• Mature • Desert Isles of Emea

[Woe]

bleh

Part of a sequence of threads: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3



72nd of Ymiden 721, 1st break after midnight.


"As much relief as it would give me to groan about this that and the other thing, I would prefer not to give the issue the air it needs to live. So let's strangle the bitch"

A voice spoke to Woe's ear, as he slipped into the dream. He only had to listen to that strange statement, so out of context and devoid of any reason, in order to achieve awareness that he was, in fact, dreaming. Thus buoyed by his lucidity, he ascended from his own dreamscape, into the Veil surrounding the third home he'd bought in Egilrun.

His disembodied form floated upon the chair he was sleeping in, considering his predicament. Something had certainly changed in Augusta, for her to take such a drastic turn of personality. She was not the prim and proper girl he'd left in Viden. What form of debauchery had she been so exposed to, that now she almost reminded him of her own mother? It was almost tragic. The daughter becoming the mother she'd despised, and murdered. He wondered if it was through some sense of lingering guilt, driving her to emulate the parent she lost to bloodshed.

Perhaps there were answers that Augusta wished of Olga. Woe couldn't really help there, not even the Zuuda could retrieve someone if they hadn't lingered as a ghost. Olga didn't strike him as the sentimental sort, or one to linger in old haunts. She had been adventurous, a bon vivant of the first order. Whatever happened to someone when they died he didn't know. Woe had occasion to ask several ghosts, but their answers were confusing and probably rendered erroneous by virtue of their emotional decay.

He suspected that souls went somewhere but who really knew?

Woe rose from the chair, his form shimmering in the haze of the Veil. He left his office then, and slipped through the open door, up toward where he felt an entrance to another dreamscape. There he might find answers, or a nightmare. It was always a mystery, delving into the dreamscape of another person. There was a chance one couldn't find their way back, or would be slain by whatever horrors they encountered within the subconscious mind. It was part of the allure, to Woe. Thus as he ascended the stairs, and stood at the threshold to Augusta's dreamscape, he peered into it, trying to get a glimpse of what may be stirring beneath the surface. Her sleeping body gave no clues as to what she might be dreaming of, if anything. She looked quite peaceful, compared to before.

He approached where she slept, and knelt by her bedside, peering into her face from his astral form. Then, with a turn of the right key, a certain unfocused glance from an odd angle above her head, Woe was drawn into her dreamscape.



It was unlike any physical passage, the galleries of thoughts, memories, and half-realized impressions that led into the inner Dreamscape of a living soul. Wisps of thought and caresses of voices trailed around Woe’s head as he burrowed into the Dreamscape, crawling as it were on his astral hands and knees, in order to get a glimpse of that inner world. The entrance to most Dreamscapes could say something of the dreamer. Although sometimes dropping into one could be as simple as… well, dropping in, there were particularly closed minds that made one crawl or run or caper their way through an obstacle course just to get a glimpse of their inner world.

Augusta was just such a one, as Woe would’ve expected.

[Woe]

The place he began, was a place strikingly familiar to Woe. He'd seen impressions of it upon his own dreams, haunted by the past arc spent in Quacia. The Lair. A buffer village between the Shanty and the Gleam, offering all manner of vice and indulgence that the Theocratum otherwise wouldn't have allowed in Quacia proper without a proper inquisition. Hell, the Theocratum's claws could be known to stretch even into the depths of the Lair. Yet in the Lair, Woe had discovered a garden of libertine delights that could scarcely be rivaled in any other land. Would he be so tempted by their distractions now, now that his tangle was repaired, and the magic stripped from his soul? He could simply imagine the ecstatic exhalations of the emotions running rampant through that sector. It was a delight for an Empath such as he'd been. As it was, once you'd been an Empath in a den of temptation and pleasure, you could scarcely find ordinary everyday temptations anything but trite.

Regardless, he was in the Lair now, or a reasonably accurate facsimile of it, crafted by the dreamt of imaginings of the woman Augusta. Had she been to the Lair then, before that night he'd taken her to the Wounded Stage? She didn't seem the type. Yet as he walked along the dreamscape, the fetid swampy ground and steamy atmosphere of the place, so reminiscent of Quacia Summers burning the vegetation, hung on the air. He knew Augusta to be a vague adherent to the Faith of the Theocratum. There was a time when Woe thought to learn a lesson from their blind devotion to an invisible deity. When he sought to study the nature of their zealotry and faith. Having been long removed from his evil spark, however, those urges had fallen by the wayside.

Now, he only wished to heal, to help, and to be the cement holding back the tides of chaos from those who were important to him.

He walked along the road, and something else he noticed. All the faces of the young women, and there were only young women, seemed to share Augusta's look. Strange enough, and problematic for actually finding the girl in her own dreamscape. Then again, she might not even inhabit a form that resembled herself. She could be a lamp post, or a shoe, or even a puddle reflecting the scene that played out above.

At any rate, he was walking the streets, passing by the many Augustas in the way, trying to find some clue as to where the dreamer might be manifesting, so he could see the source and focus of the dream.

If there was a focus, anyway. He had little enough to go on, not knowing that she had ever been to the Lair aside from their visit.

He walked on.

[Woe]

Of the variety of Augustas, there were too many to count. Some were poor, holding out a pan for nels. Others walked arm in arm with tuxedo-clad Augusta's, while wearing lavish dresses. And every class between the two was represented. There were footwomen Augustas, lantern-lighting Augustas, messenger Augustas, street sweepers, and on it went. Woe almost lost hope of ever finding his Augusta in all of this confusion.

Yet, half a break into his search, he came upon one woman who stood out from the rest. For the simple fact that she didn't look anything like Augusta. She wore a mask over her eyes, and otherwise statuesque features, light hair, and revealing dress. She bore a cigarette in her hand and was attended to by several of the other Augustas. She walked along, blithely disregarding the existence of anyone else upon the avenue of the Lair, near the Wounded Stage. Woe stopped in his tracks surreptitiously, turning on his heels once she'd gone past him, back in toward the Lair.

His glance followed her, as she made the route for the Wounded Stage. He decided in the end to shadow her, and see where she led him. Worst case potentiality was that this was another dreamwalker, and not in fact Augusta's avatar. But Woe rather doubted that.

His walk took him through the filthy alleyways, trying to find a familiar shortcut to the backrooms of the Wounded Theater. He eventually found it, having known of the entrance from his ignominious escape from the city. From there, he sought out the dressing rooms, intent on perhaps disguising himself before he confronted Augusta. It might not be the best thing for him to present as himself, after all. It might just jostle her back to wakefulness, or even more risky, lucidity.

As Woe entered the backrooms, he heard footsteps from just outside. Realizing that he would be caught, he slipped behind a heavy curtain that hung from the wall. As they entered, his breath caught on his throat. It was the light-haired woman and her attendant. When she took off her mask, Woe had to stifle a slight intake of breath. It was Olga's face on the dreamer.

Why on earth would Augusta dream of being Olga? Was it possible she idolized her mother, in some way? Or was this a manner of coping with their crime, bringing her to life in dreams? Woe almost allowed himself to feel remorse, for his part in that crime, which to be fair was the main part.

Nevertheless, WOe watched as the two women spoke to each other, in hushed tones. WOe could scarcely make out what they were saying, not for lack of hearing, but because their words came out as babble. He couldn't understand a word they said. They spoke some form of archaic Vahanic, some of the roots were similar, but much of it unrecognizable, even in the accents.

Woe's eyes grew wide as 'Olga' drew Augusta close, as if to kiss her, but then revealed the fangs of a predator, and began tearing into her neck. Woe knew of Augusta's preoccupation with the Theocratum, and their blood rituals. Honestly, though, he had no idea what to make of this. He was not exactly well versed in dream analysis. He felt dreams were more or less, in terms of nonlucid dreams, the equivalent of incoherent babble, with no rhyme or reason to them.

Still, he couldn't deny a fascination as he watched the roles of Olga and Augusta reversed, as Olga drained the life from the construct.

Olga licked her lips, as the Augusta died, and she slipped out of the woman's arms onto the cold stone floor. Woe realized by now that this was Augusta's dream avatar. There was little doubt in his mind. Yet he did not want to disturb the moment with his appearance to Augusta.

He approached in a stealthy move from behind the curtain and tapped her on the shoulder. Before she could turn around, he'd escaped the dreamscape of his former fiance.

As he clawed his way out of the dream, he reflected that he would like to return, and examine in more detail this inner world that Augusta's mind had crafted.

He'd left for now, but he would return.

[Doran]

Woe:

Knowledge:
Deception: x 2
Linguistics: x 2
Stealth: x 2

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10

- - -

Comments: I have to admit, I found the first post hard to read. I found it hard to focus on the black text on a grey background.

With that being said, I found Woe’s pondering the changes in Augusta’s personality interesting to read. You described that well, and Dreamwalking was an interesting way to find answers.

There was a certain darkness to those scenes, but at the same time, this thread was beautifully written and very fascinating. I really enjoyed Woe exploring Augusta’s dreamscape.

I wonder why there were only young women in Augusta’s dreamscape though, and why they all had her face. What does that mean as far as the changes in her personality are concerned?

And the scene where Olga drained the life from Augusta, their roles pretty much reversed … wow! I’m quite curious now, and I want to know what kind of conclusions Woe will draw!

Enjoy your rewards!