Ah, I do lose myself in these entries from time to time. I wonder if my elation has grown to become sick, or if it is the change that brings me pleasure, a break from the centuries if you will. When you've done a thing hundreds of thousands of times, whether in the same body or a new, feeling anything is a blessing. Even pain, pain has slowly become bliss, and I often ponder as to what extremes I may yet venture through to inspire my lusts.
I digress, on the matter of preserving the reservoir, I've found some success in the humanoid bipeds I created. As comical as it may sound, I gave them the metabolism of a reptile, and the skin of a mole. There were some... adverse side effects to the process. Still, my intention to create a new animal to expose and repair the reservoir was a success.
Mid-way through the night, Dorian woke to a familiar sound. Like a call to arms, Dorian sat up abruptly and knew on an instinctual level that something was amiss. Looking out his window, he thought that he could make out the shape of an animal next to a walnut tree. The moons were both nearly full, and the night was bright enough to see the shadow Ohmer cast on the snow beneath him.
Trying to be as silent as possible, he threw a robe on and scurried out the front door. Afraid the sound would wake someone, he left the door slightly ajar. He ran over, and at first, he could hear the growl emanating from the Garru. “It's me, Ohmer, It's me Dorian. What's wrong bud?” He spoke in a concerning tone, and Ohmer recognized him right off. Ohmer padded over with a heavy limp, and the smell that accompanied him was somewhere between rotting flesh and infection. Even though the stench was palpable he ignored it, inspecting the creature for wounds. On Ohmer's right side, a living shadow seemed to writhe. The blackness had a point to it, something jagged, but disregarding caution Dorian reached out and grabbed it.
Ohmer gave a yelp as Dorian pulled the dark thing out. It stopped writhing for a moment as Dorian cut himself on the jagged end. He gripped it and it went still for a moment. He opened his palm to see what it was, roughly the length of a long knife, but crooked, like a snake in motion. The edges had cut deep in to Dorian's palm, but for the moment he intended to check on Ohmer. He reached out to pat at his fur.
Upon contact Ohmer pulled into him, not unlike steel to a lodestone. It was jarring for a moment, his senses filled with the night.
He was suddenly Ohmer, reliving the Garru’s experiences as though it were a flashback. Padding through the darkness, skulking along the trail as he headed out of Metan. He caught the sound of soft murmurs and saw... heat? A fire? The radial heat emitted by the fire made the trees surrounding it bright with shades of red to purple. He approached it quietly and listened. He knew he couldn't understand them, but he also knew that Dorian could. With this in mind, Ohmer sat and waited quietly.
“No, sir, I don't have anything definitive. I swear it, it only makes sense that he was sending to her. Was I incorrect in her assessment?” The voice was that of a younger male. The next voice belonged to another male, fully mature.
“You were indeed correct, but any fool with half a wit could tell. She was sending so broadly, I'm surprised the unattuned couldn't hear it. Now, about this boy, you tell me there were signs. Be specific, I won't have another mistake like the one in Kresson. That mistake may yet cause the slaughter of an entire city, and that's on your head. Now, specifics.” His voice carried like a man giving an announcement. If he weren't so far outside the bounds of Metan, most of the village could likely hear him.
“There were reports a few years back of a boy carrying a hunk of Gwam from one side of the village to the other, I can show you the marks it left in the tree he threw it at.”
“A few years? We've taken four vessels from here in the last year, and the girl is a full blown Priorius. You'll need to do better than that. What about Sendings? Have you not heard anything from him?” The older man's tone was terse.
“No, sir. I've listened intently, but if the boy is sending he's already figured out how to tighten his telesending.”
Chuckling, the older man replied, “You mean to tell me that a boy of what? Ten? Has already figured out what most take years to master, and many never do? Don't try to sell me on bear scat boy. Triple primed vessel or not, I'm the one who has to make the call, and I don't have the power the Grand Elder has. I can't just go about invading minds, until the Grand Elder has passed the reigns, we must be more... circumspect.”
As they spoke, Ohmer moved in closer, trying to get a look at the two. Through the light of the fire and the heat the man projected, Dorian could tell with absolute certainty it was the priest from the service earlier that night. His head tilted at his companion, the younger man just a shadow as he was facing away from Ohmer.
“Do you have any other suspicions? Anybody showing signs? Even a single primed vessel would suffice, our order is going to be in dire need within the next few years. There's even discussion of taking the broken vessels, soon all will be needed.”
“A few, yes, but I have nothing concrete to add to my report. I will keep a vigilant eye, but I'm still kept from many of the trade houses. If you can provide me with a suitable excuse, I may-”
The man pointed right at Ohmer, shouting over the boy. “Garru! Kill it you fool!” The man pulled back an arm, Ohmer turning to flee when bright spots of pain lanced through his foreleg. Ohmer unconsciously yelped as he made a mad dash through the foliage.
A shout came, “You idiot! You allowed one of the villagers to bond it and you hadn't noticed? You fool!” A sharp cry of pain rang through the dissonant night air, murmurs of protest followed, but all Ohmer knew was the fear, and the pain. Then he was running, and limping, hoping they hadn't followed. For a short time, he was reliving his harassment by the giant rodent. Barring his dread, he wanted to live, hoping against hope to survive long enough to be back in the safety and kinship of his bond. Running, running...
Taking in a gasping breath, Dorian broke from the vision. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his eyes, he asked, “Ohmer, you okay buddy?” Ohmer, back to how he was before he left, shifted out into his arms. No longer a different shape, but he was a magnitude larger than he was, but otherwise seemed to be in fine health. His vibration was one of concern, not for himself but for Dorian. He sniffed at the sharp blackness that lye in his palm.
Take.
Not as a word, but a concept. It blossomed in his mind with heavy emphasis, apparently a dire circumstance. The blackness started to move, writhing in his palm. How take?
The image of Dorian releasing Ohmer, his sense of that feeling he had, his nerves breaking the very bounds of his body. Okay then, yeah, lets do the thing that feels weird to a black mass, stolen from a priest, later removed from a wild animal that became friends with you. He sighed.
Focusing, Dorian gripped the mass tight in his hand, and sensed it. Somehow natural, like when he moved the flames, he pushed out the green mass, enveloping his closed fist. For a moment, it just stopped, the blackness felt jagged like a bur. Then it shifted, and stopped. Letting go of his focus, the green light retracted. Dorian opened his palm to see a blackened teardrop resting there. After a moment it broke and crawled through the cuts in his palm, sealing them as it became a part of him. As it did, along with it came a memory of providing a service, then nothing. Fuck, I've really have to get a handle on all this.
The ru-ru hymn was all Dorian heard, all he felt was Ohmer's happiness to be out of danger, happy to be safe. “Should we go get warm then, little guy?” and the pulse doubled in intensity. Dorian headed inside, and after recovering enough warmth that his toes were no longer numb, he drifted off to sleep soundly.
The dawn broke, but Dorian couldn't be stirred. His dreams were vivid, enveloping him entirely. Lost in a series of moments, a mad dash of emotions swirled through his being, and for a time he was anything but Dorian Cook of the valley.
When he finally did wake, the last thing he remembered were a set of ruby lips, those lips smiling in soft contented mockery, not in a cruel way, but a way that spoke of playfulness. The way they smiled begged a question. They asked if those lips were all that there were, and the whole of his existence was a dedication to chasing them, could he find bliss? Contentment? Serenity? Yes, he thought, just before his world spun, and the cold stone floor came rising to meet him.
“Good morning, Dorian!” Kurt cheered like a gods damned bell. Why was the morning always so early?
“Ugh,” Dorian groaned, feeling groggy. He collected himself trying to go back to bed, but found the blanket had gone missing. He stared daggers at his brother. “Blanket.” His tone was as flat as Kressian bread, his open palm presented outward, and he waited.
“Does somebody miss his banky?” Kurt asked teasingly.
“Ohmer?” The Garru came out to his forearm, just Ohmer's head taking shape. He looked up at Dorian, then at Kurt, then back at Dorian. “Kill” he said aloud but thought in jest. The black teardrops started flourishing about Ohmer's head, then Ohmer extended himself giving a full display of blackness. The worm of swirling dark was horrifying with its mouth spinning in a terror inducing display.
“Nope.” Kurt just said and held the blanket behind him. “That'll only work once on me, scary as it is.” Kurt peered in to the spinning shapes, “It is still pretty neat. Boink.” Kurt poked Ohmer, and Ohmer just shrank away to his normal shape, looking at Dorian with big doe eyes.
“Aw, you upset the poor guy. It's okay bud, coat?” A sad ru-ru came from Ohmer, but he shifted into the image of his winter coat and trousers. Feeling warm, Dorian turned and plopped back down on his bed.
Kurt, getting frustrated, asked, “Do you just want to sleep the whole day away? Come on! I know you want to try out your new slingshot, you don't even want to know what Da and I had to do to get the rubber for it.” He moved over and started shaking the bed back and forth.
With an exacerbated sigh, Dorian got out of bed, doing his best to shake off the sleep. With a great yawn, he cued Ohmer to go back to normal and his makeshift winter gear disappeared.
“You know, I've got to get me one of those, seems mighty handy.” Kurt looked at Dorian ponderously.
Dorian just shrugged, “I don't know if you can, I saved him from this giant rat thing, he's here by choice.” Kurt's reply was a simple grunt of ascent as he turned around. Before he left he just said, “Hurry up and get dressed already, we're only a few hours from noon and we've got some walking to do yet.” Dorian did his best at mimicking the noise Kurt had made, but unfortunately his vocal cords hadn't picked up the gruffness required, and his noise came out sounding pathetic. He just sighed to himself and got dressed.
The morning air was, as most early winter days were, fucking cold, but surprisingly refreshing. There was always something additionally brisk about the winter, the way the stagnant cold air felt fresh and unperturbed made one wonder why the evening felt so different. Most days, Dorian assumed, left the world broken of that deep serenity and it took the still of night to calm it back to its pristine state. In the fresh morning Dorian took a deep breath, savoring the refreshing air, then as he exhaled, he swore slowly.
Kurt raised an eyebrow at him as Dorian stood just outside the front door. “Had to muddy up the water a little bit” he murmured in reply. Kurt shook his head, eyebrow still raised.
“Shall we?” Kurt asked as he tossed Dorian his staff. Dorian caught it deftly, and made his way to his brother.
“Hmm, that's weird. Can I see your staff real quick?”
Kurt looked at him suspiciously. “I'm not gonna hurt it, just lemme see it, real quick.”
Still looking suspiciously down at Dorian, he proffered the staff over. “Hmm” Dorian said as he placed his own staff down, inspecting Kurt's. “Gods, but this one looks like shit.”
“Hey!” Kurt's protest was somewhat hurt. Dorian put a hand up, halting his older brother's nonsense.
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“Yeah, you plan on using this in the tournament?” he gave a tsk-tsk, then pulled on his sense of strength ever so gently. “It's junk” Dorian stated off-handedly, then threw it like a javelin all the way out past the pond.
“You dick!” Kurt shouted, “Why would you do that?!” Dorian just smirked, and made a mad dash for where it had landed. As he ran past a tree that had a few dead branches stacked to one side he asked Ohmer to give him a hand. A quick swipe and the limbs fell over, tripping Kurt up enough to let Dorian make a clean get away. He heard a distant, “you bastard” but couldn't be slowed. He made his way to the staff, picked it up and waited for Kurt to catch up. When Kurt had a clear view of him, he threw the staff back to where they were, grinning like a madman.
Kurt took two steps towards Dorian, the threat in those steps were unmistakable. Those were the two steps anyone took before giving someone a good thrashing, but Dorian just put his hands up saying “Wait!” Dorian's grin was plastered so hard on his face, he wondered momentarily if the cold might lock his face up like that forever. Brushing off the terrifying notion of looking like his brother for the rest of his life, then realizing he already would look like his brother, he gestured to a tree nearby. On it rested a line staff of Dorian's own creation.
When Kurt saw it his face went from boiling rage to awe in the blink of an eye. He looked at Dorian, and mouthed “For me?” Dorian just grinned and nodded. Kurt rushed over and took it up, inspecting every smoothed contour of the thing.
“Had to check with Da, make sure it was regulation size and all, it's light, even lighter than your own. I soaked it enough to make it into a paste, rolled it out like dough and put a series of Gwam twigs throughout one side, then rolled it up like the bread, and lit it. I had to hang on with all I had, because the thing almost flew right out of my hand.” Kurt's inspection was getting quite intimate, and for good reason. He was quite proud of it, and even his father didn't have a clue as to how he was able to burn the vivid images into the sides of it.
The images were blackened outlines of fighters, people sparring with staves. In the middle top, just above the custom fitted grip, the name Hunt was spelled downwards. The rest of it looked like roiling flames, little bright spots popping out at the tops of the flames where the bases were blackened. It would have taken anybody weeks, if not months, to sear such imagery into line wood, but Dorian wasn't anybody. He hadn't told anybody about his ability to move fires yet, and figured he'd keep that one just for himself for now.
“Do you like it?” Dorian asked Kurt, then laughed as Kurt's reply was a dumb founded sheepish look, like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Then his expression soured. He knitted his brows and asked, “Do you honestly think I'd take this hiking with me?”
Not having thought on that, Dorian's expression progressed from enlightenment to one of guilt. “Oops” he said, before running away. He hid and waited for Kurt to stash his gift, and retrieve his line staff.
When Kurt made it out, he just said, “I could see you the whole time you know.” Dorian turned out of the base of the tree he was hiding behind.
“What gave me away?” he asked, feeling foolish.
“You're wider than the tree.” Kurt said, deadpan.
They chuckled about it for a bit before Dorian asked, “you really like it, honest?”
“Dorian, it's the nicest thing I think I've ever owned. How'd you manage to afford that?”
“Afford? Kurt I made that, it took a good while.”
“Bear shit, there's no way. I saw that it was hallowed out, but there's no way you could have gotten that done. You'd have to have hot irons at it for hours, and there's no way you'd be going over to the smithy. So, how'd you afford it?”
Dorian sighed audibly, then said, “You know I've got a few tricks I've kept to myself. Though I don't have much private time to practice, I'm picking up a few things.” Really, the violent flashbacks he had were the real reasons he could do most of what he could. Over the last month, they'd been more frequent, set off by any assortment of random variables. Simple things, like sweeping the cookery or getting his pant leg stuck as he changed. Sometimes right at the dinner table, nobody ever seemed to notice, and more often than not he couldn't recall much after. The little he did remember, he did his best to use, sometimes even provoking more vivid memories out of his practice. It helped, but he assumed it would be finite, not a decent source to ground his understandings from. Maybe he would make a parody of “Rex's Guide,” though only for himself.
Lost in his musings, Dorian hadn't noticed the skeptical look on Kurt's face. “Sure thing, little brother. Whatever you say.” Then he just walked off, and Dorian's own disbelief bordered the line of being hurt. Maybe he'd give Kurt another scare later. A “ru-ru” chirped up at the thought, and he grinned before catching up to his brother.
“Where are we heading anyways?” Dorian asked between breathes.
“I know a good open meadow, we'll set up some things to shoot at.”
Nodding to this, he found his pace behind his older brother, losing himself in the rhythm of the walk. When you walk to cover ground quickly in rough terrain, it can be exhausting. Dorian knew this as a fact, and snacked as they walked to keep his energy up. His brother's longer gate was something Dorian actively envied as they made their way through the thick wood. The snow was unpacked, which meant probing was an additional demand on Kurt as Dorian did his best to follow the footprints left behind. When they found enough trail, they'd walk next to each other chatting as they went, but for now it was silent save for the sound of their breath in the thin air.
The sun beat at the back of Dorian's neck for a time. He always had a distaste for working in the winter, even if he loved how beautiful the snow made the valley. The problem with working outside in the winter was simple, sweat. When you sweat under several layers of warm clothes it left you damp, which was just awful in the bitterness of the winter chill. If you tried to open your coat or remove a layer, the cold swept in and you could simply give up on trying to stay warm. Between the two choices, Dorian usually opted for simply sweating in his jacket, which inevitably led to him reeking.
Dorian haphazardly sniffed at his armpit sometime around noon, and sure as the sun rising, he stunk. Grimacing, he looked up to see that Kurt had stopped and was watching Dorian. Now flushed, he took a breath, about to say something to save face, when Kurt shushed him. He placed a finger to his lips and tapped them gently, then pointed two fingers at his eyes, then gestured about the woods.
Dorian gave a worried scowl, then nodded at his brother. Kurt crouched down low, moving as silently as he could through the thin trail. Whenever the wind gusted, he would move more quickly, and Dorian struggled to keep pace with him. Finally, Kurt neared the crest of the small hill, then dropped to his belly, crawling forward to get a look at what was in front of him.
Hidden mostly by brush and fallen trees, Dorian noticed a light emanating from where Kurt was looking. That's when he heard it, a muffled but accented conversation.
Dorian sent to his brother, “Want me to listen in?”
Kurt, eyes intense in their visage, turned his head and nodded slowly.
“I'll do what I can to relay what they're saying back to you.” He just nodded once more, crawled forward a touch, and settled himself. Dorian sat in the snow behind Kurt, using the incline of the hill to hide himself.
“Isn't she the one that gave you that there scar on your cheek, you're lucky she's an awful shot.” The voice was young and eager.
“You don't know nothin' of the like ya young pup, she's the best shot I've ever seen. She gave me this because she thought I was too beautiful a man, had to give me a few rougher edges.” This man, an older one, was seemingly tired. Maybe frustrated? He was doing something idly as he spoke, shuffling cards Dorian thought.
Sounding coy, the first man, spoke. “Sure, is that what she told ya? I was hearing different, heard she was telling you were pervin' and she wasn't having any for it, so the next time she caught ya creeping at her she gave ya a mark to remember.” The younger man looked at the cards given, sorted three thirteens together, and placed the other two back on the table.
“Bah, she's good enough looking, but there 'ent to way of stealing that one's heart unless you be committed. That I was, and ya know, she did give me the mark to remember her by, but not the way you be sayin' it. I'mma have her as my bride when this is all over.” He dealt two cards back to his opponent, then two cards from the bottom of the deck to himself.
“Oh, I seriously doubt that.”
“And why's that?”
“She's not the type to marry a pauper.” The younger man slid a few coins forward to the center pile.
The older man laughed and matched the coins. “I'll have you to thank ‘fer paying off our service with the temple, if it's still there.” The older man gestured for the younger man to show his cards. The younger man did so, when he did the older man let out a low whistle. Just as the younger man moved to collect his winnings, the older man stopped him.
Smiling, he said, “oh, you're good, but not as good as me.” He laid his cards down, and the younger man let out a low growl. “She won't be having your hand, Franky. I'll have it, for the simple fact that you’re a Gwendian cheat!” The younger man threw the table and lunged at the older one. The older one took a few lumps before getting a hold on the younger man, holding his arm at an odd angle.
“Alright Edger, you got me, you keep the winnings, and I'll refund all you lost. Just wanted to see how long I could keep you going.”
Suddenly, a third voice, younger but in more control spoke. Dorian could pick up on what the others could hear, but he couldn't pick up on what the third was saying as he spoke it. “What are you idiots doing out here?! I'm trying to catch some sleep because you two fools couldn't be spared to take your watches last night, and I wake up to this stupid shit? Franky, let go of Edger, give him his money back, and squash this now. Now!” This third man's voice broke as he shouted, and Dorian pushed harder to hear him directly. After a moment, the pressure Dorian applied gave, and the third man was stunned.
“Monks! Sound the horn!” It was heard audibly, and Kurt jumped up quick. “Move!” Kurt bellowed. Dorian Turned, not sure where to run to, followed the tracks they had made on the way up. They were hard to make out as the gusts of wind pulled enough snow to begin filling them in. In most cases it wasn't a problem, but ever so often there were stints where the tracks would disappear. It was in the middle of this predicament that Dorian heard the loudest moose call he had ever heard.
Dorian looked back to Kurt, and realized Kurt was absolutely terrified. He whispered harshly at Dorian. “What's the hold up?!”
“I lost the trail,” Dorian replied, frantic.
“It doesn't matter, we just have to get out of here, come on.” Kurt grabbed the corner of Dorian's jacket and pulled him along. As they ran, heedless of their path, Kurt spotted the end of the tree line. He motioned Dorian that way. After weaving through trees, bramble bushes, and tripping half a dozen times, Dorian broke free of the tree line.
Before him lay a rocky landscape, inclining upwards. It was the small range that cut Kresson off from the wilds, not as jagged as the peaks that surrounded the valley, nor as high, but still a dangerous enough that there was no direct pass between Metan and Kresson.
Dorian turned, looking about for Kurt. He called out in a constricted whisper, “Kurt?”
Nearly slapping himself for his own stupidity, he sent. “Kurt, where are you?”
“Not far behind, leaving tracks in other directions, I'll catch up. The winds should cover your trail within the hour, just hide behind some rocks until I show up. Go! And don't send to me until you see me again, I don't know if he can hear us.” Dorian gave a mental nod and proceeded to make his way up the sloping rocks. Dorian found a small alcove that was mostly invisible until he was right on top of it.
He climbed in slowly, lowering himself so he could keep his eyes on the tree line he left behind. Dorian took a moment to calm himself, focusing on each breathe until he felt levelheaded again. As he moved back up to take another look at the tree line he heard the echo of a clattering behind him. He turned abruptly, realizing that his little alcove was the end of a tunnel. The blackness behind him was ominous, but that couldn't be helped. He picked up a small stone and tossed it, hoping he'd hit a wall or something, but all he heard was a thud as it landed in dirt.
As eerie as it was, Dorian was more concerned that he had stumbled upon another Priorius, another Priorius not taken by the Monastery. It meant, at least to Dorian, that his desires weren't simply empty hopes. If another person could make their way in the valley without the Monastery finding out, then he could too.
The sound of rocks clattering against other rocks echoed again from the darkness. Scared, Dorian called out Ohmer, and pet him worriedly. Ohmer began to hum his noise, which comforted Dorian significantly. Another clatter, and Dorian shot up confronting the dark tunnel. Dorian's fear finally began to wane, now leaving him somewhere between curious and guarded. “Hello?” He whispered, then waited.
Nothing. His mind playing tricks on him. He began to turn back to check the tree line again when he heard a sound. This sound wasn't the sound of rock on rock, it was closer to the scurrying sound that a squirrel made as it climbed a limb, except it clattered. The Garru moved down Dorian's leg and stood in front of Dorian, it growled into the blackness of the tunnel.
Quiet as he could, Dorian whispered, “hello?”
A small stone landed and rolled, Ohmer hopping out of the way and hissing, the stone stopped as it bumped against his boots. Dorian reached down and picked it up. He recognized it as the stone he had thrown into the tunnel earlier.
“Dorian?” A heavy whisper from behind him. Dorian jumped in surprise, turning to the whisper. Picking up on this, Ohmer bounded up to the drop off that was at the beginning of the tunnel, emanating a hum that made Dorian nervous. Kurt stared back at him, concern on his face.
“Oh, thank the gods. Kurt, it's just you.”
“Shh, I don't know if they've caught on yet, but we have to move. I want to get out of this area, especially before it gets late. We don't want to spend the night in the wilds, not even in winter.” Kurt's expression was grim.
“Kurt, I wanted to tell you,” Dorian whispered. As he spoke, something snatched at his ankles, literally pulling his feet out from under him. He hit the ground hard, making a squawking noise as the air in his lungs sought an escape.
“Dorian?” Kurt turned, alarmed. Dorian looked up, and reached out to get up, but something pulled at his ankles again, this time much harder. He tried to grip the walls, the floor, anything, but he couldn't find a hold. Ohmer and Kurt began moving towards him, but too late. Kurt shouted, but the light at the mouth of the tunnel grew distant. Frantic, Dorian struggled, keeping an eye on the dwindling light. He heaved, trying to free himself. A grunt came from in front of himself. Dorian held his breath, trying to hear in the darkness. He looked back to the front of the tunnel, then with a sudden thump, all the light vanished.