thousand dreams, lotus boats upon the waters

[promittere]

NEW MOON ADAGIO

Between the constant requests from the North and the sense of tension that pervades the manor, Sage Tatara makes an executive decision: we're going North, baby.

Of all the things that have happened thus far, let this be the ultimate test of your magic. Even as we near summer, it's frigid. Protect yourselves and your allies from the cold. Protect yourselves while also fighting off monsters (or other territorial wizards, should you make the terrible mistake of wandering into another's territory), flying through the vast wilderness, or protecting the poor humans who need your help to survive. Time to blow off some of your steam. Just be sure to obey Tatara's one rule: don't kill each other.

One particular problem of note is in the Forest of Dreams. Without its guardian, many of these rogue monsters and dangerous predators, displaced from their normal habitats, have found their way into the forest. Many of them, however, are unable to survive against the fatal toxin, and there are plenty of animal corpses and mana stones that litter the forest. It might be best to clean these up before the forest guardian returns...

That said, the toxin is yet another thing you must protect yourself against in addition to the cold. While you can likely keep yourself from dying from the toxins, you may not be immune to its effects. This deadly toxin causes anyone who breathes it in to dream and hallucinate vividly, be it images of the past, imagined futures, thoughts of the present processed and warped...

Strangely enough, those nearby may end up sharing in your dreams... Did you want the darkest recesses of your thoughts, hopes, and fears unearthed for others to see?

Those who decide to venture far past the more populated (in relative terms) parts of the North may find themselves stumbling upon what looks to be an abandoned bandit hideout. It seems it's been abandoned for quite a while—nothing to loot here, sorry!—but there sure are a whole lot of monsters that have decided to make this hidden corner of the North their home.

While you're at it, you may find a nearby cave. Beautiful crystals dot the walls and the floors, and there are small pools of hot spring water free for relaxing. It seems to be relatively free of monsters, too. So maybe this wouldn't be a bad spot to relax, away from everything else?

However, there's one thing that makes this cave truly unique, and it isn't the vistas or the springs—it's the bats. These bats hear echoes of the past and replay them for visitors. Should you stay a while and listen, a bat may pay you a visit. And when it does, it may play for you the voices from the memories of visitors past, whose stories may hold a clue or two to your circumstances...

While the Forest of Dreams is a memory/dreamshare free for all, the aural memories replayed by the bats in the Cave of Time will come from one of the original wizards only. If you'd like an audio replay of a perhaps significant moment either in their personal life or a clue as to what happened to them (it will be randomized), then please reply to this comment!

JOB BOARD

Clean-up and repairs. While thanks to the hard work of your Eastern friends the worst was prevented, the City of Rain emerged from their short ordeal a little worse for wear.

Buildings need repair, blood needs to be cleaned off the streets, the injured need help. This is, perhaps, the only time you will be allowed to use magic openly in the city (you've been given permits and everything!), but you still are not allowed to talk outside of designated zones. Please, please don't get arrested...

As for the scrap that litters the streets? Unfortunately, you'll have to take it back to the scrapyard. But this time, there's a big, roaring bonfire out there. Just chuck all the scrap and debris in the fire. The city isn't taking any second chances—extreme situations call for extreme measures.

Reverence. Several Northern villages are currently outside the protection of a wizard, and have requested the sage's wizards' presence. They're terrified of the monsters and worried the barriers for their villages will fail sooner than later. They don't simply ask for help for free, however, and these smaller villages are steeped in their tradition—they'll pay you their respects, praying to you, offering you gifts, groveling at your feet, in hopes for a modicum of your time and protection. Do their offerings please you? Then assist them with what you deem appropriate for their worship to you: kill a few monsters for them, or a lot if you're pleased. Strengthen the barrier a lot, or not at all if you're displeased. It's up to you! You have the power here. What's it like to be a god for a day?

Ladies' night. The monthly lady officers' gathering is coming up in the City of Affluence—it's an exclusive meetup for the women involved in and related to Western military and bureaucratic affairs. Anyone is welcome, so long as they meet two requirements: they are outwardly presenting feminine, and they have an invitation to the gathering. Here's your chance to flex your transformation and glamour spells! Infiltrate the meetup with a disguise and a fake invitation, mingle, enjoy the drinks, the jazz, the entertainment, and find out what you can... What's the Western army up to? Be careful, though—don't get caught and kicked out!

The attendees seem to be excited about the new phantasmagoria technology and the upcoming display, and many whisper about the upcoming Venator meteor shower...

G'RAHA TASKS

Greetings, new friends! I am G'raha Tia, and while I hesitate to call myself a mentor or a replacement for the one you had, I am eternally grateful for the assistance I received and will do my best to help your cause in any way I can. To that end, I feel I may need to be caught up to speed on the events and get to know all of you.

We can have some tea and sandwiches and have a discussion! That's the best way to learn, sometimes.

TATARA ACTIVITIES

Even if we're not here for very long, I think we should leave our mark (not literally! Don't paint on the walls!). I got paint and big paper in the dining hall, but no brushes... Do you know what that means? Finger paint! Finger paint a portrait of yourself with your name and I'll hang it up in the library when they're all done!

Thanks to Cid and Khun, my camcorder works now. The thing is, what's the point of filming anything if we have no way to watch the film?! Could you guys work together to make some kind of projector? Or like...VHS player? We could have a movie night together!

OOC NOTES

🌙 Welcome to your fourth event! It's your dreamshare and memshare event! Ready to open up with your deepest and darkest secrets?
🌙 We're halfway through the game. How do you feel?
🌙 Back at the manor, Kurapika and Maya have set up a bulletin board! Leave comments, argue with your neighbors, have fun. Be nice. Don't set it on fire.
🌙 On the admin side of things, Lav has swapped out Wanderer for G'raha! Please say hello to your new mentor NPC.
🌙 Your OOC plotting post is here! Remember to keep all wider plotting to the post, and remember to check back frequently, since not everyone checks plurk or discord all the time.
🌙 The next country to go on their mission is North. Do you think a PVP-enabled mission will go well?

» NAVIGATION

Comments

[fullspbar]

[ Sometimes, he thinks he's seen enough awful things in his life. The Dark Hour, Tartarus, growing numb to the sight of bodies and gunshots and blood beneath his feet.

But this? This isn't some seedy back alley behind Port Island Station. This isn't some poor bastard on the other end of Takaya's revolver. It's not the twisting, writhing walls of the labyrinth he'd grown to hate so much. This, he thinks, behind the tightness of his chest and the blurriness of his vision, is probably closer to what hell is like.

The first time was painful. A suffocating clamp around his throat, being surrounded by debris and dust and watching the blood slowly pool from beneath the shattered ceiling. But even then, it was nothing like this; even if it had felt like it to him. There's so much ash in the air he can practically taste it coating his tongue, lining his throat and making it even harder to breathe.

Take a breath.

He can't.

Perhaps it's the phantom sensation, within the chaos. With the smells of blood, of burnt flesh, of fire, combined with the wreckage and the smoke, the exhaustion and pain are far, far too familiar. For a moment, he thinks he might feel it, the writhing in his chest of something thrashing against his ribcage like it's a prison it can't wait to be free of. Like if it tries hard enough, it'll shatter the bone and reach through the gaps, pulling itself out for all to see. ]

Castor-

[ Strangled, unsure. Is it still there? Is he still here, despite leaving him alone for so long? Shinjiro's not talking to Solomon, at the very least; Merely shrinking back, like if he does, he can contain whatever's there. Whatever he thinks is there. ]

[impacter]

[You can hear more of them scream in the distance. Your distress climbs. No. No, no, you tried so hard. You were trying so hard. And yet your magic bubbles ferociously in your limbs, in your throat, no matter how you keep trying to press it down like you've tried for years. But it hurts. It hurts, and you feel what little grip you have over your own power slipping.

They had died because of you. And you want to scream until your throat goes hoarse. There has to be something you can do, something, something something.

Shinjiro will feel the urge to double over if he hasn't already, like his magic (his demons, his Persona, his--) is trying to burst from his skin if he doesn't pull himself together--

The reaction is already strong enough that Solomon cannot stand idle. It's like Bruno, like Akira, a trembling collapse under something so horrifying about their own power...

Swallowing thickly, Solomon stumbles over, a sharp inhale and shaking exhale as his hands grip Shinji's shoulders, trying to prevent further retreat. In Shinji's mind, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, he hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.

It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with Shinji at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them. But the older man still shakes him, firmly.]

Shinjiro.

[Purposefully too familiar.]

Eyes up. Don't hide from it. Follow your instincts or it's just going to keep happening.

[The death. The destruction.

"Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"

Hoarse words to the dead. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.

So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.

Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.

Solomon keeps his touch firm. He's here. Even though the phantom, the memory, has no one at all.]

Free your hands if your heart is frightened.

I won't let you flounder.

[fullspbar]

[ He has suffered nightmares, even here. Nights when he wakes up in a cold sweat with the rapid beating of his heart threatening to thrum loud enough through his skin and the walls that everyone can hear it. He remembers the episodes, of downing pills to keep the beast at bay; and yet he's managed to somewhat keep himself together, through the years. Bottling it up, choking it down, smoothing over his features like cold plaster with only the exhaustion beneath his eyes to give it away.

Shinjirois doubled over, but it forces him further still, the pain. The panic. The fear. He has always been so good at managing his emotions, compared to Akihiko, and now he feels like he's drowning as a result. It's a surging wave, a tsunami of terrified energy.

This isn't him. Part of him knows that, knows that his demons have brought only one life down with it, and yet part of him cannot help and stop and swallow and think but it could happen.

He is not Solomon, and Solomon is not him. But in this moment, they are too painfully similar. He hates it.

The hands on his shoulder are a partial anchor, and the overfamiliarity helps makes it stick. But even with the command, he strains to do so; he is not a fearful man, at least on the outside, but now he is terrified that he will look up and see something else. Something angry, wreathed in metal with the splay of blond hair, fury vibrating in it's every atom as it smashes and breaks and wreaks havoc of the likes he knows he can't stomach. His head shakes, eyes squeezing shut so hard he can feel the salty pinprick at the corners, before he finally relents. He's better than this. He's stronger than this.

Or, at least, he fucking hopes so.

A circle is possible. His hands have to pry from his chest like they're made of steel, hands shaking as they slide to the ground.

You will die. And yet part of him doesn't mind that.

He knows better. This isn't real. But the acidic tang in the back of his throat, nausea rising with the drum of his own heart that nearly swallows Solomon's words whole, those all feel real. ]

..Th' circle. [ His words sound fuzzy, like his tongue is thick, like it strains him to speak past the hysteria tightening his throat. He isn't looking at Solomon, but at the ground, where his fingers dig into the dirt and the ash. ] How?

[ How, how. Tell me how. I want to fix it. I want this to stop. Tell me how to make it go away. ]

[impacter]

[Your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

With a careful touch, Solomon keeps one arm against his back as his other hand slides over Shinjiro's, enough of a grip to silently guide his fingers.

The memory provides the knowledge, and so long as you follow instinct, it makes sense. Ingenuity out of desperation. A space for protection. A space for the vessel.

There's pain, sharp and vibrant against the palm, and though neither of them find an injury, it can still be felt, blood dripping and coating the fingers. Tracing, writing, with no finesse. Written incantations that feel like a mockery under the bitter rolling of your stomach. Sanctuary, sanctuary, protection against that which devours man.

The shape of the pentagram, the curves of the serpent, the directions and their marks. Time, Time, you need more time. The start of the seal splatters under heavy breathes. You need more time. You wipe mud and ash and sweat from your face, so focused that you can hear nothing but the heart beating in your ears and the begging need of your soul.

Let me take it back.

It's as he finishes the last draw of the circle, an attempt to close it, that Shinjiro will feel Solomon's grip tighten, his own face pale with the effort.]

You aren't prey. And you aren't something to be controlled. Hold your heart firm.

Demand what you need.

[As the lines draw close with a startling ice to the veins, the depths open against the pull of your overwhelming magic like a hungry beast, like falling into the bottomless pit of the sea. Hell stares into you, demanding what your soul is worth, what you desire, what you will die to eternity for.

He's out there. He can reverse this. He can turn it back.

Barbatos.]