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.

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II. Searching

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

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

III. Escape

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

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

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

"...I know you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So many demons.

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

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

"Put the daggers down, Cole. The fight's over. We need to get back." Rhys — if it is Rhys — steps forward, sounding wary now, cautious. Holding a hand up toward Cole, placating, offering. "Come on. Let's go together."

Adelaide's voice, then the other, breaks through the song just enough to make him doubt again. Which way would he need to go, to head back toward the Inquisition? He had thought it was ahead, the way Rhys is beckoning, but...

The song swells again, whispered promises brushing past his ear. Safe. Together. Forgiven.

"You're not them." The words grind out from between his teeth. He raises one dagger, daring Rhys to come closer. "They don't need to forgive. They've forgotten. It's better that way."

"I forgive you." Three words which are enough to chip away at Cole's will a little more, to make him hesitate one more second.

"Cole..." Demon. Demon, demon, demon, discordant and distressing and deceptive and she is too damn tired to contend with this with any manner of subtlety or grace. It is a demon. It is trying to kill Cole. It is wearing the face of a peer that she knows cannot possibly be in the Fade with them.

Patience long past worn thin, her fingers flicker and twist in the air, marking out a sigil- snapping a glyph of paralysis under the demon. Demons? One can project two faces, project three if it had pretend to be a despair demon as well. They do not often collaborate and it is-

Too many variables and not enough time. The crumbling of an archway to their left is proof enough of that. She walks forward, hand settling on his shoulder. To ground or to drag, she can't quite tell. "We need to leave, Cole."

A hand on his shoulder, and Cole staggers a little, one step backward. To the left, stones are rising into the air, falling away.

He can't leave. Can't turn his back on those faces. In the next second, the thought stays the same, but the feeling behind it shifts. He no longer doubts. He can hear the song seeping through Rhys' words, see the shell that wears his smile, and he is angry.

Cole wrenches his shoulder away from Adelaide's hand and moves forward with quick steps — one, two, three, then he turns and is standing at the paralyzed Rhys' back, raising the dagger in his hand.

"You can't keep their faces."

No blood spills from Rhys' neck. He falls, and purple smoke seeps from the wound. The silent Evangeline raises her sword toward Cole only to dissolve into flickers of light. When the body of Rhys falls, it is no longer Rhys, but the tall, lithe form of Desire — and then it melts into the stone.

A strong quake shakes the ground. Cole sheathes his weapons and moves forward, then, reaching out to grab Adelaide's hand as he goes. They do need to leave. He's ready now.

He's quick. She should not be surprised by how quick, by much of anything with Cole anymore; but so quick to work and to kill- this is not the same boy that brought spiders to the safety of the garden or put turnips in the hearths- and yet it is. Reconciling the two will take time.

If they ever have it after.

What power she has left flares in her hand as the templar's sword raises and dies right along with the illusion. Oh. Good. She isn't all that certain she has another fight left in her.

Empty of ice and it's odd to think of a spirit, not spirit, boy, whatever it is that Cole is- it's odd to thin of his hand as warm. But it is. And solid. And that more than anything else has Adelaide shaking off the exhaustion. "It is not that much farther."

He'll keep holding on to her hand, if she'll allow it. In any case, he won't attempt to pull her along once they've started moving, preferring to keep pace. It isn't until they're drawing close to the rift that he slows his steps, stops, and speaks again.

"I almost wanted to go with them." He turns his head, looking toward Compassion, then Adelaide. Addressing both. "Thank you."

It's strangely grounding, walking through the faltering landscape hand in hand. The mundane nature of the situation helped make things a touch less surreal. While the fade may be falling apart, they're making way. Adelaide slows when Cole slows- and for a moment escape doesn't seem so impossible or so dire.

"You would have done the same for anyone else caught." Leaving them to it would be cruel. "We survived the Spire. We will survive this."

He squeezes her hand a little tighter. On most days, he would be uncomfortable with the thought of anyone else helping him, but here... here is different.

We survived the Spire. She has a part of it, but not everything. He could tell her, if she asked.

Not now.

"Forward, one foot, then the other. Walking to wake out of a bad dream — yes." He slips away from her, then, moving ahead, looking around on all sides to make sure no one else is being left behind.

"A bit more literal that most, but, yes." There's a moment of disorientation when he slips away- but she peers behind. The columns and stairs are crumbling, demons in the distance- but she does not see anyone else that would need a guiding hand out. Safe to move forward. And so she does, staff tucked against her shoulder for support.

Bruce hadn't meant to hear Cole, or to be near him at all - in fact he had been trying to do the opposite, for fear of what their unique conditions could do to one another. Cole was a spirit who was also human and Bruce... well, it would be a lie if he said he didn't feel the way the demon was pressing against him from within, wanting to be let out. No matter what, the Fade was still its home and it wanted to return.

But there was no way Bruce could just ignore the way Cole seen so shaken by everything, and its the frantic mutterings that finally make him pause. Bruce slowly shifts his movements so that he can approach Cole, speaking only when he knows he's within earshot. "Cole? Are you alright?"

The discomfort is double with Bruce nearby. Hard to tell exactly what's him, what's the demon. The same feeling of being held in by skin and bones, aching to break free, to stretch and snap —

Well. That one was the demon.

"I ought to be able to — but I can't." It's difficult even to finish a complete thought. "It should feel like home. It's not. This isn't me — not this part."

He knows its not the brightest idea, being this close to Cole, but he does owe Cole more than a few debts at this point. He couldn't exactly ignore him after seeing how he was right now.

"You can't..." he trails off, frowning, trying to comprehend the words, their meaning. It's a lot of guesswork, but he's trying his best. "The Fade? Is that the problem?" ...not exactly the best way to elaborate it, but hopefully Cole understands.

"Yes." The momentary connection, the second where their thoughts align, is enough to ground him. Temporarily. "No. I don't know."

Focus, he thinks. Breathe. But the air isn't air here, not like it is in the real world, so what is this in his lungs?

"It's wrong, or I am. I don't know which." He keeps moving only because it's preferable to standing still, doing nothing but existing. "Skin is a shell. Push at the weak points until it cracks. But I can't."

Bruce certainly doesn't expect any concrete answer from Cole - its easy enough to see that he's just as confused about it. It's hard to blame him, too - the Fade has never been something within comprehension, and that seemed to hold true even for its own denizens.

"There was the Nightmare," he returns slowly, doing his best to reason this out. He's probably totally off the mark here, but as long as it can help Cole... "Maybe its presence did something to this part of the Fade." What with the Fearlings, and the things all around them, to--just everything, really. Every part of this seemed shaped as some personal nightmare for all of them.

"Yes." Maybe. It was possible. If he were still what he once had been, this was not the sort of place he would have wanted to linger.

"He feels it, too." In a different way perhaps, but. There's that same sense of being held in, of wanting to be free.

Well, that was one mystery solved at least. Or hopefully, it was. It was a bit hard to say.

At the next part Bruce tries his best to not make a face. Talking about... it is never Bruce's favorite choice of conversation, but its not like he can hide from Cole. Of all the people in the Inquisition, it was Cole who could understand best, for better or for worse. "I know." He could feel it, that restless shifting, the low rumble at the back of his mind. It's a challenge and a testament to his control that he's still able to keep it all together, even after having used his magic in the battle earlier. "But its not going to happen." It will never happen. Bruce won't allow that, and he'd rather die before letting it happen.

"Good. Don't let it." If the Nightmare twisted this place, what would it do to a demon like that?

Through the thick, damp air, a bad dream brushes past Cole's ear and catches. His voice trembles as he's compelled to speak: "Ceiling falls away. Mother screams. Birds diving through the dark, shrieking, talons tearing."

He won't. It's a promise Bruce had made to himself. He won't let anybody suffer even more because of his mistakes.

He's content to leave things as they are, but then Cole speaks again and the words--Bruce can't help but pause the words. Mother screams. He's probably looking too deep into this, but this is the Fade, and...

"Stay with me, Cole." Bruce tries to sound insistent but it doesn't quite come off as such. "We're going to find a way out of here."

"I'll try." If Bruce can hold it together, so can he. They can keep each other going. "I'll help you, too."

He also sounds less confident than he wants to. But knowing he might be able to help Bruce brings him somewhat back to himself.

There are words on his tongue here--something like you don't have to and I'm beyond anybody's help. It's usually easier to keep the thoughts away but after the Nightmare earlier... they're not as easy to ignore, this time.

(Not even death or tranquility can save you from the monster you've become.)

"As long as you try," is what he manages, instead, trying to sound just as confident when he feels nothing like that at all. It's a surprise that he can keep both his hands and his voice steady when he gestures in the direction of everyone else. "Let's keep moving."

Keep moving, yes. Pressing forward. Find the exit, whatever it takes.

The landscape at large never changes — uneven stone interrupted by pools of water — but as they travel onward, little details start to shift. They start to pass by gravestones, scattered at first, then in even lines.

"Not real," Cole murmurs, reminding himself as well as Bruce. "The graves are empty, staring sockets... sorry." Almost got carried away again there.

The Fade is never going to be something so easily understood, he realizes this by now. There's barely any sense or logic to the scenery around them, to even the existence of this place, and honestly Bruce is more than glad when they can get out of her.

He sees the tombstones at the corner of his eye but he ignores it, knowing that they won't be giving him any kind of help. But Cole doesn't quite manage to ignore them and when he apologizes from his murmuring Bruce glances back and gives him a reassuring look.

"It's alright, I don't--" He cuts himself off when he sees something familiar inscribed on the tombstone right nearby Cole, and despite knowing better Bruce turns his attention to there instead. The stone itself is incredibly battered and worn, as if forgotten, but what is inscribed upon there reads easily as if it had been nearly carved.

Robertson Breuse Ballard
Giving in

Despite everything, Bruce feels his blood turn cold at the words, his heart clenching tight in his chest. How many people had seen this? And how many was going to be able to put two and two together. The fear was already clawing up at his throat and he could feel the demon pressing more insistently, wanting to come out, to fight back, to crush--

No, no, no.

Bruce quickly turns away and squeezes his eyes shut, taking in deep breaths with his mouth and forcing himself back into a state of calm. He can do this. He can. He can. He could.

(He can't. He never could.)

A shudder ripples through the air, so distinct that Cole thinks everyone must have felt it. A low roll of thunder, the footfall of a giant. A roar of rage and fear, primal enough to curdle your insides. He stops and turns. Bruce is radiating something like a heat shimmer, or again, no, it's only a trick of the Fade...

"Only words," he promises, taking a step back in Bruce's direction. "Words that wound and warp, but no more than noise. It's not real."

If the panic has faded by now, it hasn't faded enough. Another word escapes before Cole can stop it: "Please..."

It's not real. Bruce holds onto those words when he hears them, clinging onto it as if its the only thing that tethers him to everything else. The Fade, himself, everything. The demon presses further, a dull roar at the back of his head, its anger rising--

No.

Bruce bites down on his lip - not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt, and the flash of pain is enough to get back enough of himself to push back. To keep it back down--all the way down to the depths of everything else that he is, silencing the roar, the pain, the anger and fear. None of those are for it to control. Not now.

He takes a breath, and then two, fists curling and nails digging into his palms to remind himself again. It's not real. He's always known his fears, can't do anything but live with them even as they haunt him forever. But he can control them--just as he can control the demon inside him.

Eventually his breathing is calm, but Bruce takes one more and then squares himself back in order. Opens his eyes to look at Cole and give him a tired smile. "I'm alright now. Don't worry."

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colecomfort - 2016-06-06 18:33 (UTC) - Expand

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amygdalae - 2016-06-08 04:00 (UTC) - Expand

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OPEN: The Nightmare's Domain

Cole

III

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II \o/

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does cole want to see bruce's tombstone...

suuuuuure

whoooo

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