9th of Cylus, Arc 717
Dream Thread, Neronin’s Dreamscape
Neronin fell. It was agonizingly long in a way that only dream falls were. The thrill and gut-wrenching terror of it never become normal despite his falling for minutes now. He fell through a dark sky, a Cylus sky, towards a snowy field. Both the sky and the field were covered in undead. Neronin felt as though his experience of dreams was always haunted with his own magic, but he has unable to command it. At night, in his mind, Neronin became the victim of his own power.
The false mage screamed as he fell. It felt appropriate even though he knew he was in a dream. Once he screamed he began to close the distance to the field in earnest. Neronin felt a new, less unlike state of panic now. He closed his eyes and braced himself, but the impact never came. Instead he fell through the snow. Neronin landed hard on a stone cobbled floor. He felt the impact but no pain came, as if it would distract from the dread of the undead. He could not see out of the grey hole above where snow gently drifted in, but he knew the undead were making for it. Neronin glanced around and realized he was in the hallway of a crypt. Hollow spaces seemed to house skeletal and decaying bodies. Candles stood in sconces periodically along the walls. The light was dim from them and seemed only there to make his footing uncertain and throw the dead bodies into sharp relief.
Neronin knew he was in a dream state, but that did not change his fear. Perhaps it was because that fear was something he experienced in subtle ways in his waking hours. The fear that his power would turn, the fear of those deathly things he created. The fear of the dark spark within. Neronin felt his bare feet slapping against the rough stones and for a long moment, or perhaps several minutes that was the entirety of his sensation. It was as though his brain had become enthralled with the cold stones. But then the bodies in the walls began to stir. He could hear behind the clatter of bones. The undead had made their way into the crypt and now the dead in the walls were clambering out as well.
Neronin turned a corner in the massive crypt, a labyrinth of the dead. He continued to turn and sprint in random directions, vaguely away that he was doing towards some safe haven deep within the labyrinth. Neronin turned and glanced behind. What he saw sent his heart racing. The hallway was filled with Marrows, Husks, and Blights all shambling towards him with green hunger in their eyes. Neronin made to turn and run again.
But he fell sideways.
His head slammed through a thick layer of cobwebs and his eyes stung. He heard a rasping noise close at hand as he struggled to pull the cobwebs away from him. When he could see through blurry eyes, Neronin saw a yellow set of teeth not inches from his face. A skeletal figure had its fists around his robes and was attempting to gnaw at his face. Neronin screamed and pulled himself out of the small tomb. The skeletal form was dragged after him, still dangling from his robes and chomping at him with that hunger.
The horde of undead was now feet from him. Neronin bolted into the dark, the skeleton’s feet and legs snapping off and clattering as they struck the floor. The torso still clung stubbornly to Neronin. He paid it no mind as he dodged around other undead climbing down out of their tombs. Skeletal fingers scratched at his arms and teeth tugged at his robes. Neronin kept going.
Eventually the mage found an open door. He ran through it with much more endurance than his waking self could show. That was always how it was. He felt the exhaustion, the fear, the pain, but never ran out of energy. Neronin drove through the door and slapped it behind him. He ripped the skeleton from him and threw it against the opposite wall. The skull toppled off and rolled slowly down the winding stairwell he now stood in.
Dream Thread, Neronin’s Dreamscape
Neronin fell. It was agonizingly long in a way that only dream falls were. The thrill and gut-wrenching terror of it never become normal despite his falling for minutes now. He fell through a dark sky, a Cylus sky, towards a snowy field. Both the sky and the field were covered in undead. Neronin felt as though his experience of dreams was always haunted with his own magic, but he has unable to command it. At night, in his mind, Neronin became the victim of his own power.
The false mage screamed as he fell. It felt appropriate even though he knew he was in a dream. Once he screamed he began to close the distance to the field in earnest. Neronin felt a new, less unlike state of panic now. He closed his eyes and braced himself, but the impact never came. Instead he fell through the snow. Neronin landed hard on a stone cobbled floor. He felt the impact but no pain came, as if it would distract from the dread of the undead. He could not see out of the grey hole above where snow gently drifted in, but he knew the undead were making for it. Neronin glanced around and realized he was in the hallway of a crypt. Hollow spaces seemed to house skeletal and decaying bodies. Candles stood in sconces periodically along the walls. The light was dim from them and seemed only there to make his footing uncertain and throw the dead bodies into sharp relief.
Neronin knew he was in a dream state, but that did not change his fear. Perhaps it was because that fear was something he experienced in subtle ways in his waking hours. The fear that his power would turn, the fear of those deathly things he created. The fear of the dark spark within. Neronin felt his bare feet slapping against the rough stones and for a long moment, or perhaps several minutes that was the entirety of his sensation. It was as though his brain had become enthralled with the cold stones. But then the bodies in the walls began to stir. He could hear behind the clatter of bones. The undead had made their way into the crypt and now the dead in the walls were clambering out as well.
Neronin turned a corner in the massive crypt, a labyrinth of the dead. He continued to turn and sprint in random directions, vaguely away that he was doing towards some safe haven deep within the labyrinth. Neronin turned and glanced behind. What he saw sent his heart racing. The hallway was filled with Marrows, Husks, and Blights all shambling towards him with green hunger in their eyes. Neronin made to turn and run again.
But he fell sideways.
His head slammed through a thick layer of cobwebs and his eyes stung. He heard a rasping noise close at hand as he struggled to pull the cobwebs away from him. When he could see through blurry eyes, Neronin saw a yellow set of teeth not inches from his face. A skeletal figure had its fists around his robes and was attempting to gnaw at his face. Neronin screamed and pulled himself out of the small tomb. The skeletal form was dragged after him, still dangling from his robes and chomping at him with that hunger.
The horde of undead was now feet from him. Neronin bolted into the dark, the skeleton’s feet and legs snapping off and clattering as they struck the floor. The torso still clung stubbornly to Neronin. He paid it no mind as he dodged around other undead climbing down out of their tombs. Skeletal fingers scratched at his arms and teeth tugged at his robes. Neronin kept going.
Eventually the mage found an open door. He ran through it with much more endurance than his waking self could show. That was always how it was. He felt the exhaustion, the fear, the pain, but never ran out of energy. Neronin drove through the door and slapped it behind him. He ripped the skeleton from him and threw it against the opposite wall. The skull toppled off and rolled slowly down the winding stairwell he now stood in.
