Exploration Event: Neverwere

[lifeaftr_mods]

EXPLORATION EVENT: NEVERWERE

Who: Everyone!
What: Your wildest dreams come true!
When: May 15th to May 18th
Where: Ziziphus, those still on Ensō...and Mu
Warnings: Mark as needed!

Then Know That My Life Was Just a Killer Dream
You can find most of the information you need in the OOC info post! In the meantime, feel free to use this log as a catch-all for your dream worlds, as well as detailing your efforts to free one another. Whether they're on Ziziphus or Ensō at the time of the dreams' capture, your character is free to access as many dreams as you like, as the interlocking mental landscape allows for that sort of crossing over apropos of nothing. And time, of course, is very fluid in dreams - many days, months, and years can transpire in a matter of mere minutes.

Will you fight your way free from Ziziphus's vines or Mu's thrall, or are you content to die in your sleep?

Remember to let us know if your character dies during this event!

Event Timeline

[ ♆ ] May 15th: The vines make their move, ensnaring characters in ideal fantasy worlds
[ ♆ ] May 17th: The Storyteller will make contact with those they can, as well as issue information and a potential solution
[ ♆ ] May 18th: Those that have not freed themselves from the vines or from Mu will suffer a death

---

LOGS ● OOC ● STORIES ● MAIN NAVIGATION

( CODED BY BOOTYCALL )

Comments

[piercetheheart]

He's halfway to marching into the living room, leaving the thorough search of the kitchen to Tim when that question stops him in his tracks.

Have forever.

It's wrong, he knows it is. He's known Ignis and Noctis for as long as he can remember. So maybe not forever but surely he's known Tim for ages too.

"Why can't I remember how we met?" Because that's the sort of thing you remember about lifelong friends. "I... know..." you. It's meant to be a reassurance but the last word sticks in his throat and it feels like a lie. Does he? Does he really?

"Tim...?" He frowns, looks around the room once more, so foreign, so strange to him now. "I don't... think this is... how it's supposed to be."

[postictal]

"Then how is it?"

How'd we meet? He doesn't know. There's something swimming underneath all this, something dark and ugly and too tall and he doesn't want to look at it, but it's leering out at him without eyes and it'll shred him alive, it's like water sticking in his lungs in his throat, it's like electricity firing off in his brain. You've always been sick, Timothy Wright. You've always been sick.

There's something outside the window.

Then there isn't.

The world shivers, like static tearing through a still frame, stripping away the curtain for a split second to reveal the dark, earthy interior of something else.