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

[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.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth has to shuffle a little for that clear shot, trying to make sure that Cade himself isn't at risk of getting hurt. Or getting hurt worse, by her, she supposed, watching the blood begin to well. She gives a nervous glance to Alistair, but squares her shoulders when she sees that he's ready to fight as well.

"Back to the void, demon." Her voice sounds more assured than she feels, but she stands steadfast, firing another arrow at the Brother. She's pretty sure she's not about to convince it with her words, but. It didn't hurt, probably. Maybe it'd remind Cade what's going on and kick him out of that funk.