Legends of Belariath
Sanjiv
For a Drak Sen, there is something to this world that is hard to describe. The realities of the realm become hard to discern against the backdrop of dreams. Having been born of such, Sanjiv did not do much sleeping, and in his early years, he found himself doing even less than that.
Purpose became his quest, but he was created from the Elder's mind far too late. There was nothing to lay claim to, nothing to quickly rule over, and someone always had a shinier item at the end of the day. Greed became pointless, just as jobs and the general humdrum of existence. Sanjiv feared from this that, after his death, the Elders would disapprove of how he had wasted his first hundred or so years doing nothing but wandering around and listening to the drab tales of drunken dwarves and ugly bar wenches.
It took a random meeting one night at a traveling caravan in the wilderness to discover his calling. One could say that meeting gypsies always ends up being bad luck, but Sanjiv discovered something that was unique, entertaining, and attention-getting: acting.
Oh, to see someone upon the stage. The expressions, the movements, the plot and accompanying laughter--Sanjiv wanted to be a part of it, desperately. He had no ties to the mortal realm, and joining the caravan seemed like the best way to continue seeing that which was around him. After all, to do this would be to give good stories for his Elder, right? He needed something to impress Them with, and thus he began to learn their trade in exchange for coming aboard.
Sanjiv's greatest asset seemed to be his long-since pastime of watching others. By understanding their mannerisms, body movements, speech, and how to communicate and manipulate a situation, Sanjiv had already seen all of the different types of people he could be.
Thus, a "star" was born.
The first step past the curtain. Burning, bright magical lights. The lewd scent of alcohol and sweat. Anticipatory laughs. The nervous chewing of nails. A blank mind and a new mask to wear. In that brief second, as Sanjiv walked out on the stage for the first time, Sanjiv was someone else--an exiled prince, looking to regain his land and love through the deceitful forces of his enemy's armies--and it felt right. He could not have all of the riches, but he could act out as though he did. For those moments on the stage, he could be adored, fears, admired, lusted after, and even loved. Suddenly life did not have to hand these things to him over time, but instead he could have them as instantly as he lost them, and the sea of change gave him plenty of new people to meet, learn from, and perform for.
Night after night, making peanuts for his troubles, Sanjiv would perform with the troupe. On some occasions, he would even perform on his own:
Soft steps took him out to the front of the stage from the back of the caravan, Sanjiv hopping out with ease to look around at the crowd. He raised a hand slightly, not expecting to silence the rowdy, drunk crowd as much as he was attempting to set the mood for himself. "Ladies, gentlemen, and cuckolds alike. Yes, even the pumpin'-and-humpin' troll in the back--that's right, Grogus, we all hear you!--I bring you the tale of two characters: One, a Lady Titania, princess of D'Mora and heir to the throne of her late father, the good King Laerts. She anxiously awaits her lover, the heroic Artur, slayer of harpies and the great Wyvern of Dalatalacocka. We visit these two characters, torn apart by miles and miles of land to see their wavering hearts."
Taking a step to one side of the stage, smoke popped and covered his form but for a brief second before a new visage appeared, a petite lass of lavender hair though still in Sanjiv's clothing. Chest pushed against the vest some, undoing a button in the process of clutching hands together to stare up into the sky. Sanjiv had quickly changed his gender and reapplied a change self in facial appearance, taking the form of Lady Titania. She swooned up at the dark sky and then to the patrons, eyelids fluttering. "Oh my, what a horrid evening to be alone. To think that it has been but five seasons without my beloved Artur. If I could, I would give a finger for each season so that I may have one stump in exchange for his. That fleshy soul, so divine, so ripe... It has been a wonder that my bedpost has lasted this long. Why must the gods tempt my heart with such a fate as this? I could have married any lover who dare crossed my path, yet I chose thee, Artur, and in that choice I have been left high and dry. Extremely, extremely dry. I am talking moist-less, Artur, if you can hear me now. O but a breath from his lips would bring me to tears and whet my appetite."
Feet shifted 'Lady Titania' toward the center stage before the quick blanket of smoke emitted with little crackles and pops from the drak's body, changed now into a taller, lean and handsome man. His hair was rich and black, though still in the same style as Sanjiv's was when he had first spoke with Shasha. His features were masculine, unlike the Drak's actual form, and with it a shit-eating grin did not seem to disappate as he became Artur the Heroic. His leather pants were lewdly unbuttoned, pulling them up and stuffing himself back in with a shift of his hips and a grunt. He appeared human in stature, and was apparently caught mid-scene. "Gods above, when I said I would take all of you water nymphs at once, I didn't think you thought what I was thinking. But gods damned! Ha ha, you all most certainly did. Anyway, look, it's been nice and swell and everything but I sort of have to go. There's this.. uh.. you know, thing, and all that kind of stuff that goes with such.. things. I appreciate the pearls as much as I'm sure you fishies appreciate the pearl necklaces, yeah? Ha ha, yeah." He paused and moved to the middle of the stage, doubt painted on his face. "That makes the three-hundred-and-fifty-third-through-three-hundred-and-ninty-seventh time I've cheated on Lady Titania. At what point will my loins say that is too much? Was it when I made sweet love to the Wemic of Nottingdam Bridge? Maybe it was giving a good pumping to the Queen of Ghonnoria. I can't help but feel I should have realized it once I fucked that necromancer's summon after it gave the most sultry of growls. Surely Titania will forgive me of such, no? I am Artur after all. What does it mean to love someone if they cannot forgive?"
Sanjiv's hand would motion outward to the Troll who had finished up on his third gypsy wench for pleasure to use as a character--improv, as it were. "No, foul Lust, tempt me not by the staggering moans of your desire. I have surely quit and deceased these acts of debauchery once and for all. Lady Titania is pure, just, and tight enough to give a good fuck every now and then. Should I throw away my feelings for her.. family's power just because I cannot keep it in my pants? I decree from this point on that I shall be chaste and give myself only to my true love! If not, may my marrow be sucked dry!" His eyes scanned the audience slowly, being taken aback with a wide gaze and a slacked jaw. "Mm, well, heh, there seems to be a Spider Lass tangled in her own web. Perhaps I shall save her. Just this once. I mean, love can wait after all." The smoke would sizzle and cover the entire stage, disappearing along with Sanjiv's form as well.
And just like that, Sanjiv was whoever he wanted to be and back again to himself.
He finally found his Dream.