faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ The Darkest Realms of Dream, Part II

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MOD PLOT ↠ The Darkest Realms of Dream, Part II

WHO: Open
WHAT: A dreamy conclusion.
WHEN: Wintermarch 20, 9:47
WHERE: The Fade, Kirkwall
NOTES: Please use content warnings in your comment subject lines as appropriate.

THE JOURNEY

The pull to Skyhold becomes undeniable. Whatever justification is necessary to get people onto the road the dream makes real, whether that's planting an idea in their head or having a message arrive drawing them to the area or having them wake up and find themselves in an onion cart halfway up the mountain. The dream will do its best to smooth over the gaps between conflicting stories and the strangeness of everyone heading that way at once until they're all well underway.

At first, the journey seems normal (in the context of the dreamworld they're in), with the sort of mundane dangers faced by all travelers: wild animals, bad weather, brigands, and in the future where Corypheus has won, enemy patrols. But as they get nearer to the mountains, the trip grows more dangerous. More wild animals—and perhaps now they're infected with red lyrium or Fade-touched. More bad weather, perhaps almost supernaturally so. More enemy forces hunting them, ambushing them, barring the way up into the Frostbacks.

As they get into the mountains the opposition to their journey will become increasingly improbable. Hordes of beasts, entire enemy brigades that have no reason to be where they are, a necromancer coincidentally located atop an ancient cemetery hidden beneath the ice, a rift spontaneously opening to spew demons in their path, darkspawn clawing up out of the ground, a random Qun attack thousands of miles from their front, a dragon appearing out of nowhere. More and more, it will become obvious that things are not what they seem, and that something—some larger force—is trying to prevent them from reaching Skyhold.

HAVEN

No matter where people came from or when they left, they will all arrive on the road into the mountains at roughly the same time. Not precisely, but near enough that they'll begin to encounter others making the same journey. And whether they are attempting to reach Skyhold from the East or the West, they'll find themselves in the ruins of Haven first, converging with the entire group. In the world where the Inquisitor defeated Corypheus, the village is home to a monument to those who were lost when Corypheus' forces first attacked, with evidence of a steady stream of recent pilgrimages—though presently no pilgrims—to pay their respects. In the world where Corypheus dominates, a lifesize dragon has been constructed from bones, some of them human, to stand triumphant over the ruins.

Once they press past this point, taking much the same route once used to lead Haven's refugees to Skyhold, the dreams will begin to unravel. The two dreamworlds may begin to overlap and merge in confusing ways that fuel awareness that the dreams are dreams. People from one dream may step into the woods to forage and encounter people from the other dream there to do the same thing. A person who has experienced both dreams may find that they begin to bleed together, leaving them certain of one history in one moment and of another the next, and increasingly unsure about which of their conflicting sets of memories—if either—is real.* The gaps in memories will also become increasingly apparent, as will the strange coincidence of all of them heading to Skyhold at once for very different reasons.

As people gain awareness that they are in a dream, they may find that they gain more control over the dreamworld. Non-mages may find themselves capable of impossible feats, like willing a storm into being to push enemies back, or speaking to animals to learn the enemy's movements. Mages may find that the normal boundaries on magic have been stretched, and spells that might once have been beyond their power no longer are. Their newfound capabilities do have limits, though: their enemies grow in strength to match them and cannot simply be wished away, and the major threats that more and more clog their path are still too strong to be beaten by any one person alone.

The last leg of the journey up to Skyhold will be the most difficult yet, as difficult as it has ever been. The paths are even steeper and rockier than anyone remembers, in places appearing as if they've been deliberately heaved about and strewn with boulders in an attempt to narrow the way. Surely so much of the road wasn't treacherous goat paths along the edge of precipitous drops before? And if that wasn't enough, while the enemy forces have receded here there comes in their wake a blizzard of tremendous strength, clouds blotting out the sun, the way lit only by the occasional crack of lightning. Snow lashes the rocks and wind screams through the passes, ice slicking every stone, as if nature itself is trying to throw them from the mountain. While it might normally be wisest to hunker down, they will all somehow know that this is not a storm that can be waited out and the only course is to press onward through it to the top.

OOC | * Characters from one dreamworld won't meet the other version of themselves face to face. There's only one consciousness in the dream per person, in one 'body'. They may switch back and forth between dream versions, or lose one version entirely, or begin to muddle their memories and personalities together, or drop them both when they become fully aware of the fact that they're dreaming, but the two versions will never coexist as separate entities at the same moment.

SKYHOLD

They will know when they've reached their destination because just as suddenly as it began, the storm ceases. The tranquility is as abrupt as walking through a door: one moment they are in the howling heart of the blizzard, and in the next step they are beyond it. The air is cold but still, the sky clouded but calm, the path across the great bridge to the main gate clear of snow.

Skyhold would be a striking sight at any time, perched atop its peak against a backdrop of stark white mountaintops, but in these dreams, it's ethereal. The stones have a faint luminescence, like a smooth pond bathed in moonlight, that makes it stand out clearly against the night sky. No windows or braziers are lit, and the valley around it is still. The walls are unguarded and the portcullis open in an invitation they can't bring themselves to refuse.

As they approach, they'll find themselves able to call on memories from both dreamworlds at once—while the gaps in their memories of the years prior to the last month grow. And memories of the true world, one where it's Wintermarch 9:47, may begin to reemerge and solidify, no longer a future that will never arise nor a past that's been left far behind them. By the time they reach the Great Hall, yesterday may feel like as many as three different days, each memory as clear and vivid as the others.

Once inside the walls, the castle grows still more dreamlike. A great tree grows out of the far corner where the War Room ought to be, its massive trunk somehow coexisting with the walls around it, its canopy broad enough to stretch into the Great Hall. The building's form doesn't seem wholly fixed in time—one moment it will appear to be the Skyhold of the Inquisition, in another, one might instead see a glimpse of the ruin it was before the Inquisition arrived, or a bare mountain peak with only a few foundation stones laid, or even an ancient elven temple built around that great tree. There are remnants too of those who have lived and work here in ages past: a flicker of movement in the corner of an eye might be the ghostly shape of an ancient elf or a dwarf lord or a Fereldan mason, or even someone in Inquisition uniform. Attempts to interact with these apparitions will fail, as they continue on about their routines, incorporeal and unaware, vanishing again as soon as they're out of sight.

The only exception is a spirit in the Great Hall, waiting for them.

AFTERMATH

When they wake in the Gallows, it is Wintermarch 21, 9:47, and nothing in the world—outside their own heads—has fundamentally changed from when they went to sleep.

OOC | It will feel like a month has passed at most, similar to how rifters wake up from their canon updates. They will only remember that month-long span of the dream itself, not the years of history that led up to that point. Essentially, they may wake up from the dream and remember "so back when the Inquisition fell I turned assassin and killed a bunch of people," but they'll only be remembering that in the dream this fact was true; they won't remember a years-long period in which they became an assassin, the assassin skills they supposedly learned, or the act of killing those people.

As is the manner of dreams, memories may be fuzzy or disjointed, and some things may stick in the mind more clearly and vividly than others. Anyone who interacts with the Herald spirit (or witnesses others doing so) will find these memories particularly clear and strong.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I think it'd be pretty hard to miss if I had."

Surely struggling up a mountain while bleeding to death would be a bit much, even for him.

"Did the letter say anything?"

She doesn't look entierly convinced, eyeing him suspiciously before she answers.

"Only that I should come to Skyhold." Sawbones bares her teeth, stomping down on the snow a little harder than is necessary, "I got excommunicated from the Chantry. A cleric put me in touch with his family and I got me a position as village midwife in a pleasant enough little hamlet. Until I got here-" An expressive gesture to their surroundings, "And realize it's all nugshit. I've been carrying on while people I've a duty to have been getting up to who knows what! You all look like shit by the way, even if you are in one piece. Even if this is another blasted dream. Dwarves aren't even supposed to dream!"

She stomps one foot down, for the sheer annoyance of it all.

"Gee," he says, "thanks."

He's sure he does look like shit, and all the rest of them, but she doesn't have to say so. Except — her story doesn't make sense, does it? What about the Imperium, what of the Chantry is even left to excommunicate anyone?

(He hasn't seen any dwarves, she's right.)

And then his memory flickers, shifts, and he remembers having no anchor at all, stumbling into an Edgard who couldn't remember him, a world free from Corypheus —

And he pulls his hands down his face, suddenly understanding how Edgard had felt, trying to remember.

"Christ, this is giving me a headache."

Extremely literally, actually.

"Dreams do that, I suspect," she says, grimly, "Reckon you might have the worst of it, since you Rifters fell through the Fade to get here in the first place."

Then she actually stops and thinks about it, "Actually, that would be an interesting exploration. How do Rifters interact with the Fade." She looks up at him with a bright interested gaze, "Do you remember dreaming since you got here?"

"I don't think trying is going to help with the headache," he says, only faintly aggrieved, and drops his hands with a sigh. There's a corresponding puff of white in the frigid air. "Most of my memories are from a dream that I don't think you were part of. Till now, apparently."

"Reckon you'd have more if I had a connection to the Fade like you lot do," Sawbones says, thoughtfully, "I keep gettin' glimpses of a life that is suppose to be mine, I think one that runs alongside whatever you've been dreaming."

She scowls, "But it ain't anything I want and I ain't gonna let some blasted stone deaf sun touched nugfucked spirit dictate it to me. Have you tried telling whatever the fuck is going on to get bent?"

"Huh," he says dryly, giving her a sidelong look. "If only I'd thought of that."

Not said without affection, though.

She pats his knee consolingly, "Not your fault, considering you lot carry this mess around in your heads regularly. I see how you've all gotten in such a state without a dwarf around to keep you sensible."

He huffs out an amused sound as they keep walking.

"Well, if you want, I can tell you about the dream I remember the most of. That should explain why we all look like shit, apparently."

"Do that," she says, nodding, "I'll have a better idea of what I need when we get to Skyhaven or whatever it's called."

Because she will be looking over all of them.

Thank God for Sawbones, honestly.

"Well, to start with, Corypheus won the war. The Tevinter Imperium controls just about everything, and what's left of Riftwatch has shrunk to a resistance hiding in the Korcari Wilds. The main camp was in a swamp, but conditions were much better than the alternatives. People were either there, or sided with the Imperium, or undercover with them. They'd also taken a lot of rifters prisoner. And others died."

He looks down towards her, adds,

"Like I said, your dream was the better one."

She frowns deeply and stomps through the snow in silence for a few paces.

"I suppose it was," she says. It's a begrudging acknowledgement. She's been out of the Deep Roads for not even five years, she doesn't actually want to go through the end of the world just yet. But- "Don't like that I wasn't there for it. Even if it is just a dream. Ain't fuckin' right to not be there."

That's what bothers her the most. That and: "Tell me who died."

"You're here now," he points out. "That's plenty already."

He doesn't say, there's only so much you could've done. It wouldn't make him feel better in her shoes, even if it's true.

"You'd have to ask someone else," he sighs, "to get a better idea. I spent most of my time with the Venatori, unfortunately."

"Oh, I will." And if that sounds like a threat, it's because it is. Mention of the Venatori actually draws a growl out of her.

"Blasted spawn lovers they are, bet they think the taint won't take 'em. Suppose we're lucky this is a dream and I don't have to worry about finding nugs up here for you. Nugs and deep mushrooms, that's the only thing that has half a chance of cleaning the taint out of you."

"I have to admit, I'm glad I didn't know that was something to worry about."

Potential Darkspawn taint on top of everything else, Jesus fucking Christ. This being a dream wouldn't have stopped that from being a fucking awful experience, likely.

"You and the rest of the surface," she says, shaking her head despairingly. She does not point out that it's the reason you don't see dwarves siding with Corypheus, because one: she feels she's made her point about dwarven sensibility. And two: she'd be absolutely furious to be proven wrong.

"We'll take it as a win that as far as I can tell none of ours came into contact and that it's very likely some of those 'spawn fuckers are dying slow and painful deaths."

"I'll take it as a win when we get out of here," he says, mouth pulling into a frown. "Assuming that's possible."

If none of this is real, if it's a dream, then it has to be possible, right? But who knows what's waiting for them in the waking world, how long it's been?

"They got us in, reckon we can get out. All those mages we got might as well earn their keep." Pragmatism in the face of the infuriating slog of the Fade. It's a refuge since she can't glare the swirling horrors that seem to skirt around them into submission.

He decides not to point out that most of the mages he's met are, at least in the fabric of this dream's timeline, Venatori traitors. Hard to say where their heads are at now, being drawn to Skyhold with the knowledge that nothing here is quite real.

Instead,

"I really don't know what we'd do without you." Then, "Besides, apparently, lose to Corypheus."

His discretion is perhaps for the best. There's only so much surface foolishness one dwarf can be expected to withstand.

"Apparently," she says, tartly, the corner of her mouth lifting in a mean little smile. And then she's frowning again, "I know well enough I'm not what's standing between you lot and the bad end of this war, but at least I know how to keep dusters on their feet with nothin' while the whole world is ending."

He hums in response, pausing to clear some more snow off their path. Belatedly, he thinks to ask,

"How did you get excommunicated, anyway?"

Chantry, EXPLAIN.

"Oh, that." She smiles, a sharp, mean little expression. "Called one of the Divine candidates a boot licking sunblind nug fucker who wasn't fit to eat shit much less lead the Chantry. I was right, of course, but that was sort of the last pebble anyhow since I wasn't living up to their hopes for me to begin with. They tossed me out on a light heresy charge."

He.

He bursts out laughing.

"I wish I could've seen that. What did he do to deserve it?"

Obviously, the Divine candidate had done something.

"She. Divines are always women, you know. And what she did was be a boot licking sunblind nugfucker not fit to eat shit," she says primly, "Turns out I wasn't the only one who thought so, because she didn't become Divine."

"Huh," he says, "I didn't."

Not as if he had much opportunity — or inclination, more to the point — to learn about the Chantry even before Corypheus had crushed it.

(No, a part of his mind tries to remember. No, that didn't happen.)

"So you were right, and they still kicked you out?"

That doesn't seem fair, he's tempted to say, but it's not like he's naive enough to expect fairness in the situation she describes. Still, though.

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