faderift | OPEN: The Nightmare's Domain

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.)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hell, no. When I dream, it can be anything. My mind sets the stage, the demons or whatever just walk into it. But now we're in their territory. It's no one's dream." Peering around at the puddles and green sky and floating bits of land, Korrin scowls. "If this is what it's really like, I would have preferred not knowing. Fucking rift...."

About to curse that rift yet again, Korrin pauses as she spots something up ahead. "Is that a...cemetery?" And that pull is leading right past it. Wonderful.

"I knew these shards people had were bad news. You know I think your girl's all right, but it's true. Look at what those shards did." Her body is still tensed, a flash of anger stronger than before coming to her mind. The shards are unpredictable. They can do crazy shit like this. They meant to pull the Nightmare through, only the shards were so powerful, they shoved everyone in to the physical Fade!

"Yeah, looks like," she mutters, an ominous feeling settling over her. "Let me guess: your mages senses are saying we have to go past it?"

"It's what we get for powering up something we barely understand." As long as Lena blames the shards themselves and not the people attached to them, Korrin can't fault her for that rise in temper. Her own mindset isn't much different, and she's wishing over and over that she'd listened to her intuition and protested the plan. Maybe someone would have listened.

Gripping her staff, she nod in said direction. "Right. We could try to find a way around, but I wouldn't suggest it given what's happened already. I'm starting to think it's like the Deep Roads; if you find a path, you don't deviate."

"Fuck." Which should be the expected response from Lena the entire time she's here. But she steels herself and nods. "Let's just go, then. And kill anything that comes out of that graveyard."

Lena's response is met with a resigned nod as her mind is naturally on the same track. She's in no mood to do anything but greet the next thing they see with anything other than a lethal blast. Upon reaching the graveyard, Korrin's frown deepens as she notes exactly who those tombstones are for: those who had entered the Fade, including them. Her tombstone?

Korrin Ataash:
Tranquility
Possession
Saarebas

"...fucking lovely."

"What the fuck is this?" Lena asks, her voice rising in barely contained fear. "What's this shit mean?" She stares down at her best friend's name, reading off those three words. Those can't be causes of death, right? Those are... fears. That's it. They're suck in the land of Nightmares, so these are things Korrin fears.

"Shit, forget it. They're just trying to get under your skin." Which is Lena's version of comforting a person. Even she realizes it's sort of shitty, and she turns to face Korrin. "None of that is ever gonna happen to you. You're too tough. Templars, demons, the fucking Qunari: none of them will ever touch you. And if you ever need a break from being tough as nails, you know I won't let them touch you either. I'll rip them apart."

Lena's version of comforting is helpful enough, strange though it may seem. What Korrin doesn't want or need is coddling, especially not in a place where they can't afford to let their guard down. Hugging it out while they have a rift to seek and with demons likely in pursuit? Yeah, not a good plan.

"I know they won't touch me, because I'd rather fucking die first." Blowing herself up is far more preferable to any of those fates. She takes a deep breath and nods, trying to focus on Lena's words and use them to bring herself the calm focus that's desperately needed right now. "...right. You're right, I know it. And you know how much I love watching you rip things apart."

"Yeah," Lena says, putting her back to the tombstones. "Let's get the fuck away from these things and get out of here. And I'll rip demons apart on the way. Won't that be fun?"

Anything to keep from thinking about this heavy shit.

Eager to do the same, Korrin picks up the pace. "At least we'll have a hell of a story to tell when we get out of here. Can you imagine the look on Asher's face when we tell him we struck down a mountain-sized demon? He'll be so jealous."

Lena snorts loudly before nodding her head as they walk away. The topic shift is completely welcome right now and she'll keep with it.

"He'll swear til he runs out of breath and passes out. Then he'll go out and start ripping apart bears with his teeth, but it still won't be good enough."

They'll just keep talking about silly little things and everything will be all right. Nothing else will try to mess with their minds, no demons will find them, and they'll find the way out soon.

Yeah, right. It would be nice if things worked out that way, but Lena is suddenly struck by the sudden urge to walk over closer to a pile of rocks, where a single piece of parchment lies on the ground. She can't say why she feels like she has to examine it, because she hardly realizes she's doing it, but all of a sudden she veers over that way.

Thinking about Asher and his jealous-boner has Korrin smiling a little, likewise gaining calm from talking about silly, inconsequential things. "Maybe we can appease him with a souvenir, though I've yet to find anything worth bringing back--

...Lena?" Raising an eyebrow, Korrin follows her over at that sudden detour.

It doesn't occur to Lena that this is odd. Why does she want to read this paper so badly? But she stoops and picks it up, reading the lines, and feeling the bottom drop out of her world as she does:

Fucking Shokrakar! Made us work the Conclave and look where it got us. Fuck! It hurts so much. I'm fucking dying, aren't I? No, no. Lena will find me. She'll get me out. It hurts. Never hurt this much before. Where is everyone? Maker, did Lena get buried too? No! No, she's not, she can't.

Who will tell Mum and Dad? Fuck, no. Lena. Lena, please be safe. Please find me.

She's not coming. No one's coming. We're all dying. We're all fucking dead.

I want to go home.

I want

to

live.

The parchment falls from Lena's trembling hands; hands that have always been so steady and sure. She never falters, but now she's not in control of her own body anymore. She's shaking, gasping for breath, and her eyes fill with tears. Then she lets out a scream so loud that it feels like it could rip apart the Fade itself before she falls to her knees and pounds her fists on the ground, letting out more screams. It doesn't make a difference if this is some lie pulled from her head or the last thoughts of her brother that somehow transcribed themselves here. It just stirs up everything she felt at that time, wondering whether he died instantly or whether he suffered. She never found his body and hoped he'd burned away so fast he didn't feel anything. But the thought that he might have been crushed under the rubble has haunted her dreams ever since. And ever since she left Haven, she hasn't dealt with it properly. She hasn't cried, she hasn't gone home; she's just worked and killed and drank.

And she doesn't know how to deal with the pain now except express it. She lashes out with her fists, bashing them against the ground as if she can make the Fade feel the pain she feels. She screams and feels her throat go raw. But it's not enough. Lena knows she isn't normal. She rarely forms friendships or healthy bonds with people. She doesn't want love and understanding. But she and Aban weren't like those siblings who barely tolerated each other. They were like twins, only born three years apart. They could look at each other and know exactly what the other one was thinking. And now it's just her, on her knees, screaming out her pain.

Since Lena doesn't answer her, Korrin doesn't hesitate to be nosy and read the parchment while it's still in her hands. And though she doesn't finish before it slips from Lena's hands, Korrin takes in enough. Reading that message, her stomach twists into knots, and the lump in her throat that forms prevents her from screaming. She's utterly silent, stricken, and not even telling herself that it's the Fade fucking with them changes that. The day of the Conclave returns to to her mind full-force; the horrendous blast, the charred and twisted bodies...the guilt that came with knowing kithmates had died horribly, and there had been nothing she could do about it. She couldn't save anyone, not that day.

Lena's continued screams are what snap her out of that continuous loop of trauma, knowing what her friend had lost in the explosion. Whatever hurt she holds, Lena has far more right to it. She's the one who lost her brother. Crouching down by Lena, Korrin slips her arms around the other Vashoth woman. She doesn't stop her from screaming or hitting things, but at least some part of Lena's mind will know that she's not going through this alone.

If this were anyone else, Lena would shove them away. Even sweet Taaranda would get knocked flat on her ass, and Taar lost her mother that day. Lena wouldn't let any other person comfort her but Korrin. And Korrin's presence somehow makes the screams stop too. Lena's fists flatten out on the ground and she weeps, giving strangled cries because she can't take in enough air. After several breaths like this, she turns and flings her arms around Korrin.

She's never done this with her before. The whole... emotions thing. Some would probably think Lena hadn't cried since she was a baby, and though that's not true, it's probably been twenty years.

"I don't fucking know how to deal, Kor! I don't! I can't! I'm fucking-- I'm just still here living, only it's not living. I'm dead inside. I can't-- I don't know what to do!" It all comes out in a long string of words peppered with sobs. She shakes her head, telling herself to stop blubbering and get it together, but the tears won't stop. They're like a waterfall.

"He got me. He knew. I don't know... fuck, I'm so messed up. I'm a fucked up mess." She wipes a hand under her eyes and her nose, shaking her head.

Korrin just holds onto Lena with all her strength, somewhat glad that at least she doesn't have to worry about gentleness with her fellow Vashoth. Her own eyes grow bright and tears spill over, though loud sobbing is reserved for Lena alone. She doesn't want to take center stage, not when Lena's the one who lost so much. But that does kick her guilt into overdrive, and she knows she can never truly make up that loss to Lena.

"I'm sorry, Lena. I'm so sorry. I should've been there, done...something. Not been guarding some stupid estate instead because 'fuck politics'." If she could take it back, if she could have been at the Temple early enough to know that something was wrong, then maybe none of this would have happened.

Korrin's words somehow get a laugh out of Lena. A laugh of disbelief, but still. It's something other than crying or screaming.

"You were on a job, not fucking around the village, taking a break. My brother was up there about to die while I was checking out what they served at the tavern." She sits back on her heels, releasing Korrin and wiping both hands all across her face, trying to get all the tears and snot off. Then she wipes her hands on her pants.

"He should've come with me, or... I should have stayed with him." She knows what she's implying. She would have preferred it if they both lived, but barring that, she would have preferred they both die together. Not this 'one left behind' shit.

"No. Don't go there." Don't even imply it, Lena. Korrin's dream of having saved everyone beforehand would likely have been impossible anyway, but the thought of losing even more than they already had, of losing Lena...she can't process it. Won't. She unties her sash enough to hand it over, not caring if Lena gets snot all over it. At this point, she's pretty sure the entire outfit is a lost cause. "We're going to avenge your brother, Lena. Him, Taaranda's mother, all the rest of them. We'll make it all count for something. I swear I won't stop until that bastard is cold in the ground and fucking staying there."

Lena won't say anymore about it, but Korrin can't stop her from thinking it. Which she probably always will. It's not something that a person can just overcome, especially someone like her, who doesn't know how to cope with anything in a healthy manner.

Taking the sash, Lena blows her nose and the noise is about what one should expect after a crying fit like she just had. She balls up the fabric and wipes her face with it before tossing it aside. And with a few shaky breaths, she's somewhat managed to pull herself together again.

"It's why I came. We have to do it. All this bullshit in the desert and this Fade shit -- it has to lead us to him. It has to." She can't live the rest of her life knowing Corypheus is out there and she didn't bash his skull in for Aban.

The sash isn't worth picking up, so Korrin doesn't. Instead, she nods encouragingly to Lena about taking those breaths, hoping they steady her somewhat. She'll need that renewed stability to get out of here. Korrin will do all she can to make that happen, of course, but some of it has to come from Lena herself.

"It will. So help me find the rift and we can get the hell out of here to hunt that twisted bastard down. At some point, he'll run out of pawns to throw at us or slip up, and then we'll be ready for him."

The sooner they get out of this shithole, the better. Lena pushes herself to her feet, cracks her knuckles, and nods.

"You're the one with the magic senses here, not me. You lead, I'll follow, and we rip apart anything that stands in our way." She draws her knives from their sheaths and is ready to go.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

OPEN: The Nightmare's Domain

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject