Futile Resistance
The Dreamer lets our eyelids fall, and then guides us away from corporeal form, out of the civilized worlds, across a sea of barren stars, to the oldest empire in the known galaxy. We see the twelve star systems that form the Azlanti Star Empire, but zoom in on Aristia, and further still to New Thespera -- the seat of the Empire. Down into the sprawling metropolis that marks the planet's capital, into a cloistered bazaar, where two figures sit in opposition...
Neiva examined the merchant without moving her eyes, letting them drift somewhere off-center, playing the role everyone though she should play. In her monochrome vision, he was thin as a whisp, with a shock of hair too bright to be black or brown, but too dark to be yellow. He appeared to be Elvish, judging by the ears, but his facial features were reminiscent of the Fey. He was dressed well -- a suit and tie without a blemish to speak of -- and smelled of strawberries.
Twin braziers glittered behind him, lighting his hovel of a tent, which consisted of a thousand years of dust and a single, rotting table.
Neiva: "What do you have to show me?"
???: "S-me-h-ng m-rv-lo-s!" His speech was broken, not by impediment or harsh accent, but as if the sounds were stolen from his mouth mid-sentence, drifting away into silence. Hannet hummed within her. It's getting worse. It won't be long before he's gone... The merchant reached under the table, and Neiva waved her cane underneath. No boxes, barrels, or secret compartments. Still, the merchant pulled a small box from below, a violet affair with a golden latch. He winked as he tilted it towards himself, undoing the latch, and opening the box as if the world were inside. It was empty. Neiva: "Vic..." He kept gesturing at the box, his words left unspoken, talking about the item's history and properties. To an audience of none, locked in a liminal state between one Infinity and the next, slowly pulled through the Sideways Steps until nothing was left. This is why Chess sent us... He couldn't stand to see. Neiva: "Vic, you can let go." Let go, old friend. The rains will come again. The merchant stared at a crowd that wasn't there, singing the music of commerce. But at Hannet's words, something stirred in the music. The notes became off-key, and the crowd faded. Vic dropped the box, and it disappeared before it touched the floor. Neiva's skin crawled as he looked right into her eyes, lit by a frightening clarity. Vic: "Why did he make me a father?"
Neiva: "I don't know, Vic."
Vic: "Poor Nazima... Not ready to be a mother." Neiva sighed, letting her shoulders relax. This was an old conversation, oft repeated. Just an echo of the man this used to be. Still, she had a part to play in it. Neiva: "What happened?" Vic twisted his hands together, tears building at the corner of his eyes. Vic: "Tri-d to be a si-ter instead... The un-ertainty made a crack, and Lalantha fou-d it."
Neiva: "I'm sorry for your loss."
Vic: "L-st?" Vic shook his head, his hair tumbling in spiky locks around his ears. Vic: "N-t los-... J-st b-ok-n. B-t c-m-ng ba-k t-g-th-r." Neiva nodded, and reached across the table. She took Vic's hand in hers, given it a delicate pat, and stared into those eyes. To a normal gaze, he would look like a tired young man, destitute and without hope. To Neiva, he was like a ghost. She could see right through him, and the trail of his essence that was being pulled into time. There was little remaining to poor Vic... So the end was coming at last. Neiva: "Vic, can you hear me?" Vic nodded, and squeezed her fingers. A tear fell from his eyes, running down his knuckles and onto her hand. Neiva's lips moved, but the sound was cut from the dream, cut from the Haze, and thus barred from the Dreamer. Whatever she said to Vic was lost, scrubbed from the Akashic Record and the sands of time. But the aftermath was plain for all to see. A drop of blood fell from the center of Vic's forehead, traveling slowly down his nose, curving perfectly to his lips, coloring them a delicate crimson. Vic smiled.
???: "S-me-h-ng m-rv-lo-s!" His speech was broken, not by impediment or harsh accent, but as if the sounds were stolen from his mouth mid-sentence, drifting away into silence. Hannet hummed within her. It's getting worse. It won't be long before he's gone... The merchant reached under the table, and Neiva waved her cane underneath. No boxes, barrels, or secret compartments. Still, the merchant pulled a small box from below, a violet affair with a golden latch. He winked as he tilted it towards himself, undoing the latch, and opening the box as if the world were inside. It was empty. Neiva: "Vic..." He kept gesturing at the box, his words left unspoken, talking about the item's history and properties. To an audience of none, locked in a liminal state between one Infinity and the next, slowly pulled through the Sideways Steps until nothing was left. This is why Chess sent us... He couldn't stand to see. Neiva: "Vic, you can let go." Let go, old friend. The rains will come again. The merchant stared at a crowd that wasn't there, singing the music of commerce. But at Hannet's words, something stirred in the music. The notes became off-key, and the crowd faded. Vic dropped the box, and it disappeared before it touched the floor. Neiva's skin crawled as he looked right into her eyes, lit by a frightening clarity. Vic: "Why did he make me a father?"
Neiva: "I don't know, Vic."
Vic: "Poor Nazima... Not ready to be a mother." Neiva sighed, letting her shoulders relax. This was an old conversation, oft repeated. Just an echo of the man this used to be. Still, she had a part to play in it. Neiva: "What happened?" Vic twisted his hands together, tears building at the corner of his eyes. Vic: "Tri-d to be a si-ter instead... The un-ertainty made a crack, and Lalantha fou-d it."
Neiva: "I'm sorry for your loss."
Vic: "L-st?" Vic shook his head, his hair tumbling in spiky locks around his ears. Vic: "N-t los-... J-st b-ok-n. B-t c-m-ng ba-k t-g-th-r." Neiva nodded, and reached across the table. She took Vic's hand in hers, given it a delicate pat, and stared into those eyes. To a normal gaze, he would look like a tired young man, destitute and without hope. To Neiva, he was like a ghost. She could see right through him, and the trail of his essence that was being pulled into time. There was little remaining to poor Vic... So the end was coming at last. Neiva: "Vic, can you hear me?" Vic nodded, and squeezed her fingers. A tear fell from his eyes, running down his knuckles and onto her hand. Neiva's lips moved, but the sound was cut from the dream, cut from the Haze, and thus barred from the Dreamer. Whatever she said to Vic was lost, scrubbed from the Akashic Record and the sands of time. But the aftermath was plain for all to see. A drop of blood fell from the center of Vic's forehead, traveling slowly down his nose, curving perfectly to his lips, coloring them a delicate crimson. Vic smiled.
Comments