dylan llyr, troy ounces made whole
What does Dylan look like?
Six foot zero inch male negro, complexion the color of coffee with cream. Ectomorphic (thinner fingers and limbs rather than thicker). His affinity is for white robes and a floppy wide brimmed white hat, although he wears white gi/loose pirate shirts and loose pants. Llyr wears white or occasionally solid colored clothing. Llyr never wears a colored belt of martial arts rank. He has been seen in Watersea, even on its throne, wearing blue Chambray shirts and Levis 501 button fly jeans with 7-button Bald Mountain moccasins. He wears jewelry only when it is an emerald, or a lemniscate, or is magically functional, or is a gift from a friend.
the prince who was 1000 started as a simulacrum of dworkin's flesh.
the prince was a blood-law road encounter made whole by the maker,
champion dwarfgod, so troy could receive champion's "rent" on kaldamaaren.
troy-ounces-made-whole was imprisoned by the dragon Frost during an
apparently-failed find familiar attempt, and was rescued years
later. after triggering a morganti trap on cinnamon (or was that spice?),
the prince who was 1000 wrested control of watersea from
llewellyn ap-owen
and drew on its powers, seeking to Remove the soul of his beloved from her
wu-hsin. the prince now travels under the name dylan llyr.
tanngrisnir on the prince who was 1000
Unlike The Prince Who Was 1000, Troy Made Whole by Champion, I will not strive for easy power, fail, and sit in reflection for three generations ineffectively striving to recover morganti'd loved ones.Morgan la Faye on Dylan Llyr
"I think Troy-Ounces-Made-Whole has found himself another unattainable love."
announces Morgan, pausing to concentrate on setting down her empty cup and
saucer between her chair and the hearth. The spoon rattles in the cup all
the way down, but Eressea says nothing, knowing it's not precisely a physical
ailment.
The left sleeve of Morgan's outer sweater catches on a wooden sliver, barely
jutting from the foot of the chair. Eressea sees it, but before she can act,
Morgan pulls back, unravelling a huge loop of yellow yarn, almost the color
of her hair. Morgan leans back forward and uses both hands to unhook and
free the loop. She tucks the loop of yarn into her sleeve before she drops
back in her chair, sighing slightly.
Morgan continues speaking as if without a pause. "He's as devoted to
Melisse as he first was to Fr--you met her, didn't you? Llyr's sentient
ice dragon? Up north just before she imprisoned him for so long? Never
content with a normal familiar! And then he was obsessed with bringing
Cinnamon back. For years he spurned Spice, never once thinking that her
_twin_ was dead! _She_ needed _him_, more than ever before in her life!
Where does Llyr go put in pursuit of another impossible woman."
Morgan shakes her head. "I pity Melisse. Such a loss for one so young.
Stolen innocence, just like Silverfox. Even in death she's still not
controlling her path. And they say Gwenhyvar's tale is the saddest story
ever told. I suppose Llyr wouldn't be so damn heroic without a tragic flaw."
Lying deep in her stuffed armchair, Morgan steeples her fingers and peers
through them at Eressea, adding, "I'm not ashamed to say Llyr scares the
hell out of me. No Kin should be able to do the things he's done. 'The
Prince who was 1000' indeed... A thousand secrets. He's a wild magic magnet.
Worse than Waldann. You have no idea... I asked him for the statue, but... "
Morgan immerses herself again in her fragmented thoughts.
Both women regard the dying embers in the hearth of Dolbadarn. It holds
a summer fire, overly warm despite the wee morning hour, but guests
always come first in Eressea's Dolbadarn. None of the other guests
choose this room. It is the heat of Morgan's reputation as much as
the hearth. Presently Morgan frowns and takes out her silver comb,
the one she thinks Cori gave her. She begins combing out her hair,
as she does every time she discerns the extent of her stolen Dreams.
"I think that if Cori ever devours the rest of me, by Dira's Tits, if
ANYTHING takes one of us beyond your abilities, cousin, it's my wish,
I want you to go straight to Llyr." Before Eressea can respond, Morgan
sits bolt upright.
"I got it, of course!" Morgan smiles, her gaze intent on Eressea, her
comb brandished like a drumstick beating the rhythm of her words. "I
bet you, if anyone does, Llyr knows where the Half Elven One is. Probably
hiding Oimota in Llyr's Voided wild magic, working on some clever
sequel to Hissarlik. I wonder what could make him spill his guts?"
Quickly Eressea sees the enthusiasm leave Morgan's eyes. In moments her
attention returns to her combing. Presently her arms slow and her
breathing grows regular. Minutes pass into hours. The flames in the
fireplace die out, but the logs still glow.
Eressea is just about to be pleased that Morgan finally put her mind
to sleep, but the Pillars of the Dawn shine in through the eastern
window and the morning doves cry out. Morgan la Faye pushes herself
up from her chair and limps to the window, where she looks to the
pink clouds, drops her gaze to the silver waves of the Sea of Chaos,
and then shivers.all rights reserved
