but he knew. He had done well.

 

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The dream he wove was not one of loss, nor sorrow, but of memory—of love. Einin would wake in Ildon, the village of music and flowers, the scent of honey thick in the air. In the keep’s den, her mother sat with Maeril and Edwyn, speaking of things past: the coming of a new Tar, the mountain climb, the stories of old. Faeleth was alive, as Victor remembered her—warm, laughing, her clothes clinging with flower petals. Someone kind for Einin to not let be unknown. 

Her mother.

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[confusedjester 813]

The days thereafter were filled with mourn- confusion, a longing for something Eínín would never have. That brief moment of warmth, of happiness, with a mother she would never be held by again. Not that she ever had. But that dream, she clung to it, and grieved.

 

 

[jihsoo 746]

Within the heavens, perhaps the Seven Skies, the woman with golden hair found her tears to a drought. There was sudden sense that something had been done - a change of fate, a changed mind, a change of heart. What was a wilting field found itself a trio of little flowers of white petals, a glimpse of warmth and life in this otherwise dreary and dry dirt, and yet, it still persevered and thrived.

 

Perhaps a part of her dream, was living on once more.

@confusedjester@Sygnus_@TheBreak

[Cally 1080]

meow