A Land Alike (Mr. Man, one other?)

[Marius]

Her voice spoke within his head, the melancholy lightness of one who truly suffered, and had just heard something soothing. Like a tendril from a creeping vine, it prodded and wrapped around his unconscious mind, stirring him to awaken. Urgency portrayed indefinitely in the words, and tone. The tug at this mind, and chest brought him swiftly to consciousness.

The well-toned young man rose up to a sitting position, corded muscles straining against olive skin as he rose, the arm of the white cotton tunic having fallen down to his stomach, the exposed dark nub of flesh hardened by the brisk night air. The uneven lengths of brilliant blond fell into his chiseled face, a tress lying flush with his angular nose, whilst most of the others framed the fathomless twin sapphire oculars. His broad hand jumped to his chest, clenching around the gold-caged stone that hung there. In-between his fingers, a soft pulsing light shone, the power that had been leaking out of it now having stopped, the light slowly faded and died. Above him, woven rainbows danced in the air, liquid light blanketing the stars.

That is why I was awoken, the Mage-Lights come, Kylac thought to himself, having wondered why his Cloch had woken him, the memory of the soft voice of Gaia calling to him in his sleep still fresh and foremost in his mind. He rose steadily, muscled legs easily lifting him to his feet; whereupon he bent down to adjust the straps of his sandals. His square jaw rose to the sky, eyes peering in wonderment yet again at the beautiful and entrancing nature of the wild magic. Straightening out once again, the Sky Mage took the silver chain from around his neck, and extended the Tear of the World to the heavens.

The aurora shifted slightly above, a tentative feeler snaked down, licking across the surface of the Sky Stone. Then the air was filled with electric power, the feeler wrapped itself around the fist of Kylac, growing steadily thicker, more ribbons of brilliant magic coming from the sky to entangle themselves around the fist, and then arm, of the Young Man. Power was pumped into his Adonis frame, filling the stone that was like a second heart with fire. The sensation was nearly orgasmic, even the sharp pain that sung throughout his arm, the strength of the magic overpowered all else. And then, the Mage Lights withdrew into the sky once again, the stars resuming their normal visibility, the ancient patterns of this place taking their positions of guidance and sooth; the sky stone was left brimming with energy.

That was when the Earth-Snared realized that he had not awoken where he had fallen asleep.

[Mr.Man]

Crécasta‘s hands shuffled through a mass of foliage, searching out the precious berries. She was looking for the ripest, reddest, sweetest fruits she could find. They were the best for her potions. She needed to stock up. An encounter with a rather vicious and large python had forced her to use up her few remaining bottles of rejuvenating potion.

She shoved her head into the berry bush, screwing her eyes up against the barrier of leaves. Her glittering eyes shone in the bush’s dark centre. Her sight was keen. The moonlight helped little, barely even piercing the bushy plant’s cover. It didn’t matter, she could she what she wanted; a single, juicy and astoundingly large berry. She had much experience with tracking down herbs. She had been doing it for most of her long life. She grabbed the fruit, gently plucking it from its stalk. Crécasta withdrew her head and arms from the plant, spitting a few leaves out of her mouth. She checked the berry again. It would do. Opening up one of her skirt pockets, she stowed it away.

Her hazel eyes gazed up to the starry heavens. This was a free land. Nature was strong here; it felt almost like her home. She sat down, crossing her legs and leaning against the trunk of a large tree. There was a pouch dangling around her waist, she pulled it open, searching through a mass of vials and herbs. She snatched up a long, thin bottle and several brightly coloured herbs. Carefully, she inspected each one, testing their strength, taste and smell. After they each passed her trails she gently place them into the vial she had chosen. She held it up, looking carefully at its contents in the moonlight. She seemed satisfied. Finally, she took the berry from her pocket, squeezing its juices into the bottle.

The sweet liquid began to fizzle as it made contact with the other aromatic plants. An intoxicating smell filled Crécasta’s nostrils. The potion began to form, a violet fluid was settling at the base of the bottle. There was but one ingredient left; air. Créa lashed out with her left hand, grabbing at the molecules of air around her. A ball of pure air appeared in her head. She pressed it through the bottleneck. It drifted down to the bubbling liquid. It disappeared, becoming one with the concoction. The violet purple turned to purest red. The Dúileach peered into the bottle, it wasn’t her best potion ever but it could save her life if need be. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough reagents to make anymore.

Crécasta lifted herself from the earth with a flair of acrobatics. She flipped herself onto her feet, stashing the bottle away in her waist pouch. She smiled, glad to be in the fresh, clean night air. She began to walk, almost skipping, towards a nearby village. She needed to stock up on some other supplies. It would be morning by the time she reached the little town.

[Marius]

For the space of an hour, the handsome Daoine scoured his mind for a possible answer as to how he had arrived at his new location. Yet, nothing came to him. He had fallen asleep a few fours after the sun had set, in a cairn of stone that he had happened upon in the hills. Yet he awoke here, a place that seemed far far away from where he had dozed off. But yet, there was a hope he was not too far from where he had fallen asleep, perhaps the Tear had transported him in his sleep to keep him safe from attack. But he did not know, it felt as if he head slept for a long time, but it was still dark, it was all very confusing. But with resolute determination, Kylac decided to search for his own answers, ever the one for adventure, this particular mystery was one he wished to solve.

The soft grass under his feet was greatly different in the way it caressed the flesh surrounded by the leather of the footwear; it was somehow softer, like strands of wet silk, yet they left no stain of moisture upon him. As he looked down, theirs was a celadon brilliance, unlike the lush verdant of the grass he had seen previously in his life, like they were fed by not the daylight, but by the shine of the moon, and had adapted its silvery eminence. His footsteps seemed to not crush the lush blades, but rather, after he stepped upon them, the leaves slowly rose to their previous position, slickly and gracefully as if they were a dancer rising from a dip. What a queer land so like my own, yet so particularly different, the Clock wielder thought to himself as he walked down a wheel rut in the previously unmarred landscape. Far into the distance, Kylac’s oculars of deep navy spotted a speck of light, assumedly, the location that the ruts led to. Without any other direction in which to be headed, he continued his relaxed gait, no sense in rushing a long journey.

He walked for two hours, and the sky did not lighten, instead, it darkened, as if the man had awoken not in the midst of a well-lit night, but rather just as twilight had passed. The moon now was not visible, having past beyond the distance horizon some span of minutes ago. Another three hours passed, and around him, the landscape lost any light it may have once contained, other than the faint luminance given by the large stars in the heavens, and the pinpoint of brilliance still many miles away. Already, the soles of Kylac’s feet ached lightly, and a hunger born of traveling and many hours without nourishment rumbled in the pit of his gut. Since at this distance, and lighting, it would not do any good waiting to rest, the one who was land-snared sat upon the silken grass.

Fingers of medium thickness and dept nimbleness undid the knot that held the leather strings that crisscrossed his lower calf, ankle, and feet on each of his sides. A short yet quick little kick landed the footwear within arms reach upon the ground, the Sky Mage then burying his toes into the soft and cooling vegetation below him, letting the strange texture of the blades sooth his travel sore appendages. He lay back, resting his gold-locked head against thick arms, closing his lids lightly to embrace the rejuvenating darkness of his inner-self. A moment later, he reached into a pouch upon his belt, extracting a small portion of unleavened pastry, filled with small scrapings of goat’s cheese, and ate it. With a sigh, the needs of his feet and stomach settled, Kylac drifted into a light slumber.

A short span of time later, the seemingly sculpted figure awoke to dim light filling the line where sky and earth met. Yet, the light was not the fiery blaze of Sun, once again it was the shimmering silver of Moon. Baffled, and thinking perhaps that he had slept longer than it had felt, the holder of the Tear put back on his sandals, and continued his decent to what was now visible as a small town.

It took another three hours until he reached his location, what one would have excepted to be morning by any other standards, yet the bright full moon instead was an eighth of its way done with its sojourn across the sky. It was almost as if, this place had no sun. The realization hit him harshly, leaving the handsome figure to stand dumbly at the entrance of the town, fully lips agape and deep blue eyes peering into the sky.

[Mr.Man]

Well, she had thought it would be morning.

This was a strange land; there was no doubt about that. Crécasta had been walking for hours. The sun should have been high in the sky by now. The moon was still hanging there, a distant lantern lighting the expanse of dark sky line. The grass below her feet seemed to thrive in the moonlight. It glittered and shimmered beneath the eerie light.

Finally she arrived at the town. What she found was truly disturbing. It was like a living ghost town, a sort of twisted world almost as though the entire planet was in limb, waiting for its final judgement. The buildings were silent, deathly so. All around pale, starved figures shuffled from one building to the next. They all avoided Créa, not even so much as looking at her.

The buildings themselves were as pale if not paler than their inhabitants. A coat of silvery white was wrapped around the wooden huts. The wood looked like that of a silver birch only somehow less substantial, less real. Créa began to investigate the silent town. It felt as though some omnipotent, oppressive force had the town in its grasp.

The lithe woman walked towards the nearest building, passing her hand over the surface. It felt soft, unimaginably so. It wasn’t wood that was for sure. The closest thing it resembled was spiritual. It felt almost like her guardian spirits, real yet at the same time without substantial existence. It was there, yet it wasn’t. Her hand passed through it, yet it didn’t. It was all a paradox with itself. Perhaps it was the spiritualistic manner of this world that had drawn Crécasta here. Maybe in a land like this she would find a place for her people. She hoped not.

She imagined that this had once been a joyful place. Signs of forgotten toys and abandoned play things could be found everywhere. The spectre like figures seemed to avoid them at all costs.

After a wandering the town for some time, Créa finally plucked up the courage to try and converse with one of the people. She approached one slowly, careful not to frighten it. She couldn’t tell whether it was male or female. The spectre pretended not to notice her.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Nothing. No answer. She placed her hand on the figure’s shoulder. There was a flash in her mind. Hundreds and thousands of memories flickered through it travelling far too fast to watch. All she caught was a few glimpses. She had seen children, happy and cheerful, parents, grandparents, a beautiful full moon, a horrible floating fortress and lastly a terrible, wretched pair of dark, piercing eyes. Finally, the memories left her, drained, she feel to the floor, unconscious.

[Marius]

The soft tread of feet upon cobble echoed from behind, as well as the rustling of cloth. There was no other sound than that, and his faint breathing. The town was totally silent, nearly lifeless. Yet, in the distance, at the center of the town, there were mulling figures, appearing to be clothed in pure white. The shadows that were cast by the high eves covered all of each street; tiles of what had once been dark red clay, it looked close enough but appeared made out of the same silvery substance as everything else, adorned each roof, similarly cast into perfect bisected rows and columns. Yet, the people walking in these shadow appeared to be lightened, as if they were each lit personally by the moon, the light coating their figure like a veil of fine muslin cloth. Nothing ahead made a sound; it was as if nothing actually existed physically, as if everything here had been stripped of its substance.

Yet, there was energy, behind his rigid form, moving toward him and the town. Then, suddenly the mass at the center of town began to move, spectral figures emerging from buildings, as if sensing the pure kinetic power of the person who approached the town. The appeared to be merely moping around, fanning out into some strange pattern that Kylac could not comprehend, seeming to be nowhere yet everywhere at once, accentuating the sheer loneliness of the place. Yet, one could tell the creatures’ attention was focused on whoever, or whatever was arriving. And Kylac sure did not want to meet it unprepared.

As his wide hand bet with the strange, almost velvety, surface of the door handle, a strong shiver passed down the back of the Daoine. There was something very wrong with this place, very wrong indeed. However badly his danger sense warned him of touching the strange substance, the Sky Mage opened the door hurriedly, slipping inside before closing it just enough so that he could barely see outside.

She arrived in a flurry of color, so out of place in such a wash of pale silvery white. A nearly feral nature surrounded the green and earth toned woman, sharp eyes scanning the area, coming to questioningly peer at the figures that lazily shuffled through the street. She moved to a building, fingertips gracing the wall, moving as if they were passing through a distasteful resin. Her voice rang out, calling for someone. Yet, Kylac could not answer, not until he knew why the strange lifeless people knew about this woman.

One figure ventured on a slightly different path than the others, appearing to catch the woman’s attention. She walked forward to it, the thing pretending, yes pretending not to sense her. As if suddenly stricken by rigor mortis, the lithe female swooned, eyes flitting around wildly in her head. The thing appeared satisfied, moving away, a look of what appeared to be satisfaction gleaming from the dull eyes set deeply in its head. As it moved away, a soft darkness grew from it, spreading slowly like an aura. Kylac could taste the danger, as the being that the woman had touched came close to others, the darkness spread from one to the other. The black tint spread quickly through the populous, the moon now glinting into his oceanic oculars, as if it contained some malice toward him. As his vision cleared somewhat, he then saw that as the black spread, the people came closer. Red eyes glared from that darkness, moving steadily closer to the woman who lay upon the harsh cobbles, limbs akimbo to form, with limited chance even should she awaken of being able to defend herself against so many.

Making a quick decision, the Cloch holder burst through the door, shattering the strange wooden door with little ease. The Tear of the World was gripped firmly in his left hand, light pulsing from the stone in small blue waves, escaping the gapes betwixt his large fingers. The leather of the sandals made a slapping sound as his feet beat into the stone, tunic clad form bending down, scooping up the form of the unknown, but obviously in danger woman.

From the shadow of a near by house, a specter lunged, a seeming hunger contorting its visage, as gangly arms outstretched to rake the olive toned skin of the male of mixed heritage. Fiery metal sang through the air, the pair of arms disappearing into a wave of pale goop, the creature’s blood slipping from the stubs that the keen blade had left instead of the limbs that had preciously been attached. It looked aghast, pale red orbs turning upward in disbelieve, hunger, and outrage. A majestic figure met the creature’s vision, gleaming metal adorning a being that seemed to rage with a Sun’s worth of magic, broad wings a pure dove white, the single clear tear rolling perpetually down the sea-foam colored skin of the Valkyrie’s cheek. Then it saw no more.

Kylac’s breathing came hard, the work of carrying another human, however lithe they may be, combined with the sloping of the hillocks, was a vast ordeal. His wide brow glistened with sweat, chest heaving under the fabric of the tunic in large yet slow breaths. He looked backward, blond locks cascading across his chiseled features, picking out the rising form of Gaia. Her steady gaze peered into his, the pristine elegance and venomous poise of the Cloch Avatar making her seem as not something to be commanded by the stone around his neck, but rather the Herald of the Earth Mother, her hand of death and messenger. Yet, as the Sky Mage stopped the power of his stone, she once again disappeared, fading out into the strange sky of the land.

“Madam,” Kylac whispered at the woman he held, having stopped to sit upon a rock. “Awaken. You passed out, and were nearly eaten alive, as I assume, by the residents of that town. Everything in this place seems to be so strong in spirit, yet lacking substance.” He was silent for a moment, his handsome face donning an expression of wonder. “Be you a Channeler, or Shaman?”