TIMESTAMP: ????????????
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
► Show Spoiler
- - -
- - -
In his deepest of slumbers, the man often had many colorful, yet fleeting, dreams. None appeared to last very long at all. The overall style and type were often familiar to him– some of which were haunting in nature, many more were echoes of days he’d like nothing more than to return to. Tonight, however…this was not the case. This dream was bizarre by any count, even by his own standards. It was atypical for him to dream of anything of a nature like this– usually when he slept, all his senses were dulled further than they felt in the waking world…yet tonight, the opposite was the case. Every sensation that passed over him bloomed brighter than anything ever had before. The elf had assumed he was dreaming, as one would in a situation like this, and consequently assumed something was VERY off with his mind…but what? For what reason? This question and many more flitted through his head in rapid succession as he drifted through the ephemeral landscape of what he thought was his own mind. Admittedly, it was always hard to think coherently when dreaming. Everything was simultaneously more intense yet so dim, so far away. He wracked his brain for any semblance of a thought, of knowledge, of a memory that would help him understand. It reminded him of only one place: Amurlain, the domain of Brazim, god of Love.
If anything, this revelation created more questions than it did answers. Everything was so vivid, almost painful in its intensity. He stepped through a lush garden, everything manicured and expertly taken care of. It was utterly filled with the most beautiful flora he’d ever seen, the sun at the cusp of setting giving everything a romantic glow. Yet all was not still. The mage could hear music along with laughter, movement, speech and sounds far more licentious in nature. He grits his teeth, trying to focus on anything in this kaleidoscope of technicolor beauty, yet it was so hard…so overwhelming. Scents of flora, of fauna, of anything one would find enticing wafted through the air, further overloading his senses.
It was then he was ripped from these thoughts by a beast walking directly into him, as if on purpose. He jumps back in shock, “Don’t touch me!” hissing these words laced in venom with emphatic force. Taking a few steps further back to really look at what exactly had bumped into him, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The creature was almost beastly, that much was for certain, but it also had an esoteric, breathtaking, otherworldly beauty flowing from it with strong undercurrents of eroticism to its inherent design. It was the picture of androgyny, seeming to possess all parts necessary for fornication simultaneously, a face gorgeous in its ambiguity. Degare’s brow knit together in revulsion at the sheer level of desire he felt towards the thing, and as if it picked up on this, it winked at him and simply walked on.
The level of confusion swirling in his head was almost violent as it churned his thoughts; his head was reeling with the amount of overstimulation from his newly intensified senses along with the unbelievable fact he was even…here. This couldn’t be a dream. He couldn’t manipulate himself or the world around him as he was used to in his sleep, but this was definitely not the regular plane he was used to walking on. The elf realizes that swimming in his own thoughts would ultimately accomplish nothing, though, and he decides to force his feet forward despite everything else. One would think in a place as beautiful and lovingly crafted for leisure as this that it would be easy to relax, but not for somebody as on edge and paranoid as Degare. Plus, he was only wearing what he had on when he had gone to bed. Which, for him, was nearly nothing– simple, fitted black silk shorts. For a member of the Entente, being this exposed and in a…seemingly public space was…a little novel. Yet at the same time, he didn’t stand out that much in that regard given the levels of nudity that was on display by the other varying denizens of this realm.
Though the man himself was not a botanist by trade or even very experienced on the subject, he did hold an appreciation for plants– especially florals. There were rainbows of different species and colors all over and the man found himself attracted to looking them over almost as a way to comfort himself. To distract his mind from these very, very outlandish circumstances, at least. Oddly enough, he found one of his favorite flowers nearly right away. The lycoris radiata– red spider lilies. The dainty curves of its many thin, spindly petals were uniquely beautiful in his eyes alongside their striking red color. To some, these flowers also hold the meaning of final goodbyes. Not death, necessarily, but the end of a journey. Which is funny since Degare generally dislikes things that are…final. He’s a man who lives for long journeys, paths unending. Final goodbyes scare him. As he moves, he draws ever nearer to the palace at the end of the gardens.
Forward he walks, passing through the gardens and towards the large structure in the center. He didn’t really know what he was doing or where to go, but he figured if there were any answers, he might find them in here because, well, it looks important. Passing through the doorway, his bare feet meet with the cold marble of the floor of this…palace? It looked like a palace, at least. The inside was absolutely breathtaking in its grandiosity. It was definitely built for people who were rather large, either that or simply extravagant, given the sheer height of the roof. He almost felt like an ant as he gazed upwards. Decorated with gold, black, blue and white it truly was befitting of a god. Which made sense as this place was meant to house Brazim, supposedly. His strides through were exceptionally slow as he looked around, taking in all the various decorations and furniture that adorned the halls. Much as this color palette contrasted from that which he preferred, Degare definitely appreciated the beauty in Brazim’s tastes at the very least.
With languid pace the elf had made it to what appeared to be the end of the entry hall, finding himself at another doorway. Once he opens it, the next room is just as opulent as the one prior. It appeared to be a dining hall, and within it was one of the most massive banquet tables the man had ever laid eyes on. It was, again, designed for men of much larger stature than his own as he noted the sheer size of the furniture as well. Within the chairs were a variety of people humanoid in features though fantastical in many ways. People with elven, fae, animal and so many more different aspects to their figures and forms. At the very head of the table, however, was the most magnificent of them all. A man of utterly massive stature, he appeared to be about ten or eleven feet whereas most of the others were perhaps between eight or nine. He also bore a striking resemblance to the depictions and descriptions that Degare had heard of Brazim himself. Despite his immense size, he was graceful in features and elegant in mannerisms. His outfit was utterly magnificent as well. The clothing itself wasn’t that complicated, but he was adorned with a multitude of jewelry pieces and other accessories. His style was garish and bright, but at the same time radiated beauty and opulence.
When Degare finally pulls himself out of his shock at the sight, he attempts to move closer to the table, yet despite the very evident movement of his legs, he doesn’t appear to actually be getting any…closer. Growing slightly frustrated, he makes an attempt to run, but this also doesn’t change anything at all. It is ambiguous whether Brazim’s gaze is at him or going through him. He tries to call out, to speak, but everyone at the table ignores him, as if the sounds he’s making are being muted by some sonic barrier. That, or they all know better than to acknowledge him. It was difficult to tell exactly by which mechanism he was being prevented from interacting, but he did realize that his efforts were entirely futile.
Eventually, the elf gives up. At least when walking the opposite direction he could actually move again. Much as he wanted to interact with the divinity at the other end of the room, such a task was apparently impossible. When he gets back to the door that led to this room and pulls it open, there is suddenly nothing on the other side. As he balks at this, the world seems to shift and shatter around him. It would appear that his time is up here.
- - -
In his deepest of slumbers, the man often had many colorful, yet fleeting, dreams. None appeared to last very long at all. The overall style and type were often familiar to him– some of which were haunting in nature, many more were echoes of days he’d like nothing more than to return to. Tonight, however…this was not the case. This dream was bizarre by any count, even by his own standards. It was atypical for him to dream of anything of a nature like this– usually when he slept, all his senses were dulled further than they felt in the waking world…yet tonight, the opposite was the case. Every sensation that passed over him bloomed brighter than anything ever had before. The elf had assumed he was dreaming, as one would in a situation like this, and consequently assumed something was VERY off with his mind…but what? For what reason? This question and many more flitted through his head in rapid succession as he drifted through the ephemeral landscape of what he thought was his own mind. Admittedly, it was always hard to think coherently when dreaming. Everything was simultaneously more intense yet so dim, so far away. He wracked his brain for any semblance of a thought, of knowledge, of a memory that would help him understand. It reminded him of only one place: Amurlain, the domain of Brazim, god of Love.
If anything, this revelation created more questions than it did answers. Everything was so vivid, almost painful in its intensity. He stepped through a lush garden, everything manicured and expertly taken care of. It was utterly filled with the most beautiful flora he’d ever seen, the sun at the cusp of setting giving everything a romantic glow. Yet all was not still. The mage could hear music along with laughter, movement, speech and sounds far more licentious in nature. He grits his teeth, trying to focus on anything in this kaleidoscope of technicolor beauty, yet it was so hard…so overwhelming. Scents of flora, of fauna, of anything one would find enticing wafted through the air, further overloading his senses.
It was then he was ripped from these thoughts by a beast walking directly into him, as if on purpose. He jumps back in shock, “Don’t touch me!” hissing these words laced in venom with emphatic force. Taking a few steps further back to really look at what exactly had bumped into him, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. The creature was almost beastly, that much was for certain, but it also had an esoteric, breathtaking, otherworldly beauty flowing from it with strong undercurrents of eroticism to its inherent design. It was the picture of androgyny, seeming to possess all parts necessary for fornication simultaneously, a face gorgeous in its ambiguity. Degare’s brow knit together in revulsion at the sheer level of desire he felt towards the thing, and as if it picked up on this, it winked at him and simply walked on.
The level of confusion swirling in his head was almost violent as it churned his thoughts; his head was reeling with the amount of overstimulation from his newly intensified senses along with the unbelievable fact he was even…here. This couldn’t be a dream. He couldn’t manipulate himself or the world around him as he was used to in his sleep, but this was definitely not the regular plane he was used to walking on. The elf realizes that swimming in his own thoughts would ultimately accomplish nothing, though, and he decides to force his feet forward despite everything else. One would think in a place as beautiful and lovingly crafted for leisure as this that it would be easy to relax, but not for somebody as on edge and paranoid as Degare. Plus, he was only wearing what he had on when he had gone to bed. Which, for him, was nearly nothing– simple, fitted black silk shorts. For a member of the Entente, being this exposed and in a…seemingly public space was…a little novel. Yet at the same time, he didn’t stand out that much in that regard given the levels of nudity that was on display by the other varying denizens of this realm.
Though the man himself was not a botanist by trade or even very experienced on the subject, he did hold an appreciation for plants– especially florals. There were rainbows of different species and colors all over and the man found himself attracted to looking them over almost as a way to comfort himself. To distract his mind from these very, very outlandish circumstances, at least. Oddly enough, he found one of his favorite flowers nearly right away. The lycoris radiata– red spider lilies. The dainty curves of its many thin, spindly petals were uniquely beautiful in his eyes alongside their striking red color. To some, these flowers also hold the meaning of final goodbyes. Not death, necessarily, but the end of a journey. Which is funny since Degare generally dislikes things that are…final. He’s a man who lives for long journeys, paths unending. Final goodbyes scare him. As he moves, he draws ever nearer to the palace at the end of the gardens.
Forward he walks, passing through the gardens and towards the large structure in the center. He didn’t really know what he was doing or where to go, but he figured if there were any answers, he might find them in here because, well, it looks important. Passing through the doorway, his bare feet meet with the cold marble of the floor of this…palace? It looked like a palace, at least. The inside was absolutely breathtaking in its grandiosity. It was definitely built for people who were rather large, either that or simply extravagant, given the sheer height of the roof. He almost felt like an ant as he gazed upwards. Decorated with gold, black, blue and white it truly was befitting of a god. Which made sense as this place was meant to house Brazim, supposedly. His strides through were exceptionally slow as he looked around, taking in all the various decorations and furniture that adorned the halls. Much as this color palette contrasted from that which he preferred, Degare definitely appreciated the beauty in Brazim’s tastes at the very least.
With languid pace the elf had made it to what appeared to be the end of the entry hall, finding himself at another doorway. Once he opens it, the next room is just as opulent as the one prior. It appeared to be a dining hall, and within it was one of the most massive banquet tables the man had ever laid eyes on. It was, again, designed for men of much larger stature than his own as he noted the sheer size of the furniture as well. Within the chairs were a variety of people humanoid in features though fantastical in many ways. People with elven, fae, animal and so many more different aspects to their figures and forms. At the very head of the table, however, was the most magnificent of them all. A man of utterly massive stature, he appeared to be about ten or eleven feet whereas most of the others were perhaps between eight or nine. He also bore a striking resemblance to the depictions and descriptions that Degare had heard of Brazim himself. Despite his immense size, he was graceful in features and elegant in mannerisms. His outfit was utterly magnificent as well. The clothing itself wasn’t that complicated, but he was adorned with a multitude of jewelry pieces and other accessories. His style was garish and bright, but at the same time radiated beauty and opulence.
When Degare finally pulls himself out of his shock at the sight, he attempts to move closer to the table, yet despite the very evident movement of his legs, he doesn’t appear to actually be getting any…closer. Growing slightly frustrated, he makes an attempt to run, but this also doesn’t change anything at all. It is ambiguous whether Brazim’s gaze is at him or going through him. He tries to call out, to speak, but everyone at the table ignores him, as if the sounds he’s making are being muted by some sonic barrier. That, or they all know better than to acknowledge him. It was difficult to tell exactly by which mechanism he was being prevented from interacting, but he did realize that his efforts were entirely futile.
Eventually, the elf gives up. At least when walking the opposite direction he could actually move again. Much as he wanted to interact with the divinity at the other end of the room, such a task was apparently impossible. When he gets back to the door that led to this room and pulls it open, there is suddenly nothing on the other side. As he balks at this, the world seems to shift and shatter around him. It would appear that his time is up here.
____
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
'Thoughts'
"Common Tongue/Speech"
"Raillen Tongue/Speech"
