event pt 2 | another dream

[moustre]

Event Log: June, A Midsummer Dream's Nightmare

THE STARS ABOVE You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face - and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that. It is so very cold, and it is so very vast. Millions of stars stretch out across the still wasteland, the water unforgivably frigid to even those covered in fur; for those without, there's still a chill that expands in your chest as you turn and find absolutely nothing in the massive, shimmering lake. As you begin to walk, shapes shake out of the water; the ground rumbles with their rising, the outlines and shambles of buildings covered in stains and thorny plants. As more rise, inscrutable in their original purpose or shape, you begin to realize this is - or was - a city. You realize something else: you're not alone. Not the way you weren't alone in dreams before, with those who came through the mirror or who might later come through - but around you are the natives of Aefenglom itself, dressed thin rags and looking exceptionally confused. Almost immediately, the sky fills with red stars, and the voice of Nerissa Bell rings throughout the empty space: "Will all members of Parliament, the Guilds, those who have mastered and are mastering divination, and my Mhairi dearest please come to where the red stars fall? Thank the lot of you very much!" There's a beat, and she continues. "Everyone else, keep your wits about you, won't you? Take care of each other." She sounds a tad bit more serious than usual - and it's no wonder, given the circumstances. There's not much else to do though, and with this dream shared among all residents of the city... You might as well take a look around and see if there's anything to be found out, just like any other time. But be careful: Magic seems to be on the fritz, more liable to backfire regardless of one's experience with it - and the same goes for more magical traits of Monsters as well, such as water manipulation, illusions and charms, finding magic, dragon breaths, and etc.

I. THE CITY As you make your way into the city, navigating the wreckage of what once was, it becomes all the more apparent how overtaken it is. To call them ruins would be gracious; you walk in a tomb, now, atmosphere filled with all the gravitas and dread that comes with the stillness of one. And truly, it is still. There doesn't seem to be any other life, besides these new visitors, at least not as you begin to investigate, your companions approaching this with more trepidation. Because while it may take some exploration for arrivals to realize where they are, many natives know right away what this place is with a grief that's palpable: a. IT'S HOME The dawning realization is stark for everyone, as they find familiar cobblestone streets cracked, in disarray, dead and dying grasses and caked "oil" filling the cracks. These streets lead to just as familiar places: a bakery you've grown attached to since you arrived, a store that once carried knickknacks that was passed by every day, the Coven, the Haven itself. Perhaps now it's easier to understand what those inscrutable structures were, at the edges of the recognizable shapes of what had been buildings, once upon a time - after all, even those that are freshly minted as arrivals this Iuneril have spent enough time within the Bright Wall to surely be able to know this gate was once here, and that portion of the wall wrapped around the city there. What remains of the Wall is charred, broken, stained in an oil-like substance that still glistens at just the right angle, and overgrown in those thorny vines to the point that some sections must have been destroyed because the growth came from within. The track of the magitech engine that runs the city is uprooted, gnarled in places as if it were bent by large hands or crushed underfoot, the bridge and the engine itself collapsed into the canal of the River Temese. Even from the higher banks it's easy to tell the metal is rusted and corroded, but also charred like there was an explosion or fire; the inky murk of the river consumes the rest, and it's not recommended to try and brave the waters, given the unsettling feeling they give off. It's not unlike the sensation of the cave... Homes and businesses are destroyed, or in ruin, and it becomes clear that they met this fate in different ways. Burnt down, collapsing in upon themselves from the weight of neglect, overtaken by the thorny vines, covered in the inky black of what is fast becoming obvious as signs of the Cwyld... even the Haven has suffered these conditions. The barracks, once flush against the Wall, are completely destroyed and exist only as rubble now. One might find traces of themselves in what had become their homes in Aefenglom, if they look close enough. The natives certainly are, in their upset and confusion. b. ONLY REFLECTIONS LEFT All roads in Aefenglom lead to the Coven and Parliament, in the end. No walls remain around where the Coven once stood, and there's barely any rubble to indicate that they did. The gate that always stands open, as you know it, is nowhere to be seen - at least, initially. A glance around the entrance will show that it was likely blown off its hinges; it's embedded in the earth a dozen yards away into the city proper, gnarled, a monument in and of itself. Stepping into the scorched courtyard shows that the blast came from within the grounds itself, though it's hard to tell what the source might have been. The building itself is more or less completely caved in; the infirmary is in particularly bad shape, with the stairs leading to the ICU - the basement below the infirmary, where those heavily infected with the Cwyld are taken care of - are full of debris. The floor of the infirmary itself is largely collapsed into the floor below, blocking all means of access. None of the runes that are typically visible in the halls, across the ceiling, or along the floors are activated, and there's a distinct lack of the warm and homey magic that would always welcome one into the Coven. In its place is an oppressive stillness, smears of the Cwyld visible across the ruins, spilling out across the yard from the building itself. A garden once sprawling with ingredients and food is dead, and the stables and livestock pens lie in wreckage. There are no signs of the animals that many became familiar with. But amongst all the wreckage, the Looking-Glass House stands. The cabin is a little charred on the outside, wrapped in layers upon layers of the thorny vines that have woven their way through the city itself, but still intact. Getting inside is a challenge in and of itself, but not impossible, if one manages to avoid the thorns of a clearly infected plant. But the interior? Dusty, certainly, but not an ounce of damage. Mirrors are propped up against surfaces as always, hanging on the walls, and the building feels endless as always. Some of the mirrors are shattered as if something struck them, but not a single piece of glass touches the floor. The stillness is just as unnatural as that of the city itself, but different. While still eerie, there isn't a sense of dread, of oppressiveness, of being watched. It simply... is. c. BURNED AWAY TO ASH Taking the other route leads to what remains of the Parliament building. Much like the Coven, its floors have collapsed into itself - but the building has always been a tall one, so the collapse is even more stark, like all of the top floors fell into the underground records. No signs of the Cwyld are apparent, save for the infected vines sprawling here and there, but they seem more recent than anything else. Wood and stone are charred, to the point that it becomes clear with enough investigation that fire was the sole cause of its demise. The smell of smoke still lingers, with both ground and air around the wreckage feeling hot compared to the chill of the world around you, a fire still burning within the Parliamentary Records themselves. And if one moves the rubble enough - though care should be taken, as it's precarious, and further collapse is inevitable rather than preventable - smoke rises from cracks and openings. Even the clocktower wasn't spared, the broken face now in further wreckage, burnt with its metalwork hands locked to 3:00. The bell is nowhere to be seen; if it fell, it fell through the building and into the records beneath, lost to a fire that's still burning unseen beneath your feet. But if one listens closely, maybe they can still hear its ringing... But it becomes clear you're not truly alone, no matter where you go in the city. Forms pass through out of the corner of one's eye, there and gone when you turn to look too closely at them. Humans and Monsters alike in shape, but faceless, sometimes wisps of color, sometimes shadows in the shape of people. Regardless, they can be seen disappearing around the corner of an alley, walking by the broken window of a storefront that's been ransacked, coming and going when you least expect them. A whisper of a ghost. Some of these faceless shadows seem to be caught in the motions, reliving their day-to-day, the ones that they took the most. Others fade in and out of strange actions; fighting unseen foes, throwing equally unseen things at buildings just as much as what must have been people, running and running through the streets - and then, eventually, through you. Passing through these specters, these shadows of people, leaves a clammy chill on your skin that permeates to the bone. And then they're gone, and it's silent again. Nessie and Mhairi will be around for talk once they're through with the other leaders of the city- but we're only allowing for OOC summaries this time, rather than any IC threads! Their thread is here.

II. THE WASTE Turning from the city, you trek your way further into the waste. Walls continue to rise around you, but none block your path, and they get further and further apart as you continue. The dread within your chest builds the farther you go though, until it's a struggle to lift your feet - but at the same time, some strange momentum keeps your legs moving. The water slowly rises from ankle to knee height, to waist, to mid-chest... or for the small, it might be treading dangerously close to shoulders, to head. Eventually, something changes - whether due to your continued march ahead, or due to turning around to head back towards the city. a. THE STAIRWAY TO THE STARS As you continue on, the water level begins to lower again - or is that due to the stairs that appear without warning beneath your feet? Made of solid white quartz and seeming to float on their own, the air gets colder and harder to breathe as one makes their way upwards. Turning back once you begin isn't possible either: the stairs have disappeared behind you, dropping with a solid splash into the water below. Those able to fly feel an odd pressure that keeps them grounded, and attempts to do so will simply give them the same experience the stairs have: right into the murky sea, which is much deeper beneath the stairs. One good thing about this heavensbound stairway is this: it offers a good view of the waste, which seems to expand forever, as well as the blood red twilight peeking over the horizon - not to mention the distinct absence of the sister moons that share the sky. With a keen eye (or simply letting your vision adjust) shows shadows lifelessly milling about the waste and its air; they're harmless, but bring with them soft crying and pained whimpers, limping with obviously broken limbs. Those familiar with the Wilders and the Witches of the Coven will notice the one solid-seeming thing about them: the pins for their cloaks, the Coven's symbol barely being able to be made out. It'd seem the only way to get down is to fall, as the stairs simply continue up and up into the sky until one is completely unable to breathe or move, either due to gravity or due to ice coverage. b. THE LABYRINTH Attempting to turn around and head back to the city works, but not for long; where walls would stay from one's path, walking back yields the opposite. The walls slowly bunch together until finally, they surround you - with an ugly sound, a low ceiling slides on to complete the area, and without warning sconces light themselves. The water remains knee-deep, sloshing loudly in the utter silence as one moves through it. The labyrinth is long and winding, with some walls broken enough to enable stepping through them, and shadows cast long by the torches lighting the walls. Bones of unlucky explorers roll and rock underfoot, breaking easily with too much pressure. To put it lightly, it isn't a very happy place. The center of the labyrinth is completely dark, no sconces in the area lit - none with torches in them either, on closer inspection. No treasure is left to find here, though the source of the labyrinth's water is: a spring formed by a massive fissure in the ground, ever bubbling, so loud it's a wonder you hadn't heard it anywhere else in the stone maze. The culprit of it lay nearby, long dead: a Minotaur, or its massive skeleton, at the very least. Some of its bones are blackened, specifically its arms up to its elbows, legs up a little past its knees, and its right eye socket. The rest are a mix of normal yellowed and similarly infected grey, black-spotted bones. Touching the bones starts an infection on the character that did it, though it only covers the same spots found on the Minotaur's skeleton.

III. THE DEPTHS Going the way of what had once been the harbor shows an endless sea, nary a wave in sight in the absence of the Sisters. It reflects the red twilight of the sky, each and every of the millions of stars above you, almost glass-like in its stillness. But there's a call that the sea has, and once you've set sights on it, the urge to continue is powerful, hard to resist. Succumbing to that call has characters stepping off what remains of the harbor, walking along the beach, even jumping down, just to reach the water. But rather than sink immediately into it there's firm footing on what seems like ice, the chill seeping through raggedy clothes, skin, fur, feather, down to the very bone. It's sturdy enough to allow even the largest Monster to begin the journey forward into the depths, angled deeper and deeper, until it suddenly drops off and you're submerged without a foothold. It's there that clarity returns, and the fear of drowning might fill every sense. But you can breathe. You can speak. It is a dream, after all. a. THE SHIP GRAVEYARD All around you, at first, is the remains of the harbor. Everything is encased in coral and aquatic plantlife, but there's very little life otherwise. No fish, no dolphins. Nothing. The world is all the more silent beneath the waters, especially with their absence, and the skies above grow dimmer the deeper you go, but always there's the unmistakable red hue to everything below. Some of the plants provide paltry light, bioluminiscent and lighting the way to a grisly scene. Buildings that have fallen into the harbor's waters, the remains of docks, various dinghies and boats, all sunken and lost to the world above. A few ships are visible, their hulls blown out as if attacked, both from the inside and out. There's no treasure, if you're brave enough to explore them, but there is the black oil caked to the interiors just as much as the exteriors. The wood is charred, and it's easy to tell that these ships were sunk from within just as much as they were from outside attacks. But the further one goes into the depths, the truth is revealed: beyond, there lies a ship graveyard. With Litha in full swing, many of these ships may be familiar, having set off on their voyages for the season. Here they lie, in similar states of destruction as the ones in the harbor. Exploring them answers few questions, and raises greater mysteries; what had been supplies, weapons, magic tools and wares, all loaded into their cargo bays, as if they were setting off on a great journey. And it isn't just a graveyard for ships, either. Many of them have passengers, unidentifiable save for small trinkets here and there. The Coven's insignia, a badge of the Parliament, possessions that might speak of their professions. They're nothing but skeletons, now, man and beast alike loaded onto the ships and heading for a destination that's lost to them now. Ice forms along the hulls of some ships and the wreckage beneath, pathways woven throughout the underwater world. They're walkable, allowing characters a choice between swimming, dreamily floating, or walking as they traverse the depths. b. WHAT LIES IN DEPTHS Beyond the graveyard come soft cries, which could almost be mistaken for a whale song if they weren't so... so sad. Following the call, though one won't be compelled to through magical means, reveals the source: various dark shapes in the gloom beneath the water, shadows, listless and drifting. They swim without much purpose, and come in a variety of aquatic shapes. Some could be mistaken for the missing marine life, for Merrow, but their dimly glowing white eyes tells of something worse. There are very few of them, and they don't seem to register the presence of anyone around them. An explanation, perhaps, for their numbers comes as the red of the distant sky above is blocked out by a great shape. A veritable Leviathan drifts with an almost laziness through the open waters of the ocean that you've reached, greater in size than any ship in the graveyard. Its hide is marred from fights long since forgotten, but mottled in oily black, smudged grey, its algae, coral, white cracks in the black illuminating the waters around it. Its plated head moves to and fro, massive flippers disrupting the patterns of the creatures around it without notice.

Welcome to the second part of the event! As a reminder, this takes place on the 22nd - or rather, 3AM on the 23rd if we're being technical and not following the logic of "It's not tomorrow until I sleep". If you have any questions or need any clarifications, you can ask them here! And as always, while we do encourage you to use this log, you can feel free to thread things out on your own log or elsewhere. Regardless of what you choose, we hope you have a good time!

And as a final parting note: If a character dies in the dream, they'll simply reappear at the beginning rather than waking up like normal.

Comments

Newt Scamander | OTA

[newtralize]

I. The City
A
[Newt is already off and wandering around the now fallen city. He had wandered the city often to learn the layout and everything about it. While he had no particular attachments to the city; it was somewhat easy of him to recognize it with how he kept not of any minor attention to detail tucked away in his memories.

The magizoologist can be found all around the city. Perhaps you see him following the uprooted track. Or maybe he's at the edge of the river and crouched near it as he seemingly observes the murky waters.

Alternatively, the man spends quite a bit of time at the barracks. Or at the very least, what might be left of it. It's odd though. Newt is just standing there. His shoulders droop and the man's body very much reads of someone who has also been hit with saddened feelings. What they're seeing is quite disastrous indeed, but there's more to it.

In front of Newt is very large skeletal remains. The remains are as large as an elephant's but bare no resemblance to that of one. They're more catlike if anything. If one is familiar with Newt and a few of his companions, then one may figure out that the large, black-spotted remains are that of the large zouwu that had been in his care.

The man just stands there for a moment, rubbing at his eyes once in awhile.]

B
[The wreckage of the Parliament building is very eerie indeed. The way that it feels so warm in comparison to everywhere else is peculiar. Newt is carefully trying to move pieces of the wreckage. Sometimes dropping piece or pulling his hands away when he comes upon pieces that are particularly hot.

The man yelps a little and staggers back when areas collapse and smoke rises from those spots.] Merlin, it's still going... [While he has seen flames that last longer than possible (magic and all); something about it just doesn't feel right. Perhaps because all of this doesn't feel right.]

C
[Ghosts are very different beings from where Newt is from. Ghosts can only be wizards and witches and exists as beings who have left an imprint of themselves, as they struggle to move on for whatever reason. They're not particularly eerie and can even be conversed with. He had spoken at length with many of the ghosts that had resided in Hogwarts.

This was very much nothing like that. It was eerie and unsettling. The fact that different scenes were replaying all at once made everything feel disjointed. The mix of those just doing their day-to-day as though it were an average day with more worrisome actions paints a very somber picture.] It's very chaotic. Isn't it?

II. The Waste
[Newt wanders through the labyrinth in a quickened pace. It's not at all like when being chased by a monster or even wandering aimlessly during the festivities. It's too somber. Too heavy. The feeling the fills the air.

Once in the center, he's already wandering close by the skeletal remains of the minotaur. He walks around it a multitude of times and crouches very close to examine them. The way he points his index finger and seems to trace shapes or follow the length of bones is telling enough that he was carefully observing every part of it.

That, and he seemingly was trying to figure out what it was exactly.]

III. The Depths
[While Newt has certainly went to try and examine some of the wreckage, something catches his attention instead. It's the sad cries that pulls him away from the graveyard and has him trying to find the source of the wails instead.

He means to try and interact with the smaller creatures, but pause when he sets eyes on the large leviathan that swims by.

No amount of trying to garner its attention or interact with it seems to merit anything. The large beast seems to just continue to swim on.] They've still got their wits about them, that one... [He watches it carefully.] Despite the infection.

IV. Wildcard
[I'm happy to play out any part of the event! If none of these options work, feel free to leave me a starter of your own! I'm also more than happy to write something out for you. Feel free to PM me or contact me on plurk if you'd like to hash something else out!]

III

[oceanschild]

[Paris is, of course, in the water, and he's also watching the leviathan. He looks very concerned, but it's actually not for their safety.]

It has so many injuries.... d-do you think we could help it...?

[newtralize]

[He watches the creature to continue to swim about. He had tried once or twice to get its attention and interact with it, but to no avail.]

It's too large. I don't have the magic capacity nor the experience with this magic to make even a proper dent in healing it. [He doesn't know if it matters either. While it felt real and everyone seemed to be sharing this dream together; would anything they do really mean anything outside of this dreamscape?]

I-A

[thisisamazing]

[When Hiccup comes up to his side, quiet and somber, he's clutching a scrap of red leather in his hand that once bore the white, horned skull of a dragon's prosthetic tailfin. His gaze sweeps over the bones with numb, icy horror dragging through his veins. He's familiar enough with creatures - and with Newt's specifically - to recognize them for what they are, and it's one more twisted detail to add to a whole host of them. There is something hollow in his chest, and his breath catches, and his words die in his throat and coat his mouth in ashes.

It seems like an age before he swallows down the hurt, hard, and says, quiet but determined,] Whatever this is, we have to make sure it never happens for real.

[newtralize]

[Newt lets out a steady breath, or as steady of one he can make at the moment. Animals in his care don't always make it. He has rescued and took in many that had short-lived lives. It certainly doesn't make it any easier and the state of the city itself paints a horrid scene.

He rubs at his face before he turns to the other.] This cannot become a reality, yes. [He shakes his head a little before turning his attention to the barracks. Does he want to potentially go through the barracks and find more?] Even if this might be a dream, we can't say that this can't happen.

Morgan Yu | Witch | OTA

[psychotronics]

Morgan is hardly a stranger to nightmares. Back aboard Talos, would find recordings of herself that she had no recollection of making, messages to her future self detailing the dreams she'd had about hostile entities peering out from blackness of deep space. Even here in Aefenglom, her dreams continued to be plagued by typhon, by phantoms and poltergeists stalking her down darkened halls.

But those were dreams from a different source, of past trauma chasing her into the realm of sleep. All of this, what she and everyone else in the city is experiencing right here, and right now? This is sheer devastation. Pure and simple.

She sees now that she was an idiot to let herself grow so complacent.

--

A.

She heads to the coven first. She's not exactly sure what she's hoping to find there, but it's the most familiar place to her in the city, and a morbid sense of curiosity drives her to investigate. The evidence of a blast from within grabs her attention at once, but her attempts to glean more information about what might have caused it are ultimately fruitless. Nonetheless she can be found skulking around the ruined grounds there for a while, carrying herself with a great deal of tension, her trusty wrench in one hand.

She's mostly silent, and doesn't particularly go out of her way to interact with anyone else who's investigating. But if you hover nearby, she speaks up eventually to ask a question.

"So let's hear it. What do you think happened here?"

--

B.
Parliament is the next logical stop. She's hoping to get a word in with Nessie and Mhairi at some point, but the wreckage of the building and the clocktower hold enough interest that there's plenty of time where she can be found simply surveying the extent of the destruction.

The clock tower in particular seems to have her interest. "Stopped at 3 o'clock, right on the dot," Morgan snorts. "Hell of a coincidence."

She does not sound like she actually thinks it's a coincidence.

--

C.

The whole situation is unsettling enough on it's own, but what really gets to her is how much the Cwyld resembles those inky, oozing remains that the typhon splatter everywhere and leave behind in gobs once they've been dispatched. Morgan had thought to do some more investigating around the ruins on her own, but she'd underestimated how much the surroundings would get to her. Her pulse is erratic as she travels down the ruined streets, spiking to a panicked flutter whenever she thinks she catches a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye.

Her fight or flight instincts are on a hair trigger. She keeps blasting fireballs at ghosts when she sees them, massive ones of a size and scope that is well beyond anything she has learned yet in the waking world. One might be tempted to encourage she separate herself from the immediate situation, but be careful how you approach...

B

[catasstrophy]

Konoe is just looking around the city for lack of a better plan. He'll wake up eventually, he hopes. Until then, he may as well explore... and hope he doesn't get cursed, or anything.

He has no particular connection to or interest in parliament, but it's still a significant location, and so he passes by there, too. 'Investigating' is giving him too much credit, but he's looking around all the same - looking more than searching for anything. It's not that he wouldn't like to find out what happened... He just doesn't even know where to start looking.

"Right..."

It doesn't seem like a coincidence at all, no, but at the same time, Konoe isn't sure what meaning to read in it. His reaction is acknowledging that he heard her more than anything else, though one would be forgiven for mistaking it for simple agreement, with or without realizing she means the opposite of what she said. Fortunately(?), he continues talking shortly.

"Why 3 o'clock, though?"

Re: B

[psychotronics]

"The witching hour," Morgan explains calmly. "That's what time it was when we all came through the mirrors, right? Maybe something worse than a few interdimensional stragglers came in through the Looking Glass House..."

She can think of a few possibilities from her own world that could wreak destruction on this scale, for sure. "But if that is the case then why was it still standing..."

Peridot | Dragon | OTA

[alienwear]

I. Waking Up in a Dream

Whether or not Peridot possesses actual "blood" in this setting, she has yet to determine. But as she becomes aware of the dream and takes in the devastation all around her, something inside her sure runs cold.

The scene holds her attention so rapt, it takes her quite a bit longer than it would ordinarily for her to register that the city isn't the only thing that has dramatically changed. Or maybe she just doesn't notice because it feels so strangely natural. Whatever the case, it isn't until she accidentally pricks the palm of her own hand while clenching her fist that she realizes: she has claws.

And then like a cascading chain of dominoes, her awareness of everything different about herself piles in. There's a pair of extra unfamiliar limbs at her back, ones that feel almost like another set of arms...? Her legs have changed proportion, so now the only way she can comfortable stand is on her toes. She has scales, everywhere. And the most familiar change among them all is the tail, which she had in another one of these shared dreams about a month ago, a long and fat looking thing with a wicked barb on the end.

"What...?" she starts to say, and glances down at her hands again, flexing her claws with confusion. "...What the heck is on my back?"

Priorities.

II. The Labyrinth
A.

She's not really sure what compels her to head out into the wastes instead of towards the Coven, or to parliament. Perhaps the tensity of the situation in the city is making her burgeoning dragon instincts itch for freedom? Not that she's going to find any of that out here, with a nightmare labyrinth appearing to swallow up anyone who goes out far enough. She spends a great deal of time wandering around out here, searching for a way back out. Turning a corner to find another newcomer is in there with her is like the greatest blessing in the world.

"Oh thank the stars I'm not the only person in here," she wheezes with relief, looking on the verge of tears. She's going to stick to you like glue, until fate inevitably eventually separates the both of you.

B. [cw for possible violence, risk of character injury in this prompt bc Peri's got the cwyld, baby.]

If only she hadn't gotten separated again. Maybe if she hadn't been alone, she could have somehow avoided her current predicament. Been warned against touching those moldy old bones.

Being a dragon, the disease practically jumps onto her the moment her fingers brush the infected skeleton. The limitation to mirroring the former minotaur's condition keeps the condition from spreading to it's worst stages, but for anyone who knows Peridot, it'll be obvious within a few seconds of seeing her that something isn't right. Her movements are erratic, she keeps snarling and knotting her claws into her hair. She's trying her best to fight back against her worst instincts, but the more she resists, the worse the urge for violence becomes

Approach at your own risk.

Solas | Dragon Age

[veilfires]

i. you’re not truly alone
[Alone he walks until he comes to a flattened ruin. It was once a home, and it is now silent and overgrown. There’s nothing remarkable about it. He walks through the still-standing skeleton of a doorway. Four collapsed walls mark out a room – and within is a lone spirit. It’s singing a song he’s never heard – soothing, simple, like a lullaby. As the spirit croons, it rocks back and forth.

Someone less comfortable with spirits would think it an eerie motion. Solas draws closer, unperturbed. It’s only by watching carefully that he can make out the meaning, which he does with time: the spirit is mimicking the motions of a rocking chair.

To the side of the spirit he can make out something light and fragile in the dust. He draws a little closer, murmuring an apology. He reaches out, and plucks out a frayed and tattered piece of kitting; it’s still attached to a bedraggled ball of wool. He stands, cradling it carefully in his hands. Some time passes before he speaks, low and respectful; it’s a soliloquy meant for the spirit.]

It was the final day of a great city; the walls had crumbled. But one woman did not heed the crimson sky. She sang songs by her heath. In her rockingchair she sat knitting socks for a child who was never to return.

[The spirit sighs. She leans back as if she is about to fall –]

Her last moments were joyous, wrapped in the warm embrace of her home.

[- then crumples into a wisp, fading into nothing. Solas watches, quiet.]

ii. 3 am
[The ruined clocktower smoulders like embers in the chill. Smoke rises from it in lazy trails. Solas drifts into the ruin, weaving between collapsed beams, without fear but not without caution. Inside it smells like a furnace.

Weaving between collapsed beams, he pauses in the heart of the structure. He detects change in the stone and wood rubble underfoot. Ash comes away beneath a sweep of his boot, revealing a smooth white facade. He deduces that he’s standing on the clock’s face, now cracked (as he looks about him) like fissures. And so these must be...

The dark iron hands are fixed pointing to XII and III. He crouches between them, and brushes his hand along the length of one. It’s hot as coal, and his palm comes away blackened by ash. Mildly, he observes:]

As the bell tolled three, the clocktower burned. Did the witching hour feed the fire?

[You may think the question meant for the twining smoke, until he punctuates it by turning to look at you.]

iii. stairway to the stars
[Sometimes, the long view is required. He takes the staircase up high. Very high. Until underneath there’s only a dead, scarlet sea, and all about him a dazzling ocean of crimson stars. The land stretches out like an ashen patchwork blanket. It's important, he thinks, to witness how totally the Cwyld's corruption has spread.

It’s freezing and still; each breath feels like breathing frost. Up in the clouds: a quiet spot to collect one’s thoughts. He sits, long legs dangling off the step, and looks out, seeing at once the most and least of Aefenglom yet.

If he hears you coming, he looks to you, and nods his head. It’s a respectful acknowledgement that you're another who would journey up into such dizzying heights, and it's also an invitation: Shall we talk?]

iv. wildcard
ahaha. this is a little late coming up, but that’s okay, right? right? i’m very excited about this event!!! there's nowhere solas wouldn't be excited to go in this dream. i would love to receive any wildballs you have to throw at him, or hash out ideas at
shroomish!!

III this death drop was made for me

[guillotine]

[ It isn't that Solas beating her to the stairs is a rude shock, or even that Nel expects to be the only one. It is very much neither of those. What takes her aback is his polite greeting, a carbon copy of what he gives her under even the best of circumstances. Hello, nod, I see you've brought more healthy and fattening precooked food options unasked. Please sit. Tea in the kettle.

She plops a fist behind each hip, not yet level with where he's sitting, and thinks that Solas looks cold. As if she isn't feeling the same knives which lance through her neck for every stolen breath. ]

You move very quickly for a man with thin legs.

it was!

[veilfires]

[The cold is a dream’s phantasm. It’s freezing, yes, but there is an unreal quality that makes it endurable. There is a complex pleasure in this type of pain without pain. Less masochistically, it is a rare and edifying experience.

Behind his visible breaths, there’s a smile for Nel. Hello. I see you've once again found your way to the furthest edges of this world.]

The organisation I work for is housed on top of a mountain. [Deadpan:] That builds calf muscle.

[He does not use the past-tense, he notes of himself, even knowing what Bull and Dorian have told him about the fate of the orb in their timeline. Being bodily transported across worlds does leave that contract in a state of flux, but… their timeline is not his, and that alternate self is not him. He does not have to skulk away in the night, leaving the mark to slowly consume the Inquisitor alive. The orb can yet be saved.

He gestures politely.]

Please – sit.

ii

[wylderrant]

[ The harsh, acrid air tears at her throat. It is not a sensation she is familiar with or one that she savors, but she pushes on all the same, because what else does one do? She has gone dancing amongst the ruins, picking her way over rubble and through the wrecked lives of this realm (this vision of a future, perhaps) to find clues and distracting baubles. To find stories she can re-write and put herself at the center of. To find her own amusement.

All stories can be tragic. She knows this. But she always overcomes it. Always emerges laughing and victorious and goes on to better, brighter things. No matter who she has to trample into the dust or leave behind to suffer the consequences. This time, there seems to be little of that. Tragedy has already come and she is merely picking her way through the aftermath.

She's pleased to see Solas. Always is; she enjoys him, thinks him wonderful, as close to one of her own kin as she'll find in this place, but not quite there (which is a shame or else she might think of him as his own person; but perhaps he'll surprise her yet). She leans on her sword, hands clasped at the pommel as she watches and listens. ]

Time usually doesn't feed a fire; if anything, hours smother it.

[ She's proud of her wordplay, but she also knows that Solas isn't always amused by frivolity. Which is his own problem, really, not hers. ]

Anything is possible, though - maybe their magic failed them at the last moment. Maybe they tried one last act of desperation and it shattered them instead of proving salvation. Or maybe it means nothing at all. I can't say, although I could try and tell you a story of last stands and desperate, heroic tragedy...

[ She lifts a hand, waves it in idle dismissal. ]

A falsehood, you might say! But reality is what we make it and if no one else is here to remember, why not fill in the blanks with our own dreams?

[veilfires]

[The light from the crimson stars filters through the collapsed roof, illuminating her strangely. Her hilt glints. It’s deeply melancholy sight: a vivid, lively elf skipping through the charred and burning remains of this doomed world. She cuts a bright and laughing lean line where she stands.]

You put great faith in stories, Knight.

[He neither scoffs nor smiles along. He stands, then stands straighter, hands tucking behind his back – but his voice is quite calm and gentle.]

That may be true for elves across all the worlds. [Pointed ears, and wild myth-telling. Consider elves filling in the gaps in their history with wild tales that made heroes and gods out of desperate fools who destroyed their world…]

But flattering the dead with falsehood is not the same as honouring them.

ii

[anotheroldsoldier]

[Bucky is streaked with ash, the gleam of his metal arm darkened with it where he's been using that hand to move aside burning rubble. His expression is grim, and from a few yards off, he watches Solas brush ash off the broken clock face.]

How the hell should I know? I had to guess, though, I'd say it was oxygen and some type of accelerant that fed the fire, not the time of night. [He's still new to this world himself, and while a city in ruin is horrific, he's managed to push most of that aside in order to search for answers, ever the pragmatist. He hasn't been here long enough to care much for the magic that seems so steeped in this culture, and his assumptions remain more forensic in his line of thinking.] Question is, who the hell would bomb this place?

[veilfires]

[How aggravating to have his insight dismissed out of hand, though it’s hardly surprising –]

You’ll not find the answer by disregarding the powerful magic at work here.

[- he says as he stands, not a little acerbically. But his eyes glint with interest when he sees in full at the man’s gleaming metal arm. A prosthetic, or armour? His world has known impressive crafts of both, but this design recalls to him something more alien – more like something Entrapta might devise. The man’s words as well speak to a more mechanical mindset.

He’s curious, and less disdainful of the purely physical explanation the man puts forth than he may have been a month earlier. (There’s a special sort of character development which only having a magitech researcher setting off explosion above him every night can provide.) He corrects himself with a more considerate bent, tilting his head.]

We should both stay open to new perspectives.

i.

[purpose]

[ The skeletal ruins of each home remind Rey of Jakku, scattered with the bones of its ships and shelters — abandoned, with only traces of evidence that life had once belonged there. Scraps of salvage, worn down by destruction and time — only worse for how they represent the families that had once occupied these spaces.

Jakku's artifacts had belonged to pilots before her time, ghosts too mythical to seem real, but there is nothing more hauntingly genuine and personal than the glowing ghost of a mother that had crumbled with her home.

Waiting for a child to return, the same way Rey had watched the sky for any sign of her parents. Something clenches in her chest, wretchedly wistful and nostalgic, as she watches on until the woman disappears into thin air. Too suddenly, she realizes her shame of having intruded on such a private moment, and wavers uneasily where she's stood, rooted and curious. ]

That was kind of you. [ There's a quiet softness to her as if speaking alone will disturb the eerie solace of this very home. For all that Rey knows, it just might undo this stranger's compassionate work. Her eyes flicker to him, the iris bright red in the dim light from the bleeding sky. ] To give her peace. Did they teach you that here?

[veilfires]

[He turns with muted surprise. He hadn’t realised they were being watched – but she’s not at all unwelcome. He smiles slowly in greeting. Then he tilts his head, shakes it, equivocal in his reply.]

If that was peace.

[More likely it was only the appearance of it, and whatever words he spoke would have produced the same reaction. These spirits are closer to wisps, he knows from having tried to communicate with them: they are not self-aware or sentient.

But her words were kind and gentle, and he hopes she’s right.]

I learned it over the course of my life: most of it has been spent in the company of spirits. [At home, it’s expertise. Here’s, it’s nothing more than guesswork.] I thought that the woman who lived here would want to be remembered.

iv. a nice egg in this trying time

[civicbooty]

Solas!

[ Aymeric's voice is low; he gives it only enough force to carry across the crushed ruins of a house between them. Francel follows behind him, where Aymeric has specifically asked him to stay — out of reach of his sword. Nothing unexpected has leapt out at them, but considering the dreams before this one, the caution is warranted.

He steps around rubble and smashed brick and blackened timbers, his face set, grave, but outwardly calm. ]

I hoped we might find you.

[ He skips over the question he might have otherwise asked: the general what do you make of this. ]

We are bound for the mirrors.

[haillenarte]

[francel says nothing. he lingers several paces behind aymeric, his eyes lowered, seemingly cold and indifferent to their surroundings.

his reticence, however, may be explained by his appearance. one difference characterizes him from his real self: in this dream, francel’s transformation seems complete. he has not taken a quadripedal form, but his wings seem fully developed, his fine white-blue feathers glossy with health. his scales gleam in the moonlight like little glaciers upon his skin, catching and refracting light like exceptionally clear diamonds.

someone like bull or varric might quip: kid, you’re sparkling.]

i - walks in late with starbucks

[halfheartedmagician]

[He doesn't like this dreamscape in the slightest, the smoke and ash in the air, the signs of lives lost to flame... it brings back sick memories again and his hands keep clenching with remembered pain. It's good then to see a familiar face in the still silence around them and Asra moves slowly towards Solas, stopping as he realises that the elven man is speaking with someone.

A spirit, he realises. He waits, listening and finding the words oddly soothing. He doesn't like any of what this means, but that some might not die in fear and alone... it helps to soothe his own low panic.]

That was kind of you. [He says quietly as the spirit fades and Solas falls silent.] I'm sure she appreciated it.

[veilfires]

[With calm surprise, Solas turns in place to face him. It’s not the first time he and Asra have met in the dark shadow the Cwyld casts over this world. That seems in itself a little sorrowful. He bows his head in greeting, and touches a hand to his chest in silent grateful acknowledgment of his words.]

Thank you.

But it's unlikely the sentiment reached her. [Her refers to what could be her ghost, or could be a spirit that sympathises closely with her - Solas himself does not differentiate.] Words go unheard by the spirits here.

[I hope that you’re right, though, goes gently unspoken. He expresses it in a sad smile, instead.]

Thancred Waters | ota

[wordsinthesoul]

1. The City - Streets to the Looking Glass House

[Thancred can't help but think- there must be some reason for this. Some answer…. Everything is familiar, after all. And yet- this happened. At the height of a festival- or something else…?

He stops, at several places along the way- trying to pick out a little of the oil, without getting too close.]

This is… left behind, presumably, but… from what?

[He tries to figure out a path for a time, before eventually his travels take him back towards the Looking-Glass House. He has a dagger, the better to try to get in- though he wouldn't exactly call it easy. And then there's the state of the mirrors within…]

Well. I'd hardly call this a good omen.

[That aside, though- he sets to trying to examine the mirrors, to work this out. Apparently it happens, but in this situation…]

What could have caused this? Naturally, there's been some sort of disturbance… I doubt it's unconnected, but could one thing have caused all this? Something- of a size? [Though the impacts seem relatively small.]

2. The Waste - Stairway

[The first step is probably a mistake, and the second definitely is- but by the time Thancred looks back, the stairway is already falling away.]

…ah. Well- let's put this down as another new experience this place has given us, hm?

[Still. He's clearly uncomfortable, shoulders beginning to hunch every so often, feathers puffing up before he forces himself to relax. A little hiss escapes him when he glances at the horizon- and the absent moons.]

It couldn't be. Could it? I highly doubt there's many who'd see two moons fall.

[And… some movement catches his eye. Some of the shadows below, and he crouches, to try and get a better view.]

…well. That's not good. I'd say- at least they're not voidsent, but I still don't like our chances of getting down from here. Do you have any ideas?

3. The Depths

[The water is a distinct departure from everything else above, and yet no less worrying. Thancred takes some time to adjust to the sensation of being in water, and not quite needing- and then dives. The better to see what's happened here- though he grimaces at the sight of the holes in the hull.]

That's a bleak way to go…. Would it have all happened at once…?

[He shakes his head.]

…little point in wondering. Let's see what we can find…

[For something that seems to have involved explosions, it's strange to see the ice, as he moves onwards, looking for clues, and trying to take a few things that might shed some light on matters. He knows of ice-aspected bombs- but that seems a dubious scenario. Part of him wonders, on the lookout-

On the way out, he spots it and freezes, holding his hand out. His immediate thought is Leviathan, but- that seems unlikely, in this world. If the Lord of the Whorl had been summoned- he's sure someone would have noticed. And on a closer look- it is certainly sea serpent-like, but only in its general nature.

Still.]

Let's try and avoiding raising its attention, shall we?

Haven- Closed to L and Yako

[hearthebell]

In short, nothing about this is comforting in the least. L doesn't sleep often enough to have put serious effort into mastering the art of lucid dreaming, so it's unusual for him to be so keenly aware during one; the only experience this even vaguely resembles is the dream of Faerieland he found himself inhabiting before stepping through the mirror proper.

He's been studying Divination to the point of exhaustion lately. Perhaps it's some kind of premonition, a vision of the future? But he learns quickly the arrogance of believing that it's unique to his talent, because others are here too, behaving wholly independently of what one mind could generate on its own. So he wanders, exploring and poking and killing time among the very depressing and very dilapidated structures that speak of a war soundly lost.

He's just left the ruins of the Barracks (his former dwelling place, nothing but rubble now) when he sees a blonde head that perhaps represents the first thing that wasn't outright defeated or hostile he's seen yet in this dream. Of course he heads toward it, nudging Yako's shoulders with his fingertips, feeling strange about shouting to catch anyone's attention in this necropolis.

[topslug]

The unexpected contact makes a nearly-visible ripple of shock go through Yako, and she has to fight hard not to let out a very undignified sound. She's not normally so easily spooked, but she's been tense since waking here, and it's only grown with every new detail she finds. Stiffly, she turns to see who's come up beside her, and her expression relaxes slightly when she recognizes who it is.

"... Hello, Mr. Tailor," her voices comes out steadier than she thought it would, though her smile is slightly strained. "I see you've ended up in this dream, too."

Who hasn't, honestly?