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Underland 15: The Dreamlands
🕑 Added 2021-10-26 08:22:12 +0000 UTCLady Mathilde believed in traveling light.
Valdemar had expected such an esteemed alchemist to gather a large escort of knights for her trip to Astaphanos, but the priestess did none of this. As he reached the Institute’s stables with a bag full of painting supplies, he only found Liliane, Hermann, and Iren waiting next to the carriage.
They had all dressed for the trip. Liliane had traded her usual robes for a more casual blue traveling dress and a chic red beret, while Hermann hid his face behind a plague doctor’s mask and his hands beneath a pair of gloves.
“Is that really necessary?” Valdemar asked the troglodyte about his clothes. “Can you even breathe with that apparatus?”
“Locals… will lynch me otherwise,” Hermann explained. “Your merchants… will refuse to sell their wares… or overcharge me. It’s better that they… think I’m human.”
“Probably,” Valdemar admitted. Most humans saw troglodytes as savage barbarians, and they weren’t tolerated in Azlantean settlements without an escort. By hiding his tail beneath his robes and lying about his profession, Hermann could pass for a human.
“I will punch anyone who tries to shortchange you,” Liliane said while pumping her fist.
“They’re more likely to laugh than feel fear,” Iren teased her, and got pinched in the arm for his trouble.
“Didn’t your mother tell you not to pick on fair ladies?” Liliane asked with a pout.
“You’re too young to count.” Iren easily dodged Liliane’s attempt to pinch him again, before glancing at Valdemar. “You look like shit, my friend.”
“I couldn’t find sleep.” For once nightmares weren’t responsible though. Valdemar’s mind simply refused to abandon itself to slumber, though he couldn’t explain why. “I didn’t know you were coming with us.”
“I’m surprised by your presence as well,” Iren replied with a raised eyebrow. “Weren’t you forbidden from leaving the Institute?”
“Lord Och gave me permission to go out and gather material for the Painted Door project.” The lich seemed rather confident that he could track down his apprentice if needed, though Valdemar wasn’t foolish enough to flee. “Though I have to, I quote, ‘follow all of young Mathilde’s orders as if they were mine.’”
“Don’t worry, Valdy, everything will be fine,” Liliane reassured him with a pat on the back. “It’ll be like a picnic! A relaxing experience!”
“I’ll pass for the picnic, as I’ve got some private business to take care of in Astaphanos,” Iren replied before making a mock bow. “Until then, I’ll be your chauffeur. You’ll need a good one.”
Indeed. Though Lady Mathilde traveled without an escort, Valdemar couldn’t say the same about her wagon. A house on wheels might have been a better descriptor, as it needed two giant beetles to carry it. Made of wood and metal, the vehicle included a second floor with windows, a bronze chimney, and even an alchemical reservoir. A small ladder allowed people to climb to the backdoor.
“It’s a mobile lab,” Liliane explained. “Some alchemists use them to travel across Azlant and sell potions on the road.”
“It’s too big to go through some tunnels,” Valdemar commented.
“The major roads are more than large enough for these vehicles,” Iren countered. “The Dark Lords made them wide enough to let armies through them. You got a point though, I wouldn’t travel to the border towns in this wagon. Those regions have thinner tunnels and way too many carriage robberies.”
“I thought... you had friends in… every criminal enterprise?” Hermann asked.
“Friends and foes, my scaled friends,” Iren commented with a chuckle, before dusting his clothes. “And here comes our revered Master.”
He had a sharp ear. Lady Mathilde indeed rejoined them, though not alone.
A stunning dark elf followed the priestess, and her appearance made even Valdemar pause.
Liliane was a pretty girl and Marianne Reynard had an austere beauty, but they looked downright bland compared to this otherworldly creature. Her figure was graceful, her face a lovely sight. Her ashen grey skin was as smooth as a polished mirror, nearly black, and her pale blue eyes looked like sapphires shining in the dark. Her light violet hair fell down to the bottom of her back, and she walked with the arrogance of someone used to getting her way. Her regal black and purple dress embraced a weblike motif, while a gold and ruby necklace sparkled around her neck. A spidery veil on her hair completed the ensemble.
Only a pair of curved ears, hooved feet, and a serpentlike tail betrayed her inhuman origin. Neither did Valdemar sense any warmth in the woman. She was attractive the same way a cave lion was; deadly, exotic, and dangerous to approach.
“Greetings everyone,” Lady Mathilde said with a polite nod. “I believe we are all here.”
“Frigga!” Liliane greeted the dark elf with a smile. It was a warmer welcome than Hermann, who ignored her entirely. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“My dear Liliane, how could I let you visit Astaphanos without me?” the dokkar said with a beautiful clear voice. She kissed Liliane on the cheeks, making her blush. “I can’t wait to show you our embassy’s Pleasure Gardens. You will love them.”
“That makes me think, the oneiromancers of the Ardent Dreams await your next visit with anticipation,” Iren informed the dark elf. “They have developed a new mind experience just for you.”
Frigga sneered. “I hope it is better than the last one. Their dreamscapes cater to vulgar tastes, and I strive for finer experiences.”
Valdemar took a moment to observe Frigga in silence, trying to get the handle on her personality. His experience with the dokkars, or ‘dark elves,’ was limited to what he learned in books. The humanoid race had ruled one of the largest territories in Underland alongside the Pleromians until repeated wars against Azlant and the derros caused them to fall from preeminence. Their empire had fragmented into city-states barely kept united by the threat from other species.
Valdemar didn’t pity them though. The dokkars had nearly exterminated mankind during the Descent, and the massacres perpetrated by their generals remained a trauma in humans’ collective consciousness. Were it not for his ancestors’ choice to resort to mass-undead drafts and extensive use of necromancy, Valdemar might not be alive today.
But those were old times, and neither Azlant nor the dokkars wanted a war that would only serve to strengthen the Derro Kingdom’s position. So humans and dark elves engaged in a policy of reconciliation.
It was a slow and difficult process. The few dokkar communities in Azlant had been expelled two hundred years ago for worshipping a Stranger called the Mother of All; and though the empire had since allowed dark elf merchants to trade in their territory, they were limited to a few border cities. Considering the mention of the dokkars’ embassy, Valdemar supposed that Frigga was something of a diplomat.
She seemed quite friendly and Liliane appeared to like her, but Valdemar remembered Hermann’s warnings about the dark elf’s selfishness. Indeed, he detected a hint of cruel cunning in Frigga's gaze. Like a cat, she played nice in public and viciously murdered mice in private.
The dark elf noticed the gaze Valdemar sent her, and gave him a lovely smile. Most men would have blushed, but the summoner remained cautious. “And who might you be?” Frigga asked.
“Valdemar Verney,” Valdemar introduced himself.
“Frigga of House Fredegund.” She offered her hand to Valdemar. The sorcerer was puzzled for a few seconds, before realizing that he was supposed to kiss it; which he did. Damn noble étiquette... “My dear Liliane spoke highly of you.”
“I speak highly of everyone,” Liliane responded with a chuckle.
“And we all love you for it,” the dark elf replied courteously as Valdemar let her hand go. “You seem wary of me though. I swear I won’t bite.”
“It’s the first time I see a dokkar in the flesh,” Valdemar admitted. “All I learned of your civilization comes from imperial propaganda, and I’m not sure what to think of it.”
“Oh, your inquisitors will tell you that we dark elves eat babies, enslave the weak, and sacrifice our kinsmen during orgies dedicated to the Strangers, but they’re wrong.” Frigga chuckled to herself. “Babies don’t have enough meat, slavery is tightly regulated, and we abolished dark elf sacrifices since animals worked just as well.”
“Charming,” Valdemar deadpanned. He noticed that Lady Mathilde looked uncomfortable about the ‘sacrifice’ part for obvious reasons. “You don’t believe in the Light?”
“I worship the Mother of All,” Frigga replied, and Lady Mathilde’s expression turned into a blank mask. The Mother of All was considered a Stranger, and her cult was outlawed in the empire. “But don’t worry, I follow the laws of your land while in it and I do not proselytize.”
“Frigga is here as part of a scholarly exchange,” Lady Mathilde explained to Valdemar. “Lord Och allows her to study our magical traditions, and one of our colleagues receives tutelage from dokkar archmages.”
“Between us, I’m also supposed to spy on Lord Och and report everything he does to my house,” Frigga said while winking at Valdemar, “I would be thankful if you could tell me everything you know about the lich.”
“Shouldn’t you keep that part for yourself?” Valdemar asked with amusement.
“Well, everyone already knows,” Iren pointed out with a smirk. “I had her pegged as a spy on her first day.”
“I’m not telling you anything about my teacher,” Valdemar replied. “Though I would be interested in learning more about the dokkars from you. I’ve been researching ancient civilizations lately, and your empire is second only to the Pleromians in age.”
“We are far more ancient than your empire, that’s for certain,” Frigga replied with racial pride. “I would be delighted to enlighten you on our culture while we solve your sleeping problem.”
Valdemar glared at Liliane.
“What?” she asked.
“‘You can tell me anything, I won't tell anyone?’” Valdemar quoted her.
“I was trying to help!” Liliane protested. “Frigga is the Institute’s best oneiromancer! Her dreams are so vivid, it’s hard to distinguish them from reality.”
“You paint with pigments, while I sculpt desires,” Frigga told Valdemar. “We’re both artists in our own way.”
“How is Poingcarré’s project going by the way?” Lady Mathilde asked the dark elf. “Were the dream crystals I provided up to the task?”
“They were,” Frigga replied with a sharp nod. “But alas, he needs more. Hence the reason for my visit to Astaphonos, besides entertaining my dear Liliane.”
Poingcarré, Poingcarré… “Isn’t Poingcarré the Master who created the well outside?” Valdemar asked Hermann.
“He is…” the troglodyte confirmed. “Master Poingcarré is a… a specialist in occult mathematics and… dimensions.”
“Master Poingcarré is studying the world of dreams; particularly the Nightmare of Kazat at its center,” Frigga explained. “Where every oneiromancer has failed to physically enter the dreaming world with magic, he believes he can succeed with technology. In exchange for my expertise on oneiromancy, he took me as an apprentice.”
“I’ll pass on your help for my sleeping troubles,” Valdemar declared. “If you’re out to learn more on Lord Och, I’m not letting you anywhere inside my head.”
Frigga laughed. “Spying on the lich is what I’m supposed to do, but I think in the long-term. If Lord Och took you as an apprentice, it means you might grow into a powerful and influential magician. Hence, it will be in my house’s interests to cultivate good relationships with you so you can be of use to us later.”
Valdemar suddenly wondered if her friendship with Liliane was entirely disinterested. Probably not. Liliane was the heiress of a powerful weapon magnate, and a good friend to have for a dark elf diplomat.
“I will vouch for Frigga,” Liliane insisted.
“So will I,” Lady Mathilde added.
Valdemar didn’t hide his surprise. “Do you trust her?”
“I trust her self-interest,” the priestess said. “Frigga was forced to sign a soul contract when she arrived here, which allows Lord Och to punish her no matter where she is. She will not dare to displease him.”
Frigga's smile turned colder. “I would rather that you didn’t spread word of this particular arrangement, Lady Mathilde.”
“And I would rather that you behave in public,” the priestess replied with a dry tone.
Liliane looked plainly uncomfortable, and Valdemar couldn’t blame her. Lady Mathilde and Frigga did their best to hide it, but they clearly didn’t get along.
“In any case, out of respect for my dear Liliane, I would gladly help you with your nightmares.” Frigga put a hand on her waist. “But when you’re good at something you never do it for free. Since you’re a friend of a friend, I will give you a discount.”
“How much?” Valdemar asked with a sigh, having expected something like that.
“You will paint me a pictomancy portrait as payment,” Frigga decided. “I cannot deny Hermann’s talent, but his special style cannot capture my beauty. Liliane seemed very impressed with your mother’s portrait, so I suspect you shall prove up to the task.”
A portrait? Valdemar could live with it. “Sounds simple enough.”
“But it won’t be any portrait,” the dokkar said with a coy smirk. “I want something sordid and scandalous. A painting that will make your priests blush.”
Ah yes, dark elves. Valdemar prayed she wouldn’t ask for him to paint her torturing a mole rat. “How sordid?” he asked warily.
“If I were at home, I would ask you to paint me during an orgy,” Frigga said with longing. “But alas, your Empire’s citizens are too tight-laced for such festivities. Maybe you could paint me naked with a corpse at my feet? No, that would be too quaint… we’ll use a giant bat instead, and I’ll take a very suggestive pose...”
“Frigga!” Liliane protested in horror, her cheeks turning red. “Why?”
“Because it will be fun.” The dark elf sounded more and more excited with her idea. “Imagine if I sold it and used the money for charity. A naked dokkar’s portrait made by the child of cultists, helping fund your orphanages. I can already imagine the scandal!”
“I already know a few people who would pay a fortune for a naked picture of you, beautiful,” Iren said. “I would be first-in-line.”
The horrified Liliane glanced at Lady Mathilde, but she remained imperturbable. “The Light shines on all that is beautiful,” the priestess said. “There is no shame in celebrating our bodies... within acceptable limits.”
“The Light, yes,” Frigga said with disappointment. She had wanted to infuriate the priestess, and lost interest when she didn’t take the bait. “See, Liliane? I would be doing holy work. You can come to watch the painting process, if you want...”
By now, Liliane was so red that Valdemar started to worry for her health. “When are we leaving?” she asked Lady Mathilde.
“Right now,” the priestess replied. “Our journey will take a while, so make yourselves at home.”
--------------------------
Much like the Institute, Lady Mathilde’s wagon benefitted from space alteration spells. Already large on the outside, the inside proved large enough to fit multiple rooms. The alchemist had set bunk beds on the first floor for her trainees and allowed Valdemar and Frigga to use one for their dreaming experiments.
“This is a sleeping draught,” the dark elf said, as she gave her patient a cup. The blue liquid inside tasted like mint. “Just lay down on the mattress, and relax.”
“My metabolism clears drugs quickly,” Valdemar warned her as he followed her directives. Lady Mathilde had decorated her ceiling with the painted symbols of surface constellations, which he found tasteful.
“So Liliane told me, but I gave you enough to put a dragon to sleep.” Once her patient was laying on his bed, Frigga touched his forehead with her soft fingers. Valdemar sensed a jolt of electricity travel through his skin as she made contact. “Close your eyes, and clear your mind. It will be easier that way.”
“Hypothetically, could you enter my dreams even if I resisted?” Valdemar asked.
“Of course I could,” she replied with a scoff. “But it will be more pleasant for both of us if you don’t struggle.”
Valdemar closed his eyes and did his best to relax, but as he expected the potion was slow to affect him. Or perhaps he was still wary of letting the dark elf inside his head, even if others vouched for her.
Valdemar’s mind remained restless, and he tried to find a distraction. “May I ask you something?”
“Go on,” Frigga replied while calmly massaging his forehead.
“If you are called dark elves, does it mean there are light elves? The question always bugged me.”
“There were, sort of.” Frigga decided to give him a full history lesson. “In ancient times, our civilization discovered the Blood but split over what to do about it. Most dokkars were primitive people who feared witches and sorcerers to the point of imprisoning them. Our spellcasting ancestors, rejected by all, decided to create a new home underground. They believed that magic originated from something deep below the earth and sought to commune with it.”
Valdemar shuddered as he remembered the eyes on the walls. Could this strange organic superstructure have a connection with the Blood? “And what happened to these surface cousins of yours?”
“We slaughtered them when they tried to flee the Whitemoon and the chilling cold,” Frigga replied with an eerily casual tone. “Beware of serpents with long memories is a famous dokkar proverb.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Valdemar deadpanned. He was pretty sure magic wasn’t the only reason that caused the light elves to exile their darker cousins.
Frigga asked Valdemar questions of her own as he relaxed. When did he start dreaming? What did he dream of? Had he already seen the well of his nightmares in the waking world? Valdemar answered them all, though his focus slowly slipped. His body started to feel numb as it entered a torpid state of inactivity. His breathing slowed down, and darkness soon overwhelmed his mind.
When his eyes opened again, Valdemar found himself in a place stranger than any Pleromian ruin.
He stood alone on some kind of plateau drenched in a thin layer of pure water, the surface reflecting the half-formed images of his grandfather’s wizened face, his mother’s sad smile, Liliane’s giggles, and Hermann’s reptilian eyes. Small statues rose from the waters, from a broken Eiffel tower to a shattered planetary sphere. Only Lord Och’s representation stood absolute, its bones made of rusted steel.
This dreamworld’s ceiling was made of yellow fumes coursing with colorful electrical bolts, though their light didn’t hurt his eyes. The current found its source in a strange city on the horizon, one that didn’t look like any human settlement. Valdemar distinguished a tangle of bulbous black towers, spiraling stone buildings, and floating islands of stone. The lightning circled it like a halo or the eye of a magical storm.
The more he squinted at it, the more this city disturbed the dreamer. Its towers appeared made of countless statues of humans, troglodytes, elves and other creatures bound together in a macabre fresco; its architecture shifted as if alive, a building flickering and reappearing on another spot.
Valdemar attempted to use his psychic sight to analyze the area, but his magic failed him. While his body felt real, no magic coursed through his veins. He was an illusion, a mirage without substance.
“So this is your dreamscape.” Valdemar raised his eyes, and noticed Frigga sitting on empty air above his head. Somehow, her voice cut clearly through the noise of the thunderbolts above. “It’s a complete mess.”
“I didn’t expect this,” Valdemar admitted. He thought that his inner world would be a physical representation of his old family house, or maybe a copy of the Institute. “I never dreamed of this city. I don’t even know what it is!”
“This is the Nightmare of Kazat, a landmark of the dreamworld,” the dark elf said while glancing at the strange city on the horizon. “Without going into the gory details, it’s an invasive nightmare that grows by consuming dreamers. Exploring it is dangerous for all but the most powerful oneiromancers, so I would suggest enjoying its dark beauty from afar. The fact you can see it from your dreamscape is a bad sign.”
Valdemar flinched. “How bad?”
“I will need a moment to check,” she said while slouching. She reminded Valdemar of a cat stretching on an invisible sofa. “This doesn’t look like it, but I’m delving into the fabric of your dreams.”
“Sure, make yourself at home,” Valdemar deadpanned, though he let her work in peace.
He took the opportunity to explore the plateau, which turned out to be much smaller than he had anticipated. It was half as large as the Institute’s ground floor, and almost entirely devoid of decoration. It disturbed Valdemar that out of all the images of his friends and family, only Lord Och’s statue seemed complete. The Dark Lord cast a large shadow even in his subconscious.
Since it was a dream, Valdemar attempted to summon things from the ether, or to fly. His imagination should rule in his mind, but his feet remained anchored to the ground and he couldn’t summon anything.
Maybe his subconscious enforced some limitations on his dream? He couldn’t fly because he didn’t believe he could?
After a few minutes of observation, Frigga leaped from her invisible seat and gracefully landed in front of Valdemar. Her black hooves made no sound when they hit the ground, nor did the water ripple at her contact.
“You are ill, my dear human,” the dark elf declared. “First of all, I can tell you have absolutely no oneiromancy training, which means your psychic defenses fade away when you sleep and leave your mind unguarded. Second, you possess an abnormally strong connection to the Primordial Dream.”
“I thought all souls were connected to it?” Valdemar asked, having done some research on the subject when he tried to banish his nightmares on his own. The Primordial Dream, also known as the Collective Unconscious and the Dreamlands, was the magical dimension from which all dreams originated.
“Yes, but not directly.” She waved a hand at the plateau on which they stood. “This is your dreamscape, a half-plane unique to an individual soul that serves as a filter between your mind and the Primordial Dream. It’s a bubble that shields your mind from unwanted attention. However, the Nightmare of Kazat exists deep inside the collective unconscious.”
“Which means my dreamscape is thin and not working properly,” Valdemar guessed with a frown. Wonderful. “I suppose that’s not a good thing?”
“Not for you, it isn’t,” she replied with a chuckle. “Your home’s door is unlocked and anyone can get in. Besides making you a lot more vulnerable to nightmares than most of your kind, I’m surprised you weren’t attacked in your sleep by a night hag or incubus already. Or maybe you were and don’t even remember.”
Okay, this was much worse than expected.
Damn it, he should have consulted an oneiromancer years ago! Valdemar had thought his nightmares were the result of a childhood trauma, not a magical deficiency. He already didn’t like Lord Och reading his mind, and the idea of any criminal oneiromancer infiltrating his dreams angered him.
“How did it happen?” Valdemar asked. “From the way you make it sound, it’s unusual.”
“I will need more sessions to answer that question,” Frigga admitted. “Dreamscapes naturally form during infancy, and yours simply didn’t grow as it should. It’s possible your mind was tampered with or you survived a terrible experience that left your subconscious permanently scarred.”
Valdemar clenched his fingers. “My grandpa said I fell into a well while young,” he explained. “I’ve been having nightmares ever since.”
“Poor you,” the dark elf replied without really meaning it. She reminded him a bit of Lord Och, going through the motions of courtesy without truly believing in them. “A childhood fear could have weakened your dreamscape, but not enough to leave it stillborn. I can’t stress it enough, you won’t even feel any intruder slipping inside you.”
“Is the phrasing intentional?”
“Yes,” Frigga replied coyly. By now, Valdemar had grown certain that she took a schadenfreudian joy in teasing and embarrassing people.
Valdemar gave her a hypocritical smile. “Then how can I protect myself from bad girls like you?”
This made the dark elf chuckle. “Good one. Learning the basics of oneiromancy will let you strengthen your dreamscape, protect it from intrusions, and prevent your sleeping mind from wandering into dangerous places. Alternatively, you could buy a dreamcatcher, though it will be horrendously expensive.”
Frigga waved her hand, and a strange device formed in her hand. It resembled a circular amulet with a complex web design at its center.
Valdemar couldn’t help but feel a tinge of envy. The dark elf had better control of his dreams than he did!
“A dreamcatcher is a nifty amulet that prevents you from dreaming at all,” Frigga explained. “It seals your subconscious shut while you sleep. No dreams, no intrusions. You won’t be able to use oneiromancy though.”
Valdemar frowned in skepticism. “I spent some time in the custody of inquisitors, and they preferred to keep me awake rather than put an amulet on my neck.”
The dark elf licked her lips like a cat. “Did they torture you?”
“They strapped me to a wheel and pumped me full of drugs.”
“What, that’s all?” She looked downright disappointed. “Your inquisitors lack imagination. Their method is understandable though. A dreamcatcher is a very complex amulet that must be adapted to a specific mind, making it extremely costly.”
And Valdemar’s funds were extremely limited. Lord Och afforded him a research budget, but he spent most funds on his ecto-catcher and various elixirs. Besides the cost, he would rather avoid relying on an item he could lose. “Could you teach me how to repair my dreamscape?” he asked the dark elf.
Frigga conjured a throne of black mahogany from nowhere, and slouched on it as if she owned Valdemar’s mind. “Not for free.”
That greedy bitch. “I already promised you a portrait!”
“To pay for my expertise,” the dark elf replied mirthfully. “Which I’m generously providing. But tutoring you would demand a lot of my free time, and I am a busy woman.”
“I should have listened to Hermann,” Valdemar complained. The troglodyte had called Frigga selfish, but she was even worse than expected.
“The lizard is a goody two-shoes,” Frigga said with a cackle, “while I know what I’m worth.”
“I don’t have an inexhaustible purse,” Valdemar warned her. “How much do you want?”
“Then let’s agree on a future favor. Nothing comes to mind right now, but I’m sure I will find a use for you.” The dark elf licked her lips in a predatory way. “Now, about that portrait you owe me…”
Comments
skewness7
Fucking Poincaré. Fucking symmetries. He should be 100% another french exile.
