Into the Depths

[thewatchers]

INTO THE DEPTHS
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Something was riding, an omen of great things to come. Focusing on this lead, the Academy sent a team to follow the Dullahan on it's ride.


A. Descent
The Dullahan was persistent, and the more observant that followed would realize that the Fae was intentionally leading them through the thin veil into the Outlands. The surroundings get gradually less and less normal, less familiar until they’re fully into a place that doesn’t feel touched by humanity at all. The air has a strange, salty tinge that can be tasted on the tongue as strangely bare, bleach-white trees reach up into the sky, reedy tendril-like grass crunches under the feet, with bizarre flat and fan-like protrusions rising up and jabbing into the air. Be warned, however; careless contact with any of these features draws blood, they’re all rough-textured and sharp.

Here and there, more and more as the dullahan proceeds, bodies are scattered across the ground and the trees. None are human; in many cases, some aren’t even approaching humans. But they are all dead, without doubt, their pieces torn and scattered across what must have been homes once and are now broken craters, like wounds in the world.

B. Ambush
The unnatural horse suddenly halts, all four hooves planted in the muddy ground, snorting heavily. The headless rider does not try to force his steed on- instead, he readies his weapon.

“Thy mulish persistence begins to become tiresome.”
Utultar’s presence warps the world around him, like a cloak. His eye gleams red, and the sky itself seems to darken. The Dullahan’s horse screams a challenge and charges.

“Begone from my sight, insects.”

His assault is sudden and terrifying; a series of blasts that seem to tear apart the world, hungry and malevolent. The force of their deployment alone, not to mention the impact, is enough to throw people around like dolls, scattering them far and wide.

C. Aftermath
The light was blinding, and it felt as though you were lucky to be alive after it - let alone being able to stand. The strange bleach-white forest seems to stretch on forever, somehow looking dark and gloomy despite their stark color and the lack of foliage. On the pearl-white mud rose small trickles of a blue-black inky liquid that seem to roll rivets into a trail. Perhaps it will guide you to the others who have been separated - it’s better to find someone quick, as it’s unlikely that the Herald is the only threat in this place.

At points, the strange fluid suddenly stops, forming a small puddle before solidifying, lightening in color and warping, leaving a mask behind, and a soft whisper swims in the briny air, the opening to every story known, a promise of power and safety. Without the mask, the strange air makes it hard to breathe, and even harder to think; eventually, the pull will be too strong to resist.

Wearing a mask makes things seem brighter and more colorful; the physical world wavers, to be replaced by strange patterns and symbols and the sense that you’re inside a dream, or a storybook - a place both real and unreal. Following them will lead you to your fellow travelers, whose masks and minds have created colorful storyscapes in which you can easily slip into.

D. Water?
Eventually, as you walk through your own stories and each other’s, you’ll come to the edge of a vast, blue sea. Something as large as an island, imprisoned by three massive chains biting into the ground, wallows uncomfortably, making pained calls that echo across that vast space. Even from a distance, it’s clear to see: it bleeds the same deep, dark blue as the ‘water’ that surrounds it.
It wants to be free, that much is clear. And for those who look closely at the scraps and ruins that litter this vast shore, they may find clear hints to this being’s true nature, and the benefits to freeing it:

-A great deal of Utultar’s power to make and maintain a large library of contracts comes from bleeding this creature and bathing in - and drinking - a regular, fresh supply of its blood. Freeing it will weaken him significantly, setting back his progress to usher in Nightfall.
-The creature is a primordial fae called Nammu-Ninsiku, and was the first to Contract a being on Earth. It has the ability to change or nullify one condition of any contract and will grant one such ‘wish’ to the ones who have a direct hand in freeing it by putting on the masks. This wish can be transferred to a willing recipient if both parties are amenable and the original bearer doesn’t want the responsibility. This wish may have an additional price, depending on the magnitude of the wish; the fae will inform the wisher if this is the case. It will never be anything fatal or too high to pay, but it may well be significant.
-The dead Outlands beings scattered among the coral forest were attempting to free Nammu-Ninsiku, and paid for it with their lives. The dullahan was just one of many of these beings and has been looking for an appropriate way to dispense revenge since the initial slaughter.

Of course, you might just want to free it for being a creature in pain. It’s up to you.)

((OOC Post is over Here for questions or planning))

Chains are first come, first served! If you want to volunteer your character for a mask, reply to the relevant toplevel in whatever way suits your character best and treat it as a starter you can jump off of.

Comments

[subconmodo]

Me, of course. Who else?

[He lifts one of his front legs and rolls a claw in a lazy circle.]

The dragon is here, therefore the prince is obsolete. That would be the end of it if he wasn't so stubborn.

[Even he's not one-hundred percent sure what he's talking about here. The story at work, he supposes. A mix the character alone can't grasp, a reason the man beneath would rather avoid thinking about.]

It's like saying dying is why you're dead. Kind of obvious, don't you think?

[spelleton]

A prince and a dragon aren't exactly opposites, so I'm afraid it's not as obvious as you might think. Even less so, if you and the prince are [ the same person ] entwined so inexorably.

What makes you so certain he must be obsolete, that there's no other fate for him than that?

[subconmodo]

How long do you think someone like that would survive in the real world? He didn't even know you for an hour and was already chummy. He'd be lucky if all that happened to him was being killed by bandits out there.

[spelleton]

The way you speak, it sounds like you're fearful for his safety, more than anything else. [ Does he really hate him that much - no, undoubtedly, undeniably, he does. But there's something else there, too. ] There's a strength in weakness, or the appearance of weakness, but a solitary dragon like yourself would know little of that, I imagine.

[subconmodo]

[He scoffs]

Did you really come all this way to insult me? For someone who doesn't know me, you sure are making a lot of assumptions, aren't you dead man?

[His voice wavers a bit.

(He does know you.)

It's ridiculous. They've never met.]

[spelleton]

Oh, but I do know you. I even danced with you once, though you may not remember it. [ His voice is slightly amused, but mostly startled, like it's an anecdote he's only just remembered it himself.

(A memory of a dream, filtered through a fairytale). ] Though you were somewhere between prince and dragon, then. But that was long ago.

[ In a story, a year is as long as the teller wants it to be. A year can be short, or forever. ]

[subconmodo]

Huh?

[His head hurts, a dull, throbbing pain at the back, as if something is trying to claw its way out.

A dance that would look deadly to anyone outside, of threats and banter in a tower beneath a neversetting moon.

(something precious)]

You're...

[He shakes his head with a growl.]

You're giving me a headache. If I forgot it's not my fault. You're the one who keeps switching masks.

[(Red, simple, and crested, only covering half his face. Another with runes on the inside, resembling a fox. A gift.)]

[spelleton]

Aren't you the one who keeps switching forms? You can hardly blame me for changing. I am a creature of borders, as you remember. It's only my nature. [ The border between life and death, healing and killing. The edge of the knife that cuts to save a life, to end it, the thin slice in-between. ]

It makes me sad indeed, to see you deny yours. [ Prince, and dragon, and in-between. He is both, neither, a person broken and split. Why, for what reason, he doesn't remember (he knows, but it's not his role to play). ] To be so at war with yourself.

[subconmodo]

[That earns a laugh, humorless and cruel.]

"It makes me SAD..."

Really? You're really going to keep taking his side?

[What else could this be about? Of course he wanted he prince around. No one wants a dragon.

You know he's just as likely to change, right? Even more than you think I am.

[He leans forward, a tiny puff of smoke escaping from his nostrils. A warning.]

It's disgusting, really. But maybe that's what you want. A happy little subservient doll for you to mold how you like.

[(You know that's not true.

You made a promise. Stop.)

The dragon hates the prince. It's natural for him to hate anyone who loves him. The man in red is lucky that he's already dead.]

[spelleton]

[ If they were both as they were, if he wasn't wearing the story like a cloak, he might feel stung, wounded. But here, he simply laughs, his eyes blazing with unnatural fire. The accusation seems to slide off him. ]

So fierce, so quick to leap! What a proud dragon you are! And yet you forget, so easily, the reason why I traveled so far.

I came here to meet a dragon. If you think I sought something to make pet or plaything, then you make yourself a fool.

[subconmodo]

If you want the dragon--

[he says through grit teeth]

--then why do you sound so eager to get rid of him?

[He lets out another huff of smoke]

Just what in the world are you after?

[spelleton]

Foolish still! I don't wish to see you gone from this world.

But do you really think acknowledging your reflection will mean you're worth less, that his existence devalues yours, that only one of you can live? You are two sides of a coin, split, refracted. A mirror broken.

[ His mask changes, as he speaks; one side the facsimile of a human face, the other the bloody grin of a broken, fractured skull. A coin that wasn't there before shines in his hand. ]

You can be whole, if you so desire. Something that's neither dragon or prince, a role that's only yours. Stronger than before.

[ And yet, he still hasn't answered the question. Preferring to speak in riddles.

(The answer is simple. It's an answer that can break a spell.) ]

[subconmodo]

[It does devalue his existence. Weakness that shouldn't exist, that only brings ruin as the prince only stands by and passively watches. At least the dragon carves something for himself with his own claws. At least the decisions he makes are purely for his own sake.

Even without the dragon, the prince would be little more than a prisoner in another gilded cage. At least the dragon is free.

But this deal... It's interesting. Being whole doesn't suit him, he thinks, but the promise of power is tempting.

After all, in this world only the strong are allowed to survive.]

What are you offering?

[spelleton]

Me? Nothing much. The choice is yours, after all, to grasp that strength for yourself. [ It's not up to him to decide. The dragon has to take that step himself. That much, even under the veil of story, he understands. It's not something that can be solved by someone else. ]

I only want for your happiness. If I offered what I harbor in exchange, it would lose all value.

[subconmodo]

[He sits down and lifts up one front leg, waving it dismissively.]

Yes, yes, my life will be so much better, blah, blah, blah. That's nice and all, but it doesn't exactly get to the how of the matter, does it?

You said that I'd be more powerful if we combined. That's what I want.

[spelleton]

As it happens, I think I have just the thing for you. [ It's the nature of stories, after all. He draws something from beneath his cloak that shimmers with metal; it could have been the coin he drew out, or a knife, but now it's a pool of mercury. A mirror that spills red from his hands, the bright colour of a heart's blood (perhaps a knife that spilled blood from dead flesh) and becomes a shimmering, glassy surface. ]

A mirror that reflects a hidden nature. [ Perhaps it's trickery; but as long as the dragon believes it, then it becomes real. ] You've left things unspoken unfairly for too long, dear dragon. Now is the time you face each other.

[ And he will bear witness, of course. He has no intention of leaving. ]

[subconmodo]

[What an arrogant man...

If that's what death does to someone, he has half a mind to find some way to be immortal.

The Dragon leans his head down, eyes squinting as he focuses on his reflection in the mirror. It's dark and hazy, but it looks distinctively human, a fact that makes his lip curl up in disgust instinctively.

And then it comes: a voice from the mirror, distorted and fearful, muffled, but still very much there. Very much understandable.]

Is someone there?

[spelleton]

[ A tiny part of him might feel the urge to laugh, if that thought of him being arrogant was given voice. Perhaps not. When he moves as part of the story, he moves with a fluid, bold detachment; the tenderness he'd normally show to the man who wears the dragon's mask is hidden beneath. ]

Just me. And the dragon, of course. But you know that.

O prince, won't you come closer?

[subconmodo]

[The prince is still at first, but little by little his image grows clearer in the mirror.]

You're not dead? He didn't kill you?

[The dragon snorts out a snicker and the prince stops his approach.]

You're half right.

[spelleton]

You can't kill what's already long dead. But you shouldn't concern yourself with me. [ Though he's touched that the prince's first thought is for his safety, as touched as he can be when he's mired in the story as he is. ]

If there's something you've wanted to say to him, why not speak now, while you can face each other clearly?

[subconmodo]

[The prince's face finally comes to view in the mirror. He's still shrunken into himself slightly. The dragon looks on with a self-satisfied smirk.]

That's what I thought.

You won't say anything. You never could and you never will. Why don't you do us both a favor and keep playing the good boy, eh? You disappear and I help us live the life we've always deserved.

[The prince pauses, then stands tall, shoulders back and his eyes narrowed as he glares at the dragon in defiance.

The dragon's smirk falls away, replaced by a dark scowl, and he meets the prince's gaze with equal determination.]

I hate you.

[The two growl out the words in unison, and suddenly the shadows peel away from the dragon's form, leaving a man in blackened rags, glaring at a reflection of himself in chains.]

[spelleton]

[ If he was himself, the man in red would ask 'and why is that?' But he's a different thing entirely, a spirit bound in blood, and so he does something different entirely.

He moves closer, standing behind the dragon (the man who cloaks himself in shadows, hiding himself from the world). In the mirror he's created, the young man he used to be - his face still hidden with that bloody mask, still cloaked and hooded in that same shifting red - stands behind the prince, his smile sad. ]

So much ill-feeling between you. Must you detest each other so much?

[subconmodo]

He's everything I shouldn't be.

Cruel and heartless--

Passive and desperate--

--a murderer who does whatever he wants with no regard for anyone else!

--a blind fool who's only good at getting himself killed!

[Why would the prince ever want to become someone like the dragon?

Why would the dragon allow himself to be at the mercy of others?]

[spelleton]

[ Hasn't he already? ]

My, oh my. What denial! What hatred! But those things you say are far, far too simple for the tangled truth that your story has become. The things you've done. The bonds you've formed. The cruelties that were done to you, and what you chose to make of yourself.

Isn't that so?

[subconmodo]

[The two turn to face their respective men in red in confusion.]

What are you going on about now? It is simple, isn't it?