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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.
church | help | not even varric hates everything more than church
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
"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.
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"Ah, Church, this is a Spirit of Faith. Specifically, the one who assists me in healing. Do you recall that I said the spirit dwells across the Veil? Well, now we are the ones across the Veil. Therefore, she is visible." Christine's always thought of the spirit as an "it," but now that it's decided on this form, Christine finds herself shifting pronouns.
Faith stares at Church, and something in her expression says she is not impressed. However, that could just be because she's observed Christine enough to mimic her facial expressions and Christine so very often does not look impressed.
Do not fear, the spirit says, voice a low alto that could be masculine or feminine.
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Christine did not expect to mediate between a spirit and a rifter who is her friend with benefits. The Fade is strange.
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"It is good we found you. As a mage, I can feel where the opening back to our world is, and more than that: Faith can sense it even more strongly. Stay with us, and we will protect each other." Which... okay, he obviously didn't die fighting the Nightmare, but she's giving him the benefit of the doubt here that he can actually do some protecting.
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"Spirits can be weak or strong, depending on what their nature is. A spirit of Faith is actually one of the strongest in the Fade. And if they become corrupted, they become the strongest type of demon: Pride." She looks over at Faith and smiles faintly. Christine well knows her own struggles in the past with her pride. As a mage, it made such a thing twice as dangerous, and so she's always carefully considered how to take delight in her accomplishments without going too far. Now that she has Faith by her side, she has taken strides to not be prideful because that will influence Faith.
"She assisted in the fight against the Nightmare. It was good to have her fight by my side. I am no great soldier myself."
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But when faced with the Meta, he's never given up to fear. Hell, he almost shot a rocket into that asshole's face off! If not for that fucking time distortion unit! (Even in death, Wyoming still fucks everything up.)
"Hit it. Hit it!" He pulls his sword out of some thing's arm (of course the killing blow wasn't his, but look at him, hitting stuff!) and takes it in both hands, depriving them both momentarily of a glowy shard shield, and takes a swing with all his might.
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"What is it?" Larger than any templar she's ever seen, and the noises it makes...
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It does not hold and it should- between the ice and the glyph it should be shocked still for some time more but no it twists and the ice tangled about the armor cracks, shatters as she reaches for Church's arm to haul him further away. "Deep breath-"
using fade step while carrying someone is exhausting, but they needed to move. The moment they slip several feet backward and leave that bit of iced over stone is the exact moment the templar bursts free and slams it's weapon down to where they'd been standing.
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"We have got to stop that thing. All I have is a sword! It's got--that! What else have you got?!"
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III
Bull wants out of this place, more than he's wanted pretty much anything else in his life. There's a sense of wrongness here that can't be shaken, and the place is pretty much infested with demons of every size, shape and variety. That thought alone is enough to put him on edge.
So he needs things to focus on. Like getting everyone shepherded back to the group. If they start splitting up and wandering off, they're going to become easy pickings for these things. And just as if to prove the fucking point for him...
He watches Church falter before grunting, making his way across the rocky landscape towards him. Well. It would help if the damn thing kept changing on him, leaving him to try and find footing as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile, he's not sure if the guy can even hear him.
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With a grunt and a shake of his head Bull's moving after him. He's not the steadiest on his own feet at the moment, a little dizzy from what's bound to turn into a nasty infection from the wounds at his side, but he's pushing on regardless.
Carefully, so as not to go sliding down after him, Bull kneels on the craggy rocks, before reaching down as far as he might. "Here. Grab hold!"
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His fingers brush Bull's giant fucking hand, then manages to grasp on.
So obviously that's when the rock he's holding on to starts to float away from its place, and also dissolving into thin air, because why the hell not, this place follows zero laws of any kind of physics. "Aww, fuck you too!" he cries, slipping back down to the smooth rock under him with a pained grunt. Not before he flips off the fading fade rock, though. That'll show it.
"Can we please get the hell out of here before I lose my mind, or like, every other part of my body?!"
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Bull lifts his gaze to the area around them, for anything at all that might be of use in getting Church out of there, or at least to higher ground. Whatever it is seems to be fixated on him, trying to keep him trapped long enough for dream-land to have its way with him.
Not on his watch. This place has fucked around with enough people.
Grunting again, he reaches for the leather belt around his waist, snapping it loose before winding one end around his wrist and grasping tight, lowering the other end for Church to grab hold of. "Alright, let's try this again."