brave_kreyu | OOM All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness -Part Seven

Skellig is working to stir those appetites, slowly.

"It is," he says. "Typically I am forced to recharge it by simply absorbing bits and pieces from those who are joyful, full of laughter, celebratory...youth works well, as they do not carry as much harsh realities as adults. I do not take much, just a hint now and again. But with you...I do not have to actively pull it, except when I am desperate. And your stores are plentiful...especially in regards to me."

She flushes, mostly in pleasure at his words, partly in arousal as he stirs her appetites.

She laughs, low. "How could they not be, when you make me feel so very good? You may drink from my Light as you please," she tells him.

"And a reason you enjoy the taste of me so, hm?" she teases. She's knows it's not just the Light that he wants when he has his mouth on her.

"The taste of you is a pleasure all its own. There are a few reasons, yes."

Even though it would be a truly desperate situation where he would pull any noticable (to her at least) amount of Karma from her reserves, he would still likely TRY to ask, first.

He leans in closer, presses his mouth to hers.

This kiss is definitely less chaste than the others they have shared so far tonight.

She grins at his answer, returns his kiss with equal passion.

When they break for air, her voice is low, husky. "Do you desire me here, tonight, beneath the stars?" She chuckles. "It is perfectly fine if you are too tired for such things." And she means that, one hundred percent.

"My desire for you is constant," he tells her. "My energy level..."

Skellig stretches his body out against the blankets beneath them, 'testing' himself a bit. His muscles feel fine, and he is so very comfortable with her body close to his.

"...could go either direction." He is not trying to be indecisive - just stating a fact. He presses his lips to her jawline. "But my desire...yes, I desire you my love, always."

She shivers, delighted, when he says his desire for her is constant.

She tilts her head back to let him explore. "Then if your energy allows, I would give myself to you tonight, beneath these stars."

"I am certain that I may find inspiration from somewhere...perhaps even the stars above, write our own legends to dot the sky."

It is certainly not their most vigorous session of lovemaking, that they get up to, but it is not any less enjoyable. Skellig suspects perhaps tomorrow when they are in the city that the rumors may continue to thicken, of the dragon taking a mate, a lover, and that their 'rituals' echoed through the far side of the valley below the volcano.

(He will try not to blush furiously, if he hears such a thing while they are shopping.)

Explore her body he does, and she does the same to him.

They fall asleep in one another's arms after their 'ritual', wake with the pre-dawn and resume their usual routine of bathing and breakfast.

Kreyu casts the language spell on him before breakfast, starts speaking in the local tongue while she cooks, explaining what she's doing. The words begin to make sense in his head VERY quickly, and he's learned a smattering of words and phrases already by the time they are ready to fly down to the city!

While she cooks and talks to him, he is parroting the words and phrases back to her in an attempt not only to commit them to memory, but also improve his efforts to match the local accent a bit better - or at least that of the village along the river. (It isn't great, but it's BETTER than it was previously.)

"What is... what should... look for while we are in the city today?"

He asks in an attempt at getting out a full sentence, as they walk towards the entrance to the Lair.

"Fruits and vegetables, perhaps some meat, olive oil. Oh, and eggs, although we will need to wrap those carefully for transport."

She applies their usual spells, darkens her skin, before they fly down to the city.

The words at the docks are less foreign to him now. People yelling at one another about getting the nets stowed properly, complaints about sailors not being in place because they're hungover AGAIN, gossip about where the fish might be.

His understanding grows, as they wander the labyrinthine streets. After a few hours, he should understand, mostly, what is being said and be able to communicate back effectively. (At least, so long as he doesn't try anything complicated.)

"Would you like to wander off by yourself for a bit?" she asks. "You don't HAVE to, but my browsing the wares here is likely to be dull." SO MANY SCROLLS.

He has the 'list' tucked away in his mind as they wander, but his focus is on trying to absorb as much as he can (it is not yet overwhelming, he hopes he will be able to handle it but suspects by the end of the day his mind might grow tired even with the aid of the spell) as they wander.

Nodding, affirmative.

"I think I would, if only just to listen as I walk. It is helping. I will look for the things you've mentioned, also." He has a decent-sized bag for carrying goods, and they've run through the currency several times over. He should be fine!

She kisses him on the cheek. "Thank you, love."

Skellig will absorb much, as he wanders, his feet leading him to an area that has clearly been settled by people who are from somewhere along the Mother river. He can understand them perfectly, even where they've picked up words and phrases from the local tongue.

He has not been called since he found himself walking in the desert outside Kreyu's village, until now. The feeling that he needs to be somewhere, soon, strikes him. If he follows the pull, it will lead him farther into the neighborhood, down side streets into the poorer area. Some syncretism has happened here, Great Lady Kreyu mixed with the Winged Goddess of their home village judging by the warding signs scrawled here and there upon doorways.

The pull that he feels is not entirely the same as the one that he is used to, from Before (but with how hazy and pixilated and pockmarked his memory is, who is to say what is imagined and what is fact) but he does choose to follow it. Idly he thinks to himself that he is grateful as he wanders deeper into the neighborhood that he chose to dress much more 'basic' for this trip to the city, as it helps him to blend in where he already feels that those walking these streets are staring at him.

Maybe they are, maybe they are not. He is familiar and yet a stranger all at once.

Listening closely, he follows the pull (and the roughly drawn wards) down streets that grow more narrow and twisted the deeper he goes.

As he winds deeper and the crowd disappears, he can hear a young heart and a set of small feet barreling toward him, frightened. It's a small girl, perhaps 4 years old, who skids around a corner. She wavers for a moment when she first sees him, staring at where the shadow of his wings WOULD be, if they were visible. (They aren't visible right now, at least not to NORMAL humans.)

"Had to get him away from Momma," she pants between rapid breaths. "But after ME now."

The shadow of where his wings would be might grow to the eyes of certain people who are sensitive to that sort of thing as he feels them flare a little, protectively. He extends his reach of what he's listening for, wondering what has this child in such a fright.

"He won't catch you," he says, motioning for her to come closer to him as he kneels slightly. "Where is your Momma? Does she need help?"

Skellig does not yet send out a call for Kreyu, and keeps his emotions steady - if this is something he can handle on his own, he would not bother her.

Edited 2024-07-08 02:20 (UTC)

He can hear a man's footsteps, running, feel his anger. But there's something...wrong about his echoes, something Dark that feeds on human suffering.

She comes closer, although her eyes watch the shadow of his wings. She nods frantically. "Momma's so sick. She didn't get out of bed this morning, and she's so pale."

The little girl scowls. "Momma was doing better, until he came by yesterday. His shadow's full of rats, they make things go bad." PROBABLY not a literal description.

Edited 2024-07-08 02:26 (UTC)

Quickly debating his options - he doesn't want to fly anywhere with this many people around, but also doesn't want to risk using any of his Light in an effort to disguise their presence. And he REALLY does not want to fight this type of being with a child in tow.

"We will help your Momma," he reassures her.

Shadow full of rats. Scavengers. Picking up what they can to survive and feed. The footsteps are getting closer, but he still has time. He notices the wards are quite common here on these doorways and thresholds. Has this Being been a problem for a while now?

"Do you know another way to get back to her?" Another alleyway, a side street, anything? He extends his hand to her - if she takes it, the rustle of wings will cross her mind, a calming presence in his energy.

The little girl nods, takes his hand, and leads him down a different alleyway, one that looks like a dead end. "You just have to go over the wall, here," she tells him. It won't be hard to scramble over, even for Skellig. The courtyard on the other side is a karmic space, weak, but stable. A small temple to the Winged Goddess/Kreyu, from the wards on the walls.

The being's angry footsteps fade, waver, his anger flaring as they vanish from his senses.

As they approach what must be the girl's home, Skellig sees the warding symbol over the doorway, but this one has been defaced with what looks like a bloody hand-print. Inside, he can hear a woman's coughing, hear her heart, her body weakened by disease. The White Death has had many names, Consumption, Tuberculosis, but it has stalked humanity for a long, long time.

Skellig has no issue with getting the both of them over the wall safely, and while he does not stop listening for the footsteps of the one who was stalking the girl, he allows his focus to shift to the sounds of coughing and a weak heart. Much too weak. She said her Momma had not gotten out of bed this morning and was so very pale...

She is leading him so confidently in her steps, even if he would clearly be able to feel where he is being pulled towards.

Briefly he wonders what might be of the girl's father, as they near the doorway. The child did not mention him, so perhaps he is not here for one reason or another. Illness, death, travel, occupation- who is to say. The sense of suffering and overwhelming Dark strikes him hard as the girl tugs on his hand and leads him into the home.

Her soul still burns bright, for all her body is failing her. She has not yet gone past the point where he can heal her, especially with his reserves full to overflowing with Light as they are. She stirs, tries to sit up when she sees him, a stranger, holding onto her daughter's hand.

"It's okay Momma, he's going to help."

"Neferet," the woman starts, but her words are swallowed up by coughs that rack her body, bring up blood.

Letting go of the child's hand to move swiftly to the bedside, Skellig helps the woman sit up so she can spit the blood onto the linens - which are already quite stained.

"She is safe, as are you."

With the hand that is closest to her spine, he flattens his palm against her skin, the clammy texture causing his fingers to stick to the layers of sweat and grime. His first priority is working to stop the spasms that are causing the coughs, and then the second is to drain some fluid from her lungs, ease the struggle that each breath fights.

"My name is Skellig, I am a healer. You are quite ill," that is an understatement with the threads of disease running through her bloodstream. "But you are wise to seek the aid of the Great Lady."

Obviously, that is not him! But he has connections.

Neferet sits on the bed at her mother's feet. "I knew you could help, your shadow has owl wings," she states confidently. "And owls eat rats right up, I've seen them!"

The mother gives Neferet a LOOK while Skellig works to stop the spasms, drain the fluid. Clearly, this is not the first time Neferet has said something in her presence about people's shadows.

"The man who sired Neferet is trying to claim her," she tells Skellig as her breath eases. "He must not have her, whatever happens to me. Please."

"He will not," Skellig replies firmly, his focus on working to rid this plague and illness from her body - it is not something he can simply take into his own body as he did with Kreyu's wounds, his connection is not nearly as strong. This is a plague, thousands upon thousands of tiny pieces that have infiltrated the entire being of the woman. Each one clashes violently with his Light as he sends it out through her system, though the 'sparks' are so small she will hardly notice.

He adjusts his position where he is seated on the bed, turns and flashes a smile that is just ever-so-slightly sharp to Neferet. "Owls do eat rats," he replies, as if he is praising her for being so smart. "And all manner of other nasty creatures."

The mother's words: sired her clearly set the tone. He wonders if that Dark being is the sire of this child. If she is clearly god-touched in some manner, is her mother as well? Surely he would have been able to tell by now, though the layers of the White Death are putting up a struggle as he peels them back.

Edited 2024-07-08 12:01 (UTC)

There is the faintest flicker of SOMETHING in Neferet's mother. She has a touch of Sight, but it would be an inconsistent thing at best.

The mother's worry eases when Skellig says that he will not. "He's become something terrible, since the night I knew him."

"The rats in his shadow make people sick," Neferet chimes in.

Never has he typically been one to exclude children from a conversation simply because of their age (unless it is blatantly obvious the subject matter is best avoided) so his focus as he speaks is on Neferet.

"Does he ask the rats to run freely and choose who he makes sick? Or does it seem more as if he chooses, and then sends the rats after them? Have you ever noticed that?"

It may be an important distinction, it may not be - but facts will help regardless. He adjusts his hands on the mother's frame (she's frail and tired, muscles exhausted) and shifts one palm to the center of her chest between her breasts, places the other on her shoulder. More 'sparks' crackle through his system and hers, as the war continues within.

His voice low - this he shields from the child - he mutters a few words in an old tongue, long since forgotten by most. It causes her to cough and spit up some blood, but it is less than before. (That area of her lung was being a bit...difficult.) "Your name?" He asks the mother, once she has quit coughing.

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