Alright, let me tell you about the time I almost got my entire adventuring party killed in dungeons and dragons.
For background, the party consisted of a gnome, a halfling, a drow and me- a half orc named Volen. This all just means Volen can and will carry around the entire party like its nothing. After fighting a demon and being cast hundreds of years into the future, the party gained a soulbond that means they can't be too far from eachother, so Volen became their main mode of transportation.
During our adventure, we ended up in a new plane of existance- one Volen didn't like. After running on her own didn't work even after five minutes, I changed tactics and grabbed the party, then ran. A celestial being gave Volen a messege; run to the edge of the plane, wait ten seconds, then jump.
Well. I ran to the edge of the plane alright. Problem is, Volen didn't listen to the bit about timing it and jumped immediately. After free falling through time and space, she managed a roll good enough to catch the ledge of another plane and pulled them up, just barely avoiding the party being lost forever inbetween universes.
Tl;dr Volen is bad at math and can and will jump off a cliff with you in her arms.
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Waking dreams were perhaps the worst of it, not for what was seen itself, but rather, for the disorientation. Distrust of the first moments of consciousness. Compounded by false awakenings, sleep was hardly the enemy, rather, it was waking up that posed such an issue. And to make matters more complicated yet, a much younger Volen had learned that in trying to avoid it altogether, whether by forcing himself to stay awake, or to attempt to cling to sleep, he would only worsen the effects as a whole for days if not weeks to come.
Some mornings, the pull back to reality was the overpowering burn of smoke in his throat jarring him from sleep. On others, it was a slow and creeping sensation, like a stifling mist,rather than all at once. Rare but welcome were the mornings like this one, where he was pulled forth not in a fit, but rather, by the groggy squeeze of a pair of arms around his chest as their owner woke from far more pleasant dreams.
Focusing on the tangibility that was Feth helped to pull his head above the waters of sleep and stay there, for what little he could feel of the warm dunmer that clung to his back. Light filtered through miniscule slits and holes in the drape that blocked the early morning daylight, though were too dim to reach the bed in any harmful capacity. After he shook the last of the morning fog from his head, he broke the peaceful silence with a deep breath that induced an adamant, but incomprehensible mumble from Feth. Such was followed with another squeeze, and Volen felt him bury his face into his back in protest.
"Aren't I a bit cold to be clung to like a stuffed guar?" asked Volen, voice yet edged with the distinct sort of soft gravel that came with early mornings.
"Ohn adur solsif," came the reply. It was not from Feth, though it was not distinctly from anywhere at all. "Ohn adur alne’khier. Os e ohm ruhn."
Thereupon came the sensation of suffocating and drowning at once, from which no escape could be found on account of the weight upon one's chest, and a sudden inability to move or even blink- Yet, without warning, through the ash and smoke that swam like water he felt himself ripped back by the rear of his collar, accompanied by an intangible noise.
Volen reawoke with numb limbs and a tingling sensation in the pit of his chest. His hand mechanically sought to grasp anything nearby, and found itself entwined in that of Feth's, who was sat beside him with brows knitted close together beneath a deep crease of concern in his forehead- These ridges were only accentuated by the flicker of tallow candle-light that lit the otherwise dark room. He let his head sink back into the pillow with a stiffly released sigh.
Feth didn't say anything, for which Volen was secretly thankful as he slowly felt the strain ease off his shoulders. For a long time, his eyes did not move from the ceiling above. Neither could find words for the other, and shared a small eternity of silence in the still of the night. Feth laid his head down onto Volen's chest, where they sat until dawn began to creep into the windows.
"...Is there truly nothing to be done of the dreams?" asked Feth, who couldn't raise his tone above a bare murmur.
The question stung more than it should have, and Volen winced visibly from it. "If there was," he began, heaving a sigh, "I would have found it in the many years since." He felt Feth's gaze crease in question, and sighed in resignation, continuing as he watched the ceiling yet.
"...Much like Corprus itself, it is not simply an ail of the mind or body. It roots and takes hold in your very soul, like some sort of... parasite. And even after the source is done away with, its scars remain permanently. Put simply... They are not going anywhere."
Feth's lack of a response hung in the air with a particular sort of resentment. Volen knew better than to think it aimed at himself, though he also knew better than to believe Feth would let go easily- The stubborn mer would hold onto such things to his own grave if left unchecked. And so he found it in himself to move, and sit himself up as to draw Feth's chin beneath a finger and tip up his downcast head.
"Chin up, Feth. They are only echoes."
Feth did not look convinced, and his expression soured slightly, reaching to move Volen's hand away with a scowl. "You say that only hours after waking up petrified by your own dreams. Don't you think that someone has found a way after all this time? You're sure as hell not the only one left who'd been touched by... this."
Volen heaved a quiet sigh, murmuring with a resigned shake of his head, "...Leave it to the temple boy to reach out to the heretic, no?"
"Doesn't that go both ways?"
He huffed a short laugh. He's got a point, perhaps, he thought to himself. Why did he avoid thinking of a solution so? He couldn't place whether it was cynicism, or a fear of coming up empty-handed after finding a shred or so of hope. He pushed the thought from his mind, deciding it too early in the morning to dwell on his own troubles that heavily. He turned his thoughts to Feth's question, and with a curious smile, looked back to the Indoril that laid relaxed across his torso.
Drelayn: Has met both Almalexia and Vivec, but not, to his deep regrets, Sotha Sil, whom he looks up to greatly. Also, his apprentice and adopted daughter, Nuaane Arethi, has blood tying directly back to House Dagoth. This technically makes Volen (and by marriage, Feth,) her familial uncles, and Drelayn’s brothers-in-law.
Feth: Has actually died on one occasion, due in part to team negligence during a group-RP event. He was resurrected by Azura, who told him that this was “not his time,” and that his duties in this life were not yet complete. ( Read as: The staff felt bad that I was skewered as a result of the group not paying attention, and had Azura resurrect him on a one-time basis of “don’t screw up again” )
Ferrin: Knows the clannfears he can summon by name. Not their real names, but just names that he gave them. He can recognize them immediately, and nobody’s quite sure how.
Vier: Never knew their father. If he had been in their life, they would have been raised as Indoril nobility, not a street urchin.
Jibana: Never gets her one wish on death. She hoped to cure her vampirism shortly before she expected to die, and see Winston in her afterlife. Unfortuantely, she is betrayed by her apprentice, who is coerced by Vigilants of Stendarr to give up her location. She was burned to death, her soul sent to Coldharbour.
BONUS TRINKET: Trinket’s real ‘name’ is Nchuth, taken from the journal fragment that Drelayn used to find her; “She is my vision.”
Trinket simply comes from the fact that she had a habit of finding the shiniest rock, shell, glass shard, bead, et cetera, and handing it to Drelayn triumphantly. Sometimes she would find more questionable things, like a glass eye, or a necklace belonging to the wealthy altmer down the street.
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I hope this letter finds you well. It is difficult to believe it has been five months since you left- Such a short time, yet it feels like you've been out there for far longer. I've kept the Tsaesci statuette you sent back as a memento on the mantle.
I hope Kontra has not caused you further grief since your last letter, though I know you will be able to teach him well. You have a very unique way of mentoring and training, but you must keep in mind that he is still a boy. A very headstrong, very reckless boy. I'd dare say he's a lot like you were at that age, albeit by the sounds of it, less aware of his surroundings. If he's run off, let him run. Let the boy screw up and learn from it rather than continuing to try and steer him straight beforehand; it isn't working, besides, and this may be the only way to get it through to him.
As for myself, I'm well- Just missing you, truth be told. You should stop worrying about me and start worrying more for yourself, Feth, by the Three- Azura isn't going to save you twice and I don't want my next letter from you to be accompanied by an ashen urn.
Locally, there's not much that's changed, except one development that brings me concern. Some new neighbors across the street. Vigilants of Stendarr, as I'm led to believe. For a while I had thought them to be mostly destroyed through that war with the Volkihar in Skyrim, but I suppose, as you always tell me, it is near impossible to kill an idea. Especially one championed by an Aedra.
I doubt they are here on a hunt, in all honesty- It seems as if they're here to retire from that lifestyle altogether. Though, it does bring up a wonder. There have been a string of supernaturals found through the western counties. Two vampires and a lycanthrope were lynched in Kvatch just a week ago, and another supposed lycanthrope in Bravil. She was a child, by the Sharmat, and yet...
Three be damned, Feth, they truly are more monstrous than the people they hunt. Be well.
