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Entry tags:
- ! open,
- { adelaide leblanc },
- { alistair },
- { bethany hawke },
- { bruce banner },
- { cade harimann },
- { cassandra pentaghast },
- { christine delacroix },
- { cole },
- { eirlys ancarrow },
- { ellana ashara },
- { galadriel },
- { hermione granger },
- { isabela },
- { james norrington },
- { jim kirk },
- { kallian endris },
- { kas },
- { katniss everdeen },
- { maxwell trevean },
- { obi-wan kenobi },
- { ruby "red" lucas },
- { sabine },
- { samouel gareth },
- { the outsider },
- { velanna }
OPEN: The Nightmare's Domain
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.)
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.
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.
Beleth OTA
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
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?"
no subject
"Oh, Katniss. This is my brother, Sorrel. Sorrel, this is--"
"I can hear, you know." 'Sorrel' chided her, giving her a gentle elbow, before turning to nod politely to Katniss. His elbowing was returned, Beleth huffing at him.
"--And Katniss is one of Zevran's other students, I was about to say." Sorrel, smiling serenely, lovingly lifted his hands up to either side of Beleth's puffed up cheeks, and pressed them, deflating the pout while his sister protested noisily.
"Maybe you can get me his autograph, then? Beleth has been shockingly negligent on my request."
no subject
A pause, before she arched an eyebrow at Beleth, then back at Sorrel. "Well, I could, but he's really not one for a - er - admiring throng."
She tilted her head, "How ... how did you get trapped here with us, Sorrel?"
no subject
At this, Beleth nodded, opening her mouth again to comment, but Sorrel talked right over her, making her pause a moment, frowning. "Anyway, I heard you guys were coming here to try to do something magical and weird, and I figured, well, I'm a mage, I ought to be there to help, on the off chance my sister managed to step in something absolutely ridiculous. I only arrived in time to see this whole mess unfold."
He brought a hand to rest on Beleth's shoulder, gripping it with a friendly smile to both Katniss and her. "So, do either of you have any idea how to get out? If not, I can give it a shot."
no subject
She pressed her lips together, something niggling at her brain. Something that was definitely not there. A piece of knowledge that - yes. That there.
"You said you're a mage?" She asked, her voice tilting with a bit of curiosity. "A powerful one?"
She put her gaze on Beleth, "Hey, Beleth, come with me. We'd best scout ahead."
III
"Beleth, no. That's not who you think it is. Back away, now."
no subject
"Beleth," He insisted, poking her in the side. "Why don't you introduce me to the nice qunari lady, before she turns me into a Dalishkabob?" He gave a nervous chuckle, while Beleth frowned, shaking her head and turning to Korrin, lightly shoving 'Sorrel' in the face.
"Sorrel, this is Korrin. Korrin, this is Sorrel. He's my brother. I'd know if he were anything else, wouldn't I?"
"Of course she would." The other Dalish replied, watching Korrin closely, keeping Beleth between them. "We've been together from the womb onwards, haven't we? You'd know better than anyone else who I am."
no subject
"And you're just suddenly in the Fade, when you weren't with us before? How very convenient.
Beleth, listen. I'm a mage; I've dealt with this crap all my life. Demons lie. They try to fuck you over, however they can. This piece of shit is just one more example. Your brother is back at home, and you know it. This...thing isn't him."
no subject
"I just got here when it happened. Beleth told me that all of you were about to try to get yourselves killed, so I came to protect her." His hands go to her shoulders, keeping her firmly between him and Korrin. "That's what twins do, isn't it?"
Beleth didn't seem very comfortable with how this was going, trying to shrug her shoulders out of the other elf's tight grip. But she didn't seem quite ready to turn aggressive, either, taking no actual moves against 'Sorrel' other than trying to get some space. "Is--Is there some kind of test? To know for sure?"
no subject
"There is one thing Adelaide taught me...." And without giving the demon a chance to react, she casts Dispel as soon as Beleth's out of the other elf's grasp.
no subject
But then the hands drop, and Sorrel is no longer there. Instead, it's a desire demon, giving a frustrated shout at being discovered. Beleth stops in her tracks, staring in horror, before scuttling out of the way as the desire demon hurls a ray of ice. She fumbles for her bow, shooting an apologetic look at Korrin.
"You--You were right. I'm sorry."
no subject
three
When he sees her, it takes a moment to remember her name. “Beleth?” he calls, and strides the last few meters until he sees that yes, it is her. He waits until they break their embrace, and then smiles, beckons them back to the path.
“And I thought I had met every elf in Skyhold. Are you injured, ser?”
no subject
"Lord Thranduil, thank the Creators you are safe. This is my twin brother, Sorrel. He's been with our clan, but--" She paused, glancing at him, while he gave an easy shrug, apparently over his surprise already.
"Beleth wrote to me about the Inquisition plans. It sounded like trouble, so I came. Got here just in time to fall into this mess. But I'm fine! Just. You know. In the Fade. But, you know how it is. Anything to protect my little sister." At this, he grinned cheerfully, placing a hand on Beleth's shoulder--which draws an odd look from the woman, but she wrote it off, turning back to Thranduil.
"My lord, have you seen anything that might lead to a way out...?"
no subject
For the most part, she looks fine. Shaken, but all of them are. Sorrel touches her in mirror image of where his own hand is, and so Thranduil looks him over next. "You will forgive me for not introducing myself. I pride myself on knowing all the elven in Skyhold." And he thought he had met them all- and certainly all the Dalish, at least.
"We have chosen a direction as a group, I think. Whether it is sheep wandering or something more purposeful..." He trails off and lets that be the end to the conversation. It bothers him less. He feels more invigorated- more alive, more whole here. He doubts he's subject to needing to eat or sleep here.