[Relator of Dreams] Blood flows through the veins of Dreams (Z'kron)

[Stargrace]

Zeherah's voice broke through the Elf's cobweb of thoughts. Her previously spoken words that had taken form and had grown in substance within Z'kron, then became nothing more than dust leaving the bitter taste of anxiety. The frustration grew as the distinct feeling of urgency and importance pressed him forward. One only had to look into the demon's eyes to see the wisdom and sound counsel she offered her clients. The meaning was so close to becoming known...just a hand grasp out of reach....

"Whatever the cause and reason for dreams, dreams are a communication of body, mind and spirit in a symbolic communicative environmental state of being...To analyse your dream I will communicate with your body, your mind and your spirit in the plane of dreams. I will walk the tangled paths in that plane until I find your soul and there I will find the answers you seek.... ”

Zeherah paused and took a delicate sip of her tea. Her eyes continued to gaze at the Elf seeming to not only see his external appearance, but the relator was able to see inside the Elf; she was able to connect with his soul just as his soul connected in each turn of sleep to the plane of dreams. Her eye colour then changed to a dark blue reflecting the darkening’s sky. She stared flagrantly at the Elf appearing to be able to see parts of the Elf he did not even know dwelled inside himself.

Her gaze then returned to his eyes as she spoke, “Is this dream of yours recurring? Does it change at all? When you awake and your soul returns again to your body, an essence of the dream remains... usually the feelings felt in the dream lingers, what are those feelings you feel?”

[Z'kron]

The druid nodded. The woman.. the creature, she seemed to be giving sound advice. Sensible advice, even. He had heard words like these before. His hands folded into eachother; seemingly at peace.
"Aye. When I wake, I feel..." the dracon paused. For some reason, a compulsion towards honesty seemed to lay heavily upon him. "Not angry. More, like something has been turned aside. An inherent wrongness in the world; not derived from morals or the mortal condition, but something deeper. It is hard to describe.. it is like, a predator turned away from flesh; or a dog taught to walk. That is how it feels, to awake once more. When I sleep, I feel like I am home; touching a memory of a life before a life. "
His gaze seemed to glance off Zeherah; almost as if he was no longer seeing her. "Are you one for introspection, Zeherah? Talk of souls always sends me towards the same train of thought. " His eyes raised; catching hers in their cold, rock-blue gaze. "Truth be told... I value the capsule around the soul more than the soul itself. I have no interest in the... secretions of the planes. What I am, is defined as much by absence as presence."
Then, an abrupt smile spreading across the face of the ancient; as if he had finally come back to himself. "Find my soul in the dreaming, hungry child. What may be left of it."
He extended his hand. She could do as she wished.

[Stargrace]

oocooh I love it *smiles amiably*

Zeherah gave a small smile, her eyes never left that of the man's as her gaze moved earnestly from one eye to the other. She took her time in studying him. She weighed his words with what she could sense from him nonverbally -- from his posture, his facial expressions, to his demeanour; and then she paid particular attention to the muted whispers of his soul. If one returned the gaze, as many often did, they would find her eyes hypnotic. The different colours constantly darkened in shade; it swirled within her irises beckoning and urging the sweet embrace of sleep; however, the constant movement of her eyelashes as she blinked broke the spell from taking effect. After a time she spoke. "You may not have an interest in the secretations of the planes but that does not mean they do not have an interest in you..." Zeherah moved quickly on to the next topic that had caught her curiosity and intention. "The capsule?...void of its contents, the very reason for its existance?" Zeherah looked at the man with a look of sadness. She was now very curious to find out what exactly haunted his dreams and perhaps it would reveal significantly more? Oh it had been quite some time since she had been privy to some interesting information by consent...Zeherah smiled inwardly, with another blink of her eyelashes she had moved on.

When Z'kron offered Zeherah her hand, Zeherah gracefully rose to her feet and glided to his side. In the next moment she was seated next to him with his hand held gently in her own. Her skin was both warm but cool at the same time, it was yet another reminder of her unusual existance in the living world. As soon as contact between their hands was made, Zeherah's eyes opened wide revealing pools of swirling grey. "Dracon..." she whispered, although the one word came out in more of a hiss. "Why do you have an appearance of Elf yet the internal appearance of a Dracon? How did this come to be?" The shock retreated and her tone returned to its usual polite yet authoritative manner. The demon outcast picked up his hand in hers again whilst she closed her eyes, awaiting his response.

[Z'kron]

The druid smiled.
"Appearances are misleading. And in dreams, even more so. One of the paradoxes of self image."
Images sprawling across the Dracon's mind; laid like a great moving map for the dreamsight of Zeherah. A birth spark; before even true awareness. A tiny egg, looking up at its mother, laying gutted on a table by his "grandfather". Even then, rage; burning through every fibre of the unborn mind. Hunger before teeth; waiting his turn to grow. And soon, the march of Aetherpikes.
A death; the body ripped apart by forces unknown. A mind, forced against the walls of aeternia for generations; seemingly uncaring and unaffected. So very cold. The world was black. He laughed, a constant mocking chuckle that echoed and laughed at itself, and lasted even when the druid had forgotten the meaning of humor; until he became the laugh and all that was left of him was the ringing of his own chuckle in his own belief of ears. A laugh pushed like a vanguard against the walls of the planes; forcing them away and discarding anything that might hold the laugh back. A sound; not a man; a sound with a body that smiled and walked and played tricks for regents.
A binding, a forcing of self against the stuff of raw magic- until his scales cracked and bubbled and he was nothing like what he once was. One wing melted away, one grown vast and all through his veins shards of blue crystal; resonating with the pulse of the world.
An experiment, as the druid took his own flesh into his hands; moulding it into new form after new form. At first, with the gifts his cyraxian forefathers had left the race. Then, with magic; warping his body to suit his whims; changing not just the external appearance but the very definition of what he was. Watching the sound die away with every change; the laughter fading until all that was left was the cold.
The druid's face remained impassive. It was inhuman in its stillness; a face ready at any moment to take on a new form or persona, but for once unmoving. Then a smile. The druid was feeling the touch of the other's magic; subtly drawing him towards slumber.
"If you wish for me to sleep.. you need only ask it". His eyes half closed; the bluestone orbs for once shuttered in their fierce appraisal. "I am here as a willing subject.. most willingly."

[Stargrace]

Zeherah blinked once, then blinked again as she tried to make sense of what she saw. The demon outcast had seen a lot of unusual, even horrific things in her time. And oh, what a long time it had been...But this druid almost disturbed her and from the living, Zeherah did not think such a feeling existed in this realm anymore for her. Zeherah sat back slightly as she gazed at the Dracon. Only then did she speak. "Appearances are not misleading...it is the being behind the appearance whom is the one to mislead...it is the same in dream plane, often something may be misinterpreted and often the mind plays tricks...so you see it is not appearances, by any stretch, that misleads but one's conscious and sub conscious mind..." Zeherah held the Dracon's gaze as if to reinforce her words.

She blinked, broke the eye contact and then moved closer to the Dracon again. In a more softer tone she spoke, "Sleep then Druid, sleep true, sleep deep..." Zeherah reached out her hand to grasp the Dracon/Elf's chin in her hand. She moved his head to his right to look at her. Her eyes opened wide and one could not help but look deeply into them. And as soon at eye contact was made, the swirling pools of her eyes drew one in. Instantly one could not help but feel the clutches of sleep, lids grew heavier, eyes blinked but took longer before re-opening. And when the eyes did re-open, the demon outcast's eyes were the same colour as what was seen when the lids were closed. All of a sudden Zeherah tapped the Dracon's forehead and sleep possessed him. Zeherah gently lowered the Druid's body onto the cushions. She took a deep breath before placing both hands upon his temples and then every part of her eye turned white.
She had touched upon the dream plane.

Her feet walked upon the familiar eerie paths of the realm of dreams. To both sides of the path she looked, her gaze passed over souls yet she was not the slightest bit interested in the images they displayed. There was only one soul she roamed the vast plane for. The connection in the living world to the soul she sought helped guide her way. Along she walked, at times she had to move onto another path to avoid the dark shadows that hurtled by. These creatures were the only threat to the souls in the plane of dreams; they would absorb and consume souls in no particular pattern and in no particular order leaving the sleeping body in the living world to simply die in the being's sleep. She watched the shadow for a moment before something else caught her gaze. Just beyond the shadow Zeherah saw the Dracon's soul swirling as a multitude of different images spun about representing the different dreams his soul had experienced in each and every period of sleep. Like a tree with rings, Zeherah could tell the Dracon's age by the amount of images that were wrapped around his soul. Without needing to count them Zeherah knew he was old in terms of the living's era's.

Zeherah came closer to the spinning images and stopped when she was only a step away. She put out her hand. The swirling images suddenly halted. She blew away the unneeded images and then peered into the soul's obscured mist.

She whispered in a commanding tone which demanded obedience, "em ot flesruoy laeveR. (Reveal yourself to me)."

[Z'kron]

There was a laugh, the echo of the laugh in the druid's images, the same neverending cacophany recoiling on itself and somehow taking form somewhere to the left of the dissipating dream-haze. A dragon, slightly larger than a man, formed entirely out of laughter. Scales moved between white and grey like a shadow. One great wing stretched apart from its back, the other fading into seeming nothingness. Even as Zeherah looked, the creature seemed to change. It was an image defined entirely by the relation of its parts to eachother, rather than the components of the parts itself. At any given moment, a hand would be like a hand, a foot like a foot- but look away, and out of the corner of the eye it would seem as if it was something different.
"It's been a while... since you found me, I was waiting." The dragon sung to itself lightly, smiling at the other. Like a ticking clock, the form started to slow, the whirring changes ceasing. Siting on the chair, it rocked back and forth, a bemused expression on its lips.
"It appears, we are revealed. " The soul turned. Bluestone eyes focused upon the other. And it smiled; a genuine smile with killing teeth. There was an edge of terror to it all.
"I do thank you for the visit. It gets quite lonely out here. Please, take a seat."
An image loosely swirled around the dragon; a backdrop sifted away from the misted of unneeded images to float lightly against the planar sky. The picture was that of a room; stoney-grey, with a firepiece and a finely constructed metronome on the mantel. It ticked, one click at a time, displaying a layer of constancy uncommon in any other aspect of the scene. A teacup burbled merrily, waiting for the dragon to drink. Quite unsurprisingly, it all had much the feel of a dream; interconnected by dream logic quite at odds with the rest of reality.
"I tend to keep myself separate. It just seems simpler this way. More time to watch, less time to worry." The dragon reclined, and waved his hand airily; his substance scarcely more solid than the plane around him. Zeherah was the only solid thing there. The tips of the soul seemed to fade away, brushing over her like mist melting into ice. "I don't tend to wander."
"Do you think they still surf the stuff of dreaming, when they dream on another plane? What happens to a dream-soul, when the other is trapped in a place with no dreaming? I wonder if this is why I am... distant."
The creature was musing, his eyes no longer watching Zeharah, but gazing into the images of the souls around. It showed no emotion, merely a strangely cold curiosity. It was like a man observing hot air rising.
"But I suppose the original why of the distance isn't an issue. The reality now- is that we are separate; and the question is how a rejoining would be accomplished... or whether it is necessary, given that from the moment of separation we began to become .. different. A natural progression of things."
The dragon shook his head as if disposing of a haze, and then indicated the remnants of the haze that were the residue Z'kron's dream images with one clawed hand.
"You see, I have a layer of dust. And he has a layer of dust. But, just putting the dust together doesn't mean if we were blended, it would be a combination. Ah, no. Every particle of dust is relational.. and we are the products of those relations. It makes me wonder. Is the reunion a death? I've rather enjoyed my life, as I've experienced it."
The dragon sighed, twining round on itself; shadows of its body turning into light as other parts faded.
"Even if it is just peering through the peepholes of existence."
The head dropped just a little, the eyes fixing on the vast, unending distances of the dream plane. A wisp of something passed out of his lips. "Do you think, maybe, if we reached the edge of this place.. I might be able to become real?"

[Stargrace]

Zeherah arched a brow at the dragon and watched as body parts of an Elf appeared on the moving carousel of images. Zeherah watched as the moving images continued to spin around the soul; each individual image was a mere piece of the images surrounding it; the dream images resembled a puzzle in which all the pieces were needed to be able to clearly see what the complete picture displayed. Zeherah heard his words as the images finally slowed before drawing to a halt. There before the demon outcast, with an off-putting grin apparent upon its face, stood the culprit, the very reason for her clients dreams. Zeherah inclined her head at the dragon. Her face did not reveal anymore, blank and devoid of emotions it was. Zeherah then spoke in an almost offhand manner in reply to its first comment. “I am sure you found means to occupy your time whilst you had to wait.” She then glanced at the druid’s soul and in the act she further drove her message home. Her gaze returned to his bluestone eyes.

Upon hearing the dragon’s courteous words, Zeherah seated herself ready to get down to business. She gathered her thoughts, separated clauses into sentences and inserted the appropriate words to speak and yet she held her tongue. Zeherah knew that at times, what was conveyed to her on the dream plane was of more worth than when she tried posing questions in the hopes of receiving straight answers. Language was sometimes foreign to its ears. The sub conscious often did not comprehend words; the mythical and the spiritual whom haunted a particular soul was no different. So Zeherah listened. She watched. She remained expressionless. It proved to be a valuable task to merely listen; however, it seemed the dream-soul was the one posing the questions in want of answers and Zeherah, ever accommodating, obliged him. “In my experience there is only one plane of dreams for the living. For the cursed, for the damned there is another plane of dreams but morbidly different...almost soulless, void of the energy the living possess. That is a dark place indeed --screams travel on the wind and tears fall like rain.” Zeherah watched the dragon carefully as she spoke each word. She was observant to the slightest of changes that would appear on the dragon’s face.

Zeherah leaned forward and finally spoke the question that had formed the moment she had heard the dragon’s words. The question lingered on the tip of her tongue awaiting exit through her pressed lips. “Are you of the damned? Or are you of the dead? You are distant either way because on this plane you are not meant to be. My guess is you reside here for a particular reason, you are anchored to this soul through a need, a connection, a bond that keeps you here and thus lets you remain on this plane but not of this plane, not like he...” Zeherah raised one slender finger to point at the sleeping soul.

Zeherah blinked upon hearing his next words. She made no comment merely listened as he continued to ramble on. Some of his musings made sense and others were quite senseless to Zeherah. One word in particular stuck within her mind ‘Relational’ The pieces of the not so apparent puzzle fell into place in a rush: The appearance and form, that of a dragon and that of a Elf, the distinct way both spoke...it was relational in every sense of the word. It then became more clear to Zeherah that it was not just the sleeping Dracon whom was unique. Connected by blood, a mirage passed down through the bloodline, but for what reason? By whose hand had it first been cast? And for what need? Zeherah licked her lips with the anticipation of tasting the sweetness of this intriguing mystery. And within the mind of this dragon lay the key; it coursed through his veins, it glided through his words, it was cloaked in the sound of the laughter and reflected upon the images of the Druid’s dreams.

“This is your descendant. What story do you have to tell? Why are you bound to him in this manner? What messages do you need to pass on?” Most of the spoken questions were for her client, the sleeping soul before them, yet she could not help but add her own questions to the mix. She leaned further in as she whispered her last question. “What secrets do you hold? What secrets run through your blood and thus runs through his veins?”

OOCIt seems you are the one holding the creativity in this thread and I am merely the tool assisting you in crafting the story. *smiles* That is fabulous and how it really should be. It is always refreshing to meet a pc who uses their own imagination and does not rely so heavily on the moderator's imagination to craft a plot. Let me know if, further along the thread, you wish me to shape the plot further from the info you have given me. You have created a wonderful pc and your writing compliments Z'kron. It is a pleasure indeed...*smiles warmly*

[Z'kron]

"Secrets. Secrets of a birth where tears run like rain..." The dragon smiled, the eyes distant as he mused the others words. There seems a new resolution to the creature now, as if what the other said was offering new strength.
"To force a dream to exist in a place like that. I do not wonder at their escape. And once they escape; I do not wonder that they form dust around themselves, and make souls of their own."
The tongue flickered, and the shapes composing the dragon changed. They were now somehow more dangerous. Hungry, like shadows.
"Aye. I am bound. The Kha'Seriths are bound in many ways. Some are bound by blood. Some are bound by intention. And some a born out of collective desire. The desires of race. The desires of destiny. Or even, the collective desires of dreams; whether they be born in this plane or another."
And the dragon had teeth; the cup in its hand transformed into a curved blade of jagged glass.
"He was not meant to survive this long. No more than a few eras. A shell- a damned thing, a thing forced once through the gates of aeternia- should not take life in such a manner. There is a reason the damned are not meant to live. And when the dreams are torture for the individual; consider the existence of the dreams freshly born. Things are for a reason. Rules should not be broken."
The blade struck out, descending down through the cloud where the essence of the sleeping dracon lay. Time seemed to slow. In the heart of the dracon, there was the sound of an hourglass shattering. Tiny shards danced briefly in the dream-plane's light.
"By the time this man leaves you, he will be dead. It is for the best."
The eyes fixed again on Zeherah. They were cold, like the eyes of a dead thing.
"Take his remains to the edge of shadows that shatter all the planes. Cast him off. He will fade to dust, and drag his dreams with him. The bonds will be broken. And that will be the end of it."
Somewhere on the material plane, the body of the old druid sighed. Somewhen, the heart slowed. One beat to the next, with the sound of shattering glass. The ripple of the broken soul was spreading, back and forward through time from the moment of its destruction, and replacing the soulstuff with dreaming. Each tiny change, each immeasurably tiny tweak of the already pre-set past, drove the event of his death towards its conception. It was a paradox; capturing the druid in its wake and bent on its own selfannihilation; a paradox which had driven the visions, the delving under the earth, the escape from the essence planes that had once held him- and finally the emptiness that had led him here.
Somewhere, somewhen, the heart of the druid stopped. The dragon was gone. And in the dreamplane, around Zeherah, the shards of an hour glass had just gone out.

[Stargrace]

Zeherah's face revealed no expression as she listened to the words of the dragon. The only signifier of her thoughts and her feelings became revealed in the constant swirl of colours that showed in her hair and in that of her eyes. As the dragon threw the blade at the sleeping soul Zeherah's hair changed to the black of the night's mistress' womb. Her eyes on the other hand became blood red and thus explicitly represented her rage and wish for the dragon's blood to spill; if indeed it was blood that ran through his veins. Zeherah watched the dagger glide through the air. She knew she could not move fast enough to deflect the dagger from finding home in her client's soul and so she remained still.

As his cold eyes turned to look at Zeherah, she returned his gaze with a look of loathing. She made a silent vow that she would hunt him down every dark and dismal path he travelled upon until she had him trapped and then he would suffer. She had an ever long eternity of existence to achieve such a deed and luckily Zeherah was known for her patience. It was a quality the immortal relied upon to get them through. There was one thing the dragon has not counted on however, in fact in his thoughtless action it seemed he had made no considerations at all. This plane was hers and hers alone; each sleeping soul, she guided and she guarded as if they were her children. With that often tiresome responsibility, came a certain power. Did he truly think this would be the end?

Without a moment's delay Zeherah turned her attention onto the energy that glazed through the swirling images of the plane's sleeping souls. She gathered the energy to her; she gathered her knowledge of the dark arts; she gathered the lessons of her past and heritage and as the last words spat out from the dragon's lips she made contact with the sleeping, the dying, soul. Thunder boomed. Lightening lit up the sky. The spell was cast.

Zeherah waited for the dragon's disappearance she knew was soon to come. Creatures of the damned, such as he, did not have the courage to remain and face the consequences of their actions. And sure enough, it was not long before the dragon left the plane of dreams. The images that represented the sleeping soul's dreams fell to the ground and that was all that remained of the sleeping soul whom has once resided within the sphere of images. The demon outcast kneeled and gathered the images into her hands. Upon her touch, the images became small until they were the mere size of a coin; Zeherah then placed the images into a pocket hidden within the folds of her dress. She then reached out and with a look of distaste, she picked up the fallen blade that resided at the inner core of the circle of images she had secreted away on her person.

Once Zeherah had straightened she turned and looked into the distance; her blue orbs seemed to see what lay beyond sight in the space that lay between planes, planets and fallen constellations. A smile graced her lips as she whispered to the revived soul that now inhabited the same space and drew from the same breath as the dragon, "I shall see you soon..."