[center][h1]ᦓ꠸᥅ꪀꪖ[/h1][/center]
[color=#e1ceff]Here was a mystery.

With the arrival of the new sun came another round of changes for Ashuru. Growth. Drought. Abundant death – not in mortals, but in flora – leaving a wake of rot and decay that Sirna’s lullaby shrooms feasted on with great enthusiasm. Mortals across Ashuru found themselves falling into deep slumber as the lullaby shrooms spread, greedy and unchecked. Forested areas were hit hardest, but the winds were generous and the shrooms’ spores found themselves being carted over dried out ocean bottoms, unfamiliar hills and sandy dunes. The Dreamscape, previously a place filled with temporary ambling visitors, found itself crammed with permanent residents of varying species.

It really was fortunate Sirna had had the foresight to make space nothing more than a metaphorical concept here. They might have been tempted to begin [i]culling[/i] their uninvited guests, otherwise.

None of this was the mystery. A problem, yes, but recognising their creation’s new status as an invasive species wasn’t a huge leap to make. Sirna was stumped on a separate matter entirely.

There was a village in their realm.

Not a scenario dreamed up by a mortal, or a memory, or a wishful fantasy. A full, functioning village, tucked into the peaks of a dreamed-up mountain. Sirna, who had formed their self as faint wisps of fog, watched children giggle as they ran about, women conversing as they shaped pink clouds into blocks, men carting floating boxes between squat, blocky buildings. None of them woke. None of them wandered distractedly into another part of Sirna’s Dreamscape.

They were all collectively, consistently [i]lucid[/i]. For quite some time too, it seemed.

[i]Only humans[/i], Sirna thought. No other mortal would think to willingly overextend their stay in the Drramscape. They observed them for a time, until they caught sight of a familiar face.

The fog that made up Sirna’s form condensed into ribbons of an indeterminate nature, coloured vivid yellow. They fluttered in a still wind, blowing past the man Sirna had spotted – all save one that caught against his shoulder.

‘[b]Śramaṇa Adi[/b],’ spoke the ribbon. ‘[b]I see you have been busy since last we spoke.[/b]’

The shaman did not startle at their voice. That was expected of a dream shaman, and especially so of a seasoned lucid dreamer. One could not stay lucid if one was not receptive to the unexpected. Instead, he looked around for the source of their voice and when he spotted the ribbon on his shoulder, he ducked his head in deference.

‘[/color][color=gold][b]Humble greetings, O Wise Gifter.[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff]’ It was said louder than how one might greet someone on their shoulder. Perhaps intentionally so, for the street quietened at his words. The mortals near enough to spot Sirna bowed deeply. The ones at a distance stared and did not resume conversation. ‘[/color][color=gold][b]Yes, your advice offered much food for thought. Our lives are all the better for it, now. We thank you kindly, our Generous Gifter.[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff]’

‘[b]Your lives[/b],’ echoed Sirna. ‘[b]You... live here?[/b]’

Even before the shaman replied, Sirna knew the answer. There was a solidity to their dreams, a practiced edge to their near-constant lucidity. They had been asleep for a significant period of time. Time in dreams did not flow the same as time in waking – for surely if they had truly been asleep for as long as it took to build a village, they would have been perished instead of unconscious by now – but it still flowed. This shaman had lead his entire community into a cell of their own making. Sirna didn’t know if they were amused or impressed.

‘[/color][color=gold][b]Here, we are free[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff],’ said Śramaṇa Adi, earnestly. ‘[/color][color=gold][b]We may be whatever we desire. We do not suffer. We do not grieve. In the Dreamscape, we can be our true selves, free from the binds that reality ties us down with.[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff]’

The mortals standing at a hearing distance murmured in agreement, nodding. And so Sirna found the name of the feeling they were experiencing.

Disgust.

The yellow ribbon slipped off the shaman’s shoulder, flitting into the open air. It curled round and round, a mimicry of the vortex that had greeted Śramaṇa Adi in their first meeting, and at the crest of the twisting ribbon rose Sirna’s moon, glowing brilliant red. A straightforward colour and one that served its purpose well, for the shaman’s face dropped into clear fright.

‘[b]You do not live. You flee, into [i]my[/i] domain, away from the world that my godkin shape for [i]your[/i] kind.[/b]’ The moon rolled on its axis, a slow spin that broadcast their words unto everyone within the village. Their voice was not soft, not kind, not soothing in the slightest. It rumbled, like the distant crack of falling rocks at the bottom of a canyon. ‘[b]You have achieved nothing. You have become nothing. I do not welcome complacency in a realm shaped for possibility.[/b]’

‘[/color][color=gold][b]B-but[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff],’ stammered the shaman, ‘[/color][color=gold][b]you said that we would find our answers in the unthinkable! And what better place to seek them than here?[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff]’

‘[b]You seek excuses, not answers. If you wish to lead your people into an early grave, there is another realm far more suited to it than mine.[/b]’ The moon spun faster. ‘[b]Begone.[/b]’

‘[/color][color=gold][b]Wait! Please![/b][/color][color=#e1ceff]’ The shaman lunged forward, grasping one of Sirna’s ribbons, and the boldness of it stayed Sirna’s metaphorical hand more than the shaman’s words did. ‘[/color][color=gold][b]We did not mean to offend, truly. But your kin–the world is difficult to live in. We were just trying to survive.[/b][/color][color=#e1ceff]’

‘[b]Then survive[/b],’ said Sirna, and cast them out of the Dreamscape.[/color]
[center][h2]~[/h2][/center]
[hider=ACTION LOG]
• The lullaby shrooms spread far and wide with the rapid decay of Ashuru's flora. They're becoming a bit of a problem...
• [b]SIRNA:[/b] Sirna puts their (metaphorical) foot down on a dream cult.
[right]Conviction Balance: 8[/right][/hider]