Dreams Come True
The Memorial Gardens are a comforting place. Green and warm even with winter still clinging to the edges of Alexandria. In some places there's snow still, but not here. Here even with the light fall of rain and the gusting wind blowing like it might try to steal you away, its warm and comforting.
A woman stands before the statue of the Crown Princess Lianna Rena. The statue is twisted, turned from a figure of a beautiful lady into a statue of horror. As if the woman is becoming something terrible. Something painfully frightening. The woman who stands before the statue is beautiful.
She's an elvish woman, in mithral armor with a plain white talabard over it. Her padding where it's visible is also white. The silver sheen of her armor glimmers as the rain falls down it, and her beauty is remarkable. Long silver-white hair adorns her head and carries down her shoulders. Silvery eyes roam over the statue with sadness and a sense of... inevitability.
The bundle of furs appears to be mobile, wandering on its own through the park. Every so often, a small hand appears from the midst of the furs, and lifts up the hood, allowing Murder to track her progress through the park.
The lone woman standing before the slowly twisting statue. The Gobbo pauses, squinting at the statue at length.
"She got ugly pretty quick, didn't she?", she says to the beautiful, elven woman. "Is this vandalism? Or a special thing these statues do? Wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, with Alexandria being.. well.. Alexandria."
Kard isn't one for romantic walks or introspection. He probably couldn't smell the roses past the metal and sweat that fills his helmet. He is in the gardens because he's been told that it was built with magitech. He is investigating, but so far the tip seems fruitless.
Telamon finds himself in the gardens, and already he senses something amiss. Where is Cor'lana? Where is his better half? Surely he would not be here without her. His feet carry him, almost of their own volition, towards the statues in the garden. The twisted, horrid vandalism still on display... wait, wasn't it removed? Tel reaches out to touch his forehead.
His eyes shift, finally, to the elven woman in mithral, her hair very similar to his own platinum locks. He opens his mouth, then pauses... looking around in confusion.
Skielstregar, a towering, massive shiny silverscale is lumbering his way back northbound from the Temple District, set path to be out of the city gates and onward to Mictlan, unfazed by the rain.
He slows his approach as he glances to the statue, a shuddering leaving him. But his gaze falls to the figure. And he stops in his tracks. "..." words catch in his throat. The first and second thing getting caught, but the third thing tumbles out. "... give my thanksss to your friend for their, um, gift," he mumbles before bowing his head respectfully. "Hello again."
Really he was trying to remember where he napped last at this point.
The broad treetrunk of a dwarven druid rubs roughly at a dark-ringed eye as his sandals slap down the garden path. The warmth is always a welcome reprieve and his furred cloak is pushed back behind glowing darkwood pauldrons. A broad belt beneath his breastplate is decorated with all manner of pouches and hanging sacks.
Barclaiigh is currently in the process of inspecting a few of the items attached around his wide waist. Opening, closing, and re-opening more than one of them to make sure the contents are where they belong. He strays off the path as he goes, distracted, and doesn't course-correct until he's thigh-deep in brush and shoulder-checking a lamp post. "Dang... blast'n (grumble, grumble)..." he mutters to himself.
The beautiful woman looks down at Murder and shakes her head briefly. "She was changed. I suppose..." She seems about to say more, but there are more people gathering and she takes her time to nod politely to each one in turn. She looks lastly at Skielstregar, a small smile tugging on the edge of lips that seem as though perhaps it has been a long time since a smile was worn upon them. "Hello again. You should be careful who you say such words to, but I will let her know that you are grateful. She will be pleased that you are happy."
The Gobbo is distracted momentarily by the tall shiny Sith, her eyes widening and then narrowing, quickly full of mischief. Then the Khazad walks directly into the hedge, and she chokes down a laugh. The multitude of pouches and bags draws her in.
"You okay?", Murder wonders of Barclaiigh, reaching out a small hand to pull at his arm, attempting to guide him back onto the proper path.
She also attempts to see what's inside one of many bags dangling before her eyes.
She blinks and looks back at the woman as she speaks. "The statue, you mean? Or... the actual lady the statue is modeled on?" Murder squints. "Cos in this city, you have to specify."
Telamon is looking around in vain for someone, and gives up finally. "I... this is not quite real, is it? I've done this before. The sailor, and the strange prince." His eyes narrow as he regards the elven woman, though it's an expression of fascination, not suspicion. "...My lady, why have you called us here? I ask only to know what you would ask of us."
Kard pokes about in the bushes with the butt end of a staff. He's being careful not to tread on any of the plants as he looks for something.
Skielstregar blinks, and he rubs his neck, feeling quite small despite how he looms over all. "A-Ah, yesss. Thisss one will keep that in mind for the future. They are quite happy with it indeed."
He attention shifts back to the statue as well, a frown growing. "... isss thisss related to when you last spoke to usss?" he inquires, gesturing towards the ssstatue.
He glances to the others he knows, gives a light wave from the hip, and he clears his throat as he looks to Telamon. "... if your mate mentioned a... bad dream... thisss wasss before it, one of the ssssame."
"Just becomin' one with th'danged wilds," Barclaiigh grumbles somewhere between sheepish and peevish. Sheevish? He drags a rough palm down his face and blows a tired, frustrated raspberry into the air before he extracts himself from the undergrowth with little-to-no-effort at all. Once out the bush appears entirely unmolested; every leaf and twig still in place.
The Khazad-aul has a hanging sack stuffed with an old cloth that has the look of a well-used horse blanket. There's a flap of small vials full of a thick, milky liquid. Finally, he works his way into a pouch with his sausage fingers and counts the remaining ripe red currants within.
"Much obliged, miss," he offers the gobber, then looks to what else has her attention and issues a scowl.
Seyardu was out wandering the gardens as she often did, even more now with how winter was in full swing, and for an unknown amount of time to come. Though wandering in on such a large gathering was certainly much more odd.
"Peace on your nest madam." She greets courteously. "And of course to you, Skielstregar. I hope this day finds you all well."
"The statue yes, but... perhaps I mean more than just this statue." Her eyes twinkle slightly. Not with merth, but with the sort of amusement that comes when you know something that others do not. It's not a mean-spirited thing. She looks at Telamon and sighs. "Let me gather everyone. It would not do to repeat everything."
She waits then for a moment. For Barclaiigh to extract himself from the plant, and then gently motions to Kard for him to join them. "Come Kard, there is something that you will wish to hear." The fact that she knows his name in spite of them never meeting... although there is something familiar about her. Like something half remembered from a lifetime past. "Peace is something I would wish on all of you, but it is a blessing I can not give."
She looks into the eyes of each of you. Seeing into you with surety that is unnerving. "There is a storm coming." The rain stops, but the wind does not. It gusts harder, and the statue behind the woman creaks as if the force of that wind might tilt it over. Kard obediently closes the distance at the elf's invitation, but his interest is more in the creaking statue than her words. "Someone should brace that." He says in a deep voice.
The Goblin's nose wrinkles and she makes a sour face. "What the hell do you have in there?", she says, retreating from the bag, before another one catches her fancy.
"It smelled like unwashed socks left to die." Murder grins then, toothily. "Just making sure you didn't lose anything valuable when you decked the lamppost and waded into the bushes."
Her attention is drawn back to the Elven woman.
"A storm? Is this real weather, or are you being metaphorical here? My experiences in and with this city have taught me to ask this."
Telamon shakes his head at Kard. "It's... metaphor." Standing next to Skiel, he winces at Skiel's accurate statement. "She did. That was one of the reasons I was experimenting with... lucid dreaming." He quails a little at the elven woman's gaze and pronouncement, because he has a -very- bad feeling. "...my lady, I don't know if we'll be ready for what's coming." He can't lie. Not to this person.
Skielstregar glances to his scale sister and nods slowly. "Thisss one isss well. Same unto you, sssister."
He finally brings his attention up to the elven woman, dead silver eyes meeting hers. He dry swallows, a gout of frozen hair spilling from his nose. "... yesss ma'am," he confirms, this time not being a ditz about it as he looks to the statue.
The wind was pushing it... someone mentioned who it was before?
Tel mentions its a metaphor. His eyes widen slightly as he steps over towards the statue. "... thisss city might fall...?" he tries aloud. He could very well grow in size to help keep the statue stable, but doubts from last time keep him from doing anything more than putting a hand on it.
"Bit worse than that, miss," Barclaiigh shrugs apologetically, looking from Murder to the horseblanket-stuffed bag and frowning at its unseen center. He reaches behind his back and makes sure the spear still hangs in its sling, slapping his sandals across the stonework to join the loose gather. The wildman offers a tired-but-friendly smile to all and sundry.
"Ah, right, it is you again." Seyardu nods. "That explains the large group, and I am sure that I will awake in my bed again after this, or there is a good chance of that."
"Right, you mentioned a storm last time. As did that large dragon creature. But, please, tell us more about what you mean. You mentioned a storm, can you not be more specific? It is difficult to react to vague warnings."
The woman looks at Murder. "A thing does not have to be one or the other." The statue shifts in its stance, threatening to topple over in spite of Kard's warning that it should be braced. Meanwhile the woman turns her eyes on Telamon. "I come bearing warnings in the hope that it will be enough, but it might not be... It might not be."
She turns and looks at the statue then, her eyes full of soft sadness. "The city. The land. The world. The Nightmare threatens all. But it threatens ... most of all." There's an odd silence in the midst of her words. A word stolen from your ears.
Suddenly the statue comes crashing down, falling like lightning so fast that none of you have a chance to react before its crushed the woman beneath it. You see her bloodied and crushed for just a moment before the ground turns to sand. The wind threatens to tear you from your feet and the world seems like its trying to tear itself apart on the edge of that wind. There's sand everywhere. Yet there's a dragon before you. Black and monstrous in size. Eyes burning with hate. The sight of it is as terrifying as the visage of the woman was beautiful.
The Gobbo trails along behind the Khazad. "Nice to meet you, then. I'm Murder."
She's distracted again by the silvery Skielstregar as well as Seyardu, the Goblin attempting to get close to a silvery leg or arm, peering intently at the scales.
Murder is surprised at the sudden crashing of the stature, and barely has time to eeewwwwwh at the bloody mess of a corpse, before the sand is blasting her in the face. She squeaks loudly at the sudden appearance of the dragon.
"Dragon!!!", she yells at the top of her lungs.
Kard doesn't react well to the presence of monsters. He flails into a dozen potential responses at once, trying to draw all of his weapons while simultaneous roll away while getting to his feet. His response is neither graceful nor useful. "Blaargh! Dragon!" He forgets to employ his deep voice.
Telamon has enough time to scream a curse in Oruch, when the statue -lands- on the elven woman. Then everything goes to sand and waste, and of -course- there's a dragon, why not? The wind drives him to one knee, and he spits out a mouthful of grit. "Rafael, now would be a -really good time- to pick me up..." he mumbles under his breath. He squints up at the gigantic black dragon, and growls, "You again? I thought you were about -ruling- the world, not turning it into a desert." His teeth chatter for a moment, but he clenches his jaw to stop it.
Skielstregar doubles up his efforts as his goes from leaning on it to pushing the statue back with what he can. But it was too much, the weight of it overbearing, physical or metaphorically, and it comes crashing down. And he has to move out of the way.
He whirls around just to catch the crumpled form of the figure morph into sand. "... the Father's daught-"
Wait, sand?
Another spin on a heel. And once more there's that same monstrous, black dragon. Fear was present once more, but he found himself more resolved than last time. "... yesss... /The/ Dragon," he murmurs quietly, fingers curling into a taut fist before his gaze goes up to the sky.
Looking for that silvery orb once more.
GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (15)+10: 25
The whole situation had Barclaiigh gobsmacked and confused but the sudden, grisly crushing of the Sildanyari woman and the appearance of the dragon makes him step back and blanch in horror. The dwarf drops his tiny eyes to his sack again, opening it up and shoving his hand to push past through the blanket for the idol within. He's being diligent and making sure it's still there! He's definitely not looking for any excuse to not consider the terrific sight of the murderous wyrm.
Seyardu half jumped as the statue crumbled, crushing the one beneath them, but finding the sand beneath them, or the dragon again, was much less surprising. She looked up, squinted, and sighs. "It is you again, so be it. I do not know what you need or wish this time, but if you have nothing constructive or helpful to say, we will be on our way."
The dragon seems.... pleased by your fear. It smugly looks down upon you and digs its claws into the sand. "DID I DO THIS?" The dragon asks, motioning to the sand. "OR WAS IT MORTALS?"
The dragon for all its ferocity does not strike out at you, but stays where it is. "THE STORM COMES. IT COMES!" The moon above you dims to nothing and the world is cast into shadows.
Kard is quick enough to realize that at least half of the people present aren't responding to the dragon as one usually responds to dragons, with the running and the screaming. He has his weapons readied as he finally gets to his feet and backs away, aiming at the beast. He watches and listens, trying to figure out who or what they are dealing with. At least he has the self control not to come up blasting if running and screaming are off the table.
"YOU ARE NOW NAMED SANDY!", the Gobbo yells, hoping to be heard above the cacophony of noise. Her hood is pulled closer to her face to keep the sand at bay. She glances at the others.
"So any ideas about what just happened? You all seem to know the lady... What's going on here?"
There's a venomous snake in the bag... or, at least that's how Barclaiigh eyes the thing. "(... this is nuttier'n a squirrel turd, Bar,)" mutters the Khazad-aul. Broad shoulders heave in a deep breath and he retrieves the idol to hold it out for all to see. "Is this yer storm, y'big... uh... mister wyrm?"
"I have..." Kard pauses to start again an octave lower. "I have non-bladed weapons." He doesn't have a light, and with human limitations, the dark makes him more jumpy.
The dragon glares down at the goblin, a tendril of pure fear extending from the dragon to lash out at her. Yet this is a thing that takes only an ounce of its attention, and it looks at Kard a moment, just enough time for fear to lash out at him as well. Its tail lashes out behind it at Telamon's words and it glares at him perhaps hardest of all. "I WILL NOT TELL YOU. FOR YOU WOULD TURN ASIDE ALL OTHERS TO PROTECT ONE. THE STORM THREATENS US ALL!"
Suddenly all else is forgotten, and the dragon turns its eyes on Barclaiigh. "NO!" It hisses and shrinks back from the image in his hand. "NOT HERE! YOU FOOL!"
Shadows deepen, and deepen around you. Winding around Barclaiigh most of all. Shadows twist and turn around him, making a monsterous form around his body. The darkness is suddenly complete and all you can see is one another. The dragon.... and the thing that is wrapped around Barclaiigh.
GAME: Murder rolls will: (20)+4: 24 (CRITICAL SUCCESS) GAME: Telamon rolls will: (3)+5: 8
Seyardu sighs again, and she shakes her head. "I do not know who did this or why, that is what I would like to know. Thank you for your honesty and helpfulness as before. None of you even remember coming to this place or why, do you? Or if you have reasons, you don't remember traveling here."
Though it was changing something further, and Seyardu squints. "Why should we care what happens to you?" She asks.
GAME: Kard rolls will: (20)+1: 21 (CRITICAL SUCCESS)
Telamon recoils as though he's been struck, even though no blow passed between him and the dragon. As suddenly everything goes even -darker-, Tel tries to call up dancing lights, but his teeth are chattering too much and his fingers shake, the cantrip sputtering out repeatedly as he tries to hide behind Skiel.
Skielstregar sighs and shakes his head. "Not you or thissss one hass will-"
Now the dragon is roaring and shirking, his attention whipping from it to- Barclaiigh.
He dumbly blinks at the wildman. "... whyyyy....?" he wheezes out, pinching space between his nose.
".. can't have the good without the bad, ssssister," he mumbles to his religious sibling.
There's a momentary shock in the Gobbo's eyes as the Dragon glares at her, but then she frowns and her eyes begin to glow red.
"I've fought Dragons before, Sandy! And worse things than you. Ya don't scare me!" She stomps one of her little feet. A glance is spared to Skielstregar. "A vision? But it feels... so real. And what if... what if we were just in the calm of the storm, and it is now behind us?"
Her glance returns to the Dragon. "So why not explain yourself? If we are all threatened, then we should work together, for a time! And..."
Murder blinks and stares at Barclaiigh, and the... things that happen around him. "What the actual fuck?"
Kard continues backing away, his calm doesn't improve, but at least he doesn't develop a full-on panic. "This seems like a you problem." He booms out in a bass voice. "I ain't getting paid enough to fight ... whatever that is." Barclaigh's situation has him training his blunderbuss on the stout dwarf.
The dragon looks at you with a mixture of fury and smugness. "FINE. IF YOU DO NOT CARE, DIE. LET YOUR FOOLISHNESS CONSUME YOU." The dragon blinks and it is so dark that you almost don't realize at first... that it's gone. Vanished without a trace and leaving you alone with Barclaiigh and... whatever is surrounding him.
The form of this... thing, is hard to make out. It seems to shift and change and disappear into the shadows. It lashes out at you from every direction, and seems to appear from everywhere and nowhere.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+40: (4)+40: 44 GAME: Kard rolls will: (13)+1: 14
The strange darkness lashes out harshly at Kard, thrusting at the man and then Kard is... gone. Dead? Awake? There's no way of knowing. He's just gone.
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Strength: (15)+3: 18
"Aw... not again..." Barclaiigh deflates, shoulders slumping as he looks fit to just fall over asleep. "Dang thing ain't--" his thick forearm goes into the sack and he pulls it out, letting the ratty horse blanket fall aside. He holds it high and heaves downwards, slamming the thing into the ground. It hits the sandy earth forcefully and bounces, kicking up a spray of grains.
"Smash th'vile thing! T'ain't nothin' but mis'ry!"
GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d20+9+6+2+1-3: (17)+9+6+2+1+-3: 32 GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d8+9+3+2+2: (4)+9+3+2+2: 20 GAME: Telamon casts Scorching Ray. Caster Level: 5 DC: 18 GAME: Telamon rolls ranged: (5)+4: 9
"An excellent response, tyrannical one." Seyardu snorts, but her attention is taken by the dragon disappearing, and the other remaining. "Then we destroy it now. Such things have no place in the world, or the waking one." The cleric growls, pulling the billhook out of her bag and using it to smash the statue up. "If we can not break this now, then please all of you, stay close."
Telamon is completely at a loss. All he knows is that there's something HERE and it's not good -- something that made the King in Chains actually recoil. Which is very bad. His hands still shake from the lingering fear, as the assembled heroes scramble to smash the idol. Raising his fingers, he sputters out, "G-ganzer agida!" but the searing beam of flame quavers and sizzles past, cutting a line of glass into the sand.
GAME: Skielstregar RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 12 temporary HP GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon19: (20)+13: 33 (THREAT) GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d8+9+2+2+2+6: (8)+9+2+2+2+6: 29
Skielstregar has finally got himself unnerved as he backs up, putting a hand over Telamon as he takes refuge behind him. "Here in the VISION, ssssoftskin, don't you listen..!" he growls, irked and unnerved, growing in anxiety. "An idol of nightmaresss in a vision! Ugh.. jusst- fine!"
There's the clanking of of chains, a ball of spiked steel unfurling as it twirls, gets lined with a black ichor as a Forgotten makari smashes downward with reckless abandon. "Hence we SMITE THEE!"
And it shatters into a thousand pieces.
The Gobbo squeaks and sits up, glancing around quickly. Familiarity slowly sinks in. Leftovers waiting to be breakfast, the sound of someone somewhere in the building snoring loudly, her familiar blanket. She yawns and sighs. "Gotta lay off the chili right before bed.", Murder grumbles, before flopping back onto the pillow, and burrowing back under the blanket.
Darkness. And then...
- Discontinuity**
Telamon sits bolt upright in bed, shaking. He looks around wildly for a moment, before sucking in a breath. He's home, in the room and the bed he shares with Cor'lana. It's tempting to dismiss it as a bad dream, brought on by any manner of things, but...
He rubs his fingers together. Sand? Grit?
He shudders, and lies back down, draping an arm over his sleeping fiancee. But sleep is a long time in coming before he finally finds it again.
Barclaiigh snorts himself awake, sitting up fast enough to crack his head against the low-hanging outcropping he'd wedged under. He calls out, falling back down and wincing his eyes shut as he puts a hand to his head. It's not the first time he's thinking for the padding of the wavy auburn mane. He sighs, going slack, and rests a hand on the boar's tusk fetish he always wears; comforted by its presence.
Small eyes open slowly with a sigh, the dwarf rolls to his side and looks where his new breastplate grows wedge further back. Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he's rolling over and reaching out, pushing through his piled kit to find the sack and the horse blanket within. He pulls it out to check the state of the clue...
The great black bear groans quietly some distance from Bar's feet, unmoved by the druid's urgency.
Yet, all that Barclaiigh will find is tiny shattered pieces of wood where the statue once was.
From within the Fernwood once again, a silver scaled makari all but throws himself out of the bed. Eyes gleaming red, talons extended, a set of double fangs jutting from his maw as a pillow in his grasp drips black ichor.
"Begone already!" he snarls, huffing out gouts of black-laced frozen vapor out as his world was still in darkness.
Then, slowly, the world returns. And everything catches up to him. Angrily, he rips the pillow in half, before freezing. "Grrr.... Vaermiir. It happened again," he growls, ceasing his base destruction as he reels it back in. The undeathly features fade, and he clonks his head against the closed door tiredly.
Seyardu woke up suddenly with the sight of shattering statues in front of her, only to sigh in frustration as the panic passed quickly. Still, there was no reason to wake up just yet, or cause more concern. The cleric sighs, and pulls Sjach's arm back around her, before she is quickly off back to hopefully much more restful sleep. -End