Emergence Game Thread

The first time Rowena "took the reins," so to speak, it was quick. Like my breath was sucked out in half-a-second, and then forced back down my lungs just as quickly. Afterwards the only visceral indication of my haunting was a bit of resistance from my muscles, and something akin to a darkened tunneling at the edge of my vision. But I got the impression that I didn't go too far down that tunnel, I only ever stood at its mouth, with the craggy edges peeking into my periphery. But now... now I am deep in the tunnel.

I look to the north, and I see out of my own eyes. I am in a cavern, or a cave, or a cellar? Some kind of darkened room - a room with barrels. This place was purpose-built. But the image is small, and moves with a haze around the edges like waking from a dream. All sounds are muffled like a man screaming underwater. Water...

I turn to the west and loose my balance for a brief instant, but catch it and feel iron scrape my bare ankles, one hundred yards away. There is a blue gale down this tunnel, but nearly black. I see the wooden practice sword, slick with blood and saltwater, flash in front of my "eyes." Moon on the water. The rain whips my head to the left. To the south.

This tunnel is warm. And red. But a soft, hazy, natural red. And her hair is glowing in the firelight. And she smiles. The scratches are unexpected, but safe. I loose control. "Please stay," I hear myself. But she is gone, and my gaze turns to the cold outside.

The cold. It is cold to the east. And white. So white that it's blinding, or it would be if I were close to the mouth of the tunnel. But even still I feel it pierce me, and I cannot move. Her eyes are watching me, and they are unsoftened. They have no love in them. Daggers of ice cut my skin and muscle and guts. But it is a dream.

This is all a dream. With this thought, my anger lessens. Rowena... queen of dreams. It lessens more still. And I am feeling free of it. I speak to myself in my own mind She has brought only dreams to me... nothing of substance. Nothing - real! This cannot hold - it cannot stand. I am raving to myself, I feel the spit on my lips as the realization dawns... I must escape this mountain. This dream-prison, and Rowena keeps me here! Maybe she is in the cold woman's thrall... When I escape from this mountain of lies then I will learn the truth of my father and avenge his death. I will recover my harp, and face down the cold woman, and I will put her in the ground. But first... I turn towards the north, and race through the tunnel to the opening. My bare feet hit the stone ground with shearing pain, but I barely feel it.

As I approach the mouth of it, I turn back over my shoulder to the south, but she is gone. Only a lock of red remains, and I feel the hairs against my fingertips. But that hair is now dust, and I am lying on my back in the cellar. Groans of elf and orc and dragonborne around me, and a disapproving spectre above.

"Begone, you foul witch. I know your deceits now... and whom you serve true."

Distant singing hits my ears... just a single tone? Maybe just a ringing in my ear... it becomes halting, louder until the shriek is next to my ear.
The baby... I am crushing the baby in my hand...
My hand is squeezing itself shut so firmly my knuckles burn, and blood trickles from my palm. I also feel the crumbling matter in my hand, pieces being forced through my fingers. My eyes have not quite adjusted. I unclench my fist, expecting to see a pulverized, bloody piece of the baby's arm.. or leg... or head. I squint and see the blood in my hand and hear the wail in my ear. My stomach turns over and my heart pounds, threatening to break out of my body.
The blood is my own, and small craters bleed in my palm, partially obscured by dirt. The dirt from the forest I had picked up in the circle in the dwarf's lair. I take what remains and put it back into my pouch; it is clumping together with my blood.
I turn to see the baby - angry, but whole. I roll into a kneel, and violently vomit on the floor every last thing in my gut.
Are we in a wine cellar?
I reach up to my head and touch the diadem. Rowena floats above us.

As Rowena dissipates, a knife of light slices through my field of vision. Dust motes dance in the beam as I quickly rise to an elbow, and then feet. I squint into the spectral light as it reddens. Realization dawns with the sunset, and I doubt my fresh purpose. My hand finds the grip of my blade. It is cold, and I fall to my knees.

"no" my voice sounds small in the muffled room. Hopeless. And alone.

The light is red and fading on my face. And to Rhiv there appears to be a glazed look in my eyes. He waits for a response, but there is none, until the sun passes below the horizon. "She is gone." I say, gaze unbroken. And a half-moment later "My father is gone... my mother is gone." With this I turn my head to Rhiv. He does not see the eyes of a sad man, but a dead one. "And there is no god who loves."

I stumble out of the cellar and am momentarily dazzled by the sunset. I look up at the sky for the first time in what seems like ages. The moment I step into the open air, I sense my strength is returning. The disconnect I felt in the dwarf's lair drove me to lose the balance I seek - when facing both the 1st and 2nd automatons I felt rage like I had not in years... at times without good reason. Why, after the first robot was dispatched, and posed no threat to my self or companions, did I feel the need to destroy it's component parts? And why did it feel... liberating... natural? The thought is frightening. I have been inside too long. But still...

I glance back at Harper to make sure he is still in view, and then quicken my step to catch Therrien's arm as he starts up the alley behind Rhiv.

Brother Therrien, a moment if you will. When you go into a rage, you seem to be able to... direct it, focus it. Even while I preach balance to you and others, I have been losing control and falling into the shrew's rage at times. I wonder at how you are able to keep it from consuming you, and to use it for your ends. I worry for my sanity, as every time it happens, it feels more and more right. When I defend those dear to me I feel like the red-eyed goshawk, defending her nest - bloodthirsty, merciless. But when it fades I am left with a guilt, a despair. I am sorry my friend, to waylay our mission with my troubled heart. I only raise this with you to unburden myself. If at any time you have wisdom to share on this topic, please speak with me.

I look forward at Rhiv and sense his purpose. I can help conceal us.

I whisper Brother Rhiv, wait. as he reachesd the edge of the street.

I cast Pass With Trace spell.

Trying to be stealthy:

I see the party exit through the door, but I perceive it on the level of a beetle crawling across the floor. An implication of what this could mean doesn't register. After some moments of feeling unable to move, I manage to rise to my feet, which I barely feel. My body is running on autopilot, and I feel nothing. I wonder where it is taking me, but I don't have the emotional energy to care all that much.

My feet take me left out of the door, and then left again at the main street. Whether the rest of the party sees me I do not know. They are just people now. Future marks, even. I feel old habits kicking in. My legs let me move with the stream of the crowd, adrift in the current without causing a ripple. The waning light triggers a sensory awareness, even though it's my reflexes doing the work while my higher functions are adrift. Only a skilled rogue or very sharp eye would find it easy to track me in this press. The city is where I live.

Every city is the same, really. Once you know your way around a city, you can find your way around all others. They key is not to follow signs or sidewalks: it's to follow people. And people are the same. The trouble occurs when you meet someone truly different. They disrupt the city's flow. If you get enough truly different people in a city, then that makes a culture. Which makes everybody the same again. It's the sameness that makes a city safe. It's the differences that make it dangerous.

But this city is no different than the others, not as far as I can tell. My senses tell me if I were looking for anything in this city I could find it before dusk was through: a piece of knowledge, a mark, a true friend, a desperate man. A companion. But tonight I need none of those things. My senses and lower functions are the only things keeping me standing. And that simply won't do.

I ride the current to a quiet district, under the spectre of towers against the blue-black sky, onto a private street, and into a dimly lit tavern. This feels like a place with trustworthy barkeeps who over-serve. And my instincts about this are rarely wrong. It takes less than two hours and my senses begin failing. Black creeps into my vision, and I succumb to the void.

I follow Harper, trying to keep out of his sight