d'Artagnan

the

NightShade

The challenger was one of those greys with a blood mark, hairy too, with large curved horns growing dangerously from his head and amber eyes that glittered imperiously. A crowd of onlookers had gathered with expressions ranging from excited glances to cold hard stares as they prepared for a momentous event, the clash of two clans. The other was d’Artagnan himself. In that time he was a young red bay with two perfectly formed glass horns that sprouted gloriously from his head, whilst his heterochromatic eyes dazzled with anticipation and thirst. A low drum vibrated through the floor as the crowd around them began to stamp their feet, building up to the beginning of the fight before both gladiators lunged forwards and the world blacked out. All that was left was the shards of a broken horn and gut-wrenching throb of heartbreak. It was a dream of course, but in the mind of the Nightshade, who was now much older and very much changed, it was real enough.

This had happened a few times now, these strange dreams that plagued him, as Helovia appeared to freeze around him. Not in a cold way, but in a quiet way. A stillness.

With a sigh he looked around the dreams landscape, noting the thistles that grew defiantly and with sturdiness. The place of birth and the place of death. d’Artagnan rarely travelled to the meadow anymore, reluctant to face the memory that came with it and in denial he ignored it. So why had his dream taken him here? Perhaps his guilt was that great it was now plaguing his dream world. If he had not been late things would’ve been different, the pale Nurse wouldn’t have forfeited her life to leave a motherless child and an irresponsible father. If he had been earlier, if things got that desperate, it should have been he who bled the ground red. Surely he had done enough to earn it. Or perhaps living with gaping hole in his life was his punishment.

Distressed, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for the dream to end, for him to wake up again and release him from the haunting view. As always in these dreams, Aramis was nowhere to be found, their minds were bonded, but d’Artagnan never seemed to be able to find him in his hallucinations.

He continued to stand there with his eyes sealed shut.

[This is a dream thread for an ali NPC :D]
musical insp.

Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.