[OOC: Sorry for the long intro. Any other replies will be MUCH shorter!]


Mendean smiled at the porcelain mask he held in his hand. It was an elaborate thing, glazed to appear cracked, with criss-cross lines showing a false fracturing of its white perfection. Dark blue swirls and curlicues washed across the surface, resembling the kind of pottery one might find in Ataiyo, hinting at its place of origin. Semi-precious stones, such as jade, ground down to translucency, somehow affixed to the glaze in a series of dark green scales that washed down the sides of each cheek and across the brow. Empty eyesockets stared back at the god, almost daring him to put it on. Not today, thing of beauty. For I am a mask in my entirety. To wear you, would be placing a mask upon a mask How ridiculous! He thought while replacing the mask upon its stand with great care.


Stepping back from the plinth on which the mask had been displayed, Mendean inclined his head to take in the other plinths. Small granite pillars, each of which contained some form of exotic curio, no doubt taken by force in many cases, for this was the palace of a powerful individual. One with a string of great victories tied firmly beneath his silken sash. A general of Tarishitar no less.


Footsteps. Sound of soft shoes on wooden board. Heavy steps. More on one foot than the other. A limp then. The god did not turn to face the heavily-built squat figure of the general, for there was no need. Instead, he reached out to touch an intricately designed wooden device. There seemed to be some mechanism for tightening…


“The fabled cock-ring of Lu Chow. A work of great craftsmanship that supported the flaccid old bastard's libido for another three years before he was assassinated via a poison curse being cast upon the ring itself.”


Mendean withdrew his hand before it could come into contact with the device. The corner of his mouth twitched. He said nothing.


“So, you gods are not omniscient after all.”


A rueful smile from the god in question. “It all depends upon the medium. But where would the fun lie in seeing and knowing everything?” Only now did the god turn and offer a curt nod in place of a bow. The general reciprocated with an almost imperceptibly lower bow. He was testing Mendean.


Mendean responded with a fey wave of his hand. “Let us not concern ourselves with ceremony. I am your enemy because I exist in a land without gods. And yet I am a citizen of this land. My very existence challenges much of what you once believed. You are a brutal murderer, who slaughtered his way into his position and escapes moral justice because your society tells itself that this is proper conduct for a man of your station. And yet, you have had to send for me. Thank you for the gifts by the way. But let us get down to business. Why have you summoned me?”


The question struck the general like a slap. Immediately he straightened up, adjusting his clothing and moustache. “Dreams” grunted the general. “We are plagued by dreams.”


Mendean nodded. “Well it was not my doing, but you already know that. I already know that you have been employing some rather revolutionary alchemical technology in that department. I felt your people tunnelling down into the dreaming. What went wrong?”


The general's hands were placed behind his back and he looked down as he walked alongside the taller man. He did not look up, as Mendean did, fascinated by the gallery of artefacts. “Mining,” he said simply.


“And your ignorant meddling has dug up something…unpleasant?”


“You could say that. We were mining the dreams of the gulleyfolk. The underclass we have here, who live in the -”


“ - In the ravines beneath the city. Yes, I am very familiar with your systematic abuse of those people. It seems those who run Tarishitar have cut out their own sense of shame. You humans seem to be very good at cutting out parts of yourselves.”


The general ignored Mendean's barb. “Taking the dreams of those people, means they are less likely to cause insurrection. They would be less likely to want anything more. And besides, I am told the power of dreams is a very valuable thing indeed. We can advance our whole society, bring us into the new age.”


“Spare me the bullshit, general. You are monsters. You are less than that which the gulleyfolk step in.”


The general smirked. “Typical of a god, to tell us how we should be living.”


“Spare me the propaganda. You see yourselves as gods, over those whose lives sustain your own.”


The remark hung in the air, unanswered.


“So,” said Mendean. “You want me to go in and fix your mess. But tell me something. You were drilling down into the dreaming using alchemical methods, but I know you were looking for something. Something you may even have gotten close to. The dreaming doesn't just erupt into the world without provocation.”


“Honestly, lord of chaos who walks in dreams, we were simply looking for a source of power.”


Mendean ceased his slow walk and looked at the general with a quizzical expression. “And that is all you will tell me?”


“It is all there is to tell.”


“Hm.” Mendean lowered his head, as though watching something on the ground next to him. Someone groaned and fell to the floor behind him. The figure was wrapped in a cloak, that imitated the background. Further along the corridor, two more figures made themselves known; both wearing invisibility cloaks. One fell to their knees, weeping, while the other went into a seizure, knocking what was probably a priceless vase off its plinth. Mendean did not avert his gaze from the general, who returned the look with a reproachful glare. He rubbed his left forearm.


“General, I understand your need for security, but this really is too much. Why should I help you if this is the way you are going to treat me?”


The general backed away a step, the rubbing of the forearm had become an absent-minded scratching. “I told you. We were looking for a source of power. We…”


“DO NOT PLAY GAMES WITH ME!” Another invisibly cloaked figure emerged from behind a curtain, running along the corridor away from them, his knife slashing wildly at something that was not there. Mendean's voice softened. “I bypassed those alchemical wardssewn into your clothing, seventeen seconds ago. Eight seconds ago, I decrypted that arcane sigil you have tattooed on your back and right now I am accessing your secondary aura that the Sleepers guild had stitched over your natural one. Ah. Now that's interesting. A Talshik diamond, physically embedded in the base of your skull. I wonder what darkness is being nurtured in there?”


The general's eyes widened in fear, but he retained his composure. Mendean was impressed on the man's level of self-discipline. The god was confident that he could break him.


“You have been plagued for much of your adult life by a recurring dream. You remember the one? You must do. The one where holes open up in your skin and silkworms emerge. You watch in horrid fascination as they seem to pupate and transform into moths before your very eyes. You taste the dryness of their broken wings in your mouth. Legs…such long legs…entangled in your hair. Why general, what ever could be the matter with your arm?”


The general could not help himself. He had to look, had to tear the blue and white willow-patterned sleeve from his forearm. Had to stare at the painless holes riddling his skin. Trembling, he could feel them. The larva emerging out and onto the arm, transforming into moths. That crunch of wings in the mouth, the itching tickling sensation upon his scalp…


“THE TOWER!”


Mendean blinked. Everything was as it had been., except for the torn silk sleeve that hung from the general's arm. The older man was on his knees, spitting on the floor and tentatively brushing his head with his right hand. “What did you say?” Mendean hissed.


“They – we, were searching for the tower that has no name. The dream of it remains. If we could manifest it, we could - “


“Rewrite reality itself. I know. I was there, remember? You fool. Do you not recall what nearly happened to the world? Do you remember the manifestation of Tawil at'Umr? The death of my uncle, who sacrificed himself to save you all?”Mendean squatted before the general, taking his face in his hands so he had his full attention. “Why would you risk bringing something so dangerous back into the world? Why?”


“The seers,” mumbled the general. “We need a weapon. Something that will protect us from…”


“What? What did your seers predict?” A cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. What could have frightened unassailable Tarishitar enough for them to risk everything on such a foolish endeavour? “Tell me!”


“They call it the devourer. Iok Sotot. Aforgomon. The lurker on the threshold.”


“Tawil at'Umr is DEAD. I saw him die myself! My father died on that day too. It is etched into my memory with irreducible clarity.”


The general raised his eyes, meeting the gaze of the god without fear. He was beyond that now. “There is…another who holds these titles.”


* * *


Mendean stood on the edge of one of the many cliffs in Tarishitar, staring down into the abyss below. A swirling vortex of ravens, drawn to the terrible power emanating from below. One of the sacred animals of his father, and now his father's heir. Dreams were manifesting on the physical plane down there, terrorising the dwellers and causing unknown damage. If it continued, the whole of the floating city would be brought to the ground and thousands would die. He had no choice but to go along with Tarishitar's leaders and attempt to seal the breach. With a wry look, he turned for the last time to look at the general. The general appeared older than he had done, a couple of hours before. He had faced his own fear and been found wanting. He wondered how broken the man would be and if he would ever recover.


It did not matter. The man was a monster. Evidence of his work could be seen beneath them. Mendean felt no guilt about what he had done.


“Goodbye, general. Pray that we never meet again.” And with that he stepped over the edge, down into the ravine. There were hundreds of innocent people down there, living out their lives in shadow, serving the selfish elite who had caused so much suffering for them.


He drifted down for almost a minute, passing the seemingly unending vortex of crows that paid him no attention as he passed them by. They were entranced by forces no mortal could truly understand.


Finally, the god landed amidst the dwellings carved out of the rock face. Facades that hid the tunnels in which the dwellers lived. There were buildings too. Crude approximations of the pagodas far above, but with less of the materials. These buildings were fashioned from stone and detritus dropped from the city. Shapes moved in the gloom. Dream-things. A few people ran past him, away from the vortex. They paid the god no attention.


Right, let's get this situation contained, thought the deity as he began his slow purposeful walk towards the centre of the affected zone.

They both noticed how the ravines felt different lately. The slow, dull hum they sensed that was unique to the underclass of Tarishitar, residues of the alchemical waste that clung to the ravines, somehow changed into something more vibrant, and brooding. And it seem to grow with each day. Ramla always had a bit of a soft spot for the gulleyfolk, having been an outcast herself once. She stood at one of the entrance tunnels that would lead down the ravine. Sticking to the shade, wearing a black, harem pants and matching black, crop top with half sleeves. A red saree wrapped around her body, the skirt part would only hug her hips and thighs so she could move around more freely. But the red fabric was still long enough so she could cover her head like a large scarf.

She looked up when Nihr arrived, guilt written on her face as they both entered the tunnel. "What if we can't stop it?" she asked him as they descended the tunnels, switching to their native tongue called Kemehu. Feeling the energy in this place act much like a vortex and hitting them wave after wave, like it's pulsating. But what they saw was stranger yet. They thought that the aura was from something that slipped through the portal that they arrived in. But they didn't expect things that affected the very environment, it was like stepping into another world. No, like several layers of 'world' weaved together. It was worrisome that it happened this close to the surface.

What was first a tunnel dug out from stone soon meshed with a gentle rolling hill filled with flowers of a place they've never seen. It was like the ceiling became see-through all of the sudden as they witnessed massive gardens growing on floating platforms. But as the next wave of aura hit them, the scenery shifted into a misshapen man being surrounded by a bunch of female relatives who were practically nagging him to death, as more and more stress was being piled on him. One could literally see the sweat on his brow and the thumping of his heartbeat echoing through the increasingly widening tunnels.

Ramla stayed close to Nihr as she held his hand and pulled her hood down to get a better look at things. "Did we do this?" she asked Nihr. "They almost look like…dreams…And nightmares." Just as she finished that sentence Nihr pulled her close to him and hid them in a small shaded alcove, covering her mouth. Ramla stayed still, wondering what it was that he saw or heard that she didn't. Her question was soon answered with heavy footsteps of something large, and hairy. A creature that resembled a mangy rat, but picture the rat as a giant rat on steroids. Almost 7 feet tall, fur riddled with fleas, whiskers twitching as it sniffed the air. But the beast was not alone, no. It was accompanied with its brood. Hundreds, if not thousands of small rats scurrying around their feet, it felt more like an endless stream. A few even broke away from the swarm to take a peek in the alcove that the pair was currently hidden in. Neither dared to make a sound, fearing the larger creature's attention. But when the swarm passed by the alcove, they got up again to further investigate what was happening.

When they arrived at a clearing, where the hovels and crude buildings were. They had a closer look at what they were dealing with. A large vortex of ravens just swirled about, deeper and deeper into the ravine. "It's almost as if they are drawn to something?  I don't think this is us." she said as she looked over the edge. When she looked around she noticed how the gulleyfolk were in hiding, these people would already hide and avoid contact with any outsiders, or upper class folk but their district still felt alive. But now, it was just eerie. 

They had argued all night to decide whether or not they were the cause of the suffering of the gulleyfolk. They weren't sure if something managed the slip through the portal that they came in. Or maybe there were several portals, who knows. Either way they felt responsible for what's plaguing the underclass. The aura that was emanating from the ravines was strong and ominous. Nihr wondered if it was something she triggered, accidentally summoning something during the portal travelling.In the end Ramla gave him no choice but to join her to investigate this aura they were sensing. So when his shift at the docks was finished, instead of heading straight home to their room at the Inn he went to their rendez-vous point. Not having the time to change clothes he stuck with his black pants, and white shirt.

He found her waiting for him by the entrance, a tunnel carved out by the builders of the city. Most likely to have access to the underbelly but he guessed there was probably their influence they held over the gulleyfolk that prevented them from surfacing. Most likely with an iron fist, and fear. Nihr ran a calloused hand through his dark locks as he listened to her concerns. "We're not there yet. We're not even sure if it is our doing so for now we just observe." He reassured her as he took the lead and entered the tunnel first. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn't trust his eyes, what was real here? One moment they were in a flower field and the next they were showered in someone's insecurity and impotence. Watching the scenario made him grateful he had Ramla.

Nihr glanced briefly at Ramla when she suddenly held his hand. It made him chuckle, just like a child. He returned the squeeze and continued to follow the tunnels, noticing how they began to split off here and there. It began to widen which means they would soon be at the edge of the ravines, it should give them a better look at things. He didn't answer her immediately, unsure of himself as everything was very confusing. "I don't…know. Our domain is shadows and darkness. This is something else. Neither of us has access to whatever realm this belongs to." Well at least now they knew that it wasn't Ramla that accidentally summoned something, so that leaves the second and third theory. Something slipped through the portal, or this is just a coincidence and has nothing to do with them.

Nihr paused for moment when he saw something in the distance. Whatever it was it was larger than him, he looked around and spotted an alcove. Quickly he dragged her with him, both crouching down and staying still. Not making a peep as the mangy beast passed them by with soft growls. He frowned when he looked down and saw the swarm just scurrying away. Dreams… to dream was unknown to him. Nihr wasn't sure if he had ever dreamed before? His species didn't require much sleep, hell it didn't even require a lot of food. Sleep was something he did out of boredom or if his body decided to shut down after a battle. But he knew Ramla dreams, and it made him wonder what they were. He let out a grunt as he stood up again, peeking out the alcove to make sure that the rats were gone before heading further. "Stay close." He said in a hushed voice.

He slowed his walking when he saw the vortex of ravens just swirling about. He nodded, "I'm starting to think that too. This is not our doing, directly or indirectly." He pondered and slowly smiled. He placed his hands on the crude wooden railing, looking down into the abyss and around at the hovels and whatnot. "But it certainly is interesting, and the most exciting thing to happen to us since we've been here." For some reason this felt like a game of hide and seek to him and he was itching to play.

The underbelly of Tarishitar City, it reminded Scrubble of home. Tight spaces, bad smells, lots of rocks, and very poor lighting You could say Scrubble was in his element but in Scrubbles mind Scrubble is always in Scrubbles element. As Scrubbles element is Scrubble speaking of which Scrubble had received a message from the holy lord Scrubble. Scrubble told Scrubble to go to the under city after hearing of some spooky stories. Armed only with a sword, shield, and undying faith in Scrubble continued the march into the depths of Tarishitars slums.

Scrubble understood very little of what was going on down here other than that it was not normal. This was becoming more apparent as Scrubble continued. Well it became more apparent if you weren't a goblin named Scrubble for Scrubble it was just business as usual. No amount of oddities would Stop Scrubble on the mighty quest which Scrubble had sent him on. As with most of the Quests Scrubble received from Scrubble it was very vague. In fact this most holy quest lacked any real things to do besides go into the under city. Which means Scrubble had completed the holy quest. "Victory for Scrubble"! 

However while celebrating the holy victory Scrubble gained the attention of a giant horde of rats. Not only that but in charge of all of them was a very large rat. It was at this point that Scrubble heard a whisper from Scrubble the most holy deity of Scrubble. "Scrubble you must ride the rat" "Scrubble will do as Scrubble commands Scrubble". Thus began the quest which shall be dubbed Scrubble why do you do these things. By this point the rats had started thinking about how delicious of a dinner Scrubble would make. Scrubble meanwhile unsure of how to tame animals decided to fight the rats thinking that if Scrubble defeated the big rat Scrubble would become leader of the rats. So Scrubble drew the most holy blade and shield of Scrubble and charged at the rats.

Nothing that happened here was real. He knew that with a certainty stronger than stone. And yet, at the same time he knew the reality of dreams was just as real as the physical world. He understood that with the same unshakable certainty. Two opposing views held within a single mind. How human of me, mused the god as he began to trace the patterns of madness with preternatural senses that defied logic.

Madness. Imagination. Dreams. They were all a part of the same thing. Simple objects that existed within a higher set of measurements going beyond the euclidean, viewed from within the mundane flat plane of Revaliir's consensus reality. It was his domain. It was that which he kept contained, given free reign.

A dream vortex. Those fools from the guilds in the overcity had pushed at the thin membrane of their own understanding and burst an abscess in reality. Somewhere between the cavernous walls of the eternally shadowed ravines of Tarishitar, the source of this imbalance lay. Whatever it was, it had been penetrated and violated by blundering apes with little understanding of the delicate balances they were upsetting. This was the result.

Other mortals had ventured down here. Drawn by the prospect of adventure. Mortals in love with dying. That was how the boy-god saw their kind. Let them come. Let them see. Perhaps they will finally learn the truth? Perhaps it will drive them irredeemably mad? There was nothing he could do about that. Standing on the gravelly surface of an improvised street, the god stood in shadow, observing the twisting webs of madness that permeated the very stones. This was not going to be easy to fix. His power was diminished in Parvpora, after all. He could not simply wave and hand and fix everything. Things would have to be mended in the old-fashioned way. He smiled grimly to himself.

Rats scurried past his feet. A handful at first, then more. The remaining gulley folk scrabbled for cover. They were used to vermin, but these were no ordinary rats. They were the idea of rats. A dream given form. Fear encapsulated. As he stared at his feet, Mendean noted how their fur glistened, sticking out in tiny spikes and giving each oversized rat an oozing quality.

In single deft movement, Mendean scooped up one of the little beasts and held it up, turning it and inspecting it. Whomever had dreamt of these had a fine imagination. The sticky thing squirmed and flailed in an attempt to escape. Mendean sunk his fingers in deeper. It had no organs. It was composed of dreamstuff. Manifestations rarely had time for complication like organs.

“MMMYYY CHHHHILLLDRENNN. WHHHHATT ARE YOOOU DOOING WITHHH MMMYY CHHHHILLLDRENNN?”

Mendean dropped the rat. It hit the stony ground with an almost gelatinous plop, then gathered its form together and ran off, just as the god turned to find himself dwarfed by the ugliest, dirtiest rat he had ever seen.

“Ummm” began Mendean, but before he could answer, he was flung across the street by a whip-like tail, his ascent halted by a badly assembled wooden wall that splintered as he crashed through it. He came to a halt in the middle of someone's kitchen. Cooking pots, a fireplace, chopping board and bags of grain provided cushioning.

Forcing himself up onto his elbows, the god glowered. This was going to be more difficult than he thought.

There was something foul in the air and he didn’t like it.  What was worst was that it wasn’t a smell…it was a feeling.  Something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite place the source.  To be honest he wasn’t sure how he even knew in the first place.  It was like a buzz right behind his forehead.  Without thought his fingers lowered down to Torinasu at his hip, comforted by the braided hilt.  Just from touching it he felt his stress ease, but not completely.  It would have to do for now.
 
The whole reason he was down here in the first place was for research.  While he didn’t agree with the mining going on, it did open the possibility of new materials to be sourced.  Once you were down here seeing the impact it had on the unfortunate souls that dwelled within, it was hard to keep your mind on track.  In vain he’d tried to think of ways to help, but it would take such a grand gesture that he as one man simply wouldn’t be able to perform.  This was a battle for another day, and in the mean time he’d try to ease the suffering as much as one person could.
 
The earth was filled with untapped opportunity, and his search for different types of stones and gems had led him here.  There was hardly a better land to visit when it came to aid in alchemy, but he wasn’t quite that far in his pursuits as of yet.  For now he needed the base stones, and while his collection had grown in quite some time over the past few decades, it would be a long while before he was satisfied.
 
His footsteps stopped halfway down a deserted street.  Had it always been empty?  That silence hadn’t always hung in the air had it?  His fingers lifted up and he moved to a craggy wall, fingertips tracing along the jagged surface.  There was something amiss here and the second he made contact the buzz in his head was back in full force and elevated into a painful spike.  Like a bolt of lightning had travelled from his fingers into his head.  With a sharp outcry he jerked back from the wall, hand pressing hard to his forehead as his eyes closed against the pain.  W-What the hell was that…?  
 
For the second time his hand moved down to his hip, this time with more urgency…but felt nothing.  His breathing caught in his chest and he looked down at himself.  Torinasu was gone.  A dull ache formed in his chest as his heart raced at a dangerous pace.  Impossible.  He quickly turned around, looking down the street he’d been coming down only to see a mass of people: all of their backs turned to him.  What was going on…?  He swallowed down, trying his best not to show the fear he felt in truth.  It seemed to him that each shaky inhale and exhale he took echoed around him, amplified even more by the silence as he slowly walked forward.
 
Not a single person stirred: all of them still as statues as he walked towards them.  Their clothes had faded, leaving them to all have an unnatural gray pallor.  Even their hair and skin was dulled, as if all color and signs of life had been leeched away.  Mere feet away from the closest individual, a man of his own height, and still none of them had made a single motion.  There had to be at fifty all together, weaving from the street into the alleyways, some on stoops, all of them with their backs to him no matter what their angle to him may be. 
 
Hesitantly, he moved a hand up, reluctant.  Before he could stop himself he rested it down on the man’s shoulder.  The cloth was disturbingly dry, chalky.  There was no warmth underneath the cloth to indicate body heat.  Slowly the man turned his head to look over his shoulder, but where eyes should have been were deep black pits.  His expression was calm, and when he parted his lips to speak a crack spread up from the corners of his lips and up his cheeks: slowly shattering his face as if it were made of ceramic.  He instantly pulled his hand back and stepped away from him but the damage was done and the cracks spread faster until he crumpled: the dust left from him blowing into his face, down into his lungs as he breathed in. 
 
As if on cue all of them snapped their heads, looking back at him over their shoulders.  Their lips were motionless but quick whispers began to echo around him, bouncing off of the walls and swirling around him until he had to press his hands over his ears to block them out.  The ground under his feet began to lightly shake in a rhythmic beat and when he opened his eyes he realized they were all slowly marching towards him in perfect synchronization, the whispers growing louder the closer they got.  He knew this, he’d seen it before…but it had been so long since this nightmare.
 
Their faces, he recognized each one of them: a face for every person he had killed while his body had been taken over by his daemon.  Their lives cut short by his hand while he’d been able to do nothing to stop it.  Cold sweat ran down his neck, under his clothing along his back until all of a sudden a man came crashing through: going through their bodies as if they were made of nothing.  He closed his eyes hard, and when he opened them again…all of them were gone. 
 

He shakily gripped at his hip, feeling the hilt of his blade once more.  Something dropped nearby and he looked over to see a hole in the building the man had been thrown through.  So that was real.  He quickly rushed over, ducking his head in to see a young man against the mortar of a cooking fire.  His lips parted, not knowing what to say exactly before managing, “A-Are you all right…?”

Ramla sighed when they stumbled upon a wall again. The underclass district was so confusing. She followed Nihr as she tied her hair together before replacing the red scarf. After encountering some gulleyfolk, they both decided it was best if they kept their identities hidden for now. Unsure on how the people would react to their powers. So far the only type of magic they had seen was when that doctor had healed Ramla's leg and arm with the combination of herbs and healing abilities. Not that it was necessary… She paused when she noticed that Nihr wasn't beside her anymore. Turning around she spotted him, frozen with a confused look. She was quick to figure out that the Nightmare got to him.

Reaching over with her hand to try and shake him out of it, she startled when someone else grabbed her wrist with quite the force. Looking up to see whose hand it was her eyes grew wide. "John?" Now Ramla too was trapped in the Nightmare. It seems whoever spawned this vortex wanted to keep them separated. It was the Burning Times all over. She stared at her husband's ghost as he dragged her along the muddy, cobbled streets of Logrono with a tight grip on her hand and hair until she faced the four stakes. Three of them already occupied.

Her beloved servant, Angnieta. A dark girl who was her slave, but truly she was more than that. A friend, a student,… a daughter. She struggled against the men that tried to control her. Why wouldn't her powers work? She could safe them, she could safe them just this once. She broke into tears when she heard her children cry out for her, cry for their mother to safe them from the flames. "Elizabeth! Sarah!" She cried out their names. Slowly the witch-hunters let go of her wrists as she took several steps back. But what she didn't realize was that the dream and reality were loosely woven in this spot. She wasn't paying attention as the flames grew bigger and the heat grew more intense. Shielding her face from the fire she fell backwards, over the edge of a rickety fence as it broke under her weight.

With a yelp she fell, feeling weightless and the wind soaring past her ears she snapped out of it and remembered that this was all but a dream. Nightmare! It was fake, all of it. Just manifestations of people's fears and regrets, or hopes and dreams. Twisting and turning as she fell, she tried to think of a way to stop her fall. Noticing how the vortex of crows pretty much blocked most of the light out, she looked down and from the shaded areas of the ravine beneath her she created a large set of slender, black tentacles. Watching how they reached up to her to form a catching net to break her fall, coiling around her as she made contact. Gently she bounced a little as she looked around to see where she should go from here. It was too far going up, so that leaves down or sideways.

It was there that she spotted two individuals. One was helping the other from being stuck in kitchen debris or something. She arched her brows. By their appearance they just looks like boys. "What are these kids doing in here?" she said with a frown. Granted one of them looked like early twenties but still. This was no place for adventure seeking! And it looks like she got here just in time as well because the sharp shrieks of a furry brood-mother announced her arrival. "I never want to see another rat again after this." She muttered to herself.

As the swarm was getting closer and closer to them, Ramla positioned herself in the mass of tendrils before pulling them back. Much like a sling-shot fashion before launching herself towards the brood-mother. The tendrils dissolved as soon as she was launched, her right fist glowing a deep, dark purple almost black. With a war cry she clubbed the beast with her dark energy infused fist, sending it flying into the wall, cratering it. But she doubted that she defeated it. The things we dream of are often indestructible.

So with a thick and broken Tarishi accent she turned to the young men. "Come! Mother not happy…" She said with a troubled look. It was too late to seek the exit, but with luck she could keep them out of harm's way while she and Nihr tried to figure out this mess.

"Another dead end." Nihr said as their path was yet again blocked. What was frustrating was not knowing whether these dead ends and road blocks were part of reality or just manifestations from this nightmarish maze. Whatever it was that spawns these creations wants to keep them away from it, that much was clear. He turned around to seek another way into the lower levels when sudden another wave of energy hit them, strong enough for it to shift nightmares again. Only this time it was his… He froze, blinking slowly several times as he pulled his scarf down from his face. Slowly circling around himself as he watched the endless caverns of Tenebris go on and on. 

Impossible…He left, didn't he? He was certain he escaped his prison? He tried to remember his escapement, how he did and when he did. The memories so clear and vivid like it happened yesterday, and yet he doubted himself. "Wait…" He said to no one in particular, taking a few steps back before spinning around himself as he looked for a way out. "That crack, where's that crack!?" His nails dragged across the wet, rocky surface in the growing darkness. Peering through small holes and cracks only to see blackness and not that familiar image of her silhouette. 

"Finally snapped out of it?" A voice spoke from behind. When Nihr turned around he saw his doppelganger grinning back at him. It bit his lip and gave him a look of pity. Its dark hair a lot longer, black kohl lines around the eyes. A gold embroided, black skirt with a gem decorated sash. "You wouldn't stop rambling about being a Pharaoh, the -Black- Pharaoh." He said with a lifted finger, indicating that Nihr insisted the importance of being called the Black pharaoh. Eventhough he himself was white…odd. Nihr grew angry and charged for him with both hands reaching for the figure's throat, "I WAS!" He shouted at him before the figure vanished. But then it reappeared behind him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Who's Ram-La? You mentioned her a lot. Was she your imaginary wife? Or daughter? I'm asking cause it gets confusing sometimes. Or is it mother?" 

Both men stared at each other, one at the brink of madness resting his forehead against the cool stone. The other smirking, "Is she off limits? Cause if she's real then I wouldn't mind having a piece of her." Disrespecting his creation, the sacrifices he made for her, the reason for these bindings. HOW DARE HE!? "SILENCE!!" Nihr whipped around and hurled several dark bolts at him, watching them piercing his flesh before he got the chance to jump out of the way. Breathing hard he tried to make sense of it all. It had to be real, he thought to himself as he looked at the burn scars on his arm.

"Hm…Messy." Another voice stepped forward. A dark expensive suit, his hair short and combed back with hair products. His facial hair gone. A clean and professional Nihr, an unlit cigar in his hand. He slowly walked over the pierced Nihr, leaning forward as he fingered the bolts and nodded. "Very messy."  He lit up the cigar and puffed a few times before sitting down on a metal chair that seemed to have been there all this time. "So you're saying that, in the last 8000 years… you escaped Th'natos' chains, played king and god… Created an Eldritch and have her give birth to one as well, which is technically impossible by the way because our kind does not posses the ability to procreate." The businessman stared at him sadly. It was sad to see how his mind deteriorated after being in here for millenia.

Nihr wasn't sure himself, perhaps it was all just an hallucination. A dream, a figment of his imagination… The things he could do if he did escape. Another Nihr in burned clothes and body freshly scarred sat on the floor with his back against the wall. The scent of burned wood and ashes still clinging to him. "Did you really think you outsmarted your brother? Th'natos is a wise being, it takes a special someone to outsmart him." Nihr collapsed on the floor. Disbelief he kept going through all the memories again and again, how could all this be fake? 

He began to chuckle to himself. Well…he was a trickster. Apparently even to himself. He laughed a little louder. The King Nihr looked up and tilted his head at Nihr. "You know… they said that you would be the end of Earth's mankind…But who's to say mankind won't be the end of you…" Nihr continued to laugh hysterically, until something green slapped him across the face. Blinking a few times, he needed to get his bearings straight. He frowned, wasn't he just in the caverns of Tenebris? He looked down a little and saw the green little man, "Gremlin?"

Hmm this was truly a strange situation Scrubble had never heard a rat talk before. Especially giant rats they were notoriously quiet creatures, according to Scrubble anyways. However Scrubble was without fear for Scrubble knew that Scrubble was watching over Scrubble. So Scrubble charged at the giant rat in the horde of rats. However Scrubble became bogged down in another nightmare; a man was stuck in quicksand and now Scrubble was too. The biggest problem being that this pool of quicksand was engulfing a full sized human. So one full grown goblin was not going to last very long. Scrubble needed a plan and Scrubble knew exactly who to ask. Scrubble would ask Scrubble "Scrubble how should Scrubble get out of the quicksand? Scrubble must hold in air and walk through it".

Truly the genius of Scrubble knew no bounds Scrubble would've never thought to walk through the quicksand. Which probably would've been for the best all things considered. However Scrubble is nothing if not determined and after breathing in a large amount of air Scrubble just started to walk forward. Fun fact people cannot sink all the way into quicksand, as quicksand itself is denser than humans and goblins. So Scrubble just sort of sank half way into it and sort of wiggled to the other side while still not breathing though. After reaching the other side though Scrubble took a deep breath and then found that the giant rat was gone. This was deeply disturbing to Scrubble how was Scrubble supposed to complete the holy quest of Scrubble now!

However Scrubble saw something rather interesting it was man. Well Scrubble had seen many men most of them had been rather rude to Scrubble though. This might be due to Scrubbles tendency to just take things from people because Scrubble needed it for a holy quest. Either way the man appeared to be shouting at a man smoking a cigar and a man who looked just like the shouting man. Scrubble was not enjoying the loudness of the man his shouting probably scared off the rat! Scrubble was gonna righteously headbutt the shit out of this guy. Scrubble sprinted over to the man stopping right before crashing into him. By this point the loud masked guy was on the ground which meant he was at eye level with Scrubble. Perfect Scrubble decided to give the man a warning headbutt the righteousness on this headbutt would be reduced by a large amount. So after pausing for a second to think about how righteously to headbutt him Scrubble craned his head back and threw it forward into the mans face.

The other men around the man on the ground disappeared this perplexed Scrubble. However all of this was forgotten when the man called Scrubble a Gremlin! This was immensely rude. "Scrubble is a goblin not a Gremlin!" after that Scrubble headbutted the man again for good measure.

As he lay there amongst the splintered wood, spilled food and crude earthenware of what had only moments before been someone's kitchen, Mendean considered his options. Fighting was certainly up there near the top, but it was not the priority. Finding the source of the madness around him was the primary task. Finding it and shutting it down. That was what the guildmasters of Tarishitar wanted.


And in truth, while he revelled in the chaos the vortex was producing, Mendean shared a similar goal. A part of the Dreaming was spilling out into the world, like hot treacle, coating and burning everything it was touching. That was not how things should be…at least not at this point in history.


Blinking blearily at the older man who stood nearby and said nothing in reply. Instead, he vigorously brushed rice flour from his head until a small cloud hung around him, then gave up. When he rose from the wreckage, it was as though some unseen force had picked him from the ground and pushed him to a vertical position. Making a shape with his arms, Mendean made a guttural sound, shaking both arms once. The flour burst away from him in an even bigger cloud than before, leaving his dark clothes spotless. Satisfied, he stepped away from the ramshackle dwelling. Silently, the structure began restoring itself, like an explosion in reverse. The god paid it no heed.


He turned to the man, finally registering the words spoken. Ataiyan. Mendean managed a small smile, answering in the same tongue. “Dreams are what they are, but also what they are not. My condition is acceptable, my dignity less-so.”


Seeking out the rat queen, he saw the dream had lost interest in him. Probably for the best, given that it would only serve as a distraction from the task at hand. Besides, he noted the arrival of others. An armoured goblin and two humans. They seemed intent on going deeper, rather than following the denizens of the gulleys…once they had stopped hitting each other. The madness of this place was already getting into their heads.


The woman had shouted something in Tarishitan, but Mendean had not understood its meaning. Something about a mother? He shook his head. Little made sense down here, so close to the source of the vortex. So close, but still hidden from his senses. How could this be? Hidden from me, a dream lord? He rubbed a shoulder, testing the joint. Sore, but hardly an impediment. He would not need to heal himself just yet.


He looked up at the crows. From here, the upper ledges and sky were hidden by a black pall of glistening feathers. It reminded him of his own ravens, but even they never gathered in such numbers. This…this was the product of something else.


Once more he turned his head toward the man nearest him. Gray images of the dead hung around him like ghosts. His presence must have dispelled them, but not completely. It seemed that he still had power over this place, but it was not complete power. Something resisted him. He sniffed the air. Something mortal. A person? Possibly. Theories began to form in the god's mind, like tofu condensing through cloth into the waiting bowl beneath. A wry smile formed.


Mendean peered along the crude approximation of a street. It seemed to deform like melting paint. Colours blending together in strange and terrifying configurations of swirls and raised ridges, catching the dull light of an eternal sunset. He pointed into the unclear swirls and whorls, where some of the swarming rats had wandered. They changed, transforming into insectile hybrids, some crawling up walls, while others sprouted stubby gossamer wings and moved about like enormous brown bees. The dreams of these mortals were taking shape around them, but perhaps their own latent dreams might interfere with the greater dream taking shape over there. “My friends, please do not fight each other. Instead, we must go deeper. Your own nightmares and dreams seem to be creating small pools of opposition within the vortex. Perhaps together we can cut a swathe through the storm?” Mendean spoke loudly over the constant thundering of black feathered wings above in Tarishitan, in the hope that they might understand him better, even if most of them were clearly foreign. It was worth a shot.