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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.
II
I didn't know possession could kill, she thinks, before some more logical part of her mind chides the other, and in a strange way she wonders if she's just filling in Granny's role in her absence by reprimanding herself.
"It won't happen."
She sounds more certain than she feels, and it occurs to her that maybe she's in denial of her own fate more than Adelaide's, because she has no idea if this is fate or if it's just fear in its purest form, making the Wolf press forward.
Her own tombstone mocks her from not so very far away:
Rᴜʙʏ Lᴜᴄᴀs
Wᴏʟғ
A Mᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ Fɪɴᴀʟʟʏ Sʟᴀɪɴ
no subject
Even if she'd like a night or two where that and the tranquil brand does not hover so viscerally at the edge of her dreams.
"...For what it is worth." And from her it may be worth much, it may be worth little. She does not know this woman terribly well for all that she admires the work she tries to do, the strength she shows in adapting and carrying on in a strange land. "I have seen monsters. You are not one."
no subject
Which is possibly why there's a strange brutality in how she regards others and how she looks upon herself and what she has done.
"You haven't seen what I've done," she replies, very softly. She could swear that she could taste blood on her tongue for how strong it smells, but part of her is certain that it's just her mind playing tricks on her, filling in with her own nightmares and her memories with the horrors that others all seem to be dealing with here. "I am a monster. And monsters should be killed before they put anyone else at risk."
no subject
On either end of this conflict, there have been monstrous actions done in the name of faith. The name of safety. The name of freedom. She does not see that in Ruby.
It is a tentative gesture, Adelaide's reaching out to rest her hand on Ruby's shoulder, but it is a kind one. "You are not a monster. Not to me."
no subject
Thedas seems messed up enough that she doesn't know if Adelaide actually is speaking about something made up on the spot.
She glances towards the hand on her shoulder, and gaze sliding to Adelaide before it drops very fast again. "Before I knew about the Wolf--"
The sentence starts, fades out and sputters to a sad end before she tries to find some revs for it again. "I ate my boyfriend. I ate a whole hunting party actually, but, um. Peter trusted me."
no subject
For now she stands, attempting to be certain. Attempting to be strong, a comfort, though she is not well practiced in such things.
A loss of control is a terrible thing- a spell driven backwards, a dream turning a young man into an abomination- she has not failed quite so horribly just yet- but the tinge of it is on the horizon should they leave. The only way out is through. The only way to know is to move forward. Adelaide's eyes soften. "...And you have since learned to control it so that will not happen again, yes? You grieve. You regret. A monster would not."
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"Sometimes I think it'd be better if—"
A look at Adelaide, then, the realisation that she's saying these things out loud to another person, and she blinks. "It doesn't matter," Ruby finishes, grasping for her usual brightness.
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With all of this, with the demons, with the visceral satisfaction that no, she would be the one to survive, not them- a part of Adelaide has come to understand it a little. That part terrifies her in no small degree. She cannot imagine having to accept such a thing so easily, and yet her hand does not move. "...Better if...?"
Prompting, gently. "It matters."
no subject
David sees the good in you, Belle had told her. That she believed in redemption and rehabilitation, that Ruby was worth protecting, but Belle had forgotten her as easily as everyone else had. Some monsters were too dangerous to keep as friends.
The hand on her shoulder feels like a focal point, something grounding.
"Silver," she says, abruptly. "If you ever need to stop the Wolf it has to be silver."
no subject
The voice is low, melodious, but faintly pleasant.
Adelaide would like to think she is above such basic mistakes as possession. She is, after all, no apprentice. But neither was Uldred. Neither were any of the truly masterful destroyers of your world. No. When Adelaide is possessed, she will be a true professional at it.
no subject
Adelaide's hand goes tight on Ruby's shoulder, her jaw working against everything she might say. Silver for the wolf? Then.
"Decapitation." She offers without missing a beat. "It is the best way to be certain. Fire would work quite well as I am accustomed to ice but- if it must be done? Decapitation."
no subject
"Decapitation can go screw itself," she replies, flippant and forceful. "You're not a monster."
That is the difference between them. It's an important one, her eyes glowing gold as she looks away from Adelaide and around them, trying to place the source of the voice, the demon.
no subject
Her current research notwithstanding.
no subject
The emphasis on her name is strange, too, and it feels like an echo in her head rather than something he's saying, like there's an urgency to it, like the memory of someone pleading being dragged up.
"I didn't know."
Not Peter looks at Adelaide, eyebrow quirked in the universal language of can you believe she'd try that? Adelaide. You knew you were a mage, right? That there was something not right?
The Despair Demon shrugs, and Ruby feels fixed in place. She can't look away from him, can't bear the risk of looking at Adelaide, and it's not until she feels her breath catch that she realises something is wrong, and looks down to see a long spike of ice pull through her, a translucent blue-white hook that makes her stagger forward, and leaves the red leather of her gloves shiny and wrong looking. when she presses her hand to her gut. Oh.
no subject
May or may not be it. And she has not the time to waste a spell on an illusion.
"I was a child." And had no choice. "I did not know anything to explain what I was."
What she is.
Compassion cries out at her shoulder and oh- there is a flicker of pain, there is a shard of cold and it is no illusion, it is a demon and it is Despair. "Ruby-"
Adelaide slips forward to catch her about the waist, hand snapping out and power flowing. Not with ice, but with the glowing blue warp of Spirit coiling in a Crushing Prison.
no subject
"You can't," Ruby says, very quietly and very calmly. It was meant to end with hold me up, but it gets losts somewhere between her mind and her mouth, and in all likelihood she expects Adelaide to drop her, or that she might drag her down too, which she thinks would be bad.
The demon struggles against the hold, and Ruby reaches to grab an arrow from the quiver at her back, even as she struggles to keep a steady grip on her bow, to hold it up and aim.
no subject
A spell meant to stall rather than shatter but she has ever been creative in alternative applications of magics. Ice will do nothing here but this-
Eye for an eye, crushing the breath from a demon that does not truly need to breathe.
no subject
She should say something, probably. Instead her right hand grips around Adelaide's ribs, ineffective with how her hand tingles and stops complying with how she tells it to move, fingers made of rope.
"Stubborn." On an exhale, as her legs give way and the spike of ice shudders and jars in her gut, drawing out a low, gutteral groan of pain. "I'm going to be really mad," she adds, weak as a whisper.
no subject
And Ruby will live to be angry with her.
"I know it hurts-" They both can't not know, the chill lancing through like knives, scraping raw with every movement. "But you need to breathe deeply for this."
Her fingers curl around the ice shard as she bends her will, her magic through it. Forcing it to melt, little by little. "I have you. This is going to be painful and it is going to take longer than you'd like and I know you are tired- but I am going to fix this."
cw for suicide ideation that I probably should have mentioned earlier aha
Breathe deeply feels more like Adelaide is asking her to attempt an Olympic hundred metre dash in heels; she suspects it shows on her face.
Okay, she means to say, but all she actually gives is a slow nod and her fingers twisting into the cloth of Adelaide's robes, and an entirely different set of words. "You don't have to do this."
Her search for other wolves lead her to Thedas, instead of home. Her search for Emma has lead her to more dead ends than she thought were possible in a matter of weeks. More steadily, with a smile that comes from practice with smiling when you don't feel like you can, "You don't have to, Adelaide."
whoops!
But in the Fade perhaps Ruby can as well, the warm, easy swell of Compassion's voice promising relief from the pain. That is what they can mend, that is what they are meant to mend. The deeper, blacker aching hole, the loss, the loneliness snaps through them both like a crossbow's bolt.
"I do." She snaps. Harsh where Ruby is attempting to be kind, furious with her resignation. "This is my purpose. What good is my magic if I let you die? What is the point of me if I let you bleed out?"
i'm good at things
Her eyes shut for a second, mouth still caught in a smile. She's used to dealing with anger. A lot of people have been angry with her. Usually for pretty good reasons, too.
"What's mine if you don't?" But she sighs, regrets the action as it makes her abdomen tense and jar at the remaining glass. "And I'm sure there's plenty of people who'd benefit from you saving it. Peter was right. I should've died and not him."
That's not what the demon said, but, you know.
great many things
It does not matter if she hates her afterward.
Eyes burning bright, glowing with Compassion's power, she snarls. "You do not make amends for past wrongs by giving up and dying, Ruby. That is laziness. That is cowardice. You make amends, you atone by living. Maybe you should have died- but you didn't. You lived, you are here now, and you will continue to live because here you have a chance to be more than whatever monster you might wish to make of yourself back home!"
no subject
All magic comes with a price, though, and she wonders what the cost of this will be even if she knows Adelaide hasn't stolen her name or asked for her memories or her first born child.
"I didn't choose this." Very quiet, very cold, the kind of cold that comes when you are trying to keep your voice from shaking and it drops low with the effort. She isn't sure if its the pain or some kind of anger welling up in her. Maybe it's not what Adelaide meant, but in this very second she doesn't really care. "I didn't make myself this."
It feels very pointless when she says it, and yet there it is.
no subject
She may not have become something that violent, that monstrous-
Yet.
If there is no hope for Ruby to be anything else- what hope is there for her? Perhaps it is selfish, this intense denial, this mending. She finds she does not care. Compassion flares behind her and her fingers twist in the wound, a second spell sending a soothing chill throughout the injury. Taking that pain, swallowing it lie sour wine. "But this is what we are."
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