OPEN: The Nightmare's Domain

[visus]

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.

Comments

[onlyhymns]

Cade isn't sure why she's laughing, but is too on-edge to call her on it. Everything is wrong right now. He doesn't smile or acknowledge her joke, too busy glancing around in his periphery, where he keeps thinking he sees something moving, but is never sure if he's just going insane or not.

He's distracted from this when Beleth holds out her dagger, and he stares at it for a moment before taking it. "...it's a knife," he says, a bit uneasily. Yes, he knows how to use it. Is there a special way to use a knife?

[arlathvhen]

"...Yes." Beleth replies, raising an eyebrow at him. Yes, it's a knife, well spotted, but that doesn't answer the question. After a few moments, she decides what his hesitation must be, and goes about trying to reassure him. "It's alright, I'm pretty sure that this is an exception to the no weapons rule. If anyone gets after you about it, I'll talk to them, don't worry."

She's pretty sure that not worrying is a physical impossibility for Cade, but it can't hurt to suggest it.

"You didn't answer my question. Are you injured? Did anything attack you before I got here?" She pulls out her bow and an arrow, ready to draw and send the arrow flying. "Just--stay by me. We'll figure this out."

[onlyhymns]

That was a concern, though the bigger concern is that this is happening at all. With the knife in hand, Cade watches Beleth carefully, shaking his head to her further questions. "I'm fine," he says quietly, in what is possibly the least convincing argument he's ever made. ...but at least he's not injured.
He keeps close to Beleth as they go, jumping at shadows and simultaneously constantly afraid that she will be hurt by something, that he will accidentally hurt her, and everything will be ruined again. He looks away from her as often as he can, reviled by the feeling of the knife's hilt clutched in his hand, all too aware of it and becoming increasingly anxious about its presence. Before too long, it's the only thing he can focus on.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth doesn't seem to notice, or maybe she just doesn't think it's worth noting his increased jumpiness, because honestly, he had every right to be jumpy here. They were in the Fade, after all. "Didn't your religion have something about this? About people walking around in the Fade? I'm a little light on the details, but it wasn't a positive occasion--"

She freezes just then, halting in both body and awkward attempt at small talk. Her eyes are wide, posture tense and alert. She holds up a hand to Cade, head tilting, ear twitching as she listens carefully. Then she hears it--an unsettling chittering noise, and Beleth whirls to the side, her bow rising and firing in the fluid motion of someone trained at archery from youth.

To Beleth, the fearlings are wasps--massive, fiery wasps, charred like the likewise-feared balrogs, the mixture of two things she despised. Which just figured, really. The arrow hits, at least, and the fearling drops like a rock, wings still buzzing pitifully in death throws. Beleth looks away, making a face.

"I hate wasps."

[onlyhymns]

Cade is about to answer when they are suddenly besieged by wasps. He gives a start, then steps back to stand with his back to Beleth, getting in a swipe with the knife at the wasp before she shoots it down.
He looks at its body for a moment, bewildered but not too freaked out, at least until he turns around again. There, in his full view and Beleth's periphery, is... Beleth. But she's stumbling oddly, bruise marks around her throat, and a knife-- the knife currently in Cade's hand-- embedded in her back, at the exact angle it would be if he were to suddenly stab her, right now.
She pauses when she sees them, then her knees buckle. She looks up again, regarding Cade with fear and revulsion, one broken hand feebly reaching for another knife, as if she will attempt to defend herself if he should approach again. It is clear he could finish her off easily, if he so chose.

...which, of course, he doesn't.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth isn't sure if the vision is meant to be Cade's fear, or hers--maybe both. She turns to look at herself--which was a thing so odd in and of itself that it almost, almost manages to shield her from some fraction of the horror that is something so similar to the recurring nightmares that haunt her, even now.

Her posture is more defensive now, wheeling around to regard Cade warily, as if fearing he'd attack her, or attack--well, her. Her fingers tighten on her bow--he saw how fast she drew an arrow, how fast she can fire. There's the question if she can get in an arrow before he closes the distance, but she's backing up, increasing that distance. She hasn't drawn though, not yet.

"Don't hurt me." She whispers it quietly, shaking her head. "Please." She can't panic, not now. Not when she's armed, and he only has a borrowed knife, and she can't depend on anyone to save her this time. She's supposed to be Dalish, she's supposed to be strong. But there she is, right in front of herself, bleeding and broken, and Beleth can feel her breath catching.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry I pushed you. I'm sorry my friends got mad at you. Please don't hurt me."

[onlyhymns]

Well this Fear demon sure hit the jackpot.
Cade stands stock still, watching one Beleth approach and the other retreat, only his eyes moving as he looks between them. He thinks he knows which one is real, but now that they're both cowering, the line is beginning to blur.
He can't take his eyes off the broken version, and his hand grips the knife as though it's been grafted to him, suddenly an unwelcome growth that he can't get rid of. Tears sting his eyes, but he shows very little emotional reaction at all other than that.

When Beleth (?) speaks, he looks at her, and his mouth works oddly, as though he'd like to say something but has suddenly forgotten how. His eyes are dazed and afraid, and when he drops the knife on the ground, it's almost a recoil, as though he was holding a snake. Then he steps back, both hands lifting to knot roughly in his hair.

[arlathvhen]

It is, oddly, one of the best reactions he could have. He doesn't attack her, or. Well. Her. He looks--as horrified as she feels. And somehow, that helps. Seeing him panicking, seeing him as upset by this as she was helped. And, more strangely, she feels responsible for him. Seeing him so upset helps her calm down enough to pull back from her own panic, and makes her remember that he's her responsibility, she promised to protect him.

And a Dalish doesn't go back on her word.

It's a lot easier than it should be, probably, to draw the arrow, to point it at herself. The wounded her, laying there, sad and hurt and still trying to fight to the last. It's too easy, for her to do what Cade had failed to do, what she still wishes that he had succeeded in doing, some nights. There is an instant between when the arrow fires and when it hits, where the demon gives an unearthly scream, lunging forward to protect itself, and then falling, Beleth's arrow through an eye.

She tries to act calm, sucking in long, deep breaths. Merciful, really. She thinks to herself, and almost laughs. To Cade, she turns, and give him the most comforting words she can think of.

"That is an ironbark dagger, don't just throw it on the ground. Now it's got Fade goo all over it."

[onlyhymns]

Cade is still standing, but looks like his knees might buckle at any moment. His forearms continue to hide his face, hands in his hair, his shoulders shaking with distress.
When Beleth speaks again, her voice sounds different. He slowly lowers his hands to look at her, and finds that it's the one with the bow, the one he presumably met up with here in the Fade, and the other is... nowhere to be seen. Not that he can't still see the wretched, dying woman vividly in his mind's eye, but she's no longer corporeal.

"I didn't," he whimpers, not even entirely sure what he's trying to say, "...are you real?" He looks pointedly at Beleth now, and as though just now remembering that the knife is there, he looks down at it, then back up at her. "...did I hurt you?"

[byblow]

WHAT AN EXCELLENT QUESTION, CADE.

Alistair doesn't repeat it. He's been within eyesight long enough, after coming around a crumbling green corner, to have a vague understanding that Cade isn't presently actively menacing Beleth, and Beleth's bow is out, and when he slides into speaking distance it's with a speed and slack-shouldered posture that could be accurately described as a saunter. But his sword is in his hand and his eyes are just as sharp as the blade.

"Beleth?" he says instead, meaning hello, I'm here.

[arlathvhen]

She's fine, it's fine, everything is fine, she just killed herself, but honestly, that wasn't nearly as upsetting as it really should be, probably. She takes a few moments to try to collect herself, and then to collect the dagger that Cade continued to leave on the ground, gathering Fade goo. She stares at the dagger, remembering how it had looked in her back, before she stuck it back in her pack.

She looks up at Cade after that, brows knitting together. How could she be the fake one? Wasn't it obvious that she was the real one? Before she can try to even begin to imagine how to confirm to him that she wasn't actually a demon, or how to try to keep him from freaking out even further, they get a visitor.

"Alistair!" She turns towards him immediately, taking steps back from Cade like she had been caught doing something wrong, just being near him. Instead, she quickly moves towards Alistair, hands still gripping her bow. "Thank the Creators you're alright. I mean--you're you, right? Not a demon?" This causes her pause. She doubts a fear demon would appear as Alistair for her, but--Cade, maybe? She turns over her shoulder to the other man, as if he might be able to verify this.

[onlyhymns]

This isn't really a place that merits reasonable responses to things, and Cade has been in here just long enough to not trust anyone he sees to be who they are. They just finished watching Beleth die, and now here comes Alistair, angry and wielding a sword, and he isn't about to take any chances.
Cade breaks into a stumbling run to shove himself between Beleth and Alistair, his eyes frantic and his stance protective. He's not armed, but it's fairly clear he's ready to go mad dog on a demon if he has to. "Stay back," he hisses, "what are you?"

[byblow]

"I don't know," Alistair says, and this is not the time, but he's unstoppable, he's a force of nature, "is there a no time for this shit demon?"

[arlathvhen]

There's just enough time to register Oh gods no he's running at me before Beleth has to alter that alarmed thought to he's running in front of me??? Clearly, Cade seemed even less sure than Beleth did that Alistair wasn't a demon. She had to admit, it was conveniently similar to the last time the three of them met--but this time, Cade was...trying to protect her? For all the good that it did him, unarmed as he was.

She stands on her tip toes to try to peek over Cade's shoulder at Alistair. "You're not helping, you know." She informed Alistair reproachfully, just in case he might be unaware that sassing Cade was not, in fact, helpful. "Can't you--either of you--do, uh. Templar. Things?" She wiggled her fingers. Templar things. You know. The things. That Templars do.

[onlyhymns]

Cade seems about to rise to Alistair's usual dickery, but Beleth's interjection stops him, as well as the sudden logical realization that Alistair being a dick instead of attacking probably means it's the real Alistair. Who is a dick.
He looks uncertainly back at Beleth when she speaks over his shoulder, then turns his wary gaze on the Warden, still not quite ready to let him near her, just in case he is a demon. At her question, however, he sighs a little, trying to force some of the anger to leave him in favor of survival. "I can," he says hoarsely, looking back at her, "...though it's usually with a sword." He could probably do it without, but he's no mage, and having a focus for the... not-magic?? is helpful. Especially under times of duress.

[byblow]

"And I'd rather not try repelling the Fade while I'm standing in it," Alistair says, adjusting his loose grip on his own sword. Maybe that would spit them back into the world proper. Maybe it would cut a hole in the ground and plummet him into nothingness. Maybe it would tear them all apart at the seams. An experiment for another, more suicidal time, perhaps.

He briefly considers offering to give Cade his sword, if he'll calm down. Very briefly. Again: not sufficiently suicidal at the moment. To his left, their right, there's a groaning sound as the Fade-rocks shift.

"But if you two will come find the others with me, I can do other Templar things. Quote the Chant. Find a mage who's looking too uppity and put her back in her place."

[arlathvhen]

Beleth is already reaching for her dagger to try to offer it to Cade again, when Alistair makes the point about the unknown repercussions for attempting to dispel magic within...well, the realm of magic. There's a part of Beleth, the same part that had gone and found a spirit to chat up, that was incredibly curious about what would happen, but no, this wasn't the time.

Despite this not being the time, Beleth still snorted ungracefully at Alistair's words. "Well--I don't know, does the Chant say anything about this? It's got some people going into the Fade in it, right? Did it happen to mention how they got out?" She's doubtful, that sounds suspiciously like being actually helpful to Beleth, and she's not sure if the Maker and his dumb Chant would want to try breaking the mold now.

"I think it's him." She turns to Cade, rubbing the side of her face. "I don't think demons could capture the full range of his terrible jokes."

[onlyhymns]

Alistair is almost useful, and then he has to ruin it. Cade at least recognizes that bickering won't help, but he's mid-eyeroll when suddenly a voice interjects.

"Surely we taught you better than that, Alistair," says Brother Flavius, a good-looking, quiet-eyed man in his early forties. He was their teacher, once, generally thought well of by his peers and by the students. He taught them to read and interpret the Chant, to express it in their daily lives. He privately mentored Cade through their late childhood and early adolescence.
"I'm disappointed to hear you speak thus of the people who raised you."

Cade watches him approach, his expression impenetrable. He does, unconsciously, shift slightly so that more of his shoulder is in front of Beleth.

[byblow]

"And here we have a demon of eternal droning," Alistair says. Thinking well of the abbey clerics was never his strong suit. "If you're trying to scare me, you're waaay off the--"

One aspect of not thinking about what he says before he says it is sometimes only realizing what he thinks when when he hears it coming out of his own mouth. So he hears himself, and falters, looking sideways at Cade. The click is nearly audible. It's only a small click--a this isn't about you click--but still a click. He shifts, too, consciously and unslightly, until he's not fully between the demon and Cade-and-Beleth but could be, quickly, if necessary.

"Way off the mark."

[arlathvhen]

It's not hard for Beleth to figure out that the demon in question isn't after her, and she eyes Alistair and Cade nervously. Despite the demon not being there to torment her, and having thus far ignored her, the two men have managed to place themelves as barriers between her and the Brother. Thoughtful, but she has to have a clear shot if she wants to get rid of this thing before it can cause any more trouble.

Moving slowly, carefully, keeping her eyes on the Brother, she reaches for an arrow, moving back. There's a prodding guilt at leaving Cade without a weapon, but the last time she'd tried, he'd seemed...less than appreciative. Between her and Alistair, they could probably take care of this.

cw for implied/referred to pedophilia

[onlyhymns]

"Scare you? Why would I want to scare you?" The demon(?) steps innocently toward them, but as the attention shifts between Alistair and Beleth from himself to Cade, Brother Flavius allows the redirect. "I'd prefer not to spend time on you at all. Your uncle certainly had the right idea, as did the other children." Flavius casts this casually towards Alistair as he walks to Cade, who stands there and stiffly allows the Chantry brother to rest a hand on his shoulder. Between the two of them, the demon looks more alive.
"He was right to abandon you," Flavius whispers to Alistair, his voice almost gentle, then turns to Cade and pats his shoulder. "He's sick, you know. Cares only for himself, regardless of how his perversion destroys the lives of those who support him the most."
In a sudden motion, the brother catches a fistful of Cade's hair, lurching him forward by the back of his head; but the gesture isn't angry, it's imploring. "You came back every day," he whispers, his voice shaking, "you returned and you returned, knowing what it did to me, what it made me do."
Cade's eyes are squeezed tightly shut, his mouth pinched in a miserable frown, and he shows no sign of speaking or even reacting anytime soon.

[byblow]

Alistair's face hardens. Behind it, things are happening, like dawning understanding and fury and resentment and irritation at the Fade for existing and doing things like this, all at once, crowding and bottle-necking. He'll have to sort through them later. When there isn't a demon.

"Cade," he says, but he knows a lost cause--or an especially obvious lost cause, anyway--when he sees one, so that's the extent of it. He flexes the wrist attached to his sword but doesn't move except to look at Beleth and do a quick, imploring thing with his eyebrows. If she has a clear shot, he isn't going to charge in and ruin it. Yet.

[arlathvhen]

There's an angry heat in her veins when Flavius speaks to Alistair, because how dare anyone talk to Alistair like that--but he keeps talking, and that heated anger is replaced with a cold chill. It runs down her spine and spreads through her veins like ice as realization dawns. But it's still angry. It's a cold anger that makes her regret that the demon is so close to Cade, touching him, because she wants to hurt him. Not kill him, not yet, but see how much pain she can inflict.

But priorities are priorities, and Alistair is trying to talk to her with his eyebrows. She gives a quick nod and takes one more step. Then the bow is raised, and without a word, without any more warning than that movement, the arrow flies at the Brother.

[onlyhymns]

Cade flinches when he hears his name, the brief but clear reminder that there are other people here, witnessing this. But his awareness is fragmented between them and Flavius, who gives an inhuman shriek when pierced with the arrow, his voice doubling strangely over itself and a cold fog drifting from his mouth as his grip on the Templar tightens.
He still looks mostly human, but now there's an odd, soulless glint in his eyes, and his fingers are like claws against Cade's scalp. Cold radiates from them, lightly frosting over the Templar's brow and cheekbones as Flavius pulls him closer, until their faces are nearly touching.
"You promised me," he hisses, his voice taking on the quality of metal on ice, of nails on a chalkboard, "you swore you wouldn't tell a soul." Steam rises from the arrow lodged in the side of his head, though he has yet to acknowledge its presence beyond his initial reaction.

Despite all his years of being a Templar, singleminded devotion to the Maker and justice and all those good things, Cade doesn't lift a finger to stop this. The most he does is gasp when the demon's grip tightens, blood beginning to dampen its fingertips where they dig into his skin, staining the roots of his hair and running down the back of his neck. He doesn't even seem terribly afraid, just... resigned. As though he knew this day would come, and knows better than to fight it.

[byblow]

"Right."

Zero interest in engaging with this tool. Not verbally, anyhow. Alistair steps forward, sword swinging at his side to illustrate a willingness to use it, angled so that if the demon has any self-preservative ideas about keeping Cade in the way it will have to keep giving Beleth a clear shot.