[The Dreamlands]
Wenomir almost says "thank you for your hospitality, but...". He bites his tongue at the last moment.
"Your hospitality is great, but our duty is greater still. We cannot postpone it," he replies.
The Dreamlands
Re: The Dreamlands
[The Dreamlands]
Were it that Adir came upon this bunch while traveling alone somewhere, he might just have been tempted to take them up on their offer. Knowing what he knows, being forewarned as he is, the stag sets his face in a bland and stable expression. An empathetic frown etches his features, still painted with that odd dark grease.
He thinks for at least a few seconds before he answers. The stag's never been the best at choosing his words, or even using them sparingly. He does his best to do so here.
"Miles to go before we sleep and all. We must pass by." The stag thinks he read that in a poem once.
Were it that Adir came upon this bunch while traveling alone somewhere, he might just have been tempted to take them up on their offer. Knowing what he knows, being forewarned as he is, the stag sets his face in a bland and stable expression. An empathetic frown etches his features, still painted with that odd dark grease.
He thinks for at least a few seconds before he answers. The stag's never been the best at choosing his words, or even using them sparingly. He does his best to do so here.
"Miles to go before we sleep and all. We must pass by." The stag thinks he read that in a poem once.
Re: The Dreamlands
[Fox Dreams]
To be a good fox.
Isn't that all anyone wants?
Well.
Probably not people who aren't foxes.
Or ARE foxes but like being bad.
So... actually this is probably a pretty narrowly tailored desire.
Anyway!
She grasps the moon. But it's full of mice! They're eating the moon and before long she'll fall back into the sea!
"I can help you get your story moving forward again. You owe me one, but I'll still ask. I'm polite like that," says the voice.
[The Way of Autumn]
There it is.
The third refusal.
There's a brief flash of emotion on the face of the satyr, a bestial rage that's difficult to put into words. But it's a mere flicker.
Then it's gone.
"What a sad state of affairs," the satyr laments. "I was SURE you were our friends bringing the wine. They must have been waylaid along the road. These times of transition are always difficult. You know how the summer is, the season of war. No doubt they were roughed up by a band of summer hooligans. If you find our fellows in your travels, would you be so kind as to send them back to us? We dearly miss their company."
Now that?
Is a little different.
Helping strangers during the journey through the Enchanted Forest is quite a bit different from telling strangers where you're going.
To be a good fox.
Isn't that all anyone wants?
Well.
Probably not people who aren't foxes.
Or ARE foxes but like being bad.
So... actually this is probably a pretty narrowly tailored desire.
Anyway!
She grasps the moon. But it's full of mice! They're eating the moon and before long she'll fall back into the sea!
"I can help you get your story moving forward again. You owe me one, but I'll still ask. I'm polite like that," says the voice.
[The Way of Autumn]
There it is.
The third refusal.
There's a brief flash of emotion on the face of the satyr, a bestial rage that's difficult to put into words. But it's a mere flicker.
Then it's gone.
"What a sad state of affairs," the satyr laments. "I was SURE you were our friends bringing the wine. They must have been waylaid along the road. These times of transition are always difficult. You know how the summer is, the season of war. No doubt they were roughed up by a band of summer hooligans. If you find our fellows in your travels, would you be so kind as to send them back to us? We dearly miss their company."
Now that?
Is a little different.
Helping strangers during the journey through the Enchanted Forest is quite a bit different from telling strangers where you're going.
-
bc56
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Re: The Dreamlands
Fox Dreams
Mice are fortunately edible. It's not hard for Jade to start snapping them up. But the voice offers more confusion. "What does that even mean?" That's not a no. And she can tell that the voice is telling the truth, she does owe her one. Presumably she's trustworthy? At minimum, she must have done Jade a favor to be owed a favor. "What do you have in mind?"
Mice are fortunately edible. It's not hard for Jade to start snapping them up. But the voice offers more confusion. "What does that even mean?" That's not a no. And she can tell that the voice is telling the truth, she does owe her one. Presumably she's trustworthy? At minimum, she must have done Jade a favor to be owed a favor. "What do you have in mind?"
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Re: The Dreamlands
[Fox Dreams]
Eating mice is a very foxy sort of activity.
No doubt Jade's fox peers would approve.
As she's gobbling up the mice more and more of them keep burrowing out of the cheesey moon! Is she going to be able to eat them all? There are just so many!
"What it means is that you've been stuck," the voice replies as the cheese begins melting around Jade's feet, leave her to sink into a muddy quagmire. "Sometimes stories hit a spell of bad pacing. It can happen to anyone, really. But the trick is to start DOING again. Autumn is fast approaching and autumn is a time of triumph and festivity before the cold and the dark set in. And I need someone to accomplish some triumph for me."
Eating mice is a very foxy sort of activity.
No doubt Jade's fox peers would approve.
As she's gobbling up the mice more and more of them keep burrowing out of the cheesey moon! Is she going to be able to eat them all? There are just so many!
"What it means is that you've been stuck," the voice replies as the cheese begins melting around Jade's feet, leave her to sink into a muddy quagmire. "Sometimes stories hit a spell of bad pacing. It can happen to anyone, really. But the trick is to start DOING again. Autumn is fast approaching and autumn is a time of triumph and festivity before the cold and the dark set in. And I need someone to accomplish some triumph for me."
-
bc56
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Re: The Dreamlands
Fox Dreams
"You're still not making any sense..." The autumn comment jogs the fox's memory. "Wait, Chestnut?" That's who the voice is! Jade snaps into lucidity, still waist-deep in the bog. "I suppose I can help you out, within reason." Jade remembers Chestnut, she's nice. But Jade also knows not to trust faeries, even nice ones. Especially nice ones. "You don't need to hide from me."
"You're still not making any sense..." The autumn comment jogs the fox's memory. "Wait, Chestnut?" That's who the voice is! Jade snaps into lucidity, still waist-deep in the bog. "I suppose I can help you out, within reason." Jade remembers Chestnut, she's nice. But Jade also knows not to trust faeries, even nice ones. Especially nice ones. "You don't need to hide from me."
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Re: The Dreamlands
[The Way of Autumn]
"We cannot promise anything." Wenomir continues to avoid saying anything that might signify a promise, guarantee or commitment. "We will see where our travels take us."
"We cannot promise anything." Wenomir continues to avoid saying anything that might signify a promise, guarantee or commitment. "We will see where our travels take us."
Re: The Dreamlands
[The Way of Autumn]
"But I do hope your friends return safe, one way or the other," Adir adds, inclining his head slightly. Unless either of his companions object, verbally or with another signal, he will then try to stride around and past the contingent of fey. He hopes he isn't supposed to wait for them to give their leave. It doesn't seem like the thing to do.
"But I do hope your friends return safe, one way or the other," Adir adds, inclining his head slightly. Unless either of his companions object, verbally or with another signal, he will then try to stride around and past the contingent of fey. He hopes he isn't supposed to wait for them to give their leave. It doesn't seem like the thing to do.
Re: The Dreamlands
[Fox Dreams]
Chestnut.
She Who Dances in the Autumn Mist.
"Yeah, me," replies the voice, still not revealing itself. "I'm not hiding; I'm all around. Your dream glade is in autumn and autumn is mine."
That is kind of maybe disturbing.
"I think what I need is pretty reasonable. Reasonable like piles of leaves."
Suddenly Jade the fox is right on top of a great big orange and red and yellow leaf pile.
"Leaf piles are great, aren't they? It takes so much work to create them. And then a moment of glee leaping into them and scattering them everywhere. All the best things take great effort to build, don't you think?" the voice asks. "But. Sometimes. There are slugs in the leaf pile. Slugs in your fur are yuck."
[The Way of Autumn]
Our heroes press on, the sounds of revelry rapidly drowning out to until it's devoured by the evening forest sounds. Strange hoots and calls. The wind in the branches. The groaning of limbs. Lapis hurries along with the older adventurers.
"You two both did good!" Lapis says, a wide smile on her face. "Sometimes it can be hard to say no but you've got to stay strong!"
She squares her shoulders and tries to look as strong as possible.
"But every step shapes the stories down here. Something'll happen because you refused, but it'll be better than getting stuck at a party. Faerie drink makes it hard to keep track of time. And accepting it means you owe them hospitality."
Does Adir really want a bunch of satyrs to show up at his house expecting free drinks? Probably not.
Before our heroes the path splits once again, three trails leading deeper into the woods.
A path leading toward a field full of pumpkins and scarecrows, strangely familiar to Adir. There's an odd scent of pumpkin pie and the wind feels pleasantly like the fire of a hearth.
A path of twisting vines and brambles and grasping branches, twig effigies dangling from the limbs smeared with crimson. The smell of blood and shit is overwhelming; the scent of death and violence.
A path winding through a vast patch of sunflowers and marigolds, vision obscured by the bountiful flowers. There's a smell of something... obscured. The scent of the flowers overwhelms it.
Chestnut.
She Who Dances in the Autumn Mist.
"Yeah, me," replies the voice, still not revealing itself. "I'm not hiding; I'm all around. Your dream glade is in autumn and autumn is mine."
That is kind of maybe disturbing.
"I think what I need is pretty reasonable. Reasonable like piles of leaves."
Suddenly Jade the fox is right on top of a great big orange and red and yellow leaf pile.
"Leaf piles are great, aren't they? It takes so much work to create them. And then a moment of glee leaping into them and scattering them everywhere. All the best things take great effort to build, don't you think?" the voice asks. "But. Sometimes. There are slugs in the leaf pile. Slugs in your fur are yuck."
[The Way of Autumn]
Our heroes press on, the sounds of revelry rapidly drowning out to until it's devoured by the evening forest sounds. Strange hoots and calls. The wind in the branches. The groaning of limbs. Lapis hurries along with the older adventurers.
"You two both did good!" Lapis says, a wide smile on her face. "Sometimes it can be hard to say no but you've got to stay strong!"
She squares her shoulders and tries to look as strong as possible.
"But every step shapes the stories down here. Something'll happen because you refused, but it'll be better than getting stuck at a party. Faerie drink makes it hard to keep track of time. And accepting it means you owe them hospitality."
Does Adir really want a bunch of satyrs to show up at his house expecting free drinks? Probably not.
Before our heroes the path splits once again, three trails leading deeper into the woods.
A path leading toward a field full of pumpkins and scarecrows, strangely familiar to Adir. There's an odd scent of pumpkin pie and the wind feels pleasantly like the fire of a hearth.
A path of twisting vines and brambles and grasping branches, twig effigies dangling from the limbs smeared with crimson. The smell of blood and shit is overwhelming; the scent of death and violence.
A path winding through a vast patch of sunflowers and marigolds, vision obscured by the bountiful flowers. There's a smell of something... obscured. The scent of the flowers overwhelms it.
-
bc56
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Re: The Dreamlands
Fox Dreams
Jade agrees, lead piles are fun and having slugs in your fur is yucky. But... "It's an awful lot of work for very little gain. Wouldn't that time be better spent building something that lasts?" She pauses. It's probably pointless to debate that with Chestnut right now. "Nevermind. I take it you want me to clean some metaphorical slugs out of your metaphorical leaf pile?"
Jade agrees, lead piles are fun and having slugs in your fur is yucky. But... "It's an awful lot of work for very little gain. Wouldn't that time be better spent building something that lasts?" She pauses. It's probably pointless to debate that with Chestnut right now. "Nevermind. I take it you want me to clean some metaphorical slugs out of your metaphorical leaf pile?"
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Re: The Dreamlands
[The Way of Autumn]
"So far, so good," Wenomir agrees. "I doubt it will continue to be as easy as firmly saying no. Like in a cautionary story for children." He stops before the fork in the road. "Another choice. Maybe we should take the most ominous path. There's something to be said for obvious danger."
"So far, so good," Wenomir agrees. "I doubt it will continue to be as easy as firmly saying no. Like in a cautionary story for children." He stops before the fork in the road. "Another choice. Maybe we should take the most ominous path. There's something to be said for obvious danger."
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
A dream is given form. It begins with a dragon, and it will end in terrible bloodshed. In the dream, Ambrosia drifts through starry darkness. It is all-encompassing, a tenebrous sea of black water and mist dotted with celestial bodies that radiate a warm white light. The light from the stars burns her eyes, the contrast stark against the eerie void all around her. After a time, the void splits above and a light crashes into the darkness! Thunder beckons! An unseen tide sweeps Ambrosia up, rushing her towards the light, as bright as the eyes of gods.
When she reaches that breach, Ambrosia's dream self slips through—and all at once, the fissure snaps shut, sealing the eternity of darkness behind her. Beyond the fissure is the bright, burning light. Ambrosia is incinerated. She becomes ash in a pyre that has burned for all of Creation, formless and divine. But then, a force collects her. Grain by grain, Ambrosia is restored. She can still feel the warmth of the bright light upon her face when she opens her eyes, made whole again. She is splayed out on her stomach, somewhere warm and stuffy.
Beneath her is a ratty red carpet. The thin fabric stretches down a hall that curves to the right, but it is scarcely visible beneath many piles of books lying open or closed. Some are weather-worn, and others seem unopened. The walls to either side of her are shelves that tower high overhead, stretching to a domed ceiling dominated by an enormous brass chandelier lit up by thirteen blue flames as large as bonfires. Though she is alone, Ambrosia might get the feeling that she's being watched. There are unseen eyes about her.
Furthermore, her flight is restricted. She can only walk, her every step echoing eerily.
Was this really a dream, or something more?
--
A dream is given form. It begins with a dragon, and it will end in terrible bloodshed. In the dream, Ambrosia drifts through starry darkness. It is all-encompassing, a tenebrous sea of black water and mist dotted with celestial bodies that radiate a warm white light. The light from the stars burns her eyes, the contrast stark against the eerie void all around her. After a time, the void splits above and a light crashes into the darkness! Thunder beckons! An unseen tide sweeps Ambrosia up, rushing her towards the light, as bright as the eyes of gods.
When she reaches that breach, Ambrosia's dream self slips through—and all at once, the fissure snaps shut, sealing the eternity of darkness behind her. Beyond the fissure is the bright, burning light. Ambrosia is incinerated. She becomes ash in a pyre that has burned for all of Creation, formless and divine. But then, a force collects her. Grain by grain, Ambrosia is restored. She can still feel the warmth of the bright light upon her face when she opens her eyes, made whole again. She is splayed out on her stomach, somewhere warm and stuffy.
Beneath her is a ratty red carpet. The thin fabric stretches down a hall that curves to the right, but it is scarcely visible beneath many piles of books lying open or closed. Some are weather-worn, and others seem unopened. The walls to either side of her are shelves that tower high overhead, stretching to a domed ceiling dominated by an enormous brass chandelier lit up by thirteen blue flames as large as bonfires. Though she is alone, Ambrosia might get the feeling that she's being watched. There are unseen eyes about her.
Furthermore, her flight is restricted. She can only walk, her every step echoing eerily.
Was this really a dream, or something more?
--
► SHOW SPOILER
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
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Shadowcaller
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
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Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
To Ambrosia the dreamself and the actual self were the same. Just that one was conscious while the other one was not. Since while she slept she also ate. In fact, one might argue that sleeping and eating were one and the same to her. How else could you regain energy if not by consumption? It was how all life was wired after all. Eat or be eaten and dragons were at the top of that chain.
So she could quite understand how humans and other animals could just regain energy by simply resting deeply.
Which was why she now found herself here or so she assumed. She must have hunted down something in her sleep and now found herself here in this place.
Since it couldn't be a dream as her dreams were all the same. Each one involved hunting and consuming. Flickers of insight in she was doing while unconscious though sometimes in different contexts. Even her nightmares were framed like that. But then what she ate was not something she would ever forgive herself for consuming.
This place was many things, most of them strange, but it wasn't that. She felt in control of herself and not controlled by her eternal hunger which actually granted her a sense of peace despite these surroundings.
Also, there were books here. She could feel it.
She spreads her wings yet as she is about to set out to find said books she find herself unable to lift. Something makes her growl in frustration. Black storm clouds raising from her nostrils as her long mane raises into the air by the static electricity her frustration was producing.
"Am I in the company of a peeping tom?" The dragon suddenly declares into this wast space which reminded her all too much of her father's library. But while the watching and pretty much everything else in her was so similar to him, he knew better than to make her frustrated. "If not, then reveal yourself now, watcher."
To Ambrosia the dreamself and the actual self were the same. Just that one was conscious while the other one was not. Since while she slept she also ate. In fact, one might argue that sleeping and eating were one and the same to her. How else could you regain energy if not by consumption? It was how all life was wired after all. Eat or be eaten and dragons were at the top of that chain.
So she could quite understand how humans and other animals could just regain energy by simply resting deeply.
Which was why she now found herself here or so she assumed. She must have hunted down something in her sleep and now found herself here in this place.
Since it couldn't be a dream as her dreams were all the same. Each one involved hunting and consuming. Flickers of insight in she was doing while unconscious though sometimes in different contexts. Even her nightmares were framed like that. But then what she ate was not something she would ever forgive herself for consuming.
This place was many things, most of them strange, but it wasn't that. She felt in control of herself and not controlled by her eternal hunger which actually granted her a sense of peace despite these surroundings.
Also, there were books here. She could feel it.
She spreads her wings yet as she is about to set out to find said books she find herself unable to lift. Something makes her growl in frustration. Black storm clouds raising from her nostrils as her long mane raises into the air by the static electricity her frustration was producing.
"Am I in the company of a peeping tom?" The dragon suddenly declares into this wast space which reminded her all too much of her father's library. But while the watching and pretty much everything else in her was so similar to him, he knew better than to make her frustrated. "If not, then reveal yourself now, watcher."
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Ambrosia's great, draconic maw opens, but as her words are bellowed out from her throat, the noise is nearly extinguished. Her raucous demands are reduced to whispered requests. One must mind one's volume in this library—that much is clearly enforced. Fortunately, it seems as though even the reclusive master of this place knows better than to frustrate a dragon, for after several seconds, a large section of the floor beneath Ambrosia starts to rise like a pillar. Silently, the dragon is carried high into the sky atop a rising spiral staircase.
Wherever she was, it seemed to stretch on forever. From her lofty position, Ambrosia takes in many miles of bookshelves, and many open halls, some as large as entire cities. When the spiral staircase finally comes to a stop, the dragon will find herself having ascended to the largest chamber yet. Here, bookshelves as large as hills are stacked into enormous interconnected towers upon which aqueducts are built. Scalding hot ink pours through the aqueducts, a steaming river that somehow pours upwards, higher into the Librarium's infinite floors.
At the far sides of the large chamber that she's found herself in, Ambrosia will spot two titanic arches of pale white stone marbled with sickly red strands. Over a dozen smaller arches of varying sizes rise here as well, and the polished wooden floor is almost entirely eclipsed by thousands of abandoned reading desks.
The desk closest to Ambrosia bears a small box.
Perhaps it is for her.
--
Ambrosia's great, draconic maw opens, but as her words are bellowed out from her throat, the noise is nearly extinguished. Her raucous demands are reduced to whispered requests. One must mind one's volume in this library—that much is clearly enforced. Fortunately, it seems as though even the reclusive master of this place knows better than to frustrate a dragon, for after several seconds, a large section of the floor beneath Ambrosia starts to rise like a pillar. Silently, the dragon is carried high into the sky atop a rising spiral staircase.
Wherever she was, it seemed to stretch on forever. From her lofty position, Ambrosia takes in many miles of bookshelves, and many open halls, some as large as entire cities. When the spiral staircase finally comes to a stop, the dragon will find herself having ascended to the largest chamber yet. Here, bookshelves as large as hills are stacked into enormous interconnected towers upon which aqueducts are built. Scalding hot ink pours through the aqueducts, a steaming river that somehow pours upwards, higher into the Librarium's infinite floors.
At the far sides of the large chamber that she's found herself in, Ambrosia will spot two titanic arches of pale white stone marbled with sickly red strands. Over a dozen smaller arches of varying sizes rise here as well, and the polished wooden floor is almost entirely eclipsed by thousands of abandoned reading desks.
The desk closest to Ambrosia bears a small box.
Perhaps it is for her.
--
► SHOW SPOILER
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
-
Shadowcaller
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
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- Location: Sweden
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Ambrosia would probably be more frustrated if not at least a part of her understood that enforcing an appropriate sound-level in a library to be necessary. She did it in her own library too, through by less intrusive means. It was her library after all so she should be able to roar all she wanted to even if she rarely did.
But this wasn't her library so fine. She would respect its rules if only its master revealed themselves to her.
All she needed was patience while she was slowly being carried through this place by pillars. Something she unfortunately didn't have in great amounts right now. She almost wished she was using her human shell as it would have been be easier to restrain herself if she hadn't constantly been feeling belittled by this place and who- or whatever controlled it.
It was impressive though she had to admit. Especially those river of... was that actually ink? And not just one but several cities worth of books. However impossible that might seem.
Well, that only made her want to soar over it even more. As to confirm it was real and not just illusions made to impress her. But here she was restrain by this transportation system made for landbound creatures. She had wings she was made to use them!
But finally it seems like the journey draws to a close with this impossibly large chamber. Absurd architecture that she had only seen in her father's realm should he be in the mood for such things. If she hadn't known better she might for a moment actually thought that she really was in a dream. "Well?" She inquires as she finds herself waiting for a reveal. Her voice not booming nearly as loud as she would have wanted it to. "Am I supposed to open your box now? For what purpose exactly? So you can lead me along this trail of yours? Since surely if you can do all this opening a box shouldn't be too hard for you if you actually wanted me to find it." She flexes her claws. "Since with all these books you should probably know that dragons don't have thumbs." A generalization of course, plenty of dragons had them and there were dozens of other ways she could open that box.
Yet she just didn't feel like being string along this path. If this person or being actually wanted her to find the box then they could open it themselves.
Ambrosia would probably be more frustrated if not at least a part of her understood that enforcing an appropriate sound-level in a library to be necessary. She did it in her own library too, through by less intrusive means. It was her library after all so she should be able to roar all she wanted to even if she rarely did.
But this wasn't her library so fine. She would respect its rules if only its master revealed themselves to her.
All she needed was patience while she was slowly being carried through this place by pillars. Something she unfortunately didn't have in great amounts right now. She almost wished she was using her human shell as it would have been be easier to restrain herself if she hadn't constantly been feeling belittled by this place and who- or whatever controlled it.
It was impressive though she had to admit. Especially those river of... was that actually ink? And not just one but several cities worth of books. However impossible that might seem.
Well, that only made her want to soar over it even more. As to confirm it was real and not just illusions made to impress her. But here she was restrain by this transportation system made for landbound creatures. She had wings she was made to use them!
But finally it seems like the journey draws to a close with this impossibly large chamber. Absurd architecture that she had only seen in her father's realm should he be in the mood for such things. If she hadn't known better she might for a moment actually thought that she really was in a dream. "Well?" She inquires as she finds herself waiting for a reveal. Her voice not booming nearly as loud as she would have wanted it to. "Am I supposed to open your box now? For what purpose exactly? So you can lead me along this trail of yours? Since surely if you can do all this opening a box shouldn't be too hard for you if you actually wanted me to find it." She flexes her claws. "Since with all these books you should probably know that dragons don't have thumbs." A generalization of course, plenty of dragons had them and there were dozens of other ways she could open that box.
Yet she just didn't feel like being string along this path. If this person or being actually wanted her to find the box then they could open it themselves.
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Ambrosia's protestations echo strangely in this grand hall of learning. It is as if the inflections and tone of her words are somehow changing as the echoes are bounced back by the walls of bookshelves, or by the great marbled arches. Once the dragon concludes her speech, the second largest arch begins to chime softly. It is located at the far end of the hall, before an enormous open window that is itself quartered by tall, thin pillars. Beyond the open window is a starry void. Though it beckons, the danger is clear.
With every chime, the second largest arch glows a little brighter. Meanwhile, the tall gift box sitting upon the learning desk nearest to Ambrosia starts to unravel. A little red ribbon unfurls, and the box itself splits apart to reveal a jar about as large as a cask of wine. Inside are a dozen small elephants swimming through oily black water. The miniature elephants are somehow able to breathe freely, and they appear well-fed. Almost fattened up, in fact. A small strip of parchment atop the jar reads in flowing text:
"A gift, given freely."
The chiming arch now radiates a blinding white light. It sings for Ambrosia.
The way is through, she's certain of it.
--
Ambrosia's protestations echo strangely in this grand hall of learning. It is as if the inflections and tone of her words are somehow changing as the echoes are bounced back by the walls of bookshelves, or by the great marbled arches. Once the dragon concludes her speech, the second largest arch begins to chime softly. It is located at the far end of the hall, before an enormous open window that is itself quartered by tall, thin pillars. Beyond the open window is a starry void. Though it beckons, the danger is clear.
With every chime, the second largest arch glows a little brighter. Meanwhile, the tall gift box sitting upon the learning desk nearest to Ambrosia starts to unravel. A little red ribbon unfurls, and the box itself splits apart to reveal a jar about as large as a cask of wine. Inside are a dozen small elephants swimming through oily black water. The miniature elephants are somehow able to breathe freely, and they appear well-fed. Almost fattened up, in fact. A small strip of parchment atop the jar reads in flowing text:
"A gift, given freely."
The chiming arch now radiates a blinding white light. It sings for Ambrosia.
The way is through, she's certain of it.
--
► SHOW SPOILER
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
-
Shadowcaller
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
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Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Ambrosia cautiously peers at the box which opens up before her.
Curious.
She couldn't say that its contents were more bizarre than her current surroundings. Still, odd enough to make her pause.
While offerings of food were... appropriate for a dragon. They were also their greatest weakness. A well-know fact, especially if you had this many books.
Then again, this being or person seemed to already be in complete control over this place so why bother with the poison? But it could also be like fey she had read about and you would have to accept its food for them to be given power over you...
She mulls this over for a few seconds but finally decides to trust her senses in this as she was pretty sure this wasn't a fey.
Also, she was hungry.
That argument could basically trump everything.
So after some hesitation she starts chomping down on the poor helpless elephants until all that remained of them were blood, skin and bone. She was a bit of a messy eater but it was hard to be anything but when you ate something this raw. After licking up some viscera and slurping up guts that had been left hanging, she finally starts to approach the arch that has so conveniently been lit up to her. Now let's see what this was all about...
Ambrosia cautiously peers at the box which opens up before her.
Curious.
She couldn't say that its contents were more bizarre than her current surroundings. Still, odd enough to make her pause.
While offerings of food were... appropriate for a dragon. They were also their greatest weakness. A well-know fact, especially if you had this many books.
Then again, this being or person seemed to already be in complete control over this place so why bother with the poison? But it could also be like fey she had read about and you would have to accept its food for them to be given power over you...
She mulls this over for a few seconds but finally decides to trust her senses in this as she was pretty sure this wasn't a fey.
Also, she was hungry.
That argument could basically trump everything.
So after some hesitation she starts chomping down on the poor helpless elephants until all that remained of them were blood, skin and bone. She was a bit of a messy eater but it was hard to be anything but when you ate something this raw. After licking up some viscera and slurping up guts that had been left hanging, she finally starts to approach the arch that has so conveniently been lit up to her. Now let's see what this was all about...
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
The miniature elephants are deceptively filling and steaming fresh, all the better for consuming raw. The messy sounds of the dragon's grinding teeth and slavering maw lend a sinister air to the grand hall of learning, long abandoned. Every scrap of flesh and bone discarded by Ambrosia sizzles and melts upon contact with the polished floor, somehow burning away without leaving behind as much as a foul stench. Once the dragon finishes her meal, a bead of warm white light forms in the center of the distant, glowing arch.
The walk to the arch is long and lonely. With every step, the bead of light at the arch's center thins and expands, forming a thin curtain of semi-solid light that stretches from the top of the arch all the way to the bottom. The curtain of light, easily as large as four ship's sails all stitched together, sways in a cold wind somehow blowing in from the starry void outside. Then, an invisible force fixes each of its corners to the arch. The process is as surreal as it is elegant, and when the magic concludes, the curtain of light has become a Gate.
Passing through the Gate feels cold and slimy, but once Ambrosia emerges out the other side, she'll find herself in a small chamber as hot as a furnace. Its walls are white marble, as is the floor, and it is utterly featureless, apart from an impressive, circular pool of steaming hot ink at its center. There are no doors and no windows. After a minute or so spent alone in the chamber, a voice appears to slither out from the pool. It is a wriggling thing this voice—not particularly feminine, nor masculine, but shamelessly seductive.
"Why don't you come a little closer, fellow scholar?"
The miniature elephants are deceptively filling and steaming fresh, all the better for consuming raw. The messy sounds of the dragon's grinding teeth and slavering maw lend a sinister air to the grand hall of learning, long abandoned. Every scrap of flesh and bone discarded by Ambrosia sizzles and melts upon contact with the polished floor, somehow burning away without leaving behind as much as a foul stench. Once the dragon finishes her meal, a bead of warm white light forms in the center of the distant, glowing arch.
The walk to the arch is long and lonely. With every step, the bead of light at the arch's center thins and expands, forming a thin curtain of semi-solid light that stretches from the top of the arch all the way to the bottom. The curtain of light, easily as large as four ship's sails all stitched together, sways in a cold wind somehow blowing in from the starry void outside. Then, an invisible force fixes each of its corners to the arch. The process is as surreal as it is elegant, and when the magic concludes, the curtain of light has become a Gate.
Passing through the Gate feels cold and slimy, but once Ambrosia emerges out the other side, she'll find herself in a small chamber as hot as a furnace. Its walls are white marble, as is the floor, and it is utterly featureless, apart from an impressive, circular pool of steaming hot ink at its center. There are no doors and no windows. After a minute or so spent alone in the chamber, a voice appears to slither out from the pool. It is a wriggling thing this voice—not particularly feminine, nor masculine, but shamelessly seductive.
"Why don't you come a little closer, fellow scholar?"
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
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Shadowcaller
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Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Unlike her spiritual appetite, which was infinite, her physical stomach could actually be satisfied just like any other animals and that had been more than enough to do the trick. Perhaps she wouldn't be so quick to anger now with that craving gone for now.
She licks her maw, taking a moment to clean that up at the very least. While the remains had melted with contact with the floor it didn't melt with contact with her. She could have conjured a rain cloud to clean herself off a bit but she had yet seen a reason to bother with such things.
Perhaps this strange gateway would clean her off anyway? It was certainly more than just a doorway that was for sure considering how cold it felt to pass through.
Then heat in a small chamber. If not for the ink-pool in the middle of the room she could have mistaken this for a place intended for relaxation. But perhaps it still was, just not for a dragon but for... whatever liked ink this much. The master of this place no doubt.
The dragon steps closer to it once she is sure that's where the voice seem to originate from. "Fellow scholar is it? I did get the sense that you are trying to impress me, ink-dweller. But that can't be the sole reason that I'm here is there?"
Unlike her spiritual appetite, which was infinite, her physical stomach could actually be satisfied just like any other animals and that had been more than enough to do the trick. Perhaps she wouldn't be so quick to anger now with that craving gone for now.
She licks her maw, taking a moment to clean that up at the very least. While the remains had melted with contact with the floor it didn't melt with contact with her. She could have conjured a rain cloud to clean herself off a bit but she had yet seen a reason to bother with such things.
Perhaps this strange gateway would clean her off anyway? It was certainly more than just a doorway that was for sure considering how cold it felt to pass through.
Then heat in a small chamber. If not for the ink-pool in the middle of the room she could have mistaken this for a place intended for relaxation. But perhaps it still was, just not for a dragon but for... whatever liked ink this much. The master of this place no doubt.
The dragon steps closer to it once she is sure that's where the voice seem to originate from. "Fellow scholar is it? I did get the sense that you are trying to impress me, ink-dweller. But that can't be the sole reason that I'm here is there?"
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
The scalding pool of ink bubbles and boils. Hot ink spills out onto the spotless white marble floor, just to evaporate on contact with the polished stone. Something roils inside the pool, something vast. Then, great horns pierce the filmy surface of the ink pool. No, not horns; fleshy, fin-like spikes, gray and smooth, like a shark's. The spiked growths curve down to meet a huge, diamond-shaped head filled with many rows of sharp teeth, curled upwards in a perpetual grin. There are no eyes, no lips. No nose, no ears. No obvious sensory organs at all.
Below the head is a broad gray neck corded with muscle. It transitions gracefully down to the creature's toned, featureless chest and wide, sloped shoulders. The creature's muscular abdomen curves inwards slightly and narrows, only to fill out again at the hip, forming a dramatic hourglass shape that might remind Ambrosia of a wasp. It looms there at the center of the scalding pool, submerged in molten ink from the hip down. The creature slowly throws its head back and gasps, taking a deep breath of the hot fumes given off by the steaming pool.
"I'll admit it," mewls the creature, its grin widening, "I've the spirit of a dramaturge in me."
What a curious thing to say, and entirely open to interpretation.
--
The scalding pool of ink bubbles and boils. Hot ink spills out onto the spotless white marble floor, just to evaporate on contact with the polished stone. Something roils inside the pool, something vast. Then, great horns pierce the filmy surface of the ink pool. No, not horns; fleshy, fin-like spikes, gray and smooth, like a shark's. The spiked growths curve down to meet a huge, diamond-shaped head filled with many rows of sharp teeth, curled upwards in a perpetual grin. There are no eyes, no lips. No nose, no ears. No obvious sensory organs at all.
Below the head is a broad gray neck corded with muscle. It transitions gracefully down to the creature's toned, featureless chest and wide, sloped shoulders. The creature's muscular abdomen curves inwards slightly and narrows, only to fill out again at the hip, forming a dramatic hourglass shape that might remind Ambrosia of a wasp. It looms there at the center of the scalding pool, submerged in molten ink from the hip down. The creature slowly throws its head back and gasps, taking a deep breath of the hot fumes given off by the steaming pool.
"I'll admit it," mewls the creature, its grin widening, "I've the spirit of a dramaturge in me."
What a curious thing to say, and entirely open to interpretation.
--
► SHOW SPOILER
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
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Shadowcaller
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
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- Location: Sweden
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
The dragon gives what she assumed now to be the master of this place a thoughtful look. That was an interesting way to present themself. Quite unlike fey who usually tried to present themselves as something mortals were at least familiar with. This she wasn't sure about as they reminded her more of a deep realm entity than anything else.
But they had put an effort into this so let's see where it would lead.
"They say that all dragons do as well. Since I can recognize someone trying to put on a display and as we're now talking it has worked well enough. So who are you exactly? I assume you already know my name as I'm here." But did they know her other names as well? She was curious which one they were going to use.
The dragon gives what she assumed now to be the master of this place a thoughtful look. That was an interesting way to present themself. Quite unlike fey who usually tried to present themselves as something mortals were at least familiar with. This she wasn't sure about as they reminded her more of a deep realm entity than anything else.
But they had put an effort into this so let's see where it would lead.
"They say that all dragons do as well. Since I can recognize someone trying to put on a display and as we're now talking it has worked well enough. So who are you exactly? I assume you already know my name as I'm here." But did they know her other names as well? She was curious which one they were going to use.
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Without shame, the creature in the scalding pool steps forward and out. Three slender, gray, crab-like limbs form its lower body, all sharp angles bent backward. Its spindly legs gradually narrow, becoming thin, curved needles. Though its thin abdomen is perched somewhat precariously upon these stalks, the creature moves with surprising grace, almost as though swimming through an ocean that is not there. "You are Ambrosia," it purrs, stepping elegantly past the dragon, "but to the proud Hyshunese you are known as Megeshi—"
It stops but does not turn to face its guest. "—And the flesh you have borrowed was once Iseul Sahn." At that, the dragon's host gestures elegantly. Ribbons of scalding hot ink surge from the pool at the center of the chamber to envelope the creature's lower half in a flowing liquid robe. "So it is true, what I have read of dragons. That they are obligate collectors of many things, even names." Now somewhat clothed, the creature turns to face Ambrosia. "I am but a humble Archivist. I was never worthy of a name, I'm afraid."
"Perhaps you, in your excess, might lend me one of yours?" The Archivist sucks air in through its teeth, producing an eerie chattering sound. It was a thinking sound, a sound of deep concentration. Suddenly, an illusory grimoire appears before the dragon. It is a marvelously gruesome thing, a masterwork of human leatherings. Carved into the grimoire's tanned hide are a thousand spiky glyphs. "This," admits the creature, its voice scarcely more than a whisper, "is why you are here, mighty dragon. It is a precious thing."
"Unique, in fact." The Archivist appears to clear its throat. "The grimoire is itself a terribly evil thing, and for that reason, it is nameless." With a twirl of a long, sharp finger, the creature wills the illusory grimoire open. "Upon the cover is inscribed a most unseemly Kyton torture-poem. Even I dare not translate it here." Bound inside the grimoire are many human leather pages upon which all manner of profane symbols have been painted. Vile rituals are also detailed within, as are sickening anatomical drawings.
"The sacred pain-rites of the Chain Devils are secreted away inside." The Archivist's voice lowers starkly. "Were I to be generous, I would describe their species as explorers by heart. You see, they believe in a kind of metamorphosis through self-mutilation." Somehow, the creature's toothy grin widens even further. "They feed on fear and pain. I have read certain accounts. One cannot fathom."
"This particular grimoire details the... "fleshwarping" process."
Without shame, the creature in the scalding pool steps forward and out. Three slender, gray, crab-like limbs form its lower body, all sharp angles bent backward. Its spindly legs gradually narrow, becoming thin, curved needles. Though its thin abdomen is perched somewhat precariously upon these stalks, the creature moves with surprising grace, almost as though swimming through an ocean that is not there. "You are Ambrosia," it purrs, stepping elegantly past the dragon, "but to the proud Hyshunese you are known as Megeshi—"
It stops but does not turn to face its guest. "—And the flesh you have borrowed was once Iseul Sahn." At that, the dragon's host gestures elegantly. Ribbons of scalding hot ink surge from the pool at the center of the chamber to envelope the creature's lower half in a flowing liquid robe. "So it is true, what I have read of dragons. That they are obligate collectors of many things, even names." Now somewhat clothed, the creature turns to face Ambrosia. "I am but a humble Archivist. I was never worthy of a name, I'm afraid."
"Perhaps you, in your excess, might lend me one of yours?" The Archivist sucks air in through its teeth, producing an eerie chattering sound. It was a thinking sound, a sound of deep concentration. Suddenly, an illusory grimoire appears before the dragon. It is a marvelously gruesome thing, a masterwork of human leatherings. Carved into the grimoire's tanned hide are a thousand spiky glyphs. "This," admits the creature, its voice scarcely more than a whisper, "is why you are here, mighty dragon. It is a precious thing."
"Unique, in fact." The Archivist appears to clear its throat. "The grimoire is itself a terribly evil thing, and for that reason, it is nameless." With a twirl of a long, sharp finger, the creature wills the illusory grimoire open. "Upon the cover is inscribed a most unseemly Kyton torture-poem. Even I dare not translate it here." Bound inside the grimoire are many human leather pages upon which all manner of profane symbols have been painted. Vile rituals are also detailed within, as are sickening anatomical drawings.
"The sacred pain-rites of the Chain Devils are secreted away inside." The Archivist's voice lowers starkly. "Were I to be generous, I would describe their species as explorers by heart. You see, they believe in a kind of metamorphosis through self-mutilation." Somehow, the creature's toothy grin widens even further. "They feed on fear and pain. I have read certain accounts. One cannot fathom."
"This particular grimoire details the... "fleshwarping" process."
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
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Shadowcaller
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
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Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
The dragon narrows her eyes at the sound of all her names being given to her as this creature got dressed. They had even known their context. Only her father and his closest allies could have known all this. Could her father have bantered away this information to them? Possible, perhaps this was his way of punishing her for straying from him?. Or perhaps it was one of the Ron's that gave her away for failing to be a good guard dog of their sanctum? Both real possibilities but she couldn't be sure just yet.
What she could be sure of was that this is being, this 'Archivist' as they had just named themselves, had now admitted to knowing too much.
Far too much.
This would normally be reason enough to eat someone but in this case that probably wouldn't do much. And knowing all this she couldn't see them taking the chance of getting themselves killed. It might just be a projection of confidence, an illusion of power, but it was well-crafted enough that she couldn't take the chance. So she continues listening without comment for now. Assuming his first question to be rhetorical. She certainly wouldn't grant him anything the way things were going.
But as she's shown the book there's a glint of recognition in her eyes as she's reminded of those tomes on vettir fleshshaping that she had yet to read. This seemed to be far more grim in content in the way the archivist described it however. Since the vettir certainly didn't feed on fear and pain- well, they technically did but usually they devoted themselves to more pleasant emotions. This sounded more like it belonged to the underworld. To the deep realms.
That grin of theirs certainly brought her thoughts to that awful place. He might just have belonged there with this focus on knowledge keeping.
"So you need me to fetch this thing for you? Not sure what I've done to earn me the privilege but I would like to know how you've learned those names. Consider that a condition if you like to keep my interest since I don't fetch other peoples property for them."
The dragon narrows her eyes at the sound of all her names being given to her as this creature got dressed. They had even known their context. Only her father and his closest allies could have known all this. Could her father have bantered away this information to them? Possible, perhaps this was his way of punishing her for straying from him?. Or perhaps it was one of the Ron's that gave her away for failing to be a good guard dog of their sanctum? Both real possibilities but she couldn't be sure just yet.
What she could be sure of was that this is being, this 'Archivist' as they had just named themselves, had now admitted to knowing too much.
Far too much.
This would normally be reason enough to eat someone but in this case that probably wouldn't do much. And knowing all this she couldn't see them taking the chance of getting themselves killed. It might just be a projection of confidence, an illusion of power, but it was well-crafted enough that she couldn't take the chance. So she continues listening without comment for now. Assuming his first question to be rhetorical. She certainly wouldn't grant him anything the way things were going.
But as she's shown the book there's a glint of recognition in her eyes as she's reminded of those tomes on vettir fleshshaping that she had yet to read. This seemed to be far more grim in content in the way the archivist described it however. Since the vettir certainly didn't feed on fear and pain- well, they technically did but usually they devoted themselves to more pleasant emotions. This sounded more like it belonged to the underworld. To the deep realms.
That grin of theirs certainly brought her thoughts to that awful place. He might just have belonged there with this focus on knowledge keeping.
"So you need me to fetch this thing for you? Not sure what I've done to earn me the privilege but I would like to know how you've learned those names. Consider that a condition if you like to keep my interest since I don't fetch other peoples property for them."
Re: The Dreamlands
[Fox Dreams]
There's the feeling of a fond smile.
A long suffering look of love toward one so innocent and naive.
"Oh, bless your heart. Nothing lasts. The world turns ever onward and we prepare for the next year of harvest. Your kind has become so insulated from the ways of the world, it's a wonder you haven't forgotten altogether."
A laugh drifts through the trees, carrying mist with it.
"Or the kind you were. I'm not sure if anyone knows what you are now."
A mystery fox.
"I have slugs in my leaf pile. Spooktober will begin soon and slimy things aim to ruin it. I want you to season them with salt, as it were. Purify them. And make sure they don't defile these, my high holy days."
A flash of insight ripples through the dream, of a plot to bring ruination to Spooktober.
"You've already been my agent in this before, though you were unaware of it. Complete this task for me, and I will consider your favor fulfilled."
There's the feeling of a fond smile.
A long suffering look of love toward one so innocent and naive.
"Oh, bless your heart. Nothing lasts. The world turns ever onward and we prepare for the next year of harvest. Your kind has become so insulated from the ways of the world, it's a wonder you haven't forgotten altogether."
A laugh drifts through the trees, carrying mist with it.
"Or the kind you were. I'm not sure if anyone knows what you are now."
A mystery fox.
"I have slugs in my leaf pile. Spooktober will begin soon and slimy things aim to ruin it. I want you to season them with salt, as it were. Purify them. And make sure they don't defile these, my high holy days."
A flash of insight ripples through the dream, of a plot to bring ruination to Spooktober.
"You've already been my agent in this before, though you were unaware of it. Complete this task for me, and I will consider your favor fulfilled."
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bc56
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
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Re: The Dreamlands
Fox Dreams
"Save Spooktober? That doesn't sound so bad," Jade likes Spooktober. It's her favorite holiday even. Maybe that's why she gets along so well with Chestnut. "Do you have any help for me besides that?" At minimum, she needs to know what she'd be stopping, and where it is. But any resources beyond that would be helpful.
"Save Spooktober? That doesn't sound so bad," Jade likes Spooktober. It's her favorite holiday even. Maybe that's why she gets along so well with Chestnut. "Do you have any help for me besides that?" At minimum, she needs to know what she'd be stopping, and where it is. But any resources beyond that would be helpful.
Avatar by me! No more outsourcing!
Re: The Dreamlands
[The Way of Autumn]
"Get a few kids of your own one day, you'll get pretty good at saying no when you need to," Adir says. He smiles at the child in the woman's body. "Anything is better than stuck. Motion is life. They teach you that at soldier-man school. And besides. I've got enough people at my house already."
Adir's nose curdles as they reach the forked path and he considers the most dangerous seeming path. What a stench. Perhaps it's the smells, perhaps the sense of that familiar something, but he feels himself drawn to the pumpkin patch. "...I'd prefer this way, I think," he says, gesturing down the path to the field. "Reminds me of... of..." He isn't sure what.
"Get a few kids of your own one day, you'll get pretty good at saying no when you need to," Adir says. He smiles at the child in the woman's body. "Anything is better than stuck. Motion is life. They teach you that at soldier-man school. And besides. I've got enough people at my house already."
Adir's nose curdles as they reach the forked path and he considers the most dangerous seeming path. What a stench. Perhaps it's the smells, perhaps the sense of that familiar something, but he feels himself drawn to the pumpkin patch. "...I'd prefer this way, I think," he says, gesturing down the path to the field. "Reminds me of... of..." He isn't sure what.
Re: The Dreamlands
[The Way of Autumn]
Calling Lapis a woman right now is a bit of a stretch. She looks maybe fifteen. Just old enough to be a protagonist in one of those stories where a young hero sets off to save the world that's written for kids. There is a pretty good chance that she got the idea from the book series that Cora loves so much. If the kids in that book are old enough to be heroes then that's old enough, right?
Always remember that Lapis' grasp of how things work is VERY narrow. She isn't that old and her experiences in the Nexus (mostly based on VIGIL) are the whole of her life.
"Sakura keeps making more people, though!" Lapis interjects, ever helpful. How could they have enough if more keep coming? Lapis has enough trouble remembering all of the kids already when MORE babies keep arriving.
Regardless...
Our heroes consider their options. There's that strange familiarity of the pumpkin patch. Like... it was something from a dream Adir had experienced before. A strange feeling. The more Adir looks the more the trees themselves in the foggy field look vaguely scarecrow-like. It's that strange dream blending of things, of realities running together like watercolor. Where a path ought to be there are dozens of pumpkins laying about, slowly melding into the path itself in a way that bends perspective. Perched atop a scarecrow is a crow with strangely luminous golden eyes.
Watching.
The path of blood and brambles and hanging effigies is, by contrast, far from inviting. A realm that looks like someone took every single crawling nightmare of a dark forest full of witches and profane rituals and distilled it into a physical place. Various shapes, some geometric and some vaguely anthropomorphic, dangle from the branches of trees like hanged men at the ends of thorny brambles. Even the trees themselves look like they've been woven from wicker, mere mockeries of living things. Here and there a burnt skull leers from between the vines.
Death and fear are thick, a gloom that can be felt.
[Fox Dreams]
Jade is going to be a bit disappointed, here.
"Of course I don't have anything else to share. This is a cryptic dream vision after all."
There comes a sensation of falling as impressions flash past. Grave dangers to little ones. Of fun mutated into terror and hate. Of plot once foiled bearing its venomous fangs once again. And... a building. A tall tower. Something about it is familiar. Where has Jade seen that before?
Then she'll awaken in her own bed.
Calling Lapis a woman right now is a bit of a stretch. She looks maybe fifteen. Just old enough to be a protagonist in one of those stories where a young hero sets off to save the world that's written for kids. There is a pretty good chance that she got the idea from the book series that Cora loves so much. If the kids in that book are old enough to be heroes then that's old enough, right?
Always remember that Lapis' grasp of how things work is VERY narrow. She isn't that old and her experiences in the Nexus (mostly based on VIGIL) are the whole of her life.
"Sakura keeps making more people, though!" Lapis interjects, ever helpful. How could they have enough if more keep coming? Lapis has enough trouble remembering all of the kids already when MORE babies keep arriving.
Regardless...
Our heroes consider their options. There's that strange familiarity of the pumpkin patch. Like... it was something from a dream Adir had experienced before. A strange feeling. The more Adir looks the more the trees themselves in the foggy field look vaguely scarecrow-like. It's that strange dream blending of things, of realities running together like watercolor. Where a path ought to be there are dozens of pumpkins laying about, slowly melding into the path itself in a way that bends perspective. Perched atop a scarecrow is a crow with strangely luminous golden eyes.
Watching.
The path of blood and brambles and hanging effigies is, by contrast, far from inviting. A realm that looks like someone took every single crawling nightmare of a dark forest full of witches and profane rituals and distilled it into a physical place. Various shapes, some geometric and some vaguely anthropomorphic, dangle from the branches of trees like hanged men at the ends of thorny brambles. Even the trees themselves look like they've been woven from wicker, mere mockeries of living things. Here and there a burnt skull leers from between the vines.
Death and fear are thick, a gloom that can be felt.
[Fox Dreams]
Jade is going to be a bit disappointed, here.
"Of course I don't have anything else to share. This is a cryptic dream vision after all."
There comes a sensation of falling as impressions flash past. Grave dangers to little ones. Of fun mutated into terror and hate. Of plot once foiled bearing its venomous fangs once again. And... a building. A tall tower. Something about it is familiar. Where has Jade seen that before?
Then she'll awaken in her own bed.
Re: The Dreamlands
[The Way of Autumn]
"This might be what it wants you to think," Wenomir suggests grimly. "Lure you in. But then, it might be no path is better than the other and being indecisive and paranoid won't get us far. So let's go that way."
"This might be what it wants you to think," Wenomir suggests grimly. "Lure you in. But then, it might be no path is better than the other and being indecisive and paranoid won't get us far. So let's go that way."
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
"What happens to a secret when it is told?" The Archivist inquires. Black ink dribbles out from its toothy maw as it speaks, dribbling like blood onto its sharp chin. "Does it die?" The creature's twisted grin widens further, and its long pale tongue suddenly swoops down to lick the ink from its chin. Its maw produces an unsettling hissing sound as it cleans itself. "Of course not. Were it so, what secrets would be left at all?" Its voice lowers in volume, down to a slithering whisper. "No, mighty dragon! Secrets do not die—but they are never told in true confidence."
With a graceful, fluid motion, the Archivist dispels the bathing chamber. "There exists a kind of catalogue." The pair will suddenly find themselves in a stuffy ocular laboratory. The walls are tall shelves, but there are no books here. Rather, a great strip of parchment winds through all, here. "A living, breathing account of all secrets ever told." The strip of parchment, like an endless ribbon, is mounted from the roof, and from the walls, by hanging chains and rods. At the center of the chamber is a huge, chair-like device. It is something in between metal and flesh.
Black veins writhe like worms along the machine's bulk. Protruding from the machine is a vast fleshy rod, at the farthest point of which are many vast scopes, all intricately aligned along its crown. The Archivist glides beside the device and presses a pale, four-fingered hand upon it. "Look and see. It is all around you!" A lever is pulled and the great ribbons of parchment mounted around the chamber start to move. A section of parchment is lowered from the ceiling and secured before the scope. "But the Scroll, it does not part from its wisdom so easily."
"It must be eased. It must be coaxed. Come, and touch." The Archivist reaches for the strip of parchment secured before the chair-like device and beckons for Ambrosia to approach. "Feel how cold the parchment is upon your skin. The multiverse was once cold like this." Its horrible smile widens again. This time, its pale tongue slithers like an eel between two of its larger teeth. "Just like this, in fact." Once Ambrosia steps closer to the parchment, she'll notice many flowing lines of ever-changing numbers, letters, and icons, all of varying shapes and sizes.
The confusing scramble of text is like no language the dragon will have ever seen. "Closer, closer, mighty dragon. I will show you how the work is done!" Without pause, the Archivist nimbly clambers inside its machine. Hunkering down into the chair, it peers through the scope and translates in an almost bored tone, as if perusing the newspaper, "How can I be forgiven, or redeemed?" The Archivist's voice has changed—it now sounds like a little girl. "I helped my father kill people. I was bait, luring them into a trap. They were good people, probably."
"They came when a child cried." The Archivist pauses, but not for long. "And in return they got abducted and murdered. He slit them open, right across the belly." Another pause, more thoughtful this time. The Archivist was savoring the flavor. "And I sat and watched as they screamed as he reached under the ribcage to pull out their heart." The creature appears to take a deep breath. Its voice trails off, and when it speaks again, the Archivist's natural voice returns. "A rather grim example, I'm afraid, but one cannot choose what the scroll will show."
"Over many lifetimes, though... I have seen a great many things, and I have read a great many names."
"Ambrosia. Megeshi. Iseul Sahn. Yes, even Cheasadh."
"Now dragon, you know a secret of mine."
"What happens to a secret when it is told?" The Archivist inquires. Black ink dribbles out from its toothy maw as it speaks, dribbling like blood onto its sharp chin. "Does it die?" The creature's twisted grin widens further, and its long pale tongue suddenly swoops down to lick the ink from its chin. Its maw produces an unsettling hissing sound as it cleans itself. "Of course not. Were it so, what secrets would be left at all?" Its voice lowers in volume, down to a slithering whisper. "No, mighty dragon! Secrets do not die—but they are never told in true confidence."
With a graceful, fluid motion, the Archivist dispels the bathing chamber. "There exists a kind of catalogue." The pair will suddenly find themselves in a stuffy ocular laboratory. The walls are tall shelves, but there are no books here. Rather, a great strip of parchment winds through all, here. "A living, breathing account of all secrets ever told." The strip of parchment, like an endless ribbon, is mounted from the roof, and from the walls, by hanging chains and rods. At the center of the chamber is a huge, chair-like device. It is something in between metal and flesh.
Black veins writhe like worms along the machine's bulk. Protruding from the machine is a vast fleshy rod, at the farthest point of which are many vast scopes, all intricately aligned along its crown. The Archivist glides beside the device and presses a pale, four-fingered hand upon it. "Look and see. It is all around you!" A lever is pulled and the great ribbons of parchment mounted around the chamber start to move. A section of parchment is lowered from the ceiling and secured before the scope. "But the Scroll, it does not part from its wisdom so easily."
"It must be eased. It must be coaxed. Come, and touch." The Archivist reaches for the strip of parchment secured before the chair-like device and beckons for Ambrosia to approach. "Feel how cold the parchment is upon your skin. The multiverse was once cold like this." Its horrible smile widens again. This time, its pale tongue slithers like an eel between two of its larger teeth. "Just like this, in fact." Once Ambrosia steps closer to the parchment, she'll notice many flowing lines of ever-changing numbers, letters, and icons, all of varying shapes and sizes.
The confusing scramble of text is like no language the dragon will have ever seen. "Closer, closer, mighty dragon. I will show you how the work is done!" Without pause, the Archivist nimbly clambers inside its machine. Hunkering down into the chair, it peers through the scope and translates in an almost bored tone, as if perusing the newspaper, "How can I be forgiven, or redeemed?" The Archivist's voice has changed—it now sounds like a little girl. "I helped my father kill people. I was bait, luring them into a trap. They were good people, probably."
"They came when a child cried." The Archivist pauses, but not for long. "And in return they got abducted and murdered. He slit them open, right across the belly." Another pause, more thoughtful this time. The Archivist was savoring the flavor. "And I sat and watched as they screamed as he reached under the ribcage to pull out their heart." The creature appears to take a deep breath. Its voice trails off, and when it speaks again, the Archivist's natural voice returns. "A rather grim example, I'm afraid, but one cannot choose what the scroll will show."
"Over many lifetimes, though... I have seen a great many things, and I have read a great many names."
"Ambrosia. Megeshi. Iseul Sahn. Yes, even Cheasadh."
"Now dragon, you know a secret of mine."
"What is blood for, if not for shedding?"
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Shadowcaller
- Poster from Beyond the Veil
- Posts: 2856
- Joined: Aug 02, 2022 6:29 am
- Location: Sweden
Re: The Dreamlands
Archivist's Librarium
Ambrosia narrows her eyes as the Archivist got closer and closer to describe what little she knew about the deep realm. But there was one detail that stood out. One that made her think this was something similar but not the same.
She follows along if cautiously. Not sure how much she trusted this scroll of secrets. If it held them all, then what were even all these books for? Were the scroll the sum of all their contained knowledge or were they just other writings gathered by a being with an obsession for them?
Since surely if it held all the secrets told then it must also hold this book the Archivist was after which made her think it could be the former.
"I'm afraid my 'skin' isn't very sensitive to such things." She remarks in the middle of their scroll-spiel while wandering across the parchment. "Since you must know that's why I choose to often wear armor while I wear human-skin. Their touch receptors are sometimes too much for me. I'll take your word for it though." See? Now she had told them plenty about herself too.
Not that she could make much sense of the scrolls secrets. A jumbled mess of words and symbols appearing and disappearing without any pattern. It made her realize something however. If the Archivist hadn't specifically looked for her secrets, had they just come them by on accident?
She wasn't sure which one of those alternatives that concerned her more but there had to have been a reason to why they choose to invite her. It had to be their shared interests, right?
Her train of thoughts are suddenly interrupted when the Archivists voice suddenly changes to... something else.
At first she thought it might have picked one the voice of someone she might recognize but the more words she heard the more she was sure that it wasn't. Just a terrible secret of a stranger confessing to a god perhaps?
Since again she was reminded of that detail that had stood out to her...
"You said secrets told earlier." She empathizes once they're finished. "So only those that have been ever spoken or recorded somewhere?" She inquires, she had many more questions but right now this one seemed the most important. "Since if so, shouldn't that book you wish to lay claim to be somewhere in there?" She couldn't help if this being had even heard about the deep realms. But perhaps it would be unwise to mention them. Those were secrets meant to be buried.
Ambrosia narrows her eyes as the Archivist got closer and closer to describe what little she knew about the deep realm. But there was one detail that stood out. One that made her think this was something similar but not the same.
She follows along if cautiously. Not sure how much she trusted this scroll of secrets. If it held them all, then what were even all these books for? Were the scroll the sum of all their contained knowledge or were they just other writings gathered by a being with an obsession for them?
Since surely if it held all the secrets told then it must also hold this book the Archivist was after which made her think it could be the former.
"I'm afraid my 'skin' isn't very sensitive to such things." She remarks in the middle of their scroll-spiel while wandering across the parchment. "Since you must know that's why I choose to often wear armor while I wear human-skin. Their touch receptors are sometimes too much for me. I'll take your word for it though." See? Now she had told them plenty about herself too.
Not that she could make much sense of the scrolls secrets. A jumbled mess of words and symbols appearing and disappearing without any pattern. It made her realize something however. If the Archivist hadn't specifically looked for her secrets, had they just come them by on accident?
She wasn't sure which one of those alternatives that concerned her more but there had to have been a reason to why they choose to invite her. It had to be their shared interests, right?
Her train of thoughts are suddenly interrupted when the Archivists voice suddenly changes to... something else.
At first she thought it might have picked one the voice of someone she might recognize but the more words she heard the more she was sure that it wasn't. Just a terrible secret of a stranger confessing to a god perhaps?
Since again she was reminded of that detail that had stood out to her...
"You said secrets told earlier." She empathizes once they're finished. "So only those that have been ever spoken or recorded somewhere?" She inquires, she had many more questions but right now this one seemed the most important. "Since if so, shouldn't that book you wish to lay claim to be somewhere in there?" She couldn't help if this being had even heard about the deep realms. But perhaps it would be unwise to mention them. Those were secrets meant to be buried.