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redmarsshit2019-10-24 11:41 pm
modblob) wrote in redmarsshit2019-10-24 11:41 pm
redshift: tdm #5
Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.
▶ Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
▶ All TDM threads can be considered game canon, and current players are welcome to either top-level on the TDM so prospective players can tag them, or use the prompts for logs or network posts on the communities. All threads on the TDM can be used for Activity Check.
a. don't be a sap.
Good morning, October 25th! Whether you're a confused new arrival or a current resident, you probably had some plans for today, right? Grab breakfast, visit a friend, pick some fruit, explore a new part of the massive city.
Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?
The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.
A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.
Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?
Well. Too bad. Because, as every single bot in the city will be telling you the moment you show your face, it's GOOP FESTIVAL DAY! What? You've never heard of it? Preposterous, everyone knows about the Goop Festival, it's one of the most anticipated holidays in Anchor! Haven't you been preparing for this for a week now?
The Goop Festival is a harvest celebration, in particular, a celebration of the sap-producing trees that grow wild in the Park, thick around the edges of the south side of the lake. The bots have been hard at work setting up the festival grounds in the shade of the trees in the balmy fall temperatures. There are spiles tapped into trees with buckets placed underneath that are already half-full of a thick, viscous, amber-colored sap. The bots have also set up troughs of shaved ice with long sticks nearby, with which they will demonstrate for excited residents (you are excited, right?) how to cool the sap in the ice and wrap it around the stick to make it a sort of taffy candy. That's not the only sweet surprise waiting, either.
A long table set up in the grass is loaded down with all sorts of delicious sap-related goodies, ranging from cupcakes with thick globs of sap-flavored frosting to sap-flavored jerky to sap sugar candies, and just about anything else you can imagine. There are a wide variety of offerings that would taste good coated, flavored, or glazed with the sap, which tastes sort of like a caramelized toffee. Another table is laid out that has row upon row of cups, each half-full of the sap, heated lightly to a thinner consistency and served similarly to hot chocolate - at least, if hot chocolate gave you a floaty, happy, hazy sort of feeling. Everything made with this sap does, actually, with the cups of pure sap having a stronger effect and items with less sap content having barely any effect at all.
Does this not sound like your cup of weird tree sap? Too bad. This is the GOOP FESTIVAL, and everything is shut down for this lovely paid vacation day. Spa? Locked down. Kitchens? Locked. Bar? Nope, totally shut down and the server bots are all down at the park. VR Gaming? Too bad, the computers are all shut down. Even roaming the halls and trying to stay out of the way won't help much...be prepared to be dragged down to the park to participate in this mandatory festival! Isn't it exciting?
b. familiar ground.
Every year in Anchor near the end of October, there's a very strange interaction between the protective dome over the city and seasonal radiation surges that happen in the wastelands. Some complicated combination of refraction and reflection means that for the last few days of the month, residents will experience some of the more benign effects of the red shift inside the city.
Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.
And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.
Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.
Did we say benign? Because while there may not be any dangerous radiation to melt your skin off, there are some mind-bending dangers. Characters experiencing the shift will find the world becomes distorted, warped, impossible to navigate; they are enveloped in auditory and visual hallucinations, and can become so disoriented that they can't even recognize people they've known for years. And characters will find that the citywide shift brings in slivers of other universes, little slices of places characters have never seen before...or places so familiar they make the heart beat hard with joy or fear.
And just like in the wastelands, the things that show up in these shifts are all too real. Characters may find themselves walking through a door into a scene straight from home, or from someone else's home. Whether it's a favorite place to share with a new friend, or the nightmare landscape you almost died in, complete with the monster that almost killed you, be careful. Everything you experience here is real, and if you die in the shift, you die for real.
Of course, the city has its own safety measures in place - residents experiencing the hallucinations and appearances of items and places from other worlds may find themselves locked down in the room they're in, trapped with the otherworldly effects of the shift.
c. the virus.
A few weeks ago, people in Anchor started getting a case of the sniffles. While some of the earliest cases might be clearing up, there are still a few people suffering, or people freshly infected by those who were sick earlier, including some of the new arrivals who may not even be feeling it yet.
Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.
Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?
Which may make the cause of some unexpected 'glitches' around the city a little unclear. Residents who are feeling the effects of the illness, or who are infected but not showing symptoms yet (or anymore) will find that their access to certain parts of the city are restricted. Suddenly, automatic doors aren't opening for them, as if they were ghosts, particularly when they try to access anything that may facilitate transmission of the virus. Suddenly, only some of the residents of the city will find they can't get into half of the MedBay, or the spa, the kitchens, the VR or games rooms, the bar...anywhere people gather or eat or sit close together.
Residents may put together that it's related to the illness some of them have been experiencing over the past few weeks, but it might take a while, since these safety and security measures are affecting people who are showing no symptoms yet. Be prepared for a few days of paranoia while seemingly perfectly healthy people are locked out of common areas. What does the computer know that residents don't? Are these people security risks? Is it a system glitch? What could be going on?
c. the network.
Need to get hold of someone, call for help, ask the city at large a question? Need to warn a friend not to leave their apartment unless they want to be forcibly press-ganged into the Goop Festival? Maybe you need to hold your sat phone up to whatever crazy thing you're seeing and send out a recording to double-check if your eyes are deceiving you and what you're looking at is real?
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
Whatever the reason, the network is going strong, so feel free to include a post to it in your top-levels.
Mod Note: The "familiar ground" prompt will be active between October 29th and October 31st; "the virus" prompt will be active until the next introductory mingle, which will be kicking off the second part of the illness plot.
Dream time
There is a forest, initially, and then a tall wall made of well-laid bricks, sturdy and regular, well-maintained. Reynir follows after the fluffy sheepdog until it brings him up to a door leading into the garden. It then trots off to do whatever it does when it's not delivering cryptic messages or leading him on baffling expeditions. Reynir walks in the garden a few minutes, admiring the neat little gravel paths, the variety of flowers - in such rich colors, types he has never seen before. He is clearly enraptured by the plants and doesn't notice until he is a few feet away that there is another person, here. A man, kneeling in the dirt and tending to the plants. ]
Oh! Hello. I didn't realize anyone was here. I don't mean to intrude, I was just-
[ Then his words stop. At first, he hadn't recognized him. He looks... different in the dream. Healthier, maybe even younger. And after all, Reynir isn't used to seeing very much of his face, at all. But the eyes are the same, and the brows and forehead and after those first few sentences he knew. ]
Carlisle? Is that you...
[ Reynir remembers in a rush their conversation about dreaming. So Carlisle does have an area, after all, and this is it... but this is no time for 'I told you so'. Gasping in sudden realization, Reynir claps his hands over his eyes, squeezing them shut at the same time, blurting out: ]
Oh no, I- you- you haven't got your mask on, you probably didn't expect anyone to come here, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look!
Since I'm logged into this account anyway, might as well take advantage of living!Carlisle icons
His brow knits as this stranger to his garden addresses him, then covers his eyes, yelling something about a mask. The interruption aside, it's peaceful here, familiar -- so much so that Carlisle doesn't even realize anything is wrong, and that he's not actually back home among the comforting trappings that surrounded him his whole life. It doesn't feel like a dream, given how detailed everything around him is, how precisely recreated his plants are. He lived among them for years, recorded their natures in his journals, took better care of them than he did himself. He could walk through the pathways between them with his eyes closed, and easily. It all feels so real.
Slight recognition crosses him. He... knows this fellow, doesn't he? Have they met? He cannot recall his name, much to Carlisle's embarrassment. He dusts off his hands, clasping his gloved fingers in that nervous habit he has exhibited before Reynir multiple times.]
Er, no, I was not expecting anyone today, and certainly not here. Do you- do you need something?
[Even his voice sounds better, less rasping than it is in the waking world.]
a baby!
He resists the urge to peek, wanting to be respectful. It's clear that Carlisle is disoriented or confused. He doesn't seem distressed that Reynir had seen his face. But he might just need a moment to remember himself. When Reynir had realized he was in a dream the first time, he'd been pretty damn confused himself.
But he drops his hands, opening his eyes and looking at the ground near to Carlisle's knees. A furrow has formed between his brows and he says, coaxing and gentle: ]
Do you know where you are?
[ And Reynir is curious is this is someplace Carlisle had worked once, or visited, or maybe even his home. But no way is he going to get answers to questions like that until Carlisle realizes what's happening right now. ]
This is someplace familiar to you, where you feel safe. But you're not really in that place. You're dreaming right now, Carlisle. It's like I told you. You are a mage, and we're both asleep. The dog led me to you.
[ And Reynir gestures to where his fylgja is sniffing its way through the garden, fluffy and brightly-colored but somehow, undeniably, not quite a normal sheepdog. ]
no subject
Er... right.
[Being clergy means that on occasion, he has to listen to the unhinged ramblings of desperate sinners looking for salvation, but even they tend to make more sense than "I followed this magical dog into your dreams." Perhaps he is a traveler who got lost in the mountains and is too embarrassed to admit it; perhaps this is a dream and he's a wayward seer, someone whose divination has gotten the better of them to the point where he's now entered someone else's mind. Or maybe he's the product of a lonely fellow's hallucination, and the best company his imagination could come up with is a lanky, confused lad and his dog.
Whatever the reason, Carlisle seems utterly done with this whole situation already, his brow furrowing.]
This is my garden. [He gestures to the house behind him, large and looming.] My estate. And you know my name, so I assume you know who owns these lands.
no subject
[ Reynir rubs at his neck, a feeling of awkwardness settling in as he realizes just how lost Carlisle is. How is he going to be able to help and guide him, share this space with him, if Carlisle doesn't even remember who he is? Carlisle sounds really annoyed, and Reynir cannot help a quick glance at him. Perhaps it's because he's used to seeing only a tiny portion of Carlisle's face, but he looks particularly grumpy. ]
You ... don't remember me? It's me. It's Reynir. I'm the mage from Iceland? I made you tea...?
[ He almost says 'I saved you from some robots at a spa' but that might sound like he's bragging about that and he's not trying to get things off on the wrong foot, here. Just as he's chewing the inside of his cheek and worrying about how he can help snap his friend out of his apparent amnesia, the sheepdog approaches Carlisle. It sits, neat and prim, just in front of him, looking him in the face with its oddly human demeanor.
And then, it speaks: ]
Know yourself, Blight Heir.
[ There is something of a command, in the words. Reynir isn't sure why it sends a shiver down his spine. Blight Heir? Is that some kind of title? It definitely... sounds ominous, but he second-guesses his instincts, thinks perhaps it is some cultural thing he doesn't understand... ]
no subject
This dog is nott one of those dogs. As it speaks to him, he feels a chill run down his spine, and suddenly, finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the hound before him. His pupils lighten and fade, taking on the look of the dead before they are flooded with light, overtaken by it, representative of the energy coursing through him. The garden around them shifts, completely changing in the span of a heartbeat, becoming as wild and unrestrained as the furious magic alight in the clergyman's gaze.
For a brief moment, the foliage turns dark, brown and mottled and utterly overgrown. The vines of the coilers twist in every direction, writhing as they reach toward any and all sources of movement; the curved claws of his paw plants elongate into vicious talons in desperate need of a clipping. The sun fades, and in response, the flowers wither and decay, their leaves curling, choked by the hedges as they transform into arboreal aberrations, alive and threatening in their own right.
And then it is gone, and in the blink of an eye, the garden is back. The plants are less clear then they were before, the outer walls of the sanctuary blurry, blotted like a rough painting. Carlisle remains his unmasked, living self, but his eyes are illuminated, their light focused once more. His gaze is still affixed on the dog as he finally finds his voice.]
Don't call me that.
no subject
He can't help thinking of Anne, of the slivers of memories he had seen of her church filled with the groans of the dying, all those people desperate and ill in the first days of the Illness's spread. That had happened when they'd asked too many questions and upset her. And she, he just remembers, had had some difficulty remembering certain details as well. Perhaps Carlisle's amnesia can be explained the same way - as can the change in the foliage around him.
Reynir hasn't forgotten what Carlisle told him - that he has no home left to return to. That necromancy had taken it and left the place nothing more than a shell, filled with abominations, ruined and terrible. So he assumes this is just glimpses of that - not being produced by Carlisle, except insofar as he is remembering it this way.
The dog seems completely unintimidated, staring down Carlisle, but Reynir is apologetic, saying: ]
Sorry. The dog can be very rude.
[ And without further ado he scoops up the sheepdog, which doesn't resist, and walks it a few feet away before setting it down and patting its butt, shooing it in the opposite direction with a murmured: ]
Don't bully him!
[ He turns back towards Carlisle, uncertain what he should do, if he should try to remind him of who he is and where he is, or leave, or stop interacting with him but hang out here in case there's some danger he is supposed to be here protecting Carlisle from... ]
Are you... okay?
no subject
But no amount of fidgeting fixes them. He pulls his hands back, turning them over as though seeing them for the first time. How delicate they once were -- and covered in skin. How covered in skin they were so long ago, far longer than it feels. He missed so much as—
No, that's not his name. He doesn't want to hear it again, even in his own head.]
I'm... fine. I'm fine, Reynir.
[Right, that's the lad's name. It comes back to him as he looks around, recognizing the garden, but wary of how unfocused the plants on his periphery are.]
This isn't real, is it?
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Oh, good, you remember me.
[ Maybe he had been too hasty, and it had just taken a few moments for the disorientation to fade. Or maybe Carlisle had been snapped into awareness by the dog's rudeness. Reynir would have liked it if had used a method that was a little kinder, but it's still nice to know where he stands a bit more. He wonders how he can help Carlisle if he won't admit to being upset.
Answering his question might be a start. ]
Guess that depends on how you define real.
[ While Reynir has good instincts for the practical components of being a mage, talking about how it all works, the theory of it, is something he struggles with. Onni is so much better. But he should at least try. ]
This is a dream, but we are really speaking to one another. The things that happen to us here can really affect us, back where our bodies are asleep. But this garden isn't in the waking world, no. If we walked out that gate and through the woods a little, you would come to a flat ocean. It's sort of... a blank place, in between other areas.
[ After a moment's hesitation, Reynir offers: ]
I can show you, if you want?
no subject
Pulling his hand back, he finally manages to look Reynir's way once more, catching the tail end of his offer. He's not entirely sure he wants to see more of this dreamscape, but he doesn't necessarily want to linger in a facsimile of his beloved garden, either. It makes him homesick for a place that no longer exists.]
What other areas are there? More gardens? More fragments of lives now rendered unattainable?
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But Reynir, who really is more mature than people give him credit for, sets that feeling aside. Quiet and coaxing, he explains: ]
This place is made from your memories, because you feel safe here, and it's close to your heart. This garden might not exist any longer but... it's here for you in your dreams, whenever you want to be in it. You can come back, sit here. It's yours.
[ Doesn't he see what a gift that is? Doesn't he understand how lucky they both are, that they can experience this?
But perhaps he just needs to make it clearer, how all this works. He is forgetting, perhaps, how confusing it all was to him at first. So he goes on: ]
There's a place that reminds me of my home. The same hills, the same plants, even a flock of sheep like on my parents' farm. There are other things to see, too. Visions of things past and things to come. Spirits, strange forgotten runes... I've only just started to explore it all.
no subject
And now he knows better. This garden is a cruel illusion, and he's no more alive and human than he was before. None of it is real. Reynir may be disappointed in Carlisle's self-pitying, but he does not realize how such a revelation crushes a man who has already lost so much to a life where he often struggled with the border of reality and hallucination. It's not as though Carlisle has been terribly honest with him regarding his history.
He shakes his head, his nose wrinkling.]
I do not want to be here. I would rather see some place that brings you comfort than remain in a place that gives me false hope.
no subject
But there's no equivocating or uncertainty in what Carlisle is saying. He doesn't want to be here, and there are other places he can be. So Reynir gives a big shrug and accepts it. ]
Okay, if you say so.
[ Maybe when they're away from here the other man will cheer up a bit. The dog, as if understanding they are about to leave, trots over to Reynir's heels, fluffy tail held aloft. A little smile makes its way onto Reynir's freckled face, and he brightly admits: ]
I wanted to show you the rest, anyway.
[ And with that he's leading the way, out the gate and into those trees. They seem to take up less space on the way back than they did coming in - but then, that can happen sometimes. It's only a moment or two amidst those trees before they're coming out to the edge of Carlisle's zone; beyond it is a vast stretch of perfectly flat water, under a huge, crystal-clear night sky. The stars are bright and just a little eerie, and the place is quiet, without a hint of wind. What's more, it doesn't really smell of water - not the warm vegetation of a lake or the tang of salt from an ocean; there are no sounds, no smells, no nothing. It's an in-between place that isn't really a place at all.
Not really thinking about it, Reynir keeps on ahead, taking a few steps out onto the water, seeming completely unfazed by the fact that he's walking across the top of it, sending out little ripples that quickly calm back to that perfect mirrored surface once more. He glances over his shoulder at Carlisle and says: ]
This is the way through.
no subject
He stops as his foot hits the water, stepping back once, then again in quick succession as his attention is drawn up to the water, to Reynir standing on it, then to the vast, empty sky above them. They remain on the vast night sky for several seconds, wide with terror, the glowing energy housed within them bright, agitated.]
R-r-r-r-r-Rey-n-n-n—
[That poor attempt at Reynir's name goes unfinished as Carlisle is certain the sky will swallow him whole if he stays there another minute. His legs tremble visibly, giving way beneath him; he scuttles clumsily toward the trees, clambering to his feet as he darts to the nearest one. Rather than hiding behind it, he presses his forehead to the trunk, his hands at his temples to close out the world around him. With the unnatural still of the in-between place, his anxious murmuring carries.]
It's not real it's not real it's not real it's fine it's fine this is fine it isn't real it's not real it's not real you're fine you're fine you're here you're here you're here you're fine—
no subject
...but there's nothing. Nothing in the sky, nothing beneath the surface of the water lurking, nothing. And his fylgja, crucially, is sitting at his heels, tongue sticking out dumbly, fluffy tail wagging. No sign of distress there at all.
Reynir looks back over just in time to see Carlisle getting up from where he'd fallen and cowering behind a tree. He quickly comes after him, calling out: ]
Carlisle, what- are you alright?
[ But he is so clearly not alright. When Reynir comes closer he hears what he's saying, sees the way Carlisle is hiding his face and shaking all over like a leaf. He reaches out instinctively to put a hand on Carlisle's back, to rub it gently, but he remembers at the last moment Carlisle isn't really fond of being touched. So he withdraws, face fretful and pale, and asks, softly: ]
What's wrong, what happened? Carlisle, please- talk to me!
no subject
It's too open. It-it-it feels as though it will- it will sw- swallow me whole. The sky and- and the sea, and it's just- there's nothing there. It's not real. It's not real it's not real it's not real.
[His breath catches in his throat; though his body curls tighter against the tree, his head turns slightly, allowing him to search Reynir's eyes for answers. He can regret having been sour with the young mage before for barging into his dreams when he's not being threatened by absolute, unreasonable terror.]
It can't- it can't hurt us, can it? It can't hurt anyone just- just being a sky, but what if it can? You said it could aff-f-f-fect us!
no subject
Carlisle, I'm so sorry to scare you. They can't hurt you. That ocean, the sky - they're harmless. I visit them every night, and nothing bad has ever happened.
[ His voice is thick with emotion, worry and sadness and regret. He doesn't know why these things are sources of terror for Carlisle - if there is a reason - and he can't really imagine it. To him, there is no more restful place than that tranquil expanse of water.
But there's no questioning the way Carlisle is shaking like a leaf from fear, hiding his face and only peering out the tiniest amount. ]
We - can't visit anywhere without getting across. But if you've changed your mind and you want to stay in the garden, I understand.
[ He hopes that if that indeed is the best option, Carlisle's pride won't prevent him from admitting it. But is it really better? The garden had made him so angry and sad and depressed, and the in-between space had made him terrified out of his wits. Which is the greater evil?
Reynir draws in a breath, hesitating, biting his lower lip, then offers: ]
Or. I could lead you across the water. Will it be easier, with your eyes closed, holding my hand or onto my shoulders? I wouldn't leave your side the whole time, and I could tell you once we're across. And I promise you, I wouldn't let any harm come to you.
no subject
The next offer fares much better: Reynir will lead him away, cross the water and beneath the sky that he insists has never harmed him. He once described Reynir as guileless, didn't he? The lad surely wouldn't lie to him, not even to assuage his panic. His breathing slows in tandem with his abating tremors as he convinces himself he must leave, lest he be abandoned by the one aspect of this world that is real. That, as it turns out, is the most terrifying prospect of all, one that reminds him too much of the Land Beyond Living, of his many dreams that trapped him there when he was still alive.
Peeling himself away from the tree, Carlisle gives Reynir one last, desperate look before closing his eyes again. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, low as though the vastness of the horizon would hear them if he were any louder. For as much as he tries to close himself off in the waking world, he is painfully vulnerable in dreams.]
I- I know it is still there, still looming all around us, but- but it is better if I don't see. Please don't leave me here, Reynir. I cannot stay here.
no subject
So when Carlisle pleads with him not to go, Reynir answers swiftly and with conviction: ]
I won't. I'm not going to leave you, I promise.
[ He glances up and out in the direction they will be going, and then back at Carlisle, still trembling slightly but with his eyes shut tight. ]
I am gonna touch your shoulder and hold your hand, though.
[ That warning given, Reynir lays one hand on Carlisle's shoulder and reaches over to take Carlisle's hand with the other so he can guide him. Once he's done that, he presses gently to get Carlisle moving. He figures that silence will only make the lack of vision all the worse and he doesn't want to give Carlisle's imagination time to cook up any terror or imagine it hears the sound of anything threatening. So he keeps up a steady stream of words even as the two of them start walking like that - tentative for the first few steps but quickly becoming quite brisk - the quicker they get there, the sooner it's all over. ]
There's actually a silly game like this that we used to play in my village where you would start in a particular spot and one person would shut their eyes and someone else would lead them and if you were being led you had to try to keep track of where you were and if you were doing the leading you had to try to get them turned around and at some point you stopped and the person with their eyes closed had to guess like, oh I'm at the top of the hill near that broken down old stone wall or oh I'm right outside Reynir's house...
[ Reynir keeps going even as they step off the land and onto the flat surface of the water. He knows just where he is going, and that the journey shouldn't take all that long at all. Already up ahead he can see that shimmer, and beyond it, the rich green hills that look just like Iceland.
It's a little bit sad, that he won't get to show Carlisle more of this place, explore, but Reynir is adaptable. He would much rather get Carlisle somewhere he feels safe and happy than anything else. ]
...and it might sound like that's boring but we all lived there all our lives and we know the village back to front so it took an awful lot of work to get us confused, but it did happen now and then, there was this one girl in particular who was so good at it, I've got no idea what her secret was, honestly I would expect magic but she was always a terrible liar so there's no way she was a mage all that time and just hiding it from everyone...
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And so he focuses on Reynir's words, letting them fill the void that would otherwise be filled with his overwhelming fears. He's calmer with every step; he almost feels like opening his eyes. Opening one just a crack, he finds that no, maybe he's not quite ready for that, his hand tightening on Reynir's. He's not much for hand-holding, figurative or literal -- he's not used to being touched in general, as it's not recommended for someone whose primary work is channeling through his hands -- but he stifles his discomfort, far more unnerved by the thought of being left behind.
Putting his free hand over his eyes to avoid further temptation, he forces himself to try to picture what it is his companion is describing. Unfortunately, Carlisle is not terribly imaginative, despite his best efforts.]
Wh- why would someone hide they were a m- mage? It doesn't sound taboo, from how- from how you've spoken of it.
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No, not at all! The exact opposite. Mages exist because we've been chosen by the gods. It's a blessing to have a mage in your community. I guess the only reason someone would is if they didn't want to help out? It's sort of considered your responsibility if you're a mage to serve people. Make runes for farmers to help keep their sheep from wandering off or help cure a toothache or whatever people need.
[ He knows that is what his mother had expected of him as soon as she found out he was a mage. And perhaps he should feel more guilty from leaving that responsibility behind. But... things are good in his village. There are other places that need him more. And he wants more than that life. ]
Honestly, she was probably just cheating somehow. Everybody else probably knew how, too. I've always been sort of bad at being able to tell when people are tricking me or hiding stuff Gullible, I guess, is the word I'm looking for.
[
DEFINITELY NOT SOMETHING THAT APPLIES BETWEEN THESE TWO.Reynir lets out a happy sigh as they move through the invisible barrier, stepping off the water and into a completely different landscape. It is still open country, but there are big hills and the sky is filled with huge puffy white clouds making quick progress. There are some shaggy sheep a few feet away, and a landscape full of hills and rocks and grass and moss, the whole thing so very familiar.
Without letting go, Reynir squeezes Carlisle's hand gently and says: ]
Aaaaand we're through. You can open your eyes now.
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Given the way he's still covering his eyes, lest he be petrified by the open space all around them, the answer is a resounding no. Even when Reynir says they're in the clear, he hesitates; however, when he finally does manage to peek at the promised land around them, Carlisle finds himself pleasantly surprised, stunned into outright awe. Clouds fill the open sky above them, blocking out portions of it and casting shadows on the grassy knolls below. Hills rise up in all directions, their vivid, green pastures dotted with rocky crags and woolly sheep. It's not a terrifying flatland devoid of life like the Land Beyond Living, but a welcoming expanse of color and warmth like Bear Den itself -- well, like Bear Den once was.
He's so taken aback he just stares, his eyes watering, though if those are tears or from how bright it is, he does not say. He's even forgotten to release Reynir's hand.]
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When he sees that Carlisle seems to be taking in the view without another breakdown that might make it necessary to try another area entirely (Reynir had already half-planned to try Onni's, next, if this was no better than the last), Reynir tugs gently, pulling Carlisle towards a little hollow between two steeper hills, where the ground is shadowed and there are almost walls of mossy earth enclosing a slightly cooler, darker place.
How many times had Reynir stretched out in little hollows like this, to nap for a few minutes while the sheep grazed, as he was growing up. As they move, the dog stays at their heels, seeming content to shadow them but not utter any more ominous pronouncements for the moment. ]
Carlisle...?
[ Reynir's voice is careful, concerned, tentative. He gestures to a soft place on the earth, where Carlisle can sit, if he wants to. He still hasn't released his hand. ]
Will this... be alright? If you want... we can stay here, until you wake up. I won't leave your side. I promise.
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Wha- oh. Oh yes, it's- sorry. Sorry sorry sorry, I- I don't know what came over me.
[He smiles a bit sheepishly as he continues to stare, finally releasing Reynir's hand and pulling off his glasses, pawing at his eyes with his palm. When he does sit, it's less because he was offered a spot, and more because his legs just seem to give out. He finds his voice again after a moment, his earnestness showing more than he'd like, but given Reynir is the one who brought him to this place -- and put up with him on the journey over -- he feels it necessary to be truthful.]
I'm not... used to this. In dreams. To see things so bright, and so much like home.
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These are the only kind of dreams I know.
[ Reynir sprawls out, comfortable, hoping if he telegraphs his feeling of safety enough, it will calm Carlisle down, too. He looks over at his friend, still surprised to be seeing this younger version of him, unveiled, healthier...
What had happened, between when he picked up this inner vision of who he is, and the Carlisle that Reynir now knows in the Anchor? Was it only (only!) the destruction of his home by necromancers? Had there been more, tragedies befalling him, personally?
But how could he possibly ask that? ]
Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I've had some omens of the future that were... pretty terrifying, actually.
[ A mild way of putting it, considering they usually involved warnings of imminent horrific death if he didn't do something right away. The first one in particular, back when he'd just found out he was a mage and didn't understand what was happening, had been... a very bad time.
Tentatively, he turns to Carlisle, asks: ]
Is that the kind of thing you're talking about?
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