January Event - Lost in Dreamland

[pumpkinhollow]

**Plain text version here.

Lost in Dreamland

Bedtime Story

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: Unreality, dream logic. Mind the CWs in individual threads, as they will vary! }

It is no secret that in the Emerald Isles, winter and sleep have a deep connection. To some extent, this is true everywhere. The whole world seems to fall asleep under the blanket of snow. Plants recede back into the ground, trees stand leafless and slumbering till spring, animals hibernate. Nights are longer. But the local folklore intensifies this, as Mortanne presides over Winter and the Beyond.

As the tales go, the Beyond is the realm of souls, the place where the essence of a person goes when it separates from their body. And while this primarily refers to death, it can also refer to the half-step between living and dying--- the unconscious mind. Sleep, and moreover, dreaming. And thus, winter and dreams have always been kindred spirits. Connected through their ties to Mother Mortanne and to a hushed and sleeping world.

Perhaps it is for this reason that when you go to sleep on the night of January 19th, 16:55, it is a deeper, more consuming sleep than you’ve ever felt. One that swallows you whole, dragging you down, and down, and down, into a sunken place that is deeper and more terrifying than dreams.

By the time you think to feel afraid, it is already too late to jolt yourself awake.

LULLABY

Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me

You wake. Or do you? It feels a bit like waking, and yet, it does not. It is similar enough to waking that one might believe it to be so. You feel ground beneath your feet, or perhaps a bed beneath your back. Or something. You feel… something. It isn’t like waking. But it’s a little bit like waking. Perhaps it is not. But perhaps it is as close as you are able to get. Let’s try this again.

You “wake.” Your mind solidifies and reality defines its shape around you. Your eyes focus and you become aware. What are you aware of?

Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Perhaps it seems good at first, but it is not. Wherever you are, only horrors await you here, pulled straight from your own mind. Or the minds of others.

Move. You must move. The dream is a landscape. You must traverse nightmares to escape. Seek other dreamers, and flee. To the center, to safety in false daydreams. To the underground, where the Necropolis will conceal you. To the edges, where you can feel your consciousness break free of this sunken sleep and return to the world of hard objects and light. But you cannot stay here. Gods help you if you stay here.

[ Your nightmare can look however you desire. Laws of reality and physics do not apply. Fuse them, reshape them, choose your flavor. Be liberal with content warnings and respect sensitive content guidelines, but otherwise, there are no rules. ]

Starlight and Dewdrops are Waiting For Thee

If you reach the center of the dreamscape (or perhaps you “woke up” there), you will find an oasis. You find yourself immediately embraced by a beautiful dream. All of your wishes granted, your deepest desires pulled directly from the core of your soul and brought to life before you in vivid detail.

What sort of dream do you find yourself in? What do you dream of? Is it success, love, peace? A life that never came to pass? For your troubles never to have occurred? Do you dream of fame or glory? No matter how beautiful or extravagant, no matter how simple or selfish, the things you desire most are yours.

You cannot escape from here. This is the center, as far away from the waking world as you can go. But the dream entreats you, as do the illusory figures within it. ”Stay,” they croon. ”There is nothing for you beyond here. Only nightmares, only terror. You are safe here. You are loved and wanted and happy here. Why would you ever want to leave?”

Time blends together. It often does, in dreaming, but this feels different. How long have you been here? Do you remember what you were doing before? How you got here? Have you ever even been to a town called Pumpkin Hollow? You can hardly remember.

Maybe that was the dream, and this is your reality. Even as the edges of it bleed together with that of your neighbor, even as fleeting memories come back to you, even as a little voice deep within you screams at you to wake up--- you have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of this place. Here you are happy and safe. Here you are everything you ever wanted to be, living the life you always wanted. Here there are no debts, no suffering, and you shall never die.

You belong here. Surely.

Sounds of the Rude World Heard in the Day

With how far you had to sink into unconsciousness to be here, it’s hard to believe one could go any deeper. But the Beyond is a many-layered place, and perhaps by descending a bit further, a bit deeper, a bit closer to death, you can find another place. Maybe you have a connection to death that brought you here. Perhaps you find your way by mistake. Either way, you may find yourself on a more peaceful journey through the Beyond through the Frozen Necropolis.

A seemingly endless maze of stone walls, mismatched in their depth as if they were patchworked together over centuries. Mausoleums, slotted tightly against one another. Covered marble passageways. Stone statues and carved reliefs depicting gargoyles, knights, Virtues, mages with skull motifs--- necromancers, perhaps? Banshees and dullahans, elves and humans and dwarves and orcs and fae folk of all sorts. All of these things line a network of cobblestone pathways lined with powder snow drifts and crunchy brown grass. Names are carved into the arches above mausoleum doors. Some are familiar, some are not. Fairbanks, Gladwyn, Dirthariel, Leeds, Larson, Endrin, Applegate, Brenning. Above you, white pillar candles float magically overhead, burning bright, lighting your way through the dark pink sunset sky.

In the distance, you see the achingly thin spires of the Winter Cathedral. An austere grey monolith with ornate carvings of horses and snowflake-shaped stained glass windows. Perhaps you will find some solace there. Otherwise, make your way to the river. A familiar ferryman awaits you--- though returning to reality this way will have a small consequence.

[ Encountering Mortanne here is possible, though her threads will be heavily restricted. You can do a thread here with someone else, though! It’s fine to be here without encountering her. Returning to the island by ferry will cause your physical body to die in the process, leaving you a ghost for the usual amount of time. You can also return to the nightmare and get out through the edge. ]

Lulled by the Moonlight, Have All Passed Away

Should you find the edge of the nightmare, you will be able to push yourself through the iridescent membrane at the edge of consciousness. You float through the seemingly endless darkness for a moment, then another, then a third, senses dull and drifting drunkenly, until suddenly---

Like breaching the surface of water, you return to the solid, bright sharpness of reality. Actual reality, firm and true. You are where you went to sleep the night before, though some time has passed. It might take you a bit to figure out exactly how much, though…

Those who escape the nightmare will find themselves home sometime between 1/20 and 1/30. Those who stay in the dream oasis will be comatose until the dream ends, and will not wake until 2/8. They will find the return to reality deeply unpleasant. What are you willing to endure to keep dreaming a while more?

Comments

[abhorrently]

Calm yourself. The more you struggle, the longer it will take to heal you.

A mote of light, then another, rises from the darkness. More of them, hovering near, before settling in her wounds, a gentle warmth where they touch. Knitting together bone, muscle, tissue, skin and fur. They do not ask, they simply do - while the voice is very far away and near all at once, strangely echoing from the depths.

Shhhh. The trap is simple. The escape is simple as well. But the stronger you are, the harder it is to break free.

[redlightgreenlight]

Nope. After her own nightmare she's not in the mood to calm. It feels almost like when the demons took over Dahlia's ball, completely helpless and she hates every second of it. The healing does no good, she screams as only something dangerous and wild can scream and attacks the chains again, when her jaw breaks on the chain and heals moments later, she goes after her leg again, desperately trying to tear it off.

There is no intelligent consciousness, just a terrified animal that was terrified before it even stepped foot here.

[abhorrently]

That isn't the way out, and you know it.

Mildly, as if this fury was everyday, as if the assistance so violently tossed aside meant nothing. The motes gather, one collection of small lights swirling and floating, waiting. Their patience is that of stone, unyielding. Waiting for her. Knowing there is a woman in there who will listen, though they must wait.

You cannot bite through time. That goes against the nature of what time is.

[redlightgreenlight]

It's not physical exhaustion that bring the desperate fight to an end, but the emotional shutdown of someone who has discovered that there's nothing to be done. The chains won't break, her body heals too quickly for self-destruction to be effective and as she discovered in her own nightmare, death wasn't an escape either.

But Death had never been an escape for her, neither was time, for she was destined to live beyond the end of time. Perhaps that's the kind of prisoner she'd always been.

The struggles don't slowly fade. They stop suddenly. Like life snuffed out by an instant death. Except she's still alive and breathing.

[abhorrently]

There they are. There it is.

It's the legs first that need to be attended to. While physically, she's intact, the light settles on them regardless, and then into the chains. They feel lighter then, weaker. Dissolving slowly, a tide wearing away a cliff face. Patience, dear lady. Patience.

Do you accept your past?

Heavy, heavy as it is. As painful as it is. As complicated and twisted and knotty as it is. All that she has done. All that she is and was made to be. Does she not see? She cannot break the chains if she is in a nest of thorns that paralyze her from true action.

[redlightgreenlight]

A low growl slowly building into a snarl cuts off before it fully reaches her teeth.

Acceptance has never been in question. I know what I am and what I have done, and I regret nothing. How could I not accept something that has made me who I am?

[abhorrently]

The words are acknowledged, and the chains around her legs dissolve fully, falling away like sand in the breeze. And the motes move, upwards, trails of light across her body, to settle into the chain around her neck, lightening it, weakening it again.

Do you accept your present?

All that she is now, where she has come to. The fraught situations, the tension, the uncertainty. The struggle as what was made one way must learn to live another, the unwinding of old beliefs and the building of new ones. Can she accept it? Can she accept the present moment, as full of fear and pain as it might be?

[redlightgreenlight]

Her first instinct is to ask if she has a choice, because it certainly feels like she doesn't. Not when she can't break free by her own power. Not when she never wanted to be here in the first place.

Mortanne's horse isn't going to stop this nightmare as it did the last.

But no, she does not accept this present moment.

However.

I accept who I am.

That much is truthful.

[abhorrently]

Do you accept who you are at this present moment?

Almost chiding, as they work on dissolving the chain further.

[redlightgreenlight]

As myself or as a prisoner of these chains?

Because those are two different questions with two different answers.

[abhorrently]

Your present, dear lady. The chains are no more you than clothing is, than your house is.

At least they lift away the pressure on her throat.

[redlightgreenlight]

Clearly the answer was wrong, despite having already answered it, so perhaps you are merely picky with words, so I will restate the previous answer. I accept who I am now, all the pain and insecurity and happiness and the never fading desire for power, and that I will never stop fighting, that is simply who I am.

[abhorrently]

One needs you to be precise. But not who you think.

The chain on her neck falls away much the same as before. And then the ones on her wrists. By now, what will be asked should be known. But the ritual of it continues. They float, they fly, and golden light eases the burden there. Trying to help, where they can.

Do you accept your future?

A future where she must live as herself, not anyone else. Where she must make choices for herself, and try to understand what herself even means..

[redlightgreenlight]

Now that she is almost free, she rises to her feet, exhausted and frustrated by the continued questions.

I cannot accept something I do not know, so I will say that I accept the uncertainty that comes with a future living a life I have never lived before, as myself, even if I do not know who that is yet.

[abhorrently]

That might be close enough to count.

There's a pause, and then the chains dissolve away like the others. She is unbound, and the motes pull away. No need to linger where they are not needed. They hover, steadier than fireflies, trailing their light in lazy circles around each other.

Will you go? There is nothing to keep you here. There is only misery to be found.

[redlightgreenlight]

Just like that the motes are satisfied, but she is not. Her lips curls.

I came looking for Fever, and I am not inclined to leave without her.

She steps toward the tiny firefly like beings.

She once told me she would lead me through Hell, if this is hers, I will not leave her behind.

[abhorrently]

This is no hell. This is only a choice.

They shed their soft, golden glow, but the darkness behind them is all the darker.

She moves. Unmooring herself from the earth, she moves. Drifts in the river, moved by the currents. Will you follow, or will you seek?

[redlightgreenlight]

She almost asks if there is a difference, but this has all been word games, so there must be. To follow may lead her into the same trap she was just caught in and she has no intent of drifting away like the motes say Fever is.

I will seek, but will you help?

[abhorrently]

Yes. That is all we wish to do.

Drifting closer, the bundle gently sways before it unspools itself into a long line that stretches off, creating a path. Mote to mote. It's clear and simple enough.

That is all we have ever done.

[redlightgreenlight]

The Hound shakes itself from head to tail, putting the chains and the nightmares behind her as she always does. Her lip curls when they say they always wish to help, but she knows their help is conditional. Say the right words and aid will be given, such a farce.

Still, it's all she has.

Valdis starts along the path laid out by the tiny lights.

How far?

[abhorrently]

Far. But not so far that you cannot find her.

The land they will take her through is cold and dark, in the grip of the more barren seasons. Nothing to keep her company, nothing but the shadow of a mountain that looms overhead, and it becomes clear enough after a time that her destination is there. The path becomes rockier, more sharp edged, and still they keep onwards. Until at the base of the mountain, there is a crack, large enough for a person to wriggle through, and the lights go inside, into the darkness.

Faintly, in the depths, the sound of water.

There is very little light ahead.

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis follows the motes though the wasteland, not daring look anywhere but ahead. She tirelessly climbs the mountain, paws easily carrying her up and to the crevice. Her lips curls again as the motes go inside. She doesn't want to shift back into that vulnerable, human form. It's far too delicate, too easily broken, too weak...but the Hound cannot fit in that crack and she's not keen on tearing open the mountain to get inside. With a small sigh she shifts, her form shrinking painfully into her human form, the one she doesn't want to be.

Another deep breath, and she squeezes through the crack, following the motes into the mountain, praying they will actually lead her to Fever.

[abhorrently]

They create a path, luminous and leading her on. Rocky, and beginning to get humid the further they go. But the sound of the water grows louder, louder, even as she traverses steep and sheer ledges until the river comes into view. Bioluminescent plants grow around, offering subtle illumination, some attended by motes the same as which guided Valdis there, and the air is heavy with humidity, with a scent closer to a forest after a thunderstorm than a mountain itself.

And as promised, floating there, by all perceptions to be just sleeping, is Fever. Cradled by the water, even as it flows, her eyes closed as if this was all just a simple diversion. Tucked away from the rest of the world.

[redlightgreenlight]

Valdis slowly follows the path, keeping every sense alert just in case this is not as easy as it appears. This doesn't seem like the inside of a mountain, but more like a valley, or something out of a novel. The sheer and steep ledges are nothing, but she treads carefully, not wanting to have anything delay her reunion with Fever. Slowly it becomes more forest-like in scent and aura, despite still being a mountain. It's almost peaceful.

Even when she sees Fever, she doesn't rush to her side, not sure what dreams may impact her awakening. If she even can wake.

"Fever?"

[abhorrently]

Her eyes open slowly when her name is called, but her gaze isn't focused - the glassy look of someone in a trance, dreaming within a dream, her thoughts occupied fully.

Unmooring herself from the earth, the motes had called it. Still, some response is better than no response.