The fountains continued their steady flow, the sound of sprinkling water a constant contrast to staccato footfalls. Jeriah ran unevenly, clutching at his crimson-weeping side, each step becoming more and more erratic; his balance fading as he made blurry progress deeper into a familiar maze. The night was crisp, the blood leaking through his fingers chilling the digits as the wind pressed against him.

God, no, God, no, God, no, God, no that thought hadn't stopped, the boy on autopilot as he ran for his life. The creature that pursued him was a sleek crystalline thing, with cracked mirror-skin and a void filled caldera serving as its face. It kept a leisurely pace, languidly loping on all four bizarrely elongated limbs behind him, contorting its self to change direction and avoiding collision with a fountain's low rim. Other than the strange scrape of its appendages against smooth stone, it never made a sound. Or, if it did, Jeriah could not hear it over the sound of his own labored breathing.

Glancing over his shoulder, he let his eyes fall on the creature in full. It was taller than he by half and bore a semblance to something human, save for its pointed digits and the thin, segmented tail that seemed to twitch and thrash at the air noiselessly. The void of its face seemed to ripple within its uneven confines, pushing at the air around it. A pressure struck Jeriah in mid stride, sending him into an uneven flip.

The world was upside down, the reflective creature taking the place of the moon in his vision. He had cried out, initially, but the sound was cut short by the strange pressure that had come to encapsulate him. Straining against it was a natural impulse, one he had no choice but to indulge, though the action was ultimately futile. Jeriah felt himself hit the side of a fountain, and could somewhat perceive the pain from it; for a moment. Darkness overtook his left eye, and feeling fled from his body altogether.

What the fuck do you want?! He had wanted to scream out, but only managed a mangled gurgle. Jeriah tried to prop himself upright, using the stone wall, but fell into a graceless heap; staring, for a bare moment, at a star-filled sky. Silver filled his vision, splayed digits clasping onto his head easily and digging in just enough to find purchase against his skull. The weight that surrounded him intensified, pulling the air from his lungs and making his entire body too heavy to move. His fingers twitched uselessly, his legs unmoving as he was lifted upward, a quiet hiss filling his ears...and his mind.



The sun kissed his brow and seared his opening eyes. Jeriah drew in a slow breath and rolled in the grass, draping the crook of his arm over his face. What he had seen was more than a relief. He had found himself in a field, strewn with small bushes and lush grass still crowned with dew. The air was untainted by the smells he had become so accustomed to. That mattered little, though.

"I'm alive," he said, his voice soft against the chirping of birds and slow buzzing of nearby insects, "I'm..." Jeriah's voice caught in his throat, but a smile spread across his face. The warmth of the world fell on him in affirming waves. Something rattled as he sat up, something that had been attached to his wrist. Something, he realized upon opening his eyes, that was gigantic and gold; a bracelet, maybe, but it didn't immediately strike him that way. The ring bore a chain, which bore a book; which lay splayed for him to observe. Instead of the landscape, he leaned to closer examine them.

"Yeah, ya sure are," it was loud enough to drive a small flock of birds away, and feminine despite its raucous tone, "what'sya name?" He turned to look, glossing over the few odd flowers scattered amidst the grass to seek the scream-source. She was framed in the doorway of a derelict building, one that looked eaten with age and overwrought with damage. It seemed intensely out of place. Everything seemed intensely out of place, quite suddenly.

She was slender and dark, with a demure, tired cast to her. Strangely, she didn't seem out of place. At least not compared to what Jeriah was used to seeing. The girl wore simple, but modern clothing, all in gray, save for a pair of black rubber sandals; a heavy hoodie and jeans that seemed to have survived more than a night or two. Her drawl he couldn't recognize as Tantian. Her hair was a vibrant shade of pink, he noted, and was cut to neatly frame her face but-

Hold on a second, Jeriah. You're forgetting something.

"How did you hear what I said?" it sprang from his lips, resounding with some volume in her direction. Within a moment he was on his feet, reeling in the book. She regarded him with incredulity, though he could not discern where her gaze was directed; swearing, for a moment, that she glanced at the book. "What is this place?! What happened to me-"

"Because I'm not human, ya mook," the girl yelled in her strange way, waving a hand at him dismissively, "and don't worry, I'm gonna explain everything once all the Dreams are here." Lowering her hand, the girl separated reality in front of her. Or, at least, she opened a portal; disappearing in a subtle distortion of the doorway she had been framed in. The same distortion parted the grass in front of Jeriah. "Name's Rose. You're the Nuncio of Ill Fortune. You're near the Hollow Egress. You should take a minute to look over your cards."

"Are you serious? The what of Ill Fortune? My name is Jeriah..." Regardless, he had already brought the book into his hands and began to pore over the cards. "Wait...what is the Hollow Egress?"

"It's a proving ground. Nice to meet ya, by the way." Rose smiled, along with the words, though there was something sad in the way she looked him over.

Amaya Ito

"Just keep running... No one had ever caught you before, if you keep running everything will be ok..." Amaya repeated to herself as she ran away desperately from the strange creature that followed her. The searing pain she felt when the creature pierced her arm with one of its "legs" was still fresh on her mind. Even as she run, she couldn't even gather the courage to look at her right arm, only holding it to try to stop the bleeding and still running. Any other person should already have passed out due to the pain or the blood loss, the only thing that kept Amaya going was the adrenaline and the instinct to survive.
Her right arm was completely destroyed. Broken in many different places and with a big hole made by the creature, every time her feet touched the ground, a sharp wave of pain reminded her that she would die a very gruesome death if she stopped running.
Amaya didn't knew what was that creature, or what did she wanted... The only thing she knew was that it wanted to kill her, as it was evident after the creature's first attack.

"Please... someone... anyone... help me..." Amaya said, her voice was trembling and faltering, without enough strength to yell, her pathetic cries for help wouldn't reach anyone. She could almost feel the creature getting near to her. It had no difficulty in keeping up with her, it was almost like it was playing with its prey. The creature could easily catch up, but instead it only kept chasing her, close enough to remind her that it could end that pathetic game of cat and rat whenever it wanted. The terrifying feeling that Amaya was experiencing right now was maddening. Facing an unsurmountable power, far greater than her own or anything that she saw or knew, she already knew too well that she was facing her own death. It was impossible to escape or fight the creature. The only thing that kept her going was the feeble hope that she would survive that encounter. But that chase couldn't last forever... Both her body and the creature were starting to get tired of all that...

"No... please don't... I cannot die now..." she thought to herself as her vision started to get darker and her legs started losing strength. The blood loss was finally taking its toll. Tripping on her own legs, she fell on the ground, unable to walk anymore.

The noise of the creature slowly approaching her weak body was terrifying, its steps were slow and rhythmed. It already knew it had won. Amaya knew that she couldn't escape, both her body and mind had already given up. Fading in and out of consciousness, she could only wait. The seconds seemed to be hours, as she kept hearing the creature's steps, getting closer and closer.



Her faint cries of pain echoed through the night, as the creature continued. With no one to hear, Amaya spent her last minutes alive in an agonizing pain, before the darkness came, finally bringing an end to all that.

---

---

Amaya woke up with a feline leap, assuming the same pose a cat would when scared.
Panting heavily and sweating, she looked around with her eyes wide open. Her heart rate was still incredibly fast, but the view surely calmed her down. She was standing on an open field. The warm sun gently touched her skin, the smell of lush, green grass, clear air and earth filled her noses.

Calming down a little, she stood up. Somehow, she wasn't dead, or was she? Her mind was still very confused. The last thing she remembered was pain... and then nothing. She felt as good as she had never felt before. Seeing that open field in front of her made her think only about running and jumping. She knew there was something different with her, but that feeling overwhelmed her.
When she realized, she was already running through the field, jumping, playfully pouncing on tufts of grass and rolling on the soft, green grass. That was when she realized... she was going a bit too fast... faster than she could run before... and why the hell she was running on all fours? But that could wait... The feeling was so good, so exhilarating that nothing really mattered to her.

When she began rolling on a tuft of grass, she saw something with the corner of her eyes. Slender, covered in a beautiful black fur and moving around behind her. She quickly turned around, trying to grab it, only to see that it went on the completely opposite direction. Turning her body again with a sharp turn she finally grabbed the weird thing.

"MEOW!" She let out a yelp, jumping back after feeling a sharp pain when she grabbed it.
Immediately putting her hands over her mouth, surprised with the sound she had just made, she perceived that something was different... Did she always had sharp and long claws? Wait... claws? And why she felt pain when she grabbed that weird furry thing? It was following her, directly behind her and when she grabbed it using her claws she felt... pain?

Getting on all fours again, she looked back, to her own body. There it was. Getting out from the base of her spine, it moved around together with her.

"A tail?" she asked herself, sitting on the ground and taking it on her hands to look at it better.
"Definitely it feels real... it even moves when I try to move it." she thought to herself, carefully inspecting her new tail.
"What is happening...?" she asked, confused, putting her hands on her head, only to discover two cat ears, feeling equally "real".
Standing up like a normal human, she took a good luck at herself.
She didn't know what was happening, but she definitely liked it. She felt faster, stronger, more agile...

"If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up!" she said with a smile, crouching down and pouncing on a tuft of grass again, almost like she was attacking, only to roll down on it once more.

"Purrrrrrr"

Amaya was too busy giggling, enjoying the sounds she made and her new "body" to realize that she wasn't completely alone on that field...

---

---

---

He hadn't the courage to do it alone, so he drank until he felt brave. Soon enough he was too drunk to taste it anymore, or at least too drunk to care, his tongue numbed to its vitriols. He swigged easily from the bottle then, whereas he forced it down in the early hours of his rampage against the self, every swallow sharing company with a cough, a wheeze, and a wince. These are the mating calls of the degenerate and the diseased, Deai-kun thought, and he thought it fitting too that he fit in both categories.

His tongue reeked of bile when not of whisky. The third quarter of the bottle had clawed up his throat, fuming and bubbling all the way, which gave him gratitude for the other two he managed to keep down, the half which dulled the harsh bite of the whisky and lumpy stomach acids foxtrotting along his ragged esophagus. Thinking back on it, he would later regard this incident, too, as a moment of inspiration: deciding that it was not the last flavor he wanted to taste, that pungent flavor of his stomach rotting his teeth out. He tripped his way toward the kitchen, washing the acids down with milk two days past expiration; and because this task wore at his lethargic muscles, he took a moment's rest, basking in the cold mists cascading down from the open refrigerator door. His head knocked against a jar of supermarket kimchi, but he found a comfortable place for it between the egg carton and plastic condiment bottles. His vision spun and splashed and swam like a summer child visiting the coast.

After nearly falling asleep there, he decided to crawl back into the other room, and mustered the motivation for this task, at which point the odor struck him, and he decided to clean the mess, too, so that just as it would not be the last offense inflicted upon tongue, neither would his nose suffer his own purged contents. Back to the kitchen he crawled, feeling quite baby-like now, on his hands and knees and dripping from the lips with his own stenches. Having grabbed a rag from the stovetop, he managed to mop most of it up from the corner, although its rancid color had seeped into the carpet, so he apologized preemptively to the landlord who was not present in the room, throwing the rag over the drying puddle as if it were the loyal carpet's death-shroud.

Glancing over at the noose and chair, he wondered if he should dress in something nicer, so as not to shame his mother any further; finding his body not just hanging from a flickering light fixture with a dying fly buzzing around inside its dome, but also dressed in stained socks (stale), stained boxers (stale), stained tank-top (fresh and wet), would not do well by her heart made feeble with age. But Deai-kun remembered reading somewhere that when the body died, it lost control of its sphincters, and that he would probably shit himself posthumously. Knowing that, he decided he was not in a great position to argue with himself on the finer points of dignity.

He was running out of excuses, reasons to postpone. It seemed he didn't want to die after all, not really, not if even hard liquor was powerless to stop him from coming to his senses. Still, he scanned the length of the rope up and down repeatedly, convincing himself that although, yes, perhaps he was a coward after all, in truth he was probably just acting with caution and care. After all, if he managed to fail even at a task such as this, what dream had he the right to chase? What love did he deserve, what respect, what pride, what sympathies? So he obsessed over the structural integrity of the rope awhile, searching it for frays and loose ends which would spell failure for his expedition. Despite, or maybe because of, the blurred focuslessness in his eyes, no faults found him.

Finally he pulled himself up and away from the puddle and rag (which he very nearly made his pillow, in the same manner as the eggs and soy sauce), holding his arms away from his sides for balance. Uncle Doug still clung by the glue of his label to the empty bottle of Very Old which bore his namesake, though he'd been tossed abusively toward the window, perhaps so Yasushi could see which of the two would break, which between them was weaker. This is it, then? the man still living and the man who regretted that fact but who didn't really want to kill himself, the man who wanted to just vanish conveniently so he had no choice in the matter and wouldn't feel any pain or panic in the process, the man who never got his likeness or his name onto a bottle of whisky just for being so damned distinguished in the facial features, asked to himself. It's finally time to nut up, then, and do what I set out to do? He wasn't really a man, though; a man-shaped object, like a gun that doesn't fire, or a knife too dull to cut the meringue on top of a pie.

Fine, then, let's do it, he said, and then he began the long and arduous process of mounting the summit of the little armchair, his ankles quivering all the while, either with weakness or with all the built-up adrenaline masked underneath the fog which the drink had thrown over his mind. So he knew in his slouching, swaying way that when he threw his head through the loop he would need to be ready to die, truly ready, because once he was inside the contraption, his legs would give out any moment afterward just from the sheer laziness and weakness which the whisky imbued in him. It was like his nervous system had been half-severed, so all his signals were sent out with a fraction of their previous strength, so he needed to put twice the effort into staying alive, but really, why did he bother climbing onto the chair then if he was going to try to save himself anyway? Yasushi peered through the loop and although he expected to see some sort of hope, a beacon, a light at the end of the tunnel, a sign that he was destined for greater things if he would just stop and reconsider, instead he saw the hole in the wall where he'd been too careless with a ball shot (regulation size, weight, and density). Where the wood was splintered and the paint had begun to chip downward, the bareness spreading over the wall's face like leprosy. That does it, he said, and he tightened the rope around his thick, sinewy neck.

Having neared, by yet another monumental step, the freedom he sought, yet again he tried to pause, to contemplate, to decide whether he'd regret this, but his head spinning and his knees buckling only added urgency to the matter. He remembered survivor testimonies he'd seen, where people who jumped off bridges and in front of trains spoke passionately in front of audiences full of middle-aged moms about how they regretted it the moment they let go of the railing, how their bodies panicked, how they realized in their last seconds that they didn't want to die, not at all, literary prizes and standing ovations and cries of "you're such an inspiration" and all the rest. And just as Yasushi began to wonder whether he'd meet a God wherever he ended up, and whether where he was going would actually be more miserable than his time spent here on earth, he took pause to notice he could not breathe.

He saw the chair, but because he was drunk, and frantic, and maybe plain stupid, as he tried to kick his feet back up onto the seat of it, his blurred and sluggish vision saw him kicking the chair away instead. It was out of reach now, and he knew for a moment, morbidly futile as it was, that he was to die. Suddenly he remembered he had arms, but pulling on the rope was a worthless endeavor too, for in addition to making him stupid, the whisky made him feeble and tired, and he could not keep up his strength, certainly not in one arm while the other tried to work at the knot which would loosen the loop around his neck. He began to flail and writhe then, with no thought whatsoever for how pathetic he looked, like a fish wrested from water or an earthworm drowning in a rain puddle as it scrambled for daylight. He tried to scream for help, knowing that the neighbor to his apartment's immediate left was quite young and good of hearing, and quite lonely too, so he'd be nearby and he'd hear Yasushi's cries for help when they bounced through the thin walls. But the sound emerging from Yasushi's strangled throat sounded like a hoarse croak instead because in his frenzied state he'd forgotten altogether that he was being strangled, not stabbed or shot or injected with venom, and in the end it did no good at all.

In the moments he had left he pondered how he couldn't believe his raw imbecility. Until these moments he had forgotten so many things he wanted to say, the places he wanted to sightsee, the foods he wanted to eat, the women he wanted to love, the sons and dogs he wanted to rear up from fat babies and naked pink puppies. Instead he had chosen whisky, whisky and death and despair and inertia. He had refused to leave this dreadful apartment when he was able, and now that he could not, he wanted more than anything to smile stupidly at the sunshine and say "It's such a wonderful day, isn't it?" like every other damned idiot on the street. His limbs weakened and went slack. The pain in his lungs grew exponentially until he wished they would explode so the carbon dioxide would just stop poisoning him already!

His vision darkened too, but as he swiveled from the tensile whimsies of the rope, he could have sworn that he saw a figure in the doorway. Lean and jagged and angular, like some kind of monster, but that must have been his brain starving for oxygen, really. He hoped it was his mother, come to cut him loose and push his mouth to her nipple one last time. But he doubted it. Whoever this stranger was, he seemed to smile at the irony of it all. It was Death, then, or Yasushi's personified idea of Death, dredged up from the darkest recesses of his desperate mind.

Kintaro Hiorihanzo stepped into the ring surrounded by men, their cries for blood and violence roared through the abandoned steel mill. His heart was pumping as the excitement grew in him, this is it! The final fight for all the prize money, just one more fight and it's all mine. He thought to himself stretching his arms and legs before pounding his fists together, it was his fourth fight of the night, his body ached and his wounds from the previous fights were starting to hurt. He was going to be sore after this, but if he won it would be worth it. He looked at the man across from him, might as well should have been a body builder with his physique, tanned skin and tall, muscular frame. He might be trouble, but Kintaro didn't get here on good looks alone. He and his opponent came to the centre of the ring where the announcer stood.

"Alright men, this fight is on for 2 rounds, ten minutes each. The winner wins the prize money of $4000, the loser will receive $1000. Only way to win is by knock out or submission, if none of those conditions are met then your shit out of luck and each only get $500."

Kintaro smirked, "Hey shitface, how about we make things interesting. Winner takes all, loser walks away with nothing but the shit in his pants from the beating he's about to take and yes I am talking about your future." He taunted the man hoping he would take his bait.

"Oh think your tough asshole, your on! You won't even need the money because you'll be dead!" Shouted the man.

"Alright then we have a deal, winner takes all! Are you ready for the storm that's brewing because I don't think you are." Replied Kintaro as he made his way back to his corner, the other man did the same.

The announcer left the ring and the crowd roared over the new news, this was going to be an amazing fight for them. The announcer went to a corner of the ring and announced "FIGHT!"

The crowd was on their feet as both men met in the in the middle, and the fight began. The man immediately threw a right punch to the face of Kintaro, but he was expecting that. Men like his opponent didn't like to be insulted so they usually go to the one place when angry, the face. So Kintaro was already on the move under the fist and began to throw left hooks into the mans right side of his body where the liver would be. The man grimaced in pain and tried to grab him, but Kintaro was already on the move, swiftly shifting beside the man and kicked at the mans right leg. His opponent twisted and swung his arm, hitting Kintaro's upper arm, no real damage but it still hurt, he rolled with the blow and came back on his feet.

The man jumped at him, his arms wide wanting to get ahold of him. He was met with a flurry of short swift punches to the mans stomach and when the man crouched over in pain his head was met with a high kick throwing it back up. He could see that this was his chance, he kicked his right leg out to move around behind the man and got his arms around his neck. He quickly followed up by placing his legs and making and "r" shape his left leg parallel with the mans waist line and his right leg overt top lining paralle to the mans leg and pulling that leg towards him, cutting of blood flow from the mans waist down. He then began moving his arms, his left arm wrapping tightly against the mans exposed neck and putting his right arm over top using the inside of his elbow as a fulcrum and pulling that same arm to the back of the mans head.

The man desperately tried to shake him of and pull his arms apart, but it wouldn't work, he was locked in and not letting go.

"Time to go to sleep shitface." Kintaro taunted as he pulled tighter, the man's body soon became weak and began to fall. The light in his eyes glazed over as he passed out from blood and air loss.

"Kintaro is the winner!" The announcer yelled to the crowd that repsonded with cheers. Kintaro raised his hand and smiled in victory.

"Now who can hook me up with a joint? Trust me when I say I can afford it." He jokingly asked as he waved his $6000 winnings.

After a short time Kintaro was in his normal clothes again, putting them on over his fighting attire, grabbed his traveling bag and lit his joint before continuing on to the nearest hotel and bar. He inhaled deeply, let the smoke enter his lungs completely before exhaling as deeply letting he smoke leave his lungs.

"*Large Sigh* it just never gets old." He confirmed with himself as he entered the blissful haze of getting high. He walked calmly down the nearest street, counting his money and checking out his travelling joint case. He counted 20 joints, should be good enough for the time being. Now he just wanted a beer further his celebration before going to sleep.

But then he heard a noise coming from the alley across from him, the street light must have been broken because the figure that he thought he saw didn't make sense.
That don't look human to me, this joint better not be laced with something or I'm going back to that guy and giving him a piece of my fist. He wiped his eyes and looked again and the figure was gone, Ah man, maybe I won't have that beer, he thought as he shrugged and continued on.

A noise came from behind him.

"Alright you little shit, if your trying to mug me then you've got another thing coming!" He yelled as he put down his pack close to him and positioned himself in a fighting stance. He felt a tap again on his shoulder and turned with a kick, but it hit nothing. The figure stood right in front of him and he felt as if he had hit nothing. It's mouth opened he felt his last moments were throwing a fist out before being consumed with darkness.

=============

He woke up to... sunlight? Oh man what the f*** is going on? Did I smoke some potent shit, or did I get drunk and wonder off onto a field? He rubbed his head, he didn't have a headache like he would if he were to drink and thought hard. The dark image flashed and he remembered and placed his hands on his head again and rubbed his...What in the world, that doesn't feel like hair, that feels like fur! He moved his hands out in front of him and saw that his arms were covered in gold fur and his hands were not normal skin, but a thick skin, like that of a monkey. But he couldn't be a monkey, he was human!

He pushed his arms down to get him to stand up and noticed a significant change in strength as if threw his body off the ground and into the air. He then came back to the ground and landed softly on his feet, which evidently enough were now shaped like hands instead of feet. He looked at his body and realized he had some type of armour on, metallic of some kind but light easy to move in and it didn't cover him completely, just where it needed to be and the rest was the same gold coloured fur that was on his arms. He leaned over feeling like he was going to throw up, and reached his right arm out, he then felt something solid in that hand and when he looked he saw that he was being supported by a tall cudgel staff, he moved his hand away and it dissipated into the air.

"Holy shit, they always said I acted like a monkey enough I would become one but this is insane!" He said in a much lower, guttural tone that sounded like a low growl. "Even my voice has changed!" He yelled.

He then stopped to think what he should try next and the idea came to him, he squatted down thought for a second and pushed up trying to jump as high as he could. When his feet left the ground his soared far higher than he could have imagined. He laughed for he felt it was the only thing he could do, then after a time he came back down, maybe this place isn't real, maybe it's not earth and has a different gravity than normal he thought as he fell. As he began falling down from the sky he couldn't help but wonder. I wonder if I'm immortal here...oh shit what if I'm not! He thought losing his concentration of how far down to the ground he was, realizing it was to late he just closed his eyes and landed with a giant thud that made a crater of a few metres where he landed. Dirt flew up into the sky from the impact, Kintaro grunted in pain. Oh! so I'm not impervious to pain, that's good to know. But I am also not dead and that is also good to know! As he rolled over and took a few deep breaths as the dirt from the impact fell on him, he just lied there and couldn't help but laugh loudly, wherever he was it sure was a different and he felt like he was going to like it here. Then something snapped, his joints ah man that would be a shame if he lost them, he felt around himself and found a metal case hidden in his armour, he opened it up and saw them. He breathed out heavily again, now he could put up living here. He then began to think of what else was possible in this world, or if other people were even around here like him, he figured he should go searching but for right now he was fine just laying down in his crater.

Aurelia’s evening had begun so well. The Heights, her natural stomping ground, had more than their fair share of refined entertainments and gourmet cuisine fit to sate even the most jaded of palates, and if one desired something a little earthier, a little more raucous, a little closer to the thrum of a racing heart, well, then there was the Emerald Triangle and its nebulous, encircling belt of nightclubs, bars, pleasure arcades and much else besides that made up the city’s unofficial Clubland.

Aurelia Campbell-Ross was no stranger to these entertainments, and there was always something subtly seductive about the siren call of an anonymous night in Clubland, where the throb of the music matched the pounding heartbeat, the lights dazzled and the whole clientele were given over to the pursuit of their own pleasure. Right there and then, in the sweaty, sticky, alcohol-fuelled moment, nobody cared who Aurelia Campbell-Ross was, except as a pretty prospect for further…cavorting…down the line.

It was liberating.

After a long day of work, all power-suits and tablets and endless meetings, there was something very attractive about stepping out of her razor-sharp professional tailoring and into the lighter, stretchier embrace of her party frocks.

The security and staff of Elysium Tower – one of the most imposing of the cluster of needle-pointed skyscrapers that dominated the Palatine Heights, and her home in the city - were colossally well-paid, and as a consequence, loyal and discreet. Self-effacing almost to the point of becoming furniture, and turning well-trained blind eyes to the actions of the building’s inhabitants, they were trusted enough that the DPG stashed visiting VIPs in the Tower, secure in the knowledge that any little personal foibles would be discreetly attended to, without anyone in the outside world being the wiser. Given the sorts of things they must have seen over the years, then, it was hardly surprising they didn’t bat an eyelid at her occasional habit of slumming it, and had always proved most adept at quietly ensuring her date for the evening had been tidied neatly away before she returned the next day.

Young, attractive – if not beautiful – and with money to burn, Aurelia had drunk and danced and flirted her way through several of the city’s finer entertaining establishments, following her usual spiral out from the needle of the Tower that was her home. She’d acquired a fiery redhead on her arm, too, all milk-pale skin and bright green eyes and an explosive, startled – and startling – laugh which regularly split the air as they went from restaurant to bar and then to club whilst the sky darkened into night and the jewelled spires of the city’s skyscrapers lit up for their evening extravaganza.

And then it had all started to go wrong. They’d been in one of the many squares that dotted the Heights, this one framed by ornamental cherry trees in pleached array and with an illuminated fountain in its centre, laughing and talking and the both of them turning their thoughts to stickier things when it appeared, sliding into view from the sparse shadows between two of the glittering skyscraper titans.

At first, neither of them had paid it much mind; from a distance it had been no more than a shadow, strangely proportioned – no doubt due to the innumerable lights in the plaza – but as it drew closer and attracted the eye, the wrongness of its motion had bled through into Aurelia’s consciousness and demanded her attention.

Perhaps it was simple paranoia that came from being one of the Campbell-Ross clan, but Aurelia had a sudden, sharp, obscenely incontrovertible impression that it was here for her. Turning to her companion du nuit, she kept her voice calm and unworried, giving no sign of her sudden, sharp-edged concern.

“I smell malatang,” she remarked with a winning smile that only those who knew her well – which did not include her current companion – would recognize as false. “And I’m starving. Be a sweetheart and go get some, would you?” She fished some cash out of her pocket even as she spoke, directing her lovely redhead towards the street vendor’s discreet stall some way away – and out of the direct path of whatever it was that was coming.

To forestall any objection about separating – even for a few moments – she smiled again, this time with just a soupcon of embarrassment. “Call of nature,” she explained, and her date’s eyes lit with understanding.

Thus disengaged, Aurelia assessed her options quickly, hearing her heartbeat pound in her ears.

Cloaked in shadow, the thing’s loping stride had covered much of the plaza’s glittering expanse already, and whilst at first – particularly to a slightly drink-mazed eye – it had appeared as nothing more than a tall, slender man in a heavy greatcoat – as it drew closer she realised with another crystal-cold shock that it wasn’t – couldn’t be – human. Too long, too thin, moving with a serpentine grace that nothing on two legs had.

‘The important thing,’ she thought wildly to herself, amid the screaming internal cacophony, ‘Is not to panic!’ And yet she was panicking; fear rolled off the thing pursuing her – and it was pursuing her; its course had altered in a lazy curve the moment she’d peeled off from her companion – in almost palpable waves.

People, that was what she needed, and lots of them. Bright lights, cameras, recording devices, the police – anything that made something stand out. Which was a shame, because she’d picked this particular square for its lack of all of those. Good for a spot of romance – or something that looked like it in poor light - much less so for drawing attention.

Fuck.

Elysium Tower had security, it was true, and – if she could get to it – the advantage of a half-mile vertical rise, but getting to it was indeed the problem; she’d ranged far from home by this point. There would be no mad dash back to its safety.

Fuck.

Aurelia was no athlete – she’d always much preferred reading a book to pounding round a track, or else luxuriating in a whirlpool bath instead of endless, repetitive lengths of a pool – but she wasn’t grossly out of shape, either, and fear lent fire to her muscles as, from a leisurely strolling start, she stretched into a full sprint. Sure enough, the thing followed her, sinuously drawing closer with every coiling, leaping bound, flitting from shadow to light-drinking black glass to covered doorway almost without crossing the intervening distance.

She caught glimpses of it as she ran, reflecting in the polished glass and metal of the buildings on either side. A stretched-out creature, all interlocking segments that joined together in ways that made her head hurt and pulsed with a wavering tyrian light like an impossible heartbeat. Its skin – if skin was the right word – was volcanic glass, or something like it, warped by incredible heat. Its forearms curved smoothly into sabres of that same stuff, and it raised them with wicked intent as it came, utterly silent.

Aurelia winced. She knew just how sharp an obsidian edge could be – until recently, the very best surgical blades had been obsidian.
She had no breath left to call out, and focused all her remaining energy on the chase. A swift zigzag took her down a side-street – empty at this time of night, but a shortcut that would shave precious seconds off her pell-mell flight to the bright lights of the city centre and the police HQ there.

The white wedding-cake of Serenity Memorial flashed past, just visible in the gaps between the buildings, and Aurelia could hear the sweet sound of crowds and the authoritative wail of sirens in the near distance, drawing closer with every frantic, pounding step.
A wild smile cut itself across her face, and then died a-borning as, rising from the shadows, the air itself erupting into solidity, the thing which had chased her, toyed with her made itself manifest once more.

She half-turned, sudden and desperate, her fear-filled scream fazing the creature not one bit, and as she turned it reached out one glittering sabred forearm and opened her up down to her spine, a long slash which cut from hip to shoulder and spilt her guts, her lifeblood and shattered fragments of bone out onto the street with a contemptuous flick.



Warmth. That was the first thing that she registered, swimming back to consciousness from whatever hadean limbo she’d existed in. Warmth and light, welcome against her skin and sending a red-orange glow through her closed eyelids.

Her sensitive nose twitched as she took in a first, disbelieving breath and was assailed by all the smells of summer – warm grass, the perfume of flowers and that indefinable scent of the season itself.

Which was, plainly, impossible. It had been night, for one, the last she remembered, and that thing had come upon her in the middle of the city, far from any sources of grass or flowers.

Aurelia sat bolt upright and scrabbled at her clothes, heedless of the damage as fingers ripped and tore and found, beneath the fabric, hale, whole, utterly unmarked skin. She stared in disbelief at it, and then deliberately took her pulse, finding it hammering reassuringly away.

Just as it always had – albeit usually more slowly.

“What in god’s name is going on?” she asked herself plaintively, her clear tones cutting through the background drone of busy insects.

The silver jangling of bells against old, hardened wood danced against the cluttered walls of the store, bringing with it a warm, pungent air that seeped its way through the Reliquary, lifting a light layer of dust from the main counter and casting it into the breeze. A pale young woman stood at the doorway, kicking a small plastic stop under the thin gap between the wood and the tile, stepping back to stare for a moment at her labor before striding into the stone alley, where a young couple, heads knocked together in affection, waltzed past, and the tabby cat which made its nest in the apartment just upstairs pawed toward a darkened corner, perhaps on the hunt for its next meal. So it was every morning, though the couple would sometimes be exchanged with an older man walking the opposite direction, or there would be no other person at all. But the time was always 8:56, for that was a minute after Ramla would arrive, so long as she always left her home on time.

Above, a single cloud rolled its way across the blue sky, the sun still hidden behind the buildings across the alley, leaving the front of the store in a faint shadow. Ramla turned around, stepping back into the front of the cramped shop, where she glanced about for a brief moment before walking further inside, moving behind the counter and, reaching a hand to the wall, flicked at a switch, illuminating the store in a bright yellow light. Mere moments later, a creaking resonated from the rear of the boutique, fading in and out, slowly, as each squeak of ancient wood drew closer, until finally, a figure was seen descending the stairs, short in stature, though wide, and hunched over in age.

The girl had already left her spot from behind the counter at this point, and was busily glancing up and down the stacks of paraphernalia, taking mental stock, planning how she would reorganize the minuscule portion of the store's surplus this day, which would inevitably be left unfinished when she would leave in the evening. Still, she had made a point of tidying the numerous stacks of clutter in her time there, dusting, cleaning, polishing, counting, sorting, arranging, stacking; she had already fixed up the whole front of the store, leaving a much greater amount of room for patrons to walk into and wander about in, so if anything caught their fancy, there would be less risk for them to grab it and have the whole of the store fall upon their heads and crush them. This seemed to both please and irritate the elderly owner, as he had to reacquaint himself with how his store was sorted, though he was not entirely without thanks.

And so it had been every day of every week, save for each Monday, when Rangi would say to the girl: "Come again tomorrow, today is my day of prayer," though Ramla knew the old man was not a religious sort, and told him that she would work quietly, since she knew his reasoning for being closed on that particular day was more from his laziness and tiredness which he had acquired from old age, but Rangi would still send her away regardless, leaving her to wander the streets of her new home. Often, though, she would simply return to her small apartment, read, and think, frequently of her family, and occasionally of her own life, and of the few people she had met and enjoyed the company of - those who would frequent the shop, and those who had been kind to her and would walk with her either to or from work.

Today was no different from any other day - each customer which entered would ponder, pace, and grab something which suited their fancy, glance at it a bit, sometimes set it down, other times make their purchase, but most were silent in their observances, save for the occasional flirt which would make attempts at Ramla, who would only smile and politely decline, and a good number were frequent visitors, and after each would leave, the old man behind the counter would sit up in his chair, make a snide remark, laugh, and Ramla would continue her work, smiling, enjoying the man's company as she knew he did hers. As this particular day approached closing hours, there was a sudden rush of customers, many young and hip, each appreciating the shop's bizarre appearance, and for the first time in her seven months there, Ramla had become enthralled in work, and Rangi was seemingly overjoyed, moving with great haste as he hadn't done in many years.

As their last customer had made his purchase and had stepped into the secluded alley, Ramla stepped over to the door, kneeling over to remove the plastic stop, and let it close by its own will, coming to the counter where Rangi sat, fumbling about with the money in the register, counting steadily, a bright beam spread across his face and through his long gray beard. Ramla smiled at this, and turned to begin cleaning, when the old man spoke in his cracked, aged drawl.

"What makes you so sad?"

It was a bit startling to her, and she turned back around at the gruff voice, her amber eyes locking upon the gruff man who had spoken them. There was a brief moment of silence between them, leaving a bleak air which grew in cheerlessness, until Rangi again spoke, "I know there is something which bothers you. But, it is no matter to me; I'm only an old man, and I have no better things on my mind than to worry," standing, the man's height was only a few inches from matching that of the counter, and grabbing at a stack of bills he had set aside, plodded his way to stand in front of the girl, and handed the clump to her gingerly, patted her hand, and turned, trudging then toward the stairs which led to his home above the Reliquary. For another moment, Ramla stood there, then walked behind the counter, grabbed her bag, put the money inside, and began to tidy up the little she had energy to clean, before walking again behind the counter, turning off the light switch, and left the store, closing and locking the old wooden door as she went.

---

The city had darkened as night had fallen, leaving little place within the alley illuminated, even by streetlight. She turned to the right, setting her destination toward home, and walked. It was strange, as she thought she felt a presence, but paid it no mind, continuing her walk as she had every other night. Indeed in the evening she had had the most run-ins with drunkards and petty thieves, though often she would get away safely, so rather than pay mind to whatever it was behind her, she had thought it best to wait for it to confront her, especially now that she was approaching the corner, and the light was growing, and now she was only a few steps away...

"'Eyyy, Rammy, my girl," the voice was drawled and slurred with liquor, and uncomfortably familiar. From around the corner he turned, fancy puffed-up suit and swept back, greasy hair, covered in some sort of rancid animal fat that stabbed out at the air with a ferocity, which only made Ramla wince. A hand slapped against the brick, and there he stood, obnoxiously blocking her path, perhaps unaware of how much of a fool he was making of himself, yet he persisted. "How've you been, baby? I haven't seen ya in a bit, ya know, and I was gettin' lonely," as he spoke, the stench of booze exhumed from his mouth as if one could trace its approach. Ramla turned her gaze away from him instead, looking back, seeking out what had been following her, but behind her was a clear alley, just as it had been every other night. The man took note of this, and more abrasively, spoke: "You, what, mute now? No 'hi', no 'scram, Jeffy?' Come on, Rammy, I've been missin' ya, at least pay me some mind, ya know?" He promptly lowered his hand from the wall, pocketing it, and standing as stoically as he could muster, though he was too drunk to stand on his own, and he was swiftly rumpled over, leaning toward Ramla, falling. She took a step back to let him drop, kicking her foot out as his head approached the cement to soften the impact. Swiftly she stepped around him, walked forward, glancing back as she went, making sure there was no one there, for as well as she could tell.

She walked at a hurried pace, throwing quick glances behind her every now and then, hating that she had let the paranoia set in. She was a few short blocks from her home, keeping in the light as well as she could, though she noticed how barren the streets were, as they hadn't been so deserted for as long as she knew of, always being bums and drunkards about, singing or hunched over one another, but tonight there was no one. This worried her more, though the presence she had felt before seemed to diminish, but she still would turn her head behind her, and as her head came back around each time, she felt it again, as if it knew whenever she would look to hurriedly hide itself.

There was one more corner for her to turn, and as she did so, the dim yellow from the overhead street lights entirely vanished, and she saw nothing but a looming shadow - darker than the deepest black, and more sinister than her most devilish nightmares, it stood, no face upon its absolute void-like shade. A moment of hesitation passed, then horror struck, painting her face in terror. Yet she stood there in silence, just as the shade did with her, and they stared at each other a moment, almost locked in a trance, stopping time itself. A million thoughts rumbled through Ramla's mind in only a short moment, but they were cut off in a flash, for her whole vision was enveloped, as was her breath, and her body, and finally, her cognition, until everything was dark, and nothing seemed to remain.

---

---

The wind blew at her hair, and her eyes opened to peer up at a single cloud rolling its way across the blue sky, with the smell of flowers and wild grass tugging at her nose, pulling her to sit upright, where she sat and glanced about in a haze - the vastness of the bright meadow almost blinding her, but setting her mind at an unsure ease, which she pondered for a moment, trying to focus her thoughts to what had just occurred. A single yellow butterfly danced and fluttered about in front of her, pulling close toward her frock, landing with silence and grace upon her shoulder.

---

---

Left... Right... Left again... But maybe behind me?

Rosemary's eyes dashed back and forth in every direction. The so often calculated and level-headed girl was at her breaking point. No matter where she went, it always seemed to follow, appearing just in her peripherals, and never long enough for her to analyze its form in full. Instead, Rosemary only caught glimpses of it, which only led to her building more and more intrigue. She just had to know what seemed to trace her every movement- what followed her relentlessly every day without fail. All the poor girl knew of her stalker was its vaguely humanoid appearance and its constantly silhouetted form. The rest of its shapes were indiscernible, but that didn't stop Rosemary from being overtaken by an eerie, haunting feeling whenever it graced her vision. The thoughts of the man following her had started to plague her every waking moment. Her pace was always hurried, no matter where she went. Even as she strolled through her own apartment building, she moved swiftly with anxiety in every step. It wasn't until the poor paranoia-plagued girl jumped inside her family's apartment and slammed the door shut, barring her back against it, that she exhaled a sigh of relief. It was so trivial for something like a simple hallucination, but that didn't matter to Rosemary. Her fears just took over sometimes.

But now she was safe. Rosemary exhaled a sigh of relief, rolling her shoulders a bit as she opened her eyes to the safety of her own sanctuary. It was all dark, but perhaps that was better. No shadows could chase her in a room that was already encompassed in darkness. Slowly the paranoia started to die down, but as Rosemary pushed open the door to her own room before her stood something she'd never seen before. It was, for once, full-bodied. The shadow before her no longer hid invisibly in her peripheral vision. She was right in her inferences to its appearance. The creature appeared as black as shadow, though as much as its form looked like smoke, it was solid. Its appearance wasn't what brought the fear filling Rosemary's body once more, though. It's mutant-esque mass of misplaced flesh spreading all throughout its body and its patches of misplaced tufts of midnight black fur left it with a grotesque appearance. It was a bulky monstrous figure, with very little similarities to any man. It was no human... Just staring at the thing brought back so many negative feelings. Rosemary just wanted to run, and when she saw the thing move even a little bit, there was nothing stopping her.

The girl dashed back towards the way she came. She could hear a wailing behind her, as if the creature tailed her without giving up a step, but when she glided back out the front door to her apartment, all the sounds stop. All went silent save for the poor girl's heavy, panicked breaths. Rosemary had not a moment's respite, though, as the beast reappeared as quickly as it always had. Jumping from the corner of Rosemary's eyes at the end of the one of the long hallways, she could see the shadows hastily rushing towards her. She wasted not even a moment to proceed. Perhaps if Rosemary hadn't been on edge the entire day, she wouldn't have made the daring... or not so daring escape to the hall's opposite end. Given even a few seconds more, the beast would have undoubtedly outrun the young girl, but as Rosemary entered the stairwell, she seemed to gain some ground. As soon as she crashed through the door, the creature seemed caught up, but that didn't stop Rosemary from bolting up the stairwell even further.

Her pace didn't slow even slightly until Rosemary found herself out of stairs and weakly reaching out to desperately grasp at the final door's handle and bursting out onto the roof. She didn't even care to look back yet. That was a second thought in her mind as she first scanned the bleak concrete rooftop. Empty... Please let it stay that way. As Rosemary slowly and cautiously rotated around to few a full three-hundred and sixty degrees. She let out a sigh, peering back towards the unmoving door. It was just a shape... A hallucination. Why was I scared? It couldn't do anythi- Rosemary's thoughts all ceased as something smashed into her body. The shadows she'd so often find herself timidly evading speared directly into her side. The creature came from the sheer drop at one of the roof's edges, moving so fast that she hadn't even a second to react as she was tackled off the edge of the building.

So this is where it all ended. The creature was less than a meter away from Rosemary also in freefall. Her last vision was entirely coveted by the creature. It roared loudly, exposing a gnarled set of pure white fangs bigger than any shark's teeth. No... No... This couldn't be it. Rosemary's last thoughts were plagued with nothing but shadow.

---

Everything was black. Her vision coveted nothing but... well nothing. It wasn't static, however. Instead, the color before her wavered until greys and colors exploded before her. She began see. Noises of whistling winds and distant casual voices. She began to hear, and when finally the wind rolled over her body and blades of grass swished and caressed against her skin, she began to feel. Everything was fine? The girl let out a confused sigh of relief as she sat upright. Glancing left and right, she could see a few others in similar positions or prancing about in the grass. It was a peaceful place. Had it not been for her previous memory, Rosemary would have felt serene. All had seemed well until she caught a glimpse of what appeared directly before her: A black shadowy mass, shimmering gently as if some sort of ghastly incorporeal creature, but real all the same.

Rosemary scrambled backwards, unable to rise to her feet with such urgent panic overtaking her mind. Her hands rose in front of her as she cowered, eyes squeezing tightly shut. A short scream escaped the girl's lips as she finally started to comprehend, or at least recognize what was happening before her. Her paranoia had finally given way. There was no emotion within Rosemary at the moment-- No emotion but fear. It was happening again. Was once not enough?

"What kind of proving ground? I'm still not entirely sure what's going on, here," Jeriah took his eyes from a particularly faded card depicting a twisted spire beseiged by lightning, closing the book automatically, "it's all kind of...I don't know, surreal?" That was, perhaps, the most mild way he could have phrased it. True, the shock of his death and removal from familiar elements still remained; but there was an eager, nigh voracious curiosity that had crept its way to the forefront.

Rose's gaze had lost its former melancholy, returning to an unreadable placidity. She folded her arms across her stomach, only slightly turning her head to face the Pariah Dream. "The Hollow Egress serves as a kind of nexus, in Navain." Sensing the coming question, she pointed a finger towards the building looming behind them. "Navain, by the way, is the place you're in. The, uh, world you're in." Jeriah nodded, but offered no interruption. "You're takin' all of this pretty well, over all, Jerry. I expect some of the others might be a bit more, uh, intense about the situation." She looked away from him, out over the field. "They're already starting to show up."

Straining his eyes offered no indication that the two of them were anything but alone. The grassy expanse had not changed in the slightest, save for the earlier fleeing of birds. "I guess you're right," he said, sighing afterward, taking a few slow steps toward the concrete monolith, "I should probably be flipping my shit about now, huh?" From the corner of his eye, he saw the Guide smile. "I guess anywhere's better than New Graeline, though. Do you want to explain some of what you're talking about? Or should I just dive into The Hollow Egress?"

She's got a point. You're being awfully chill about all of this. You did kind of die a few minutes ago, right? If that's the case, why does this place feel like a huge relief? It has to do with more than just getting away from that thing, doesn't it?

"No way, that'd be suicide!" Rose turned fully, lifting her right hand to point an accusing finger at him, "It's my job to look after you and the others, so listen up! I'm only gonna run this down, for you, once. Got it?" Jeriah nodded, placing his book-and-chain into the nook of his armpit. The girl waited a moment before finally nodding in return. "Ok, so you're currently in what could be referred to as a disjointed reality. That means that what you're seeing isn't what other people from your world are seeing. This place twists the meaning of 'time and space'. Where you're standing here, at the entrance, there are others who are just now noticing my presence. Soon, I'll be talking to them. However, I'll also, maybe, still be talking to you.

"How does that work...?"

"Well, s'pretty complicated. I'll explain the more nuanced points of that once you've managed to make your way through the Egress. For now, just accept what I'm sayin' for what it is. You're going to need to meet up with the others inside that place, once they've entered, since it seems like you're gonna be the 'first' to go in. When you're in there, you guys are gonna have to cooperate to find your Anchors." Unfolding her arms, she took a few brisk steps towards the entrance. "I can't enter, there, so it's all on you and the other Dreams to figure out exactly how you're gonna accomplish that. You've all been granted Manifestations. Like your book, there. I dunno the specifics of your power, so don't ask. That's for you to discover."

"Right, got it. So why did you call it a 'proving ground'?"

"Ah, yeah, sorry, totally forgot to answer ya on that one. This place, like I said, is a nexus. In there you'll be meeting up with the others. In the center, prolly a ways down, you'll each find something called an Anchor. An Anchor serves to supplement your Manifestation, and your existence in this world; which means that you and your new 'friends' will be able to interact with one another on the same 'plane' of this world, rather than havin' to go it alone, once ya get out. It won't just be you guys in there, though. A place like this attracts all sorts of, uh, 'phantasms' I guess you could call 'em." She paused, looking around for a moment. "I'm not sure how to put it in terms other than 'a bunch of things that want to kill you and steal your existence for themselves'."

What the fuck is she on about? It makes sense, in a few ways...but there's a lot that I'm not being told. Wonder why she can't go in...or what a Dream is. I guess we'll find out, on the way...

"I know, I know, it prolly sounds like I'm avoiding giving you the big picture. I'm not really allowed to tell you a lot of what's going on, at least not until you get your Anchor. On the plus, though, once you do that there'll be a chance for you to go back home!" Jeriah nodded, but his heart felt heavy. Returning home didn't sound nearly as appealing as what the strange girl was telling him. "Of course, all of ya will have to meet up with me, as a group, when you stomp your way outta the Egress. I'll tell ya more, then, ok?" She offered him a look that could only be sympathetic and made a small motion toward the building's entrance.

"Before ya go, though, let me tell ya one more thing, ok?" Rose didn't wait for a response. "Be careful in there. The 'phantasms' aren't your only potential enemy. Pariah Dreams don't always get along. You seem like a nice kid, Jeriah. I don't want ya getting hurt or pushed around; so watch ya back. Once you start making some progress, I can fill you in on the things going on in this world and why you're all here. Ya might even be able to find a Node or two in there to communicate with me. Keep ya eyes open for anything that interests ya. Now, I gotta focus on the others. Which means it's about time for you to get started. Once you're ready, just step through the doorway. Wait around in the 'lobby' for a minute and the others should show up."

"I...yeah, sure, thanks Rose." He didn't know what else to say. Despite all she had said, there were huge gaps in his understanding. Pressing her didn't seem productive, so Jeriah simply did as he was told. Stepping through the shattered maw brought him to something entirely unfamiliar.

It looked like a hospital's waiting room. Detritus of all sorts littered the floor, and a staunch silence permeated the entire area. Jeriah tilted his head, looking back. Through the windows he did not see the grassy field, or anything at all. A shiver rolled up his spine, but the newly appointed Dream fought it down; instead bringing his book before him and opening it gingerly. He would have to familiarize himself with them, should he expect to understand anything about what Rose had called his 'Manifestation'.

That leaves a lot of questions for us, doesn't it? If we survive, maybe we'll get a straight answer out of that weird bitch, yeah? Going 'home', though? ...Don't make me laugh. Better keep sharp, Jeriah. Who the fuck knows what's going to happen, here.

Rose

@Saber

Amaya Ito

@13org

---

---

If the spatial distortion created by a Pariah Dream's entry into Navain had not brought Rose's attention to the task before her, the yelp certainly would have. She smiled, slightly, and adjusted her hood to better view the new arrival. It seemed, at the least, that the girl was fascinated with the form granted by her Manifestation. Rose took light steps from the Hollow Egress' maw and down the short series of stairs.

"Hate to burst ya bubble, but this ain't a dream, Trickster," grass parted with her passage, a light breeze rolling through the plain,
"it's a place called Navain." Her smile widened a bit, as she looked the girl up and down, taking a seat a few feet away.
"Nice to meet ya! Name's Rose, and I'm here to help ya along." Her tone was much the same as it always was, tinged with a strange accent and an underlying enthusiasm.
"Seems like you're gonna take a likin' to this place! S'definitely a good sign!"

Amaya was too busy, lost in her own thoughts, playing in the field to notice another person coming closer to her.

Amaya jumped back, in surprise as the woman talked to her.

"So, its all... Real?" She asked, looking to her, still confused.

"For sure! This place is just as real as the world you're from," Rose motioned to the field that surrounded them with one hand, plucking a small flower with the other and rolling its stem between her fingers.
"But it ain't a place you can get to by normal means."

"So I really died back there huh? Never thought that my life would end like that..." Amaya said, looking to her own body once more. Her new body was definitely the proof that something happened with her.
If she heard that on other situation, she wouldn't believe, but the pain, the things that happened to her felt real... The wounds... The blood...

She nodded, offering the Trickster a look of sympathy.
"Yeah, as bad as it is. Chances are pretty high that you were offed by a Slaughter Doll. It happens to all the Dreams that come through here. That's what you are, by the way." Rose watched the girl looking herself over.
"Ah, yeah, that's ya Manifestation. It's, uh...well, it's something for ya to figure out. It's the brand new you."


"I believe you. I don't know why, but I actually believe you..." She said, making a line on the ground with her claws.

"Anyways, let the past stay in the past. Name's Amaya. Pleased to meet you, Rose. " She said, sitting down.

"I've never heard about this place before... Not even in religious books... Navain, was it? Is it some sort of afterlife or something?" She asked, genuinely curious about the situation.

A slight giggle escaped the Guide's lips, as she tossed the flower aside. "Thanks! That makes my job a lot easier, Amaya." She rocked back and forth, slightly, putting a finger to her lips.

"Well," she said around the digit, lightly biting down, "that ain't a big surprise. Navain isn't something that comes up often, in Corporeal Reality. I wouldn't call it an afterlife, not by a long-shot. It's more complex than somethin' like that." Giving a winning smile, she continued,
"But telling ya about it is kinda forbidden to me, at the moment. I'll be happy to explain, once ya meet up with the others and get out of the Hollow Egress." She motioned over her shoulder to the concrete fortress at her back.

"Oh, and will I stay like this forever?" She asked, looking to Rose with feline eyes and a mischievous smile.

"Because I must tell you... I like this body way more than the last one!" She said with a big smile and shining eyes.

"Simple things like running around, pouncing and playing in the grass never felt so good!" Amaya said, purring as she laid, down in the grass again , with her tail lazily swinging around above her.

Rose nodded, appreciating the enthusiasm the girl seemed to exude. "You'll only change back if you wanna! It definitely seems to suit ya personality, if I ain't bein' rude!" She wiggled, a little, scooting forward to give the Trickster a conspiratorial whisper. "You get to stay that way, if that's how ya wanna do it, even when ya go back to your world. Consider it a gift from me to you! Of course, it ain't somethin' that's free. Which brings me back to my point from earlier. I need your help, Feline Trickster. Navain needs your help."

"Oh... And one more question, why have you called me trickster? I'm sure this is the first time we met each other." She said rolling in the tall grass, stopping with her belly up and looking at her.

"Oh, right! Sorry 'bout that! I keep callin' ya 'Trickster' because it's ya Title! All of the Dreams have one, and it kinda goes hand-in-hand with ya Manifestation. The beings that inhabit this place will most likely know you by your Title." Rose's smile faltered, for the first time since their conversation began. "It's because of that name that you're here, in this field. I need you to go into that building, over there, it's called the 'Hollow Egress', by the way, and meet up with the other Dreams. Not just yet, ya know, I figure you've still got a few questions that I might need to answer."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I was a little surprised because some people used to call me trickster when I was still alive. I do like the sound of it though... 'Feline Trickster'" Amaya said, repeating the name for hersellf.

"Hm... And by Corporeal Reality I suppose you mean the normal world, right? Hm... It really is complicated but I think I got the basic of it. I will be sure to pay attention on you when we get inside the Hollow Egress, sensei." Amaya said with a giggle.

Complicated or not, Amaya was quite curious about all that. Rose didn't seem to be a bad person, she felt that she could be trusted.

"Sure, I will help you, why not?" Amaya said, looking to her with a smile on her face.
Perhaps Rose didn't expect such a straightforward answer, but to Amaya, things were really simple. She was very curious about all that and she never refused to help someone in need.

"I suppose it's only fair. After all, I do get to stay with this wonderful and fun new body even if I return to the normal world~" she said, stretching herself on the grass, just like a cat would do, before standing up.

"About other questions, you don't need to worry yourself about it. I'm fine for now. I believe that the rest of the questions I have will be answered when I meet with the others inside the big , strange building, am I right?" She asked, studying the building which Rose called Hollow Egress.

"Yep, that's pretty much on point! Ya catch on quick, Amaya, and I appreciate that ya willin' to help out. I can't imagine s'gonna be so easy with some of the others." Rose stood, balancing on the tips of her toes for a brief moment. "Keeping the questions to a minimum is pretty gutsy. I like that! I won't be able to talk to you, once you pass through that doorway, though. Or, well, I won't unless you find a Node." She put her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and took a few steps back. "Nodes are super shiny, so I bet you'll sniff one out pretty easy." A chuckle and a smile accompanied the words. "I'll be tuned in, so if you find one just put ya hand on it and call out for me. Inside the Hollow Egress ain't gonna be anything like out here, just so ya know. It's a, uh, whatcha might call a 'distortion' in Navain. Ya might run across some real violent entites, in there. But, with ya Manifestation...I can't imagine that they'll be more than you and the crew can handle!"

"I will be on my way, to wait for the others, then. Thanks for the warm welcome!" Amaya said, winking playfully to Rose before walking calmly in the direction of the building.

Rose made her way to the stairs and took a seat, drawing her knees to her chest, speaking to Amaya without fully turning. "Still, be careful, ok? Ya primary goal in the Hollow Egress is to find ya Anchor. You'll definitely know when ya see it. Good luck, Trickster! I'm lookin' forward to meetin' up with ya, again!"

He'd woken from a dream, or it felt that way, his brain a cauldron filled with frenzied, fuming bubbles, churning all around til their climax preceded their rising action which preceded again their denouement and he couldn't make sense of any of the chronology at all. That fog had fallen over his brain, that hazy way of understanding individual sensations and motifs, but realizing that the whole picture, the canvas painted with all the combined colors, was a non-sequitur, pointless and disjointed. There too was the whiplash of thinking he was in one place, but waking in another, and not recognizing the place in which he woke—

He remembered nothing but the vague discomforts of drunkenness: the tiling of the kitchen floor and the streaks of plaster pasted between them, and how these uniform borders tilted and spun while he crawled about with his face down; how he didn't care for the taste of soured milk, but so lethargic was he that he drank it anyway simply because it didn't hurt much. All those stupid little quirks which a sober man can laugh about like they happened outside of his will, like the poison possessed him and made of him an involuntary fool.

As he wondered where outside of the city this field belonged—or was it a park after all? a botanical garden, perhaps?—Deai struggled to stand, and in doing so, saw that he still wore his wife-beater and boxers. Still, because somehow he was certain that he hadn't stripped down, or been stripped, throughout his rampage. One memory jolted another and then another all in a chain, and realizing that a noose had been involved at some point, he lashed his hand toward his neck, feeling for scars or rope-burns. There it was, a slender, snaking patch of flesh, tender to the touch and risen with swelling.

He screamed.

I'm dead, then.

Placidity is often interrupted by sudden discovery. Enthusiasm, while not a solely human trait, certainly suited them well; whether their boundless emotional energy be within the spectrum of positivity or otherwise. Rose watched the new arrival with some interest, noting, even from the distance between them, that marred ring around his neck. Putting on her best smile, she moved from the Hollow Egress' maw and down the stairs seeking to approach what she suspected was the Bonewoven.

"Ya look pretty rough. It's strange for a wound to carry over, when a Dream enters this place." She stopped a fair distance from the man, a smile blooming on her face. "You musta had it pretty rough, but don't worry, ya can relax here, for a minute. Take a breather, ya know?"

A minute? Literally, or metaphorically? His chest clenched, and Deai felt like a clamminess should have assailed his palms, like sweat should have puddled from his pores, but no such afflictions struck his physiology; the ethereality of this after-life, he had to suppose.

Rose brought a finger to her chin, letting her eyes drift over him a moment. "We need to talk anyway," she said, then mentioning her name aloud. "I'm gonna be ya guide through Navain. I'm here to help ya adjust."

But he didn't hear, or didn't comprehend, that strange, alien word. "Am I in hell or in heaven?" he asked.

"It's nothin' like that, Bonewoven," she said, rocking on her heels, "ya ain't dead, at least not while you're here!" Meeting his eyes, she continued. "Ya got torn from your native Corporeal Reality at the moment of ya death, due to the interference of a Scribe. After that, ya entered Navain; this field and everything beyond it!"

The "Bonewoven" blinked, recognizing, at least, that she used that phrase for him, for whatever purpose it may have served to this queer being.

"Purgatory?"

"Ya gettin' colder!" Rose shrugged, uncertain as to how long this line of questioning would continue. "It's more like a world situated between ya home reality and a whole mess of empty existence. It's nothin' religious, so drop those ideas real quick. If anything, Navain is somethin' unique to its self. I can't tell ya much about the gritty bits, but I might be able to answer some of ya other questions!"

Shame had begun to return to the young man, who realized that the stained armpits, and certainly the noose burn, were not something he wanted any god or angel to see. He sat, crossed his arms and legs, and made himself small on the grass, which felt as real as the real stuff, plump and soft and fresh.

"This is a lot to take in. For, uh, a human like me," he mumbled. No mere man could walk around with her composure, knowing what she knew, or at least feigning at it with such confidence. "Okay; uh, why, why am I here, then? In 'Navain.'"

And what's a "Bonewoven," for that matter? And if this isn't an afterlife then why did he have to die to come here? But these could wait. His ultimate fate, and how much burning sulfur it would entail, claimed immediacy on the list.

After a moment, she lowered herself into the grass alongside the Bonewoven; a man she had not yet received a name for. Her fingers spread out across the grass and Rose reclined slightly, keeping her eyes on the man before her; who seemed to have deflated in a strange way. Her smile faltered at the pain she sensed, but she did not let it abscond entirely.

"I know, and I'm sorry about that! It's gonna take a long time to understand everything there is to know about Navain and the Corporeal Reality ya came from." Rose brought her right hand to her chin, letting her head rest fully against it. "Might be best to start from the top, then. Ya ended up here to become a hero, simple as that! Pariah Dreams—that's whatcha are, by the way—are brought from other worlds. Each of you possesses a power of immeasurable potential, and ya don't necessarily have to follow the rules of Navain."

She sighed, though it was not a noise of frustration. "Ya got brought here, to the Hollow Egress, to see if you're worthy of the Title that was given to ya!" Rose pointed lazily with her free hand, behind her, to the concrete monstrosity. "Not just you, though. There are others; a few of 'em are already waitin' inside!" Slowly, she stood. "Ya first task is to find ya Anchor, so you and the others can exist on the same plane of Navain."

An Anchor. With the help of some context clues, all this was becoming easier to understand, albeit slightly. "And my title is 'Bonewoven,'" Deai discerned.

"Yep! And I gotta admit, it, uh, sounds pretty sweet. Ya...ya familiar with ya body, right?" She offered another slight smile with the comment, raising a hand to her mouth. "Sorry, just jokin' around. What's ya real name, Bonewoven?"

"Yasushi Deai." He launched then into a little tirade, stammering out his explanation on who in his life addressed him by his family name, and who by his given; honorifics; levels of formality and closeness and so on. Catching himself, he cut this explanation short. She probably knew it anyway, what with the deific omniscience. "Anyway, what do you mean, 'sounds pretty sweet'? You're not the one who came up with it?"

Rose listened, but was already familiar with the social customs of Deai's culture. It was something that had been included in her P.R.P, allowing for more easy interaction with the myriad of Dreams that had been assigned to her. As such, she paid it little mind, preferring instead to continue with her less-than-formal interactions. "Nah, I don't get to choose the Titles...or anything, really, Deai. I'm just here to make sure nothin' goes wrong before ya enter the Egress. I'm a Guide, ya know!"

"Oh."

Giving himself only a moment to let it all soak through, he decided he didn't want to know any more. Perhaps he couldn't handle it; the sheer scale of everything, knowing what sort of infinity existed beyond the borders of that place he'd known as his world, his country, his city and street. Whatever it was, he mustered his courage and he stood. If something as weak and feeble as him could be chosen for these Tests, then he had to believe that he was ready to face them, despite the terror lumping in his gut. He nodded. She understood the nod, and started to lead him away.

"You said there are others like me? We're meeting up with them?"

"Ya are! I ain't goin' through that door...I...I, uh, can't...I'm kinda barred entry."

He looked ashamed again. "S'wrong?" Rose asked.

"Well, uh—" he looked away— "can you manage a change of clothes?"

With @Saber :) .

Rose watched the woman examining herself, a standard for those who had suffered such an ill fate. A slight smile touched at the edges of her lips, a standard for the Guide observing the confusion. A question was put forth, rather loudly, to a god that certainly had no ears for plighted mortals.

“Hey, kiddo," Rose said, her strange accent ringing out over the formerly placid field, taking small hops from the Egress' steps and into the grass. She allowed herself to acknowledge the pleasure of physical feeling, as she strode toward the Queen. "What's goin' on is exactly why ya here. It's a pretty heavy scenario, so I hope ya don't mind listenin' a bit to ya humble Guide before I send ya on your way." She slid her hands easily into the pocket of her hoodie, lacing her fingers together.

"Name's Rose, Queen, and I'm here to answer the kinda questions ya just asked." Her left hand freed its self and pointed lazily at the Pariah Dream. "Take a breather, first, though, and try to collect yaself. Sometimes Dreams ain't too keen on hearin' answers, or even talkin' with me."

Aurelia’s eyes were sharp and her ears keen – a curse, in the busy, dinning city, far more than it was ever a blessing – so how had she missed the ragtag figure loping – bounding – towards her? And that voice! It careered around the place like a drunken Springan, all stops and halts in one place and then a languid drawl in another, calling to mind everything from a hawking Graeline fishwife one moment to the most laissez-faire of Springan aristocracy the next and, to round it off, all points in between.

Then again, she’d been gutted like a fish, which might explain the lapse. Dying was, surely, an acceptable excuse – even if she currently appeared to be hale and whole. Appeared being the operative word.

Her brain processed the woman’s actual words a poor second, and for a few moments her mouth hung open dumbly. It’d been years since anyone called her ‘kiddo’.

She paused, shut her mouth with a faint click of enamel, and took a few breaths, although it wasn’t for the reason that Rose had encouraged her, oh no. Aurelia had been taught as a child to take ten deep, calming breaths whenever she was angry. The logic – or, more accurately, hope – seemed to be that this small pause would help defuse tensions and feelings running hot.

In Aurelia’s case, it generally served as a pressure-cooker instead.

“Oh no. No no no.” Her eyes flashed as she stood up and marched closer to the Guide. “Nobody-” she jabbed the air for emphasis “-gets to babble on about mysterious happenings and then tell me to lie back and smell the flowers! I would like answers, if you please. Somebody-” and now her expressive, soaring voice was a sibilant, venomous hiss “-tried to kill me, which sent me to wherever the devil this is. I want to know who and I want to know why and I promise you this, 'Rose Queen', I’ll see them ruined for it. And in the meantime-” her voice was suddenly bright and airy again, as though nothing had happened “-I would very much like to know where here is, and how I got here.”

Rose shrugged, unphased by the Dream's outburst. It wasn't uncommon for reactions like this to be at the forefront when someone was confused or uncertain. However, the Guide felt it might be a little more than just confusion. Seemed like she was dealing with a silver-spoon type.

"I do," she said, as though the fact were plain as the pleasant day that surrounded them, "and if ya wanna get your answers in proper fashion, I suggest ya take my advice. Yellin' ain't gonna help nobody, let alone you. Also, ya got it wrong. I'm Rose. You're 'Queen', and since ya forgot ya manners, I'ma keep calling you that." She removed her free hand and pointed it at the girl, who had hastily approached her. "You'll have ya chance to ruin what did ya in, but that's a long ways off and ya got a long road between them and you. Not a road without hurdles, mind ya. 'Queen' is ya title. 'Queen of Gates', more specifically. Don't bother askin', Pariah Dreams are supposed to figure out their powers on their own."

The Guide shifted on her heels, her slightly moist sandals squeaking as she did so, looking the girl up and down; admiring the arrogance she brought with her. She hoped the girl was a quick learner. That kind of talk wouldn't fly with most of the other creatures in Navain. Still, she gave her best smile and did her job,

"This place, here, is Navain. Not the field, the world." Aware of the conversations that had taken place previously, Rose was somewhat hesitant to provide the same line again; but would do so nonetheless...spurred on by the surprisingly pleasant shift in tone from the girl. "That big ol' monstrosity is the Hollow Egress, and it's where ya gonna be meeting the others like you, and doin' a favor for me." Letting it linger for a bare moment, she continued. "That is, if you wanna make it home."

Rose relaxed, stretching her arms upward and spreading her feet apart; letting loose a near-squeaking yawn. "Ya death ain't got nothin' to do with anyone from your world. What offed ya was what I like to call a Slaughter Doll, a sort of incorporeal assassin designed to infiltrate Corporeal Realities and end the life of those that have a Corrupted Fate Kernel." She felt Aurelia would ask a question about that, so lifted her hand in a half-plea for silence. "I can't tell ya about any more of that. S'forbidden to me by the orders Scribe gave me. The others and yaself will get a lot more info, once you do this favor for me."

Contemplation colored her already dark features. "Explainin' what Navain is would take a long time, but I can tell ya how ya got here...aside, uh, y'know, from being murdered. I ain't have nothin' to do with that, by the way." Her smile returned. "Ya got here through translocation between your Corporeal Reality and the Layered Reality ya standin' in, now. The process its self is pretty interesting, but, again...can't tell ya."

She bit down on her knuckle, and spoke around it.

"Anyone ever tell ya that you've got a real temper...uh....what's ya name, again?"

"Aurelia," she replied calmly. "Aurelia Campbell-Ross-" a flash of a white-toothed smile "-at your service, I suppose." She took a half-step back on the dew-laden grass, moving from an imminent attack range to something much more approaching a normal distance for conversation. Even so, she wasn’t about to let the girl’s less-complimentary remarks go without comment, which she supplied with a raised finger and a wry little grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She did so love a good debate – even in such strange circumstances.

“For the record, yelling – which I wasn’t doing, by the by, I’m capable of far greater volume – does help. It helps me, particularly in the absence of anything conveniently breakable nearby. I have been plucked out of what had been shaping up to be a very pleasant evening by some creature I’m sure came from the mind of the more twisted sort of horror novelist – a Slaughter Doll, you said? – chased to within an inch of my life, opened up from groin to gullet and then dumped here! Exercising my entirely understandable-” her eyes dared Rose to disagree “-feelings with a brief – brief! – rant is a far safer way of dealing with things than going quietly mad or bursting into tears. Both of which are Not On.” The capitals slid neatly into place, and Aurelia took another deep breath, compressing her rage still further, suddenly smiling a bright smile that, quite on purpose, didn’t reach her eyes.

“But. I shall always strive to be irenic, despite base accusations regarding my temper.” She held out a hand. “A pleasure, I’m sure, Rose.”

More words poured forth from the girl – in that whipsawing voice – but whilst Aurelia understood them individually, and whilst she wasn’t thick, she also found herself all at sea with some of the more significant phrases.

“I’m sorry – Pariah Dreams? Corrupted Reality? Titles? Powers?” She shook her head helplessly. “I understand the words individually, but together…” her voice tailed off, and again that wry smirk twisted her lips even before the Guide could reply. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me that either. Very well, very well; you’re a messenger by your own admission, and it would be unfair for me to vent my spleen as I might like.”

She regarded Rose for a moment, eyes dancing over her form, noting every bit of it, inspecting and scrutinizing and trying to catalogue. “You said there were others. Ergo, you’ve done this before. Allow me to ask, then – if you were in my position, and – knowing what you yourself do, and what you can tell me – what question should I be asking? What will be most helpful?”

Rose removed her hood, revealing her visage in full. Almond shaped green eyes stared out, half-lidded and touched with the dark rings of sleeplessness. Her nose was straight, and a bit long, sitting above full lips that bore a light pink tinge to them; though it did not seem to be any form of makeup. Her face was gaunt, but not so much so to imply sickness; accented well by her angular features. Pink hair, seemingly straight, came cascading down when the hood was removed. Where it had framed her face before, it now surrounded it in a mane of unruly curls and gentle slopes. She ran a hand through her hair, mussing it with some vigor and gave a big smile to Aurelia.

"Well, then, s'nice to meet ya Aurelia," Rose smiled slightly, bringing a knuckle to her lips to lightly suck on it before applying pressure, "and ohohoho, no worries, I'm sure ya can get louder if ya need to. And yeah, a Slaughter Doll. They tend to play around with their victims, before finishin' 'em off. Don't take it too personal. It was a necessary event, as bad as it mighta been for ya," She contemplated the brutal nature of the Dolls, briefly, and imagined Aurelia running for her life from an enemy she couldn't yet hope to contend with. Smiling more broadly, she reached forward to put a hand of the woman's shoulder, attempting to provide some comfort; though she fully expected the Queen of Gates to react with venom. Sometimes Rose found it hard to help, but helping, sure as all the realms that constituted the idea of hell, was not her real job. Helping was more of a passion. The Dreams that came before her were certainly in need of guidance, and that is damn well what she planned to do. Letting Aurelia vent was only a small part of that.

"Look, kiddo, m'sorry ya night got ruined and ya ended up, here, but that ain't even remotely important to what ya gonna be doin'. And if ya that mad about me sayin' something about ya demeanor, I can only hope the others are gonna be super nice to ya." Giggling, the Guide stepped back, taking the offered hand and giving it an acceptable shake; lest she damage the girl.

"Yeah, though, the terms. I can only tell ya a little, given my P.R.P outline; so I'll do ya a solid. Pariah Dreams. Prime Entities with a Corrupted Fate Kernel are usually subjected to the scrutiny of a Scribe, who ya prolly will get to meet later; Scribe's kinda like...uh, my boss. We'll talk about that if ya make it through the Egress. It chooses the Prime Entities to inhert their Anchors and allows 'em a Manifestation. " She shifted on the balls of her feet. "Bein' in your position..." A muted sorrow flickered through the Guide. "I, uh, I dunno what to tell ya, Aurelia...I've been here before, just like you. But that's, uh, that's...that's somethin' I'll tell ya later. Ok? I promise."

Shifting, again, she regained her focus. "If I was you, I'd be asking what it'd take to get home. To get out of this place. I'd be askin' a lotta things. Unfortunately, the only one I can answer is how ya get home. Once ya get your Anchor, I can give ya that chance. I can't say how, but I can tell ya that...you'll be comin' back here, like it or not."

Rose's lips turned downward.

"Right now, though, the most important question is whether or not ya gonna go into the Hollow Egress. It's ya choice, Queen of Gates. Ya can join the other Dreams, or ya can live out ya days here...in Navain."

“Of course my date wasn’t important, in the grand scheme of things!” Aurelia exclaimed. “Almost nothing is. I’d never met her before that evening, anyway, and there are always more in Clubland, any day night of the week. Doesn’t mean I’m not cut up about it. As for my demeanour…” unconsciously, every muscle in Aurelia’s body tensed, singing like wires against her bones, an almost electrical crackle running across her skin.

“People will be prejudiced,” she answered with a nonchalant shrug that fooled no-one. “Yes, my family has money and influence, and so do I, and yes I went to a good school and a fine university. But where does that give anyone the right to go: ‘Oh look, there goes the posh bitch, thinks she’s so much better than us with her stuck-up accent and her pretty clothes and her education. Got her job because Daddy owns the company, or because she opens her legs for every executive who comes sniffing round for a bit of posh totty.’ If I were so rude, if I claimed that anyone with a Docklands accent was an idiot thug with their brains in their biceps and not fit for anything more than carrying crates and fucking whores behind them, it wouldn’t be tolerated for a second, but the wealthy and the well-bred are acceptable targets, these days.” There was a flash of hurt there, dark and deep in Aurelia’s eyes. This was a topic she’d revisited many times.

“I might think your accent, which I can’t place for the life of me, is grating and your manner annoying – indeed, I’ve just told you so - but you won’t find me expecting you to change it as though it’s my due to shape and mould you, and to cut off all the bits I don’t like.”

Another smile, and the singing tension left as abruptly as it arrived. Aurelia even allowed the touch on her shoulder with nothing more than a brief shiver. “I’ll hold you to your promises, even though you’ve given me a Hobson’s choice there. My life was good – not perfect, no-one’s is – but good, and I rather liked it. Of course,” she added, suddenly distracted and whimsical “I never had anything to compare it to. Never been anything but a Campbell-Ross, with all that entails.”

She shook herself, visibly. “Which is to say, I need to return. I have everything for me at home and nothing in this Navain place, and if the way to pass between one and the other is through this Hollow Egress, then through it I’m going – with or without your other Dreams.”

Some people miss the point. Rose was guilty of it, from time to time, at least when it came to interactions with Prime Entities. "Ya definitely need to relax Aurelia. But, hey, ya basically said it. It ain't my place to go on about how you act." She considered taking offense to what the Pariah Dream had said, both about her accent and attitude, but Rose couldn't find it in herself to do so. She had always been like that, trying her best to maintain a laid-back attitude and casual way of talking. If the new Dream didn't like it, that solely fell into the purview of her problems. However, it did make her feel...something, though the certainty of that feeling was entirely nebulous. Perhaps something akin to admiration...or the uncomfortable caress of someone's dislike.

The girl had guts, that was for sure. Rose wondered about the pain in Aurelia's eyes, and the vitriolic near-outburst. She wanted to press, to attempt to understand the girl a bit better; but now wasn't the time, and it sure didn't seem like the mood was right for a friendly extension from the Guide. She doubted, distantly, that the two of them would be anything close to friends, anyway. A thought that, for some reason, saddened her. A Guide was supposed to be able to assist their Dreams in any way necessary...in any way she could.

With a sigh, she continued.

"Thems the breaks, kiddo. Sorry to put ya in a situation like that, with the choice n'all. If it were up to me, you and the other Dreams would be livin' ya lives like nothin' was wrong." It was true, but Rose certainly didn't have any say in the matter. "No worries, though, Aurelia, my promises are as good as gold. I promise." She gave a wink and a smile, stepping away from the girl and making slow steps back toward the Egress. "I'll do what I can to get ya back there, but don't think ya can go it alone. I dunno much about ya, but I can let ya know that this ain't the kind of place ya can run lone wolf and expect to make it outta most situations. Beings that can do that are pretty rare. Not to put ya down or nothin', but Aurelia; ya weak, in terms of ya Manifestation. Ya weak in terms of ya essence. Those things might change, if ya can manage to survive long enough to make it out of the Hollow Egress without having your existence stolen or your 'current' body destroyed."

She met Aurelia's gaze evenly, the arabesque depths of her odd iris digging into the haughty girl.

"The Pariah Dreams are a team for a reason. If one Prime Entity could deal with all the problems on the horizon, there wouldn't be any need to draw out seven of ya. I'm glad ya got the drive to make it back, Queen. I'll be here to help, if ya think ya need it." Her demeanor had changed, a little, to the observant. While she maintained her smile, it felt like a facade. For some reason, she felt that Aurelia was in more danger than the others. As though she would make herself a target in one way or another.

"But, yeah, do what ya gotta do. Once ya pass that doorway, we won't talk again for a while. I'm sure that suits ya just fine. So, yeah, that's that." Her mouth opened slightly, but no words escaped. Instead, Rose shrugged. "I hope ya do good."

“And on that happy note,” Aurelia remarked slightly acidly, “I had best be off to face this latest twist in the skein of destiny. I see no-one else around, and I daresay it'll only get worse the longer I dither. My thanks for what help you were able to give. See you on the other side of the madness.”

Squaring her shoulders, gathering her hauteur around her like an empress’ train or a knight-paladin’s armour, Aurelia resolutely turned away from the Guide and towards the eye-sucking wrongness of the Egress itself, her steps quick and sure, rapidly vanishing into its fractal geometries.

"Wow," the Guide mumbled to herself, sliding her sandal off and back on slowly, watching the solitary Prime Entity, "she can really see 'em through all that. Pretty crazy." Placidity only lasted a moment, doomed as it seemed in the presence of the Hollow Egress. The Priestess had sat upright, scrambling backward with rapidity, slamming her eyes shut against the world before her and let out a piercing scream.

With that, Rose flowed into motion, hopping down the steps after one last repetition with her sandal. She didn't exactly see what had caused the Dream's reaction, but figured it had something to do with a spike in perception or a momentary recollection of the Slaughter Doll's actions. "Hey," she called out, lazily waving with her approach, "ya ok, there, Priestess? Ya look pretty shook up, ya know!" Rose smiled, hoping to put the girl at ease, and slowed her pace to keep a respectful distance between them. "Ain't really much out here to be worried about, though. Take a breather, we'll talk when ya ready, ok?"

She lowered herself to the grass, as she had done several times in the recent past, present and future, and observed the girl in earnest; her head tilted slightly and her smile steady.

Rosemary kept her eyes closed for a long while, just allowing herself to sit in the darkness. She feared that which would show before her if she opened them. Was this what death felt like? Was she dead? No, she couldn't be. She could still feel, and touch, and smell, and... hear? The girl flicked her eyes open at the noise... Though it was more than a noise. A voice?

What appeared before her was not the black and wispy mass that had first greeted her in death. This time around, her vision was coveted by another woman. Surprisingly modern-looking for an Angel of Death... She wore everyday clothes not much different than an outfit Rosemary might wear herself on a day like this one. What stood out, though, was the flow of pink locks rolling uncluttered down her face. Every detail about her appearance looked almost preplanned and perfectly neat. The setting Rosemary found herself in would still make the girl before her an imposing sight to behold, but it was by all means a welcome sight after her past two encounters.

"Wh-Who are you?" It took Rosemary a long moment to muster up the courage to speak, and even then, she wasn't fully ready. Such was evident through her bewildered gaze and constant stammering over her own words. The woman's warm gaze and pleasant smile did little to calm a still stiff to the bone Rosemary. "Where am I?" She halted her tongue at that. It seemed those two questions would be the thoughts of any sane person in such a scenario, and it was time Rosemary vocalized them.

Being stared at was part of the usual process, the Dreams noting her appearance and demeanor almost always at the forefront. It was part of why she looked like she did. Though, if she were pressed about it, mint green was always more appealing to her than pink. Still, it felt like there was more going on the Priestess' head. Death always got people to thinking about things, whether they were truly important or not. Even though silence, too, was usually a part of the process; Rose hated it. More than anything, she had come to hate those quiet moments.

Thankfully, her own increasingly errant thoughts were reigned in when the girl finally spoke. Her canter and tone were nearly heartbreaking, Rose's eyes taking a cast of sadness as she listened. Her own tone, when issued, was much the same as always; though her voice had softened considerably, at least with the first few words. "Man, Prime Entites always manage to hit me right in the soft-spot. Me, though? I'm Rose! I'm ya Guide, here, in Navain. To answer the question that comes next, though, Navain is this world. This Reality." The Guide sighed, rocking back and forth a little, "Thinkin' about it, though, nobody ever really asks what I am, ya know? Not that I can really talk about it, anyway, but still." Catching herself, she giggled. "Sorry, sorry, that ain't proper of me, Priestess; this meeting is supposed to be about who ya are and what ya gonna accomplish. S'nice to meet ya, for real! I, uh, hope what happened back in ya Corporeal Reality ain't...uh, y'know, ain't hurt too much."

Her hands came up to rest against her cheeks as she stared back at the Priestess of Phantoms. There was something there that felt different, to Rose, something almost personal that she imagined existing. She smiled more broadly, hoping it to be a soothing action; though she knew her propensity for grinning almost constantly could be offputting to some.

It was curious. The girl before Rosemary held herself with a knowing demeanor, as if the whole process of Rosemary's awakening in this strange place had played out like a movie she had seen all too many times before. Rosemary's silence continued as her 'guide' came to give what could at best be called the most vague explanation possible. Rosemary exhaled sharply, trying her best to grip the situation she found herself in. Navain... An interesting alternative, but it was no Heaven... As the guide continued to talk, Rosemary held herself from interjecting despite the surge of questions that flooded her mind and would not cease growing in size as more time past.

"I suppose the question that comes after that is whether or not someone can go back?" There was a certain inquiry to her tone, but Rosemary showed no sign of identifying with the will to return that she spoke of. To her, it was already a hopeless impossibility. As her words left her lips, she tried to hold herself back, but the only logical course of action would be to ask more questions. Surely Rose knew that was coming. At least, that was if Rosemary was sure this was some sort of 'land of the dead' like she'd inferred.

Two more things nagged her mind purely sprouting from the limited dialogue that Rose had given to her. She couldn't hold herself back any longer, despite how cliche she felt the constant questioning was. "Well... What am I going to accomplish then? And what do you mean 'Priestess'?"

"Goin' back? Yeah, that's mostly the point'a this for the Dreams...uh, their goal, anyway. I dunno, it's kind of the best incentive my boss could think of," Rose reclined, ceasing her rocking, putting her hands behind her head and staring up at a cloud-stolen expanse of sky, wondering distantly about the girl's turn in tone "but, yeah, for sure ya can go back. Problem is ya don't always get to stay. I shoulda explained the 'Priestess' bit, earlier, but I never know what to call people when they show up, 'cept by their Titles. Ya happen to be the 'Priestess of Phantoms'. It's pretty much always reflective of ya Manifestation, which is an ability ya possess. I'm, uh, pretty useless on that end, though, ya kinda supposed to figure it out as things go on."

'Useless' was a harsh term for the Guide to say or swallow, so it was almost always used with a measure of chagrin. There were rarely any truly useless things in the expanse of Realities that composed both Corporeal and Esoteric spaces, unless they were simply designed to be so. The truth of it, Rose knew, was that she was quite near useless in most regards; but that had not yet stalled her. Moving forward was the only option available to her, regardless of how it felt like her existence was a perpetual test in drudgery. Scribe had taken notice of her, true, but that was hardly any sort of honor. Her place was one of punishment. Of penance. Just as it was for the Pariah Dreams.

She scratched at her nose, lightly, before sitting upright again. "What ya gonna accomplish is really up to how effectively you and the other Pariah Dreams manage to work together, and how much work Scribe really expects outta ya." Smiling, still, she continued. "I'm askin' ya to go into that building over there, the Hollow Egress, and risk ya 'current' existence to obtain an item, an Anchor, that'll let ya go home. That ain't really all it does, but, uh, I can't talk about that until after ya have it in ya hands." Rose stood, once again removing her sandal with a deliberate slowness; eyes focused solely on the action as she spoke. "I know pretty much everything I say brings up more questions, but for the most part I can't answer 'em right now. That comes after. If ya willin' to help, that is...uh" She took her eyes from the sandal, placing her foot back in as her focus shifted to the Priestess, "uh...what is ya name, anyway?"

Going back, huh? An incentive... eh? She was a captive in death and life was an incentive... Most of the fear had melted off of Rosemary's face at this point, though a frown lingered all throughout the next bout of cryptic riddles and responses Rose gave her. Now she had a title and some sort of ability. There were 'Dreams'? None of it made sense. Rosemary knew that it wasn't going to get any more clear no matter how much more she questioned.

Rosemary's eyes flick to the so-called 'Hollow Egress' as directed by her guide. "We have to go on a quest to find an anchor to go live again..." She spoke slightly sarcastically as she mused on the scenario that took place around her. Her head shook ever so slightly. Whether it was in disbelief or in pure confusion was not so easy to determine. Simultaneously, Rosemary began to stand up, on shaking legs at first. The world was all so new to her. It quite literally felt like a whole new world. It quite probably was a whole new world... "My name? I-I'm Rosemary..." Rosemary held herself back, contemplating the words for a long time. It was almost as if she, herself, had forgotten until that very moment.

Her eyes fell back upon the distant building. "It's not like I had anything going on today anyways..."

"Well, s'nice to meet ya, Rosemary," the Guide nodded along with the words, turning to look upon the Hollow Egress as well, "and that's the right, uh, spirit, I guess. Once ya get in, the other folk'll be waitin' around...or, at least, they should be. I don't really have any way of knowing what's goin' on in there, given my circumstances." She sighed, sliding her hands into the pocket of her hoodie and began removing her sandal again. "At best I'll be able to give ya some insight if ya come across a Node. They'll look kinda like high-tech trash cans, all gold and blue, usually situated in an area of 'distortion'. Shouldn't be too hard to identify, y'know?"

Her foot grazed against the grass, and Rose let her gaze drift away from the building. It wasn't a favorite of the Guide's, and the events of 'today' had thusfar drained her of what little affinity she might have felt for the building. "But, yeah," she said, her free foot still sliding across the soft growth, "it's not exactly safe, in there, so be sure ya prepared before crossing that threshold. There's not really a time limit, or anything, but we all got a lot ahead of us..." Her smile had faded, at some point, though Rose couldn't exactly recall when she had stopped putting conscious effort into it. There was certainly a feeling of wrongness that had crept through her.

"I, uh, I'm sorry, Rosemary..." she didn't know why she felt the apology necessary, but forged ahead with the unbidden impulse anyway, "I know this ain't what anyone wants, in their first moments of visiting a new world...or, really, if anyone ever wants this to begin with. It ain't right, the way it works. The way Scribe works." With that, she smiled, "But Navain is a pretty great place! If ya want, I can show ya and the other Dreams around some of the nicer spots later on!"

"High-tech trash cans, eh? I suppose I'll be on the lookout then..." Rosemary's tone carried its usual unserious sarcasm. She rolled her shoulders as she began to push herself to her feet. There was a moment where her eyes swept across the world around her. It was the first time she was seeing this new environment that had become her reality, but that wasn't the purpose of her nervous gazing. Luckily, she'd spotted no more creatures of shadow and her eyes settled back upon Rose.

It's not exactly safe... We got a lot ahead of us... The blankness of Rosemary's expression seemed to hold a deep-seated grimness. She noticed her guide's smile fade away into neutrality as well. The poor girl merely stood there for a moment. Between the events of the recent past, the cryptic attitude of the only person Rosemary had seen since then, and the foreboding thoughts that plagued her mind, Rosemary was left only to imagine what dangers lied ahead. No matter what they were, though, she knew they were coming.

The long pause from Rosemary continued as her guide carried on talking. After her eyes finally settled upon her destination: the building, or whatever Rose had called it, she finally spoke up. "Then I shouldn't need to futilely bother you anymore..." Rosemary's words came in mumbles, as if it was more directed towards herself rather than Rose. If she felt she could have said nothing, she would have, but the world was all too foreign for her to forego a final parting word. Rosemary hadn't even given Rose the courtesy of a last glance. Her solemn eyes already deadset and focused. "I hope I don't owe you anything for... Rebirth..."

It was then that Rosemary moved towards the forefront of the ominous structure. It was time to delve into things. Confusing metaphors and riddles weren't to do her any good. Perhaps she was just too curious to wait any longer, but she sure didn't feel like it. She was just too focused on that biting feeling that left her so put off. Rosemary's last words were uttered with the wind as she started to move off, barely audible if even heard by the guide. "Find the anchor..."