Legends of Belariath
Taria
Taria's Dream
Taria would find herself pulled into the world of dreams, pale form stark against the endless black of night as she curled about the sleeping form of her wolf; Nero. With both soft fur and the caress of that blade against her palm; a tool of comfort, she would drift soundly to sleep.
It was when that utter dark of mind and soul was found that she would dream; the thick mist of unconsciousness dragging her ever deeper into the realm of dream and nightmare. Though, the latter of the two had been the most recent causes of those nerves that held her on that fine edge of sanity and insanity.
{Dream} It was then that those dreams took over; a small elven child pulling at her mother’s skirts, fingers coiled into the fabric as she’d pester the always laughing high elf woman for treats and cookies.. The familiar home-cooked meals that her mother had served to her master, their master.
Through the mouth-watering scents of freshly baked bread and stew boiling over a hearth; the taint of death lingered.
Taria’s form stirred within her sleep, hands coiled about the soft black fur at Nero’s side; the bridge of her nose ever-gently pressing against that side as the heady and musky scent of wolf and woods coiled about her dream.
{Dream} Much like any dream does, she left that smiling and happy place near her mother; the woods sprawled out beside that massive manner home of her master, fingers knotted into the gentle and wavy mane of Espirit; that fun-loving colt that would prance and follow the little teenage elf about the pastures for days if she would let him.
They grew...and...Grew...and grew within that dream... A massive stallion and adult woman. Those smiling faces were no more; the soft whinnies and nickers from that massive throat of her horse silenced in cold blood.
Her hands then, an image forever seared in her mind; coated from finger to shoulder in that scalding heat of her companion’s blood. Iced eyes welled up with tears, but those too would streak down her face as crimson rivets which traced over her cheeks and throat; staining the perfect alabaster of her skin.
It was then that the breathing of her sleeping form would skew; sweat beading upon brow and back as she’d find herself clutching against that furred yet sleeping form as soft whimpering poured from those chapped and dry lips.
{Dream} That blood curtailing scream bore through her mind as clear as the day of Espirit’s death; fingers shaking as she could feel every fiber of her being torn from the reality of the world. Hands wiped and scrubbed those bloody limbs against clean straw within the stables, only to come away with a fresh coat of crimson. It was then that she’d turn those wide and bleeding eyes toward the floor; it was sopped not with blood, but with the sticky and impure blackness that seeped with the stench of necromancy.
Short and shrill screams filled the night air from those sleeping lungs; that wolf stirred and nuzzled at his mistress to no avail; she was far too gone within that world of nightmares.
{Dream} The sticky blackness didn’t waver in her dream; instead it grew until her dream-world was black and thick with the taint of death. There was nothingness; much like death had been, though there were no toying necromancers; no soothing voice to lull her back from that brink of self-loathing and confusion.
Fortunately, much like any dream would; the utter blackness melded to something more; a deep fire flickering within the forest, the heady scent of charred wood and plant-life heavy on the air as she lay strewn across her master’s carcass; the one face she had trusted most within her adult life laughing at her pity and woe. Stained and blood-red cheeks washed clean with glittering tears. The halo of blackness curling and lapping at that which was once her own aura; which now filled with nothing more than the necromantic power for those whom dared to caress that fine thread of control within this elf.
It was then that his face would appear; dark necromancer that turned her world inside and out. A flush of cheeks, a caress of flesh, and the scalding heat of blood as it dripped from clutching fingers. But, this was not an image that caused her sleeping form to stir; instead, it drowned those piteous screams into nothingness as a low purrrrrrrrring of contentment vibrated through drowsy vocal cords.
It was then that she would dream of her visits to the nether-realm; a place that was neither betwixt nor between. A shroud of smoke that became little more than a silhouette that would pull that man from his high-horse and well into the dirt, a plan that she had lay for so long; twisted within this ethereal dream-world.