The Mirror of Their Dreams

Ongoing roleplay and fiction.
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Arosh
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Post by Arosh » 08/19/06

Arosh wandered towards the mirror during a lull in the crowd of the Raven. She smirked in thought as she reached for the cloth hiding it. It's a mirror...big deal, she thought.

She stood transfixed as she smooth surface seemed to shimmer and settle into an image which nearly made her choke out a gasp. The image before her was that of a small grubby girl digging through old bakery boxes in the shadows of a tiny alley. Grinning with her prize, the little black haired girl ravenously tore into a roll which had been eluding her. Another shimmer, and the image of the girl had age a number of years, now a young woman who gazed out ot the ocean from a small rooftop alcove which Arosh recognized as one of her many homes. The image shimmered again a few times, always showing the familiar theme of a lone girl wandering through her early years.

Arosh's face watched the scenes and fell somewhat with an unreadable expression, something similar to a mixture of regret, sorrow and painful longing. She gave a ragged sigh and reached for her hipflask which caused her to mutter when her hand found only an empty belt.

The rippled water image changed once more but the result this time made her gasp as a hand went to her mouth involuntarily, smothering her reaction. It was Arosh, smiling to herself as she tidyed up around a modest home which seemed to be surrounded by trees and a large lush yard. Her hair fell loose around her sholders and was brushed away suddely by the hand of a man standing behind her. The pair laughed together as Arosh fell into his arms, brushing her lips on his playfully for a few moments. In the other room could be seen many friends gathered around, drinking, laughing, talking. The scene radiated the amber light of happy memories and the security of varying degrees of love, friendship and family.

She winced, clenching closed her eyes for a moment before she shook away the image from her eyes and went to the bar.

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Firien
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Firien & the Mirror

Post by Firien » 08/29/06

The door to the inn slammed shut and she leaned against it, panting hard. The wind howled beyond the closed door and a strange,creaking sound crawling just beneath. She pushed one hand through her tangled, black hair and tried to catch her breath, only to freeze when something scratched against the wooden door like a skeletons fingers over slate. She put her face in her hands trembling violently as she waited.

Except, nothing she expected happened; rather, when the thing began to push at the door, a crashed followed, making her jump, and she heard a weird thunder.

Then silence.

When she could finally move ...

It was that hour of the morning when even the bar keep was asleep, propped up on a bench just behind the bar and snoring like a pot boiling on the hob. There was a patron sitting on one of the couches by a window, also asleep, hat tilted over his face. Obviously the door slamming and the weird sounds hadn't wakened them.

She sighed and moved toward one of the fire places, shivering in her wet clothes. It has been a long night, she thought miserably, remembering the way the twisted, stone constructs had chased her through the river, mud and rain until she had seen the Ravens lights flickering in the distance. Almost, she hadnt made it.

Wincing, she looked at her arm, stretching to see the long, thin cut that ran from her shoulder blade around her shoulder and down. It was bleeding profusely, so she used a bit of her cloak to bind it as best she could. Theyd had fingers like blades made of magically sharpened stone and her arm had been all to easy to slice through.

She looked around, wondering where the rumored baths were located. Likely there was a mirror there and she would be able to bandage her arm better if she could see the wound. Something in a corner glimmered, catching her attention and she made her way to a corner of the main room, moving the cloth out of the way without thinking, and then staring at her hand for a moment, wondering how much trouble shed be in for having touched it

Except, the person in the reflection wasnt the woman who stood before it in worn, muddied clothes and a ripped cloak with blood pooling in the palm of one hand. It was, instead, a child huddled in the corner of a dark room with black tile floors and walls. She leaned closer, pushing her thick, damp hair off her face, and found familiar violet eyes staring back up at her in unholy terror, a little face pale as milk and lips trembling on a cry that never came.

She stumbled backward, away from the mirror and the image shifted, showing her at her present age, dressed in a black and silver bards tabard and following around a woman with ice pale hair and dusky blue skin. \"The Lady, her mind provided, and she shuddered, even as something deep inside was insisting The Lady is dead. She is dead. The bard in the mirror turned and looked at her, flat blue eyes in a pale face, hands limply wrapped about the neck of a lute. When the bard stopped moving, the Lady turned her head to look, and something shifted. Now familiar in more ways than one, her mothers face in the Ladys, both of them smiling, both of them speaking together from the same mouth, one coarse and human, the other sneering and Tier:

Worthless creature. See what weve made of you? A little doll to be tormented never one thing nor the other. You want to be one of the others, like your father? The koadadal are as bad as the Tier youll never be one of them. Always our doll, always our pet, you're no good for aught else.

But youre dead, she choked, staring with horror as they laughed, her fingers clutching her wounded arm, digging in, tears starting in her eyes at the pain. Her feet wavered and it seemed for a moment like she would pass out.

But then the image blurred again and she saw something else begin to form in the glass

a wavering, shifting shape full of water and light that would not stay still. Creeping closer, she wiped her eyes and saw a familiar rush of purple in the swirling depths that were at once one thing, and then again another and she was staring at herself with wild eyes and a strange smile, black hair moving restlessly in the free flowing water. The girl in the mirror looked powerful and alive, her eyes dancing and inviting even as she shied away, her form shifting this way and that.

A sigh broke from her lips and she leaned forward and the image changed again.

This time a woman with long dark hair that fell to her knees, dressed in a bards tabard covered in strange arcane symbols, stood on the steps of a palace that she had never seen. The woman had in her hands a harp that seemed to pulse with energy and she caressed the strings as she spoke to the people standing around her, who all seemed to be listening with fascination and enjoyment, nodding as the bards voice fell over them. And it felt as though someone was watching, though she could not see them: a protective, enveloping force that she could feel into her bones.



Shes waking up.

How long was she lying there?

I dont know. One of the servers found her this morning and woke me. Theyve already cleaned the floor ... there was a trail of blood from the door to the fireplace and then to the mirror.

Im amazed she didnt bleed to death.

I made certain that would not happen.

Firiens eyes drifted open and she saw the flame haired fierdal she had met a few nights ago. Gentle hands laid over her forehead and she heard someone laugh softly, Not yet, you. Back to sleep. Healing warmth flowed through her and she found herself drifting away, even as she remembered the mirror and what she had seen.

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Latrisha
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Latrisha's reflections

Post by Latrisha » 10/28/06

Patricia quietly opened the door of the Raven. It was midnight and everything looked calm and quiet. She carefully closed the door behind her and walked a few steps forward, curiously looking around to be sure that she was alone tonight. It was indeed too late for anyone to casually be awake at that moment She started to walk gracefully towards the mirror; her steps as silent as always even with her new chain mail armour, especially crafted with that purpose in mind.

She took a deep breath as she stood in front of the mirror, now covered. She had met Duvessa a few nights ago and the mirror was uncovered when they started to talk about it and its special qualities she started to wonder if she was being true to herself, after all the mirror will tell her the truth. The temptation was too strong to hold it back anyway and she hated to have her mind busy with something else, something like this mirror.

Patricia carefully uncovered the mirror and stood in front of it. At first nothing happened which make her thought about if it was ever going to do something. Her sea blue eyes watched the mirror as it shimmered. Patricia blinked slightly as she looked at the image on the mirror. It was the reflection of a young AyrDal girl of about 14 years old; Patricia knew that it was herself because the messy strands of white hair mixed with that dark purple colour locks. Her face looked rather sad as the young girl seemed to be talking with a dark figure that looked like a human male; tears were going down her pink alike cheeks. After a brief moment the sea blue eyes of the young Patricia turned from sadness to pure hate. The dark figure bumped her to the ground and straddled her delicate body, desperately trying to grab the writs of the young Patricia too. In a matter of seconds she swiftly picked up a small dagger hidden inside her right boot and stabbed the dark figure deep inside his heart.


Patricia was rather shocked at the image, she knew that it was something from the past but she almost forgot it completely, still it made sense for her, knowing that she could not change it neither she truly wanted to change it on any way. The mirror shimmered again and it showed a rather different image, it was the exact reflection of her in the present. But she was inside a luxurious room, probably a mansion of some prestigious house. She was standing next to her own mother. Patricia thought that she looked as beautiful as always as she last remembered her. There were more TeirDal inside the room, all smiling tenderly at Patricia, with a lovingly look in their eyes, as if they considered her part of the house, part of their family.

The mirror went blank, leaving Patricia standing there with teary eyes. She took a few minutes to calm down, closing her eyes as she started to take deep breaths, her heart calmed down and her breath became silent again. She carefully and delicately covered the mirror again; knowing that Duvessa didnt liked it to be uncovered. Finally she walked towards the exit on her usual way, slightly wiggling her hips, a glint of relief clear in her sea blue eyes.

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Savino
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Post by Savino » 11/03/06

He couldnt help himself. He had been sure to avoid the mirror at all costs. All these years of lying to people, cheating and stealing to get ahead. He knew deep down that he had always been deceiving himself most of all, he just didnt want to admit it. Looking into the mirror would change all that. He wouldnt be able to ignore what he saw. It would stay with him for the rest of time, eating away slowly, forcing him to accept what he truly was. The lie was so much better. People liked the lie, believed the lie, he was happier being that man. Yet that night he walked over to the mirror when all was quiet in the tavern and looked into it, looked back into himself and saw the truth.

And he hated it.

At first there was just his reflection. His human features staring back at himself in a dimly lit tavern. A figure asleep on a sofa behind him, the flickering of the candles on a table being cleaned by one of the young servers. Is this truth? Is this what I am, what I love, what I fear, all rolled into one? Slowly, subtly the tinge of the reflection began to turn from grey black to a warming glow of oranges and reds. A flicker here and there danced behind curtains and under chairs. Wisps of smoke trailed, thinly licking around the table tops, curling upwards to the ceiling. Higher the flames came, turning the server to ash in a moments burst. The figure on the sofa sat bolt upright, her mouth open in a scream as her body grew yellow, then red and finally black, a shapely statue of tinder waiting for the briefest of winds to carry her away. Looking back at himself, the smirking lips on his face. The sparkle in his eyes feeding the flames as the tavern burnt all around. He lifted his hand, pulling on the barbed chain wrapped around it, lifting the head of a choking raven headed girl. She looked at him, afraid yet at the same time adoringly

He wanted to turn away, to leave the scene.. this was what he was, what he knew himself to be. His lies covered it, like it covered many things in his life. No, it would remain inside, he would not go back to that, he couldnt. Too many things meant he had to lie.The reflection let go of the chain as the tavern burned, the walls crumbling to ash and dust as a wind blew in the change. Stronger it blew, tearing up the flooring, whisking it away into the distance, into the blue sky. The mirror cleared itself of the scene with the wind, taking all except him and the woman at his feet leaving them in rolling green fields under a pale blue sky. A zephyr teased the tops of the long grass, swaying it left and right, tickling against his ankles. The raven haired girl stood slowly, her cream dress swaying with the grass. In her arms a small child, dark skinned, its little arm reaching upwards towards his face, its little fingers grasping at the thumb he lifted to it. He smiled at the baby, at the raven haired girl, his arm looped around her to pull her close, to kiss her and the baby on the forehead.

Night time, blackness, it all came too soon. Barely recgonizable the figure reached forwards and opened the curtains on the lit street outside. The room he stood in was bare and empty except for a tatty blanket in one corner where someone must have slept. His eyes were sunken, his chin unshaved and unclean. He pressed his nose to the window to look onto the street outside. Happy couples walked hand in hand. The serving girl, the sleeping lady, the raven haired girl. Women from his past, women he knew. They cuddled in doorways, stole kisses when they thought no one was looking, sometimes making sure people were looking. Suddenly the reflection looked back, pressing his nose to the mirror and not the window, staring at the real Savino transfixed at the sceen.

He was alone, he would die.

He turn away and sunk back into the sofa, his head in his hands, his eyes closed replaying over and over again all he had seen.

He couldn't ignore it, but he would lie and life would carry on for the sake of keeping the last vision from his door, because of the first.

He didnt want to be alone

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Aketen
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Post by Aketen » 12/20/06

OOC: Anything in Italics is what she is thinking as she watches, not what the image of Aketen is saying, etc...
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Aketen pushed open the tavern door, catching it just before it slams up against the wall. The wind was blowing viciously, and it took some strength to get the door to shut and click closed. The defiler sighed and tried to get her now mussed black hair away from her face. The smile fell from her face in dismay as she realised the tavern was empty. Odd; for this time of night at least.

Aketen shrugged, but as she went to sit down her gaze fell on a tall mirror she had never noticed before. She had heard brief rumors of a mirror that showed people things they could never expect to see for themselves. Her eyes flashed as they so often started to do, and the voice of her father filled her head.

I can tell you what that will tell you. It said soothingly, trying to coax her away from the mirror. The human blinked away the color in her eyes, and shoved the voice somewhere deep into the recesses of her mind.

Oh shut up. She thought, approaching the mirror slowly and taking off the covering. With a sigh that teetered on the edge of nervous she stood and gazed at herself in the mirrir. Her lips pursed in confusion as she only saw herself standing in the tavern, her chainmail glimmering in the candlelight. Shafts of moonlight came in through the windows; decorating the room with a wintery glow.

Just as she was about to turn away the picture began to change, and she didn't even see her own reflection anymore. She saw herself sitting in the raven, barely clothed, and stroking raised scars on her shoulders. Her fingers traced over the colors of her tattoo, and over new wounds that the color seemed to reform over. People went on about their conversations all around her, and despite her reaching out for someone passing they didn't acknowledge her presence. She sat shaking, pulling her hands over the scars that littered her body. Trying to create a loving touch that wasn't there she shifted to the fire for warmth and held herself, caressing the bare sections of her skin.

Aketen watched as a shadow was cast of the image of her curled by the flame. Wounds on her wrists peeled open, blood flowing freely from her skin and onto the floor. Tears slid down her face as she turned farther away from the shadow, assuming it only wanted to watch her suffer. Defiantly, she pulled herself away from it; denying it the pleasure of seeing her pain. It crossed the real Aketen's mind that while blood still flowed it seemed to be endless.

Suddenly, the shadow formed a man, kneeling down to take the bleeding Aketen in his arms. Savino. Aketen acknowledged him as the image lightened. The blood stopped flowing from her broken wrists, and she stopped crying and Savino wrapped a cloack around her and held her close. A kiss was planted on her forehead. The human girl pushed her hair away from her face, and allowed herself to be contently nestled against him.

The background of the scene changed location, leaving Savino holding her gently near a Gryphon tower in Antonica. The scene was brief, ending just as Aketen softly kissed Savino's lips. In a swirl of color it changed again to Freeport, and Aketen could only watch with a sharp twinge of pain as Savino kissed her forehead, but pushed her away as she tried to press against his lips.

Aketen shifted uncomfortably as she image changed again, landing her back in the Raven as she was now. Staring at herself. Just as she thought it was over a tattooed beauty came from out of the shadows behind her and pulled the cloth that covered her shoulder to kiss the bare skin. A long nail drew a thin line over her flesh, making a raised scar. The image of Aketen smiled, despite the stoney face of the girl watching her soul play out openly.

Suddenly the shadow turned to ash and flew away, taking the few patrons that littered the background with them. Savino came from the shadows, gazing back at Aketen apologetically. He was wearing plate armor, which soon evaporated along with him. Aketen's face contorted into rage as she darted around the Raven. Trying to find someone, anyone.

A small child came from behind the bar, scars on it's wrists and body. Aketen rushed to the child and picked it up in her arms; kissing it's forehead to comfort it. The scenerey faded to black; leaving the image of Aketen holding a child pressed against her chest. Savino and the tattooed woman came back into view. They both kissed Aketen's cheek, and the forehead of the child before all Aketen could see was herself standing infront of the mirror; confusion written on her face.

You don't know what you want darling... Came her fathers voice, with a vicious tone in her head. Your brother is -dead-. He doesn't count! The voice rang through her head causing her to scream into the empty tavern.

Neither of them can protect you forever.

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Pyxie
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Post by Pyxie » 02/07/07

The inn was quiet and Pyxie was on a mission. Sure, it wasn't off limits, and she hadn't been told specifically not to look...but it was kept under a blanket and folks tended to speak of it in whispers. She was compelled...nae, mandated!...to take a peek at this mirror.

Besides, she figured if she could get in take a look and get out before anybody noticed, she could play odds and bets when she eventually looked in public. \"I bet I see myself eating a lime pie,\" she'd say, and the coins would flow.

Mmm. Lime pie would indeed go good now. Pyxie shook her head and stepped next to the mirror. Nobody was looking. The feir'dal dipped at the knees, stepped forward and snuck beneath the covering blanket.

Crap. 'We meet again, old foe.\" Fortunately, the feir'dal was prepared and struck a small match to candle. \"Run you coward! I'll get you yet darkness, I'm sure.\"

Under the now lit tent of the blanket Pyxie studdied the mirror. She tiltled her head and frowned. She could see the candle's flame no problem but the rest of the image was like looking through slitted eyelids. Pyxie leaned in closer and the candle bobbed forward obediently but still only the faintest reflection of herself. 'Dang thing must be coin operated,' she began to look around for a slot to try a couple silvers.

The image shifted, 'Oh! Here we go!' and she leaned back to catch the whole of the show. 'Wait...is this me as I am or my heart's desire?'

It was herself in front of a grey granite wall. 'No blindfold, that's a good thing. Hee, no deathwish here.' Her mirror image turned, and with a simple move paints the last part of the stone wall with white wash. As the last paint is applied the figure nods, then turns back to the mirror and gives a thumbs-up.

The mirror returns to its dark reflection, now even the light of the candle somewhat blunted. The fier'dal scratched her head. 'Well now that's just weird'. About that moment she realize she had set the blanket on fire with the candle as she scratched her head.

Once again...the quiet night of the inn was broken.

(( no damage to the mirror of course but had to leave on a noisy note ))

Tambo Summersquall
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Tambo Summersquall » 06/10/08

"I thought this was supposed to be a magic mirror," Tambo said to his own reflection.

But what stared back at Tambo was the exact same thing that always looked back at him. A halfling, three feet tall, with skin the color of milk chocolate. A straight, heavy mop of hair and sideburns the color of dark chocolate. Something in the heavy dark brows, looming over dark eyes, that suggested a gathering storm, at odds with the pleasant smile, round nose and dimpled cheeks. The mirror-Tambo wore the same clothes, stood the same way, looked the same age, even had the same crude lightning-bolt tattoo on his left shoulder.

It took a moment for the second image to come into focus, and when it did, Tambo's jaw went slack. He saw a halfling very like him. But this hafling's dark hair was wild and flyaway -- sparks and wayward threads of lightning zigzagged around his muscular form. This Other-Tambo had a blade in each hand, and they moved so fast Tambo could hardly trace their paths. His arms were riddled with tattoos, and his dark skin marred here and there by wicked-looking scars. In the background, a bevy of halfling girls could be seen leaning against one another and sighing futilely, commiserating in their unrequited longing for this consummate specimen of Karana's fury.

"Tatoos..." Tambo murmured, gazing at the mirror. "I need more tattoos..."

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Lella
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Lella » 09/10/08

Lella had been in the Raven for many hours this eve many a patron had come and left and she decided it was time for her self to leave, but thought it a good idea to tidy up before leaving her hair was a mess and she was sure she had something on her face. She walked over to the rest rooms and noticed the mirror sat in a corner, she had not noticed it before which was odd usually she did not miss a trick. She walked over to the enchanted mirror and started to fix her hair when all of a sudden the image began to change, "how odd" she thought to her self as the image swirled and came back on the glass.

Her now.

Lella could not believe her eyes what was happening it was her it was a reflection but it was not her not at the moment, she stared at her reflection the back ground was black and it sent shivers down her spine, she could not look away she was there it was her, The image of Lella was rather normal but her face had a sneer, blood dripped from her blade she had in her hand her clothing was dark and blood stained and there was something else someone else in the image, she blinked as she realized who it was, the last target she had killed, a Koada'Dal he was laying below her feet blood coming from his throat his eyes had fear in them fear and horror, the reflection of lella turned to the Elf and got down on its knee, and stabbed the elf over and over again looking like it was laughing and enjoying its self. The reflection turned back and looked at lella, blood covering its face and a sick grin on its face.

Lella fell backwards her eyes wide as the image fades, she could not make any sense of this did she relay do that, was that how it looked.. was that even her.. "it was me... is that what i look like... is... that .... what i am.... how... no.. i don't enjoy doing it.. i don't even i would never take enjoyment... " she mumbled to her self she looks back at the mirror it swirled in a dark ripple and she reappeared another image another reflection.


What she wished to come.

she could not help but look at the image there she was, standing there in a fine dress the back ground was no longer black but now a sun setting over the water, her hair was long and her reflection seemed happy a smile on its face and.. in its arms there was a child, her child it had to be it looked so much like her. Slowly Lella got back to her feet and moved closer tilting her head. she looked close at the Reflection there was no sign of war no sign of scars not even any weapons it was like it had found peace and this child it had! the child oh it was so wonderful but.. lella knew it would never be, lella knew this was just an image just magic of some kind but still a girl could dream. She moved her hand to touch the child, as her hand hit the mirror the image faded to black once more and the mirror stooped working. Lella let out a sigh and headed to the rest rooms of the Raven to try and fix her hair. "well that was odd" she said to her self as she entered the rest rooms.


((ooc: written when i was tired as always! hey i need some excuse :D hope i get it across ok... ))

Erenen
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Erenen » 09/12/08

The hour was late, and activity in the Raven had slowed. The few patrons in the bar were unconscious on couches, or otherwise too drunk to notice any activity aside from an unneeded refill in their goblets, mugs, and such. The candles were melted down to almost a completely liquid form, the bartend was taking a much needed nap against the counter, and the servers had gone to rest up for the next shift.

It was the perfect hour for reading by the fire. Well, that was what she had intended to do. But alas, the robed Koada'dal could not suppress her curiosity when her aquamarine eyes caught a glimpse of flame reflected upon the wall, peeking from behind it's covering.

While the woman had a few glasses of wine in her system, she still thought it would be no matter to investigate for herself, not bothering to ask anyone permission, or what it was. She rose from her comfortable sit, and slowly walked over, careful not to disturb anyone with her noise. Her sandals only clicked lightly on the floor, stopping as she approached the mysterious covering.

Her neck twisted around once, to make sure not a soul was watching. Once she was absolutely certain, she lifted the covering, and tossed it to the side. A few lines forming on her non-reflected face as she realized what it was.

Assuming it was just a mirror, she bent to retrieve the covering, but the moment it reached her eyes again, realization struck her. It was not an ordinary mirror, it was something else.

She saw herself first, draped in a smooth, wrapping dress, adorned in all manners of jewelry. All exceedingly expensive. Her hair was longer, draping down towards her shoulders with a familiar, bouncing set of curls.
Slowly, she began to notice the less appealing differences. Her reflected eyes were burning embers over the usually calm, pools of blue. The form of her face was twisted into a furious rage, and a very intricately runed knife was held within her fingers, the nails of which were long, and painted gold.

The knife was not only decorated with deep metalwork, but a coat of blood, that profusely dripped to the floor. The sound of which rung in her ears as freshly as the sound of laughter.
Her other hand, however was burning, just subtle embers at first, before it traveled up her arm, and her reflected image tossed her arm up, and consumed the mirror in fire.


Erenen let out a gasp, and her hand immediately fell upon her face, covering it as she fought back the noises that were threatening to reveal themselves.

The mirror then coalesced and cleared, but only for a few moments before another image took hold.

This time Erenen saw the back of herself, her hair up in a messy, curling bun that resembled something close to a tangerine fireball when looked at with that mentality. She wore a backless, and strapless gown, with slits that came up to her thighs. However, that did not hold her attention entirely. Though she noted how exposed her branding was in that moment, and felt herself getting hot at the idea of such an exhibition.

The mirror-Erenen kneeled on a grassy plain quite a ways away from the background of burning farms, houses, and trees. Beyond that, there was smoke rising from the city of Qeynos.

She could see the light in her reflected eyes as the mirror turned around to greet the kneeling Erenen, complete fulfillment was in her expression. Happiness, completion.. Her reflection looked on to her handiwork like an addicted street-rat, completely adoring of the scenes around her, euphoric almost.


With a sudden movement, Erenen brought the cover over the mirror, and quickly moved to the fireplace, sighing at the things she saw, not with surprise, but with comprehension. She knew the things she saw in the mirror, and could not bear to do anything but stare into the fire until she fell asleep in front of it.

Thrads
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Thrads » 09/16/08

Perched on the balcony above, the eyes of Thrads von Tepish peered over the few patrons below at this late hour. It was often the teir`dal would descend the stairs for a moonlit stroll, yet tonight was to hold no such simple pleasure for him. His eyes caught sight of Erenen tossing a linen cover over a large, gilded object, his eyebrow perking in curiosity. Leaning casually against a pillar from his vantage point, he watched the tangerine haired koada`dal as she stepped back to the location of her book, and waited, silently, until he was sure she had nodded off.

His steps were slow and even, much like the breathing of the remaining patrons, as his footfalls preluded his appearance at the landing below. The object appeared slightly taller than a human, and his head angled to the side, his curiosity piqued. Circling the item, his slender fingers grasped the linen, pulling it back, only to find his ice blue eyes beginning to drown into the reflective surface of the mirror.

A dark fog began to coalesce, swirling together, into the form of three seperate entities. On the right he saw himself, his elegant features enhanced, leaning against a beam, a suave smile on his face, a merlot swirling within a glass. Charismatic, he saw himself smile, and bow regally, to playfully kiss the fingers of some disembodied hand. The figure was faded though, as if a shadow, a fake, something he wished to believe he was, something he played at constantly, almost desperately, but did not believe he truly was. His eyes widened as they trailed along the smooth surface to the left, to see a twisted visage of his face, snarling in its depths. Incisors easily four full inches long curled viciously over his seething face, eyes bloodshot, his fingers bent and gnarled, gripping at something, sharp nailed digging in. His mouth opened, hatred in its purest form etched across his features as the fangs sank down on something, before it looked back at the true Thrads hungrily, almost ready to step through the glass and butcher him mindlessly. Thrads fears, his revulsion at what he was, the part of him he hated most laid plain and bare before his eyes. Yet this figure too was faded, blurred, as if it too was a fraud, a mere ghost of what Thrads feared most at being, partially believing it was who he was, but not entirely.

Travelling to the center of the mirror he crouched, his hand raised to almost touch the surface. A child sat there, arms wrapped around itself protectively, glancing about, its eyes filled with fear. Thrads knew it was the same image he had seen so long ago when he stared into his mothers mirror as a child in Somborn. He was exposed to the world. Innocent, yet alone, isolated, emotionally fragile. He could feel the child's longing for acceptance, compansionship, and most of all love, yet its small frame was helpless to attain any of these things it so desperate sought. The true Thrads heart melted, and wished nothing more than to comfort the child, to assure him things would be alright, but he knew in the depths of his soul they would not be. The child was fated for an eternity or solitude, for he had lived it, and knew he always would. His jaded heart had learned far too many times no love any had ever felt for him would be eternal, destined to shatter, melt, fade, or die as the ages stretched on. So it had been, and so it would be. The tips of his finger moved to barely stroked the side of the child Thrads' cheek, his eyes growing wet as he watched it huddle and shiver in the cold night. And suddenly the image changed.

He stood as he was now, back turned to the viewer, though his robes were a royal blue, matching an azure sky... a sunrise on the horizon. The real Thrads squinted, the harsh rays contrasting against the darkness he was so used to. Turning, the figure smiled warmly at his audience, a look of contentment on his face, a toothy grin. There was something abnormal to Thrads about the man's smile... until he looked closely at his teeth. They were normal. No elongated incisors, no red stains, and Thrads heart would have stopped, if it had been beating. The sunlight poured through the room, dancing over the faces of the Raven's patrons, as the mirror Thrads extended an arm, and drew in a figure. The form of a woman glided into view, her face blurred, skin pale, stark against her raven colored hair, playing about her shoulders. Who was she? In her arms she held a child, untainted by the curse Thrads had known for so long, perfect in its innocence. Her head dipped into the pocket of Thrads shoulder, and his arms draped around her, holding her close, pure joy on his moistening eyes. His fingers raised to her chin, cupping it, raising it, along with her eyes, to meet his love filled gaze. The following moments became eons as Thrads watched the two draw closer, their lips almost meeting. He leaned forward, almost able to feel to sensations, his emotions surging, until suddenly, just as their lips barely brushed, the mirror went black.

He stood there, alone in the darkness, in his solitude, staring at the empty surface before him, his heart sinking. A fake again, something that would never be. Something he wished for more than anything, but something he knew in his heart that could never be.

Slowly, sadly, he drew the cloth over the object. His eyes to the floor, he had lost any desire to walk in the moonlight, his footsteps echoing in the halls, his only company as he returned to his isolated room.

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Ijaka
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Ijaka » 04/28/09

Ijaka wasn't surprised to find himself prowling through the Raven Mythic late at night; given the time that he'd been spending in the place recently. He reflected that it had a certain odd pull to it as he walked through the empty hallways. All the other patrons had long since made their way to homes and rooms both near and far to rest or in the cases of some, probably not get much rest at all. So, when he awoke from a nap alone in the darkened bar, he decided that some exploring was in order.

He'd been meaning to have a look around for a long time now, ever since that night Duvessa had told a ghost story about the place in exchange for some dessert of the Halfling's cart. Something about a phantom fourth floor. He wasn't able to find a way up there yet, and he didn't like his chances if he got caught scaling the side of the inn. This was what he'd been thinking about when he happened upon the mirror.

Even under the cloth covering it, he was pretty sure it was a mirror, but the curiosity of Kerrans being what it is; he was compelled to pull the cover off. "Hrrrm..." he mused as he looked over the ornate thing, "Maybe someone was on a diet that wasn't going so well, and didn't like it being reflected." Chuckling, he peered at the mirror, seeing only himself in the darkened space where he'd found it. And then the first figure appeared. It was indistinct at first, but when he noticed something in the gloom behind him, he dropped low and brought his leg around in a sweep at floor level; expecting to trip an assailant. He was greeted by nothing and no one behind him.

Getting up, he looked back to the mirror. More figures had joined the first that had appeared. Stepping up closer, he gazed intently into the looking glass, after another backwards glance. All of the figures were indistinct. He could make out the shape of their bodies, what they were wearing, the color of their hair, but it was like they had no faces. This puzzled him, because there were clearly features on the figures, but nothing stayed in his memory. Looking from one to the other, he noticed that a lot of them were women. Okay, most of them were women. And as he settled on each one, he had the feeling that he knew who it was, but at the same time, he hadn't a clue. Unsettling as it was to see reflections of things that weren't there, he was drawn in. But just as suddenly and surprisingly as they had appeared, they faded back into the darkness.

Then his image was standing alone again. And to his continued surprise, his reflect lifted a glass to his lips and took a drink. In spite of himself, he glanced at his hands, finding them empty. When he looked back to the mirror, the scene had changed again. He wasn't alone now, not exactly. There was a figure at his feet, cast in just enough darkness that he couldn't make out who or what it was. But he knew one thing, it was without a doubt a corpse... or it was getting there. His reflection was spattered with blood, matting his fur in places, coating his arms and dripping from his claws. From his posture and the way he was holding himself, he guessed that little or none of the blood was his own.

Right when he was about to crouch down to get a better look at the dead or dying at his feet when his mirror self was launched off his feet and sent flying into the background. Eyes wide, he watched as a stunning female Kerra with snow white fur and black spots walked in from the frame of the mirror, apparently the one who'd knocked his mirror self sprawling. She wore a red gi not unlike his own. He stared at her, struck by an intense feeling of knowing this woman but never having seen her before. When she reached his mirror self, she bent down, and he leaned forwards until his forehead touched the glass. Instead of a killing blow, she offered him a hand, and pulled him up to his feet.

For the first time in a long time, Ijaka didn't have a single smart ass comment to make, no jokes coming readily to his lips or mind. Now in the mirror, he could see more gray and white in his fur than he knew he had and a smile on the face of the female Kerra, now recognizing who the stranger must be. The both of them waved at him and then faded from view, the mirror showing only his mundane reflection with and unfamiliar, wistful expression on his face. It remained there as he threw the cloth back over the mirror. He headed back down the hall, speaking to himself, or the supposed ghosts or whatever else might be listening. "A hell of a place, this Raven Mythic."

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Badkittyamy » 07/28/09

((As Neosia))

Neosia sighed as she ran her fingers over the bar top at the Raven Mythic an expression of boredom set deep into her features as she glanced around the empty room. A slow afternoon left the place mostly to herself. What a day for patrols to have ended early, when there was nothing to keep her mind busy. Tilting her head to the side the tarp covered mirror caught her eye... ah, that thing. She had heard Duvessa mention it before, on a night where another game had been played. To see yourself as you truly were she had said, an interesting enough concept to the teir'dal. Moving over to the mirror she swept the tarp aside to study the reflection.

Neosia watched as the image of a young teir'dal woman stood before her, hip length black hair gleaming with the signs of daily care. Rings adorned each finger, the jewels set within them twinkling far brighter than the reflection's drug glazed fuchsia eyes. A long deep purple dress hugged the woman's form, intricate designs of dragons threaded with gold woven into it. The figure raised her chin, a long slim cigarette holder in one hand perched cockily between upturned fingers, the other hand fingering the hilt of a sheathed sword.

With a shimmer another figure appeared, silver hair contrasting against black as the second woman stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the first. The second teir'dal's hair was short where the first's was long, her fingers unadorned, though her dress was the same style, black instead of purple. The woman's eyes held a look of utter devotion, even as the first turned her head, a split tongue snaking out over the smaller woman's ear. Flames danced over that tongue and in a moment the second woman was burning, burning until all that was left was a pile of ashes.

Glancing back, the first woman no longer stood there, instead was a nude feminine figure best described as demon-like, skin so dark a blue it was nearly black. Long obsidian horns curl around long pointed ears, orange eyes watching, ever vigilant. It stood in front of a reflection of herself, wearing her usual dark plate armour, face obscured by shadow. Flames danced in the creatures hands, smoke curling from it's nostrils and lips, it's facial features obscured by a gilded mask. The same long black hair flowed over the creature's strong shoulders, partially obscuring the silver collar around its neck a long leash of burgundy leather clipped to the front. Her reflected figure wore the same collar, no leash attached, and as Neosia raised a hand the demon did the same, a smirk splaying over its lips. Neosia dropped her hand away from the mirror and the demon paced, the fire in its hands spreading to cover it body, green tipped flames licking at the air.

The mirror shimmered, the demon disappearing, leaving her reflection sitting there, alone. Raising her head the reflection smirked sardonically, a mask matching the one the demon had worn revealed, fuchsia eyes looking lost despite the smirking lips. The collar looked worn now, though just as firmly set in place, a shadowed figure appearing behind. Several other figures slipped into view, some standing, others sitting around her reflection.

Shadowed hands slipped into her reflections hair, pressed finger tips against the worn collar. A single hand came down, removing the mask, flames dancing in fuchsia eyes as the figures wrapped themselves around her form. Faces came into view, lovers holding her close, fingers brushing her collar; friends standing behind, their hands on her shoulders.There was a sense of heat there, though no sound could be conveyed, wisps of smoke rose where they touched, but they did not burn.

As Neosia stepped back from the mirror the images faded, a rueful smile left on her face from what had been displayed. It had brought things to light, but it had also stirred old memories she had wished to keep buried. Reaching up she drew the tarp back down over the mirror sharply, turning on her heel. She had been unsure of what to expect. the results left her with mixed emotions and even more muddled thoughts. Raising a hand to her cheek she drew it back in shock, her fingers damp from shed tears. Scowling now she wiped her face, and no longer caring who was there and had seen she made her way to the baths, disappearing.

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Xulia
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Xulia » 08/26/09

A wisp of green smoke streaked across the night sky. Contained within the magical concoction mist was the malice-driven Shadow Knight, Xulia Spirestone. The bolt of Greenmist carried her corporeal form within as she glided over a forest, searching endlessly for the white-haired half-elf that scorned her and cheated death at her hands. Her hope was kindled as she saw a structure not too far off in the distance. She had heard tales of this "Raven Mythic", but had avoided going due to her own personal reasons and for the fact of having absolutely no interest aside from causing unwanted chaos and killing those who dwelt within for sheer pleasure. Seeing as no one seemed to be dwelling about, she willed the shambling mass of verdant haze to settle inside of the Raven. A brief flash of bright green light and what once was a cloud of Greenmist now became a tall, scowling Iksar maiden clad in dark armor. The skull-shaped helmet gleamed in the moonlight, concealing her dark green eyes from view and giving her already intimidating visage an appearance of deathly dread.

Xulia peered around, making sure to keep her arrival unnoticed. She knew that if anyone had seen her here, they would have assuredly gone on some form of an assault. It was rare that anyone, even her own allies, enjoyed dealing with this particular Iksar. It was for that reason she chose to remain reclusive until called, unless matters of curiosity such as this were afoot. The Raven reminded her of many of the other softskin structures she had seen in her days. Simple, yet elegant. Excellent craftsmanship, but in her mind it did not compare to the beauty of Cabilis. Nothing ever did. Still, she could not help but turn her gaze to the covered object that lay a few feet to her left.

The Iksar maiden slinked silently over to the object, examining the cloth cover carefully. She tapped it twice with her clawed index finger, sensing what lay behind was quite sturdy. Her curiosity crested and the cloth covering was pulled off in a hurry. To her disappointment, all that lay beyond the appealing veil was naught but a mirror.
"What sort of foul softskin trickery is this...Perhaps an enchantment...No, the softskins have never been that..."
Xulia stopped her train of insulting thoughts as her image in the mirror began to shift.
"...clever..."

What she saw before her reflected in the mirror was something that intrigued her further. She saw herself, but clad instead in elegant green platemail armor. She bore a black cloak, a shimmering green emblem of Cabilis displayed proudly as her crest. Her favored weapon, the Greenmist, clutched firmly in her right hand with a large, metal tower shield bearing the symbol of Cabilis on it as well being held firmly onto her left forearm. The reflection turned and held the sword out in front of it. Xulia could swear she heard the voices of at least ten thousand Iksar crying out in unison, "Long live the empire! Long live Empress Spirestone, The Eternal Unconquered!"

The image shifted once more. Xulia saw the same figure, clad in the same green armor. Before her a human figure knelt on his knees, blood running from all corners of his broken form. The reflection of the Iksar maiden raised her blade and with one fell slice, the human's head went rolling. Xulia could hear the sounds of human screaming, flames dancing all around, and the brief flashes of lightning from a sky concealed by great green clouds. Her vision was fixed on the image of the head as it rolled along the cobblestone ground. The city being besieged was Freeport, the head was of its once powerful leader, Lucan D'Lere. The Iksar maiden reached down and picked up the head, a loud shriek emerging from her throat as she raised it, the sounds of victorious cries echoing through the streets of Freeport. This is Xulia's firmest desire that she knows...

The reflection changed once more and revealed something that Xulia did not expect. She saw the distant ruins of Cabilis, and a long trail of people walking up the beaten path to the ruined great city. In their midst she saw the shape of what looked to her to be a coffin. Draped over it, a dark Sathirian tapestry bearing the symbol of Cabilis. Xulia watched as the crowd of mourners came into focus. They were the Knights of Freeport, bearing away her body to her homelands. The current Lord Commander, Tadius Metellius, walked alongside the casket, holding one of the four handles. General Salvius Curio held one of the others, folowed by her sister, Emalix Spirestone, and finally a small tan-furred Ratonga held the final handle. The Knights placed the casket within what looked to be a recently constructed stone altar that laid above the entrance to The Crusaders of Greenmist hidden fortress. The altar was crafted of fine black marble, smooth and cold to the touch. On top, the image of an Iksar maiden, extending her right arm, blade in hand, to the East. At her side, Overlord Lucan D'Lere likewise pointed East. Xulia was further confused to see not only Lucan, but a figure made of white marble standing to her left: Queen Antonia Bayle. The statue signified a time when the wars had ended between Freeport and Qeynos, and they had turned their attention to reuniting the broken tribes of the Iksar of Kunark to join in their union of peace. Back in The Raven, Xulia was already growling and quite visibly enraged. This mirror must be lying or broken...

It was then she saw Lieutenant Krugger Elvenslaver deliver a blade wrapped in black silk to The Lord Commander, who promptly unwrapped it. Xulia watched as Tadius placed the blade into the constructed tomb. To her surprise it was not the Greenmist, but something different altogether. This blade did not exude an aura of death and decay, but one of calm. As if this was not bad enough, Xulia then saw the image of a white-haired elderly half-elf approach her tomb. On his right a taller half-elf stood, helping him walk up to the marble tomb. The aged Ayr'dal leaned down and said a silent prayer, and before he backed away simply whispered, "No one is beyond redemption...Rest well, old friend..."

The image faded and Xulia was once again staring at herself. She was shaking, livid with boiling rage. If what she had seen was truly what was being reflected, she wanted to annihilate the mirror and everything around it. Fortunately for her, her rage only possessed her to vaporize into a bolt of Greenmist and quickly fly off once more into the darkness of night.
"Softskin witchcraft..."

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Zykshin TuZyil
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Zykshin TuZyil » 08/28/09

Skeletons never tire. They never need energy, they never need sustenance... All that drives the typical skeleton is either their master, or deluded memories of how they were in life. But the garbed skeleton that walked in the Raven on his hands that morning was driven by something different. Cackling, Zykshin bent his elbows and thrusted himself into the air, landing on his feet.

This morning, as it was still somewhat dark out, the Raven-Mythic was almost empty, save for a red-bearded dwarf, who walked away from an odd mirror and a cloth. Visibly shaken, he looked down at his gnarled hands, nearly walking into the wall. The dwarf's lips mumbled words of his language to himself.

The skeleton was curious. He looked over at the mirror, then back to the dwarf. "I say, my hairy friend, you look as though you just killed for the first time," Zykshin said. The dwarf glanced his way for a moment, then dropped his hands to his sides and simply walked out of the inn. "Silly dorf!" he cackled, then looked back to the mirror. Glancing back to the door, he approached the mirror carefully, wondering if maybe it was a prank mirror designed to show one as some hideous beast. He giggled at the thought.

But when Zyskhin got close and gazed into the mirror's depth, he was surprised for the first time in centuries. The mirror reflected a desolate wasteland, unremarkable aside from the Overlord's tower warped like the halls of Nektropos Castle and floating on its side. The view of the wasteland panned down from the tower to a city of ruins, still easily identifiable as Freeport. Undead of all shapes, sizes, and kinds walked the streets. Among them was Zykshin himself, playing his lute behind the ruined and looted remains of the Freeport Reserve in West Freeport.

The image shifted entirely, then, and Zykshin saw himself as but a skull, held by high elf poet on the Amphitheater in East Freeport, the city no longer in ruins. "To be or not to be..." the elf began, but was cut off by the skull, "Neither! Find a place in nowhere!" But the crowd had lost interest and began to leave. Growling in frustration, theelf threw Zykshin's skull against a wall, where it shattered into pieces. It reformed, then was put back on his body. Slumping down the wall, the skeleton moped.

Finally, the image shifted to Antonica, where a great barbarian paladin cut down ranks of undead with his holy sword. The undead did not relent against the shining armor of the Paladin of Marr, but eventually the ranks were quelled by the healing spells the knight threw at the dead. Zykshin saw himself cackle madly and emit a screech that could shatter glass. The barbarian, much like the undead he slew, did not relent, and he brought the Truth of Marr down upon Zykshin, blasting him to bits.

The images disappearing, Zykshin merely cackled to himself. "Such a chaotic mirror. I should get one to carry aroud with me," he said, then walked out of the Raven.

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Bird » 09/03/09

It was late and he couldn't sleep, as was often the case these days.

After several hours of aimless wandering of the Raven's grounds, the little half-elf had found himself back inside the Raven's common area, pacing anxiously, pondering perhaps reading one of the books he had brought with him to settle his mind. But no, his mind was too edgey and he fidgeted no matter how much he tried to sit still. Jhayel rubbed his eyes and finally gave it up for a bad job, deciding to head back upstairs to pass the rest of the night in his room, perhaps writing letters or going over the many, many notes he had made concerning the rumors he overheard in his bar hopping. Trying to find a small connection here, a coincidence there, to put together the muddled pieces of the puzzle Norrath had become in the last few months.

But something covered by a sheet caught his attention and the young man paused, curiosity, as it often did, sounding like a siren's call in his tired mind.

Carefully, he studied the object and shrugged, deciding that subtlety could be put on the back burner for the moment, yanking the sheet off.

Huh... a mirror...

Jhayel tilted his head, studying the small, thin young man with features that had lost their roundness in the last few months, becoming sharp and wary, pale green eyes tired and yet moving constantly, never settling in one place long. There was also some stubble, startling white against his dark skin, that had never been there before, matching his now short curly hair.

And... Holy hell... Was that a gray hair?!...

Jhayel suddenly frowned sharply though as something... Changed...

Suddenly, small shadows flitted and darted around his reflection, causing Jhayel to spin around to study the room, searching for the originator of the shades, wishing he had his knives with him.

Nothing...

Cautiously, the half-elf turned to study the reflection again, mild horror in his wide eyes as he realized the magic of the thing.

The shades had grown larger, darker, swirling around his reflection with a growing intensity. His reflection seemed to be trying to battle the shades, at first as stubbornly as he ever did. But then, over time, the mirror Jhayel's struggles weakened... and suddenly he saw himself overwhelmed, unable to fight the shadows anymore... Exhausted....

Jhayel shuddered as his reflection abruptly vanished.

...Only to be replaced with something else...

It was an older half-elf, perhaps in his forties or fifties.

He walked with a quiet confidence, his face lined with the struggles of a hard life but now there seemed to be a strange sort of serenity to him. There were scars yes, but he seemed the stronger for them... The better... He easily hoisted the small pack over his shoulder, looking out over a grassy hilltop towards... something... His own green eyes alight with joy.

Jhayel leaned closer towards the mirror, trying to see what the older half-elf that he now recognized as himself was looking at.

A quiet curse, one of pure shock, escaped him.

It was Freeport... His home...But the Overlord's Citadel was nowhere in sight...

Suddenly, the scene switched and the half-elf was walking towards the western city gates, a tall, younger Ayr'dal with dark hair and Maran features beside him that Bird recognized immediately.

His son,Keir, not as the toddler he was in the present but as a young man the same age his father was now.

The father and son walked companionably towards the gates and Jhayel watched the reflection with some horror as they hailed the guards.

But something wasn't right about these guards... Instead of the scowls and drawing of weapons that Jhayel would have expected, they instead smiled and the two Ayr'dal seemed to have a pleasant conversation with some guards they knew well Nearby, the gates stood wide open and Jhayel was amazed to see all travelers of all races walking in and out... Not in the cautious way of Freeporters now... But with actual genuine smiles and friendliness... Without fear...

And then Jhayel saw the older half-elf again, smiling as he looked towards a city that once again lived up to the "free" part of its name.

The vision abruptly vanished, causing Jhayel to sigh in bitter disappointment as he found himself staring once again at just his reflection.

...Maybe... Just maybe... This mirror showed the future?...

That thought caused Jhayel to experience something he hadn't in a long while.

Hope.

A small, secretive smile in place, Jhayel, known only as Bird to most, carefully threw the sheet back over the mirror and made his quiet way back upstairs.

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Laraxollia
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Laraxollia » 12/28/09

Laraxollia often found herself largely alone in the Raven, as she and her servants required very little (if any) sleep. She maintained a suite here, as well as her Nerian residence and a small homestead in Maj'Dul, though her time at the Raven was supposed to be for relaxation...however, as always, she typically kept a laboratory journal or some old, tattered tome with her even during her 'relaxation time'.

Tonight was one such night, and she decided to finally take a look at the mirror Duvessa had brought out the week before. She had been meaning to take a look since the first time she saw the mirror, and even though the last user was unable to understand the message the mirror was delivering, the Necromancer doubted that it was broken as it was claimed to be that night; it was old magic, lasting magic, and even the crazed mind of the pudgy Ratonga wouldn't break such an enchantment. After a few words with the server, she was lead to where the mirror was kept, and left alone so that she could reflect upon it's contents peacefully.

She was unsure of what she would find within the smooth surface, and so she sent Calisto to stand guard outside the door, requesting that she not be disturbed unless it was an emergency or the owner of the establishment requesting. While she was curious, the lesser vampire shrugged, and turned around only to slam into the closed door - she had been a shadowy being for so long, Calisto had forgotten what it was like to be corporeal, and had taken to slamming into things the past few days since receiving her new form. Once she was gone, the Koada'dal slowly pulled off the cloth that covered the mirror, standing so that she was not yet reflected within it's smooth depths.

It took several minutes before she finished mentally preparing herself. She was well aware that there were many things which she either suppressed or outright denied to herself, and she knew they would be naked and visible within the mirror's surface. There was a tale, told by a the woman who had calmed the now deceased Sultan of Maj'dul's anger over the course of one thousand and one nights of story, that spoke of a young boy who encountered such a mirror. In the tale, the mirror was said to show the very core of a person's soul, things they knew of or did not know of or wished they could forget where exposed, and many men went mad by looking into it; pious vicars discovered they were worse than the men they condemned while murders found that they were righteous and kind while the wizened found they were but idiot children. The last thing Laraxollia wished to do was to become one of the madmen who wandered in the Sinking Sands of Ro.

Finally, she stepped before the mirror, her gold eyes watching carefully as the surface became covered in mist before going completely dark.

The first image to appear was that of a startlingly beautiful woman. She glowed with health and heartiness, her form perfectly symmetrical and unblemished, waves of dark brown hair falling like a cascading waterfall down her back from the golden crown that rested upon her brow. Fine golden filigree framed her breasts, pulling nearly sheer gold trimmed turquoise silk across them, thin chains of gold decorating the bottoms as they rested against her torso. Matching filigree draped itself over her hips and danced down the line where her thighs met her pelvis, the same gold trimmed turquoise silk covering her sacred mound. Here the gold chains hung straight down, capped with teardrop tails, and a dramatic train of peacock feathers cascaded down along the backs of her legs to fan out on the ground around her.

Beside the Forgotten One, another figure began to appear. This one was intimately familiar to the Necromancer, though she was shocked to see herself clad in nearly the same clothing as the Goddess was, save for a thin golden circlet instead of the ornate crown of Prime Healing. Her hair was straightened, hanging down just past her rear, a curtain of stark white silk that brushed over the start of the peacock feather train while her skin was nearly pure white with golden sigils of power dancing across it much the way the sigils of the Erudites caress their skins, some of which she recognised as those from the Lifestream system she had designed while some were new and unknown.

In her hands was a new, restored Ewer. This Vessel was made of pure, untainted gold, with many of the same sigils inscribed into it's form, each glowing with potent power that manifested with a green light - much the way her new scythe's runes appeared once she had allowed it to feast on the essences of anguished souls. She realised the water with in it was from the Fountain of Life deep within the temple of the Silent City, however it took a few seconds for her to realise why it was stained brilliant ruby red. Gasping, the Laraxollia of the here and now reached out toward the mirror, her fingertips hovering less than an inch away from the glass, wishing she could pull the sacred mixture from it's surface. There, within the glass, was the culmination of perhaps several millennia of research into immortality - she knew what it was, what it could do, however she did not know the steps that lead to it.

A third figure began to materialize, this one clad in the vestments of a Sul'dal warrior. She was taller than the Necromancer, but shorter than the Goddess, her brown hair cut short so that it did not disrupt combat, almost like a boy's would be trimmed. Although her skin was nearly as pale as the Necromancer's, she too glowed with life, alive and well rather than trapped within the flesh of the dead. Just as the Koada'dal stood to the right of the Goddess, Calisto stood to the right of Laraxollia, the eternal guardian she had sworn to be even after her mortal coil was buried in the earth.

Behind them, many more figures began to appear, a sea of those who had put their faith in either the Goddess or the Necromancer, and she realised that they were within the Temple in Ahket Aken, although it was vastly different in the mirror. The long-undead forms of the Sul'dal stood mixed in with the mortal followers, each silently waiting for their prayers to be answered. In unison, the three dominate figures turned, and the Necromancer stepped forward toward the withered corpse she knew was Anuk.

The Godking was humble before his Goddess, clad in just his loincloth and his mantle, his crown of the Pharaohs missing from his brow, his scepter gone from his hands and his arrogance missing from his features. The Necromancer began to trace out the sigils of the Lifestream, both the familiar and the ones she had yet to discover, her motions reflecting in glittering gold script that danced over Anuk's dead skin. Upon completing the complex system of runes, she held up the Ewer, allowing him to drink from it before stepping back from him.

Dead flesh began to regain life, the blush of health coursing through the veins of the Godking as his body regenerated rapidly before their eyes. His skin grew pallid, like the Necromancer's skin, yet he still was clad in the aura of health like she and her Eternal Guardian were. Praising the name of the Forgotten One, he fell to his knees, hale and hearty as he had been before Ahket Aken was taken by the Rathe and Ro. Laraxoilla couldn't help but silently gape at what she saw, staring in wonder as the Goddess stepped forward and kissed the brow of the Godking, his crown suddenly resting atop his head as She pulled him to her left side.

As the Necromancer began to administer the same ritual to Plumetor Dul'Sadma, the mists began to drift over the mirror and it plunged into darkness once more, leaving the Koada'dal woman nearly breathless as she grasped the frame.

When the darkness faded and the mists vanished, Laraxollia found herself looking at what was nearly a normal reflection, except for the woman in the mirror was entirely naked. Before she could really decipher anything, the reflection began to move and shift, changing and transfiguring itself before her wide eyes.

The reflection became tinted by pale blue, as if she were some sort of ice elf, only to twist into a corpse. The gold eyes were lifeless, lacking emotion or desire, windows to the void that had taken over within. The frost-clad corpse twisted again, splitting just above the hips until there were two torsos, two heads, two sets of arms before one of the upper halves twisted around to mostly face away from the main form. The main form extended gifts to various patrons, allies and contemporaries while the secondary half reached out at random and snatched away one of the beings, ripping it apart as it devoured their body, mind and soul.

As the secondary half of the upper bodies consumed it's victims, it continued to twist and shape itself into a hideous monster. This creature grew larger, towering nearly eight feet above the ground, the skin of that portion turning a viscous black before bone-like spines erupted from the it's hands and back, piercing into part of the main form. Muscles strained, as if they would erupt from their rapid advancement, veins twisting like cables beneath the monster's flesh...and yet none of those the main form helped noticed it.

The broken shell of Mewsidora paused to speak to the frost-clad corpse of the Necromancer, the monstrous part of her raging as the main body bestowed the Ratonga her right mind and power once more. From the sidelines, Duvessa stepped forward, looking right at the horrid form as she side-stepped the Ratonga mage and the corpse's front half, making her way towards the beast as if to comfort and nurture it.

Bony, twisted hands reached out, spurs rending the Ayr'dal to shreds with a howl as Duvessa merely smiled and laughed as she was ripped apart and devoured by the creature.

It was too much.

The Koada'dal gripped the frame of the mirror until her knuckles turned white and screamed, an echoing crescendo that sounded like hundreds of her grim baubles being tossed into the fire, unnatural for a single mouth.

With a flurry of motion, the lesser vampire burst through the door, pulling her mistress away as she threw the cover back over the mirror. As soon as the vision was blocked by the thick cloth, the Necromancer collapsed into the waiting arms of her guardian, falling into the abyss of unconsciousness as Calisto lifted the Koada'dal up into her arms, carrying the exhausted woman back to their suite without so much as a word to the unnerved staff...

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Bryde
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Bryde » 01/01/10

One of those days. Thinking was never something Bryde focused on, it just sort of happened naturally. Like flirting, and drinking, and generally being a good for nothing halfbreed. She was proud of this, at least proud enough to be sitting alone, whiskey glass in hand, and cigar in the other, nodding to herself while rain pitter-pattered outside.

Not a bleedin' heart in sight.. Her blue eyes landed upon a slumbering elf, and a few servers before wandering toward the walls, they were certainly interesting, at least they seemed to be, in the dead of night with far too much alcohol in ones system.

She took a long drag of her cigar, and made her way ceremoniously to a peculiar looking drapery, not being familiar with it. Her eyes shifted, looking around for anyone who might be watching the warrior snooping about. She after all, lacked much in the way of stealth, and subtlety. Finding no watching eyes, she brushed the cloth aside with her free hand and inspected the mirror, brows raised.

Th' feck is a mirror doin' behind this? Her mental voice chimed in, and she shook her head, inspecting the ornate thing intently, trying to determine if it was an antique or not. It was -something-, that was for certain.

It was then, that the mirror shifted, and she noted that it hadn't started off displaying her reflection properly. It was hard for her to be surprised by such things when she was remarkably..oblivious.

The lights danced some, but overall the image displayed her as she was, a towering figure, shaped by well-worn plate. Her hair was long, longer than she had worn it, ever. But it suited her mental image well, and her femininity was perhaps more proudly displayed because of it.

That image faded quickly however, causing her brows to knit slowly. The hell is this.. Her thoughts became more perplexed as the next vision appeared. It was certainly -her-, and it had the hair closer to right this time, short white hair slicked back carefully. But the rest of her seemed off, her expression cold and distant. Even the armor she wore was several shades darker, it looked shinier however, -shiny- and imposing.

"A warlord." she mused aloud before covering the mirror, and departing.

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Roselite » 03/17/10

A tall, full-length, mirror, framed in oak. When one peers into the mirror, they see two things reflected. They see themselves as they really are, and then they see themselves as they would like to be, a projection of their heart's desire. In each case, the mirror is totally honest. It reveals someone as they really are, deep inside, and brings fourth an expression of what they need the most to be happy, and how they would like to see themselves.
The woman approaches the mirror, without fear without hesitation and draws the cover off the glass and oak and stands there, eyes open in expectation and wide eyed wonder to this new treasure found, or re-found...

The glass clears, she feels it look at her, that is what no one saw, the looking glass, a true idiom in this instance and it saw her, but more than her. The mirrors image shifts and it shows her, as she is now, but the gown has changed, in its place is a deep red and gold wedding dress, she shines with light, and beside her stands a man, in the same red and gold, the traditional ware of an eastern marriage. In their hands they hold a ball of golden metal and rose red crystal, held up to catch the light. The male laughs and the woman giggles at the joy of it.

Behind the male a mighty dragon forms, a eastern gold dragon, curling its neck to face its counterpart a deep blue and red iridescent dragon with a song ever about her. At the woman’s feet wolves sit or lay, their pale fur the perfect counterpart to the deep red dress, beside the male other large cats prowl or lay, preening their pale fur.

The mirror shifts then to show what would make them the most happy and the darkness grows around them, but its intent is not of malice, its warm and deep just aching for a hand to reach into the void and pull out what is hidden. For everything that is hidden, can be found.

The woman in front of the mirror grins and then laughs, her lips form he word yes, a victory to some personal battle won. She turns and starts to dance, a song coming to her lips…

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Edoz
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Edoz » 05/04/10

A tall, full-length, mirror, framed in oak. When one peers into the mirror, they see two things reflected. They see themselves as they really are, and then they see themselves as they would like to be, a projection of their heart's desire. In each case, the mirror is totally honest. It reveals someone as they really are, deep inside, and brings fourth an expression of what they need the most to be happy, and how they would like to see themselves.
Hearing of the mirror and seeing several softskins look into it, Edoz was curious to see what everybody else saw. Snorting he stood up and walked over toward the mirror. Upon standing in front he snorted once more as his eyes narrowed looking in to the mirror. The mirrors cloudy image begins to clear perhaps it was broken but what stood before him was himself. A large, very tall iksar, extremely well built, armored and weaponized to the teeth. Then the appearance of his mate Asatein stood next to him, then their four unhatched hatchlings also appeared. The larger female hatchling stood next to her father, the smallest one was held by Asatein. Lastly two sat upon his shoulders. This simple image caused him to smile as his red feral eyes glanced it about the image.

Slowly if shifted once again to show himself but not in a form that many have seen. A large bear stood on all four with its red glowing eyes, then the bear reared upon its hind legs roaring loudly. Suddenly it started to attack the mirror on its side. He sneered at what he saw but it was not over yet. As the image swiveled away upon what looks to be a large battle. Him fully suited in armor leading the charge of a large band of iksar against another band of iksars. Flashes, glimpses, and snaps shoots of the battle. As the image plays out normally upon the battle field which seems to the end of the battle. A bear roars loudly on its hind legs, arrows rippled in back, chest, and legs. Large gashed span over the beast body causing a large lose of blood. Roaring once more before he shifting to his normal form, he staggered heavily to stay on his feet. The battle looked to of been a total lose on both sides. As he looked around bodies laid everywhere, but perhaps it was time. Dropping to one knee breathing heavily only to cough hard then a last gasp of air, before his body gave out for the last time.

Standing in silence for a moment glancing over what the mirror shows then a smile cracks upon his snout as he snorted and headed back to his table. He mutters a small sentence, "So there is a happy ending."

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Eryse » 06/07/10

Aryssia made her way down the steps of the inn, then surveyed the main hall. The majority of the room's occupants had disappeared by this time of night, but a few still remained, tucked away in their corners alone or in pairs, nursing their drinks or conversing in murmurs. There in the corner was the mirror everyone had been talking about. She shook her head at the foolishness of it all and ordered her drink.

"It shows you things," the fool had explained earlier, coming to their table uninvited, raving almost feverishly. "How you see yourself...and also what you desire the most. It shows you true happiness!" His enthusiasm had melted under her and Malfaer's empty stares in a most amusing fashion, and he had finally buggered off, but she had watched with curiosity those lining up to gaze into the thing. They were actually falling for this little parlor trick. Some had just smiled, some had gasped, some had wept openly.

Aryssia scoffed and downed the last of her drink. When she finished, she slapped a couple of coins on the bar and headed back toward the stairs. As she got there, though, she paused, her hand on the wall. She glanced back. The room was even emptier than it had been when she had come down, and the barkeep was paying her no mind, absently drying a mug with a towel in the way that all barkeeps seemed to perpetually be doing. The mirror stood in its corner.

Might as well see what was enthralling these idiots, she thought. Should be good for a laugh.

She sauntered over and inspected the large wooden frame. The mirror was facing away from the center of the room, situated on two points on either side of its center so that it could rotate vertically. She pulled on the upper half, slowly, and just before it finished its rotation to face her she made one last check of the room. Each occupant remained engrossed in either his partially-filled cup, fellow conversant, or clean mug which was surely dry enough by now.

Her image in the mirror rose as she pushed down the frame of the mirror to a vertical position. At first glance, it was just a reflection, but it immediately began to change. They were subtle changes, but Aryssia could see them happening. Everything grew...harder. Curves grew straighter, angles sharper. Her eyes nearly burned with violet fire. It was like looking on a living statue. The rest of the room faded before her own image as though shrinking back with nervous dread. Even she herself felt a curious thrill of fear as this magnificent being stood before her. Everything about the image screamed strength. Danger. Power. She felt a satisfied smirk form on her face, but it was not reflected. A trick it might be, but it was entertaining at least.

She reached to spin the mirror back again, when she noticed another change. It began with her eyes. The fire faded, died. The fierceness slowly melted into...what was that? They were wide now, not focused or intense. They almost looked...vulnerable. She scoffed, but didn't move.

The changes continued, radiating downward. The granite-carved edges were replaced with softness, the chiseled angles with sloping curves. They did not simply revert to what they were before, but somehow went beyond, almost out of focus, and it looked like a breeze of middling strength could dissipate this creature like a pile of ash. As the changes rippled down, she was horrified. The toned, muscled abdomen, which had been like steel in the previous image, grew and distended grotesquely. She almost gasped in shock as she comprehended what it was portraying. She realized she was shaking her head in denial and stopped. It was a trick. Some flaming two-bit enchanter--

Something else faded into view as her image's transformation completed. It started out as a light blurring over the roundness of her belly, but it solidified and congealed into a hand, then a forearm, lightly resting. Another appeared on the other side of her waist. Even before the arms had formed, she detected a change in her own new, pathetic image. She looked off-balance, like she should be falling. Aryssia realized the image was leaning, leaning on something--someone--which had yet to be displayed. At least stand on your own damn feet! she wanted to scream at the apparition. Her head was now no longer staring outward back at Aryssia, but upward toward another head likewise yet to appear. She saw hope, dependence, affection in those eyes...ugly things. Pathetic, helpless, weak things.

The image started to blur again, but it wasn't the mirror this time. She wiped away tears of fury from her eyes with a quick movement, and saw that the transformation was progressing more rapidly. She couldn't look away. Arms now solid encircled her image, strong and warm. A torso now bore the weight of her. Upward and downward the image continued to manifest, revealing shoulders, legs, a neck.

She felt her own face heat with anger as that of this other image began to form. It looked downward, into the upraised eyes of her own wretched doppelganger. Her jaw trembled in rage as recognition swept over her. This was too much.

"Bullshit!" she yelled, and spun the mirror back violently. She didn't care if the damn thing shattered, but it slowed and calmly came to a stop facing away from the room as if she had used the utmost care. Aryssia looked around, and though the room was nearly deserted, every eye present was on her. She stared down the owner of each in turn, daring them to say anything, or to keep looking a second longer. They each quickly looked back into their cups, some even displaying a modicum of intelligence and doing so before she got to them. The barkeep was back to polishing another of his fucking mugs.

"Bullshit," she repeated to herself as she stormed out of the room and up the stairs.
Last edited by Eryse on 10/18/10, edited 1 time in total.

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Solaina Rivenbark
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Solaina Rivenbark » 09/25/10

The rustically-dressed Feir'Dal stands before the mirror, her physical self attractive as most Feir'Dal tend to be, with a tangle of frayed brown braids coiled up behind her head, and crude leather clothing and boots that speak of a life lived largely in the wilderness. The mirror, however, shows very distinct images:

First, a filthy, hideous thing, all eyes and ribs, scarcely clothed and with no womanly curves to speak of. Barely recognizable as female, the creature's hair is crawling with bugs; her skin is slimed with algae and furred with moss. Her scant scraps of clothing are mildewed; her ankles are bound in irons.

Then the image dissolves into one of elegant beauty. Dressed in a conservative but stylish evening gown, the Feir'Dal woman stands with impeccable posture, a man's hand visible beneath her forearm, escorting her in a most civilized manner. Her brown hair is long and sleek, gleaming softly, and her face is subtly made up to emphasize the dreamy beauty of her elven features.


The mirror goes dark, then, and a woman who is neither one nor the other, but something in between, returns to her seat looking ... unsurprised.

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Radwan
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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Radwan » 09/28/10

Radwan crept up to the mirror. It was late, the tavern quiet, but he'd had trouble sleeping lately and the usual methods of entertainment were getting old. He had seen a few patrons investigating the mirror, with varying reactions that utterly baffled him. He had never thought looking at oneself in a mirror to be a particularly exceptional experience, bad hair day or not. He had to assume that there was something special about this mirror, and so he had decided to wait until the room was unoccupied. He didn't appreciate people seeing him out of sorts. With a deft hand, he picked up the cover, tossing it over the top of the mirror to rest. Seeing only himself standing there, he quirked a brow. So what's the big deal then?

As he began to shift his weight, trying to look around the mirror curiously, movement caught his eye. He abruptly froze, watching in wonder as the image began to change. It was still very much himself, but clearly an illusion all the same. The Fier'dal in front of him seemed to grow slightly younger, to that time when one assumes they know everything and have enough attitude pouring out of their ears to think they can do everything too. It was a younger version of himself, and yet the young man's expression was perhaps even wearier than his own right then. He wore only a pair of slacks that were slightly too large, belted tight to keep them from falling off his hips. His skin was slightly dirty, his hair a little wilder than he usually kept it. To his great confusion, only portions of his shroud remained; his chest and arms still bore they symbols, as well as running down the sides of his ribcage, though his face and hands were free of them now. Around his slender neck was a slightly tarnished, golden slave's collar. Radwan scowled darkly at the image, looking bewildered and disturbed all at once as he raised a hand to rub his own neck in bemusement. The image of himself looked back at him, trying to look sultry, but still looking mostly like a dirty, tired, lost boy.

"What is this sh-" he muttered sharply under his breath, and reached up abruptly for the cover, attempting to pull it back over the mirror in annoyance. Before he could quite cover it, he noticed the image was changing again, and his curiosity won out. He slid the cover away again so that he could see the image in full. Again he saw himself, though as he was, not younger. The shrouds were completely missing in this image, and he wore a happy, healthy glow instead. His hair reached to the small of his back, and his body was covered in rich looking attire that flattered his form, composed of blue-green silk with silver embellishments. It wasn't gaudy, but certainly more expensive than anything Radwan would have considered buying or wearing at his current place. The mirror-Radwan smiled amiably at his counterpart, and slowly raised his hands enough that they were visible from beneath the long sleeves of his coat. Blue flame flickered to life in each of his palms, roaring until it burnt the image away. In the moment before it was gone, Radwan could have sworn he saw the flicker of another person's form standing behind his mirror-image, but it flashed too quickly for him to make them out.

He frowned again, vaguely disconcerted, and more gently drew the cover back over the mirror. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he quietly retreated from the mirror, watching it suspiciously as he made his way back up the stairs without a word.

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Raveneesa » 10/22/10

Raveneesa sat in the bar watching people leave one by one until they are all gone. The rumor of that mirror has been bugging her ever since she over heard someone talking about it a few nights okay. Could it show her deepest dreams like they had said. She didn't think so. But, still it must be something of great value and she was always too curious for her own good. So here she sat, waiting as patiently as she could. Until the very last person walked out. She turned her head and looked around the bar, everyone gone..even the kitchen was quiet. She looked towards the stairs, no lights to be seen. So, she got up and wandered over..keeping an eye out for anyone who might catch her.

She walked over and quietly pulled the cover, letting it fall to the floor. It was as she thought..an ornate full length mirror. She looked into it and seeing herself she shrugged. "I knew it..." she whispered to herself. "Just a load of crap". She started to turn away and the image flickered a bit. She turned back and narrowed her eyes and watched intently as the mirrors image slowly fogged up and then just as slowly cleared.

She stood staring into the mirror in disbelief.. There before her was an image of a Teir'dal woman wearing a long light blue dress. Her purple hair pulled up with ornate combs to the top of her head, the length of it swirling down her back. She was kneeling and handing a toy to a small child. The child who looked to be just a toddler had a darkish hue to their skin but soft pale tossled hair. The woman and the child turned towards the approaching Koada'dal man. He was handsome with very pale blond hair and the child had his eyes. When the woman stood to kiss him, her face turned towards the mirror.... Raven, who had been staring at the image silently, took in a sharp audible gasp of breath. The image was her. Except she was different somehow. Her eyes were a paler shade of greyish, blue and when she smiled there were no fangs.... Raven raised her hand to her mouth and touched her fangs and sighed. The mirror image of her turned to the man and gave him the sweetest kiss. And you could tell they were totally in love. The man picked the child up and gave it a kiss and then put his arm around the woman and they walked towards a small house.

Raven reached out to the image as it began to fog over again. There were tears in her eyes as her other hand went to her mouth again to keep her from making a sound if she couldn't keep herself from crying. The mirror began to lose it's fog again and Raven hoped the image would come back. But, instead of was very dark at first and she got close and narrowed her eyes as something began to appear.

A figure of a woman stood before her in the mirror..wearing a dark red barely there dress. Raven decided it was going to be an image of who she was now. But, when the image actually appeared it was not what she expected. It was her...but.. her purple hair was all over her head as if she had been tearing at it. Her face was dark and evil, twisted and horrible looking. Her fangs were longer and filled her mouth. Her eyes glowed as if she had just stepped out of the Void. She was a demon.. She was seeing what she truly was inside. What her father had created when he had slept with her Mother. She couldn't handle the image..She stared at it and screamed at the top of her lungs. The scream of a banshee..Her fingers in her hair, pulling at it. And the horrible image of the demon silently screamed back at her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a light come on at the top of the stairs. She looked back at the mirror and the image was gone, the mirror dark. She didn't even bother covering it as she heard the footsteps at the top of the stairs. She ran out the door, into the night.

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Sagira » 10/22/10

Sage found the mirror uncovered when she came in early in the day. She knew what it was having heard whispers of it here and there among the patrons. She hadn't thought of approaching it herself, but with the cover off it was just too difficult to resist. She looked at herself picking up the cover for a few moments before the mirror shimmered and the image changed.

She was in the corner alone at one of Mace's shows. The crowd around her cheered and Mace took the stage. She watched as Mace's presence filled the room and she noticed how small and insignificant she appeared. The show ended and Sage stood to go and speak to Mace, but Mace walked through her as if she weren't there.

Sage went to cover the image quickly before she could see anymore of her fears, but was stopped before she got a chance to do so.

The image changed, it was the same show only this time Sage was sitting off to the side not in the back of the room. Mace entered and as she went up to the stage she searched the crowd finding Sage's eyes and giving her a smile before she began her performance. Mace's performance ended and the crowd gave her a standing ovation. Sage watched as she too applauded and this time instead of Mace exiting the stage and walking through her, she grabbed Sage's hand and pulled her into an embrace as they walked out together.

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Re: The Mirror of Their Dreams

Post by Asilyre » 10/29/10

Asilyre had waited, making himself as discreet as possible in a corner of the Raven's main room. He waited, long enough for everyone else to be gone from both his sight, and immediate earshot. It was late in the night and everything was silent when he finally decided to walk up to the covered mirror. His fingers reached out boldly to give a light brush across the oak of the frame, while he appraised the artifact. He was calm...Seemed calm. What was there that he did not know, even if he probably wouldn't like to see it? Nothing, surely. Nothing which could shake him too deeply. Or so he thought.

He was acquainted with such things after all, his father used to collect magical oddities.
He had heard of the mirror being at the Inn a week before, and he had to see it. It had to be now, before anything else happened in an attempt to turn his life upside down. Yes, that was it, something important to see before you take a chance at losing your life the day after, before it becomes useless...

Go figure, he couldn't even believe his own mind. Probably best to stop questioning the urge and just do it, this once. Preferably before anyone else decided to show up.

There was a deep, quiet breath, and his fingertips curled about the edge of the cloth draped over the reflective surface, pulling it back slowly with a murmured challenge, standing tall.

"Do your worst."

As soon as he was done, and found himself within the mirror, the image began to shift, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, nervous, maybe, but content. He had hoped that the reactions would be quick, he had done the necessary for it, leaving his mind vulnerable to investigation.

It took some time to settle, though, and when it did, Asilyre could see himself mostly as he was now, although, his skin was a much darker tan, his ears were longer, pointier, thinner, his hair was a lighter brown than even when he dyed it, and his shroud...Wait, where was his shroud?! He blinked, and gave a small chuckle. There was none...And the multitude of thin white lines it usually hid seemed highlighted by the new tan, brought to attention. He instinctively lifted a hand to feel a couple along one of his arms, unsure. Which was reflecting his double's expression perfectly. Although, the twin gave him a meek grin before fading from sight.

A fog filled the mirror for a brief moment, then, Asilyre found himself tipping his ears back, paling as it cleared out progressively. It wasn't fog...But the smokes of an intense fire. One which had ravaged the image of a large nomad camp. What was not burning, was tipped over, broken, battered, and the sky above displayed a dry, starry summer night. No rain in sight, no hope of relief or salvation for those within the encampment...Although, a closer inspection revealed they were all already dead. The feir'dal felt a knot tie up his throat as the focus slipped from one slaughtered being to another, showing people he considered as family, friends of all races, some, barely recognizable, rendered into string-less marionettes within a sadistic assassin's piece of art. He had failed to protect them...Arrived too late, likely. Clueless as ever, and he had lost them all. It was all too familiar a fear. Memories, pictures he mingled with the suffering of someone he loved...Someone whom, in there, sat lifeless, pinned by a dagger through the heart, to the side of a half burned carriage, a blood raven, depicted in flight, crudely smeared right above the fatal wound, talons seemingly holding the blade, wings spread over the once strong man's chest. His blond hair was long, tangled, he obviously didn't leave without a fight, spots of crimson, and trails of ashen grey covering most of it. An utterly destroyed lute and drum laid by his side.

Asilyre had only just managed to hold his ground until this last person came in focus, then, he wavered weakly onto his feet, before slipping down to his knees to be level with the defeated brawler, shivering...White as a ghost. His eyes had widened slightly in recognition of his own House's crest. His father's...While near others, were clues pointing either at the Freeport Militia, or his late employers. A nightmare given a far too real shape, which he begged away in a broken whisper, closing his eyes tightly once it became too much to bear.

When he dared reopening them, long minutes later, the mirror apparently had taken pity on him, as the fumes of the camp had disappeared. It had all been replaced with the moving image of North Freeport, in the middle of a dark, stormy night. The rain was pouring down, and glimpses of a whole Luclin could be caught in between the heavy clouds, shining a few strands of pale light down onto the windows of the Jade Tiger's Inn. Overall, the scene was calming, reassuring, even though he could not hear the drops falling onto the cold stone and slithering down the streets, he could imagine such a symphony well enough. The vision shifted to show the inside of his house, which looked bigger, warmer, and more comfortable than ever. His "family" was there. The one he held high in his heart. His father, however was completely absent from the scene.

Everyone was in the musical section of the house, where a bunch of large, colorful pillows had been added to accommodate everyone, and drinks had been served on a small, nearby table for all to share. There was laughter despite the lack of sound, there was teasing, people grinning at each other brightly, nudging, singing, being overall just mischievous and well, happy. Teir'dals, Feir'dals, Ayr'dals...And he, sitting in the middle of this next to his mate, bare chested, his back to the mirror. He looked like his first depiction, the white scars still marring his flesh, no shroud apparent, his hair loose, but swept back over one of his shoulders neatly, to leave his tattoo in sight. He could see it clearly, and something immediately struck him...The raven, was not soaring over the expense of the full moon above the cliff. The young wolf there, instead had a clear sight of the aster, and was admiring it contentedly.

Another chill ran through Asilyre at that realization, and where he had found the strength to smile again, he looked on, completely confused for a while, before he understood, letting out a quiet sigh. A world without fears...Without the shadows which were ever present over his shoulders. A world, with those he cared for, all, those he cared for, alive and safe, with him, and where they would not be lacking anything of what they desired. And yet, while the image was happy and he felt he was too, the chill would not leave, the shadow was there, somewhere in his heart. Or was it the fact that it would be absent which made a part of him feel cold and empty while the rest was just warmth?

The feir'dal rose slowly, absorbing the scene one last time, hoping to make it come true anyway, and reached for the mirror's veil, to pull it down, as caringly as he took it off, taking one last glance at the mirror. He then pressed a palm to the cloth briefly, nodding his gratitude silently, before slipping out of the Inn in haste. There's to hoping he didn't make a noise, trembling as he was.

There were so many things to think back on...
Last edited by Asilyre on 10/30/10, edited 3 times in total.

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