The conditions for dream-meetings between mages weren’t complex. Physical contact while both individuals slept was really all that was needed. Such meetings of minds had to have a host though.
It was a reasonably coveted position. Dreams in and of themselves weren’t usually pleasant places to be for conscious minds. The landscape was nebulous and ever shifting, while the objects and creatures within tended to be warped in ways that were both unsubtle and unsettling.
To be the host provided one some level of protection against that sensation. It was, after all, one’s own mind. And while the sensation of having an ‘invader’ in such a hallowed place could provide some level of discomfort for some, it was generally accepted that it was better to meet a stranger in a familiar place, than to be the wanderer in an alien and sometimes hostile landscape.
Fortunately, hostile, doesn’t necessarily mean dangerous, William thought as he sat at his ‘desk’.
Discomforting and sometimes frightening, yes, but at the end of the day this was still little more than a dream. The denizens within could do no real harm.
Well, with one notable exception, William thought as he very deliberately didn’t glance back at the thing hovering over his shoulder.
“Fuck me, would it have killed you to think up a hallway?” A familiar voice grunted as the woman it belonged to physically pulled herself through the doorway to his office.
“I thought I had?” he responded.
“Well, think a little harder on the subject next time. Because getting through the ‘estate’ was a bitch because most of the rooms don’t connect to the rooms they’re supposed to. I had to get in here through the kitchen. A kitchen with floors that my feet kept sinking into.”
“Noted,” William deadpanned as he fully took in the creature that had just stepped into his office.
And it was a creature, for all that it held Xela’s voice and carried her consciousness.
Looking not totally unlike a wendigo of myth, if lacking the usual skull-face, Xela’s dreamform was more than a little unsettling to look at as she walked over to his desk.
“Fuck me though, I know you’re supposed to be an old soul and shit, but I didn’t think you were being literal,” she continued, hot breath wafting over his face from her massive maw as she leaned down to examine him.
For his part, he knew he looked like George. Right down to the liver spots that had started to develop in his later years. Personally, he thought it was a better dreamform than most got.
Marline had more or less been herself, albeit with features so angular that she’d looked like some kind of… sword person in the most uncanny of ways. Piper had been herself - if someone had doused her with acid and set her on fire. And while the flames she’d given off had been quite pretty given the exotic colors involved, it still hadn’t been pleasant to see the flesh constantly melting off her.
By contrast, him appearing as an old man when he was barely twenty ‘in reality’ seemed positively mundane to his sensibilities.
“Yes, well there’s a reason for that,” he deadpanned. “One that’s slightly more complex than whatever kind of body-image issue you’ve got going on.”
“Body image issue?” Xela scoffed. “My dreamform’s great!”
“You’re drooibbling onto my carpet.” He deliberately didn’t look at the copious stream of… fluid running down the woman’s leg from her… oversized genitals.
Again, he had to remind himself that this was a dream - things tended to get Freudian even when the participants hadn’t just had sex. Indeed, said ‘stream’ was likely a dream-like manifestation of sensations Xela’s body was still experiencing in the ‘real world’.
Something Xela clearly knew as well as she eyed him. “I’d say that’s as much your fault as mine.”
Well, he couldn’t argue that. Fortunately, he wasn’t here to argue with her about who had stuffed whom with which fluids.
He was here to get a geass formed. As evidenced by the second creature that was hovering over Xela’s shoulder. One he was avoiding looking at as much as he was his own. Just as Xela wasn’t looking at his.
After all, it was considered good sense amongst mages not to look at the fae. In the same way it was generally considered good sense not to stare at the sun. It tended to have a deleterious effect on the viewer.
As a single glance at the spinning rotoscope behind Xela confirmed. Because it wasn’t a rotoscope. It was a dragon. Made of squares with seven sides that sounded like purple-
He tore his gaze away.
Yes, it was good dream etiquette not to look at the fae.
"Fair enough. Shall we move on to the real reason we’re here?" William asked as he rose from his desk, only to find himself standing in a field.
"Fuck me. I hate when that happens," Xela muttered.
William, however, barely registered the change. One of the perks of being the host—the transitions were smoother, less jarring. Especially since this shift hadn’t been deliberate. His mind had simply decided the new setting was more appropriate and he’d not consciously thought to stop it.
"If you hate it, close your eyes. This’ll be the last transition, I promise."
Xela didn’t argue. She simply shut her inhuman eyes with a mutter.
William smiled, and a moment later, they stood in the midst of a familiar scene - a small outdoor café from George’s hometown. The hum of passing cars filled the previously unnoticed silence while the rich aroma of food from nearby kitchens mingled with the tang of exhaust fumes. His fingers brushed against the texture of the table he now sat at, only then noticing that the desk he’d been sat at before lacked it. Likewise, he could suddenly feel the pull of gravity anchoring him to the chair.
Details, thousands of them, suddenly came into focus - each one more vivid than the last due to their absence.
Xela noticed it too. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar yet tangible world around her. Her fingers reached out to touch the fabric of the café's closed table mounted umbrella.
"It feels... real," she murmured, taking in the vibrant colors and branding adorned to the fabric.
“Yep,” he agreed.
It wasn’t, but unlike the liminal space they’d occupied just moments ago, this place could be mistaken for the real thing.
He’d made that mistake a few times. When he was ‘young’. Never for long, fortunately, but there’d been a few moments in which he thought he had… returned.
Because this wasn’t just some rough imitation of the world cobbled together from imperfect human memory. Or at least, not just human memory alone.
The fae hung over his shoulder and he ignored it.
Even if it was the true architect of this scene. Earth - rendered in more depth and detail than any human mind could ever fully process. Albeit, with a catch. Said catch being the reason he’d never believed the lie of this place for long.
William’s eyes drifted to a nearby table, where a cup of coffee shifted slightly, as if moved by an invisible hand. He also knew that if he looked through the windows of a passing car, he wouldn’t see a driver behind the wheel.
This world was perfect in every detail - except for the lack of people. Or animals.
At least, any living ones, he thought as a tray floated over to deposit a plate full of bacon and eggs in front of him.
Morgues likewise had occupants as he’d discovered on one particularly morbid fact finding mission.
…Graveyards too.
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"So, this is where your harrowed knowledge comes from," Xela finally said, taking in the scene around her.
Credit where it was due—she looked only mildly surprised. Which, under normal circumstances, might seem incredible, considering the sheer wonder surrounding her. But one had to remember the world she came from.
Back home, technology resembling this existed, though in far cruder forms. More importantly, she had grown up in a place where the existence of other worlds—some more advanced, others less so—was an accepted truth.
Harrowed knowledge often came from those other realms, extracted from different races and civilizations. And while those who returned with such knowledge were rarely left coherent enough to describe those worlds in any meaningful way beyond fragmented, maddened ramblings, the fact of their existence was never in question.
Many of those worlds were far stranger than this one.
That, at least partially, explained why William remained sane despite everything.
Still, there was a flicker of awe in her eyes as she watched a bus rumble by.
"You’re not wrong," William said, taking a sip of his coffee. Dream or not, it still tasted good.
"So, you’re just admitting it now?"
"You already suspected.” He placed the cup down. “You would’ve pieced it together even if I hadn’t shown you all this. Besides, this is actually more convenient. I can show you things in here without having to go through the hassle of dragging you all the way back to the estate."
As he spoke, a Vought F4U Corsair appeared across the street, materializing out of thin air. The cars on the road adjusted seamlessly to its appearance, navigating around the new obstacle without missing a beat.
"That’s…" Xela began.
"Remarkably similar to what I have your people practicing with?" William finished for her.
"Aye,” she said tentatively. “Does it have a core?” She eyed a passing car. “Do those... land-shards?"
"Nope. I’ll spare you the technical details, but suffice to say it runs on an alchemical process, somewhat like a lantern. Unlike aether, though, the fumes it produces aren’t lighter than air, so it can’t hover."
Once more, he was reminded of the fact that ‘primitive did not mean stupid’ as the elf quickly turned his words into actionable intelligence. "Which is why you’ve had your plebeians practicing take-offs and landings on solid ground."
"Exactly."
“…Do those cores require mages?”
“No.” He eyed her. “They do not.”
The elf sighed. “Fuck. That’s going to upset some people back home.”
He shrugged. “I imagine it will. The fact that plebeians might soon be able to lay claim to the title of pilot where it was once relegated to mages alone. I suppose they’ll have to content themselves with the ability to fly on command, heal with a touch and the ability to fling elemental death at anything that happens to annoy them.”
Xela snorted at his words, but it was clear she was thinking. William was content to let her, simply enjoying the ambience.
This wasn’t home. No matter how much it looked like it. But he’d be lying if he claimed he’d not spent many a proverbial ‘day’ here simply… indulging his nostalgia.
“How are you not insane?” Xela asked after a few minutes. “You’re harrowed. You should be either flinging shit at the walls or dribbling in a room somewhere.”
"That’s your question?" William asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You’re not curious about a vehicle that can fly without a mithril core?"
Xela waved a hand, dismissive but with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Oh, I’m interested in it. Very interested. But at the end of the day, a tool is just that. A tool. It’s simply a new way of doing what we already do. What matters, in the here and now, is the intent of the person holding said tool.”
William chuckled softly, a little taken aback by the display of insight from the normally brusque woman.
"Fair enough,” he murmured as he leaned back, the chair creaking under him as if acknowledging the shift in mood. "As for how I’m not insane… well, I’ve never not been harrowed. I imagine that helped with the transition. That, and luck, I suppose."
A brief thought crossed his mind as he considered how lucky he’d been, and for a moment he found himself wondering if, in this world, sudden infant death syndrome was just a side effect of kids harrowing in their dreams without realizing it.
Because that was… grim.
Mentally shaking said thought off, he instead gestured around them, his hand sweeping over the bustling street and the sound of engines rumbling in the distance. "This is a human world. I’m a human. The technology is human. The vector by which it was implanted in my mind was also human."
Xela’s eyes followed his hand, lingering on the seamless flow of traffic, the hum of the city blending with the faint clatter of cups in the café.
After a pause, she said, "You could win the civil war easily. Hold off the Lunites and Solites indefinitely."
Ah, now they were shifting to a topic he was more comfortable with, and the corner of his mouth curled into a knowing smile. "True. But I’m aiming a little higher than that."
She raised an eyebrow, worried. "Higher? How much higher?"
"Ending slavery is just the start," William said, his voice low but steady. "At this point? I want the only way I can see the human/orc conflict ending is through the orcs having their own homeland. They've been fighting over that same stretch of land for so long now that neither side will ever know peace until it’s settled once and for all."
Either with one side dead, or one side gone.
And while there was plenty of space for humans in the rest of Lindholm, the same wasn’t true of orcs. Or at least, not the Northern tribes.
…With that said, it definitely rankled that his plan called for the creation of what was essentially an ethno-state. Creating an orc homeland sounded a lot nicer than societal segregation.
Still, that was the best solution his engineer brain could come up with. Neither side would back down – and one side had nowhere else to go.
Xela’s expression darkened. "The Blackstones will never give their home up."
Her tone was sharp, certain.
"Exactly," William said, his gaze heavy with a mix of resignation and calculation. "Which is why it’s convenient they’ve positioned themselves to be crushed as a House. Once they’re gone and done, a new power will need to step into the vacuum.”
And he intended to be that power. Temporarily at least.
Xela leaned back slightly, arms crossed, considering. "Still… as far as I can see, all of this keeps you in line with the Queen’s interests."
William barked out a short laugh. "Not really. Freeing the orcs means carving off a piece of her kingdom. A not insignificant chunk at that. The Queen would never agree to it."
Oh, she was in favor of ending the slave trade, but only because it served to free up more manpower for her. His plan would do the same, but it would also lose her a large chunk of territory.
"Even if you handed her solution to all her problems on a silver platter?" Xela asked, her brow furrowing in challenge.
"Coming from someone harrowed, any help I offer wouldn’t be seen as aid - it’d just be a resource being exploited. Something to drain me of before I inevitably expire, lost in my own delusions." His voice turned cold for a moment, a bitterness surfacing before he pushed it down. "And the amount of tech I’d need to give her to win this war could only come from a harrowed person.”
He thought of his new territory. “Which is why I’m building myself up instead. Making my own powerbase. So when it becomes obvious to everyone that I’m harrowed, I’ll be in a position where I can’t be ignored or dismissed as just another madman with a few tricks up his sleeve.”
And that time wouldn’t be long in coming now. A single aircraft carrier and forty planes would have been insignificant back on Earth – here though? It was a force multiplier beyond compare. Not enough to decide any fleet engagement by itself, but the Jellyfish would provide any fleet it was part of a significant advantage.
Indeed, in his mind’s eye, despite the Queen’s doom and gloom on the subject, he considered the civil war practically won already now that the Jellyfish and his Corsair fleet was near completion. Between that and giving Yelena access to his gunpowder recipe, new mithril cores, and radio, the Royal Fleet would have a clear technological edge in any fleet engagement.
The Blackstones and New Haven? They were already finished. They just didn’t know it yet.
The real game wasn’t about winning the war—it was about what came after. Which was why his focus was on positioning himself to profit from the peace that followed, not propping up a monarch who might one day stand in his way.
Xela didn’t need to know all of that. Not yet. Not until she was committed to his side, locked in so tightly she couldn’t back out.
As he watched, the woman tilted her head, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Alright," she said at last. "I don’t love any of this. I spent plenty of time fighting orcs myself back when I was in the navy, and the thought of just… handing over a chunk of the kingdom to them sits ill with me. But I’m sworn to you.” She shrugged, a resigned sort of acceptance. "Mostly at this point I’m just glad to know I’ve not been wasting my time teaching plebs to fly.”
Well, that was good to know. Even if it wasn’t quite the resounding cry of support he’d been hoping for.
He nearly said as much, before he saw the wood elf’s lips curl into a sly smile as she leaned forward. "Now come on. Enough heavy stuff. Think you can conjure us some skies to fly that beast through without melting your brain? You can tell me all about how this engine of yours works while we do."
William grinned, standing as the world around them shifted. The café dissolved, replaced by the familiar sight of a long, sunlit runway stretching into the horizon, the scent of jet fuel sharp in the air.
"I think I can manage that," he said, his eyes glinting with anticipation.
—------------------
Xela was in a good mood as she stepped out of the carriage.
She found as the morning wore on, that she’d gone from feeling tepid about William’s plebeian pilot plan, to almost excited. Her concerns with his schemes aside, she couldn’t deny that she was excited to be part of something so… groundbreaking.
With that said, as she felt something akin to an itch between her legs, she found she did have a question.
“So, all the other stuff aside, now that I’m ‘one of your women’,” she said casually. “I suppose we should get around to getting us all together to divide shit up?”
The boy paused, frozen on the doorstep of his home.
“‘Us?’ Divide ‘shit’ up?” he asked, obviously completely clueless as to what - or rather who - they were talking about.
The wood elf smiled. “Who gets which days? Birthing order? How many other women we’re going to allow in? Actually, do you think I could argue that the twins, as a pair, should have to share a day?”
It was amusing, the way the color drained from his face at her words.
Clearly, despite being very familiar with a woman’s body, he’d not much experience with actual relationships.
It was actually nice to know in a way. Under all that Imperial scheming, there was still a flesh and blood mortal. Because, possible harrowing induced insanity aside, she found to her surprise that she did want to stick around for a while.
Before, her duties to the boy had mostly just been a job and residual loyalty to a community that she’d called home for years.
Now?
Now she wanted to see what happened going forward. Whether this mad scheme worked out or whether it all ended in tears.
In which case, she fully intended to shield Redwater as best she could.
…And maybe get a few more ‘dates’ before it all goes to shit.
After all, everyone knows the crazy ones are the best in the sack, she thought as she sashayed through the door - leaving her speechless employer behind.