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The strange dodecahedron is cool in Caleb’s hands. It’s odd. The object is so foreign and yet...it feels familiar. Like an old friend. Older and changed, but still recognizable. But that can’t be right. Though its center glimmers like a galaxy of stars, he can discern no logical pattern, no recognizable constellations. Indeed the core of the item seems to shift and swirl like molten night sky. It is beautiful. It is vast.
“The Beacon” the drow had called it. And beckon like a beacon it does. He can feel his mind slip into the depths, the center seems to move closer and closer and closer. The Identify fizzles out. Caleb is left with more questions than he had before, confronted by a wave of unknown, perhaps unknowable. His mind spins, the horizon wobbles, he is lost in time and space.
“Well,” Nott peers over his shoulder. “What is it?”
Caleb blinks. For just a moment his mind scrambles to calculate. What time is it? How long was I--? And then the world rights itself. He is in the sewers of Zadash. There is no sun or moon to track but still he can tell it is three minutes past one. The sulfur scent of sewage barrages his nose. Under his finger tips the beacon grows just a little warmer.
“I- I do not know,” Caleb is forced to admit. The implication ripples through their little group.
It is for the best, Caleb tells himself, when they return the artifact to the drow warrior. Better that it not tempt the likes of the assembly (or himself). His skin goes cold when he relinquishes it and he has to fight back a shiver, but he can feel a weight lift and his mind clear. Better to never think of it again.
And then they hear the clash of metal and a gurgle of blood. The artifact falls to the ground and then into the hands of the guard. No. Unacceptable.
The next thing he knows Caleb has stolen it back, without even realizing he ever made up his mind to do so. The grey light inside dances, welcomes him home. It lives at the back of his mind every moment, every second, as they make their way back to the Leaky Tap. Though its siren call screams “look at me” Caleb has enough sense left that he refrains until they are safely stowed away in the basement, far from prying eyes. He can only hope the amulet will offer enough protection.
Only when Nott is quietly dozing at his side does Caleb dare examine the depths of the beacon once more. It enfolds him quicker this time, his gaze transfixed by the dancing light within, like the fractals of a diamond against inky black. He is close, to what he does not know, drawing ever closer. The light is blinding. And then it is gone.
Caleb stands alone in a sea of nothing. It is miles and miles and miles of darkness everywhere he looks. All around, up and down. Not a darkness with a presence, like a cave one can stumble blindly though, but one he knows without a doubt has no end, no boundary to bounce off of, not even a floor beneath his feet. Caleb is convinced he is going to fall.
As soon as he thinks it, he does. Caleb feels his stomach drop and he is plummeting through darkness that has no end. There is nothing to be done, it appears his components have not followed him to this strange place and even if they did Caleb is not sure he'd be able to fumble for them as he tumbles through the air. No, not even air. Absolutely nothing.
Just as suddenly as it started, it stops. Caleb is wrenched to a halt like fish taut on a line. He is frozen in the middle of Nothing. And quite abruptly it is not nothing anymore. Wisps of smoky essences spiral out from Caleb's skin. I'm dissolving, he thinks at first, but his body grows no smaller. Instead the wisps begin to take shape. Another Caleb forms from the smoke. His back is turned. He walks away into the darkness. Another one forms and continues to fall just as Caleb had a moment ago. Another one. And another one. And another one. A hundred, no thousand, no millions of different Calebs drift off into existence. Millions of echoes, some more Bren than Caleb, some are someone else all together. Each of them leaves a trail of smoke behind reaching towards the original. Or at least, Caleb would like to think he is the original. He feels as weightless as the echoes, ensnared in a web of wispy trails of light, the only source of anything in the never ending darkness.
Welcome, seeker of knowledge.
A voice rings out that is not sound, not truly. It rattles in Caleb's brain until it feels like he is going to burst. One skull was not meant to contain such force. He cries out in pain.
Listen and learn.
But Caleb cannot listen. He can only scream. The echoes vanish into darkness and the voice in his mind ceases. All is silence and nothing once more before a figure forms from nothing. A dark cloak of shadow and midnight.
Apologies , the figure says. It still does not feel like true speech. Though the lips move and Caleb can understand, it is as though the sound does not travel; it is immediately in his mind as soon as the words are said. It has been so long since we have communicated. We had forgotten how singular and fragile mortal minds are.
"Wh–who are you?" Caleb's own voice sounds small, like it is muffled by the dark.
Slowly, a clearer shape begins to form, more tangible than the smoke echoes. It is a dainty form, elven in appearance, though much is obscured by a long sweeping cloak. It is still shrouded and blurred as the voice comes again.
We are everyone that has been and everyone that will be and everyone that will not. We are space and time. The essence that holds the universe together and yet the universe tries to forget. You seek to understand us. And so we would see if you are worthy.
"I–" I am not worthy of anything, Caleb almost says, but he bites his tongue.
The entity responds anyways. We shall be the ones who determine that .
Caleb freezes. Can it hear his thoughts?
Thoughts and speech and action are one and the same in this place. This is a world of infinite possibilities.
This time Caleb is certain that the figure's mouth does not move for it has solidified into a full person: white hair, midnight purple skin, long and slender fingers, even longer ears. It is a handsome figure, with silvery eyes and delicate silver jewelry on ears and fingers. There is a sharpness to the features that warns away any who might dare to touch. It takes a moment for Caleb to take in the whole picture and recognize–drow.
"Is this some kind of dynasty trick?"
We are often in the dynasty, but we are without borders. This one is but an avatar of ourselves. We have sensed you find it less distressing to communicate with humanoid form and have provided one most pleasing to you.
Caleb's face burns. The drow that hovers in this nothingness with him is attractive. Handsome in unfamiliar ways. Beautiful and exotic too, all at once.
"And what do I call him? It? You?"
Hmm. It is disconcerting to feel the entity laugh. Names have meaning, don't they Caleb Widogast? Or shall we call you Bren?
"Nein! That is–" Caleb is embarrassed by his outburst. "Bren Aldric Ermundrud is dead."
And here you are. A brand new possibility.
Caleb manages a tight nod.
Very well, Caleb. You may call this one...Essek.
Caleb is not certain why the entity finds this amusing, but he feels it nonetheless.
"Show me."
For once it seems like the words actually originate from the figure's mouth. "Show me something impressive, show me something at the height of your power." Show me what you will do.
Caleb flinches. What he can do is little more than parlor tricks to anyone of experience. He starts to summon the familiar flames to his fingers.
No, the figure says. Not what you can do. What you will do.
Essek, or the figure, or whoever this entity is reaches out with the precise hands of a caster. Slender fingers trace symbols in the air and a circle of silvery light appears. Essek reaches out once more and twists it forwards. No, clockwise. It's a clock, Caleb realizes. As soon as Caleb comes to this realization, he can feel the magic settle over him. For a moment he panics. There is nothing he can do to stop it taking hold, he is helpless. But he needn't have worried. As soon as Essek's hands drop Caleb feels a surge of energy. He gasps as his hands flicker with dark purplish light. It feels unlike anything he has ever cast, weighty and more powerful than any spell he has ever wielded before. When he inhales it smells like iron and herbs and electrical fire.
Essek is looking at him expectantly, Caleb realizes. He should feel nervous, but he doesn't. This magic, it feels more like an old friend than even the fire. He has done this before, or he will do it yet, it is unclear. All Caleb knows is that he will not fail. He spreads his arms, speaks familiar words that he has never said and watches as the energy flies from his hands and coalesces into a sphere of dark energy. Caleb can feel the gravity of it. It pulls and pulls and pulls. Even the darkness in this strange space seems to warp around it. This is the power of galaxies and stars and the very universe. Caleb cannot help but smile.
Essek does as well, although it is more of a sly, mysterious thing. Only the corners of the right side of those lips twitch upward. Somehow Caleb knows that is approval. He is overtaken by a foreign and yet somehow familiar desire to kiss that half smile and feel a full one take its place.
Yes , the voice comes again. You.
One moment Essek floats meters away, the next and Caleb can feel those lips on his, just as he imagined. He gasps as hands caress the spot just behind his ear that has always made him weak in the knees. Teeth bite at his lip just like he's always loved. "What? How do you–" Caleb tries to say, but then there is a tongue caressing his own and Caleb forgets speech all together. He wraps his arms around this strange figure, half expecting for Essek to disappear at his touch. Instead the body wrapped in darkness feels warm and familiar. Essek shudders when Caleb touches the tips of delicate ears like he somehow knows Essek likes. It is both so easy and so strange to melt into this stranger who feels like a lover. Caleb can anticipate every touch, every caress, every sigh. And yet each still feels new and exciting.
"I know you," Caleb says between breathless kisses. "Who are you?" He receives no reply. Instead he starts to feel more. Essek's hands are in Caleb's hair and tugging at his hip, but Caleb can feel more than that, as if the darkness itself is embracing him. He feels the phantom pressure of hands at his neck, his ribs. Something else tugs at his shoulder, rubs along his thigh.
Take with you a piece of me. The voice comes again. As Caleb currently has Essek's plush bottom lip between his teeth he is certain the man in his arms is not the source, but the words seem to spur him into a frenzy. The hand in Caleb's hair tugs sharply. Caleb can feel the press of a thigh between his legs. He is held frozen in place by the multitude of sensations that surround every limb.
"Please," Caleb begs. For what exactly he is not sure. He whines when Essek tears away from his mouth. Hands grip Caleb's chin and tilt his head forward. Caleb feels the scald of tender lips on his forehead and then...and then…
There is light .
Blinding white light fills every inch of the darkness to infinity. The pressure drops from all of Caleb's limbs. His arms pass through nothing as Essek vanishes. Caleb opens his mouth to cry out only it feels like the light fills him fully.
When he comes to, back below the Leaky Tap, Caleb is hard and aching, his arms reach out, but the only thing in them is the beacon. There's something else inside Caleb, though. He can feel it settle behind his navel, just a tiny speck of warmth that feels like...he can't quite describe it. It feels like...possibility.
A finger jabs him in the side. "You alive? You slept so late." It is Nott. She is hovering over him best she can with her short stature.
Caleb is about to open his mouth and say that is impossible. He was only gone for fifty-three minutes, but as soon as he thinks that, he knows that isn't true. His memory tells him he was in that space for less than an hour, but his body tells him it's been all night. He did not sleep, and yet he feels rested.
Rested and restless all at once. He squirms and tries to hide his erection by pulling the beacon into his lap. Nott has seen him in more compromising positions than this, and yet this one feels private. Caleb can still taste his phantom lover on his lips, his arms remember the sweet embrace of the darkness around them, the power he flung forth with his own hands, and the magic he could sense in the hands that tugged at his hips. Caleb runs a curious hand up to his own neck. He half expects the dull ache of a love bite, cannot make up his mind if he is disappointed or not when he finds none. The only evidence it happened at all is the straining at his pants and the warmth in his gut.
Caleb feels a sudden pang of loss when they tuck the beacon away, first into the lined box and then into Jester's haversack. There is no time to revisit it, not while they deal with the Gentleman and clearing their own names, but Caleb finds it is never far from his thoughts. He doesn't understand it, but that only makes him want it that much more.
Sometimes, at night, he thinks he could return there in his dreams. He can recall the sensations, the lips that teased him so, he can even hear the voice clear in his mind. This is a world of infinite possibilities… and the other one, the one he has come to call Essek's voice saying "Show me."
Try as he might, however, he can never stay in the dream long enough to reach satisfaction. He wakes each time just as hard and aching as before, and no privacy to pursue it beyond dreams. Caleb is half contemplating scrounging up the funds for a private room the next time they visit the bath house when finally Jester produces the dodecahedron from her bag for his inspection.
Once again, the artifact is cold to the touch at first, but it enfolds him in a familiar warm embrace. The sea of nothingness does not worry Caleb. He closes his eyes, thinks of what the voice said before, Thoughts and speech and action are one and the same in this place. Caleb thinks of Essek's fine features, of the upturned smirk on his face, of the sure touch of his fingers, and the taste of sparking magic on his tongue.
When he opens his eyes Essek floats before him once more. "You," Caleb breathes.
"Widogast." That mouth says with the upward quirk of lips Caleb imagined. He says it with his own voice, it doesn't ring in Caleb's head like the entity's.
A part of Caleb longs to wrap Essek in his arms now. He wants to tear away the cloak he wears and memorize what is underneath. He has no notion of how time will warp this time. He could have mere moments before he drifts back to the material plane from...wherever this is. But there is a different kind of lust that yearns for fulfillment too.
"The spell I cast last time...can you do it again?"
It is not Essek who responds. You have not cast it yet. And yet you already have. It is potential within you. We have merely shown you the path.
Caleb is not sure how, the power should be completely beyond him, he doesn't even recognize the spell, but sure enough he raises his hands, speaks the incantation, and watches as a tendril of shimmering light wraps around his wrist and Essek's. He feels the surge of power and satisfaction; this is advanced magic, but it is not destructive the way he is used to fire being. This. This is what he has been searching for.
The light between them seems to solidify for a moment and the vanish into the ether. Caleb can still feel the heady rush of power, the spell is not gone. He sees Essek's eyes fill with hunger. He can feel the hunger. Caleb gasps as Essek raises a hand to touch his own fingers to his lips. He can feel the phantom pressure on his own lips. One of Essek's hands rubs the tip of his ear and Caleb shivers, even though his own ears don't have the same sensitivity.
Caleb watches as the cloak falls away. Essek does not remove it himself, from the nothingness hands emerge. Caleb recognizes the curve in the index finger, the slight bend in the middle finger where he broke it falling from a tree. They are his hands and they are not his hands. They will be his hands? Caleb doesn't know and he doesn't care, his own clothes are stripped away by similar ghostly fingers. There are more than two of them and they deftly tug at his coat and buttons and harness with practiced ease. One of them trails over a nipple and Caleb gasps. Across the space that divides them the gasp is echoed as the hands trace over Essek's ribs, pulling away delicate layers of fabric to expose the smooth skin beneath.
He is so beautiful, Caleb thinks. The sentiment reverberates through the air. It is reflected back at him a thousand fold. Caleb can see it, they have done this thousands of times. Them and other thems. He sees themselves in the throws of passion a top a purple-hued desk, in front of an amber fire, in the dark corner of ancient stone walls. They happen along different threads of time, at the same time. They come together quickly, slowly and everything in between.
Quite abruptly Caleb can't take it anymore. He needs to hold Essek and he needs it now. He thinks it and it is so. Essek is in his arms, all the phantom hands are still caressing him, they emerge from the dark like tentacles of inky black. Caleb can feel them as if it is his own skin they stroke just as he is sure Essek can feel the way the spectres of other Esseks work at Caleb's pants and belt.
Caleb pushes through the hands to hold Essek's face in his own. "Please. Who are you? I know you. I need to find you."
It is not Essek who responds. You have already found him. The hands of darkness work faster. They release Caleb's straining cock and run feather-light teasing touches down the underside. You may find him yet. Endless possibility.
Caleb groans at the sight of the hands freeing Essek from the tight leggings revealing slender, long legs and a likewise slender and long dark cock. Unlike the coarse hair that covers Caleb's chest and thickens at the groin, Essek is smooth skinned everywhere. If Caleb looks closely however, he can see a faint misting of silvery white freckles scattered across Essek's skin like stars in the night sky.
A phantom hand trails between the cleft in Caleb's ass. Essek must feel it too because he gasps. Caleb takes the opportunity to swallow it in an open mouthed kiss. One of Caleb's actual hands wraps around the back of Essek's skull and delights in the difference of texture it finds between the shaved sides and the coiffed top that is becoming thoroughly mussed. The other, real hand wraps around Essek's waist and pulls them closer, trapping their leaking cocks between them.
It is strange to feel everything in triplicate; he can feel the ghostly hands trail over him, feel Essek's own hands, and then feel the feeling echo back to him as Essek feels it too. It's enough to drive a man mad. Caleb's hips rock with a mind of their own.
The space they inhabit does not seem to obey the laws of gravity, but Caleb thinks how much he'd like to press Essek horizontal and trail kisses from stem to stern. Once again as soon as he think it, it is so. Essek throws back his head to allow Caleb access to the line of his throat. Caleb responds to the invitation with enthusiasm. He kisses and nibbles a path down Essek's neck. He makes stops at Essek's collar bone, nipples, and hip to lave extra attention. He repeats the exercise on the other side, enjoys the way Essek arches beneath him all while the other hands work over both of them.
The hands knead into Caleb's ass, dip further in towards the tight ring of muscle. When Caleb reaches Essek's hip again he pulls his thighs apart and watches as shadow fingers start to work at his entrance too. Two fingers disappear inside of Essek the moment they enter Caleb as well and the feedback loop is almost overwhelming.
Somehow, someway Caleb doesn't come, but his cock is weeping in spurts now. The feeling of Essek's solid fingers in his hair is the only thing that grounds him. He can't wait any longer. He takes both of their cocks in hand and begins to chase release in earnest all while the other fingers probe deeper and deeper into both of them. Essek bites his bottom lip, the points of his fangs just visible. Caleb cannot help but lunge forward and trace them with his own tongue.
Essek is muttering something. It must be in undercommon because Caleb does not recognize the words, but he understands the meaning. More. Please.
Caleb lets his hand drop between them, replaces the phantom fingers with his own, groans and let's his head fall to Essek's shoulder when already three fingers slide in easily. He crooks his fingers and uses his thumb to press at the taut stretch of skin behind Essek balls. He is treated to a delightful cry of ecstasy that goes straight to his cock. Soon the fingers probing at Caleb's entrance are mimicking the same motion.
He won't last much longer like this: Essek's pleasure feeding his, feeding back to Essek, back to Caleb in a never ending loop. "Please." Caleb is panting heavily between every word. "I'm close. Come with me."
Essek speaks, and Caleb is sure it is Essek this time. "I would love nothing more."
One more thrust, one more press of the fingers, one more desperate kiss and Caleb is seeing white once more. Only this time Essek is still there. His head is thrown back in exquisite pleasure, his eyes shut tight against the onslaught of orgasm. So beautiful. It is the first time Caleb has seen him in the light. The phantom hands, whatever they were in truth, are gone; it is just the two of them. Caleb stares as Essek comes down from the high, vows to memorize those features.
"I'll find you." Caleb promises. "Whoever you are, wherever you are, I'll find you."
Finally Essek looks at him, his face is softer than before. "I would love nothing more." It is the same exact intonation as before. His face goes sad for a moment. Though Caleb didn't see it start, there are now tears on Essek's face. "You weren't part of the plan."
And then he is gone. Faded as fast as he appeared. Caleb is left naked and alone floating in nothingness.
One possibility. The faceless voice echoes. But you are not yet ready .
Caleb comes to back where he started. He spins around searching desperately for...something. He doesn't know what.
"Wow. That was fast." Jester peers over. "Doesn't your ritual thingy," she waggles her fingers, "usually take...I dunno. Longer?"
She's right, Caleb realized. He was only gone for a full minute. Why then does he feel so sore and what is this warmth in his chest?
A mote of possibility. The answer comes to him. He explains as much to the curious Jester, but he can't help feel as if he's...missing something. Or someone.
"We should hang on to this," he says. "For now. Could be useful."
I'll find you, he thinks nonsensically. Find who?