OPEN - But here I dreamt I was an architect

[loversinverted]

WHO: Diabhall Minett and YOU!
WHAT: Still another elf falling from the sky - and then his time spent studying in quarantine.
WHEN: Arrival backdated to mid-August - quarantine backdated to the weeks that follow up until the present.
WHERE: The Planasene Forest, and then all over the Gallows.
NOTES: CWs: Body horror, blood, and death in the dream sequence. If you want to skip it, start reading after the italics!

Otherwise I will update this space. If you want something particular with him let me know!

Info over here!

Prompts in comments below!

Comments

Arrival - Planasene Forest

[loversinverted]

The party is glittering around him, but it doesn't matter. The man whose arms he is whirling around the dancefloor in is so much more radiant, twinkling white eyes looking right back at him as if he's the only thing that matters. He's so content, so full of love in this moment...and when the song ends, the both of them are breathless, smiling, laughing.

He turns to take up a fine crystal glass, ladling it from the bowl...but pauses after the first ladle. The viscosity of the liquid when he pulls it up doesn't match what he pours into the glass. The room around him seems to go still as he pours and pours, until the glass is full and he's lifting it to inspect it, smell what's inside.

Blood.

All at once, he realizes the sounds of the party are all gone, replaced by...thunderous crackling. He turns, ornate white robes billowing around him, and his eyes go wide as he sees he is now in his lab, Orion there in front of him, reaching out for him with a containment breach welling up behind. Before the high elf can react, before he can go to him, a bolt from one of his arcane conduits arcs free, catching his still-smiling lover in the back. He's frozen in place, boots stuck to the thick glass floor as he watches his beautiful, perfect tiefling erupt from within with vibrant pink crystal until his body is little more than a crude statue. He shatters, the pieces of him spraying sharply against Diabhall's white robes, his face, his hair, in his mouth as he screams - the floor beneath him shatters, and he's falling -

But the impact is solid, even as he snaps awake. The mossy ground of a forest clearing surrounds him, wind ripping through the trees. Incapable of panic, he still stares up in pure confusion at the crackling green Rift flashing overhead. Reflexively, the fingers of his left hand grip tighter around something solid - turning his head to look down, he sees the shards of pink crystal on his white sleeves, sees...a punch glass, filled with thick, coagulating blood. Through the blood, something shines stinging in his palm, casting a ghastly green light into the liquid.

The sound of inhuman screeching shakes his wits back into him, and he tosses the glass aside into a bed of moss, scrambling up onto his knees. A many-mawed visage of pure despair is descending from that tear in reality, flanked by a small group of smaller Wraiths. Diabhall feels something in his chest hitch - must be from the impact - and before even trying to get his feet under him, he attempts to summon his staff.

It doesn't come. He can't feel his patron, and self-preservation coaxes him all the way up, casting a glance around, trying to determine where to run, what to use to defend himself -

All the while trying to ignore the bits of pink crystal littering his body.

"As ucht Dé - where am I-?"