Chapter V - Brimstone

[IamLEAM1983]

A Fae's Mantle can typically withstand tremendous levels of abuse, epidermis turning to plate armor or the heart's distinct chambers operating independently alongside briefly hyper-efficient lungs. Eyes turn piercing, tendon and sinew store and discharge unsuspected levels of power, the nervous system almost sings as the vibrant life granted unto the Dragonborn by their ageless creators briefly marries grace and power - with beautifully terrible outcomes resulting from it all.

McKinley's manhood would effectively be fine, and so would his bruised sides. His eyeballs felt raw and teary, his vision blurred after Neasa's onslaught - but his defenses had been shattered. His Mantle subsided even as pain retook its usurped throne. Two blinks, and his eyes turned red, their pits darkening and swelling as delayed black eyes formed. The joyful symphony of Faerie's grace left his mind and limbs, leaving him to dazedly look up to Neasa as she pinned him in place.

"You don't know the alternative!" he croaked. "Demons vying for power, holding jobs, having professional authority over us - they'll ruin us all! Magnus and his friends, they're the minority and you know it! You'll hand the world over to them on a plate, sometime this week! You'll doom us all!"

Surprisingly, it was Anjali who spoke up, working up enough courage to peer past Bucky's protectively outstretched arm. "Your mister Sharpe's not the only one with weapons," she said. "I know there isn't a single angel in Heaven that doesn't know how to fight."

Vernon placed the tip of his umbrella on Atticus' cheek, causing him to yelp in pain. That tiny iron tip was effective as ever, the Bane robbing Sharpe's envoy of his bargaining chips. As he did so, he briefly nodded to Neasa: he had him pinned down, she'd be free to remove her foot from his throat if she desired. He then carefully put a knee down and peered at McKinley.

"Do you yield?
- I didn't challenge ya - augh - I can't yield to you, you Northern scum!
- Then do you yield to her, mister McKinley?"

The Summer Lord wailed. "You- You've tainted me! It'll be days before I can hold my own 'gainst anyone! What other choice do I fuckin' have?!"

Vernon's eyebrows shot up. "That was your decision, Atticus. You issued a challenge in my house. Oberon would send you to Mab in shackles, and she would do you no favors for failing both her and her sister. This pain is entirely your doing. The Old Ways are emphatically clear: I cannot force you to yield. I can, however, state that I would be loathe to see the swamp muck that passes for your blood stain my demesne."

He grunted. "East Coast hospitality, my ass!"

Haskill grunted dismissively and traded his umbrella tip for an iron-capped shoe heel, which he almost tenderly applied. McKinley shrieked in response.

"I YIELD, I YIELD! I'LL - I'LL TELL SHARPE YOU DON'T NEED US, I SWEAR! I'LL TELL HIM TO STAY AWAY!"

Another grunt. "No, I don't entirely believe you, Milord... You're likely to send some of Sharpe's armed goons our way to try and eliminate the pesky problem we're posing - let the Pitspawn sort the survivors out. Considering, let me add an emphatic element of persuasion..."

Frost again coated Haskill's face, eyebrows, chest and upper limbs, his hands swallowed in a strangely pliable coating of sheer ice. His already clear eyes turned a cruel shade of blue, like thin ice over an ocean shore, and he reached for one of McKinley's hands, slowly. The Southerner pleaded against it as the Winter Lord made his gestures slow, calculated and exquisite - stretching the envoy's horror and apprehension.

He simply touched Atticus' right hand with the tip of a few fingers, frostbite immediately spreading across its length as a blackened patch of dying flesh. Pushed further than screams would've allowed, the envoy only managed weak croaks and spasms.

By now, Bucky had his hand squarely in front of Anjali's face and refused to let the girl witness what followed. It was all the better, considering, as Vernon stood up and then drove one of his heels against one of McKinley's flash-frozen fingers. There wasn't so much as a trickle of blood, red icy chunks and white bone splinters sent careening across the floor for a few inches.

Somewhere deep within, the Dixie Fae's previously gracious envoy found reserves enough to shriek and wail again.

* * *

Cuthbert sent Smirnov and Lowell a placating glance, even as Archie placidly went to sit in the chair Nickar had occupied. He then turned his attention to the room, like a theater-goer waiting for the curtain to be lifted. The group's respective offices didn't have much in common with the reading rooms and smaller salons or collection rooms they'd once housed, but you'd still find a few reminders, here and there. In Aidan's office, an upholstered living room chair that had once been one of Hiram Holden's favorite sitting spots back in Kent was the young man's to use - even if he hardly used it at all. Bagley dusted it every morning, but Three still felt ill-at-ease with sitting in a chair that smelled of someone else's favorite tobacco blend, especially a chair with this much history in it.

To Meris, Drake was seen nodding yes to Samuel, whose gaze drew inward. Then, she'd recognize the sort of microscopic jolt or tremor of the eyes that usually settled in once you were plugged into by a telepath. It didn't so much indicate surprise as it did the body adjusting. The German Shepherd's hackles were slightly raised, Archie's painted-on irises briefly shimmered with life - long enough to constrict and expand again...

And then they both were there, seemingly in the flesh. In that very instant, Samuel's clothes had changed, going from military to Smart Casual, a sweater over a partly-opened white shirt, carefully pleated linen dress pants joined with what looked to be slightly pricey leather loafers. The new Drake family member felt strangely older than Aidan, perhaps by a decade - and more bookish, somehow; without taking away the sense that he would've seen combat if he'd been real. The marksman's glasses were replaced with thin-framed spectacles that held in place by pressing against the sides of his head. A few tiny details of otherwise unseen military tattoos poking just past his right rolled sleeve. The briefly-visible jawline certainly fit, and it somehow wouldn't have been impossible to imagine this particular Squid having a smidgen of Irish blood. Something to the cheekbones, perhaps...

In the same instant, Meris' friend and former mentor more or less appeared in Hiram Holden's old chair, feet propped up on the footrest that waited in front, newspaper held open between a few weakly pinched fingers, and his currently unworn straw fedora hanging from one of the chair's sides. Delmar had seemingly kept to the same old pale hues and casual wear, chin now pressed against his chest as faint snores escaped him. Samuel had apparently dragged him from one of the many ways he had to occupy himself when otherwise unsolicited: reading the unconsciously-memorized snippets and clippings of the latest world news that cluttered the back of Meris' mind.

It made sense, obviously. Being who and what he was, Delmar could watch what Meris watched, read what Meris read, or more. He obviously wasn't the type to peek in on a consistent basis, but pulling the latest edition of the Hope Herald into the back of the Archmage's conscious mind and her corner of the Darkhallow was something that would've been largely understandable. If keeping tabs on Meris only required of Delmar to briefly project himself into her conscious mind or her dreamscape, staying abreast of world events would've been a tad more difficult. Indulging in Meris' own need to stay up-to-date solved that issue rather gracefully.

[TennyoCeres84]

While she knew she couldn't physically touch Delmar, Meris ventured over to her napping friend. "Delmar, wake up. We have company that I think you'll be happy to meet..." she said with some renewed cheer in her voice.

*~*~*

Not one to particularly relish the pain of others, even of someone she couldn't stand, Neasa grunted and looked away at the moment that Atticus' hand had become frostbitten and then shattered. Also, with the high of the scuffle over, his liver shots still left her wincing slightly. As durable as her skin could be, there would likely be some bruising there in the morning. Doing her best to ignore the wails and shrieks, she looked over at Eireann and Vernon. "So, what now?"

[IamLEAM1983]

Vernon stepped away and pulled on a linen cord that hung close to one of the undisturbed bookcases. "Now, I send for some of Eirean and I's men to have our guest safely escorted across Faerie, to where our Southlands begin. I will also dispatch a Wyldfae courier across, to have Sharpe's men receive McKinley adequately - and to ensure he does not endure further punishment. He will require medical care, or some rounds of curative spells, at the very least."

Moments later, two Malks who looked a fair bit younger than Gubbin padded into the room, shifting into their human forms at McKinley's sight. They managed to combine strength, care and authority as they handled him and placed him on his feet, and then guided him out the door, paying no heed to the envoy's now much quieter wails. Once the three of them were done, the Lord and Lady visibly relaxed.

"Thank you, Neasa," said Eirean. "We were in no position to require him to tell us his true motives, and we couldn't goad or trigger him beyond a certain point. I would've prevented all this by forgoing his receiving an Oath of Hospitality, but that's the Old Ways for you," she said, sighing. "I had to play my part as hostess; failure to do so would've been detrimental to my Mantle. Since Hope needs the both of us at our peak, I couldn't take that chance."

She then reached for a green apple on the table they'd been seated at earlier, and briefly seemed to focus onto it. The Summer Lady then handed it to the roane. "For the pain," she explained, "and the bruises. The Old Ways don't say anything about our helping our champions after a fight - this is me doing this as a friend."

Again, frost cracked and fell off of Vernon's frame, the Winter Lord sighing as he released whatever remaining tensions he'd still harbored. He gestured with a hand, and a low, cold wintertime eddy blew close to the floor, carrying the frozen bits of flesh and bone towards the fireplace.

"We know Sharpe will attempt to intervene, now. If not here, then in the South. Holden Hall has placed us in contact with a one Jubal Whitney of Nacogdoches," he said, pronouncing the name with a distinctly incorrect - if very British - inflexion. "We have done our part to facilitate inroads between Texas' heavily-established occult base and their Fae Courts. Thankfully, Houston seems to be dominated by servants of the King and Queen - most have seen the need for preparation beyond what it is the local survivalists have already attempted. If Hell is coming, they will find most of the Central States and Midwest closely watched over by the local Sidhe."

His lips were pursed. "I can make no such proclamations for those of Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama and South Carolina. Walpurgis is attempting to reach out to regional doomsday prepper groups to ensure that their efforts do not merely consist in the stockpiling of non-perishables and firearms. Sustainability is still a concern. We know Magnus' efforts have drawn attention from here to California, reaching all the way up to British Columbia - but those who would have followed in Thomas' footsteps lack his financial means. My South American contacts are limited - at best, I know that previous environmental education programs in Bolivia and Peru have now begun integrating arcane defense measures in their efforts. We have Magnus Tower as a full-blown bunker and arcology, they largely have converted hangars and silos, or home-made bunkers."

Haskill then consulted his fob watch and grunted. "The last of Ephesian's hearings is scheduled two days from now, during the peak of the Holidays' shopping season... We will be unable to keep innocents away from the courthouse or neighbouring streets, unfortunately. Your efforts are sound, Neasa, but I do wonder if you shall manage to relocate enough civilians before the hammer falls. For all of Judge Mantus' assumed power, if the laws of this country declare Frank Lambert not guilty, the gates of Hell will open in our plane of existence. Time is now too short to prevent it."

Anjali spoke up. "What if this Sharpe man dies? He won't be a problem, then."

That made Vernon smile sweetly, as he clearly appreciated Anjali's innocence. "Our foe is a capable one, sweetling," he replied, "and should one of the Southern States' leadership fall in the incursions, he will step forth and claim it as his own. A feudal state rising out of the ashes of the old world, with its supernatural militia and expansionist goals... It would be Holden's Shadow Wars all over again. Many would flock to its walls to escape the demon hordes."

* * *

Delmar woke gradually, first giving his newspaper and Meris a bleary-eyed look, before recognition set in. Shock obviously followed.

"Is this...? Am I...?"

Samuel spoke up. "I'm sorry, sir, but you aren't. Neither of us are corporeal yet. We're visible, though - and audible. I've helped Aidan here patch into Meris, and now he's more or less running you alongside me. I'm Samuel, the persona for Aidan's Lexicon."

Disappointment briefly took root, then marshalled aside by curiosity enough for Delmar to fold his newspaper, recover his fedora and stand up. "So, this is real," he said, running a hand along the wood of Drake's desk. "This isn't the Darkhallow?"

Samuel nodded in the negative, smiling as he did. "Nope. Meris is wide awake - so is everyone else here. Although, I understand Aidan's going to want to go under in a little while. He wants to contact Nereus."

Delmar seemed to miss that last bit of information, as busy he was with mumbling thanks to the Architect. The root of his two frontal tentacles twitched and his eyes were briefly half-lidded as the scents of settled dust and printer toner wafted in the very back of his sensory awareness. A pleased and shocked chuckle escaped him, and he placed a hand on Aidan's, who still looked as though pain had left his features taut.

"Thank you, dear boy," said the former Revered of Respite Point in a quiet tone that spoke of immense gratitude. "Thank you for your sacrifice. What you've given birth to, what you've done for me - for all of us hailing from Dalarath - is the first step in our definitive freedom from the Others."

He then looked back up to Samuel. "You don't hear Them at all, do you?
- I don't," confirmed the persona. "If I focus the way I know you used to, all I sense is Aidan's memories."

Delmar obviously looked shaken. "The first Void Weaver mind to be born free of Their influence in hundreds of thousands of years... You're not just free of Them, child - you're free of our struggle, as well! You're our ideal made manifest, and you were born out of everything Respite Point's ever championed!"

Anton crossed his arms together. "What about me? I created the Lexicon implant in the first place."

Delmar put his hat back on, as if that punctuated his shift in mood, emotional shock now giving way to regret and anger. "I've spent my life trying to find ways to empower the humans and anthros, to safeguard those who knew my people's true cause against the Others' depredations. I died for it, Meris taking me in only so I'd keep counselling her, fighting beside her. In all my years, I never entertained the idea that a surface-dweller would have to suffer out of our efforts at emancipation. Aidan was free, Anton Azardad, and you shackled him if only to give us this very hope I now see before us."

He advanced on the neurosurgeon, tapping the side of his own head with a finger. "We're linked, now, and I can see how much you pushed Charles Jenkins, how little of his humanity is left. Nereus would be sick at your sight, your own wife would balk - and don't you dare tell me you had no choice. Animals have no choice, and you are no animal. Ruthlessness is good enough for the Prelacy, but it stands beneath all those I've ever served. Your exactions do the Drake boy a world of credit, but they render your efforts at conquest against our common enemy null and void."

The surgeon looked flustered, and made a grasp for a rhetorical element. "What was I supposed to do, then? Wait for Meris and the others to progress with a thumb up my ass?"

Delmar stepped aside, gestured in seeming powerlessness, and then pointed back at Anton. "You could've taken after Lulroth the Slaver. You could've used your power and stature to spread compassion, forged an army carrying tolerance and rationality! Imagine how much further along Drake would be if you'd convinced Gabriel to make the implant procedure a consensual one! Architect's Breath; you swore the Hippocratic Oath! Look at yourself, Anton! What kind of doctor are you?!"

Archie coughed politely. "As tragic as all this is, none of it is of any assistance to us - or yourselves. If I could have vanquished Anastasius with cucumber sandwiches and a few pots of Darjeeling, I would have. If I could have shown that horrid cult leader in Kerala how to properly tie a cummerbund and thusly saved Anjali's life, I would have. Kumbayahs, to use a local term, are woefully inefficient when it comes to armed foes; to those vying for our destruction."

The former leader of Respite Point scoffed in frustration. "I just can't condone what Aidan went through!
- Neither can Nereus," reminded Drake, "but he can't stop Chambers. He's indirectly responsible for everything I went through, but I'd be wasting my own time if I resented him for it. Sketching out do's and don'ts was easy back when you had your own cavern or Meris' mind palace to squat in, but you're out in the waking world, now. Perfect solutions don't exist. Even Lucian - Lulroth - did things he ended up regretting."

[TennyoCeres84]

Meris sent her old friend a frank look that was blanketed by dismay. "I don't condone what Azardad did, Delmar, and I've seen my share of his efforts in the Shadowlands, but Samuel is here because of them. There might've been an easier way for him to achieve the same results, but Azardad was otherwise isolated from any available resources that we had put in place. If he had tried to follow in Lucian's footsteps as a benevolent Slaver, Chambers would have likely found out and had him killed. My son's body is still harboring that cultist-monster, so he wouldn't have been of any help. I'm not pleased with his methods, but I can only focus on the now and see all of our efforts through."

She then breathed out a sigh, hoping for them to regain some focus. "Aidan is wanting to contact Nereus, in order to give him some hope and feeling of belonging. He's isolated and has only had some awareness of us through Aidan's letters. Because of that seclusion, he's vulnerable. To reach him, Aidan needs to establish his own corner of the Darkhallow, but he's concerned of how his past memories might conflict with mine and Cuthbert's. This seems like a better use of our time and efforts than berating Azardad for his past actions."

*~*~*

"Thank you," Neasa replied, taking a bite of the offered apple. She was momentarily amused at the idea of "An apple a day keeps the doctor away" and continued to munch on it.

Still, at the notion that the public would be vulnerable to the Infernal incursion, she then asked, "Wasn't that the whole point of Meris' meeting with Oberon and Titania, to request additional aid, along with recognizing Mr. Haskill as the Winter Lord? Isn't there a way to limit the number of consumers on the streets, like having a city-wide, online-only sale or something? Signal boost it on the local news through your connections?"

[IamLEAM1983]

Delmar parted with one last rueful stare in Anton's direction, but settled with a doffing of his fedora. "I'm sorry," he said, "I guess the momentous aspects of what's just occurred and my finally having the opportunity to put a face on atrocities I only glimpsed at in Meris' mind simply... overtook me. I'm not used to being this accusatory, but..."

Cuthbert nodded. "It's human nature, Delmar. We've all been someone's easy target at one point; I needed years to work past my altogether too frequent propensity to label all extra-planar visitors as noxious or evil - it's one of the main failings of my religion. Christianity talks a big deal about inclusion and progress, but it's also quick to point fingers at whatever it is that's challenging the status quo."

That surprised Smirnov. "I thought the Order of Saint George was staffed by paladins or Templars or - you know. Zealots. Swiss Guard graduates with actual targets."

Cuthbert smiled. "No, far from it. The Crusades were economically and politically motivated, and my early leadership knew full well how leading farmers and monks armed with pitchforks to Jerusalem's doors was no faithful pursuit. We seceded from the Templars very early on, having seen greed take hold of Rome and the early Vatican. We didn't take to Jerusalem to purge the infidels - we took to Jerusalem to protect innocent lives, no matter if they spoke Latin or Arabic."

He lightly shook his head. "Let's just say my take on the Christian faith wouldn't be entirely popular, here. I own very little and devote my time to this city's community when I'm not called upon to defend it. The point is, we don't see sin as being pervasive, we see it as being human. I know all too well what it feels like to feel righteous anger coursing through me. I'm well acquainted with pride. I still sin every single day because blemishes are tantamount to the mortal experience, but I don't need a discipline whip. God willed for me to grow to be a mature adult despite Dalarath's perversions, and He granted me a mature intellect to use, in order to own up to my mistakes."

He nodded back to Delmar. "The first step is always admitting that you've said or done something excessive. The next one is to realize that you're no different than everyone else. Expiation comes through personal discipline, not overt drama or any real or metaphorical forms of self-flagellation."

The Revered looked surprised. "That's... surprisingly mature of you, mister Cuthbert.
- It's never easy," the Knight Commander admitted. "Denial is easier by far. Aidan here is concerned his past exactions against the Void Weavers might prove too distressing for us."

Three nodded, which left Anton feeling a bit perplexed. "You killed Loyalists in the Middle East," he stated. "What's there to feel sorry for? They took Carrie away from you, after all!"

Drake nodded. "I know. Like Will said, hatred's easier if you don't have perspective. I've had years to gain one, and having people like you, Lucian, Bertram and the others around only built on top of it, it's left me understanding that Loyalists are just confused people following orders. They wouldn't have killed Carrie if they'd known what the surface world has to offer."

Cuthbert seemed to approve. "Knowing your enemy goes deeper than simply knowing his tactics. It means you know its fears; its hopes and dreams. It makes your kills efficient and compassionate - it minimizes torture. Ultimately, it'll grant you a way out of combat - or a glimpse into one, like what you're having today. The more you'll bond with Nereus, the less blood you'll shed once you do free him."

Azardad scoffed. "This is all so preachy, honestly..."

Samuel had wandered a small ways away, to inspect one of the bookcases. Nevermind how impossible it was, he made it look as though he'd pulled a book free and was now leafing through its pages.

"We wouldn't have a prayer against the Goat if you hadn't taken the time to understand him or if you hadn't trusted Tom. You won't have a prayer against Chambers' retaliation if you turn Thanos' Los Angeles compound into a bloodbath. Every action triggers its equal and opposite reaction," he said. "Aidan's plan is anything but wasteful."

* * *

For every chewing motion on the apple, Neasa's aches and pains would seem to dim ever so slightly, slowly replaced with the tingling tenderness of recovering abdominal muscles.

"This still holds," confirmed Haskill. "Unfortunately, no stratagem will be sufficient to completely clear the city's streets by the final verdict. Store or points of sale would make for poor containment areas, mass broadcasts would lead to panic - the simplest approach we've found to direct the citizens to our resources was to reach out to community leads on a case-by-case basis. We've had a few weeks to do so, going from the local imam to the witch covens in Old Hope, the Trismegistus Institute and Arthur Holden's dependents. They all know to come here or to Magnus Tower, depending on proximity, and they've circulated the news as quietly as possible on their own front."

Eir seemed a tad conflicted, if still fairly resolute. "It'll prevent unfortunate incidents once mass planar rifts start opening and it'll keep things orderly - but it won't save everyone."

[TennyoCeres84]

Neasa sighed, some dismay weighing on her features from that unfortunate truth. "We'll do our best to look out for as many people as possible. Hopefully, most will survive, and we can rebuild from the damage," she assessed, then glancing over at the half-demolished bust of Vernon's father. She winced at the sight and looked back to the pointy-earred man. "Sorry for the damage, Lord Haskill."

*~*~*

Meris nodded approvingly. "Any means to lessen bloodshed is certainly worth it. I'm sure Nereus feels guilt over the violence and the sacrifices that have been made in the Others' plans and demands. Having contact with him will allow us to figure out who's more of a threat than others in Renewal."

She then considered that possibility of how the young human would construct his area within the Darkhallow. "It might not be that difficult to start with building a homebase in the Darkhallow. A portion of my dreamscape is what the Darkhallow presented us to what Hope might look like, and it then merged with memories of places I had been in my youth. From there, Nereus and I added security measures, such as infinite forests and other landscapes, doors that went nowhere, looping scenarios, stuff you'd see in one of Escher's works. The more complex your dreamscape is, the harder it is for your enemies to reach you. We had a secret entrance that allowed us to return from any point in our shared dreamscape."

[IamLEAM1983]

Vernon gave the bust and its pieces a long look, his ears drooping as he did. "It's strange," he said. "I've portraits of my father and of other leaders among the Haskills framed throughout the mansion, but it is this one small bust that always struck me as being true-to-form. "Father has long-since parted with his powdered wigs and lace ruffles, but his embrace of modern haberdashery makes him look austere, to me. Age marks us Fae in peculiar ways, I suppose: Phineas Haskill looks younger than his own son, while taking to the mortal plane with a complete lack of interest, if not outright contempt..."

He picked up the pieces and smiled, perhaps a bit sadly. "London's Winter Lord is my father, and he is as much of our family as I am. We are both stubborn, and are both driven by our own causes. The last century hasn't been kind to him, and his regard for Mankind has suffered as a result. He's... more or less sequestered himself to London-Upon-Faerie and to the aristocracy's business. He's organized rescue efforts across England and regional managers have taken upon them to greet mortals openly, but his original instructions spoke nothing of you. Of your people," he said to Neasa.

Vernon sighed. "I had to force him to take to Skype - a telephone would not do for such crucial matters. We've exchanged a few words, last night. Nothing came of them."

* * *

Three frowned lightly as he tried to look for similar places in his memories. "There's always my apartment or my room, back at Mom and Dad's place. I just don't want to open my door in my dream and end up in sand and rocks, is all."

Cuthbert smiled reassuringly. "It won't happen. Sanctums are some of the more self-contained spaces in the Darkhallow. Even we Void Weavers don't know why, but spaces that are uniquely ours tend to manifest with some terrain around them. I shaped mine into a Medieval church I found in France, so I've kept a few paths and landscaped areas around it. The maze is the more mutable portion of the construct, and it's the one you'll visit the least."

Aidan licked his lips. "Why connect everything, anyway? If the goal is to keep other Squids out, why not just design an island?"

Delmar shook his head. "The Darkhallow was a blessing given unto us by the Architect, but the Others have perverted it. It runs off of Their energies now, and there's too many of us for Amaxi or Harrogath to be able to enforce rules on infringing dreamscapes. You can't enforce infinite possibilities as a basis - and we rebels hide in the cracks. We still need a power source, and if They're willing to let us feed off Them even as we're attempting to hurt Them or push Them back, then it's all the better. It's simple and effective."

[TennyoCeres84]

Neasa frowned sadly, slightly shocked that their relationship was so distant. "I guess I never imagined that he would be like that. Despite being of Winter, I can tell you're passionate about your role here in Hope, and how well you get along with the Countess," she observed with a glance to Eirean. "As for us being noteworthy, I'm not surprised there. We tend to stick to islands that were, for a long while, considered backwater. Meris is only selkie that I know of to have made enough of an impact to be remembered."

*~*~*

"It is quite effective. Also, you'll be able to hone your abilities, if you feel like. My first forays into arcane training took place there, and I followed Nereus' instructions and gained a deeper understanding there than I would have in Dalarath, as it can be tricky to have access to via there. Practitioners, like myself and Lucian, were able to harness Via, even in such an isolated place as Dalarath," Meris further explained.

[IamLEAM1983]

Three gave Archie and Crystal a look. "This is great, but wouldn't you be a little bored if the rest of us just took five and power-napped our way to having an Inception rip-off?"

Samuel closed his book. "I thought Archie and Crystal tagging along would be non-negotiable. They're part of the team, after all. I'm just sad you'll have to wait to patch in Tom, Aislinn and the others. It wouldn't feel right for us to build on what's likely to be the most secure environment we'll ever have at our disposal and keep half of the team at bay."

The persona having said this seemed to strike Archie. "Wait - can Crystal and I so much as join you? I thought this Darkhallow of yours was exclusive to those who shared the Void Weavers' mental powers, or a few close associates."

Delmar had to smile at that. "With me around and with so much Dalarath brainpower in the room, it wouldn't be too difficult to cautiously load some of your own memories or concepts into the creative stream. The Darkhallow is hailed as being this Eldritch dream-state that tears lesser minds to shreds, but this is really an after-effect of the Others' corruption. We could indulge in our form of lucid dreaming long before our Betrayer offered his mind to Amaxi. All non-Squids could be clients, and we would effectively be servers running your provided code."

Archie quirked an eyebrow. "Is this difficult?"

It was Three's turn to smile. "I had a few rounds with an Army therapist, right after the shitstorm. It didn't do me much good back then, but she taught me how to take my nightmares and flashbacks off their tracks. I didn't have to let things play out in my head until I woke up with a panic attack; I was dreaming. I was in control. In real life, I never managed to save Carrie. In my dreams, I killed each cultist and each Squid in that village square with a single bullet and knew which words of the Black Speech I had to speak to keep the hills from swallowing my girlfriend."

He hesitated. "I'm... a decent lucid dreamer even without the Lexicon. I can replay our missions in my head, make everything unfold optimally, the way they'd never do. The one thing I can't do is actually save Carrie."

Samuel nodded knowingly. "Hands burst out of the sand and pull her in, or an agonizing Weaver ignites his own blood with a few words and burns her to a crisp... Death's always on the menu."

Drake laughed bitterly. "I'm a walking god between my own two ears and as soon as I fall asleep, but I can't stop my own girlfriend from getting fridged. You'd think I should be pissed off that you know that, Sam."

The lanky, bookish Weaver shrugged. "We're family. Big brothers are supposed to know this kind of stuff. I wouldn't be much of a Lexicon if I didn't have a sense of what you'd gone through," he said, and then looked back to Holden.

"To answer you, boss - it isn't that hard. All you need is a few breathing exercises, the intent to relax and nod off, and something to focus on while you're trailing off - something to spot in the initial trail of bullshit our hind brain spews out. A totem, in a sense. Something to snap you into awareness without jolting you awake. Recognizing it, you stay under while realizing that you're under to start with."

Delmar nodded. "We'll simply start the way Nereus did with Meris, by giving you all the same totem to focus on.
- I'll be the last to nod off," continued Cuthbert, "so I'll realize you're dreaming of that shared notion. I'll be able to pull you into awareness of what's happening using that. Past that, we could turn five minutes spent swallowing flies into five thousand years spent building our little consensual reality."

Three nodded. "What about Meris and the rest of you?"

That made Delmar smirk at his friend. "Oh, we natives and friends-of-natives are generally free to pick and choose between regular dreams and conjoining with the Darkhallow. The funny thing is, natives have to proceed in reverse. Learning to disconnect is hard at first, but it guarantees us deeper and more restorative sleep."

* * *

Haskill pouted in amusement. "I meant mortals in general, but yes. Roanes are like the Wyldfae and the yokai - they're regarded as quaint by some; fairly twee facets of Celtic culture speaking of long-since outdated spousal norms. I haven't met a single one of your kind that would abandon selkie pups born to a human for the sake of the oh-so-romantic sea, but it hasn't stopped a fair few both here and in the Southlands from considering you besotted. Good enough for forlorn gazes and water-slicked long hair clinging to ethereal curves, but never so much as to forge your own society or even take to the Orkneys' tourism circuits and marine conservation efforts."

He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wish the old leather switch thrashings upside one's rump were still an in-vogue form of punishment; I know a few puffed-up British and American Fae who would deserve forty whacks."

He then shrugged, managing to make the gesture look fairly debonair. "As for my father, the simplest way to explain things would be to mention that House Christmas' Mantle did him no favors. He was ill-prepared for the Bean and burned his proverbial wick from both ends during the First and Second World Wars. He still looks youthful enough, Winter be praised - but his soul is that of a confused old man. This revolutionary, bedazzling twenty-first century of ours is... alien, to him. He has traveled far in many ways, but will go no further."

Eir scoffed. "Christ, I remember what happened when Hayley came on camera when she brought you that coffee, two days ago. He kept asking if she was a man or a woman."

Vernon shook his heads. "Er - apologies, Neasa. Hayley is our intern, you could say. She is majoring in Social Studies and wishes to be a Human-to-Metahuman case worker for the Vienna Council's North American division.
- She's trans," added Eirean. "Male to female."

[TennyoCeres84]

Intrigued by the thought of joining their friends in the Darkhallow, Crystal asked Cuthbert, "What will our focal point be?"

Meris contemplatively looked at the paladin. "She has a point, given that we all have different experiences. It needs to be something universal as the totem."


***

Neasa again winced. "Sounds like the type who thinks it's just political correctness run amok, rather than having consideration for other people. It is a bit ironic at how older folks complain about the younger generation having no people skills when they have the same issue."