At the Gate
| At the Gate | |
|---|---|
| Date | 7/30/26 |
| Storyteller | tire |
| Tier | Expert |
| Player Characters | King of Dance, DDOS, Houzen, Inari |
| Rewards | Sawtooth Saber x2, Nightmare Rune, Slayer’s Stone x4, 585 gp, 350 xp |
| Result | Success? |
| Author | Inari (frosty) |
| Downtime | 10 |
Associates investigate the collective dream of the sleep-cursed village.
Log
Our group of Associates set out from Onadbyr, returning to the sleep-cursed village I and some others once investigated. The journey there was uneventful—it took about five days, nonetheless, but the road was well-trodden. Planar activity and a fiendish presence were the main signs we were sent to look for, but what we found was far more bizarre.
Upon approaching the outer wall of the village, the silence was striking. The air shimmered with an iridescent, oily sheen, that despite clearly being magic, had no defined source. We thought it odd, but it was still safe to traverse the film, as the air we breathed seemed normal.
As we continue through the village, two creatures made themselves known to us, not caring to hide their presence. They were certainly fiendish, having attacked with unholy fire, but were put down easily enough.
As we recovered from the fight, we caught a glimpse of someone within the building we were next to—the largest house, staged in the center of the village. However, it was utterly dark within, with no light whatsoever making it through despite it being daytime.
We decided it was best to investigate the house, but as we stepped in, we ended up back outside the house. However, things were much different outside—for starters, it was nighttime, and we could see people milling about the village as if going about their everyday lives. King of Dance proclaimed it similar to experiences he had in the dream realm, but unusual nonetheless. He tried to get the attention of a villager, but they seemed to not quite *ignore* us, but rather not acknowledge our presence, as if they had a path they were set on following. Furthermore, we couldn’t make out any of the words they spoke—it was entirely gibberish. Houzen tried a similar method, but came up with the same result—the people here were not speaking coherently.
Returning our attention to the figure we saw from a window in the house, King of Dance surmised they were a young child, with blonde hair, about 7 years of age. DDOS searched for someone matching the description, and while the child we found had the correct features, the tone of their skin and color of their hair wasn’t quite right. The child, seemingly excited to pet a dog, went up to King of Dance, but we couldn’t understand anything they said either.
One of the adults came by to interrupt the child, grabbing them by the wrist before looking up in fear. Following their gaze, we witnessed history repeating itself; among the sky, we saw an eclipse, much like the one from four years ago now, as a grand bell tolled—certainly not one of mine—and Gorum fell to Achaekek. Shooting stars streaked across the night, while something fell down nearby.
The giant mantis made eye contact with us—all of us—before dissipating into smaller fragments. People screamed and ran in horror, as more creatures approached us. These new enemies were no mere fiends. One of them, a humanoid man clad in red insectoid armor, approached without word. Upon our flanks two more creatures appeared—they were an inky black, with no visible eyes and large, bat-like wings. We were unable to identify what creatures these might be, but we do know the man was a Red Mantis assassin. He put up a good fight, I’ll give him that—nearly cost us King of Dance’s life. We, after a long and drawn-out battle, managed to emerge victorious, however. As we were recuperating after the fight, the people around us seemed to be… cheering us on? They were overjoyed and clapping happily, though we still could not understand what they were saying.
Afterwards, we tried to take in our surroundings to hopefully better understand what was going on. The village itself was idyllic— picturesque, even, as if it had been painted. However, the further one went and the closer one looked, the less details seemed to match up to reality. And the people we saw earlier… they too bore subtle changes in appearance, ever-shifting. It was as if whoever was piecing together their appearances was remembering them in the way an artist would. I don’t remember investigating any notable art the first time we came here, at least. Certainly no house belonging to a painter by trade.
The same child from before approached us soon after, beckoning us to go with them. We followed suit; we were taken into the child’s home, where they gestured for us to try to sleep. As we settled in, we found it oddly easy to fall into slumber, though our rest was short. We awoke immediately, soon noticing our own bodies asleep in the bedroom. We were outside of them, seemingly treading among the dream concretely. Furthermore, we could understand the child—and everyone else—now.
After asking them a few questions, we learn that such events happen fairly regularly—at least, the residents’ emotions and thoughts can bleed into the foundation of the dreamscape, causing certain events to occur. This was one such event, though usually, the assassin would simply kill all of the villagers—something that would have happened had we not intervened this time. They are trapped in an endless dream—a nightmare, even, should their fears come to fruition. However, the child did not know anything about a possible source of the dream or reason for it happening, so we set off to find their parents. It didn’t take long, for despite the ever-changing appearances of the townsfolk, two in particular stuck out. A woman and a man, who were the child’s parents. They unfortunately did not know much either, but… they asked what year it was currently; we eventually concluded that it has been some months, about half a year, since this dream began. I had to break the news that… it was likely that everyone who inhabited this dream was now dead. I recognized many of the faces among the townsfolk as those we recovered and cremated not too long ago.
All except one. The man next to the mother, upon my questioning, seemed unable to speak. It was then, I realized, that this was Galen, the man who left this village and sought help in Onadbyr. To my knowledge, he is alive and well, so we figured this must be the memory of him that dwells within this dream.
His wife offered what information she could— namely, that the dreamscape used to be hazy, with its details being filled in as more and more people fell asleep. As they joined the dream, the environment became more substantial, though it’s obviously not perfect still. After asking about the painting-like quality of the dream, we were directed to the house of a painter. Bidding the parents farewell, we made our way over.
The painter himself was a normal fellow, as far as we could tell. He and King of Dance seemed to bond over artistry. He told us that, when people came to the dream, they brought their minds and memories with them. Everything is a faithful recreation, but little details are out of place due to differences in how they are remembered. As for the fact that everything looks as if it were painted, we believe that to be because of the painter, who likely has the most influence on the dream, though not necessarily because of a greater capacity than the others. He also mentioned that the state of the dream didn’t seem to change when we entered it. Perhaps it’s because we are outsiders to this village, or maybe because we had bodies to return to.
Also of note was the fact that nobody has been able to enter the large house in the middle of the village—the very same one we came from. Whoever the occupants of the house are haven’t left it, either, and any attempts to get in by any means end in failure.
We soon proceed to the house, the painter accompanying us. The door is easily opened, but what lay within was not a black threshold, but rather an impossibly large space. Inside that space was an immensely large silver gate, both extremely close and extremely far, but still somehow tangible. King of Dance stepped in, and upon touching the gate, disappeared. We soon followed, after which we immediately woke up in the state of being in between both dream and reality, unable to understand any of the residents once again. We decided to try the pitch-black door, eventually finding ourselves in the waking world. King of Dance was last to leave the dream, carrying with him a small painting of the silver gate.
The bodies of the fiends we fought were still there as we had left them, but interestingly enough, there were signs of our run-in with the assassin. His weapons lay in the spot he had died in.
With not much else left to do, we gathered our bearings and recollected what information we could, before setting out back to Onadbyr, with more questions than answers in tow.