2019-12-09 - World Of Dreamcraft

For those who have experienced Dreams before, the transition is familiar, if still utterly bizarre and disconcerting. For Dante, who has only experienced one Dream that he can fully remember, it's jarring. One moment he's asleep, the next, he's jerking his head up solidly, like he nearly nodded off sitting up.

Rolling moorland stretches out in all directions - idyllic and dewy, and decidedly not the Pacific Northwest. There's a heaviness and sweetness to the air. The party finds themselves seated around a crackling campfire, holding trays of roast meat and hunks of cheese and bread. There's two plain linen tents not far from the fire.

When Dante lifts his head, it's through a curtain of thick wavy hair. "What the devil...?" He nearly drops his laden plate of food. Full leather clothing, reinforced in places with bits of metal, creaks a bit when he moves. There's a pair of swords strapped to his back. He looks up and sees he's not alone.

Alexander clearly remembered trying to make his home away from the diner after delivering Bennie's clothes, and having a brief texted conversation with Gina on the way. And then...then it's blank. And now he's sitting in front of a fire, blinking in the gold and red light, his battered metal plate resting on his berobed knees. Yes, he's wearing robes - rich, dark things of purple and red, with embroidery in gaudy gold and silver that pick out strange, twisted sigils of occult significance. He reaches up to push the heavy hood out of his eyes, baring his face to the others. His beard is a little different, a bit longer and more pointed, like a teenager's idea of 'sinister'.

"...this is odd," he says, although he doesn't sound as freaked out as a reasonable and sane person would be. He looks around at the surroundings, noting that a clawed scepter of some sort bearing a dark crystal is sitting against one of his knees, and there's a long, curved dagger attached to his other hip. He blinks at these and at...his companions. "Mister Taylor?" The first one he recognizes, and he stares at him for a long moment.

Easton was in the process of heading towards Kelly's Gym, with full intent to go bid on some charitable items and watching some jello wrestling, because of charity of course. But something went wrong between him accepting the Uber and actually getting in the car because he's not there anymore. Nope, now he's here dressed in a mix of light silver weave chainmail with a dark green tunic overtop. His pants are likewise dark green and weirdly smooth. He looks around in confusion at the area and his hand goes for his weapon. Except instead of pulling out a gun or a knife, his hand finds a longbow strung on his back. He doesn't quite draw the weapon yet, but his hand feels around back there and ... is that a man bun?! And what the heck is going on with his ears?

"Oh what the hell.." He looks around the fire and asks, "Alexander?"

Yes before you is the shortest elf in all the land, behold (https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9c/ac/ab/9cacab6d8805a733cab081a7413d7654.jpg)

One minute he's balls deep in a good...book (get your mind out of the gutter people, the boy can read)...and thought he heard a noise outside on his balcony. Cristobal remembers going outside to check on it and finding nothing, starts to flop down into a patio chair for a smoke when suddenly he finds himself plunking down next to a campfire instead.

Cris' completely bald and a far sight more tan than his normal hispanic Abuelita coloring, with strange almost tribal tattoos covering his arms and even shooting across one cheek and eye. Unlike the others, he's nearly devoid of clothing, dressed only in leather skins around his waist and a harness across his chest that holds a great sword strapped to his back. And he's eating an entire leg of mutton? <<What the fucking fuck of actual fucks?>> Sure, that's what he meant to say, but it only comes out as some sort of guttural garbage?

Of all of them, Dante sounds the most like he belongs in this setting. He looks the part, too. If you ignore the fact that never in his actual life would he wear anything remotely like this or wear his hair this way. "Mister Clayton...?" He looks down at the food in his hand, then sets it aside. Then he stands and half-paces, leather creaking, metal panels clinking. He pats himself down, brow furrowing. "Is this one of those...Dream things, then? Or did I get kidnapped to join a travelling Renaissance Faire?"

He startles at the sound of the gutteral language. Before he even knows it, one of the swords is off his back and in his hand, pointed in the direction of the sound. It's a short sword, sharp and deadly. He looks confused at the blade, then at the tattooed man. "...Cristobal?" Then he looks to Easton, blinking slowly. "...I take it you're a Gray Harbor resident as well?" Then he looks at his hand. "...and how do I know how to use this bloody thing?"

"Easton?" Alexander blinks, then grins. "Hello. Why do you look like Link?" He plays video games, okay? Just...not the right era of them, maybe. "This is an odd one," he tells the bartender with amusement, before Dante identifies the large, tattooed gent. "That's not Mister Cruz," he claims. Then frowns. Leans closer. "...or maybe it is. Hope that doesn't last when we leave. And I can't understand what he's saying." That? That worries him a bit. He reaches absently for the scepter where he would have tried to read the room, and it gutters to life with a pulsing, red-tinged glow. A pause. He looks down at it. "That's...new. And I can't read you." Again - worrisome. And yet, he lifts the claw-bound crystal, and stares into it with a certain fascination. "I think I can do magic."

Mister Clayton It takes Easton a minute to realize that it's Alexander sitting there in the robes. He blinks and sighs a relieved, "Alexander. Yeah" He then turns to Dante and smiles, "Yes, verily we're neighbors." VERILY?! Easton's face shows the horror he feels. That was supposed to be a cuss word. A super dirty, filthy cuss word. He looks over at the barbarian and tilts his head, before his now almost shaped eyes go a little wide. "Oh... good." He doesn't mention why this a good or bad thing to anyone else, but is glad that the big oaf doesn't seem to be able to communicate with them intelligibly, just like back home.

He looks at the scepter and says, "Of course. Sure. So what we.. save a princess? Fight some Orcs? How does this nerd stuff work?" He's pointing his question at Alexander, for no particular reason ... okay fine, if anyone in this group strikes him as a D&D player it's going to be Clayton.

Cris' arms throw wide with <<Of course it's me!>>, but even if he can't be understood the gesture is clearly readable. He frowns again, as he can understand what he's saying but it's obviously not in any language that he surely knows? Maybe the others can't understand him either, so he starts pointing to each of the others in turn to say he knows them all, and for clarification on Easton there's a little elbows jerking back towards his body, hip humping movement that makes the plate in his lap wobble dangerously as he laughs.

"Oh yes, yes indeed," says Dante as he places Easton. "The ears...threw me," he motions to his own ears, which are obscured by a thick curtain of hair. "And the bun. A good look. I've never quite understood why it gets a bad rap." He's grinning, but that gets derailed a bit when Alexander lights up an orb. "Well, that's very interesting. I...oh my. Look, gents. He's doing an interpretive dance to help us communicate." He watches Cris thrusting. In one fluid motion, the sword in his hand gets slid back into the back sheath.

"So, em. This whole situation..." he flicks hair out of his face. It drifts right down again. "...is new to me. Is there generally a goal? I've only ever had horrendous nightmares with things chasing me in the dark."

"That sounds like Dungeons and Dragons," Alexander says, when Easton looks in his direction. "I've never played. I never saw the need to invent fantasy worlds as a child." His voice is dry. And haughty. And like he really needs to be punched in the face for the good of mankind. The only thing missing is the posh accent, really. Cristobal's thrusting motion towards Easton is met with a disdainful sniff. Before Alexander's more usual expression comes back, and he tells Cristobal, "Rude." Then he's frowning. "There's usually a way out, my good man--did I just say 'my good man'?" A shake of his head. "You just have to figure out what it--hmmm." He pats down his robe, and slips a hand into an inner pocket of it. "I seem to have something in my, uh, robes." He withdraws it with a dramatic flourish!

It's a scroll case. Alexander cautiously opens it, shakes out the parchment, and unrolls it. "What have we here, gentlemen? And Cristobal."

Alexander adds after a moment of skimming by orblight, "I see!" Another flourish. Warlock!Alexander is a diva, clearly. "We appear to have been tasked, my good fellows, with the rescue of the King's crown, lest the Kingdom fall into ruin and perfidy. And, why, I do believe that I sense that I have a spell activated to guide us to the destination of our heroic quest - we head to the north!" A pointed hand towards the North, like everyone's going to jump up and run in that direction right now.

Then he stares at his own hand like he's not sure why it's there. "...this is very odd."

"Vexation and damnation!" Easton tries to swear in frustration that Alexander wasn't as nerdy as he hoped but only comes up with flowery expressions of annoyance. He glowers at Dante and touches his ears again, shaking his head. Cristobal's interpretive dance gets a middle finger in response. Good so he can at least cuss non-verbally. "Alexander, maybe we can stay just long enough for me to murder him and blame it on the Dream?"

But then Alexander has a quest. He turns north, how the hell does he know which way is north?! And looks out into the darkness, "Brilliant, I'm able to see as clear as mid day... Too bad I look and sound like a ill-birthed half-breed mongrel." He's getting the hang of fancy cussing. Kind of.

Jump up and run in that direction? Don't mind if he do! Cristobal stands up with a clatter of his plate falling to the earth with an enthusiastic grunt, his hand going behind his head to pull his two handed sword - whoa cool - out of the metal ring that keeps it tethered there. It gets thrust in the air, and with the sudden single minded goal of 'North', he starts stalking off in that direction.

"I...honestly can't tell if he's just enjoying it or if it's the Dream," Dante murmurs to Easton as he watches Alexander. Then he catches sight of something. He walks over to the edge of the campsite and crouches down. "I, em...I think...there's a trail off this direction. See?" He points at what looks like a messy collection of disturbed earth that heads out of the moors and into the woods - roughly north but not due. "It's very clear. They must be quite sloppy. Ah, oi! Oi!" He motions at Cris. "You're going to wreck the trail. Steady on."

The Dream is doing literally nothing to his vocabulary or manner of speaking. He already talks like he's in a Fantasy novel.

"I don't currently have any objections, fair friend of mine. But I also think I can summon demons, so I don't know that you're going to want to rely on me for moral guidance at this juncture." Alexander fastidiously puts his plate aside, and snaps his fingers. His robes are suddenly in perfect order, not a single stain from the spilled meat and hunks of food that startled in his hands, nor do they have grass stains when he stands up and grabs his orb as Cristobal moves away. "And perish the thought, Easton. You look like Link - second best character in the history of gaming. You should be pleased!"

He raises his orb and it casts that reddish glow over the trail. "Lead the way, Mister Taylor. You seem hardy enough. Do try to steer us around any unfortunate mudholes. These robes don't stay clean without effort, you know."

Seeing the path clearly through the woods, something that has never happened to Easton in all of his life is a very different experience. He nimbly passes by Cristobal starts to pick his way through the woods silently moving through the greenery. "I will accept Link." He calls back to Alexander, mollified by the comparison and then wonders aloud, "Do I have a magic boomerang? That would be most pleasing." Ugh. It would also be most pleasing if he didn't sound like a dink. Uh, no offense Dante?

Something pings his senses and he draws his bow though he can't quite say what and he doesn't yet alert the party.

Barbari-Cris turns back to Dante, resting the broad blade of his sword on his shoulder so he can hold it one with hand and point down at the ground and then in the direction of the North before it stabs at Alexander. <<Clayton said North, I'm going North?!>> Apparently he also inherited his role's massive intellect. With a sigh, he's obviously slowing his roll to move with the others as a group.

"So you're a neat freak wizard?" asks Dante, eyebrows arching at Alexander. "That's a new one. Not that I know very much about this genre. Except that it keeps my countrymen gainfully employed as actors. Between this genre and historical romances." He then points at the air. "Don't you get any ideas...strange dream world."

Then he starts to follow the trail, into step not far from Easton. He steps almost as lightly as the elf-man.

Whatever it was that twigged Easton's elf senses was indeed something. A projectile launches from the trees. Dante dodges it with a twist of his shoulders to the side. Another, and another spits out of the branches. A good sized one hits Cris in the shoulder, but his skin is thick enough it only stings a little and doesn't do any damage. There's movement high in the trees, and...strange giggling?

"I could attempt to enchant such a weapon for you, Easton, but I fear it might consume unwary souls. And I am NOT a wizard! No, I have harnessed the dark powers of the underworld, and the infernal legions are mine to--EEP!" Alexander hits the dirt as the projectiles start spitting out of the trees. "What manner of foul treachery is this?" He jumps to a crouch and starts chanting in Latin, summoning up a DPS pet...er, minor demon to attend him.

The ping and ticks of the projectiles against the trees and the barbarian cause Easton to notch arrows on his bow. He calls out, "There are some sort of children like beings in the branches." He tries to figure out if they are dangerous creatures or just mischievous children. He smirks at Alexander's offer and says, "That sounds promising Clayton. Perhaps we will get a chance to see your dark arts practiced yet." He doesn't fire back yet though, "I am not sure they are a real threat."

What the...GRUNT! <<Ow>> GRUNT! <<Hey!> Cris looks from his shoulder up to the tree and then down at some projectile that's now been lost in the leaves. He frowns. Deeply. And then, as if not really processing that ethereal Easton SylverWynd (or whatever!) hints they might not be threats, Cris swings his broadsword off his shoulder and starts HACKING at the nearest tree's trunk as if he's going to catch the little giggling creatures that way.

"Yes, I don't think they're much of a threat," says Dante. In fact, should anyone get hit with the rocks, they really only sting a little. Except Alexander, whose robes don't protect against much. Then it might leave a little welt. But for everyone else, it's like children hucking pebbles.

But of course, that doesn't stop Cristobal the Barbarian. His broadsword eats into the bark of the tree which shakes it. Many of the creatures shatter, but two drop to the forest floor. As they land, they shower out...coins? It's a very odd sight. After a few good hacks, the whole tree creaks over, crushing a half dozen of the creatures, all of whom toss out something, be it coins, a handful of arrows, a few vials of what looks like some kind of potion and, oddly...a new loincloth that looks fancier than the one Cris is wearing.

"What the bloody inferno?" Okay. That time the Dream did alter Dante's words a little.

Alexander rises cautiously to his full height again, brushing off his robes as Cris puts the creatures to flight. And to...exploding. "Ah! Loot. I know about this. These are probably healing potions," he says, with fascination, moving over to pick up one of the small vials. "Lest our wounds grow too great. Clearly we are meant to slaughter everything in our path and grow powerful and rich on the spoils!" And he sounds way too pleased about this.

His little demon, a dark cloud with eyes and a rather terrifying amount of mouths, hovers near him, grinning hungrily at the rest of the party.

Cris hacks at the trees and the little tree people shatter and Easton's face twists in horror as Alexander celebrates it. He looks at him, "Alexander, we are not slaughtering forest children for rare drops." He shakes his head and then looks down at the Pet Demon. He looks back to Dante and then says, "Let us trust that a more honorable way to achieve treasure awaits us." He tries not to look too horrified at Clayton's attitude.

Cris grabs the flat of his blade with one hand and the hilt with the other, thrusting it above his head with guttural noises of celebration as the tree is felled and the little childlike creatures burst into loot. <<Coins for wenches and brew!>> Although the noises he makes sound like he's just rutting. Wait, what's that? New cloths for his loins! Yeah, the man has no shame, his mighty sword is dropped and he's swapping out one for the other with a mighty flash of his bare ass at the others as he bends over.

And just like everyone doesn't seem to be able to resist the core urges of their assigned classes, Dante goes for the fallen coin, pocketing the gold with swift and deft fingers, a glint in his eye as he spots something that looks like a jewel. "I wouldn't worry too much, Eastolas. They're not real, right? And...well, they're not using it anymore." He nudges one of the tree-children with his boot. He sees something flash and picks up the shiny beneath it. Oooh. When Cris does his little striptease, he doesn't avert his eyes, but he does bite his lower lip to stop a roll of laughter.

The path continues, deeper into far more sinister-looking woods. Behind them lies verdant hills. Ahead? The kind of trees that look like they would swallow you up and close off the way back home. It looks, in fact, not unlike the Firefly Forest on a bad day.

At least Alexander has the good manners to look abashed at Easton's chastisement. His shoulders droop, and he looks like Actual Alexander for a moment, apologetic expression and all. "Sorry." Even his demon becomes a saggy sort of cloud, with big, yellow eyes widened like a sad puppy's and a dozen woebegone frowns. Look, look at its sadness and sorrow, Easton. Never mind all the fangs. "We'll be nice to the forest children. Even when they pelt us with rocks. And though the fate of the Kingdom is at stake. And the power we gain here will surely help us overcome greater challenges ahead. And everyone is counting on us." Warlock!Alexander is clearly back in charge. He clears his throat as Cris starts to change. "There are trees behind which you could surely--no? Very well then. Do proceed. Don't mind us."

He follows the path, sticking close to the meatshiel--er, Cristobal and the others, his little demon floating along beside him. Occasionally he consults the tracking spell with a flicker of eldritch green light.

Being told not to worry only vexes Easton more. He has to surpress an urge to yell at them about playful forest sprites, sons and daughters of the wood who are full of life and mischief. "I have never hated myself more, than right now." He then makes no secret about looking as Cristobal changes, his elf eyes missing none of the show. He whistles, meaning for it to be a lecherous wolf whistle. Instead what comes out of is a beautifully haunting tune that echoes through the woods and stirs the soul. Easton is of course also horrified by this and his eyes trail off.

And in moments a hawk comes and alights on his shoulder. Easton turns to stare at in horror, but can't help feel that it's fine. And then despite himself he's nodding at the hawk.

"I do not understand what is happening right now... I think we are speaking?"

And so the party walks through the darkening woods, either Dante or Easton picking up on the trail when it seems to go cold. Dante is adept at finding patterns in the dirt, while Easton's elf-eyes can see the trail ahead once Dante has pointed it out. At spots, the woods become so dark that Alexander needs to use his magic to flood the area with light, which sends all sorts of terrifying creatures sliding back into the shadows.

Eventually, they emerge from the thick woods into a brighter area. They come upon the signs of a broken camp - an extinguished fire, discarded bits of food, and a dead body with its throat slit. "Trouble in the rank of thieves." A thief wearing armor not dissimilar to the leather armor that Dante wears. "So is this how it works, then? Just play along and hope you don't die? Would it not have been smarter to sit at our camp and wait for everything to end?" He bends down to search the dead man with callousness he'd never exhibit in the waking world.

"Speaking to animals is nice," Alexander says, his voice gentling more towards his normal one. "Enjoy it while it lasts." He glances at his demon who whispers something from six mouths. "No, I don't want you to sit on my shoulder. How would you even do that?" He and his demon continue to argue in hushed whispers (and occasional Latin) as they walk.

When they reach the camp, Alexander's momentarily silenced by the appearance of the body. "Careful," he tells Dante. "And you can sit, and wait, but I don't think it ends well. I mean," he clears his throat, "you can die. Or be lost for a long time. Besides," he looks around, "it's always interesting. Horrifying, painful, awful. But interesting." He freezes as his eyes catch something, and he raises his orb to cast light in the movement's direction. "What goes there?"

"I do not wish to communicate with lower creatures!" Easton tries to protest and the hawk straight up jabs him in his oversized ear with it's beak. He cries out and says, "Present company excepted." He stops bickering with the bird when they come to the camp. He takes it all in and nods. Then he looks at the hawk, meaningfully, staring into it's eyes and communicating the depths of his soul. Or at least asking it to fly a reconnaissance mission and find out who is watching them. He glances to the mere men in the party to see if their lesser senses have picked up on what his far superior ones have. "Careful now."

As all the others freeze and carefully prepare their next moves, Cristobal the Barbarian sees something moving in the trees and charges headlong with a loud warcry after whatever it is in the woods, swinging his sword wildly.

"I...do not know much about this genre but something tells me he wasn't best suited for this mission." Both of his swords come out of their sheaths in a smooth, natural movement. He swings the blades around and scans the darkness, keeping low.

The first figure to strike comes at Alexander, slashing at his little demon friend with a sword. She's wearing light plate mail and has a high ponytail, with a ragged scar across her face.

An arrow sings from the woods, aiming for Easton's hawk, but missing by a hair's breadth.

Two men with swords charge at Dante, who spins around with agility that would make Errol Flynn proud. He slices strategically with the blades at the weakest parts of the men's armor.

"I don't know. He's very entertaining," Alexander says, archly, watching the man charge off into the wilderness. "Faretheewell, large angry man! Don't die--augh!" And now there are enemies, and Alexander backpedals wildly as the scarred woman charges him. "Xophiel, I command you...protect meeeee!" The demon dodges the first swipe of the sword, then bares a lot (A LOT) of sharpened teeth. It lunges forward and engages her, whirling around her in a furious attack, while Alexander waves the orb until little green, glowing missiles shoot out of it and pelt her. "Take that! And that! And soon, your SOUL SHALL BE MINE!"

His is an evil laugh.

Watching the Barbarian, Easton's eyes narrow and he shakes his head. But then things are happening. The arrow singing through the air is watched to be sure that his hawk friend is unharmed. But then Easton has his bow up and three arrows of his own notched. He fires them off and turns to see the demon. It takes him a moment to realize that he shouldn't fire at it. "I do not think ingesting souls from this place is a healthy life choice my good friend."

Once Dante gets going with the fighting, he starts to lose himself in it. Despite being his full actual height of six foot two, he's remarkably agile in the dream state. The blades slash out, downing his opponents with a flurry of the short blades. He dodges when an arrow sings past, and his hand goes to a knife at his belt. It sails up into the trees, hits one of the archers, who then tumbles from the trees.

Other archers drop as Easton's arrows find their mark. A thief charges at him from the woods with a shortsword, slashing outwards.

Meanwhile, the warrior woman attacking Alexander shrieks and pulsates back and forth, her body turning to a black fog that gets ingested by the demon, until only a pile of armor and a stripped skeleton remains.

Obviously not a PG game.

"I never said anything about...eating...it..." Alexander trails off, his eyes going wide as his cute little demon cloud straight up devours his opponent. He blinks a couple of times. "For the record, that was Xophiel, not me." He whispers, "Good boy," at the thing, then points at another of the archers in the tree. "Xophiel? Fetch." The demon laughs from a dozen mouths as it billows forward.

The good news is that Easton is quite used to being this height and firing at enemies in the distance. The bow thankfully feels very natural, even if it's not a gun. He sees the attacker coming at him with the sword and he uses the bow to slip around the attackers hand and with a twist he flicks the sword out of the man's hand and into his. He slips the sword neatly through the man's ribs with one hand and withdraws it again in a smooth motion. "That was exhilarating." Watching the thief slump to the ground, Easton clarifies, "For me. I'm afraid you didn't last very long."

And it's then, during the heat of the battle - and for some, mid-thrust, that the Dream dissolves. For Alexander, it's the moment he feels the life energy of one of the bandits rushing back towards him as his demon friend devours them. For Easton, it's the moment he lets loose an arrow he's certain will impale their best archer, high in the trees. And for Dante, it's the moment he twists his blade deftly through the air, flips to hold it in a slashing position, and drags it across the throat of his attacker.

But for all, the fantasy world dissolves at the same moment, shattering into air, and dropping them back close in space, but not in time, from where they were picked up.

And there is a sense that the world they left is not finished with them. The quest lies unresolved. The kingdom still needs saving. The heroes will be called again - if that's indeed what they are.