01-11-2017, 04:02 PM
The scent of grass and flowers and fruit and water filled the crisp air. Warming rays of sunlight cut through the leaves, leaving shadows on his arms and legs. He put his head back and rested it against the rough bark, stretched out sensuously and felt the cool earth and the tickle of the blades against his palms and fingers, feet and toes. He inhaled deeply and with satisfaction, the sound of chirping summer birds and the cool rustle of leaves filling his ears.
His entire life, it seemed, he had lived here, was one with the earth, one with life. The memory of a simple life- filled with hard work, with the sweat of ones brow and the soreness of hard-earned muscle- was all there was, all there ever was in this single moment. The sound of children playing. The laughter of friends and brothers and sisters. A connection in the web of life, his roots firm and deep. A lifetime. Peace. Tranquility.
Pop. As if a soap bubble burst. And then things shifted. It was him. And now it wasn't. Or rather, now it was him. The other....a fleeting memory. Even as he reached out to it, to examine it, it vanished like smoke through fingers. The harder he struggled to reform the image- the recreate the scene- the more ephemeral it became. Not his dream.
His consciousness seemed to crest the surface and gradually he became aware of his surroundings. Each sense individually presented itself, one at a time. The warm slightly sulfurous smell curled his nostrils. The sounds of muffled distant voices echoed off stone, the words strange and twisted. The warmth of a heavy furred skin on him trapping his body heat, the feel of hard padding beneath his naked flesh. He opened his eyes to a semi darkened chamber, the flicker of fire light from far outside the room.
The cobwebs of the dream were brushed away as easily as by hands and now he was firmly awake. He listened to the distant voices, making out words here and there. He wondered how long he had slept. He checked his timepiece. 10 hours.
He was surprised. He thought his body would demand much more. Indeed, tiredness seemed to wash over him for a moment, but then it was gone. Or at least was something he could push aside. The ache was there but dull. The medication and burn treatments had done their job and while tender, it was livable. He was sure he'd need more rest later, but it was enough for now.
He sat up, ignoring the light-headedness for a moment, and then stood. His robe was folded on the ground. He stood and stretched out, felt the delicious pain in his arms and chest, felt the warm dry air over his body. It was all very sensual and strange. He dressed in the clothing he had been given, the robe last over his bare shoulders furry and warm, though open at the chest. His packs on the ground yielded his water- untouched- and he performed his morning ablutions as best he could. He also ate one of the energy bars and the rumble of his stomach dissipated.
His strong nose and blue eyes were sharp and alert as he stood in the entrance way. The rest had been good and necessary. He was Armande, Regus of the Atharim. And apparently, amazingly, was some sort of Messianic figure to these Khylsty. What that meant, he did not know. But he was will to trust this much. Something was at work and he had a purpose to play.
The opening skirmishes with the reborn gods had left casualties on both sides- thankfully Apollyon himself included. But the war was far from over. What he had lost he needed to gain. Apollyon's death would not stop the resurgence. The Atharim needed to be strengthened. They needed leavening. These Khylsty could be that straw amidst the clay.
He stepped out into the rock hallway, his robes brushing the rough ground, and strode purposefully to the voices he'd heard.
A larger room- the one he'd remembered from his treatments- came into view. Matvei and his apprentice were there, along with a few others. Valeriya was nowhere to be found. He knew the dynamic here. He had no interest in helping Matvei- the Hand- upset the order. Not unless strictly necessary. Valeriya was the one who had seen and recognized him. She was the Eye. What that meant for him, he couldn't specifically say. Or wouldn't say, anyway.
"I thank you for my accommodations. I found them very restful." He nodded his head a fraction graciously. He studied both men. If they had slept, he did not know it. Now that he had rested, he felt a renewed sense of vigor. Other kinds of hungers squirmed and for a moment he was torn. The map called to him. For a moment, a memory of a scent came to him, familiar. Warm. And then it was gone. He shook his head, returning to his thoughts. What did the map mean? Where did it point? The Eye. A living map, a conduit to otherworldly knowledge. His. He was unsure which to ask to see first.
That disturbed him.
It was the eyes that decided him.
"Please take me to the things that have been taken from the hidden chamber."
Matvei's assent was followed by his leading the way.
His entire life, it seemed, he had lived here, was one with the earth, one with life. The memory of a simple life- filled with hard work, with the sweat of ones brow and the soreness of hard-earned muscle- was all there was, all there ever was in this single moment. The sound of children playing. The laughter of friends and brothers and sisters. A connection in the web of life, his roots firm and deep. A lifetime. Peace. Tranquility.
Pop. As if a soap bubble burst. And then things shifted. It was him. And now it wasn't. Or rather, now it was him. The other....a fleeting memory. Even as he reached out to it, to examine it, it vanished like smoke through fingers. The harder he struggled to reform the image- the recreate the scene- the more ephemeral it became. Not his dream.
His consciousness seemed to crest the surface and gradually he became aware of his surroundings. Each sense individually presented itself, one at a time. The warm slightly sulfurous smell curled his nostrils. The sounds of muffled distant voices echoed off stone, the words strange and twisted. The warmth of a heavy furred skin on him trapping his body heat, the feel of hard padding beneath his naked flesh. He opened his eyes to a semi darkened chamber, the flicker of fire light from far outside the room.
The cobwebs of the dream were brushed away as easily as by hands and now he was firmly awake. He listened to the distant voices, making out words here and there. He wondered how long he had slept. He checked his timepiece. 10 hours.
He was surprised. He thought his body would demand much more. Indeed, tiredness seemed to wash over him for a moment, but then it was gone. Or at least was something he could push aside. The ache was there but dull. The medication and burn treatments had done their job and while tender, it was livable. He was sure he'd need more rest later, but it was enough for now.
He sat up, ignoring the light-headedness for a moment, and then stood. His robe was folded on the ground. He stood and stretched out, felt the delicious pain in his arms and chest, felt the warm dry air over his body. It was all very sensual and strange. He dressed in the clothing he had been given, the robe last over his bare shoulders furry and warm, though open at the chest. His packs on the ground yielded his water- untouched- and he performed his morning ablutions as best he could. He also ate one of the energy bars and the rumble of his stomach dissipated.
His strong nose and blue eyes were sharp and alert as he stood in the entrance way. The rest had been good and necessary. He was Armande, Regus of the Atharim. And apparently, amazingly, was some sort of Messianic figure to these Khylsty. What that meant, he did not know. But he was will to trust this much. Something was at work and he had a purpose to play.
The opening skirmishes with the reborn gods had left casualties on both sides- thankfully Apollyon himself included. But the war was far from over. What he had lost he needed to gain. Apollyon's death would not stop the resurgence. The Atharim needed to be strengthened. They needed leavening. These Khylsty could be that straw amidst the clay.
He stepped out into the rock hallway, his robes brushing the rough ground, and strode purposefully to the voices he'd heard.
A larger room- the one he'd remembered from his treatments- came into view. Matvei and his apprentice were there, along with a few others. Valeriya was nowhere to be found. He knew the dynamic here. He had no interest in helping Matvei- the Hand- upset the order. Not unless strictly necessary. Valeriya was the one who had seen and recognized him. She was the Eye. What that meant for him, he couldn't specifically say. Or wouldn't say, anyway.
"I thank you for my accommodations. I found them very restful." He nodded his head a fraction graciously. He studied both men. If they had slept, he did not know it. Now that he had rested, he felt a renewed sense of vigor. Other kinds of hungers squirmed and for a moment he was torn. The map called to him. For a moment, a memory of a scent came to him, familiar. Warm. And then it was gone. He shook his head, returning to his thoughts. What did the map mean? Where did it point? The Eye. A living map, a conduit to otherworldly knowledge. His. He was unsure which to ask to see first.
That disturbed him.
It was the eyes that decided him.
"Please take me to the things that have been taken from the hidden chamber."
Matvei's assent was followed by his leading the way.