🌳 trahearne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pactmarshal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamcrystals2022-07-01 10:46 am
pactmarshal) wrote in dreamcrystals2022-07-01 10:46 am
Entry tags:
Open | Passive Dream
Sender: Trahearne (but it doesn't sound like him...?)
To: All
Subject: Midday Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Slaughter, prejudice, zalgo text, Oriphi fucking dies, heart of thorns spoilers lmao
We are everywhere. We are the roots, the grass, the moss, the overgrown trees, the out-of-place and disfigured vines that hang in the air, that suffocate the wildlife, that grasp the crumbling airships.
So no matter where we are, you see. You see that your kin, your brothers and sisters, have been sequestered off and herded into their own little pen, separate from the rest of the troops in the Pact Encampent. They have been given their own targets for practice, their own bedrolls, their own rations. Perhaps it would be a nice situation to be in - to be among familiar faces, family - had the whole scene been ripped from the context in which it sat.
The sylvari are being quarantined. They can no longer be trusted. They are subjects of M̹͂ő̢̯͞rdř͉e̡̮͑͌m̜̮̗̽́͛ó̤̬̐t̮̅h̝̩̍̾. Though they claim they are trustworthy, that they still fight for the Pact's cause, is that still true? Can they distinguish their own thoughts from the d͍̠̐̀rà̫ğ͍͓̑ọ̜̈́̃n̯̂'s in their head?
They carry on as though everything is normal. Some train with the dummies, some sleep, some huddle in little groups as they partake in meals. A lot of them, if not all of them, look like your friends, dreamwalkers from Songerein. How interesting that you see them this way - as family. As your responsibility. It's too bad you doom them by doing so.
The herd of plant ghouls are watched over by norn - broad, 9-foot-tall humanoids - and charr - ferocious-looking felines with horns, tall if not taller than the norn. They wear Vigil uniforms. You know these officers. They are aggressive, merciless, Vigil for good reason. They are not suited for guard duty - in a sick, sinking feeling, you realize they have been ostensibly stationed to "keep watch." That is not their true job. They have been chosen for one specific reason.
There comes a scream from among the sylvari. This particular one - a petite sapling, her bark the gentle color of violets, offset in places by soft patches of pink lichen; her wide, curious eyes the color of midsummer sunflowers; yellow blossoms budding from the branches stemming from her head - has caved ̯̎ḁ̐nd͇͝ ̣͠ġ͟iven i̬͊n̞͐to̳͂ ̧̹͆̔tḩ̛e͇̕ ̛̼̂ͅd̻̲̉͘r̟͝ä̱̪͙́͛̄ġ̞̠͒̈ͅo̝̙̲͂̆̕n'̡̧̞͊̿̕s̡͍̦͂̄̎̉͜ ̡̻͍̜̀̓̈̕v̤̼̪͕̋̽̾͘ơ̫̱͍̜͊̒͠ì̢̲̃́͜͝ͅc̦̰̞̞̏̔̀͠è͙̠͙̬̅̔̕. The dragon's thoughts are her own now. She whirls around to the exit of the pen, eyes wide in madness, and draws her staff. It's only two steps into her charge that one of the norn standing watch cocks her rifle and sends flying a bullet that soars straight through the sylvari's head. With an unceremonious thud, the sylvari falls to the ground. She will move no more.
A hush falls over the pen. The norn reloads her rifle. "Remember," her deep, booming voice resonates over the dragon's for a brief second. "Any funny business, and you'll end up like her."
It is then that a group of other Pact soldiers on patrol pass by the pen, trying their best not to gawk at the spectacle. They whisper amongst themselves, trying not to be heard, but you can hear. You are e͔͡v̘̙͇͙̱̹͂̎̈́̓͛̚͜͞e̟̝̬͉͚̹͆̅͂̾̀̕r̨̫͋̂́ͅy̢͒w͢͝ḣ̪̜̞̝̟̊̎͛͒̑͜ë͙̥̞̙́̔̑̓ŗ̱̩͌̌̽̿͢ę͓̳̖̘̾̒̒̋͞͠ͅ, after all.
"How horrible..."
"Should have put all of them down..."
"...Commander told us to give them the benefit of the doubt..."
"...don't know how I'll trust a sylvari after this..."
"Isn't our marshal a sylvari...?"
"That's terrifying, what will happen to us...?"
They mention you, but you're at my mercy. We see everything, but you cannot respond.
They do not trust you. T͖̪͉̯͂̑͌͠h̯̠̩́͂͘ḙ̛̪̞͉̋̍͝y͍̌ ̡̬̗̣͓̑͂̿̚͡w̡̯̲̣͇̄́͋͐͠ị̎l͇͔̮͚͚̠̊̓̄͐̽̔͢͞ļ̛̬̑͢͞ ̨̃ne̺͖͉̹̺̓͋͛̽̒v̳͗ĕ̘̱͚̓͞r ̰͛ţ͎̙̲̙̫̆̍͛͊̋͟͞͡r̰̪͔̍̓͘ȗ̧͚̝͗̆ş͕͙͍̋̽̕͘͟͝t̢̩͉̜͕͈̑̿̽̑͞͡ ͍̽yọ̥̮̹͐́͂̈ù̟̺͉̖̈́̀͝.
They do not trust your family. T̢͇̘̠̘̞̐̑̅̔͗̊ḥ͙̭̲̎̊̊́̆̚ͅͅé̡͔̮̑̅ȳ̡͍͙͕̹̩̑̈̇̀͛͑ͅ ̡̲̤̬͗͐̅̐w͕̝̘͚͈̰̪̒̊̾̽̈́̀̅í͙͚̱̭̔͐̃́͢͢͝l͚̦͈͉͆̅̇͌͜͞l͉̠̯̠̯̠̑̑͂͑̆̀̚͜ ͉̦̦̻̹͐̈́̉̂͐͜͡ǹ̡̛͚̝͖̮̺͔́̈̾́̐ǒ̗ ̯̟͓̖̙̀̊̽̓̅͢͝ḽ̢̥̘̖̜͊͐̍̈͊͐̂̕͜͜o̭͌̈́͢ñ͉̭̺͆͑ǧ̫ě͙̫͉̠̜͓̩́͌̄̿̕͞r̭͎̱̦͌͗̿͡ ̧̧̺̈̋̄̽͢t̰͇̟̫̠͖̤̩̎̄̽̑̌̎̽͞ṙ̡̢̹̥̍̌͒us̭͎̱̘͑̇͘̚t̩̱͆͝ ̤͔̯̱̖̗̩̃̈́̆̋̈̕͞y͍̅o̝̜̹͕̒̌̃͘u̜̳̦̽͂̈r̰͛ ̯̂̍͟f̛̤̦͓̯͇͂̎́͐a̬̓ḿ̧̢̰̠̗͈̤̌͊̈́́͘͞i̢̩̲̯͑́̒̚l͙̝̦͆͂͑́̏͟͢y.
Your mistake will be a scar on Tyria, on the history of your people. Y͕̎o̤͒̅ͅu ̨̖́̕w̮̾i̢̤͋̿ll͍̭̒͠ ̪̙̹͐͊̃̊͢b̰̪̎̿e̥̱̍̀ ̨͇͕͖͌̀̋̉r̟̯̜̪̾̎̄̆͘͢e͈̾m͍̔e̢̩̳̋̈̀m͇̻̱̳̬̑̄̐͘͞b̭̫͓͙͂͋̀̕ḗ̘̖̺͈̻̻͌̅̈́̅r̠̃̀͢e͎̯͙͍̎̉̊͝d̡̨̹̪̮̄̊̔͑̌͘ͅ ͙͖̠̀̿͞f̭̌ö̢̮̟͉͔̥̗̳͆̽͗̀͒͘͞ȓ̻̘͙̟͇̗̖̜͑̒̐́͛̀̄ ̡̳̩̞͉̗̬͂͌̈͗́̉͘͟͡y̛̫̪̻̠̰͎̲̓͌͋̅̀́̚͜ỡ̢̡̨̭̞̤͕̎̒͛̄͜͠͝u͖͍͙͉͍̜͚͙̿̇̍͛̐̒͗̚r̼̖̤̻̩͓̟̄̽͂̂̐̒̍̒͜ ̙̰͎͔̣̠̈̓͋̃͛̿́͊͜ͅf͓̮͚͖͙͕̰̊̉͂͆͐͊̉͊͜a̙͚͔͙̞̳̖͇̓̿͒̄̌̅̾͝ì̡̠͓͓͚͚͇̖̐̋́̇͋͆͞ļ̰̖͔̦͙͕̣́̒̈̋̇̒́͝ů͔̲̰̳̭̙̟̰̃͐͂̔͒̀̐r̛̪̦̬̺͈͎͎̩̒̆͌̾̉͒̓e̡͖͎̩͉͕̺̯͗͛̔̉͘͘͞͞s̨̧̻̲̹͓̭̲̎̓̑̃̑̈́͞͠.̶͕̼̻̱̤̟̯̺̘̘͆͘
You resist. You refuse my help. From the h͖̒ę͚̼͍̪̤̂͆͆͐̀̿̈́̕͟͟͡ͅa̛̜̼̹̤͇͐̍́̐r̢̬͇͙̗̖̲̪̄͑̅̋͆̀̔͠t͔̳͛͐͢͝ ̧̠͔͇͈̯̬͎́̃̋͗̎̿̚͝ȍ̠f͈͚̬̿͘͘ ̝̣̫͍̭͗̀̋̅̀͗͟t̡̆h̡̜̦̼͖̳̭̀̂́̚͡͠͡ö̢̩̝̜̞́̎̐̾͡r͚͍͙͈͎͌̈́͛̑͡n̳͖̝̘͕̺͈͛̀͐̾̏̽͒̕͜͟͠s̢̝͓͍̱̹̜̐̎̐̊͌͒̅͆͜ you see all that I see, you hear all that I hear, you are everywhere as I am. You see how your people - our people - suffer, yet you choose to do ņ̖͚̦̮̗̱͇̗̘̙͚̣̹̆̒̓̌̃̋̆̂̄̀͑̎͐͟͝͠ǫ̔t̺́h̨̯͖̲̞̝̪̗̪̫̮̜͈̖̙̳̼̓͗͑̍̽͂̈̐̐̅̍̇̎̈́̈̓̅í̳̬͎͚̘̗͓̻̯͚̖̀̈́̒̇̉͊̉̃͑̔͢͠n͈͕̲͔̝̣̟̟̮͂̽̿͗̉̄̈̍̆̃͢͢͝ĝ̯̺͎̖̤̜̯͙̭̯̓̊̋̈́̀͐̀́̒͘͟͟͝.
You are path͇͊et͚͋i͕̾c̨̊.͔̔ ͕̻̀͡Y̘͛͜͝ou̞̯͐͡ ̙̟̟͑͋̾a̦̼̽͐̀͜rė͓̩̦́͊ ͍͙͒̔w̪͈̳͙͆͒̃̊è̱a͓̽̆͢k̢̢̭͖̝̎̽̂͌͒.̙͌ ̻͉͇̓̏̑Y̨̡̋̽ō͚̪͙̑̊u̠͇͇͖̣̓͑́̑͝ ͉̝̫̅̆̎ç͎̮̏̊̍à̢͉̺̗̾̓̋̚͟n̢̧͙̟̫̺̓̐̃͊̅̂ņ̢̡̖̯̀̄̀̅̒̓͜ơ͈̬͙̗͚̮̍͛́́̐t̝͚̩̬̹͒̿̍̕͝ ̱̩͠͡e̱͓̩̖̗̺̩͗̑̂͊̎̎̃v̡̝̪̝̥̙̮̝̋̓͑̈̏̃͒͠ę̣̯̭̘̺̏̐̀̈̾̚n̛͖̱̩̘̘̥̠̜̋̃́́̔̉͗͘͢ ̧̝̫̌̑̅s̝͇̮̻̜̦͋͛̐̄̇͗͒͢a͙͙͎̮̘͎͍̪͛̐͗̆͌́̂͛͐̅͢͢v̹̺͍̇͐͞e͚̟̓̀ ͍̭͇̳̖͊͂̄͂̋͝ͅy͖̞̺̆̔̓o̘͚̪͗̉͞ù̺̠͕̤͍͇̲̟̻̠̑̒̊̈͌̂̔͊̚r̳̼͇̒̀̏ ̡͈̖̮͋̍́̽̚͢ḱ̡̻̥̤̙̰̐̎̕̕͞i̘͊ṋ͔̹͈͉͔͔̙̣̾̂̄̀̏̌̒̆͘̚ͅ.̡̉ ͔͎͙̼̯̼̩̗̳̯̭͒̏́̓́̆̒̅̽̌͢͠͞N̎ͅo̙͎̞̯̓̂̌͝t̬͚͗̕ ̢̧̻̩̞̬̬̭͉̤̞̭̂̎̒͆̄͐͊͛̔̕̚͟͠͞w̡̯̭̮͔̩̠̻̙̦͎̤̝͌̂͑͐̓̀͂͌̽̊͌͑͛̔͜͠ͅį̧̥̤̹̪͓̞̫͇̬̻̏͛̈́͊͑̿̓́͑̏͛͑̿̚͜͟͠ͅt̡̡͓̠͖͙͍̗̬͖͖͔̙̺͕̀̊͂͛͆͗̐̋̎̅̈́̚͘͞͠h̡̧̟̻̣̩̺͖͙̩̠̗͍̋̈́̽̒̈́̋̌̂̋́̎͒͂́̈́͢ͅǫ̖̭̥͚͍͎͓̗͇͓̯̖̩̞̔͆͌́̊͗͒̀̓̋͘̚͞͡͞ų̠̘͙̘̙̪̫͕̱̗̘͎̫͎̄̔̃͐̔͐̈̽̽̾̒̃͘̕͝t̢̨̨͚͔͈͇̘͖̯̩̠̬̠͒͒̿̒̓̅͆͗͐̔̈͗̃̕͘ͅ ̧̙͇̟̟͇̟̤̫͇͖̪̝̮̬̂̈͗̄̆́̋͒͌̀͑͗̚͠͞M̢̨̦̲̟̹̖̠͓̬͉͚̺̺̍̐̄̌͑̾͊̓̐͛̚͟͞͝͡͡Ḛ̢̨̖̜̼̟̟̜͔̫̽̎̌͋͋̎̉̊̾͗̀͊̆̏͢͢͜͟͠.
To: All
Subject: Midday Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Slaughter, prejudice, zalgo text, Oriphi fucking dies, heart of thorns spoilers lmao
We are everywhere. We are the roots, the grass, the moss, the overgrown trees, the out-of-place and disfigured vines that hang in the air, that suffocate the wildlife, that grasp the crumbling airships.
So no matter where we are, you see. You see that your kin, your brothers and sisters, have been sequestered off and herded into their own little pen, separate from the rest of the troops in the Pact Encampent. They have been given their own targets for practice, their own bedrolls, their own rations. Perhaps it would be a nice situation to be in - to be among familiar faces, family - had the whole scene been ripped from the context in which it sat.
The sylvari are being quarantined. They can no longer be trusted. They are subjects of M̹͂ő̢̯͞rdř͉e̡̮͑͌m̜̮̗̽́͛ó̤̬̐t̮̅h̝̩̍̾. Though they claim they are trustworthy, that they still fight for the Pact's cause, is that still true? Can they distinguish their own thoughts from the d͍̠̐̀rà̫ğ͍͓̑ọ̜̈́̃n̯̂'s in their head?
They carry on as though everything is normal. Some train with the dummies, some sleep, some huddle in little groups as they partake in meals. A lot of them, if not all of them, look like your friends, dreamwalkers from Songerein. How interesting that you see them this way - as family. As your responsibility. It's too bad you doom them by doing so.
The herd of plant ghouls are watched over by norn - broad, 9-foot-tall humanoids - and charr - ferocious-looking felines with horns, tall if not taller than the norn. They wear Vigil uniforms. You know these officers. They are aggressive, merciless, Vigil for good reason. They are not suited for guard duty - in a sick, sinking feeling, you realize they have been ostensibly stationed to "keep watch." That is not their true job. They have been chosen for one specific reason.
There comes a scream from among the sylvari. This particular one - a petite sapling, her bark the gentle color of violets, offset in places by soft patches of pink lichen; her wide, curious eyes the color of midsummer sunflowers; yellow blossoms budding from the branches stemming from her head - has caved ̯̎ḁ̐nd͇͝ ̣͠ġ͟iven i̬͊n̞͐to̳͂ ̧̹͆̔tḩ̛e͇̕ ̛̼̂ͅd̻̲̉͘r̟͝ä̱̪͙́͛̄ġ̞̠͒̈ͅo̝̙̲͂̆̕n'̡̧̞͊̿̕s̡͍̦͂̄̎̉͜ ̡̻͍̜̀̓̈̕v̤̼̪͕̋̽̾͘ơ̫̱͍̜͊̒͠ì̢̲̃́͜͝ͅc̦̰̞̞̏̔̀͠è͙̠͙̬̅̔̕. The dragon's thoughts are her own now. She whirls around to the exit of the pen, eyes wide in madness, and draws her staff. It's only two steps into her charge that one of the norn standing watch cocks her rifle and sends flying a bullet that soars straight through the sylvari's head. With an unceremonious thud, the sylvari falls to the ground. She will move no more.
A hush falls over the pen. The norn reloads her rifle. "Remember," her deep, booming voice resonates over the dragon's for a brief second. "Any funny business, and you'll end up like her."
It is then that a group of other Pact soldiers on patrol pass by the pen, trying their best not to gawk at the spectacle. They whisper amongst themselves, trying not to be heard, but you can hear. You are e͔͡v̘̙͇͙̱̹͂̎̈́̓͛̚͜͞e̟̝̬͉͚̹͆̅͂̾̀̕r̨̫͋̂́ͅy̢͒w͢͝ḣ̪̜̞̝̟̊̎͛͒̑͜ë͙̥̞̙́̔̑̓ŗ̱̩͌̌̽̿͢ę͓̳̖̘̾̒̒̋͞͠ͅ, after all.
"How horrible..."
"Should have put all of them down..."
"...Commander told us to give them the benefit of the doubt..."
"...don't know how I'll trust a sylvari after this..."
"Isn't our marshal a sylvari...?"
"That's terrifying, what will happen to us...?"
They mention you, but you're at my mercy. We see everything, but you cannot respond.
They do not trust you. T͖̪͉̯͂̑͌͠h̯̠̩́͂͘ḙ̛̪̞͉̋̍͝y͍̌ ̡̬̗̣͓̑͂̿̚͡w̡̯̲̣͇̄́͋͐͠ị̎l͇͔̮͚͚̠̊̓̄͐̽̔͢͞ļ̛̬̑͢͞ ̨̃ne̺͖͉̹̺̓͋͛̽̒v̳͗ĕ̘̱͚̓͞r ̰͛ţ͎̙̲̙̫̆̍͛͊̋͟͞͡r̰̪͔̍̓͘ȗ̧͚̝͗̆ş͕͙͍̋̽̕͘͟͝t̢̩͉̜͕͈̑̿̽̑͞͡ ͍̽yọ̥̮̹͐́͂̈ù̟̺͉̖̈́̀͝.
They do not trust your family. T̢͇̘̠̘̞̐̑̅̔͗̊ḥ͙̭̲̎̊̊́̆̚ͅͅé̡͔̮̑̅ȳ̡͍͙͕̹̩̑̈̇̀͛͑ͅ ̡̲̤̬͗͐̅̐w͕̝̘͚͈̰̪̒̊̾̽̈́̀̅í͙͚̱̭̔͐̃́͢͢͝l͚̦͈͉͆̅̇͌͜͞l͉̠̯̠̯̠̑̑͂͑̆̀̚͜ ͉̦̦̻̹͐̈́̉̂͐͜͡ǹ̡̛͚̝͖̮̺͔́̈̾́̐ǒ̗ ̯̟͓̖̙̀̊̽̓̅͢͝ḽ̢̥̘̖̜͊͐̍̈͊͐̂̕͜͜o̭͌̈́͢ñ͉̭̺͆͑ǧ̫ě͙̫͉̠̜͓̩́͌̄̿̕͞r̭͎̱̦͌͗̿͡ ̧̧̺̈̋̄̽͢t̰͇̟̫̠͖̤̩̎̄̽̑̌̎̽͞ṙ̡̢̹̥̍̌͒us̭͎̱̘͑̇͘̚t̩̱͆͝ ̤͔̯̱̖̗̩̃̈́̆̋̈̕͞y͍̅o̝̜̹͕̒̌̃͘u̜̳̦̽͂̈r̰͛ ̯̂̍͟f̛̤̦͓̯͇͂̎́͐a̬̓ḿ̧̢̰̠̗͈̤̌͊̈́́͘͞i̢̩̲̯͑́̒̚l͙̝̦͆͂͑́̏͟͢y.
Your mistake will be a scar on Tyria, on the history of your people. Y͕̎o̤͒̅ͅu ̨̖́̕w̮̾i̢̤͋̿ll͍̭̒͠ ̪̙̹͐͊̃̊͢b̰̪̎̿e̥̱̍̀ ̨͇͕͖͌̀̋̉r̟̯̜̪̾̎̄̆͘͢e͈̾m͍̔e̢̩̳̋̈̀m͇̻̱̳̬̑̄̐͘͞b̭̫͓͙͂͋̀̕ḗ̘̖̺͈̻̻͌̅̈́̅r̠̃̀͢e͎̯͙͍̎̉̊͝d̡̨̹̪̮̄̊̔͑̌͘ͅ ͙͖̠̀̿͞f̭̌ö̢̮̟͉͔̥̗̳͆̽͗̀͒͘͞ȓ̻̘͙̟͇̗̖̜͑̒̐́͛̀̄ ̡̳̩̞͉̗̬͂͌̈͗́̉͘͟͡y̛̫̪̻̠̰͎̲̓͌͋̅̀́̚͜ỡ̢̡̨̭̞̤͕̎̒͛̄͜͠͝u͖͍͙͉͍̜͚͙̿̇̍͛̐̒͗̚r̼̖̤̻̩͓̟̄̽͂̂̐̒̍̒͜ ̙̰͎͔̣̠̈̓͋̃͛̿́͊͜ͅf͓̮͚͖͙͕̰̊̉͂͆͐͊̉͊͜a̙͚͔͙̞̳̖͇̓̿͒̄̌̅̾͝ì̡̠͓͓͚͚͇̖̐̋́̇͋͆͞ļ̰̖͔̦͙͕̣́̒̈̋̇̒́͝ů͔̲̰̳̭̙̟̰̃͐͂̔͒̀̐r̛̪̦̬̺͈͎͎̩̒̆͌̾̉͒̓e̡͖͎̩͉͕̺̯͗͛̔̉͘͘͞͞s̨̧̻̲̹͓̭̲̎̓̑̃̑̈́͞͠.̶͕̼̻̱̤̟̯̺̘̘͆͘
You resist. You refuse my help. From the h͖̒ę͚̼͍̪̤̂͆͆͐̀̿̈́̕͟͟͡ͅa̛̜̼̹̤͇͐̍́̐r̢̬͇͙̗̖̲̪̄͑̅̋͆̀̔͠t͔̳͛͐͢͝ ̧̠͔͇͈̯̬͎́̃̋͗̎̿̚͝ȍ̠f͈͚̬̿͘͘ ̝̣̫͍̭͗̀̋̅̀͗͟t̡̆h̡̜̦̼͖̳̭̀̂́̚͡͠͡ö̢̩̝̜̞́̎̐̾͡r͚͍͙͈͎͌̈́͛̑͡n̳͖̝̘͕̺͈͛̀͐̾̏̽͒̕͜͟͠s̢̝͓͍̱̹̜̐̎̐̊͌͒̅͆͜ you see all that I see, you hear all that I hear, you are everywhere as I am. You see how your people - our people - suffer, yet you choose to do ņ̖͚̦̮̗̱͇̗̘̙͚̣̹̆̒̓̌̃̋̆̂̄̀͑̎͐͟͝͠ǫ̔t̺́h̨̯͖̲̞̝̪̗̪̫̮̜͈̖̙̳̼̓͗͑̍̽͂̈̐̐̅̍̇̎̈́̈̓̅í̳̬͎͚̘̗͓̻̯͚̖̀̈́̒̇̉͊̉̃͑̔͢͠n͈͕̲͔̝̣̟̟̮͂̽̿͗̉̄̈̍̆̃͢͢͝ĝ̯̺͎̖̤̜̯͙̭̯̓̊̋̈́̀͐̀́̒͘͟͟͝.
You are path͇͊et͚͋i͕̾c̨̊.͔̔ ͕̻̀͡Y̘͛͜͝ou̞̯͐͡ ̙̟̟͑͋̾a̦̼̽͐̀͜rė͓̩̦́͊ ͍͙͒̔w̪͈̳͙͆͒̃̊è̱a͓̽̆͢k̢̢̭͖̝̎̽̂͌͒.̙͌ ̻͉͇̓̏̑Y̨̡̋̽ō͚̪͙̑̊u̠͇͇͖̣̓͑́̑͝ ͉̝̫̅̆̎ç͎̮̏̊̍à̢͉̺̗̾̓̋̚͟n̢̧͙̟̫̺̓̐̃͊̅̂ņ̢̡̖̯̀̄̀̅̒̓͜ơ͈̬͙̗͚̮̍͛́́̐t̝͚̩̬̹͒̿̍̕͝ ̱̩͠͡e̱͓̩̖̗̺̩͗̑̂͊̎̎̃v̡̝̪̝̥̙̮̝̋̓͑̈̏̃͒͠ę̣̯̭̘̺̏̐̀̈̾̚n̛͖̱̩̘̘̥̠̜̋̃́́̔̉͗͘͢ ̧̝̫̌̑̅s̝͇̮̻̜̦͋͛̐̄̇͗͒͢a͙͙͎̮̘͎͍̪͛̐͗̆͌́̂͛͐̅͢͢v̹̺͍̇͐͞e͚̟̓̀ ͍̭͇̳̖͊͂̄͂̋͝ͅy͖̞̺̆̔̓o̘͚̪͗̉͞ù̺̠͕̤͍͇̲̟̻̠̑̒̊̈͌̂̔͊̚r̳̼͇̒̀̏ ̡͈̖̮͋̍́̽̚͢ḱ̡̻̥̤̙̰̐̎̕̕͞i̘͊ṋ͔̹͈͉͔͔̙̣̾̂̄̀̏̌̒̆͘̚ͅ.̡̉ ͔͎͙̼̯̼̩̗̳̯̭͒̏́̓́̆̒̅̽̌͢͠͞N̎ͅo̙͎̞̯̓̂̌͝t̬͚͗̕ ̢̧̻̩̞̬̬̭͉̤̞̭̂̎̒͆̄͐͊͛̔̕̚͟͠͞w̡̯̭̮͔̩̠̻̙̦͎̤̝͌̂͑͐̓̀͂͌̽̊͌͑͛̔͜͠ͅį̧̥̤̹̪͓̞̫͇̬̻̏͛̈́͊͑̿̓́͑̏͛͑̿̚͜͟͠ͅt̡̡͓̠͖͙͍̗̬͖͖͔̙̺͕̀̊͂͛͆͗̐̋̎̅̈́̚͘͞͠h̡̧̟̻̣̩̺͖͙̩̠̗͍̋̈́̽̒̈́̋̌̂̋́̎͒͂́̈́͢ͅǫ̖̭̥͚͍͎͓̗͇͓̯̖̩̞̔͆͌́̊͗͒̀̓̋͘̚͞͡͞ų̠̘͙̘̙̪̫͕̱̗̘͎̫͎̄̔̃͐̔͐̈̽̽̾̒̃͘̕͝t̢̨̨͚͔͈͇̘͖̯̩̠̬̠͒͒̿̒̓̅͆͗͐̔̈͗̃̕͘ͅ ̧̙͇̟̟͇̟̤̫͇͖̪̝̮̬̂̈͗̄̆́̋͒͌̀͑͗̚͠͞M̢̨̦̲̟̹̖̠͓̬͉͚̺̺̍̐̄̌͑̾͊̓̐͛̚͟͞͝͡͡Ḛ̢̨̖̜̼̟̟̜͔̫̽̎̌͋͋̎̉̊̾͗̀͊̆̏͢͢͜͟͠.
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Trahearne…
[ She folds her arms across her chest, tipping her head to one side as she looks at him with no small degree of continued concern and sympathy. With each thing she learns about what he faced in his own realm, things just get worse. ]
What happened was awful, and heartbreaking. But none of it is your fault, Trahearne.
[ She needs him to understand that. She gets it - she really does, because she feels that way about many things that happened in her realm, too. That if only she were stronger, a better sister or friend, or enough, maybe some things could have been avoided. But she is slowly coming to understand the gravity of that way of thinking, of how unfair it is to one’s self, thanks to her friends from home and here alike. ]
I’m sure you did everything you could, despite everything, to protect your people. And I’m sure that there are sylvari that still walk in the waking world, free from Mordremoth’s influence with a new chance at life, thanks to you and your friends.
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And within it all, he had done what he could. What he thought was right, even if it ultimately meant--
At mention of friends, his head snaps up, and he turns to Ori. For a moment, he only blinks. Strangely, the words seem to come to him slower than he expects; his voice is thick. ]
Can you... Can you get me my vial, the one you gave me? With the petal in it? It's--it's by my hammock.
[ He points weakly at the small nightstand by his hammock. ]
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Vial... Oh, that vial! Of course.
[ Scrambling over to the aforementioned nightstand, she carefully takes the vial up in her hands and then makes her way back over to where he is, holding it out for him. ]
H—Here you go... I made sure to dust it to keep the glass clear while you were asleep.
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With a sigh he stares down at it--it's still in tact, the image (and person) he wants to see still there, repeating the same ten-second loop. How grateful he is that Ori kept it clean while he was asleep, that she understands just how important this is to him. It brings him enough comfort, in fact, that the last of his tension visibly evaporating from his expression. ]
They did eventually strike down the dragon, despite it all. But it had planted a seed so deep in my mind that it threatened to regrow all over again, and use me as a vessel to its ends.
And so, to answer your question, the dragon did die. Only because I did as well.
[ Well, that's what he hopes, at least. There is another possibility in his mind that he refuses to address now. ]
It's thanks to him that I'm here now. [ He glances down at his vial, a smile tugging on his lips for the first time since awakening. ] Had he not cut me down when he did, I... I don't think I would have much of a soul left to be here.
[ Trahearne pauses. After a moment, he looks up at Ori apologetically. For the second time he's burdened her with terrible things. ]
I'm sorry. I know it's a lot.
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[ died. It takes her a long moment to truly hear all that he’s said, to let it sift through her mind to try and understand such a seemingly significant event in a world she has never been to, and that she knows very little about. Luckily, it doesn’t feel too unfamiliar - because she can certainly imagine these sorts of things happening where she’s from, too.
At length, she returns his apologetic expression with one of sympathy, on her part. ]
I understand. Trahearne, you gave your life to save everyone from the dragon. Of course it’s a lot - but it’s okay, I promise.
[ She glances down at the vial as he holds it so carefully in his hands. ]
I’m sure that were there any other way, he would have done everything he could have to save you. To sacrifice one’s friend is… It’s the hardest thing someone could ever do.
[ And she knows this, because she’s done the same. ]
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He listens to her speak, thumb running absently over the glass as he does. Her words give him comfort, as always. There is conviction in her speech that settles his worries, even though he knows she is not his second-in-command and cannot speak for him; perhaps it's selfish of him to think that she does.
There is something about the way she words it, though, that tugs at him. He looks back up, brows drawn up in slight worry. ]
...It sounds as though you are no stranger to the situation.
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Perhaps there will be another time for the full story, but for now, she elects for the short and sweet, if only in hopes of easing her friend’s worries. ]
Just before you fell into your coma… Diluc encouraged me to see if I could return to the waking world for a bit, to see to many loose ends that had been worrying me for a long time…
I was able to do that, and to see things through, but… I lost a dear friend, too. There was no other way.
[ She closes her eyes, and rests a hand on her chest as if that might dull the twisting feeling in her heart at the memories resurfacing. ]
I can only imagine that your friend must have felt similarly. That if there was anything else that could have been done, he would have tried it no matter what…
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Ah, so she found some closure. The thought causes the corner of his lips curl slightly in a smile, genuinely happy for her. But what she says to him--yes. Of course. So she is no stranger to this. He gulps, a lump forming in his throat. ]
...I'm so sorry, Ori. [ He watches her. ] It couldn't have been easy. I can't imagine the pain.
[ He doubts he would have had the resolve to do the same if their positions were reversed.
And she's right--the way his second-in-command yelled No! at him will stick with him for a long time, he reckons. But they had no time to think of other options. A thought comes to him and he blinks, breaking the pool of tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes; they streak down his cheeks, but he hardly notices. ]
Would you...feel better if there was a way for your friend to tell you they're all right and at rest? Or if you could...reach out to them to let them know how things turned out?
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But still, sometimes she can’t help but feel selfish. Was Sian’s sacrifice to give up their own soul to purge that of Gran Karrefour’s from the gemstones and thusly the world really the only way? If they all had resolved to pledge the rest of their lives to guarding Gran Karrefour’s gemstones instead… Wouldn’t that have been better?
In the end, though, there’s no way for her to truly know. All she can do is to ensure that her friend’s sacrifice was not in vein. She hopes she can live up to that.
At his question, the ghost of a smile tugs at a corner of her mouth. She’s thought about this question, too, in all the months that have passed. ]
With how things turned out, it would be impossible, but… That doesn’t stop me from thinking about them, sometimes. Like if I saw something that reminded me of them and thought, “Hey, Sian, things are going well,” even if I know it won’t reach them.
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He only realizes he's crying when he blinks, and his vision blurs. Something clenches in his chest, in his throat. He wonders if his second-in-command is doing the same--is he thinking of him? Does he suddenly come across things that remind him of Trahearne and pause to think similarly as Ori does, much in the way Trahearne has done since awakening here?
There's no way to know--Trahearne could never tell what was going on in his head. He could have forgotten about his former marshal by now, for all he knew. But...out of total selfishness, he will take Ori's words as his.
He swallows, easing the lump in his throat. ]
And...I'm certain your friend would want to reassure you that this is what they wanted. And that everyone they left behind should keep forging onward, to live their lives well and fully.
[ He is, selfishly, only speaking for himself. He doesn't know the details of Ori's friend's circumstances, of course. But that doesn't make the situation any less painful.
It wasn't like there had been any other way for him, either. ]
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On her worst days, Ori thinks herself the most selfish person, to feel grateful that it wasn’t her. Perhaps it should have been her. But as she and her friends all stood there, arguing amongst each other about whether a sacrifice should be made in the first place, if there was any other way, and who should be made to give up everything as they raced against time, she remembers the feeling clearly to this day: she was scared. She didn’t want to die. She knew as much because she had been so very close to losing her life - and she didn’t want to die.
She frowns when she notices him tear up, taking in a deep breath. ]
…I think Sian would have felt similarly.
[ But perhaps she is being selfish again, fooling herself into believing such a sentiment to make herself feel less guilty. ]
And sometimes I hope… They find their way here, somehow. [ After fall, Trahearne was able to. ] I think they would like this place a lot. You two might even get along.
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And, she is right. Trahearne is here. The possibility that her Sian might find their way here is not out of the question. ]
For your sake, I hope they do. [ He directs his roaming gaze back to Ori, his eyes kind. ] And I would be delighted to meet them, if that should ever happen.
[ For a moment, his gaze drops to his vial before he looks back up at her. He seems much calmer now, having talked through the affair. His smile takes on a rueful hue. ] Thank you, Ori. I feel much better. I am...always grateful that you are here to talk things through with me.
[ This is the second time this has happened. ]
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Maybe, the Sian that could find their way here would remember how much fuller their life became when they let themself care about other people.
But, ah, those are thoughts for another idle daydream, at another time. At the moment, the friend that is here in front of her takes precedence. She smiles at Traheare, giving him an understanding nod of her head. ]
I’m happy to help. I’m always here for you, and I’m grateful that you shared these feelings with me, too. I know it couldn’t have been easy.
[ All of that being said, she gets back up to her feet, straightening out her clothes. ]
Now… I’m sure there’s so much that you want to catch up on, now that you’re awake again! A few of us tried to make sure your home and the archives stayed in good condition, but what do you think about taking a walk through the woods with me again sometime soon?
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He opens his mouth to say something else when Ori beats him to the punch. At mention of the archives, he immediately lights up. ]
I was about to ask how the archives are doing! It heartens me to hear that.
[ That will probably be the first thing he does once he leaves the house, once he's recovered emotionally. Ever the workaholic.
He strides over to his nightstand to gently place his vial back in its spot. The sole zinna in the bottle next to it seems to perk up again as he does. ]
And I would like that. A walk outside would do me good after sleeping for so long.
[ He turns back to smile at her. ]