( open ) let me tell you a secret —

[delphian]

WHO: Tsenka Abendroth & some strangers.
WHAT: Tsenka dreamwalks through the Gallows.
WHEN: Over the course of this month.
WHERE: Asleep in your beds.
NOTES: You do not have to have commented on my OOC post to participate. Details within. Chicken horse not guaranteed.

HOW THIS WORKS.

Under ordinary circumstances, Tsenka is an expert in the delicate, painstaking manipulation of a dreamscape in order to extract the information that she wants—in this case, she is seeking knowledge of Riftwatch, the Inquisition, Kirkwall, the state of things and the safety of mages within the Gallows presently. Unfortunately, in this case, she is also fresh off about two and a half years in captivity during which she was often kept drugged out of her mind and exhausted from sleep deprivation; these are not ordinary circumstances, and she is not at her best. Her attempts to guide dreamers to what parts of their psyche she wants to see may not be as deft as they ordinarily would, and she'll have less patience for dreams embedded in less relevant information.
I will write Marcus's starter, but your character's dreams will begin like any other; set up your dreamscapes below, and await the chicken horse.

Comments

[delphian]

A man stops beside him; he is carrying shoes, though he does not yet offer them.

“Where are we going?”

[bouchonne]

"The Fade," Byerly responds with a nod. He looks at the shoes, but doesn't ask for them. "Andraste agreed to help us if we could bring her some of her favorite Fereldan stews."

[delphian]

Everyone doubts, Tsenka thinks. Everyone fears. She knows this—knows the secret places of men better than many of them know themselves, the strangeness that a mind can spin up. She tells herself this, but the desperation that it hints at is a cold hand on her shoulder,

no where is safe, no help is coming,

and she cannot quite prevent it from seeping into the landscape, leeching colour.

The man presses a hand to Byerly's shoulder, warm and heavy. “Then we will,” he agrees. “We'll get there faster, this way,” and he slows him, kneeling down to pick out rocks embedded in Byerly's soles, to gently put his shoes on.

[bouchonne]

Somewhere, Byerly's sleep deepens. It's a sweet gesture, one that causes a swell of gratitude and warmth. The rocks come loose without pain, and the shoes slide on easily, and when the man stands Byerly kisses him on the forehead.

"Who are you?"

[delphian]

The hand from Byerly's shoulder touches his face, briefly; as a friend might. His face is—

a friend's. He leans on a mage's staff, using it to support both of their weight as he slings his arm under Byerly's, and they fall in step together.

“You know me,” he says, amiable, and in the dream it is true, it is a whole truth. Maybe seeing him is a surprise—but a welcome one, a relief somehow, a gentle thing. “I want to help, too.”

[bouchonne]

And he recognizes him. There's even a face and a name, more specific perhaps than the dreamer on the other end of it intended. Once, Byerly had had a love - and it had been love - with a mage in Denerim. Dead now, but in the odd logic of dreams, speaking to him makes him just think, what an embarrassing thing, that I thought that he was dead. I should have actually checked.

"Thank you," By says. Then - "When did you join Riftwatch? I didn't even notice. You should have written to me."

[delphian]

“I'm coming,” he says, supporting Byerly as they walk, slower now but without difficulty; without intervention from the other pilgrims, without falling behind. Fondly, he says, “Aren't I telling you now?”