OPEN: The Nightmare's Domain

[visus]

WHO: Everybody present for the effort to draw out the Nightmare.
WHAT: Oh no.
WHEN: 28-30 Bloomingtide
WHERE: THE FADE as it exists, approximately, in an incomprehensible nongeographical way, alongside the Western Approach.
NOTES: You can only participate in this plot if you signed up in advance. (Not really, this is a joke.) For driveby GM taunting or to have the debris of personal nightmares appear in the Fade sign up here. Check here for notes on crystal functionality, which will not be normal. (GIF source.)

The plan is simple enough, on paper.

Lord Livius Erimond, locked in Skyhold's dungeon since his capture, finally cracks when he learns that the Grey Wardens have moved on and no one is coming to negotiate for his release. There's no mind-control driving the sacrifices, he says, only fear. Corypheus has an arrangement with a demon to amplify it and extend the reach of the song that's driving the Wardens to desperation. Handle it, and maybe they'll see that they're being manipulated.

In practice, it's a little fuzzier. Some guesswork. Some optimism. Approximating the demon's location takes time and effort from the Fade-fluent. There's a rift nearby, but it's small, nondescript. Making it bigger, drawing attention and drawing the demon out onto solid ground where it can be fought, calls for every anchor shard on hand, mages and Templars to assist, archers and swordsmen at the ready. The Herald did it before, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It's feasible. Just wiggle your fingers, and--

--and the sky opens up wide, then wider, too wide, green light flooding out like water finally cresting over a bank, and the ground beneath your feet turns from sand to stone. In some places it becomes vertical. In others it stops existing at all. The rift sprawls and spiders out with almost sentient aim, encompassing everyone it can reach. It takes two seconds, maybe three.

Then it closes.

I. THE NIGHTMARE

The good news is: the Inquisition pinpointed the Nightmare's location correctly. The bad news is: the Inquisition pinpointed the Nightmare's location correctly.

So if you find a second to to wonder where you are, there are two possible answers. The first is the raw Fade, where few have trod since the ancient magisters entered the Golden City and began the Blight. The City is Black now and it hangs in the distance, always on the horizon, always visible, but never within reach. The light is sickly green and seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, creating shadows from any and all directions. What direction is up and what direction is sideways is open for debate anyway. The ground--if it can be called that when it is only sometimes below you--is dark and rough, all crags and cliffs and spires. It's wet, too, with puddles and stagnant streams wound through the rock.

The second possible answer to the question of where, and the one that might warrant even more attention than the first, is right on top of a damn demon.

The Nightmare is massive, as large as a small fort. It has a dozen legs and at least twice as many eyes; a warm, civilly sinister voice that knows your deepest and darkest fears; and a seemingly endless supply of minions. Terror demons spring out of the ground around you with creaking screams. Fearlings take the shape of your simpler phobias: here a spider, there a snake, or roaring flames, a lyrium-encrusted Templar. Fighting through the flood of demons and bringing down the Nightmare will take every sword, every staff, and several hours. Pick a leg.

And when it's over--when the Nightmare is dead and only straggling Fearlings and occasional Terrors present an immediate threat--try to figure out what's next.

II. SEARCHING

Attempts to tear a new hole in the Veil from the inside will produce no results. But those sensitive to the Fade may be able to feel something--not quite like a draft guiding you out of a cave, but there's no closer analogy in the common tongue. A faint whiff of reality, somewhere in the distance, straight away from the distant Black City. There's no sunrise or sunset, and an hour can feel like a day or feel like a minute, but time is passing, and the walk is long by any measure.

While it's in your best interest to stay with the rest of the Inquisition's forces, this region of the Fade is a twisty, treacherous thing that seems to actively conspire to separate and mislead its visitors. More Fearlings slither out of crevices to menace anyone who lingers alone or tries to sleep. There's a marshy expanse that does its best to trap feet, and a field of memorial stones with the names of visitors etched into their surfaces, each with a cause of death marked below. Everywhere you step the ground is littered with evidence of terrible dreams, worked into the landscape like they were there first and it has grown up around them. There are skeletons in the stone, rock formations that twist into the shape of gallows, lost toys underfoot, an entire home tucked down a winding path, achingly empty.

III. ESCAPE

The Nightmare is dead, but its absence creates new reasons to fear. It begins slowly, things crumbling: the edge of a stair giving way unexpectedly, a towering hunk of rock a ways off collapsing upward into the open air and reforming there. The path rearranges as it's walked and takes wanderers in different directions, leaving them to fight their ways back to the main group. It was the concentration of fear and willpower embodied in the Nightmare that held this domain of the Fade intact, and without it, there's a power vacuum to fill. The spirits drawn here are drawn by lingering fear, and warped by it.

The forms they take may not be those you're familiar with from outside the Fade--less deformed, more malleable, more insidious, the things you most or least want to see. Those who long for safety may find a gentle Desire demon willing to offer it. Those whose fears stem from insecurities may hear the whispers of lurking Envy, mimicking their voices from its hiding place, cautiously testing for a foothold. If fear only pisses you off, be prepared to face your Rage. And if you refuse to be afraid--if you have this under control, if you know you'll be all right--a smiling embodiment of Pride may appear to praise your prowess and ask you to put those skills to other uses.

Whatever form your demons take, they are distractions from the larger issue: this part of the Fade is collapsing, unstable, and not meant for creatures like you to survive in. As important as it is to face your fears, it may in the end be more important to run from them. Regroup, keep moving, take head counts. There's a rift ahead, small enough to slip through one at a time, out into the desert, with its bright sun and relatively solid ground--and however long it feels like you've been walking, days or weeks, Adamant Fortress is visible across the sand.

Comments

Ellana | fighting the Nightmare | open

[serannas]

[ ooc: This is a thread for whoever wants a combat scene with Ellana as she fights the Nightmare/Fearlings/Terror demons. At one point, she's going to be very badly hurt and require Sam and Kallian to save her. I'd like to keep all the action to just this one thread, so feel free to jump in whenever, and your character doesn't have to stay around Ellana the whole time! There's no tag order, just tag whenever you'd like! I'd say the thread can wrap with the Nightmare being killed and us all moving on to searching for an escape. ]

There are no words to describe the physical Fade, and there isn't enough time to sit and try to think a few up, because they've been dropped right at the Nightmare's doorstep. Ellana hadn't known what to expect when she first heard they would be fighting it, but she couldn't have ever come up with this! Towering above them, the demon looks like an impossible foe to match, but then she thinks of Felix, Alistair, Bethany, Velanna; all of the Wardens hurting because of it and she tries to shift her fear aside, twirling her staff in the air and casting her first spell against it.

[kallian_endris]

Kallian has never carried a staff in all her life, and was perhaps as unlikely a warrior as ever there was one. She thought she knew demons, but to see the Nightmare looming over everything, to hear it whispering its poisonous words in her ears...

At first, she quails, the fear threatening to overwhelm her, but then... She knows Hope is near. This is the Beyond, after all. All of her power stems from this place. She does her best to focus, to let the Fade bring as much raw power to her as she can muster. Demons don't have bodies like people do, so to use her usual tools of attack is difficult, but the little healer elf is doing all she can to let loose on the beast, becoming something of a tiny terror herself.

Obi Kenobi | Open

[obi_wanmanshow]

Nightmare.
It is what anyone could call, a slog. The air is fetid, tart with sweat and fear and the acidic, corrosive smell that seems to emanate from the Fade itself. Obi-Wan is a flash of blue between lesser horrors, cutting them down, moving out from under strikes in the barest time-- there is blood on his sleeve, bright crimson against the sand-colored fabric.

There is no pain, there is peace. He does not feel the pain.
There is no chaos, there is harmony. He will not give fear it's foothold-- but it is a struggle.
There is no...

"I need cover here!" And he does; knows that the arc of star-hot plasma in his blade will cut through anything, with a little time. And the Nightmare's nearest massive, hairy leg is no blast door or starship hull; it is the chitinous crystallization of dread, and therefore much more easily broken than durasteel and plascrete.

Of course that is when the skittering fearlings would rise up on two feet, and take the form not of spiders, exactly, but very like to spiders, strange robotic little insects that coughe blood and charged with aggression. This just got that much more complicated.


II.
It is his first instinct, his first thought that if the rifts tear the veil, and the shards may close rifts, then surely what can be closed may be opened again. The strain was there, a familiar pull, but muted, blunted away, and the effect negligent. He shook out his hand, then winced as the motion pulled at his injury, and sighed.

"Right," He said, turning to the nearest warm body, "Any ideas?"


III.
Poetically, one could call it a Landscape of Fear. That was appropriate, after all; it was Fear's domain, for who knows how long. And now, with that force of life gone, the effects linger, for a little while yet. Only for a little while; the power here was a vacuum, closing in to fill the gaps left by the Nightmare-demon's passing.

And the demons, eager for new ground, and such new and vulnerable prey, picked apart to the heart of him, the place that held that terrible darkness that twice now he had come so close to surrendering to. And twice, now, had pulled back.

Grief flows into despair.

Justice-- no, vengeance.

Rage.

Rage!

The Fearlings rose up as the grimacing, black-robed forms of the Sith. Their blades were red, double-edged, and their eyes a mad, blazing orange. Obi-Wan spat a low, desperate curse and raised his blade in defense. This could be very, very bad.

Nightmare

[sunshinethroughgrey]

The first thing that Obi-wan will see, is a bright green veil, dropping down on top of him like an opaque blanket of protection. T

The second thing, will be a rain of fire, dropping down on his insect looking creatures. Bright balls of flame dropping from the sky, seemingly, covering the area and the creatures.

From behind him, Bethany called out, "Go! I have your back!"

Bruce Banner (OTA)

[amygdalae]

I. NIGHTMARE CALLING
[Bruce isn't supposed to be here. That much is obvious from the panicked expression on his face, the fear that's clearly written there as he scrambles back and feels too overwhelmed to be able to stand, at least at first. Next to him, the dracolisk that had been sticking with him during his time in the Approach wickers loudly.

He isn't supposed to be here. He had been around, yes, in order to handle the injured and attempt to bring them out from the area of battle. But then the rift had cracked, expanding outward, getting big, bigger, too big--

And now he's here. And its definitely Not Good.

He has no idea what is the giant ass thing so close to them but its clearly something that is bad news. Bruce can only watch at first as it looms over them, countless other things beginning to skitter over towards them. There's so many shapes and figures and he can't make out all of them but the ones he can see bring a chill up his spine.

Bruce forces himself to move as the battle begins and even as it heats up, darting around to get out of the way and to try and help anybody who's injured. There's nothing he can do specifically in the heat of battle itself, but at least he can try to get the injured to safety.

At some point much later in the battle one can instead see Bruce actively joining the battle as well, a staff he had managed to acquire in his hands as he fires off fire-based spells to fend off approaching enemies. It's certainly quite the sight, especially considering the fact that he had never publicly shown any signs in the past at all about being a mage.]


II. LOOKING FOR A WAY
[The Fade is a terrible place to be in.

He already knew that before, of course, but this just cemented it for him if it hadn't previously.

Even with the Nightmare now gone there's still danger everywhere, from the remnants of what it once was to... wherever they were at right now. Everything is a mess and if Bruce can recognize anything from the mess of items and things that litter their surroundings, he makes no mention of it at all. The dracolisk looks unnerved as well, sticking close to Bruce as they travel with the rest of the Inquisition that was stuck here with them.

Underneath his skin he can feel the demon inside of him shifting restlessly, trying to push against the bonds to return to its own home. It's not a great feeling, and its a struggle to simply keep himself under control. The Nightmare had already shaken him up and this was just making it worse, and the fact that he had burned through so much of his mana was another issue.

For the most part he trails behind the main body of the group, dracolisk providing him support as he attempts to keep up with them. The exhaustion is clear on his features, his body still recovering from the burn of extended constant mana and magic usage. After all, its been a while since he had to do something like this.]


III. GETTING OUT OF THIS SHITHOLE
[It's hard to say if its a blessing or a curse that the demons ignore him for the most part. Probably because they recognize him as one of their own. Here and there he sees a Pride or Desire demon or two smirking at him, but they seem content on not disturbing him. Even as demons, nobody wants to invoke the wrath of Rage.

Bruce keeps himself focused on the task at hand, doing his best to help anybody who requires it. He's riding the dracolisk this time, somehow having found some sort of partnership with it, and with it he's much faster, galloping around to try and pick up any stragglers at the back as well as the injured and ferrying them over to where the exit is. It's a dangerous gamble he's doing, but Bruce can't just leave them behind either.]

[bookish_lioness]

[While Hermione has seen all sorts of odd things even before arriving in Thedas, the Fade isn't like anything she's ever experienced. While she'd never had a problem with her concentration, she finds it hard to focus on the task at hand. Distractions, after all, are everywhere.

She resolves to turn away from the tombstones, finding more familiar names among them than she'd like to think about. When she does that, though, she catches sight of some sort of four-legged creature trailing alongside a man who has clearly been worn down by everything that's happened. A scream begins to build in her throat, but she lets it die away upon realizing that he doesn't seem to be in danger, and in fact seems to have some sort of familiarity with the creature.

When the pair pass her by, she allows herself to be distracted by the animal and falls into step besides them, since it seems to be the least threatening thing in the current vicinity. She wants to ask after it, but this hardly seems like the sort of place for small talk.]

Sorry, but were you injured? You're looking a little haggard.

[Not that the same couldn't be said for everyone else here, but it's worth noting and keeps her from talking about the animal she's warily eyeing.]

Bethany || Searching ||| Escape

[sunshinethroughgrey]

II

Now that the Nightmare was dead, Bethany realized something that was absolutely pleasurable.

The false Calling had finally ... stopped. No more song, no more whispers in her brain. She didn't have to spend half of her time humming something else to get the damned music that wasn't really there out of her brain. Therefore, it allowed her to focus better in the Fade itself.

So when she felt the pull of reality, she called out to the others. "I think I've found something!"

III

Of course it couldn't be easy - why would it ever be easy? Surrounded by ... hurlocks, of course it would have to be hurlocks. Oh, yes, and flesh creatures that looked like her mother. She gritted her teeth, lifted her staff, and began to blast her way towards that faint glimmer of light in the distance.

"We're almost out!" She called out behind her, "Keep pushing ahead!"

Her staff swirled in the air, and slammed down into the ground, pulling a number of hurlocks and her mother's corpses down with it. Good to know Force Magic still worked this well in the Fade.

III

[serannas]

Ellana trails behind Bethany, using her staff as a walking stick while her left arm is pressed against her bloodied side. She hobbles a few steps and stops, face screwed up in pain. She wants to do something to help, but she's so weak that it's hard to muster the energy. Hearing that they're almost out is good, because it feels like they've been wandering for weeks. And seeing Bethany pulling down all those Fearlings gives her a rush of relief. She doesn't know what she'd do if Bethany was overwhelmed. Probably try to cast a spell and black out in pain.

"Good. That's good. Can you see it?"

Cade | AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

[onlyhymns]

Regardless of the situation, Cade is unarmed, completely bewildered, superstitiously terrified because Isn't This A Mage Thing, and even more of a wreck than usual. When he isn't busy resembling a frightened prey animal, caught between the urge to flee and the paralysis of knowing how futile it would be, he's trying to avoid anything too crazy or horrifying, which, as it turns out, is impossible.

Periodically he will stop to press himself against a wall with his fingers knotted in his hair, eyes squeezed closed and trying to unsee everything. He doesn't directly seek out anyone for help, since, despite his state, he's perfectly aware of his reputation around Skyhold and how well that would probably turn out.
The only thing that keeps him going, staying close to the others, is his deep-down conviction that no one will come back for him if he should fall behind. If they even notice he's missing in the first place.

[wickedchase]

"Cade."

For all of the vocal bitching Twisted Fate has had about the affair of things, he sounds calm when he addresses Cade, his eyes glancing over him. There's a pause, then he gestures with his head.

"Let's stick together, hm? We'll get out of this."

Katniss | Open

[the_effect_she_has]

Nightmare

"I. Hate. The FADE!" Katniss snarls out, and those will be some of the few words she speaks, as she lifts up her bow and takes aim at the Nightmare, aiming for its open maw. She sinks one arrow in, and then prepares a volley of shots for the ... oh great, corpses that were coming at her.

This was definitely living up to the tales of 'a story of Nightmares', because this was absolutely a nightmare up close, and in person. She loosed another shot, and then another, spinning and shooting again, to clear the area around her so she could focus her shots on the giant creature.

Escaping

Rage demons. They had to be rage demons.

Katniss backed away three steps, notiching an arrow as she eyed the demons warily. She hadn't realized she had this much anger banked up -- maybe everyone was right, and she needed to find a way to release all the rage. She gritted her teeth once more, taking another step back.

Then she called out over her shoulder, "Could use a little help over here! Before I become roasted for their pleasure!"

Escaping

[gatheringstorm]

While Korrin's not the most skilled at Winter spells -she only knows two-, seeing Katniss beset by the demons also drawn to her prompts the Vashoth mage to join her. Safety in numbers, right? Blurring forward, she comes to a halt mere paces away from Katniss, whirling her staff and freezing one of the demons in place. "What I wouldn't give for an ice-based staff right now!"

[fleurdesel]

I

During

There isn't time to adjust or to question- there isn't time to fear. One moment she's on sand and waiting for the rift to split open. The next the green of the Fade, something she's only ever experienced in dreams in this depth of detail, is underfoot and all encompassing. It is only through the comforting thrum of Compassion's presence that grounds Adelaide. Fear skitters down her spine (figuratively) and across the blackened ground (literally) in snakes and spiders and the lurching, shrieking figure in Templar armor, dented and overgrown and wrong. That resonant, unctuous voice coils in patronizing parody of her mentor's reprimands, of their lessons, of Unger's cold disdain.

Frozen for a moment, but only just. Fear and panic slip under something far more productive, something more comforting for how she might use it. Anger. How dare this creature try to twist her memories in such a way. She has fought through a desert, has endured pride demons for the majority of her adult life, has worked and bled and studied for too long to be so easily shaken. There is too much left to be done. They are not going to fall back in terror at these shadows, quail under this voice, and let an insect of a demon crush them. Fury burns cold and bright around her hands, around Compassion as they tether themselves to her to offer that much more mana while she casts. All that tightly wound control she's used in the past is precise and vicious- needle like shards of ice erupting from the ground to impale fearlings and shades at a gesture, pulling up walls high to ferry them away from other startled or stunned fellows.

There is no moderation in them this time. Only carefully crafted barriers and volleys of ice, the beginnings of a blizzard roiling in Adelaide's hands, green tinged air thick with fog. Something with that many joints, something that large has a weak point. Hands and breath frosted over, she bends her will to seeking them out, blow by blow.


After

When it's done, when it's downed and dead and they are sure of it- she's as aching and drained as the rest, frost still mingling with dust and scuffs of blood on her hands and in her hair, not too terribly injured. All the better for her to turn her attention to any that were laid low in the battle. Ice flakes off as she walks, Compassion a glowing blue beacon, guiding her to those that are bruised and broken so they might make them well again. Whomever needs them has the same greeting. Adelaide takes a knee, gives them a once over, and asks in a rough, exhausted voice: "On a scale of 'I've stubbed my toe' to 'there's a beartrap lodged in my taint', how much pain are you experiencing?"


II

Stick together. Common enough sense but increasingly difficult with everyone seeking a way out, the very ground twisting between one step and the next, and none of them safe enough to truly sleep. The repercussions of being possessed here while they are like this, present in flesh and blood as well as spirit, is not something Adelaide is eager to contemplate. There are the usual echos she finds- scorched books, the smell of burning flesh and ozone, a step that feels like disturbingly familiar marble tile. But there are no white halls here. No shade of Robert to taunt her, no. Only the dull scrape of templar armor when the fearlings come crawling out of the shadows, only the odd stillness that comes at those stones, names she knows, names she doesn't, and all that might see them dead carved beneath.

Her own is somewhat anticlimactic.

Aᴅᴇʟᴀɪᴅᴇ LᴇBʟᴀɴᴄ: Pᴏssᴇssɪᴏɴ

"Typical." Whether she's the one that murmurs that, or Compassion, or the ragged echo of Unger's voice behind her- she can't say.


III

Every sound and song she's learned to tell her spirit from demon, trap from sanctuary is worth slightly less here. On the other side of the veil it's soft enough to tell the nuances apart- but here? It is all so achingly loud Adelaide feels it vibrating through her very bones. As such the familiar, discordant rumbling of Pride is almost soothing in it's softness- though that might be the angle. Beyond, the rift. Between, the demon.

Oh how tired she has become of these demons.

"How well you've done." He says. "How much you must know- how much you could teach."

She slows to a stop to stare up (for they are always terribly large, are pride demons. "...I literally do not have the time for this bullshit."

"But you could. You could if you knew how to twist time. The Tevinters did so-" And so on, and so on, and so it went. Unfortunately this is...the first time it's said something that is even remotely tempting in the past few months.

I. /KICKS DOWN THE DOOR

[amygdalae]

[Bruce has been out of the battle for the most part, simply running around to try and bring the injured to safety however he can, dracolisk trailing behind him. The demons all seemed to be mostly focused on the attackers which is more than okay for Bruce, because the last thing they need are casualties in here--

But of course, nothing is that simple.

Some of the... things seemed to have taken an interest in him and are now chasing after him, leaving Bruce to try and run from them. He's fast but they're faster, and they're clearly gaining speed on him even though they're doing nothing but lumbering forward. They're all Templars, so many of them and all after him, just like before, just like in the past--

He hears his words echoing at the back of his mind, but Bruce does well to ignore them and focus on trying to put distance between him and them. He's outrun them before and he can do it again.]

Twisted Fate - OTA

[wickedchase]

II.

"I take it all back. This is infinitely worse than the Mire or the Western Approach."

Being in the Fade physically is an accomplishment that Twisted Fate had not ever thought of nor desired. In a way, it's a bit fascinating, but no more than he would equate to watching a village burn down: mildly interesting and a bit horrifying, really.

As he marches through the Fade, he stops when his boot steps into a puddle of Fade whatever, and he lets out a noise that is not the most manly.

"UGH!" Fate throws his hands up in the air. "Great, and how does it even have a smell? Is this what regret smells like? Who knows if that's even going to wash out! My socks are going to be Fade-infested forever, I'm sure!"

In due time, he does eventually find the memorial stones. It stops his tirade, but only for a brief moment as he gazes over the writing, his name included.

Tobrevas Frandruil
Destiny found him
with an arrow to the heart

"Yes, yes, terrifying, digging under my skin. It'd have been more frightening if it said perished because he couldn't afford new clothes, because I'm going to need a new set after this nonsense." Twisted Fate scoffs. "First person to find a way out gets drinks from me, that is a promise."


III.

Whoever is graced with traveling with Twisted Fate has undoubtedly received more than an earful about how miserable, disgusting, and abhorrent this whole affair has been, and despite having stepped in a puddle more than once, he's still attempting to do his best to avoid them like a pretentious feline.

"Lad, it's been far too long," he hears a voice purr.

Fate turns, lifting a brow at the demon before him. It may not be immediately apparent, but it is indeed a Desire demon, voice sugar sweet and charming, like a gentleman.

"Whatever you've got to offer, the answer is a no," Twisted Fate says flatly.

"It's been ten years, Tobrevas. Ten long years of damaged trust from your betrayal." Despite the words, the demon sounds sympathetic. "Keeping a friend is no easy task. Why, I'd be willing to help mend affairs. You know the bonds you've made in the Inquisition are fragile. Trusting a conman, truly trusting? We both know that isn't going to last, boy."

Fate sighs and gestures wildly at the demon. "Anyone else want to deal with him? Unless you're offering a new pair of boots."

"...Really."

"Serious as the Blight," Twisted Fate says with a sneer. "My feet squish with every step."

III

[the_effect_she_has]

Fate gets a reply to that, and that reply is an arrow sinking into the Desire demon's eyeball. Or at least where the eyeball should be. She's not really sure as this is the Fade and she might have just shot it in the balls.

Which honestly, she would be fine with as well.

"If you arseholes don't shut the fuck up, I am going to turn you all into demonic pincushions." She stated flatly, as she notched another arrow. For her own discomfort, she was clearly singed to the Maker's balls and back. Rage demons would do that to you, until you killed them.

Galadriel | OTA

[laurenande]

Rending the veil, forcing the rift wider had been harder than she'd thought possible. She had grown accustomed to reaching through, catching the raw edges of the veil on her shard, and drawing it in around the rifts--the veil had done the majority of the work, every time, but this, this was different. It had pooled in Skyhold, when she pressed against it, but now it rushed through, flooded around them like water breaking apart a dam. The barrier, or perhaps the Fade itself, crushed with weight and force she could not identify--truly, there were no comparisons in the tongues of men or elves that held up against it.

When it had finally opened, it was jarring, because the veil had not given. The rift had yawned, engulfed them, and closed in their wake, swallowing the gathered forces whole. It had been disorienting and there had been a bitter tang of fear on the air. Her vision swam but, as it cleared, she felt more herself than she had in months.

1.

The creature that stretched before them was sizable, but not truly terrible, only startling. It was neither the greatest nor the most dreadful beast she had ever beheld, but to suddenly be faced with it, to be torn from the desert and thrust into this place and sudden battle, was jarring. Galadriel moved back as warriors dove past her toward the Nightmare and regained her breath; she had only a moment and, oddly, that was all that she required.

How she had recovered so quickly was a distinct curiosity; she had been hobbled in Thedas and now...now she felt whole again. She spared another moment to glance at her hands and, to her shock, found that they were alight. Gone was the dim glow she exuded in Thedas, this was brighter, stronger, and entirely her own. She marveled, briefly, but had already wasted far too much time simply standing about.

One of the Nightmare's legs, a great segmented thing, wide as any tree and heavily armored, swung toward her, toward the mages and archers at her back, and she was forced to attention. The limb arced down and Galadriel up her hands. Her power embraced her and, before the Nightmare's leg fell, she raised a raised a wide barrier above them. The dome came into being as the Nightmare struck it, shining white and solid as stone, and its blow was deflected. The beast staggered and Galadriel wasted no more time.

"Fire through while it holds, it shall not hinder your attacks!"

2.

To be in Thedas was to be apart from herself; it was a numbing experience and she felt as though her limbs were distant, hollow things. Moving her power, drawing at the rest of herself, allowed her to sense the veil with uncanny accuracy...but she had no particular connection to the Fade. This place was strange and, had she not regained her fëa, it might've proved nauseating. As it was, Galadriel could only stare into the hazy distance, at the absent horizon, and try to understand the space around her.

In Thedas, as in Arda, the world moved with currents, life and power were swept forward inexorably by the flow of time. Here? It was different. The Fade was not a river that rushed through her, nor an ocean with slow and shifting tides; it was a pond, still and bottomless, unmoving and dark beneath the glassy surface. Time did not flow here, it trickled, starting and stopping at random. There was nothing that drew her forward or back, nothing to guide her, and Galadriel was...utterly lost.

When she began walking, following the vague directions of a more attuned mage, she was easily parted from the group. Had a cadre of fearlings not descended, there was no telling how far or how long she might've wandered before she noticed. Fortunately, as she took stock of the battlefield, she found that she was not entirely alone in this place.

3.
(Pick a demon/spirit and get a custom terrible starter. Pride? Desire? Despair? Rage? Other???)

2, shortly before fearlings fear shit up

[wickedchase]

Although Galadriel follows for the most part, he's taken a silent note to himself that she's ... well, it seems she's distracted. It didn't occur to him immediately to inquire what being in the Fade would be like for her. What is it like for any rifter, especially someone like her? He wonders, truly.

But for now, Galadriel almost becomes departed from the group.

Almost.

Fate approaches and inclines with his head. "Perhaps it's not best we stray too far from one another here, madame." He pauses, then asks, "How are you doing here? I mean, truly. You don't appear to be quite yourself as I've known you." Which is not deeply, but he considers himself incredibly observant.

JIM KIRK

[universal_charm]

THE NIGHTMARE - Feel free to join in at any point
<sub>[ Kirk had found demons only once before, when he'd first arrived in that clearing with Thranduil, Legolas, and a few others. He was better prepared now, albeit with a staff and a knife, but even so he's taken damage, bleeding from points, but not down, striking where he can, try not to let himself get lost in the things being hissed at him by the massive, bulbous creature that had no business being a part of any reality.

You shall lead them to their doom. They will look to you at the last, their trust betrayed, and there will be nothing you can do to save them.

Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered.

All your prayers to your silver goddess fall on deaf ears, your name forever lost in shadow.

He seems to be doing fine, keeping in control, calling for help now and then as he wades through. Except there is that one moment, one, where a Fearling takes a shape - humanoid, sharply defined, with a smile to cute flesh and bone. ]</sub>

KHAAAAAAAAN!

_{[ A bellow of rage, and he's lunging, headless of whomever or whatever is in his way... ]}

SEARCHING
<sub>[ Kirk moves slowly, beaten and worn, more in soul than in body. He doesn't quite move like a shuffling zombie, but it is a near thing, the hateful words spinning in his head.

A flash of color wakes him up form his daze and he stops, staring at a spot in particular on the path they are walking. On the ground are littered uniforms in three bright colors - red, blue, and yellow. Torn and bloodied. And just beyond, a little further, cracked and twisted almost beyond recognition, a kind of chair, once pristine and white, now smeared with smoke and blood.

His staff hits the path with a hard crack as he kneels, trying to get his breath back. Or not vomit. Probably both. Either way, it's not good. ]</sub>

ESCAPE
_{[ Well, that was certainly a jump. Kirk eyed the chasm like space (or what seemed it anyways, he was getting the idea that trusting things here as they looked as a bad idea) - because of course getting out of this place wasn't going to be so easy. It never could be, could it? He licked his lips and looked back to whomever might be close, sheathing his staff across his back. ]}

Looks like we'll have to jump. Don't worry, I've done this before.

_{[ Which means it should totally work the same this time. Right? Right. ]}

-----

_{[ The demon seemingly came from nowhere - earth or sky, did it matter? It stood as a man, wearing a familiar yellow shirt for those who had seen Kirk wear it before. His face was twisted into a sneer of abject disappointment, bordering on disgust, shaking his head at Kirk. ]}

Remind me again why I picked your sorry ass up off the floor of that bar.

Searching

[laurenande]

[Were he not walking in front of her, Galadriel would have lost sight of James Kirk. He shuffled, body weary from battle and the weight of terror, head bowed before him, and for a time, she only has the presence of mind to watch. When he finally freezes, steps locked as he peers ahead and at the fabric littered across the dim, muddy ground, she slows to watch.

His knees fail him and there is a long moment before Galadriel returns to herself and thinks to move. She comes alongside him silent and slow, and bends until she can rest a gentle hand against his shoulder.

She doesn't know what these things mean, nor why they distress him, but she knows well the power of touch. Such glancing, fleeting contacts have pulled her back from despair; it is all she can think to do for him.]

Christine | open

[aceso]

{ I: the nightmare }

When Christine lands in the Fade, she's not alone. Oh, in the real world, it might look like she's alone, but right across the Veil is the presence of a spirit who assists Christine with healing. And now Christine is the one across the Veil. Standing behind Christine's right shoulder is a glowing figure, distinctly a person, but their features switch between masculine and feminine, and their body fades in and out in places, as if you could walk right through them. Their voice is a medium-ranged tone, and the accent halfway between Orlesian and Fereldan. The longer they observe others in the Fade, the more distinct its shape becomes, until it settles on a woman in mage robes.

You should not be here.

Christine whirls around, eyes wide. "Faith! I am in the Fade!"

Yes. And so are they. So is the Nightmare.

Now she sees the reason they've come, and the color drains from her face. "Maker's breath," she whispers, before slowing taking her staff from her back, preparing to fight.

{ II: searching }

Christine and the spirit of Faith wander like everyone else, the latter trying to assist them in escaping. The Fade is the spirit's home, and they will not be leaving with the rest. Anyone who isn't put off by the spirit is welcome to join them and will find Faith trying to put minds at ease.

Believe you will find the way out, and you shall.

Meanwhile, Christine stoops to pick up a child's toy and shakes her head.

"Did spirits create this?" she asks. "From something they observed in our world?"

searching

[rebelenchanter]

The Fade is a confounding labyrinth and a frustrating place when it wants to be, this ordeal was no different, but it was not Fiona's first experience either. Finding Christine here was...well it was not an experience that she would wish on anyone to be honest, but she was glad to find her in one piece.

She wasn't put out by spirits, but she did approach with caution, not wanting to disturb their conversation, but she thought it would be best if her presence was, at the very least, known.

Kallian Endris | OTA

[kallian_endris]

I. Nightmare

Kallian has never carried a staff in all her life, and was perhaps as unlikely a warrior as ever there was one. She thought she knew demons, but to see the Nightmare looming over everything, to hear it whispering its poisonous words in her ears...

It feels like screams are everywhere, a few of them are her own.

"Shut up! Stop your lies!" She's crying.

At first, she quails, whimpering, the fear threatening to overwhelm her, but then... She knows Hope is near. This is the Beyond, after all. All of her power stems from this place. She does her best to focus, to let the Fade bring as much raw power to her as she can muster. Demons don't have bodies like people do, so to use her usual tools of attack is difficult, but she tries anyway.

With Hope at her side, Kallian becomes a creature of light, trying to fight the darkness, and though she is stronger than most would have expected from the small, timid elf, it's clearly still a losing battle.


II. Searching

What a strange place it is in the Fade. Kallian is ankle-deep in stagnant water, and finds herself shivering from damp and fear. She is a mage, a spirit healer, and she is more luminous here by virtue of it. To spirits, she is a beacon, and it is not long before one finds her, taking on the shape of a female mage. Kallian recognizes her with both relief and wariness.

"Hope, you're here," she says.

"I can guide you," the spirit offers, "Together, we can find a way."


III. Escape

Home. Kallian just wants to go home. She wants nothing more to do with this corner of the Fade. Her friends have been hurt. She is tired. But she is sure she can hear a voice, calling her, offering her respite.

...she cannot tell if it is Hope, or... someone else...

III

[sunshinethroughgrey]

"Kallian."

Bethany calls out to her -- the girl is still so new to all of this and she should not wander off, even for a few steps. Maker only knew what was calling out to her, here.

"Kallian ... sweetheart, we have to keep moving. We're almost there." She coaxed the girl, uneasy at her silence.

Kain Highwind | OTA

[dragoon_pride]

I.

The Nightmare is repulsive and horrifying, truly living up to its name, but Kain is determined not to give in. There's no place for fear on the battlefield. So he jumps, soaring into the air and coming down for a strike against the demon. This could take a while, even with all of them fighting.

Backstabber.

The voice catches him by surprise and he freezes as it carries on.

What's stopping you from falling to your darkness again? From turning on the Inquisition? Nothing. You are a puppet, a pawn, a mindless tool. Any sense of control you feel has been only an illusion...

To make matters worse, the minions are making it so that he feels like the walls are closing in on him, giving him the sense that the space around him is far tighter than it is. Kain drops to his knees, fighting against that inner darkness...

II.

It's all the same to Kain, who has no magical senses. Just endless walking across terrain that reminds him too much of that foul mire. Ugh. He pauses though, when something catches his eye... A grave stone of sorts, with his own name on it. A chill rushes down his spine. Kain Highwind. Executed for treason, he died a traitor's death.

Once again, he falters, only able to stare at the awful words in front of him.

III.

They're getting closer, or so he hopes. Unfortunately, the demons take the form of none other than Cecil and Rosa. The two of them appear happy as they embrace, laughing to each other. All the while, Rosa keeps fondly praising Cecil, telling him how much stronger and better he is than Kain... Looks like an envy demon is here to have its fun. Clenching his lance tightly, Kain tries to snap out of it. This can't be real, it can't... Yet it's bothering him more deeply than any hideous monster form ever could.

II.

[gatheringstorm]

"Fun, isn't it?" The clearly sarcastic tone comes from Korrin, who reaches his side. She crosses her arms, shaking her head at the inscription on the tombstone, a sharp frown on her lips. "That's what the Fade does, of course. It lies to you, distorts the truth. Don't fall for this crap."

Isabela | OTA

[easternseaqueen]

I.

Oh. Oh, fuck no. Taking out demons was one thing. Isabela has done it before, with gusto, even. But this... No, no, this is way beyond anything she'd agreed to.

She is never going to trust a spider ever again.

"Of all the arcane horrors, you are definitely the worst. And I can't let you live."

Blades drawn, though, Isabela charges in.


II.

Oh, what fresh hell is this that she's found herself in? Wanting to be around water again, sure, but this was not what Isabela had in mind.

"Shit, Isabela. Always getting yourself into the thick of things. And not a damned piece of treasure in sight," she grumbles to herself. May as well see what she can find, at least...


III.

Ugh, is well-deserved respite too much to ask? Plush admiral's quarters, good food and drink, luxurious treasures, and maybe a pretty someone or two in her bed?

Isabela doesn't think so. And when she hears the dulcet sounds of someone offering just that... well, who is she to say no?

I

[sunshinethroughgrey]

"Isabela!"

Oh for the Maker's Sake ...

Bethany is already in the midst of tossing spells left and right, so really, it's just another barrier spell that she throws around her friend. Of course, she can't really just throw a barrier if she doesn't throw a wave of ice to help her along.

Honestly, the sooner they kill this Nightmare, the happier Bethany will be.

Beleth OTA

[arlathvhen]

II

For the first time in a few months, Beleth is really starting to regret going barefoot. The nastiness of the mire is foul enough with boots, she suspects, and worse when it's your feet sinking in. She makes her way to some rocks, climbing up them to try to escape the mud, and to try to get a better vantage point.

She's alright for a little bit, and easy enough to spot, if you're looking, bow out and shooting at the Fearlings. For her, they're wasps--giant wasps, ashen and fiery, like another creature she met in a nightmare. They glow and rumble, but they fall when you stick enough arrows in them. She can hear the Nightmare rumbling, occasionally calling out to other people. She tries to ignore it, for now.

Just when she's starting to feel like she has a handle on this, she hears her own name, and her blood runs cold.

"Ah, am I overlooking anyone--? Oh, Beleth! I nearly forgot about you. Just like everyone else does." Her fingers clutch hard on an arrow, steadfastly working on nocking it. "Are you still telling everyone that lie? The one about how you came to the Inquisition because your clanmates needed you? Well, I guess it's less embarrassing than saying the truth. That you need them more than they need you. Again--Just like everyone else."

The Dalish woman just grits her teeth, pulling her bowstring, and letting an arrow fly at a Fearling. "Aren't you supposed to be some super fearsome demon? I'd think you could use better material than the same old bullshit I've told myself a hundred times."

III

She's not sure how she got separated from everyone else, but she's quickly trying to rectify that, racing up a length of stair. But just as she puts a foot down, the stair crumbles underneath it, and Beleth falls, yelping, in an ungraceful pile to the side of the stairs.

She's pretty content to just lay there and dwell on every mistake in her life that has led her to this specific point, when a warm, familiar hand reaches for her arm, helping her back to her feet. The Dalish man might look familiar to some, but anyone can see the resemblance between the two as they stand side by side. "Well, look who's the dashing hero now, huh?" He grins at her as she stares at him, mouth gaping in surprise. "I came all this way to see my little sister, the Dalish saving Thedas from the shemlen's stupidity with her bare hands, and she's got mud in her hair."

It's wrong, deep down Beleth knows that it's wrong, he can't be here, but it looks just like him, it sounds just like him. It even brushes the mud out of her hair with the same affectionate look that Sorrel did, when they were children. And she missed him so much. Maybe it's possible. She hugs him tightly, and the way that he hugs back feels so perfect, so right, that she can't imagine any demon would be able to copy this.

"We've got to get out of here." She tells him, and Sorrel nods.

"We can do anything, Bel. As long as we stick together."

III

[the_effect_she_has]

Zevran would never forgive her, if she left Beleth behind.

They weren't friends - as close as she was to other members of Clan Ashara, Beleth and she held an aloof sort of wary ... agreement. Unspoken, at that. They didn't interfere with each other's lives, with some sort of silent -- what was that word that Mia liked? Detente.

Yet she was one of Zevran's favorites, and Katniss did not want the Clan, or the assassin, to lose any more than they had. So she went back looking for her, arrow at the ready.

She notched it when she came around the corner, eying Beleth and ... huh. "Beleth -- what's going on?"

Eirlys | OTA

[ancarrow]

I
Eirlys grips the dagger she'd got from Kain tightly, though she knows it's useless against such a massive, terrifying foe. She swipes out at the fearlings when they come too close -- they look like plague ridden rats to her -- but mostly she stays around the edges, pulling others out of the line of danger and treating their wounds as best as she can when it all gets too much for them, trying to ignore the gnawing terror that's set into her very core.


II
She very pointedly tries not to look at the Black City, knowing it was never meant for mortal man, that its corruption was the beginning of all of this, feeling like a heretic for setting foot here at all. She fixes her gaze on the ground in front of her, on her hands turning white as she clasps them together so hard, on anything that means she doesn't have to look at that distant skyline. Between that, and her own abject terror at running into any more demons they're unable to combat, and the whispers she hears of disease and death and failure and corruption which she's not quite sure if she's imagining or not, it doesn't take her long to become separated from the main group.

In the graveyard, a stone reads Eirlys Ancarrow - ground to dust by the weight of all she carries.


III
Samuel Wellow rises out of the ground before her, and Eirlys stops dead in her tracks, feeling like she's been punched in the gut as she sees his jaundiced skin and the grotesque sneer he always wore when he looked at her. She feels as though she's back in Gwaren, and wonders what excuse he's going to use to start on her this time, but just as she's bracing herself he begins to burn away, fire catching at the hem of his dirty velvet robes and spreading quickly upward. Despite herself, she feels the same sense of deep satisfaction as she watches him scream and contort in pain before the flames take him for the second time, and then the same revulsion and shame as she catches herself.

"See what you're capable of?" a voice asks from nearby, smooth as silk. "I know what you truly desire. Just let me in, and together we'll make them suffer the same - all of the small men who make themselves feel big by crushing those even smaller."

III

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin may not recognize the visage of the being before Eirlys, but she doesn't need to in order to understand what's happening. As a mage, this is what she's been trained to avoid all her life. Eirlys may not be one, but what people often forget is that demons only prefer mages, not require them. Her eyes blazing, she moves forward to intercept, staff and blade ready.

"Hey, asshole! Back the fuck away from her, now!"

Korrin | OTA

[gatheringstorm]

I.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-- For a moment, Korrin's mind is filled with nothing but terror like she's never experienced before. The rift had consumed her, brought her physically over to the Fade. That was obvious enough to her even without seeing the Black City hanging in the distance. The realm of demons and spirits isn't exactly new to her, but even as a mage, she's only visited it in dreams. This...isn't a dream, though. She's highly aware of that, and the sheer wrongness of it all. Being present like this shouldn't be possible, and leads to all sorts of conclusions, none of them pleasant.

And to top of off, of course the damn rift spews them out onto the largest demon in existence. It must be, right? She almost doesn't see the fearlings at first, thanks to her view being filled with the fucking mountain of a Nightmare, but the twisted forms of abominations are horrifying on their own, even as they pale in comparison to the sheer power before her.

Fear consumes her for a moment, but only a moment. Korrin takes a deep breath and forces herself to focus, knowing that she'll be needed, that this damn Nightmare isn't going to kill itself, that people who've been to the Fade will be necessary if they're to figure out how the hell to get out of here. She can't succumb now, not when she's needed. And not with someone waiting for her on the other side. The dragon tooth necklace gives her all the motivation she needs to snap out of it, cast a Barrier over herself and anyone in the area, and charge forward, swinging her glowing blade. This damned thing is going down, if she has any say in the matter.

II.

Afterward, once the demon is dead and all healing possible has been given, Korrin peers around with an intent frown on her lips. She has no shard, no ability to close -or open?- rifts here, but being a mage has its own perks. Though not as intimately attuned as some, Korrin's connection to the Fade is undeniable, and she has to draw upon that now. Peering upward at the Black City, her gaze lingers for a moment longer before turning directly from it, gesturing ahead.

"Our way out is...over there, somewhere. I think. Let's go; it's better than standing around here, waiting for more demons to find us."

Easier said than done, or so she soon finds out. It's definitely her intent to stick with the Inquisition at large, knowing there's safety in numbers, her eagerness to find a way out combined with the nature of the Fade soon alters that. After several twists and turns while trying to find a path in the direction of what she senses, Korrin pauses and glances back, frowning suddenly.

"Where the hell is everyone else?"

III.

Fear often channels itself into anger for Korrin, so it's really no surprise that Rage demons are drawn to her as this portion of the Fade begins to crumble. The small rift ahead might as well be on the other side of the Fade at the moment, a literal distant hope while those fiery forms surround her. "Fuck you! You're not getting the better of me, not here and not now!"

Whirling her staff, she encases one in a sheet of ice, an excellent start. But that's her only ice spell, and her staff isn't thusly attuned. She might need more 'firepower' on the Winter end of things to finish this any time soon, even with her spirit blade to help. And of course, they might not be the only demons that find her.....

III

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Well, good thing there are elemental mages around, and one of them just happens to be a Warden.

From behind Korrin, there's a flush of cold ice magic that sweeps forward in a wave, turning the advancing rage demons into icy statues. Bethany twists her hand and aims a Force fist at one of them, turning it into so many icy fragments while she calls out to the Val-Shoth. "Now, while we have the advantage!"

church | help | not even varric hates everything more than church

[motherfucking_ghost]

I
Church has been getting in some practice with swordsmanship. Not enough to be of much use, but he can at least swing it, hit something, and if it probably not be one of his teammates. Better than the crossbow, let's be honest.

But this thing? He is not fucking with this thing. Unless he has to. He doesn't have the skills, and even though he won't admit it, he knows it. So if he has to fight (and it looks like he does), if it's not hacking away at a giant spider leg, then it's clearing the way of the little...fucking...fuckers that keep skittering up.

"Everything that happened to her," starts a calm yet menacing voice, "is because you exist. I wonder if she truly loved you?" Not okay. Not okay. That is not okay but he tries really hard not to go running off to scream somewhere because someone might die and it might be his fault and if he'd been better to Tex maybe she wouldn't have--

More importantly than fighting, he finds he can produce a small but extremely handy glowing pain shield from his hand. Seems to block most attacks, though he can't seem to make it grow any larger (no domes for him, damn) or keep it up for long. But it keeps him a little safer, and those around him, working it like a wielder of a shield-and-sword. Ha. Haha. Guess that's a little what he is right now, huh?

II
He's injured. God, it's the first time he's really drawn blood since getting this body, and it's really, really disconcerting to see blood when it's your own and you've also technically never seen yourself bleed before. Mages have worked their literal magic, though their fucking D&D cliche health potions are being practically rationed after the long-ass fight. Good. Those things suck to drink. But he's gotta wonder about scarring, and broken bones, and punctured organs, and oh god is he gonna die? (No. He's not going to die. But it might be preferable.)

And using up his pain shield even for the short bursts he has, he's exhausted. And they still have to walk to find a way for the sharded ones to be able to pain laser a new hole in the fabric of reality. Yeah, okay, because that went super well when they just did that a few hours ago.

If anyone asks him about the primal yell/scream of terror he gives on seeing whatever he sees in any fearling that skitters out before bringing down his sword, he totally doesn't know what you're talking about and everything is perfectly under control. There was no hulking white armor charging at him like an unstoppable tank. Nope! He's good. Just woozy.

Woozy enough that when he blinks around a corner and, down another path, not the path the others are going, he could swear he sees the stupid Blood Gulch base he hasn't seen in over a year. Almost two. Just down there. It's foreign enough to be strange, but just Fade-y enough to fit. And it feels like he could go there and forget. Church practically stumbles over himself when he starts getting drawn that way.

III
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" The rock he was about to climb up on to see if he could see an end (which wouldn't have been good for him in his condition) just up and floated away. And when a couple steps down disappear, he stumbles. This is not good. This is the opposite of good!

And it gets worse, because of course it gets worse. How could it not? Hello, Church.

He freezes, looks to see...a small, green, translucent man in complex armor. "Delta?" Around him, more figures, in more colors, some looking vaguely more human, one on fire, voices reverberating and tinny. Join us, Alpha. We missed you, Alpha. Welcome home, Alpha.

"...No. Guys, no, d-don't." Please come back, Alpha. We shed a lot of blood to get you, Alpha. "I'm warning you." Church raises his sword, shakily, pointing at one figure, then another. "I don't want to do this to you..."

Shut up and stand down, asshole. He waivers. "But you're not...you can't be here..."

II

[aceso]

Christine is so tired too, but with a spirit at her side motivating her, she keeps moving forward. She just needs to focus and not get distracted. But then a terrifying yell has her nearly jumping out of her skin and rushing over to help. Slowing once she sees Church, she places a hand over her racing heart.

"Church! What is it? What do you see?" When he looks at Christine, he will see a glowing woman beside her, though her lower half is phasing in and out of existence. Not quite corporeal, it seems.

Kas | OTA

[issala]

I

This is probably the most afraid he has ever been in his life, and Kas is honestly quite impressed that he hasn't soiled himself yet. This was not in his training, thank you very much! Nothing had the right to be that big or have that many eyes. Ever.

He is kind of proud when he hits one of those leg-eyes with a shot, however. Every little bit helped, right? He should probably be concentrating on the smaller things, but... well. Qunari and their love for big targets... plus he was a ranged fighter.

"Yeah! Take that!" He cheers, trying to pump himself up a bit. Unfortunately the teen's outburst only draws a few little fearlings towards him, shaping into rabid dogs with foaming mouths - and Kas is very quickly not cheering any more.

"Fuck."

II

He tried really hard to stay with everyone else, but fuck this place, fuck the Fade in general and especially fuck this ugly little graveyard with his fucking name on it.

"'Worthless'," he reads out loud with a hollow voice, and his blue eyes wanders from the stone to the bullwhip next to it. He still remembers the sting of it, the scars it left on his back.

Worthless. Street rat, thief, runaway, orphan. Qunari.

He was nothing.

Yeah, that was about enough of his bravado, thank you. He's just gonna sink down on the dirt here and cry.

III

She comes to him, sweet-voiced and promising. Sounding like her, smelling like her. Holding him like she did... but just like his memory her features are blurred, unfocused.

It hurts almost as much as knowing that it couldn't be his mom. His mom was dead. Kas knew that far too well.

Still. It felt so good. So safe.

Maybe he could stay just a little while?

III

[gatheringstorm]

"Kas, step away from her. Now." Korrin will be all sympathy after this is dealt with but for now, her tone is firm, commanding. She narrows her eyes at Kas' 'mom', spirit blade ready. "You're not getting him, demon. You'll have to come through me first, and good fucking luck."

Malcolm Reed | open

[tactical_alert]

I
This is not what he expected. This was not the plan. (And, for a split second, he is especially glad to have left Milady back at Skyhold.) The demon, the Nightmare, is a beast the likes of which he's never even imagined before. And if this thing is influencing the Wardens, then it must be stopped. If it is aiding Corypheus, it must be stopped.

It will be stopped. He goes for his bow first, to aim at its many, many eyes rather than the legs, but will have little trouble switching between his bow and his sword depending on the needs of the battle. But those eyes look like a mighty fine weak spot for any sharpshooters. His heart hammers, but he grits his teeth and perseveres. "We need an area in the back!" Malcolm calls out. "For the noncombatants and the injured!" Oh, sure, most people here were probably gearing for a fight, but circumstances have drastically changed. The healers are going to be overtaxed as it is, unless they can get this thing down quickly, and it doesn't look like 'quick' is the name of the game here.

He initially leaves demons and fearlings to the others, but they do swarm so much that sometimes he has to barrel in with his warrior skills. The demons are not more of a problem than normal, save that they seem endless. It's when he raises his weapon on a form that ends up being a Rivaini hedge witch does his anxiety show. He can't--he can't blindly slaughter--but then she attacks, and he is left no choice. After a few moments to gather himself back up, he realizes it must be a trick of the mind, of the Fade. But it pulls at his heart every time, even knowing what he strikes down isn't really what it appears to be.

"Poor Seeker of False Truths," coos the Nightmare. "You can never make the right people proud, can you?" His jaw sets, his frame tenses. "Your Orders are malicious and misguided, and you pretend you're above them all. How naive."

II
The paths are twisting with no clear direction which to go. With no clear directions. At one point, he finds himself standing at a right angle to the rest of the group. "What are you doing down--what am I doing up here?" Each time he strays from the main group, he tries to calmly navigate himself and any stragglers back. Having a keen sense of direction is only helpful if there's direction at all.

He tries to stick to dry ground, protruding rocks, worn-looking paths when they start to pass by the marshes. A fearling blindsides him out of a crack in the cliff alongside, knocking him into the murky muck of water. The fight is short, but the ground beneath his feet drops off suddenly, deeply, and he and his foe disappear under the surface.

Thankfully, water in the Fade doesn't work quite the same as water outside the Fade, and what might normally weigh him down does not. He bobs back up to the surface, gasping and flailing, pulled under again and back up. He splashes his way toward where the ground was still there, each exhale a sound of terror, each inhale a desperate and hoarse gasp. The Seeker could...use a hand. Please.

III
Apparently when not allowing people to simply wander off in any old direction, or surprising people into water, the collapsing Fade decides to simply cut off the path before him from the people he was just following. There's no plausible way up and over. "I suppose we're to go this way now," Malcolm grumbles with a shudder. "Hopefully we can navigate our way back through here." Perhaps the groups will even come across one another later, going in opposite directions in differing heights of paths. He wouldn't put it past the Fade, as this whole section feels as though it's destabilizing.

And it's damned demoralizing, but he doesn't want to lose his cool again even though this could lead farther away or could mean not getting out at all. "I don't have time for this," he grits.

"Just like you didn't have time for me?" Malcolm freezes in his tracks, and out into his path stands a Templar, arms crossed and taking bold strides to the Seeker, who stares dumbly and his pose ramrod straight.

"...That isn't a fair assessment of the situation," he says quietly, licking his lips nervously, a color rising to his cheeks (shame, anger, who knows what else).

The Templar scoffs a laugh and looks down at Malcolm with a sardonic smirk. "I'd say it's fair enough given the way things turned out. Maybe if you made time, you'd have pulled my ass out of the fire you put it in."

"One you agreed to," he argues, calmly, still in somewhat of a shock. First the Dairsmuid mages, then the drowning, being separated, and now him. He should recognize his good friend Despair when he wears such an obvious face, but this is getting to be much.

III

[onlyhymns]

It's so easy to get turned around, especially when one is trying to avoid everything that could conceivably be harmful. Cade has no idea what's real and what isn't anymore, and in his desperation to seek anything familiar, he finally rounds a corner and notices the Seeker. ...speaking to an unfamiliar Templar. But a Templar, nonetheless.

"...sir?" he queries timidly from a ways back behind Reed, feeling the Offness of the situation without knowing quite why. But the Seeker looks to be in some manner of distress, and that surely isn't a good sign.

[dreadinquisitor]

Searching:

With the exception of the Black City, always on the horizon, never closer, never farther, it was impossible to say where they were. Where they were going... where they'd even been. It all seemed to blur together. Fetid pools, green-tinged mist, spiral towers and stairways of stone, distant sounds (scuddling, shifting, hissing and squeaking, crying)....

It was the rare landmark that stood out. And never in a good way.

He tried to ignore the sad little memorial plot, it's stones wet and shining. Tried not to look too closely at them. But of course he recognized his own name, couldn't help the way his mind put the words together even with the fleeting glimpse he'd given it.

Maxwell Trevean
Tradition

His face twisted, firming quickly, his Adam's Apple lurched in his throat, but he stared determinedly ahead. And kept moving.

Escape:

The ground was shifting, tilting, as if it meant to rip right out from under him. He stumbled, nearly went down, but somehow (by the grace of the Maker) managed to keep his feet. Managed to keep running.

There was a great crack from somewhere - above? It was so damned hard to tell in this green-tinted nightmare.

Bits of stone, hard and heavy began to ran down. Maxwell threw his arms up, trying to protect his head.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted to those around them.

Searching

[fleurdesel]

"Really?" Far be it from Adelaide to question one's fears but. Tradition? It was almost comical save for how Maxwell reacts to it by determinedly not reacting. If she took a moment to shake off her own exhaustion and frustration perhaps she could see how such a thing would be stifling to a member of the nobility- but she was hardly that herself.

Cole

[colecomfort]

II. Searching

This is the Fade, but not as he knew it. Not as it should be — or perhaps he's not as he should be. A wrong thing, twisted tight, tangled up in a form he can't let go of. The longer they stay here, as the adrenaline of the battle fades, the more Cole feels he's too solid, too stuck to the ground. He ought to be able to flit and fly, but he's held in by something he can't source.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," he mutters, trying to ignore the feeling that snakes up his spine every time he takes a step. His voice is shaking. "Wringing me out. Wrought right and rigid. Can't relax. Can't release..."

III. Escape

When he breaks off from the main group, it's in aid of a pair of fighters caught up in a hard battle against Despair. The demon is hopping from one end of the alcove to the other, staying well out of reach of the fighter's sword, dodging the mage's spells. They cry out when the biting wind, guided by the demon's hand, breaks through their barriers and whips against their skin. They are losing. They need help.

Cole's daggers plunge deep into the demon's back, and it shrieks, turning to face its attacker — who has already vanished, leaping away to come at it from another angle.

The tide of the fight turns. Fire starts to lick at Despair's robes. The bright, clear blue of a Templar's will burns away at its freezing attacks. Cole stabs it once more, decisive, and the demon melts away into the air. Silence, then. The hum of the Fade.

"...I know you."

Cole turns. He hadn't looked closely at the mage's face until now — now he sees a man, handsome with smiling eyes, a dark beard, silver flecked into his hairline, at his temples.

"I've seen you before, haven't I?"

The Templar stands to one side behind him, shining, stern but pretty, the insignia of the Seekers on her armor. She doesn't say a word.

Cole takes a step back, shaking his head. "No."

"Yes." Rhys steps forward, sounding more sure of it now. "Cole — you're called Cole. I remember." He smiles, relieved, overjoyed. "You saved us."

Cole's hands tighten on the hilts of his knives. It can't be them — wouldn't he have seen them before everyone fell into the Fade? There's a new sort of song in the air, haunting, lilting, but does it even have anything to do with them? This place is so noisy.

"No," he says again. But he can't walk away. Can't lift his arm to accuse with a dagger. He can't make himself move.

III

[fleurdesel]

Hanging back from the rift once it's in view and attempting to ferry everyone through before it shuts, before this realm crumbles around them entirely is likely not the wisest course. But when this weary Adelaide cannot honestly be counted on to be entirely wise. Every member of the Inquisition she can urge forward is one less to worry after. So many of them had been trapped- she doesn't know how many. Doesn't know who exactly. But this way? She might be a little more certain she's seen most of them through the rift.

A pale flash at the edge of her vision, a smear of motion that spoke of Cole. He flickers, he darts, he kills- he is skilled. It is disconcerting to take what she knows of him and lay it against the sight of him killing but- demons.

So many demons.

Why he's gone so suddenly still is hard to place until that voice reaches her. Familiar in a distant way- conversations had at the end of a hall, across the library. Shouting in the midst of bloody chaos. Someone that cannot possibly be here. Someone who's voice, to her, thrums with the power of desire. "Cole-"

She calls out, weaving her way closer, Compassion coiling like smoke until solid, their voice carrying farther still. "They are not here. It's false, these faces."

Velanna | OTA

[failedfirst]

I. Nightmare

Fighting is what Velanna came for. The size of the demon doesn't cause her to shudder with fear, it merely makes her angrier. Clearly this thing was feeding on the fears of the Wardens, growing fat on them and their irrational dealings. It was in front of her, and it needed to die, the physical embodiment of all the things that had happened at Adamant.

Fire is her primary choice in the fight, and she's calling flames and throwing up walls of fire to stop Terror demons and Fearlings both, ignoring the faces of men she'd slaughtered as they burn. She knows it's supposed to scare her, but she's been holding onto this rage for days, and now it's boiling over, and she won't stop until the Nightmare is dead.

"No wonder your sister left you," it speaks, while she hammers fireballs into it, one after another. "A killer, unloveable Velanna. Only a matter of time until your friends tire of it too." She snarls in response, a gout of flame shooting from her staff. She won't give the demon the satisfaction of seeing it's words hurting her.

II. Searching

After the fighting, Velanna is exhausted. Emotionally and physically, but she knows they can't stop and rest. The one respite she has is the absence of the Calling, finally silent after the death of the creature. She's appreciative of the first genuine silence in her mind at once, and it makes her feel all the more tired.

It may be because she's tired that she ends up distracted by the sound of her sister's voice. She knows Seranni isn't here, she isn't a fool, but all the same, the quiet and insistent voice replacing the false Calling pulls her off the main path, and to a sad little solitary grave, deliberately away from many of the others.

Velanna
She died alone

She stares down at the epitaph, a weary look of annoyance on her face, her eyes flickering up to the specter of Seranni that stands above it, looking as ghoulish as she did the last time they saw one-another.

"Everyone dies alone. This is supposed to scare me?"

II

[kallian_endris]

"Not everyone. But whoever controls this part of the Fade seems to think it should."

A young, dark-haired elf is looking at her shyly. She carries no staff, but she is radiant with the power of a spirit healer in the Beyond.

"Are you all right?"

the outsider | ota

[extramural]

ii.
There are a great many gravestones. Each one personalized, each one likely for one of the others with him -- all having fallen in without meaning to, all now lost in a world that is not for them. Even he is somewhat unnerved by it; this is not the Void, far too green and sickly to be like the realm he has called 'home'.

He walks, fingers idly tracing over the stone as he walks among the headstones. Unless there is someone looking at one, or someone stops him, he doesn't stop until he reaches one that is sitting in a pool of water. There is no name, only a symbol, and the words the ordinary.

iii.
There is a whale.

It is not actually a whale, of course. It's a sloth demon having taken the form of a whale as opposed to a bear, and it swims through the murky 'air' of the Fade while singing deep and low. The song is unearthly but oddly soothing, something that could easily lull the unsuspecting into sleep. It follows the Outsider, tail lazily swishing.

The Outsider looks rather incredibly annoyed and keeps moving, doing his best to ignore it.

III

[sunshinethroughgrey]

Bethany is actually more frightened that a sloth demon can actually be that size - she had heard rumors of the sloth demon at Kinloch Keep but this was ridiculous.

So she is also trying to ignore it, while side-eying the person it is following. Just how lazy is this fellow, anyways?

Andra | OTA

[faithstarved]

I

There is a profound amount of panic on Andra's face when the rift closes and she's on the wrong side of it. She'd had no intention of helping for this, simply been nearby moving things around with other scouts. She wasn't built for fighting mass-scale demons supposedly tormenting the Grey Wardens. It was a fine, noble cause, sure. But that's not her thing. Surviving, and avoiding demons, that's her thing.

Which is exactly what she's doing now. She can't fight that demon, can't even begin to think about how she'd go about doing that, but she can help the others. She is a Bard, although songs and stories are a little difficult for her to grasp for, in this moment. She's terrified. However distracting the Terror demons and Fearlings attacking those focused on the main demon, that is something she can do.

She moves around the outskirts, helping where she can, using her training to attempt to help, focusing on distracting and killing the smaller targets while those with the power can focus on the demons. As the battle drags on she does start singing a little, trying to keep spirits up, hers as much as anyone else's.

II

She doesn't know how they're going to get out of the Fade, despite the fact that some of the mages seem very sure they're going the right way, Andra can't tell how they know. It's frustrating, and she's tense and on edge and aching with cuts and scrapes from demons and hours of fighting.

Her hands don't leave her short swords, one on either hip, and she's prepared to rip them from their scabbards if something so much as breathes wrong towards her. Her eyes sometimes sweep across the horizon, falling briefly on the Black City in the distance, but she looks away, coldness clutching her heart. It's because those in the Imperium did just this that the Maker had turned from them now, and it's because of them that they are in this situation.

"Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing," she begins to murmur as they walk, only one of the latest Cantacles she has been pulling forth from her memory. "An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown."

Her eyes fall on the grave, among so many others like it, simple, plain.

Andra Riveris
Just Another Dead Elf

She exhales through her nose, her jaw tight, before she finishes the verse.

"You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr.
Within My creation, none are alone."

III

When the exit is finally found, nothing can stop Andra from running for it. A desire demon tries, calling out to her, wearing the face of Luca. His voice is warm and inviting, his Antivan accent as rich as she remembers it. It does make her stop for a moment, others moving past her in their own haste to make it to the exit.

"I haven't seen you look so tired since you were a girl, amore," he smiles, holding his arms out to her. "Come and rest a moment, let me hold you." She takes a slow step towards the specter, then another, a small smile touching her lips.

"Luca..." She sighs his name, closing in on the Antivan specter, for all intents and purposes to fall into his arms. That she does, although only to obscure the knife in her hand, which she thrusts into the side of "Luca's" neck.

"Stop wearing his face you fucking demon," she spits, yanking the blade from the creature's neck and pushing it away as it screams, the illusion still terrifyingly in place.

Re: Andra | OTA

[the_effect_she_has]

And suddenly, there's a voice lifting in song with hers, catching hold of that edge of the tune and helping it along. Katniss raises her voice to carry, so whoever else is singing can hear her, and raise her voice as well, as she plunges arrow after arrow into the creatures, rolling amongst them to gather her quiver's worth up again.

Knives flash in her hand, cutting through demon flesh, and she can see the dark haired elf from Adamant, singing. She lifts her fingers briefly in the three fingered salute from the Hinterlands, and pitches her voice in again, even as her arrows begin to fly once more.