Idrelle Games
patreon
Character Scenario — Veyer [Episode 2]
🕑 Added 2024-12-25 18:00:06 +0000 UTC
Content Warning: this story contains depictions of drug use & mature subject matter
A curl of smoke rises through the hazy crimson light.
Veyer watches it float away through unfocused eyes. The reed dangles between their long fingers, held at arms length above their face. The lit end glows like a dying ember, a spark of orange pulsing within the charred black. Waiting. Waiting for them to make use of it. The compulsion simmers within them, whispers in the back of their mind that coax them to action. Take it. Inhale. Let their mind go blank, let all their fears and sins be washed away like debris carried out to sea.
Tempting. So very tempting.
Giving in now would defeat the point. It is enough to be left to stare longingly at it, daydreaming about the way the scent would burn their lungs and the haze would comfort their restless mind. The warm oblivion that cocoons them in a sense of pleasant nothingness, masking their perception of the world if only for a moment.
But pleasing is still a feeling—and today Veyer is not in search of feeling.
Today, they are in search of numb.
The door creaks open and shuts. “You’re back,” a familiar voice drawls.
Veyer sinks deeper into the plush pillows, a pleasant tingle prickling their skin. “How could I resist this establishment’s charms?” they say, staring at the curl of smoke as it fades from existence. “It is one of Velantis’ only two merits.”
A laugh. “Don’t say I’m the other one.”
“Such a thing would never cross my mind. The food is the other. Clearly.”
“Ah.” Bare feet tread across the floor, their passing muffled by thick rugs and cushions. The pop of a decanter uncorking and the trickle of liquid pouring into a glass rushes in their ears. “Certainly you will have much to savour tonight, what with the archon’s gala and all. She has every need to impress the Aosian delegation.”
“You know of it already? And here I thought it took an age for news from the upper districts to travel to the Undercity.”
“News travels only as fast as my clients. And you know how eager they are to make the journey, given you are one yourself.” Liquid swishes in the glass. Lips smack with satisfaction. “Though I suspect you are not here to discuss politics.”
I have not given a rat’s ass about Imperial comings and goings in three decades, I am not about to start now. If Ariston wants a war, he will get one. “No. I am not.”
“Then shall we begin?” Firm fingers brush their arm, following the vibrant patterns marked in their skin. Faran tattoos with an Arathian flair. A curiosity here in Velantis, especially this deep in the Undercity. Elsewhere in the Empire such a thing could get them killed even with the emperor’s favour. It would be funny if someone tried. Hysterical, even. “Tell me what it is you seek.”
At last, Veyer lowers the reed. They proffer it, smoking end and all, and watch as it is plucked from their fingers and snuffed out. Shadows fuzz in their peripheral visions, the enchantments pulling tight to mask their source. Many lightseekers of different varieties and talents are employed at this establishment, weaving illusions of all kinds to please and satisfy their guests.
But there is only one Sol.
A façade of a name as surely as their illusions are a façade of themself.
“I want…” The words sit heavily on Veyer’s tongue. They inhale deeply, regretting the reed’s disposal, and stare mindlessly at the ceiling. The bed creaks, the mattress sinking with Sol’s weight. Warm hands brush their collarbone and down their chest, roaming with an alluring promise. A touch that traces over the steady beat of their heart and the tangled knot that holds it in a vice-like grip.
Sex is pleasant, but it is not why they employ their services.
“I want to feel nothing. I want to forget.”
A pause. “You all do, Veyer. That’s why you come to me.”
Veyer nods, a sigh on their lips, and closes their eyes. The bed creaks again as Sol moves around them, re-arranging themself to a more comfortable position. All these years of seeking them out and Veyer still has no knowledge of what they look like. Even their voice changes from time to time. But their presence is immediately identifiable, like a scent that never quite washes out. That is how Veyer is certain that Sol is one person, not multiple individuals masquerading under the same title.
No one else feels more like Sol than Sol.
Though that could very well be their magic manipulating them. Perception is a tricky thing, especially in the hands of a master. Veyer never truly understood the dark side of their own sphere. Illusions make sense, manipulating what can and cannot be seen. But manipulating the inner mind? Pulling on emotion and sensation, encouraging some while suppressing others… There is a reason its use is highly regulated by the Arathian Empire. And there is a reason its greatest practitioners are condemned to work in the underbelly of the city.
Long fingers run through their hair, brushing it back from their forehead. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
The knot around their heart tightens. “Yes.”
“Then let us begin.”
Veyer inhales, their bare skin tingling with a flush of heat and excitement. One moment the knot is there, its decades-old roots twisted and snarled where it presses against their heart. And the next—
Nothing. Blissful, empty nothing.
It will not last, but even an hour’s reprieve from the oath they swore is good enough.
