Dreams: The Boy Lost in the Goblin Market

Before I can talk about things, I have to bore you with the second dream, which is actually really sexy and you should read it.  It’s also really sad, though nobody dies and there were no injured kittens or anything.

The second dream was similar to the first in many ways.

Things were really beautiful at first.

I was a strapping, handsome young man serving a very, very powerful and well-placed wizard. I lived with him and his apprentice, who was an incredibly powerful girl of about fifteen. I was having lots of very good, very loving, very kinky sex with both of them.

My main purpose was as a focus object. I had no magical skill, but I had another unique talent: I was a vessel, a human familiar. A reservoir for magical energy. I could serve a as a kind of bridge for my master and his apprentice, combining their power through me. I could help to steady energy flow during magic, and I could serve as a sort of power bank. In a pinch, I could intercept hostile magic and drain away most or all of its power, meaning I served as a sort of bodyguard to both of them, protecting them from magical attack.

Just imagine that this lovely lady is a lovely dude.

Photo by Grendelkhan, from Wikipedia.
The fact that I was not able to find a decent creative-commons pic of a MAN in a slave collar is a cranky-as-hell conversation for another time.

Basically, I was a human familiar and bodyguard with a talent that needed to be used, just as much as a wizard’s magic needs to be used. If they did not use magic regularly, it was harmful to them. It would burn them out from the inside trying to hold it. If I did not have it channeled through me regularly, if my talent was not used, it was harmful to me, and I began to pine and fade.

I was very, very important to what they did, and I was part of a healthy, working partnership. I loved them both very dearly. Equally, but in different ways.

The girl was my dearest friend and confidante. I was in love with her in a way that is difficult to describe. She was little sister and lover and best friend all in one, and she acknowledged me as a full equal, which was extraordinary, for my power was often misconstrued as inferior to active magic, even though it was more rare. She was younger than me by about five or six years, so I was often protective of her, but her power awed me.

My master was . . . my master. I worshiped him. I belonged to him in a way that, again, is difficult to describe. It was utter trust, utter obedience, because anything else was unthinkable. I had surrendered my will to him completely, and he never abused or mistreated that trust, or treated me as anything other than a cherished companion. He had saved me from nothingness, brought me back from the edge of despair and death. I owed my life to him, but I also owed him my spirit.

Because of them, I was whole. Because of me, they were whole. I was their armor; they were my mind and my heart. It was beautiful in every way.

The first dream had no D/s undertones, but this one absolutely did. I wore a collar with a blue tag on it. Some of the things that they did to me were painful, but also incredibly sexy. I had tattoos they had put on me to make me a better vessel. I was so proud to be theirs.

We went to the Goblin Market, which, being a modern Goblin Market, was in a shopping mall underground, in a part of the city that had sunk during an earthquake.

Inside the Goblin Mall, there were dwarven jewelers, a cobbler elf shoe store, and a dressmaker’s run by rats. The gremlins owned an electronics shop – no warranty, but everything there was totally badass. There was a place that sold magic books and grand grimoires where the books would introduce themselves to you. All kinds of shops, really; magic supply shops with everything from chicken feet to unicorn bezoars, places that sold arcane magical items, a pet shop where you could get familiars. There was a place you could get curses or blessings or a handful of pixie dust in exchange for dreams – one year of dreams would get you a pretty good curse, and you could have a minor miracle for a couple of decades. There was even a carousel with real magical animals on it; I remember the filigree around the upper canopy was all made of golden thorns.

It was just the coolest thing. Sort of like Noetic City, but explicitly and thoroughly magical.

All kinds of people and things went back and forth there, peaceably enough. Familiars. Many of them. Tall fairies, shadow folk, dryads, spriggans, and fairy tale figures. I mean, it was just so cool. I met the twin offspring of Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf: a beautiful boy/girl child with a dirty face and grubby hands and hair like fire held back by a red scarf, and who flitted behind shelves and counters, barely seen; and a ginger and cream colored wolf with slightly curly fur, so well-groomed it looked like a dog, and so very soft and very friendly and eager to play – the wolf especially delighted me.  It was like a Disney Princess wolf, although it still had all its teeth.

We were cutting a deal with a dwarf for a beautiful chain I suspect was to be used for some sort of bondage-y purpose, when I looked to the side, and my master and his apprentice were gone. I was immediately upset. I was not supposed to leave his side, ever – not just for his protection, but for mine. Sneered at or not, my talent was rare, I was well-trained, and I was valuable.

I looked around, thinking they had just stepped around the counter or into the next shop, and my heart sank as I realized they weren’t there. I quickly retraced our steps, hoping they’d forgotten something at one of the other shops and had gone back for it. Nothing. I searched everywhere, upper level, lower level, every shop and kiosk, even the bathrooms and food court. They were just . . . gone.

And worse, as I went along, I realized that not only had nobody seen them recently, nobody had seen them at all. Even the people at the shops we had visited didn’t remember seeing him. The proprietors of our regular haunts had never even heard of us. Something was very wrong, terribly and horribly wrong. It had fairy glamor written all over it. And, being what I was, there was not a damn thing I could do.

I started asking other patrons for help, but none would help me. I was wearing someone else’s collar and tag, and it was sort of forbidden to interact with someone else’s familiar without their explicit permission.

It hurt terribly. I was very afraid. Not because I couldn’t fend for myself in the real world or whatever, but because two people I loved were missing. I couldn’t go home without them. Actually, I couldn’t even get home without them. We had teleported. But without them, there was no home to go to, so it was completely moot anyhow. I had no place.

I stayed so late the shops closed for the witching hour. I was there all night, nothing but the dull gold glow of the security lights and the patrolling watchmen. I think they were werewolves. Whatever they were, they neither helped nor hindered, and after ascertaining that I was there to do no mischief, they did not disturb me.

I sat next to the magic fountain until dawn, keeping my miserable vigil, and then I did the only thing I could think of to do. When you are lost, you stay in one place and wait for help to arrive. I went and knelt in the middle of the main thoroughfare and stayed there with my hands in my lap and my eyes downcast, waiting. My master was respected, loved. Sooner or later, someone we knew would see me, realize that something must be wrong if I was alone, and offer to help me.

The mall opened again, and soon the strange, steady traffic resumed. They passed by hour after hour. Some looked at me with curiosity. Some with disgust, assuming I had done something wrong and had been thrown away. Some petted my hair as they went past, or stroked my face, or simply stopped and looked at me for a while. Some, assuming I was being punished for some wrongdoing, slapped me, or spit on me, or called me names. Kicked me, cuffed me.  I did not react, no matter how angered or touched I was.  It was brutal and humiliating, but because it was me dreaming it, and it was obviously in an explicitly kinky universe, it was also really, really hot

None of them recognized me, or if they did, they said nothing. They became a shapeless mass, faceless faces, all the same. None of them familiar. The humiliation faded into quiet resignation. I waited and waited and waited to see the gleam of his shoes, or her delicate ankle, to see his shirt-cuff and signet ring, or to feel her hand in my hair.

It was an absolutely gut-wrenching dream. I felt, still feel, awful for the boy I was in the dream. It wasn’t a dream full of terror and running, it was just . . . this heavy, growing disquiet, and then that quiet feeling of despair when you know you have done all you know to do, and you are still totally screwed.

I told Sargon about it, and he posited that maybe my master had left me there on purpose, hoping that someone would take me in, like dumping a puppy in a parking lot. Left me there and gone off with his apprentice. Didn’t want me anymore. Wanted her to himself. That’s a horrible thought, but I don’t think that was it.  Totally wrong for the feel of the dream, the relationship I had with those people. I just don’t know what did happen. I have no idea, beyond the conviction that magic was involved.

Again, I really, really want there to be a way for them to be reunited, because that kid, the kid I was, was a good kid.  The kind of faithful and loyal and trusting that really breaks your heart to see abused.

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One thought on “Dreams: The Boy Lost in the Goblin Market

  1. Pingback: Dreams: The Underground Tower and the Child Who Lived There | Silver Into Steel

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