( 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

[kantikoy]

It's nighttime, based on the stars and moons out, but the sun is perpetually stuck just at the edge of the horizon to the east. Adrasteia stands in the griffons' roost, the small elf leaning against the curvature of the wide windows where the beasts fly in and out, but while there are the sounds and smells of the griffons, none of them appear to be actually present.

Beyond her, Kirkwall shifts between a city glittering in the last vestiges of the night and one that is attempting to rebuild from what is apparently a firebombing via dragon. Adrasteia takes a breath, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

This dream is poised between unsettling and nightmarish in tone. With the rising of the sun there will either be clarity, or Blight; there are no other options.

[delphian]

The sun rises.

It comes up slowly, spilling warm gold light like so much honey over the landscape—lazy, as if the morning herself is just stretching and yawning, and rolling over. No cold light of day to be found here, no, this sunrise is as soft as a caress. Look, it murmurs, sleep-tousled, there was nothing to fear.

Beneath its glow, there are no scorch marks to be found. No bodies, no destruction. The buildings are whole and from her high vantage point Adrasteia can even hear the beginnings of bustle, the early risers preparing for the day, the slugabeds slower to rouse.

There, now. That's better.

[kantikoy]

She breathes a little easier, once the sun has broken out across the horizon, and the dream settles into something not wholly terrifying for her. Not that she has a good insight into the fact that she's dreaming, exactly, but the moment before the light began to shine held a lot of anxiety with it.

Now, she can get down to the everyday business.

In her dreams there's no need to deal with the many steps between the rooftops and her office; she turns a corner, opens a door, and she's there, with tea and cookies that she remembers from her childhood on the desk.

The birds are singing. The door stays open. The day begins.