deercountry | Real & Half-Real: Chapter 1

You can use the following form for summarizing your characters' activity on this phase of the plot!

Paul Atreides has thrown open his workshop to all who've dedicated themselves to Illarion's safe return. And, ever the gracious host, he's set a time and date for them all to get to know each other before they set to work in earnest. On that date, the esoterica of the workshop have been covered in black cloth and more comfortable seating procured to match the expected number of participants. Simple snacks and hot drinks are on hand to ease conversation, though the tension of both their task and the month hangs heavy in the air.

Though Iskierka spread her notes far and wide throughout Trench, by early April--and thanks to Kaworu and Luz's indefatigable efforts--they've all been found. Now pinned to stand-up corkboards, annotated and clustered, they occupy pride of place at one end of Paul's workshop. Chairs stand ready for any who want to sit and discuss--or argue--and writing supplies are to-hand for those who prefer them to the Omnis for recording their ideas. Much has already been extracted on Nephele-that-isn't, its people and environs, but there's still insight to glean from careful analysis and discussion.

And that insight must then be put into application. Sayo has set forth the bones of the ritual--twenty-four hours, thirteen murders, capped with an enormous explosion--but its practical execution, in a half-world both huge and dangerous, requires resources and planning. Now is the time to discuss logistics and plans of attack, and exactly how to cross the vast space implied by Illarion's notes in the short time his rescuers will have to them.

While other Sleepers use Iskierka's notes to determine conditions in the pocket dimension and formulate a plan of attack, Ford Pines--acknowledged veteran of a portal, or two, or three--leads the construction of their way in. The first few days of work are used for scouting for the location of the pocket dimension and gathering materials both esoteric and mundane. As more information trickles in on the pocket dimension's location, and what will be needed to break into it, construction begins in earnest.

An esoteric project, woven of machinery and magic, requires esoteric supplies. Ford's shopping list is accordingly eclectic:

To build sensors to triangulate on thin spots to punch a portal through, the team will need radios and other electronics to take apart for antennas, transmitters, receivers, and integrated circuits.

To make the portal, they need a frame of sturdy metal (titanium cobalt, Ford suggests, if it can be had in Trench), a mix of cold, dark, and paleblood stones, yards of copper wire, and some sort of monitoring equipment. They will also need materials for a Paleblood dream-ritual to break into Nephele-that-isn't (strange near-dreamscape thing it is)--more bloodstones, spell runes, incense, sleeping potions, deer antlers, a blood-forged athame and a yard of blessed silk are more notable components of the spell.

Beg, borrow, trade, steal, or bleed yourself--any route to get what's needed, in a hurry.

It's a frustrating fact that wherever Illarion put himself, he left neither forwarding address nor indication of his new location. Even Iskierka can't pinpoint a place where the pocket dimension might be easier to reach, try as she might; her sense of her Sleeper's location is too scrambled to help. So: It falls to the team to find a location for the portal where it'll have the best chance of breaching an entrance.

Magical scrying and technological devices alike will yield useful telemetry when deployed on the Farthest Shore, in Cassandra at the Pale Sanctuary, and by the Salt Lake and Illarion's abandoned home. Anomalous readings occur by the Unfathomable Mass and in Lumenwood, infecting equipment or Sleepers with transient ~~eyes~~ for a few minutes. Sleepers may find clues on the thinnest spot between the dimension and Trench (centered somewhere on a shrine to Argonaut deep in Trenchwood) or how to break down the walls of the Waking World there.

The Wonderkind may also hold secrets within their glowing interiors. A scant few around the city open on vistas matching Illarion's descriptions of his home: A haunting eldritch forest darkened by unnatural night--an undulating sea of grass populated with crazed sapient plants--a picturesque island awash in rainbow-colored poppies. Examining these windows, magically or otherwise, yields clues on how Sleepers entering Nephele-that-isn't might find themselves changed in surprising ways.

Once the team homes in on a location for Nephele-that-isn't, daring scouts might make use of one of Ford's teleport scrolls to enter the pocket dimension. The merely "lucky" among them will find themselves in a quick-dissolving shard of the dimension that lasts mere hours. Spectacularly (un)fortunate individuals land in the pocket dimension itself, trapped as Illarion is unless they have a return scroll in their possession.

[[ OOC note: Ford has created four teleport scrolls targeting the pocket dimension along with enough scrolls to get everyone back to Trench. A maximum of two people at a time can use a teleport scroll. ]]

Sleepers investigating the Wonderkind for clues might be set upon by monsters! Any of the following can emerge from doorways opened onto Nephele:

Vampires might come singly or in small groups. Avian, sleek, and large-eyed as any elf, there's also something uncannily alluring about them. Unwary Sleepers might find themselves seduced, bitten, and devoured.

Nephele's dragons are dinosaurs by any other name, and anything--from tiny ceratopsians to massive Tyrannosaurus to horrifyingly huge azhdarchid pterosaurs--might pop out to challenge Sleepers (or flee from them into Trench).

There are also strange eldritch bird-monsters, hulking and covered in lightless feathers, that speak in the tongues of men but seem utterly mad. The largest are ten feet at the shoulder and massive with muscle, armed with fangs and talons and bearing hundreds of bright-hued eyes that can cause madness in Sleepers who meet them. Even being around one induces corruption in both Sleepers and their environs. Something's familiar about the contagious ~~eyes~~ and unwholesome oily black residue they leave behind when they touch things...

Anything that comes through might also be possessed by a demon, granting it unexpected magic. Demonhosts of Fire can breathe flames; demonhosts of Steel can snatch weapons with their magnetic grip; demonhosts of Song can break hearts and confuse minds with their singing. Killing a demonhost frees the demon and they will take Sleepers as hosts, only to drive them toward the Pthumerian Sea with the will to take a Throne that doesn't exist in the Waking World. Demons can be exorcised and trapped in objects. Possessed Sleepers who drown in the Pthumerian Sea will drown the demon with them.

Scouts who make it into Nephele-that-isn't or one of its unstable shards are deposited on the tidal flats at the base of the Throne spire. Around that impossible mountain all the armies of the world rage against each other in pitched battle, soldiers and machines and magic fed into the endless hungry meat grinder of trench warfare. Most combatants ignore Sleepers who offer them no challenge, though there's always the risk of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and catching a bullet meant for someone else--or being crushed beneath the treads of a tank, caught in a drift of chlorine gas, attacked by a rabid skinshifter...

Escaping the battlefield around the Throne, one might travel east-northeast (crossing the ocean to do it) to the Isle of Joy, or northwest across a shifting land of swamps and quicksand and gnarled moss-draped forests. On the far northern border of the latter lie the Iron Steppes, and beyond them, night-haunted Shroudwood.

Time and distance are oddly compressed when traveling. Journeys that should take days are over in hours, though traveling to something within sight never seems to take less time than it should. The one exception to this swiftness of travel happens wherever Sleepers might be attacked as they journey--such as in the Iron Steppes, beset by both terrible storms and the violent predation of dryads. Here, time creeps along at its usual pace, every heartbeat freighted with waiting for when the next ambush might come. The effect's more pronounced in the shards--not helped by the way the land Sleepers have crossed comes apart in their wake, heralding the whole thing's eventual dissolution.

To those determined to find something in the dimension--whether Illarion himself, clues to his whereabouts, or anything else that seems important--a strange butterfly comes to lead them. It is a splendid creature of black and orange and gold, inexplicably eye-catching despite its size. The insect is pathologically helpful, showing no fear of deaths or dismemberments that can't stick. Those stuck in a dissolving shard will find the butterfly frantic, inclined to land on and pull at hair or batter itself against Sleepers' backs to drive them on. If it's nearby as the shard dissolves, it screams in a tiny human voice as it disintegrates.

Sleepers who stay long enough to witness a shard's dissolution will want to scream too as reality unknits and takes them with it. The process is terrifying and painful and drawn out a seeming eternity before they're deposited back in Trench aside one of its many Pthumerian shrines.

Edited 2022-04-14 03:02 (UTC)

Owing to the remoteness of the thin spot between the Waking World and Nephele-that-isn't, it's decided that building the portal in pieces and transporting it to its future location will be superior to construction in place. An army of steady hands is needed for this process: To inscribe spell runes, solder and weld, and venture to the portal site (and Nephele-that-isn't) to set anchor points on either side. Ritual components require preparation and storage for transport, and the Palebloods responsible for carrying it off need time and space to practice.

The portal site could not be more dangerous in this month of darkness and corruption: A forgotten shrine to Argonaut in Trenchwood's far remove, washed in emerald moonlight and far from
any Lamp Friends. Bring incense, Sleepers, and when that fails bring weapons, for the beasts and monsters of the wood must be kept at bay for the portal's assembly.

Luz arrived, several of the notes in hand. She knew this was likely going to be one of those times where it would just be best that she not get involved. It seemed like there was going to be a LOT going on, and she definitely had been pulled around this month that she knew it would be important to stay put and try to help out in Trench where she could.

However, she said she's deliver the notes, so she was keen to do just that. It had taken a few hours, but she was sure that she'd obtained the things needed that would help them. All that was left was to see who would be on the mission, in case she needed to assist when they came back.

They would be coming back, right?

Working in the field, as always, carries its own set of issues. Even so Ford seems pleased with his current situation, humming a meandering tuneless ditty to himself as he works. Not that it's easy to hear said ditty; Ford is going at the frame of the portal with a welding torch, fusing two prefabricated sections of the base to one another. This is the last bit of the frame he can assemble without help, however. Once he's done he switches off his torch, flips up his welding mask, and turns and points at the nearest unoccupied Sleeper.

"You there! Come hold this next piece steady while I work."

His tone manages to be cheerful, brusque, and commandeering all at once. He clearly expects to be obeyed, even if the person he's addressing is a stranger.

Ortus is accustomed to obedience, so he rouses himself from where he has been sitting stiffly on a weathered block of stone and transcribing runes from one paper to another in the order he has been instructed to do so without complaint. He only hesitates, casting around the empty space around him, to be sure the man refers to him, and not someone more seemingly capable.

He is not entirely unfit for the task, he realizes, as he takes hold of the piece so referenced to secure it. He knows enough of metal welding to close his eyes whenever it resumes, and the piece is not so heavy, especially when held still at the appropriate angle.

It's only after he's taken up his position that Ortus understands his mistake. It is all well and good to be of assistance in this task he understands the general Household of the First has taken an interest in - it is another, he thinks, to be faced with the dreadful prospect of idle conversation.

"You are in good spirits," Ortus notes, in faint helplessness, his eyes firmly shut, "I take it the work proceeds well?"

In a rare concession to lab and workshop safety Ford even has gloves for Ortus to borrow, if he so chooses. Either way, Ford is quick to move on to his task. Ortus's question gets a thoughtful hum in response.

"It's a different style of portal construction from what I'm used to," he muses, his tone mild. "Not dramatically so, but I can't say I mind only needing to worry about stabilizing the gateway. Much simpler than trying to create a gate and hold it, and much easier to construct."

He chuckles.

"In any case, nothing has caught fire yet."

Ford speaks in a tone that manages to be joking while still conveying that this is a real concern that merits their consideration.

Ortus gladly accepted the offered gloves, and is even more glad of them at the mention of the possibility of the portal catching fire.

The man's commentary recalls the Lady Pent's lightly reeled off preparation for exorcism, complete with the evident lightness of concern over potential adverse outcomes that nevertheless made them feel quite real and pressing. In that case, his apprehensions had been prescient.

"Once finished, do you believe the portal will remain stable?" Ortus asks, his nerves ill-concealed. "Unlikely to combust, or otherwise lose its integrity?"

"That's two different questions, my friend!"

Ortus's nerves are ill-concealed, but Ford isn't the best at reading people. Besides, he can't see worth a damn in this welding mask.

"The portal doesn't have any sort of power source, so it's not likely to be the cause of any fires. Not once it's established and all of the wiring is in place."

As for the time before that... Well. He's holding a welding torch. He doesn't need to say anything more than he already has.

"But without a power source the portal isn't much more than scaffolding. Succumbing to the forces of interdimensional acceleration is a question of when, not if - but it's highly unlikely we'll have to worry about any explosions when it does."

He pauses, then adds:

"Though be prepared for a localized windstorm. I suspect we'll have to deal with a sudden shift in atmospheric pressure."

"...and those are our thirteen targets." Sayo finishes her briefing, having spent the last several minutes pointing to (surprisingly accurate) sketches of the thirteen "dramatis personae" of Nephele-that-isn't, i.e., the thirteen main characters of the "story" that they have to assassinate, and explaining what she knows of their role and abilities based on her own time there. Sayo has described the barest bones of the ritual; the need for the sacrifices, the time limit, and the difficulty in taking down each member of the false world's cast. However, she has been reticent on how, exactly, the ritual works and why she knows of it—which may be concerning for something both so crucial to the plan and so fundamentally disturbing and callous.

"In our first attempt to enact this ritual, Illarion and I successfully assassinated the Prince of Pleasure and the Swan Sorceress, but fell short when we attempted to secure the Prince of Noon's airship for our own use due to a simple lack of firepower. I have more detailed information on the domains and abilities of each of those targets, but... it may be outdated at this point." She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "The most precarious part of this plot is that Nephele-that-isn't's topography, structure, and even history seem to be... in flux. While Illarion and I traveled its expanse, it always seemed to be changing, expanding even, as the world built itself up. If we're particularly unlucky, some of the characters that Illarion and I pinpointed as good targets will be unsuitable or dead—twice over, in some cases—when we arrive. That initial 24-hour reconnaissance period will be crucial, as well as any information we can glean before then."

A short pause. Then... some of the stern, professorial facade cracks, revealing someone fundamentally very, very tired and very, very scared beneath. "And... thank you, everyone. I was worried it'd just be me, Kaworu, and Paul for some time, but it's, um. It's reassuring, seeing how many of you have shown up to help."

Deep breath. The mask comes back on. "Now. Any questions?"

Ask her anything.

So who's going to kill who and how?

[Look at who's unusually business today despite the topic. Well, come on, let's ~discuss~.]

Edited 2022-04-19 20:51 (UTC)

Midoriya has been quiet for most of the proceedings, partly out of respect as someone not in the planning stage, and partly because there is a lot of information he needs to take in. He looks at Kaworu and Paul, two friends he desperately wishes a kinder life on. Illarion he knows little about, other than a small but warm show of sympathy, Sayo even less. He says quietly,

"I'm aware this is kind of like a mindscape, and I've looked at the notes. But do we have to kill them?"

Edited 2022-04-19 21:17 (UTC)

"Those are the conditions the Old Man explained to us. It's not like they're real even when we kill them."

Paul is fiddling with a pinkish folded paper bird when Deku speaks, no larger than the pad of his thumb. It disappears from his hand like a trick when he looks up, secreted up his sleeve.

"And you don't have to kill anyone," he says, quietly. "Even though they're only memories."

Here's a familiar face offering her grim one a smile. Midoriya is around, mostly listening or handing people things as needed. He's not directly involved in the planning stage.

"Thank you for helping, Luz-san. Best not to jump into anything unprepared."

Oscar had been quiet.

This wasn't his fight. He barely knew most of the people involved, but he was also someone who upheld his word. Although their meetings had been both brief and under duress, he remembered a promise he made to someone with Sayo's fave:

Keep an eye on her.

Oscar may have seemed like an innocent, but he knew the full effects of being in the aftermath of someone else's self destrution on a personal level. Lives had been destroyed in Remnant because of it; his body still carried the scars.

Quietly, he raised his hand.

"If you can get me on the airship, I think I've got the controls," he said firmly. Although he only had experience in crashing airships, a part of him knew what to do. Oscar was confident he could figure it out.

"Also... Sayo." He hadn't spoken her name often, but he made a point to say it now. "Is the reason you know all this related to what happened to you and... Our Mysterious friend--"

They really needed a better name for this bird.

"-- after the beast that attacked the town was defeated?"

"Pretty sure the strategy is we have to kill them," he replies in the same quiet tone. It's worse than any loud protest he could have shown. We. He's on this mission too. Helping out, whether he deals the final blow or not, is being a part of that. He's obstinate in not looking away from that or either of his friends' eyes.

"So it will be faster if you do. Your quirk is powerful. Maybe you can figure out how to make it painless."

Kaworu's expression and tone aren't angry or pleading. It's decidedly a restrained persona that he's adopted. Because he needs to, he can feel the corruption swirling inside of him and it rises in this place and when he thinks about the Old Man and how he's been unfairly taken from Kaworu. So instead, he just focuses on the mission at hand.

Real & Half-Real: Chapter 1 - The Portal and the Plan

QUESTIONS

ACTIVITY SUMMARY & HANDWAVE ZONE

1 - MEET & GREET

2 - STRATEGY

3 - BUILDING THE PORTAL

3.1 - GATHERING MATERIALS

3.2 - SCOUTING

3.2.1 - MONSTERS & PRODIGIES

3.2.2 - NEPHELE-THAT-ISN'T

3.3 - CONSTRUCTION UNDERWAY

Re: 1 - MEET & GREET

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Briefing and Ask the Golden Witch

Target Plans (a murder most fowl)

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