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

[bestdressed]

Dorian is already wading in water high enough to seep into his boots when there's a shrill sound behind him. He's far from immaculate himself, with dirt and soot-stained robes, mussed hair, and a mustache that's certainly seen perkier days. With his staff in hand, he looks very much the part of the apostate mage. He pauses to look over his shoulder, and thankfully identifies a familiar face quickly enough. Balthier has been an amusing enough sort to pass time with, distracting him more than once from his study of runes while minding the shop. This is a rather more grim meeting, though Dorian doesn't find it difficult to summon some humor for the occasion.

"I suppose that would depend upon your definition of evening." Does time have a meaning in this strange dreamscape? "Though it could be worse." He's experienced a dark future much like this before; the infection of red lyrium devouring all, the world desolate but for those infected, slowly dying, and the host of demons spilling through the irreparably torn Veil. In comparison this shifting ghost of a city is almost cheery. "I'm here, after all."

[misadventuring]

The suggestion that evening might be the wrong selection of greetings earns a vague shrug. Evening seems fair enough, but on the same page as to whether time really matters. All he cares about in particular right this moment is the fact that he’s not exploring by himself. Dorian, in past conversations, has seemed sharp enough. While it might not be of use, it’s a better chance than braving it alone.

“Likely means we’re not dead, at least.” He keeps his tone carefully irreverent to offset the outrageousness of his statement. “Usually a good sign, but we’ll see as we carry on.”

[bestdressed]

Despite the situation, a smile flickers over Dorian's lips. "Very optimistic," he says lightly. "But carrying on is the only thing for it, I think." He pauses to wait for Balthier to catch up, tacitly accepting his company. It's good to have anyone with him out here, but Balthier's particular offhand banter is nice to play along with.

"Have you seen very much of the city?" He wonders, glancing back the way they'd come--but it doesn't seem nearly so get back in as to get out.

[misadventuring]

There’s a moment where his lips to a flat line at the question, but then he’s animated once more as they seem to decide pair up for this unfortunate trek. It works out by his reckoning well enough, and he tells himself he’d never really doubted the outcome of his gambit.

“Entirely more than I needed to,” he admits easily enough. “Not a bit of it useful, mind. Seems to be playing at the whole cryptic premonition game.”

[bestdressed]

"As long as it isn't a literal prophetic dream." He would really appreciate not getting caught up in trying to prevent the end of the world again--but if it must be so, he supposes there's little he can do about it.

"I can't say I found anything of worth in the city either. It's a sad mess, and difficult to say what the catalyst was for all of this." With Balthier beside him, Dorian begins walking again, though progress is slow as the water slowly begins to rise. "If, truly," he continues despite his distaste, "any of this can translate to the waking world at all."

[misadventuring]

"Gladly would I take this as an unfortunate, passing scenario we've conjured somehow." Balthier notes rather dubiously. It all just feels too significant somehow to be a shared unreality. As it is, the walls that herd them ever onwards are certainly doing their part to make this feel particularly unreal.

He doesn't add any further quip as the water starts to lap at his thighs. They'll be waist deep and worse before much longer if it continues. What he does add is a mild, somewhat fussy complaint, "For a dream, need it have such verisimilitude, you think?"

He'd not signed up for the full flood condition experience. It's just unfair.

[bestdressed]

Dorian barks a humorless laugh, and formally writes off his dream-robes as thoroughly unsalvageable. "I wouldn't know," he admits. "I don't have much experience with dreaming as it's done here. Back home anyone who isn't a dwarf visits the Fade while asleep. Mages, such as myself, are particularly prone to lucid dreaming, even if they aren't dream-walkers. This is fairly typical. Though the subject matter is admittedly rather dismal."

He waves his free hand dismissively. "Fewer demons, more cosmic uncertainty. I suppose there's always a trade off."

[misadventuring]

The truly impressive part of it all is how Balthier can’t tell if Dorian’s suggesting it could be worse or not. Really, everything sounds quite terrible and he wants nothing of it.

“Why, you make me pine for my homeland. All I had to worry about was waking up to bounty hunters— or, as they might quite prefer, not waking up at all.” Still, for all his seeming flippancy, he’s got new reasons to be grateful to have caught up with Dorian. He might just have some insight of real use provided they don’t both drown or worse out here.

[bestdressed]

It could be worse, yes, but that doesn't mean that Dorian isn't still resenting his completely ruined boots. He's weighed down by the drag of his clothes as they become waterlogged, and every wading step is a slog. He draws to halt again suddenly, taking a moment to look ahead of them, and then back the way they'd come.

"Is there anything out here, do you imagine?" He asks suddenly. Not that he isn't interested in hearing about Balthier's bounty hunters. On the contrary, it's probably a worthwhile tale. But as he considers their options, and how high the water has risen, it would be ridiculous not to voice his concerns. "Or are we about to drown ourselves just to pass the time?"

[misadventuring]

Oh, damn.

The truth of it is that Balthier doesn’t want to have to get serious because the situation feels intractable. There’s no real hesitation in his answer, but he’s been rolling this calculation around in his head the entire time.

“Odds are good that we’ll drown on the way back,” he admits rather evenly. “But I don’t know what’s out there. Either way, we can’t afford indecision when we don’t know the margins we’re working with.”

[bestdressed]

"Cheery," he says, grim, smiling tightly. "It doesn't seem as though we'll be going back," Dorian comments with another look toward the city. The walls they've been passing through so easily are now an insurmountable barrier blocking any return. "So we've no choice but to test your theory."

The thought of dying in a dream is upsetting to most, Dorian would venture, but for Thedosian mages, a death in dreams may as well be one in reality. If they die in the Fade while asleep, they become Tranquil, losing their magic, their sense of self, and all connection to their emotions. Even if Dorian is certain that this isn't the Fade and dying here won't effect him, his stomach still churns anxiously at the idea.

But they've chosen a path, and as Balthier advises, the only way to determine the truth of this place is to finish what they've started. Dorian hooks his staff into the sling on his back, and wades on.

[misadventuring]

“Mad as it is, that’s where it seems we’re at.” He’s glad that he doesn’t have an argument on his hands. The last thing he would have wanted to have to do would have been to leave the other man to his own devices, but staying still would have been entirely unaffordable. “But I’ve no intention of dying easily.”

Offering a bold if somewhat strained smile to the other man, he continues on at Dorian’s side.