Dream Weaver

[purplerhino.livejournal.com]

Who: Oona
When: Day 28, near midnight
Where: Bunker
Invited: Methos
Status: Incomplete

Oona somehow knew she was dreaming.  She faced an oval mirror rimmed in gold with intricate carvings of dragons embracing the glass.  But the surface was not reflective.  She moved to stare into the glass and faced not herself, but a man with nothing but blackness behind him.

 

He looked back at her.  He, too, was albino.  He was not so much handsome as beautiful, pretty even, but both sad and hardened all at once. His face was longer, more angular than hers, with high and prominent cheekbones and almond shaped eyes slanted up.  The deep red of his eyes were haunted.  His long white hair moved as if he were in a strong breeze.  He was tall and almost painfully thin.  He was not human, though he resembled one.  She felt the kinship between them as if it were a physical link.  This was her father.  She somehow just knew it. At his hip was a huge, black sword that seemed alive with malevolence and she instantly both feared and loathed the thing.  No, not a thing, it was a demon.  A powerful one at that, bound to the form of a sword.  The man held out his hand and pressed it to the glass.  On his finger was the same ring she wore, the gem holding the shifting darkness within.

 

Oona mirrored the gesture.

 

His long, pale fingers grasped hers through the glass.  She was not afraid.  Even as he pulled her through, into the blackness.  .

 

The hand holding hers was gone and she was alone in the black.

 

The darkness disappeared in a blaze of fire, the silence ripped apart by screams of fear and pain.

 

She was standing on a road in the middle of a city.  A city in flames.  Human men dressed in blood and armor coursed through the street, slaughtering as they went.  The street was wet with blood. 

 

Slender, elfin looking men with elegant armor and sweeping swords fought the humans, and fell.  The human’s killed children, women, human slaves.  They rarely seemed to care for anything other than killing, except to take jewels and gold, from homes and bodies.

 

She saw him then.  His white hair stained with splatters of blood.  That foul sword in his hand as he cut through any who came at him.  Slender though he was he wielded the huge monstrosity with one hand, as if it weighed nothing.  But he was not fighting the crudely armored humans.  He was leading them.  He was killing his own people.

 

“Blood and souls! Blood and souls for my lord Arioch!”  He screamed above the fray, his red eyes taking an unholy joy in the slaughter. 

 

And she could feel it, see it.  His sword wasn’t just killing, it was devouring the souls of those it cut down, sucking them away, destroying them, and feeding some of the energy back into her father.  Making him stronger, faster, a whirling flurry of death.

 

The city disappeared and she stood on top of a sand dune looking down on a small group of tents, people running and screaming as four men on horseback galloped through, cutting down the people, setting fire to the tents.  There was the same fierce joy there as her father had shown.  One of the four’s horse reared up and he turned.  His long hair was wild and appeared either caked and dry from the sand and desert, or a really bad wig.  Half of his face was covered with woad.  But the desert was no place for a Pict or Celt.  His green eyes met hers across the sand blasted distance.

 

He was suddenly replaced by a giant head of lettuce.  It developed a face.  “Ware the farmer.  You prosper for his snares.”  Oona stood hands on hips.  “I didn’t know salad could talk.”

 

Part One... Part two in next post

Comments

[NPC] Dream or more?

[purplerhino.livejournal.com]

"African or European Swallow?" The green eyes man flickered, became two men in one space. The last Emperor and Adam. The dream was overlapping.

"I don't know." The old man answered. The non-human albino stepped forward and drew his sword, cutting the old man down in the same motion, claiming his soul. The huge black sword seemed to flicker with black flames. The runes on the blade glowed red.

The armored man turned to look at both Oona and Adam. The horror of the concentration camp around them was gone, turned to the blackness.

"You're Elric." Oona met the ruby eyes with her pink ones. "My father. Mother told me about you." She seemed to suddenly realize she remembered. Remembered his mother, who and what she was.

Her appearance had returned to normal. No rabbit ears, no pocket watch.

"I'm what remains of him." The sword flickered and disappeared. "In a dream, or memory, or a spell cast before my fate claimed me." A great wound seemed to appear in his chest, open right through his heart, and out the back. "Stormbringer always claims what it demands." The wound faded.

Oona licked her lips and looked nervously at Adam.

So did the man who brought down his own people out of vengeance.

"You cannot ever take back the past, the wrongs done. It's worthless to try. You can only do your best and be true to yourself, whoever you may be." If Elric spoke of himself or to Adam was unclear.

His eyes returned to Oona. "You should have been a princess, wrapped in the finest silks, learning magic from the most gifted arcane scholars. I never knew you had been conceived. Your mother wished it that way. She taught you her own magic. How she came by the Ring of Kings I know not. She must have taken it from my body. The sign of royalty is yours. You are capable of much if you were not weakened by this state we share. You can draw strength from other sources."

He turned his eyes back to Adam. "I see so much of me in you. We are much the same, you and I. My child can protect you from vengeance of old. She has the power when she can find it. You must keep her from the sword. It seeks her. It wants all that was mine. It's temptation is hard to resist. Only one with their own darkness can face it though resisting the power will be hard. If it cannot make her wield it, it will tempt another to do so, and take her soul. I do not know if you have the strength, but you do have the dark."

Old eyes, full of pain and regret returned to Oona. "You must be willing to help him. You can keep vengeance at bay, and hide that which identifies him to his own. But the choice is to each of you. Fate is double edged. And there are few accidents where our blood is concerned."

Elric stepped back then tossed something to Adam. It was a platinum charm on a necklace of the same metal. It was a set of scales in balance. Libra?

"Now, both of you... Wake up."

[Methos]

[beccadg.livejournal.com]

(Started this after all my apologizing and got sidetracked by RL. *Facepalm.* Originally my brain locked up at the Monty Python. Here goes...)

Adam heard the old man's question, but it felt out of sync. He couldn't say for certain if it felt out of sync with him, or the world. When the non-human albino stepped forward out of the space they'd stood in together, Adam had his answer. He stumbled back, watching the other cut down the old man with a huge black sword that seemed to flicker with black flames.

As the armored man turned to look at them Adam's eyes were caught by the ruby red of the other man's eyes. He took no notice of how the camp around them turned to blackness. It didn't matter next to the odd feeling of kinship he had meeting those alien eyes. Adam couldn't say where the feeling came from, but he knew it ran deeper than armor or swords.

Oona spoke a name, "Elric," and for all the feeling of kinship it struck no cord in Adam. He watched how she returned to normal speaking to the man she called father -- watched too how the huge black sword disappeared. Adam didn't follow Elric's explanation of what he was, his attention on the great wound that seemed to appear right through the man's heart then fade.

Elric's words once he and Oona were looking at him -- the words, "You cannot ever take back the past, the wrongs done," those struck a cord. They rang through Adam and he found a name he'd lost, his own "Methos." Somewhere in the weight of the words as they struck him was the link, the connection he felt with Elric. There was something very similar in their pasts.

Methos listened passively while the man he shared a common tragedy with spoke to his daughter of how she should've been a princess. He didn't flinch when Elric's eyes returned to him, hearing out his words. Methos smiled thinly as the other spoke of their similarities. He nodded with Elric's insistence he must keep Oona from the sword, not even sure why.

The smile on Methos face widened at the mention of the temptation being hard to resist a response to the words resting on his tongue. Quietly he heard out the rest of Elric's words before he told him with a grin, "I'm tougher than I look." While Methos said it easily enough, there was a trace of uncertainty in him. What would the sword feel like in his hands?

He watched Elric turn eyes full of pain and regret to his daughter, listening to him speak to her about him -- about something she could do for him if she chose to. Methos frowned slightly, the words "fate is double edge" stabbing at him. He reflexively reached out to catch the item Elric tossed to him. Methos didn't truly see it until he was holding it.

The platinum charm on it's necklace of the same metal felt good in his hand. Methos looked at it curiously, not certain what to make of it being a set of balanced scales. His head came up from his examination of the charm at Elric's words. Methos opened his mouth to protest, and found himself waking up before the words could pass his lips. Or he seemed to be awake.

Methos felt the very solid presence of the charm still in his hand. He looked down at it not sure what to do next. Find Oona? Hide the charm somewhere? Oddest to him was a feeling he should put it on. It had come to Methos by magic -- likely was some manner of magic itself, Methos couldn't know what would happen if he put it on yet the feeling he should remained.

Uncertain about the charm he decided he should find Oona. Methos slid the charm into a pocket, resisting the urge to put on, and went in search of her.

[Methos]

[beccadg.livejournal.com]

Err, that would be EXIT METHOS. He's gone over to this thread (http://community.livejournal.com/crossing_lostrp/143475.html).