[ heyyyy finally got around to finishing this too! but there goes my energy for posting things for the day 😂 ]
[ response for @the-children‘s Nightmare Before Endwalker event, regarding this post belonging to @the-waking-dream~ ]
==
"This had to be a dream", he thought to himself. For why else would he awake every time with no nightmares to plague him? It had to be a dream. He'd wander in the woods and come across that sorry excuse for a corpse - his corpse. Yet it did not bother him, it phased him little aside from a soft smile. It was funny at first. Him? Dead? He had originally thought this story a nightmare, but it truly was a dream- perhaps literal, but metaphorical as well. He was alone, he was forgotten, he was finally - after all this time - finally dead. He had lived thirty years too long, had been driven by his own madness, his will, his ambitions… the need to survived waned more and more the longer it went on, of course.
But here he was.
It looked to be a painful death, one that he would never remember or never know. Is this what happened in dreams when you are awake? The story continues on, and by the time he sleeps, it has made its way to that one spot again. He wished he could stay ignorant, but the curiosity made its own excuses - if he was dead, then where exactly was he? He had believed in the Heavens and Hells of the Twelve, but this did not fit the description of any of them - nor was this some reincarnation, some cleansing in the lifestream - he would've known if so, he thought.
So he wasn't dead. There was no explanation for it all. What was he seeing in front of him, then? If it was him, even. He pulled the pocketwatch from his pocket, looking at the time. It was stuck at the same time he had arrived at first… mid-afternoon. When did he arrive, though? It felt like… forever. Three or four days if he had to take a guess, based on the amount of times he slept. The smallest hand of the three marked that day as Darksday. What was he doing then?
He woke up again.
It felt wonderful to wake up to the sound of the rain rather than the sound of his own screams. Maybe he would wander into the woods again. He stepped outside again. The rain had never felt so nice, he usually would draw the hood of his robes up - but today was different, like every other day. There was a pulse of light from above, in the cloudless sky and miracle rain, it shifted with every color a Spoken could see. Of course, the deep pit settled in his stomach when he had seen the writhing, winding, wriggling entity that made its home there. He was curious as to what it was, how it got there; and yet, the more he watched it entangling itself, only to uncoil - then wreathed, only to untwine; the more he realized that this dream was a nightmare. The peace of the danger made his blood run cold - this town was so… sleepy. No one seemed concerned about that being in the sky, ripping a hole there. Did he see it get larger? He rubbed his eye - the colors hurt.
Then came the sleeplessness - it didn't matter whether he did or not, he was always pulled to the same spot in the woods; smiled at his own bloody corpse, then opened his eyes to find himself back in the town, standing in the center. Was he always there? Did he simply get visions when he walked around?
He walked to the woods.
How many times had he seen this scene?
"How did I die?"
He spoke to himself, if only to hear a sound - it had been too quiet.
He opened his eyes.
Back in the town square.
It was driving him mad. He was absolutely losing his mind. Where was he? How did he get here? Could he even get back home? …Where was home, anyways? He focused on his husband, hoping the thought would bring him back to reality. He knew his name… but what did he look like? The image was fuzzy.
He looked down at his watch.
It was mid-afternoon on Darksday.
He had never thought that the company of others would be nice about now. His only company was that little voice that heightened his paranoia. That made him frantic and frenzied. Something! Anyone! Just a damn voice, not even to him - just something other than the rain. Other than the voice that drove him to his wits end. Other than the church bells--
Church bells?
His eye turned to the road - three people, three honest-to-gods people - were traveling, were moving faster than the monochrome town he stayed in. The thought of their robes - his own robes, even - skipped his mind; how they were just as white and pristine.
“Whoa — easy, my child. There’s no need to rush, you’ll trip on the wet stone!”
The voice of another person called out to him as he tried to run. He wasn't made for running, though, and by the time he had reached them, he had to lean over to catch his breath. He would have given the man a skeptical stare for the child remark, but he was too damned relieved to see another soul. That smile he was given once he recovered reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place who - blonde hair and all.
"A- Apologies… it has been a while for me to talk to another - may I ask your name?"
“I’m Father Darren — and you?”
"Maximiloix. I- I cannot believe… haha--" He choked out a laugh. "Please… bear with me, I simply cannot hold in my thoughts."
He told the Father what he was witnessing, what was happening - what was happening? He had woken up so many times.
"This.. Is this a dream? I must know…"
“You poor, weary soul — you have been Dreaming your entire life. You’re only just now beginning to wake up.”
He was? It didn't feel much different. Not yet. Not yet. He wanted to wake up, to let this cycle end - he wanted to return to his nightmares, to his family, to his home and paperwork and reports; all of the important things he was avoiding.
[ for @the-children‘s Nightmare Before Endwalker, and as a response to @rodarin-calrise’s post here! ]
[ i didn’t reblog it because of how long it’d all be and i am constantly anxious about taking up peoples’ dashboards lmao so i’m so sorry if this is done wrong in advance, i haven’t rp’d on tumblr in like... years and i feel awkward af but the adderall and need to write are curb-stomping the anxiety (okay this is like... half prompt half rp reply i’m so sorry) ]
[ this is in direct sequel to this prompt! ]
==
The first sign should have been that he woke up... semi-peacefully. No nightmares, nor terrors, nor screaming; he was startled awake by nearly falling out of his chair.
Gods, his head hurt. He couldn’t even rightly blame the drink for it - he drank far more than that on a daily basis... or maybe it was the withdrawal. No, it had to be the damned voices. He heard them again, and the more he blamed them, the more prominent they were.
He stuffed his hand into his pocket.
The watch chained to his belt said it was mid-afternoon, and yet... it was just as dark outside as it was when he arrived. What time was it when he arrived, even? He brushed himself off, straightened the bags that settled at his waist, and set to stepping outside of the inn... the thought still rattled.
What time was it when he checked in? How long was he asleep?
He couldn’t rightly remember.
It was still damp outside when he made it there. It killed whatever mood he could have had, really. And killed his hair too. He was trying deperately to cling to something small - his book came to mind, and he fished it out to begin writing in it again. All of the questions in his head.
“What time is it? Has it passed, even? Is there a fluctuation we should be aware of?”
He could feel it - that something off, the one that crawled through his blood with a sickening ichor; it paced his own, matched his breathing. There it was again.
“What is this feeling that keeps dragging its way into my throat? Should I be worried? Should I be scared? Should I embrace it? For it feels so much like...”
He stopped in front of a fountain, staring at the pearlescent water as if it’d give him answers. Watching it ripple as any other fountain would--
Pearls?
It shimmered, oily, like soap - waving an array of muted colors underneath the candlelight. How strange. How--
How could he even see it?
Maximiloix pulled his eye patch over his aetherial eye, revealing the world as it truly was - blinking to gather his bearings on the suddenly bright darkness that assaulted his vision. It was just the same. The water was like that of liquid pearls, how could he see it so clearly without sight? He slid the patch back over, now leaning back to write in his book again.
No, he was going to draw this. He needed some sort of evidence that he wasn’t as mad as he was being made seem - he stood for a few minutes, crudely sketching out the shape of the fountain, and the colors that plagued it. No, he wouldn’t let the curiosity end there, with a picture. He fumbled through his bags for the containers he brought. He was right in bringing materials to conduct research, an island that springs up over a literal night must have some interesting characteristics. It was before he could truly grab what he was looking for, that a hand had found itself firmly planted on his shoulder.
It was a simple gesture which had warranted the simplest of defenses - of course, Maximiloix was anything but “simple” and the fear that shot through him to rupture his deep concentration formed a splattering of flames that emanated from his feet and spread outward to gain distance on whatever creature or person had the utter audacity as to touch him.
What followed was a laugh - of course it was. Many found his defense funny in some strange way, and his eye found the perpetrator in the form of a man. Tall for a hyur... short, compared to himself. He tilted his head at him,
“Welcome to Westmoore~”
He had chimed. Some vague semblance of happiness found in the dreariness of the area - yet the expression on his face was devoid of any such emotion.
There was something wrong here. So very wrong.
He couldn’t place it.
He ignored it.
“Thank... you, I suppose.”
What else was he supposed to say? The citizens had barely spoken a word to him, unless initiated himself. This man came from outright nowhere, spooked the magic right out of him, and suddenly... talks to him. He was torn between asking questions and keep silent. Something wasn’t right about this man - in fact, the voices--
Maximiloix rubbed at his forehead to try and quiet them down.
“Apologies for the... display. I am Maximiloix Voilinaut, sent by the Maelstrom to... investigate the place, I suppose. I- I am sorry, did I catch your name?”
It was foggy, the voices, the sights - the aether that faded in and out, with colors the swayed as much as he felt like he currently was.
“I’m Rodarin Calrise, the Mayor of Westmoore. Come — let’s get you settled in.”
Right. Rodarin - had he heard the name before? He couldn’t remember. Everything was beginning to get... hazy.
“Settled in? Oh, there is no need - I have found my own way for the time being.”
But he insisted... and he couldn’t refuse. His feet followed the Mayor regardless of his qualms. He had only been this entranced once in his life, and... well, it didn’t end up too terrible, he had thought. Not that he truly noticed it all.
“I will say... time is easy to lose track of here, is it not? Or...”
Maximiloix drew the watch from his pocket again. The time hadn’t changed.
“...Or it cannot be lost at all, can it.”
What was going on? Why did he continue to follow? This all should have settled wrongly in his stomach. There it was again, the cold ache that chewed through him - that turned the ice in his bones to water, it heated him from the inside. Was he sweating again? What in the hells was happening?
They turned the opposite direction of their intended destination - where he stared at the sign in disbelief, and yet... he could not question it. The words that came from his mouth were of an entirely different subject. His mind had shut down all sense, and defaulted to his usual state of... conducting research.
“Do you find that the characteristics of your flora and fauna may differ from that of Vylbrand’s? Despite arriving in the area... it would seem strange some magically appearing island would have the same as us. Much like Val when it was rediscovered - the entirety of its character had shifted in the short time it was gone. New creatures, new habitats, even a change in how magic worked within its bounds. Despite the usage of aetherytes on it, teleporting to it still remains largely impossible - what of your island? Is yours just the same?”
The error of attempting to compute the danger he was walking into resulted in a string of nonsense, the floodgate of voices released with no filter - and for a moment, anyone that had known his grandson would know exactly where the man obtained his penchant for not shutting up.
His questions were cut... somewhat short by the pain in his head, the nagging and yelling and gods-awful screeching picked up again. He kept the grunt of pain to himself, but when he was able to focus again...
“A forest?”
He hummed under his breath. Nothing was adding up anymore. Was anything adding up before? If it was, it wasn’t now. He looked at his watch. No time had passed. It was broken. Or time was broken. Something was broken.
Where were they headed? He couldn’t remember. Was he going senile already? He predicted at least another decade before that.
What was happening - what was happening -
Maximiloix shook his head to clear himself of the fog, blinking the haze from his eyes to be met face to face with... what was this mess? He looked down at himself. The melting disfigured man shaped pile had his colors. That was his signature he was looking at, but no. That was impossible. Instead of being deterred by the sight, by even the creature that was supposedly eating chunks of the damned thing; he stepped forward. He moved towards it. The curiosity, it would kill him in the end, wouldn’t it... and yet, he didn’t care.
“Welcome back to Westmoore. I hope you enjoy your stay. Try to avoid the Woods next time, won’t you?”
The voice of the Mayor cackled in his ears as he tried to make heads or tails of what he was looking at; his eyes turned up to a face of sharpened teeth - the predator seeing its prey. And he...
His own laugh bubbled up from his chest, through the searing and burning pain in his chest - he laughed, he laughed. There was no one here to be scared of this unexplained jovial attitude - there was no one to look at him strangely but the strangeness that surrounded him.
He laughed as his knees hit the grass, as he clawed into his own chest, as the edges of his vision began to grow dark.
“This is no nightmare - this better be the best damned sleep of my life!”
He laughed. And laughed. And laughed more through his words, up until there was no air for him to laugh with - up until he passed out there.
[ i would’ve posted a nice screenshot with this, but my fingies have not been nice to me recently and writing itself is very difficult (and so i am now late to the party with jumping in on the event but i wanted to get it out anyways to at least say that i was here lol). apparently typing is very hard when you can’t feel your fingers ]
[ this is for an ongoing event/thread started by @the-children! while this specific piece was not in response to one of the public threads, another should be up sometime today regarding one of them - and if i can get my fingies to work, maybe a second one too. thank you so much for the opportunity to join in! ]
==
“Grandfather?”
Lothaire peered around the corner of one of the library’s entrances, keeping a close eye on Maximiloix as the man paced back and forth down the library’s hall - wearing holes in the floor during a frenzied one-sided conversation with himself. He spoke to himself, low, under his breath, muttering like the already-mad man he was. His thoughts weren’t so easily broken, and he continued to gesture vaguely with his inaudible words until Lothaire was directly in front of him.
Maximiloix stopped right in his grandson’s face, staring blankly at him for a moment in some much needed silence before he took a large step back.
“Is there something you need?”
“Uh, yeah. The library. The kids need it for, y’know… studying? You’re kinda taking up the whole place. And you’re scaring them. Can you pace elsewhere, please?”
Another blank stare - it was always so unsettling, having his grandfather look at him like another victim. Whatever thought was going through his head wasn’t a good one, he knew that much.
“Actually.”
“I knew it.”
“This is a matter I should be speaking with you about.”
“Great.”
“Sit down.”
Lothaire let out a heavy sigh, throwing himself down on the nearest chair - it had been a long day already, he didn’t want to deal with this more than he had to. He watched as Maximiloix began pacing back and forth again, much to his dismay.
“Are all of the children here accounted for?”
“Of course - we just did roll earlier today.”
“Both for the school and orphanage?”
“I don’t like where this is going, but yes. We make certain to count heads when we can, especially during meals.”
“And your own children?”
“Misha would have both my heads if I lost track of even one of them for half a second.” Lothaire snorted, folding his arms over his chest. He shook his head as the realization sunk in a little more. “What’s going on? And have you checked your school?”
“Mm.” Maximiloix stopped in the middle of the hall, turning his head to the opposite side of the room towards a slowly dying fireplace. “...Some of my students have gone missing, yes. But there is a strangeness to the story that I… am not fond of. When I had visited the school last, Reinaire relayed to me that the same students had been missing their class - those students were ones that ended up being housed in the Featherfall Orphanage. She wrote it off as them being adopted and having moved to a home with their own schooling system but…”
His eye turned over to his grandson now, watching the anxiety creep on him slowly.
“...well, I made my way there to ask them of what happened - and what am I to find but a horror story in waiting. Missing children, one account of a caretaker ripped to shreds; and among the gone, my students. So. Keep your eyes on them. I mean it, Lothaire.”
“Y- Yeah… All eyes on them, got it. I’ll let Misha know. I take it… you’re going to try and find the missing students?”
“I made my mistake with Quinn and his friends, I will not let the same mistake happen twice. Yes, I am going to attempt finding them… on top of the Maelstrom breathing down my neck for aid. Apparently another island has so graciously appeared in a group of storms, and the first they turn to is the expert in magic - and while I am more than confident in my abilities… I cannot fathom why they would believe I have the answers at my fingertips.”
Lothaire leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees - he wanted to help in this mystery where he could, but he had too much on his plate as it was; and he certainly wasn’t going to leave his husband to run the place on his own time. “Do you think they’re connected?”
“Hm?”
“Children disappearing all of a sudden, murders of caretakers, this unexplainable appearance of an entire damned island?”
“While you likely are not the first to think so, you are the first in my presence to - and… ugh. I suppose I should not discredit the idea. It is a little far-fetched, if I am to believe it, but if that is the first lead I have, then I suppose I should return to the Maelstrom and let them know that I am willing to lend my expertise where I can.”
Lothaire heaved himself to his feet, leaning back to stretch as he got ready to step out again.
“Well, I’ll at least let Misha know to be vigilant in counting heads; and I’ll rope Caromont into it too - good, uh… good luck.”
“I am going to need it, if the good luck is coming from you.” Maximiloix snorted. “Oh, ah. Lothaire.”
“Hm?”
“...Have you been hearing… anything strange, recently?”
“You’re likely having another hallucination, Grandfather - how long has it been since you’ve slept.”
“Eight days, but no. This is different.”
“Gods, without a beat either… no, I haven’t. No voices. No noises. Everything’s been normal. Well, it’s not going to be now, since you brought all of this up.” Lothaire shook his head. “Ignore the voices and get some sleep before you leave, okay?”
“Like hells I will.” He sighed, waving Lothaire off without another word.
“Difficult to ignore the multitudes of childrens’ voices at once, but… certainly is not much different than what I am used to, I suppose.”
[ mweee for the event that is Nightmare Before Endwalker, ran by @the-children, and companion to this piece! ]
==
Staring at the ship made the dread in his stomach dig a deeper pit - the sailors and pirates of Limsa who knew him already knew that he was deathly terrified of the ocean; they made fun of him for it. Some powerful mage! Only to be brought low by water only deep enough to drown a drunkard. Now they got to witness it; his face turning white at the mere thought of stepping on a ship that was not in the air.
“Y’sure yer good fer th’trip there, Master Voilinaut?”
“...”
Sure, he never liked ships - nor the ocean, nor sailing - but this... was a much different dread sinking in. Something was wrong here. Maybe Lothaire was right - he should have at least tried to get some sleep. A “bad feeling” didn’t cut it. This must have been what Quinn felt like, any time something bad was about to happen. He felt absolutely ill to his stomach, and that was a rare feeling in itself - he did not like it, not one bit.
Yet it was the rarity of that feeling that pushed him to take the next step onto the ship without a word. The thought of his missing students became second to the pure morbid curiosity he felt. Where was he going that would cause such a feeling? Would he ever feel something like this again? The thought of the answer “no” is what drove him to find a somewhat comfortable and out of the way spot to stand and stew in his thoughts.
“Would there truly be answers there? What am I to find, if not my students? What caused the appearance of this place to begin with? Is it something I can use? Something I can hold? I should catalogue this...”
Each one raced in his mind faster than the last, even as he pulled a book from one of his satchels to write down his questions - he wasn’t even certain he managed to capture all of them.
==
He would’ve thought the feeling false if it did not continue to gnaw at him - the underlying horror, the deep secrets that piled on top of his own. Perhaps that is what was the cause of it all... finding something or someone - or someones - that were like himself. If they were, if it was, then he should have known to turn back... but he didn’t.
He stared at the seemingly innocuous port town and its inhabitants; the adventurers too, who were far too excitable about exploring a new location with little hesitation. Did none of them have a sense of caution? How hypocritical of him, he realized, as he took another step forward. Everything was peaceful, wasn’t it? Not every location had to be filled with danger - this town could be spared, even if another was under duress.
It was with each further step that the false security proved falser and falser. The signs that hung, telling tale of turning back; the adventurers that had poured out of the ship suddenly gone; the eerie mist that lingered about, only fading with the dim candles that lit the aptly named Candlelight Cove. Something was... horribly wrong here. It gave him the worst headache, paired with the ever growing voices - whispers - shouts - in his head; mingling and screaming and fighting and--
“Will it ever quiet down out here...?”
His own voice spilled past his teeth in an attempt to hear his own thoughts, and while it was quiet in itself, it felt so loud in the emptiness of the humid air.
It was dark.
When did it get dark? He didn’t quite remember, and so he turned on his heels to try and find what could be an inn or tavern - gods, a drink sounded like pure heaven at the moment. A drink... and maybe his grandson’s advice. Yet sleeping felt like the worst option.
It took some stumbling about, but he managed to find one; and promptly ignored the stares on his character... not that he could see them, mind. He was too focused on trying to get situated with his surroundings to truly care about the sudden silence and turned heads. He already knew he was out of place, he was out of place in his own home too.
Then there was that aching feeling, it skittered through his veins with a darkness like his blood - it danced with his nerves; as he took the key to his room, his eye turned over the small crowd. Perhaps it was the fact they were caught gawking, perhaps it was the gaze filled with just as much emptiness as was given to him - his own demons resting in his expression.
When the heads were cleared of their view of him, he made his way to his assigned room... and threw himself down into the nearest chair. He ran his nails through his hair, combing the sweat that was beginning to stick to it out. This was a new feeling... it wasn’t as anything as drastic as terror... but it was... uncomfortable. It was looming over him, this stifling presence that made the sounds in his head go crazy - how in the hells was he supposed to relax like this?
“...I should have brought Caromont with me...”
He mused to himself. No matter the events, his husband was always a comforting body - even if he continued to push him away. In the face of unease, perhaps he would have embraced him instead. Thinking about him quieted the room some, enough to lull him off for a bit - ready for the nightmares that would plague him this night as well.
