OOM: All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness?

[brave_kreyu]

(OOC: Warning for explicit adult content, mention of noncon/rape, slavery)

Is it a dream? A glimpse of a universe that might have been? A story untold?

Something called Skellig out here, to a road scratched in the earth between the desert and the land irrigated by the river. The sun overhead is like a hammer, the heat murderous. His coat...he can't remember WHAT happened to his coat. In this heat the coat would be as strange as his wings to human eyes in any case.

There are two small mud-brick houses up ahead, then more road, and a mud-brick wall encircling a small village of mud-brick houses.

He needs a drink, desperately.

He hears footsteps coming toward him, the heat haze breaks to reveal a woman. (Except she can't be a woman, no one human has that much Light inside them, that much power.)

"Even one touched by the gods should not be walking about this time of day," her voice is all concern, all worry. She's wearing a white linen kilt around her waist, and nothing at all above it except a necklace of blue clay beads. She's lovely. (And she feels familiar? Why?)

She offers a hand to him, seemingly not concerned in the slightest about his wings.

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[27_53]

When the air around her bends and the ripples shift the light, exposing her wings - he instinctively throws up one arm to block himself from her (she is not trying to hurt him, she is not trying to attack him, she is familiar, why is she familiar), harshly muttering a ward in an ancient and lost tongue.

It is not an attack towards her, but simply protection for himself.

He does not want to hurt her. He knows this. (Why does he know this?)

There is a wild, feral light in his eyes, his feet pressed hard into the floor (where are his boots? when did he become barefoot on this hot sand?) as a grounding point of contact. He steadies his breathing, narrowing his eyes as he studies her, his head tilting this way and that.

something like an owl

"Kreyu."

It is not a question. He is merely speaking her name, tasting it on his tongue and the air that surrounds it. There is much power in a name. There is a rush of air, behind hers. Fire, and the bite of metal. But yet, it feels familiar. Safe. He is safe?

[brave_kreyu]

She startles slightly when he throws up his arm, mutters that ward, her reactions just a touch too fast, too sharp, to be human. Humanity is a mask she is still learning how to wear.

She extends a wing toward him oh so slowly, so careful. Physical proof that she is not human and a show of vulnerability. Wings are fragile, he could rip, tear, break the bones.

"Is there something you would like me to call you?" Names have power, he might not want to offer his to her.

[27_53]

He is safe. She is safe.

"Skellig," he says. Part of him cringes inwardly at the moment the word (his name) leaves his lips, because he knows this is dangerous, there is much she could do with a name.

But for some reason, which he hasn't quite figured out yet, that is not a concern.

He lifts one hand and brushes the ward away from the air, reaches for her wing. It is not simply an illusion, a mirage lingering from the time spent wandering the road in the heat. There are feathers under his fingertips, and a spark runs down his arm, triggering a memory.

"I...do not know how I came to be here." He isn't even sure where 'here' is. Or who she is. Even though she is familiar to him.

[brave_kreyu]

"Hello, Skellig," she says, smile warm. The name is soft as owl feathers, as sharp as owl talons. Healer, protector.

She shivers when he touches her wing and his touch feels familiar. It shouldn't, NO ONE has ever touched her wings.

"I was afraid it would be something like that. I think I may be able to help with your need to blend in, to not stand out." It FELT like a matter of NEED as opposed to want, at least. "Even with your wings hidden, your skin would make you stand out even in a port city near here."

Kreyu offers more beer. She makes her own, as do most of the households around here, so she has plenty.

[27_53]

The beer is gladly accepted - he figures he hasn't keeled over dead yet, so if it has been tampered with it is either slow-acting or he's just immune to it - and he drinks again, slower this time. His thirst persists, but there is less desperation.

Skellig looks down at himself - his skin is pale, and he is dressed in dark pants - a stark contrast to her white linen kilt and well-tanned skin. His need to blend in, to hide remains, but the panic is fading from his mind, confusion replacing it.

"I do not..." he tries to listen for the echo of his own voice within the walls of the small building, but there is nothing that bounces back. "I do not know where here is, much less how I came to be here at all." He shakes his head, and settles for another sip of the beer.

[brave_kreyu]

"This is a nameless village along the Mother River, North of Amikaya. But I have a feeling that isn't going to help you much."

"I don't know how you came here either, I'm afraid. However you came here, it is not through means I am familiar with."

"If you can hold an image clearly in your mind, an item that came into my possession that might help you blend it." Came into my possession sounds better than 'I took it off the corpse of an asshole who tried to kidnap me', right?

[27_53]

He considers her words, and re-evaluates his surroundings carefully, taking in more of the scene, more of her image.

She mentioned 'touched by the gods' when they met along the road.
His eyes narrow slightly.

Maybe that is why he cannot feel what he knows as familiar.

"...have I died?"

[brave_kreyu]

Kreyu blinks at his question. "You feel very much alive to me, so you aren't dead right now. It's POSSIBLE that you died and something went wrong with the reincarnation which is why you don't remember how you got here."

"I've never heard of that happening with a human soul, but I am not familiar with your kind."

[27_53]

"I am...not human."

As if the wings did not make that obvious. Regardless...a wave of concern rushes over him, at the thought that he might have died. He isn't entirely sure why he is concerned - after all, there have been many times he has wished for death.

But something is different now.

Skellig exhales, huffing slightly as he cocks his head, studying her harder. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he is searching her face for answers he cannot find.

"You are familiar."

[brave_kreyu]

She smiles softly. "Neither am I, so I suppose that makes two of us in this spot in the middle of nowhere."

"So it's not just me," she says, surprised. "I, you feel familiar to me too, and I have no idea WHY."

She fishes an agate amulet out of a fold in her kilt. "If you hold an image in your mind with this in your hand, it will create an illusion of that image over you so long as you wear the amulet."

"My skin and hair color are fairly typical, so they would do as a template for that part of the illusion." The lack of wings will be the sticking point in the mental image, she's sure.

[27_53]

Skellig eyes the amulet carefully, considering her words a moment.

People (who?) have asked him before, if he is a shape-shifter. He always shakes his head, tells them no, this is just how I am, I do not know if I got 'stuck' partway through or if this is just how I am if they ask further.

He looks over her body, then over his once again. Then hers, studying it carefully.

"It is not my skill," he admits. "But...they cannot see."

He doesn't even know who 'they' are but he knows that is the truth. They cannot see his true self. He has to hide. With the hand that is not holding the cup, he upturns his palm. He will have to try.

[brave_kreyu]

"The worst that will happen should you fail to hold the image in your mind is that it will do nothing," she reassures him.

She places the amulet in hand, still warm from her body heat.

She's hoping this works, or her options for helping him are a lot more limited.

[27_53]

Her fingers brush his palm as she places the piece into his hand, and another crackle of energy transfers between them, enough to raise the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He just knows he has felt that before...

He closes his fingers around the amulet and then closes his eyes.

(Why can he not hear any echoes in the dark?)

His hair is the closest, and easy enough to darken to the appropriate shade. His skin tone is considerably tougher, and it takes a moment for him to picture himself with a complexion that matches hers. His body shape is acceptable - lean, muscled and does not require effort.

It is the wings that are the hardest. With his coat, they are well-hidden. Simple enough to play the part of the old man, the beggar, shuffling down the road. But bare chested as he is in this space, it is considerably more difficult to picture in his mind.

All he knows is having wings.

The image blinks, static. Wavers. He nearly grasps hold of it, shifting in the chair to lean forward slightly - and his elbow hits the denim of his jeans, and the image grows fuzzy, weaker.

"I nearly had it." He shakes his head, opens his eyes as it blinks from existence. He looks her over again then looks at himself. "Is this...all you took, from the source?"

[brave_kreyu]

"Not everything. It might help if you weren't having to picture clothing as well."

She stands, slowly, walks over to a chest and fishes out a length of linen. "I can show you how to wrap this around yourself to make what I am wearing."

[27_53]

"That may help."

Skellig watches her form as she walks away from him, studying her body movements as she moves to the chest. His eyes drift over her dark hair, her skin, her wings (they are not like his, they are like an eagle, predator, hunter) as she bends to gather the linen.

She is so very frustratingly familiar and yet...the connection is missing, a hazy gap in his mind.

He's still staring when she walks back to him.

[brave_kreyu]

Her heart-beat picks up when she sees him still staring at her. It's not from fear. She's had men stare at her before, overheard words she wasn't meant to hear. Young men boasting, saying that it would be a fine night if her breasts were in their hands and they were filling her with their cocks. That they would lay with her, but laying with a witch makes a man impotent. His stare doesn't feel like those looks.

"I would demonstrate on myself, but that would make what you were looking at backward. I, is it alright if I touch you?"

[27_53]

His stare is most definitely not like those looks.

"I...yes." Skellig nods, breaking his gaze and his attention from her form to that of his own. He flushes, slightly, with his next words, and the heat in his skin is not from the sunburn he got earlier while under the glaring light in the sky.

"I would undress, if that is acceptable?"

[brave_kreyu]

"Of course, if you are comfortable doing so." Kreyu flushes. "Do you want me to turn around, or...?"

He's so vulnerable, right now. It would be wrong to even WANT anything from him while he's like this, wouldn't it? Even though she has the strangest certainty that he would make this aching WANT inside of her go away.

[27_53]

"You will have to look, to touch me...it is not..." he stammers a bit, then laughs nervously and shakes his head. "I just did not wish to be improper. You do not have to turn around."

Skellig does divert his gaze to the floor, before he works to shed his jeans free of his body. His habit of going 'commando' on occasion (such as this one, though he is still unsure if this is a dream, reality, or the afterlife) leaves him feeling incredibly vulnerable in this moment, as he strips in front of her.

[brave_kreyu]

She flushes, echoes his nervous laughter. "No, no you won't be."

She's just, going to keep her eyes on his face. And not ogle him like a creep. If she believed that gods existed, she would swear right now that Skellig had been sent to torment her with what she can not have.

"I know you must feel very vulnerable right now," she says. "It's not RIGHT, that this happened to you. That you wound up here like this." She's clearly outraged on his behalf. "But you can claim the empty house across the way, and I would be glad to teach you anything I can."

[27_53]

"If I am to be here for any considerable length of time...it would be wise to take up your offer."

He briefly bows his head in a silent show of gratitude (can't bow here people will see) and then glances up at her, now that she has closed the distance, linen in her hands.

Now she is going to have to touch him.
Right.

Skellig soundlessly works his throat, then nods a little quicker.

"The shifting -- that will be more readily accomplished, once I am clothed." That's where they were. Getting him redressed.

[brave_kreyu]

"You don't owe me anything, Skellig," she assures him. "You never will." (Why are those words familiar.)

"I hope so, yes." "I want you to be safe, to be comfortable."

She wraps the linen around him, once, nothing kilt like yet. "It would be easier for me to walk your hands through it if I were behind you, I think. Is that okay?"

[27_53]

"That would be fine."

Plus, if she is behind him, he will not have to meet her gaze, or lay eyes on her body - so close to him. He nods, placing his hands at the edge of the linen at his waist, holding it as she moves.

His wings shift carefully as she settles in behind him, trying to get them out of the way as best as possible, but it is inevitable that her fingers brush his feathers.

[brave_kreyu]

Her fingers do brush his feathers, though she tries to be careful. And if her heart is beating jack rabbit fast, it's not from fear. She touches his hands very gently with her own. "Now, we start with a fold like this.." she explains, her voice low, calm.

She walks his hands through the steps, slow and careful. "And then tuck that there and it should stay put."

She lets go of his hands, comes back around. She's smiling at him, still.

[27_53]

Between the two of them, the folds are managed and once they finish he is at least clothed in something entirely more suitable for not only the climate, but the time period. (He is sensing that this is...either much further 'back' than he can ever recall being, or that he has drifted very, very far off course.) It is unsettling, but no longer standing bare in front of her helps slightly.

Keeping his gaze on her face, he nods.

"Thank you."

A strand of her hair falls into her face; automatically, he moves a hand to reach for her hair to brush it back, tuck it behind one ear (it is a motion that his muscle memory feels as if he has done dozens of times before, which he does not understand) but he pauses before his fingers actually make contact.

Why is that so familiar?

"Sorry, I--" he shakes his head, confusion painting his features. "My mind feels as if it is playing me for a fool."