![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
"He feels it, too." In a different way perhaps, but. There's that same sense of being held in, of wanting to be free.
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
He also sounds less confident than he wants to. But knowing he might be able to help Bruce brings him somewhat back to himself.
does cole want to see bruce's tombstone...
(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."
suuuuuure
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.
whoooo
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.
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.)
no subject
"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..."
no subject
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."
no subject
"Can't help it, here." Worrying. For himself, for everyone else. The graves surround them, rows and rows of fears, all of them dangerous under the wrong circumstances. All of them with the power to hurt.
At least Bruce's, for all the immediate danger it might present, holds some element of choice. All he has to do is not give up.
"But you are stronger than he is." Because he's more than his own rage. Because his power comes from more than brute strength. "You choose who you want to be."
He offers Bruce his hand. Come on, let's go.
no subject
"I do my best, at any rate," he returns, voice quiet, pausing for another moment before he hesitantly reaches out and takes the offered hand. Cole's hand is thin, his fingers slim and fragile even though Bruce knows fragile is the last thing Cole is. It's strange how solid he is despite being a spirit but then again, aren't both of them the same? People who shouldn't exist, but yet they do.
He gives Cole another smile. "You lead the way." He's better at that than he is.