Action: but you never tire of dreams

[ofthebeast]

Characters: Any willing dreamers
Open? Yes
Where: In your minds
When: After the party
What: Part two of the dream plot!
Warnings:


The party went on, with the beast's head on display. A proud, twisted thing. Behind false ruby eyes, it waited. And as the music became slower and the wine less plentiful, it waited still.

Those who had gazed upon it at the ball. Those who had seen it once living in the forest. All heroes who dared to look upon its face and dream still that they would be able to live another day...

There are all sorts of ways of living. In waking. In sleep. Perhaps, now, they would find one in between.

(ooc: Feel free to keep tagging into the party post! Once your characters go home and go to sleep of their own accord, that is when the dreaming will begin. Remember, it is up to you to set up what kind of world your character is trapped in and how best to help them. Plotting post is here, make use of it!

The beast's power will wane once the bulk of the dreamers have escaped his curse. If your character was not at the party but you still want to involve them in the dream plot, that is fine! They can either help get people out or have seen the beast wandering in the woods before it was killed and have caught its attention that way.

Comments

[ladysarmour]

Summer snows still fall in the North, even in a summer such as this. The long summer, the smallfolk have begun to call it, nearly twelve years long so far and still with no sign of autumn. Old Nan whispers tales of how a summer so tranquil can only bring the harshest of winters, one matched with summer in length. During such winters the nights grow long and cold enough to freeze a man to the marrow with a single gust of wind. During those winters things come awake, things nestled in the darkest and coldest places in the world, who no longer have the sun to fear.

She doesn't like those tales. She prefers the world of songs and stories, where summer always holds sway, knights gleam with greatness and valor, and a lady's radiance never diminishes. They're true, she tells herself. A true knight doesn't fear a little frozen water. A true lady never lets the bitter wind freeze her heart. "Winter is coming, child," Father often says in a voice soft with omen. Sometimes he is very sad, her father. She nods and smiles a wise, sad smile in return, for she hasn't the heart to tell him she disagrees. Always he is very dear, her lord father.

Winterfell thrives with summer activity: hammers ringing at forges, men hawking wares in the town market, the boys in the practice yard shouting as they play at their swords. Everywhere the grey wolf hangs or flies on a crisp white field.

[ ooc: Sansa's dream is like a maze, and Sansa is at its center. Your characters will be interacting with manifestations of her subconscious taking the form of people from her past, and Sansa will not be present; she's aware this isn't real, but she's afraid to leave because she knows her happiness here is an illusion and doesn't want to let it go. So think of it like Inception: Sansa's projections exist to keep her hidden from any intruders. The only way to free her from the dream is to earn a projection's (Sansa's) trust and convince it to lead the way to her. ]

WELL THIS ISN'T GOING TO WORK NOW IS IT

[canistricari]

Coyote's spirit self is more an idea than a thing. It radiates all the animalistic qualities that Coyote is unable to hide completely even in human form, and more. The only thing of any solid mass is the teeth - thousands upon thousands of teeth sharp enough to rip the earth itself in half.

The spirit thing finds itself twisting and turning wildly among the boys in the practice yard.

coyote you are so helpful

[ladysarmour]

One of the boys yells, then another, and then they're all yelling as men-at-arms pour into the courtyard to slash at the thing with their swords.

and humble! so very humble.

[canistricari]

He laughs at the futile attempts of the humans.

"It tickles, it tickles!"

oh yes can't forget that

[ladysarmour]

"Begone, foul beast!" shouts one man.

"For Winterfell!" screams another, driving his sword deep.

don't worry, he can remind you if you forget

[canistricari]

Unfortunately for the men, Coyote is well aware that this is a dream and is as fluid as the sky. He doesn't attack any of them, just laughs and writhes and twists.

unicornbomb

[wanderwonder]

Now these-- these were sounds she recognizes. They reminded her of Druze, of the village she'd lived in the first year of her human life. Sundrop cares little for the clang of blade against blade, her ears flattening now and again.

She would do well to move around the territory, but some vague power denies her passage. And there is that tug, faint though it may be, that can only come from a maiden. She shakes her head in agitation, and the snow fall disappears into the folds of her white mane.

.....okay!!!

[ladysarmour]

A girl appears, dark of hair and eye, her long hair brushed back in a simple northern-style braid. Beneath her arm, a covered basket, filled with implements for sewing and stitchery. She looks curious, and awed, and afraid.

[wanderwonder]

Noting the girl's expression, the unicorn nickers softly. Unlike a horse, though, she doesn't dip her head -- no, that is, more often than not, an action of hostility for her kind.

[ladysarmour]

"A real unicorn," the girl breathes. "Just like in the songs."

But she does not hold out her hand.

[wanderwonder]

Songs, eh? That piques her interest.

"What songs are these?" she asks, human tongue thick in her throat. "Or do you mean to pass? You may; I will not move."

Hope I got this right?

[consultmybooks]

Mazes.

Giles is mildly cheered by the sight. Mazes. He's good at mazes. And mazes require rational thought, spacial awareness...mazes should be anathema to whatever is happening to him.

The fact that he might very well never find his way out is a secondary concern. Right now, Giles can feel something, a though, a revelation, ticking away in the back of his head. If he can just bring it out, speak its name, sing the song...well, maybe he can understand, and help.

For now? Giles sticks his hands into his pockets, takes a deep breath, and sets off into the maze.

"It seems as though winter is here..."

♥♥♥

[ladysarmour]

Rather than a maze, it appears to be an innocuous castle with a small town nestled at its base. A boy of thirteen or fourteen, dark and pale with clear grey eyes and a brooding look, turns the corner of the building before Giles and stops when he hears him.

"Southron, are you? This is what summer is like in the North."

[consultmybooks]

Giles looks a bit surprised to be addressed, and a bit apologetic. He hadn't meant to interrupt anyone's work. But the lands are unfamiliar to him. It's like nowhere he's ever been, and Giles has been a great many places, all over the world.

"Not very far south, actually. But, um, islands do tend to be a bit warmer than most places." Giles stares up at the sky, shading his eyes. "A bit rainy, though..."

He looks back at the boy. "Never seen a proper summer, then? Shame. Very popular sort of season, back home, especially among boys your age."

[ladysarmour]

"This is the North. As far as we're concerned this is what a proper summer looks like."

He looks the man over sullenly. "Did you want something?"

[consultmybooks]

"Me? No." Giles frowns, as the ticking little subconscious voice at the back of his mind ticks a little louder. "Not...me specifically, no. I, um, I think someone else might, though. You could always ask them."

After a second, he realizes that the ticking isn't just in his head, that he can hear something like the ticking of a clock coming somewhere nearby, and he looks back at the boy.

"Don't suppose you know what electrical cord is, do you?"

[brosif]

Time here – and Sif is aware enough, in some moments, to recognize here as someplace very wrong – seems to move without regard to any sort of natural narrative. It touches in some moments, and she can see herself as farmer’s wife, offering a young girl a roof. In others, it is miles apart. She stands guard over her farm, without regard to anything that may exist outside of it. She has roots in the earth and the sky, branching out in ways that only dreams are capable of.

Such roots are hard to cut.

Here, now, in the dangerous place: she walks into a stone keep, dressed in clothes that speak to her station. High born for the north, nothing for the south. She knows that she would die for Lord Eddard just as soon as she knows that name means nothing to her.

In the receiving room, she kneels, a fist to her chest. Here to represent her father’s family, as he has no sons to send.

[ladysarmour]

"The lord is away," says the woman who stands beside the great stone seat. She is tall and still beautiful in her years, with soft auburn hair and kind blue eyes. "I welcome you on his behalf to Winterfell."

[brosif]

Some might scoff at being welcomed by the lady rather than the lord, but Sif sees something in this woman that she likes very much. A sort of nobility not borne of title alone. After a respectful amount of time has passed, she stands.

"I thank you for the welcome, Lady Stark. I bring word from my father."

[ladysarmour]

"He is well, I hope?" The lady's tone is grave with concern. "Your father has ever been a loyal friend of our House."

[brosif]

“My lady is ever kind to our house.”

A pause, there. Two realities: that her father is in Asgard, and rarely speaks his daughter’s name. That he is here in the north, and proud. Both are vital, both are needed. The thoughts – the uncertainty – settle on her face before she can push them away. She was not trained for this. It is a son’s duty, and it had been realized far too late that Sif is to be an only child.

“My father is well, given his age and utter inability to rest. But such may not be the case for long.” She pulls a roll of parchment out, but will not approach Lady Stark without permission.

Eee, Sansa! I just started reading A Feast for Crows.

[shadedsunlight]

Ginia doesn't like snow. She's frozen in place as she looks up at the sky and watches snow drift down. It's beautiful, yes, but snow and ash as so alike when they're both flying through the air. It's the sound of hammers and people that draw her out of her thoughts and she forces her legs to move forward, drawing her traveling cloak tighter around her as she heads toward the source of sound.

*u* i'm on affc now too

[ladysarmour]

The source is the castle forge, where a gruff older man pounds away on steel with hammer against anvil. He holds his work up for inspection, sees the woman, and sets it aside.

"There, woman, what're you doing here?"

So much love for asoiaf

[shadedsunlight]

Ginia does her best to stay out of the way she watches, utterly fascinated. She was a woman who grew up on fantasy novels, with her own dreams of being a kind loving queen ruling over her people, or a daring knight going out to fight evil and saving the kingdom. Dreams of being a knight had a tendency to win out over being a queen or princess.

When she's addressed, she quickly bows her head in apology, trying to find the right words.

"Forgive me, I was only observing. It's a well-crafted sword, sir."

/enables!!!

[ladysarmour]

The man humors her with a gruff chuckle. "A wench who thinks she knows her way round steel, eh? I've pissed better swords. This'un's for the little lordlings and squires to practice with."