Co-written with Randy P.
The Nightmare Realm shifts and fluxes as Chaliya's necrotic psychic thorn creeps deeper and deeper into the soul of the Mighty and True Haskal of All Bosaa, Saba Coll. As her ghostly fingers weave a web of horrors dredged from the depths of Coll's memories, she finds new threads floating unbound through the shifting madness of her trap, and swiftly draws them into the pattern with malicious glee.
The Nightmare Realm shifts and fluxes, breathing deep of the fearful panting of the heroes who so willingly bound their souls by ritual and rite to the Haskal's own in some doomed expression of valor. The taste of their mounting dread is delicious, and Chaliya seasons her creation with their sweat and blood and tiny moments of panic. The space between each of their shuddering heartbeats becomes a world for her to paint torments upon.
The Nightmare Realm shifts and fluxes. One damned path draws to a close, and the road turns toward Usil with cruel excitement. Chaliya begins to dig deeply into the druid's spirit, greedily seeking the cracks she will spread herself through to shatter them from within. But. . . there is a resistance here. Something. . . someone. . . shields this tiny creature of moss and rot and soil and clean waters. Somewhere far away yet far too near, Chaliya's gleeful visage is shaken, just for a moment. She will overcome this, as she has every other defense that stood against her.
The Nightmare Realm. . . is gone. Usil finds themself standing in a featureless grey expanse that extends forever in every direction but one: far above -- miles, leagues, perhaps further than the stars themselves -- there is a dully gleaming gemstone window through which they can make out the distorted image of their own face, staring down curiously, yet concerningly blank.
The Soul in the Ring swaddles and soothes as a bridge is formed from here to Elsewhere, because the Soul knows they are fading, too long gone from the world beyond to hold back the malice that hungers for the living half-elf they now shield. The joyful color and sound of the Feywild begins to bleed into the infinite grey, overwhelming the slate nothingness with wild, dangerous blooms and curious living lights that flit too and fro and innumerable tiny fae sprites engaged in endless games of trickery and chance, all gleaming in a warm, cloying ochre light that fills every space, including those in Usil's lungs. They breathe in. She is here. Their Lady is here.
Usil stares, bewildered by the dramatic shifts in scenery and uncertain of what is to come. Inevitably, they call out to their Lady, drawn to a presence they could recall only in dreams and fractured memories. Concern lingers, however, for the waning soul within the ring, mouthing a half-awed thanks, uncertain of the entity who has remained quiet until now.
"My Lady! I fear I have become mired in the plots and ploys of things greater than I. They keep me from my promise to you, but I believe the coming trials will leave me stronger, that I may herald your blessings and serve your court."
The words fell from Usil's mouth, earnest though tinged with an uncertainty. Usil couldn’t fully remember the how or why they came to be patronized by The Yellow Lady, only that they were and it was something they were pleased to do. They barely remembered their Yellow Lady, but desperately wanted to know more. Usil continued, sputtering coughs through ashen lungs. "I have so many questions, but now, more than ever, I seek guidance!"
A sound almost like laughter fills the rapidly growing ur-forest. No. . . more like. . . the perfect, pure wellspring from which all subsequent laughter arose, muddled and stained by the material world.
"My Forgetful Gardener, I am glad to see that you have filled the spaces we left within with questions. They are the soul's most fertile loam."
The golden warmth intensifies, bleeding through everything Usil can see, leaving hazy streaks through their vision and tears in their eyes. Usil spun around, looking for the Lady while clearing their rheumy eyes.
"We are facing a coven of Night Hags”, they cried out, “that seem bent on wreaking havoc and bringing ruin everywhere. I've seen wonders, teeming with life, here on Kuomazot, and they too are on the verge of being decimated by their taint."
Usil's chest burned, torn by a desire to know more and a need to overcome the coming trials. Time in such liminal spaces was a funny thing, but the pressure of priorities and direness of the situation compelled Usil's focus.
"I wish to see my companions succeed in the coming battle. I beseech thee of a blessing, of knowledge, for anything to see them prevail... Even the silly one with stage magic." Usil composed themself, the fibrous soot of their impending death filling their lungs, eased as it were by the Lady's presence. "You've offered me much, and yet I ask for more. I know not what I could do or offer for such a boon, but ask and I shall make it so."
The laughter continues, growing in an echoing cacophony, resounding from every direction at once; Usil finds some small measure of the laughter is coming from themself, somehow. "Oh, small one. I adore the way that you entangle yourself. You are a persistent little vine, ever seeking the light. My heart aches for the shadow you find yourself mired in. You and all your world. The Fiends stalk the land free and unfettered, and their fire burns away possibility and hope. The magic fades, the world grows dimmer, and further from my touch. Our Garden is so necessary, but I see that this hellfire rests heavy upon your heart."
The crushing weight of the golden light begins to dim, ever so slightly, and with it, their Lady's voice.
"You are. . . elsewhere. And that elsewhere is itself enshrouded in some other layer, and that, within yet another, all that flung far from the mundane grounds and waters you normally tread. Curious. How did you reach me here? Nevertheless. I offer you this, not freely, but because it is needed. The heart of the seka holds a secret, one the Bosaans keep near. While the Fiends clutch their prize with tightening claws, hope yet flowers. Seek out the holy ones, the seers, the elders. Beseech them as you have me. Perhaps more artfully, if you can manage, small one."
"When all this is done, if you are not burned away, seek out Silmaseryn. You must draw nearer to hear what you must hear, and to feel my embrace once more. And if the inferno does indeed take you, rest assured, the one who follows you will ensure your ashes are not swept away in a breeze to be forgotten."
Usil's cheeks redden at the mention of their desperate faux pas, and repeats her words to themself under their breath. They repeat the name 'Silmaseryn' a few more times, almost fearful they might forget. As the Lady's voice fades and her Geas takes hold, Usil stutters from their fixation. "H-how will I know I have found Silmaseryn?"
Although the laughter has faded into the faintest background chiming of tiny golden bells, and though the forest has receded, leaving behind only the grey, the Yellow Lady's voice yet reaches Usil. "When you can ask, 'Hello, mortal friend, have I arrived in the Blessed Between named Silmaseryn?' and receive the response, 'Yes, of course you have; what a terribly strange thing to ask'. Your lovely conundrums are always such a delight, small one. Speaking of which..."
The Nightmare Realm shifts and fluxes, its form transfigured by the rapture of finding its latest prey. Poisoned earth scrapes Usil's knees, barely disguising the vapors that will shortly burn out their lungs. The ring is cold and heavy upon their finger. Chaliya's vile thorn finds purchase, and death arrives.
Usil shot upright drenched in sweat, their yelp breaking the nighttime drone of insects. They curled up next to Soddy, anchoring their reality to the grubby patch of toothy grass and flowers. Usil still felt the fibrous knots in their chest, a reminder of an all-too-real nightmare; Behind it, though, sat a moldering sorrow that was quickly giving way to righteous indignation.