Stanifly

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

ᦓ꠸᥅ꪀꪖ

On the precipice of a cliff poured a waterfall. On the waterfall rolled a moon, turning over and over with the inertia of the pouring water. The waterfall itself went nowhere; the water vanished into a fine mist halfway down the cliff. The moon was perhaps not a real moon, for it was the size of a large boulder and did not possess its own gravitational cycle, but it was a moon of a kind, nonetheless.

Next to the moon floated a swirling spiral of black fog.

You throw hope at mortals, said the Patron of Oblivion. You allow them unfettered access to your realm’s potential. You’re a paltry excuse for a god.

Was Oblivion truly trying to exert their shared domain over Sirna? Laughable.

‘True oblivion is not achieved by forcing despair onto a mortal. Nor is it achieved by wrenching out a mortal’s deepest fears. Nor is it achieved by goading a mortal into another version of itself.’

Streams of water broke away from the waterfall’s constantly moving surface, trailing through the air to converge above the rolling moon. Inky black mixed with gently glowing bubbles within the water.

‘You rush affairs that should take their time. Let the mortals try. Let them succeed, if only for a brief moment. When they fail, and they will, it will be by their own doing. And when they are faced with no one but themselves to blame for their downfall...’ Sirna’s moon flashed a vibrant midnight blue. ‘That is oblivion.’

That is an overly complicated process with little payoff, snorted Oblivion.

‘You patrons are impatient creatures.’ The comment was said with no real heat. Sirna paused their moon’s rolling. ‘What do you think?’

The water dripped away, revealing two round miniature moons. The bigger one, pockmarked with jagged pits and craters, glowed deep violet. The second moon was a third of its size, a shimmery white thing. Closer inspection revealed that the shimmer was a result of fine dust gently revolving around its surface.

I care not for matters of the sky. Despite Oblivion’s dismissive words, its spiralling black slowed momentarily. What are you doing?

‘It is all well and good to incite suffering and despair for these mortals,’ said Sirna, ‘but such feelings mean little when their stories fade away in the passage of time.’

Water clapped shut over the moons.

Between one blink and the next, the sky grew dark. Those able to observe the change from Ashuru’s surface would see their brand new sun replaced by a black circle in the sky, silhouetted in violet. Day became a strange night in the span of a second.

‘Oblivion deserves a good omen,’ said Sirna. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

~

ACTION LOG

• SIRNA: Sirna and the Patron of Oblivion hash things out on a nice day full of sunshine. Surely nothing will go wrong!
• NIGHTMARE (Out-of-Domain): Sirna crafts two moons and plonks them in front of the sun.

• The mortals located within the moons’ shadow will witness an abrupt solar eclipse.
• The smaller moon won’t be visible since it’s caught in the bigger moon’s silhouette.
• The bigger moon has a violet colour on a normal night. It’s only pitch black because of the solar eclipse.
• -5 Conviction

Conviction Balance: 1

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

@DaftJive yoo take care dude. hope you feel better soon!

@Stanifly It was very sweet of Teresa to be the one to stop Jay and even apologize (and spoiling us with some backstory too!)

@Tlazolteotl

ngl I was expecting things to happen the other way round before I wrote up my response LOL. Teresa can be a bit too pragmatic at times. but she's learning! good for her. speaking of @silver21 I really like how nuanced Sirpa is! I was not expecting that reaction at all heheh

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

Vicis’ Catharsis

@Tlazolteotl@silver21@DaftJive

The bephomet’s expression had twisted, for a brief moment. Ah, it must be that fear setting in, or at least what little this demonic critter could feel as he realised the fearsome presence of the beast he conversed with. Vicis would prefer him a bit more frightened, but! He would take what he could get.

‘Damien!’ Vicis tried the name out with much enthusiasm, tongue flicking out. ‘That is a strong name indeed.’

Damien seemed cheered by his words, if slightly. Enough to make a joke, it seemed.

‘Me? Hellspawn?’ Vicis tilted his head. ‘Perhaps if you asked the humans, they may think so, but I am as mortal as they come. A natural result of evolution. The humans think themselves to be the only intelligent species around, but they are short-sighted and moronic. Capable of considering only themselves, with no regard as to how others might feel. Not at all worth forming relationships with.’ His words grew despondent as he spoke. The turn this conversation had taken was precisely what he had been hoping to avoid.

Fortunately, it was with good timing that the long-awaited cherub cheeks arrived. The scent wafted close long before the light slid the plate before him. In a portion that seemed to satisfy too! Something deep in Vicis’ throat rattled in pleasure.

‘Enjoy.’

‘Oh, I will,’ he said, as the light wandered away.

He came in close, flicking his tongue over the meat. So fresh, it was practically walking off the plate! And the cream... delectable.

His mandibles speared one cut of meat and tossed it back towards his open mouth. It was swallowed in no time at all. Vicis licked his lips.

‘Exquisite.’ He turned to Damien. ‘My apologies for diving right in, but I was on my way to dinner before I stumbled upon this curious establishment. I must say, this is a step above what I had previously intended to nibble on! Would you like to try some?’

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

@Tlazolteotl@silver21@DaftJive@JJ Doe

In This Catharsis

• Vicis doth not perceive Jay at this time.

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

@Tlazolteotl is it bad that the Keeper's cherub cheeks are making my mouth water... your descriptions are so good

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

FINALLY. I've been waiting forever for Teresa to get w the programme 😭

@JJ Doe damn Jay feeling like their problems need to be 'worth it' in some way is such a mood bro I can relate ✋🏼😔

◈ 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις ◈

A Distant Memory

@Tlazolteotl

An indeterminate time ago, in the darkened interior of the Tipsy Chambers sat a child on the bar counter. Her hair was dark and unruly, spilling over her shoulders and interrupted by a pair of folded, broad wings sticking out from her back. Patterned red and tipped in black, they towered a full head over the girl as she popped open a bottle of sherry. She lifted it up.

A hand closed over her own on the neck of the bottle and knocked it back down onto the table.

‘What did we say about drinking?’ said Teresa, flatly.

‘Suck my dick.’

Teresa held out a hand. Erised rolled her eyes and slapped the cork into her palm, the corkscrew still wedged into it.

‘I’m not an actual kid,’ complained Erised.

‘That doesn’t give you license to destroy the body of one.’ Teresa wrenched the cork out of the corkscrew. ‘Wait. It’s not that hard.’

Silence followed as Teresa squeezed the cork back into the bottle. Geryll wasn’t going to be happy with the opened bottle – it looked like one of his good ones. Then again, considering the broken lock on his establishment, he wasn’t going to be happy with anything Erised had done tonight.

‘You don’t even know what it’s like.’

Erised wasn’t looking at her as she spoke. She was playing with the sleeve of her woollen sweater, tugging on fraying threads.

‘“It’s not that hard.” Pff. You fucking heroes.’ Erised looked at her, then. Her eyes blazed an accusatory crimson. ‘Always assuming what everyone needs, huh?’

━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━

Teresa’s Catharsis

@Tlazolteotl@silver21@JJ Doe

‘Have a nice day.’

The pragmatic part of Teresa considered letting them go. She was trying to leave, after all. If Jay could leave, no muss, no fuss, then maybe Teresa could finally figure out what she was meant to do to get this place to let her go. This place wouldn’t hold another captive too. It made perfect sense.

‘Always assuming what everyone needs, huh?’

Maybe it was the expression Jay wore as they walked past. Maybe it was the lingering echoes of Westbound’s haunted scream. Whatever it was that brought Eri’s words to the forefront of her mind, Teresa would never quite pin it down. All she knew was that letting Jay walk out that door wasn’t right. She rose from her seat.

‘You misunderstand. It isn’t a matter of qualification.’

Because this wasn’t Arts’ doing, was it? None of this was. Something had brought her here, for a reason she had never asked or wanted for. And maybe it was that odd screen that Jay had flashed that clicked the pieces together that led Teresa to realise:

‘It’s a matter of need.’

God knew what the hell Teresa needed to figure out, but it was clear Jay knew what they wanted to untangle. She offered a hand, palm open.

‘We weren’t brought here under ideal circumstances, but if this place showed itself to you, then clearly it is open to you. I... apologise for making you feel unwelcome.’ Her hand pulled back, hesitant. ‘I’ve been told I can be overly blunt at times.’

Dragonbone Liar

now I realise the appropriate term for a person studying mythology would be mythologist... but then I thought, wouldn't it be funny if the people in charge really wanted those pesky old gods to be treated like the insects they were? and so ent(h)omologist came to be LOL

Dragonbone Liar

𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲: 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱

𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #𝟐𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 Ä𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐩

𝐓𝐡𝐞 Ä𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐩, 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 “𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬” 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥. 𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐀 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭; 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 Ä𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐩’𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Mr Bait took on his role like a champ. Lia watched with great delight as he made himself a bigger target with all his shouting, and mana-breaking, and sword-waving. The Old One emerged in no time at all, a massive blobby stretch that seemed to fill the cavern. The wet sheen of its moist skin rose uncomfortably close toward the ceiling’s shadows, green glistening blue under the mana’s light. The few metres of space left was too small a gap for her liking.

Still, Lia waited.

𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐭𝐡 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝟓 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐬* 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝟏𝟐.𝟓 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐬. 𝐈𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐬 – 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭* – 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

Spindly arms burst out of its blobby skin, their ends sprouting pale hands that unfolded like blooming flowers. Most of the ones near its head reached for Mr Bait with furious abandon. The rest spread themselves out, shoving the Old One’s body along, touching the mana clusters it passed. The bright blue of those crystals faded. Not entirely, but that bright baby blue dimmed to a more maudlin shade.

𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐛 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚. 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Lia drew out a crossbow bolt from her quiver, tip pinched between two fingers. Its head was refined crystal, unlit and empty of any sort of mana for the moment. She brushed it against her lips in a quick kiss.

‘Get ‘em, tiger.’

She closed her eyes and blinked open new ones – midnight blue sclera that was lost in the dark, slit pupils dilating to wide white. The shadows of the ceiling lifted, showing her where the stalactites dipped and lifted. Lia aimed and fired. The shot went unheard beneath the din of all the Old One’s frantic rumbling. The bolt arced beautifully, through hanging rock and shadows, towards the incoming Old One. It jammed into the Old One’s head, right where blobby flesh met porcelain mask. Lia took a breath.

‘Trigger,’ she said.

𝐈𝐟 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 Ä𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐩. 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

In a charge of mana, the bolt exploded in a fiery plume of blue wisps and flames. The Old One reared back on its many, many arms. Porcelain shattered and skidded against stone. Abruptly, the rumbling cut out. Lia lowered her crossbow.

A shrill screech broke through the space. She flinched, gritting her teeth. Black smoke rose off the Old One’s face as the mana wisps faded. Lia couldn’t make out what lay beyond the smoke, but the faint flickers of mana blue was unmistakable. The Old One was unmoved from the position it had reared up into, revealing an underside that wasn’t much different from the rest of its weird, blobby body. Its hands, however, swivelled their palms towards the ceiling.

Towards Lia.

She glanced nervously down at Mr Sword Guy. Now would be a really great time for him to start swinging.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 Ä𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐩.

Godsdamned enthomologists.

Addendum

* 1 trunk = 2 metres
* Enthomologist: A person who studies or is an expert in mythos.

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

OYUNA

Somewhere on the ocean bottom, there lived a village.

That would have sounded impressive before the oceans got drained. Now, thought Oyuna as she rose from her crouch, it just looks like a mud desert. A carcass-littered, plant-strewn mud desert.

Where her community lived wasn’t so bad, though. They’d finally finished shifting all the bloated, rotting fish corpses to their designated burning area. Corals had been chipped away and tossed into the pile. They were supposed to burn shells as well, but Oyuna rather liked collecting them. They were pretty, and hard in a way that was different from other materials. She held up the one she’d found, eyeing it in the light of their new sun. It was pink, striped with deep purple. They were much more exciting colours than the shells they used to find closer to shore!

Shell in hand, Oyuna walked back toward the ring of sand-dusted mud huts that made up her home. In the centre of the ring stood the massive oddly shaped golem, the figurative flagpole of their little community. None of them had been able to figure out its mysterious lights and inscriptions.

Not yet.

A few folks drying out kelp waved towards her as she passed. Some others called out her name in greeting. She hurried on without more than a polite nod; if she did any more, they might ask her for help with their chores and that would be time lost. There were plenty enough hands to go around when everyone else was interested in nothing more than their day-to-day lives. Missed opportunities, really. They were sitting on top of a treasure trove of something big. Life-changing. Oyuna just knew it. She just had to prove it.

In the space behind her home – a modest mud hut – lay her treasure. Rows upon rows of clay tablets, dried in the sun. On their surfaces were etched symbols, neat and patterned. The same symbols as the ones that adorned the golem. Oyuna had copied them, using the pointed end of a thin, spiral shell to carve each stroke into soft clay. She hadn’t managed to copy all of them, for that would be impossible to do so in a single lifetime, but she had done enough to begin analysing for patterns. For meaning.

That was what she had told herself days ago. Now she stood before her tablets, and stared, and scowled. She had etched these symbols, she had found their patterns, but for the life of her, she could not figure out their meaning! She was sure that they had meaning, for why would they glow and flicker upon touch? Why would they cause magic beyond their understanding, if not for a purpose none of them could see? It was frustrating. It was blood-boiling.

This is so cute.

Oyuna looked around, bewildered. She saw no one.

Hey. Down here.

She looked down. There was a rock by her foot, barely bigger than her ankle.

You seem to be in a bit of a pickle. Heh. You shouldn’t be, you know? Not in this place. But you are one stubborn woman, aren’t you?

Kneeling down, Oyuna picked up the rock – or tried to. It wouldn’t budge.

‘What are you?’ she asked.

What am I? How rude! So blunt! You don’t ask a person what they are, do you? And after I’ve offered you conversation too!

‘My apologies,’ said Oyuna, somewhat reluctantly. She was not one to offer politeness to a rock simply because it demanded it of her, but there was some truth to its words. Her parents had raised her to be a person of manners, after all. ‘Who are you?’

Even though the rock did not move, she felt the impression of a smile aimed upon her.

I am the Patron of Obstinacy, said the rock with no mouth, and you, Oyuna Erdene, have caught my attention.

‘A Patron,’ repeated Oyuna. ‘Are you a god?’

Ha! If only. No, my dear, I am but a sliver of what makes a god.

‘Then I am not interested.’

A pause. ...Perhaps you misunderstand. A sliver of forces beyond your imagination is still a significant portion of the impossible at your fingertips. You would be remiss in overlooking me.

‘That’s not it,’ said Oyuna. ‘What would I do with a Patron of Obstinacy? If you were the Patron of Knowledge or even the Patron of Language, then I might be so inclined to listen to what you have to offer. But you embody stubbornness. I do not intend to understand this golem by beating it with a rock.’

Again, so quick to insult! I should leave you here if this ungrateful attitude is all you have to offer me. The rock did move, then, rolling on its edges away from Oyuna. Oyuna watched it go. It reached quite a distance before it said, You know, this is the part where you call out and beg me to return and explain myself.

It did not yell, but Oyuna heard its voice as though it was still by her feet. And so she did not bother calling out her reply.

‘If you truly are the Patron of Obstinacy, then you would not leave me before achieving what you wanted.’ She quirked an eyebrow. ‘So are you what you claim to be?’

Ugh. Fine. The rock was by her tablets now. Oyuna had not seen it move. You are too insightful for a mortal who is naught but a mere babe in this world. But I suppose you would not have interested me otherwise.

I’m 36, thought Oyuna, grumpily, but did not voice her protest aloud.

‘Why have you come here, Patron of Obstinacy?

To offer you a boon, it said, simply. But first, let’s get rid of unwanted ears, shall we?

Oyuna looked about. Had someone wandered by, caught sight of one of their own conversing with a rock? No, no one was nearby. A hare sat by the back entrance of her hut, golden nose twitching. Oyuna frowned. That didn’t seem right.

The ground beneath it shot up in a rough pillar of dirt, launching the hare into the open sky. It did not fall back down. Instead, it became a speck that vanished into the distance.

You sleep, Oyuna, said the Patron of Obstinacy. As do the rest of your village. And still, you persist in deciphering these golems. I am here to grant you your wish.

To be continued...

---

---

ᦓ꠸᥅ꪀꪖ

They were being accosted in their own realm. Ridiculous.

These... things had appeared shortly after Sirna had forcefully ejected that pathetic dream shaman's community from the Dreamscape. Squawky, little manifestations of Ideals. One had claimed to be the Patron of Nightmares; another the Patron of Darkness; and yet another the Patron of Oblivion. All three were chattering at Sirna, their forms nothing but black clouds that did nothing to discern one from the other. They were either unwilling to or incapable of defining themselves further in Sirna's presence – Sirna did not care which was the case.

You interfered!

You cast them out!

Will you leave us to starve?

‘You are Patrons,’ said Sirna, unkindly. ‘You do not starve. What does it matter what I do to the mortals abusing my realm?’

It matters what you do when you favour one domain over the other! shrilled the biggest black cloud. Ah. This one must be Oblivion, judging from the tantrum it was throwing. You should have let those mortals rot by their own hand. It is not up to you to decide what fate befalls them!

‘I still fail to see how I have done wrong by you. Any of you,’ tacked on Sirna, as their moon faced Darkness and Nightmares. ‘If anything, Ashuru’s inhabitants are wracked by nightmares as of late. Is that not enough for you rabble?’

You watch, sneered Nightmares.

You wait, scoffed Darkness.

And you claim the work of others as your own, lamented Oblivion. We’re never getting anywhere while you dawdle about in your corner of the universe.

Sirna thought privately that they weren’t obligated to get anywhere when they were, quite literally, gods and sentient metaphorical manifestations of concepts – but they had the strangest feeling that these Patrons would not take well to such a response.

‘I see,’ they said. ‘So you wish me to lead these mortals to ruin with a stronger hand.’

Yes! squealed all three.

Sirna did not have eyes to roll with. They made do with a spray of water from the crest their waterfall body.

‘Very well. If it would get all of you to leave me be. Now leave.’

They did. Now Sirna was left with the begrudging duty of doing their job, apparently. With the spread of the lullaby shrooms over Ashuru, they supposed that did, at the very least, leave them with options aplenty of mortals stuck in the Dreamscape with no course for return.

‘Now,’ muttered Sirna, ‘to find a mortal or two...’

~

ACTION LOG

• MORTAL: Oyuna is visited by the Patron of Obstinacy as she studies her golem clay records and finds out that her entire village is caught in the throes of an endless dream. The Patron kicks out a listening Dream Guide and proposes a pact.
• SIRNA: Sirna gets one-star reviews from the Patrons of Darkness, Nightmares and Oblivion on job performance. What's Darkness doing there? No one knows. The other two certainly didn't invite him. Anyway, Sirna agrees to screw with more mortal heads to shut them all up and is now in search of some poor mortal to mess with.

Conviction Balance: 9

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

ᦓ꠸᥅ꪀꪖ

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 culling 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 lucid. For quite some time too, it seemed.

Only humans, 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.

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

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.

‘Humble greetings, O Wise Gifter.’ 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. ‘Yes, your advice offered much food for thought. Our lives are all the better for it, now. We thank you kindly, our Generous Gifter.’

‘Your lives,’ echoed Sirna. ‘You... live here?’

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.

‘Here, we are free,’ said Śramaṇa Adi, earnestly. ‘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.’

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.

‘You do not live. You flee, into my domain, away from the world that my godkin shape for your kind.’ 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. ‘You have achieved nothing. You have become nothing. I do not welcome complacency in a realm shaped for possibility.’

‘B-but,’ stammered the shaman, ‘you said that we would find our answers in the unthinkable! And what better place to seek them than here?’

‘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.’ The moon spun faster. ‘Begone.’

‘Wait! Please!’ 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. ‘We did not mean to offend, truly. But your kin–the world is difficult to live in. We were just trying to survive.’

‘Then survive,’ said Sirna, and cast them out of the Dreamscape.

~

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...
• SIRNA: Sirna puts their (metaphorical) foot down on a dream cult.

Conviction Balance: 8