[[ All of my OOC notes are gonna be in these brackets. If anybody else has OOC stuff to say, find some way of letting us readers know…
Other guidelines:
~ 4 day time limit to reply to my original post. I’ll make an exception for you, Nat, because you’re sort of time-zone impaired.
~The scene will be posted on the Pan’s Pipes site ( “http://panspipes.50megs.com/dreamsequence.html” ) as it progresses, so you can keep track.
~ If you have more than one character, please separate their posts by name, or color, or type style.
~ If you have more than one character, and only want to run one, let me know ahead of time.
~ Yes, you may play your characters outside of e-mail, anything that happens posted on the bot, will occur future-tense.
Any other questions, let me know, and I’ll address ‘em next e-mail.
Today’s date is July the 30th, 2001. 5 p.m. EST. You have until Friday night to post your response. ]]


You dream. So does everyone else. But you, friend, you are special. Your dreams are infused with the Glamour of the fae of the world. Fantasy creatures and nightmare chimera both are frequent guests to your subconscious. But, admit it. You love it.

…Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’re falling? And you flail and tremble in your bed, only to wake up and find that you haven’t gone off a cliff, you’ve only tangled yourself in the life-saving sheets? Tonight starts like that, but you really fall, hard and fast, shoved out of bed and out of your sleep, into a dream that’s not entirely yours.
It’s a white room. Huge and cavernous, but strangely claustrophobic, having no windows and no doors. One by one, each of the ‘guests’ falls in from the ceiling, as if there was a hole there, or else a time warp, or they all were victims of a flicker-flash gone wrong.

THUD! BUMP! BANG! FUCK! OW! As you, and the others each hit the floor. Taking a minute to look around and come by some stock of the place, trying to figure out where you are and what you’re doing here. It’s not familiar, and it’s not anything like you’d normally find in a dream. But here you are.



[Myrddin Emerys; Scathach Sidhe Wilder]
He pads himself, checking for anything broken or any wounds, what he's wearing, and who else might be in this white room.

[Aedin; Paroseme Childling]
The little boy bounces, looking around with wonder in his eyes, though his Husk is getting older... but is he in his Husk? Looks around, smiling... wondering if he can be in his Dream-Form in here?

[Amberyl Delancey; Enchanted Ceilican]
Falling through the ceiling with a scream...she hits the floor and bounces...she manages to stop herself from shifting into another, more familiar form in this unfamiliar place…pushing herself gracefully up to her feet...she takes a good look around at her surroundings and the people she finds there. >

[Chess Ket Sloan, Kinain]
She, too, falls into this place, faintly frightened, then convincing herself that it must be a dream, or a hallucination... She manages a tiny smile and dusts herself off, then walks to Myrddin's side, and slides her arm around him - as much of a greeting as it is to keep herself calm.

[Mags Emerson, Satyr Wilder]
Mags falls through, looking wide awake as she smirks at the others. COLOR="#800080">

[john temple; sluagh wilder]
He looks completely unfazed, standing unabashed in the white room, taking in his surroundings with a calm manner.

[River Hayter; Satyr Wilder]
”Fuck!” True to his nature, the first thing he manages out of his mouth is swearing. Slowly standing from the impact, he doesn't notice the others, making sure he's alright...

[Maxfield Phanuel O'Bradaigh, Enchanted Kiasyd]
Having not yet risen for the nite, he slams into the floor, face first, and lays there for a long, comical moment, before he can manage to rouse himself out of the day-induced stupor. Blinking anime-esque everdark eyes muzzily, he pushes himself up and looks about, squinting and grumbling as he rubs his brow, wings twitching in annoyance. It's another long moment before he actually seems to focus on his fellow shang-hai'd travellers.

[Michon Nicole Orvelle, Eshu Wilder]
With a bit of a yelp in surprise, he hits the floor and rolls to his feet, looking about quickly. With an arching brow, his celestial gaze falls upon Max. And he scowls rather impressively, before finding the farthest point from him to wait, placing as many of the others as possible betwixt them.

[Mzisi Arigi; Pooka Wilder]
Spreads his wings the instant he feels the free-fall, then dives and swoops to retrieve Emerald and both descend rather gracefully. He has something of a smug grin on his face as he glances around the room, pausing on the strewn bodies. His long forked tongue darts out for a split second, then twice, then three times as he tastes this new environment.

[Emerald; Eshu Wilder]
She lets out a soft cry, then a small gasp when caught by her lover. After landing, she clings to Mzisi for both protection and reassurance, looking quite lost and a little scared.

[Jordan Lane; Nocker Wilder]
His eyes go wide. "MotherFu-" …thud… "Oooow!!!" He yells/whines as he rolls onto his belly, rubbing his soon-to-be bruised backside, all the while displaying for everyone's amusement/annoyance vulgarities aimed at no one in particular that'd make some sailors blush, making sure that ~everyone~ is well aware of his pain and discomfort.

[Ty Walker; Pooka Wilder]
He drops. Hard. His chin hits the ground first, sending his head
rocking painfully. He seems to actually skid a foot or so, just lays there.

[Robert Monaghan; CoX Mage]
”OI!” He rubs his blond head and squints at all the bright whiteness. ”Well this bloody beats the normal 'angover, though I could do with a wee less sunshine, squire.”

[Liam Augustri; Enchanted Urmen]
He lands hard, rolling and winces, stands up and looks immediately for Jordan, seeming somewhat amused silently at Jordan’s cursing. Liam holds out a hand to Jordan. "My, we don’t want that to be bruised do we?" While waiting for Jordan, not looking at him, looking instead around him, studying it.

[-=+=-]

[Amberyl]
Looking around, she moves closer to River...almost laughing at his ..mm...greeting?..almost, but doesn't.
She notes the familiar faces...and the others. And from her wonderful rose colored view, realizes she's
not the only non-fae here when she sees Chess.
After double checking the ceiling to make sure no one else is going to fall through, there by landing on a "slightly" high-strung Amber..and making sure that River is really there, and not going anywhere...she starts to explore the room for exits or any other little (or big) items of curiosity.


[Mags]
She stands up, and dusts herself off, as if afraid she looks less-than-perfect. She saunters over to Robert, and, smiling sweetly, comments… ”Well, hello, lover. Have to say that this ain’t the first time you’ve shown up in my dreams. But did you bring those schmucks…” She gestures slightly annoyed at the others… ”Or did I?”


[[Last time we left Our Heroes... Yeah, yeah, you get the point. *g* Anyways, this is Part II. Read and respond. If the net is working right and proper {seeing as it isn't at this moment}, I'll put this new piece up on the site. I suggest going to the site to see where everyone is right now {I even made y'all a little map.} and then going from there. It is 2:00 p.m. EST, on Monday, August the 6th. You have until Sunday night, August the 12th. You can reply to the entire bot, or just to me at the collegeclub address. Everything will go on the site. On your marks!]]



Hey… what’s that? Right above where Ty is flopped… There’s something… there. At first, it’s maybe just some odd illusory trick. Something that’s not really there, you only imagine it so. The air seems to shimmer… and turn into a vortex of color… Brighter even than the room you now stand in. Impossible. Tornadoes don’t come from nowhere, especially, in the middle of a closed-off room. But then, of course, it hits you.. This is a dream. Anything can happen.

And believe me, friends. It will.

As you look on [or into] this swirl of light and color, the room itself dims, then goes pitch. Whatever light made it able to see before is gone for at least a minute. Then, as in a blackout from a storm, the lights flicker back on. Ty is no longer lain in the center of the room, instead, propped against the wall. In the center of the room is something that defies even the most beautiful of sidhe maidens.

It’s a… girl… maybe? Maybe a Spectre. A wraith of some sort. Did she fall from the ceiling? Why is she here? It’s hard to tell, and impossible to know for certain, what with the cloud of Glamour that surrounds her. She shimmers in midair, a blonde Goddess dressed in white – with pointed ears. She addresses you in a voice that dares you to disobey her.

”My friends…It has been too long.”

What’s she talking about? You’ve never seen her before in your entire lives… or have you?

”We have met, I assure you. Do not fear what is to come, you Kithain.” She pauses, here, and makes a light, flowing gesture… Perhaps you ought to sit down. This might take a while.

”I have much to tell you, and little time in which to do it. It has taken much time for me to call you all here, to the Dreaming itself. I am Brighid, Daughter of Eve and was once as you are now – Tuatha De Danaan.” She pauses again, and turns to look upon Maxfield, Robert, Liam, and Amberyl, each for a long, unnerving moment. She tilts her head to the side in question.

”Prodigals? In my Dreaming? Strange. But I will allow it. Help is always needed. As I say, there is reason why you are here, and why it is now. You all hold the inspiration within yourself, the raw prowess to make a change in the Banal world. Choose the right path, and you live on in eternity always. Choose the wrong path, and you disappear. Die, and fade away, not to return.”



[Amberyl]
When the room dims and then blacken, the hair at the back of her neck prickles...and like any creature that depends on stealth for survival she freezes...tuning into her other senses for what is, was, or will be there. And when the lights return, she is obviously awed by this...woman...goddess, whatever. And remembering to politely close her mouth, she sits wherever it was that she stopped...and with rapt attention on the woman, she listens to each and every word and nuance of speech as if memorizing what she hears.

[Ty]
Ty rubs under his eye where a bruise is now forming, grinning foppishly at the chick. "Oh cooool! A quest! Just remind me, is high THAC0 a good thing or a bad thing?"

[Robert]
"Oi!" Robert chimes in,"Odds sound about in our favor then, dun'it?" He takes a seat and pats himself down for a cigarette."Why don't you tell us 'bout your li' 'le problem then, govna?"

[Liam]
Liam looks puzzled at the Lady, and frowns , mulling it over while dragging Jordan to his feet. Ill at ease he leans over and asks for a translation of what that lady just said.....in jordan's ear. He pauses and returns to ask. "...and...who is she?"

[Jordan]
He takes Liam's hand and lets himself be helped up and otherwise pampered by the boy. He listens to the woman, then when she's done, he feigns not being impressed. "Where the hell are my fuckin' butts?" As he searches his inner vest pockets for his missing cigarettes... "Fuckin'-A..." As he gives up with a pout.

[Mzisi]
He cradles Emerald in his arms as he listens to the Tuatha speak. He's sufficiently cowed by her, but that's the safest way to be, anyways. He slightly scowls at those who speak with such disrespect in her presence. Have westerners no idea how to behave before a deity?

[Emerald]
Emerald's absolutely freaked out by the apperance of said goddess, and is frozen silent, still clinging to Mzisi.

[Myrddin]
He holds Chess, looking up at the Tuatha de Danaan as she speaks, nodding... duty was always foremost on his mind... and then looks into the starfilled eyes of his love, smiling. "Looks like you're going to get to be that hero after all..."

[Aedin]
He's still bouncing, still running around, the child in a 23 year-old Husk... now happier than ever. "whatdowehavetodowheredowegowhatisitisitaponymaybewecan..."

[Chess]
She blushes faintly and shakes her head. She may not be a Prodigal, like the ghostly woman called Max and the others, but she's not full fae, either - a fact that she'll not easily forget.

[Mags]
Wow... One of the Original Tuatha. That's beyond amazing. That's awe-inspiring, even more than her own Gift of Pan. She watches this woman, this Goddess of the fae, with all the wonder of a child, hanging on every word.

[Maxfield]
As the darkness falls, he instinctively draws it about himself, like a cloak. Or armour, might be a better analogy. One which seems truly accurate, a flickering of it seen for just a moment, before the gloom dissipates entirely, and his snow-pale form is again visible. Everdark eyes gleaming, reflecting the Tuatha's remarkable visage, he steps forward. The Fae-blood flinching only very slightly at being called "Prodigal". He knows what he is, only too well, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. After a moment of pure, unadulterated & childlike awe, he doffs a truly elegant bow, the proud Cainite humbling himself willingly. And when he speaks, his voice is a mere winter's chill of a whisper, akin in volume to that of a Sluagh's. But far more pleasant. "E`er I have strove ta serve The Dream, M'Lady...our one, true Hope..." left palm turned up in a simple gesture, to reveal the silvery scars crossing his chalk-white flesh, lending credence to his claim. "Ye have but ta speak, n' yer words shall be mine will..."

[Michon]
In awe he stands, transfixed. Longing to draw the exquisite flute from within the folds of his flowing garments, so that he might weave this extraordinary creature's tale into the very fabric of The Dream surrounding them. But he dares not. Instead, he simply bows quickly and moves to settle before her, with the others. The "hated" Kiasyd forgotten, for now.

[john]
He watches the new arrival with a sudden interest, fingers twitching a bit. He listens with the interest of a cat following a bird, absorbing what she says.

[River]
River lights up a cigarette (even in his dreams, he'll never go without one), watching the "being" float down, grinning sarcastically at all her words. "Friends," "the inspiration within one's self," "paths"....certainly, he's had his share of dreams that took him on a headtrip, but this one could take the cake. He listens with some disinterest, wondering how many cans he had to drink to bring him to this...

Part III : Not everything in this magical world…

[[Part Three, you know the drill. Posted Monday, response due by Saturday. Yes, you can send them to me at stacegoddess@collegeclub.com, or to the bot, or to my ICQ. By now, a lot of you guys are just tossing to me over ICQ, so I suggest that everybody bookmarks Pan’s, to follow fluently. Game on! ]]

The room dims again, making it easier to see the woman who addresses you. She is tall, with long blonde hair tied into elaborate knots. Her eyes are deep green-gold, and her entire being shines not only with Glamour, but with some inner light. A seelie in her living days, most likely. She wears a simple white shift and no shoes. She hovers down to stand on the bare floor, and with another sweeping gesture, those with cigarettes find them extinguished… or disappeared. Brighid offers no explanation. She stands quiet a long time, or so it seems, being that time is relative in this dream, as in all dreams. A soft exhalation, and she speaks again.

“Forgive me for pulling you all here as I have. I would not have done it unless it was of the utmost importance. I also would have done it sooner, yet crossing the Dream Realms is a difficult undertaking, especially for myself. I come to warn you. The war comes. It has begun already, in the Willows. I ken that it will become as bad as the Accordance in losses.

King David is gone, not even I know where to. Rival factions fight for the throne of Concordia. The moonlights battle the sunshine, as always, as ever. The high-borns against the commoners. Those who back Faerilyth, and those who would rather the child Lenore take the reins of the shaking society. Yet others would want Morwen of Tara-Nar to take hold. Our world will be torn asunder, if it is allowed.”

[of course, to the non-fae –and even to some of the fae- Brighid is speaking pure nonsense. All these names and places… Gibberish to anyone who doesn’t know their own history.]

“I do not ask you lot to fight, for it will only lead to death and the destruction of the already tenuous strands of Dream. I ask you to think before you rebel against those others. Answer the hue and cry, if it is asked, but kill not those of kith or kin. You must band together in such a time, else watch your world shatter. For others come.”

The room dims, much like a movie theatre. Then, one wall shimmers, as if with Glamour. A look to Brighid shows that it is her doing, as her already fragile apparition seems to fade, going fuzzy. The wall disappears completely, and you look outside, and see a darkened, almost deserted street. There are things in the shadows, barely touched by the flickering and broken streetlights. One shade seems to have several arms, but that is gone before you can assure yourself of it’s genuine presence. Another busted streetlight magnifies a cat-like figure, that, too disappears, before you see, like the reruns on television, this scene:
[[http://panspipes.50megs.com/WarandPeace.html story by Nicky Rea, from War in Concordia: The Shattered Dream. It’s on another page because it’s hella long and I don’t want to clutter mailboxes.]]

The gruesome and tragic scene closes, in a freeze-frame. Niall, the Peacemaker, cradling little fallen Ronaly in his arms, a somber and still tableau of what will come. Brighid, now a mere ghostly and transparent image of herself, looks at each of you, with worry evident in her eyes.

“Will you be peacemakers, or with you be warriors, hunting your own?”
[Amberyl]
Watching what is shown, hearing every word...she commits it to memory. Feeling such deep grief at the death of the young satyr though having never met him. She doesn't cry, not in the presense of the Lady..such a public display would be unseemly. Knowing that what she sees with her rose-colored glasses is a gift no matter what form it takes, she stands and moves back over to River...waiting.

[Robert]
Robert frowns and relights his cigarette. "The gel already said, we're not to pick sides in yer bleedin' fight. Killin'll not be done by this lot. 'Sides, 's not even my ruddy war bein' fought, dunno wha' i'm bloody well doing 'ere inna first place."

[Maxfield]
With his head canted, he watches the Tuatha, brow furrowing a touch as her brilliance begins to thin and pale, azure lips set in a narrowing line. Her fading making him uneasy. Then he turns his attention to the tragedy before them, and swallows hard. Uncaring, he allows a rubine tear to trail a glimmering streak of Glamour down one smooth cheek, soon followed by another. An offering of precious and exotic vitae to the memory of fallen Dreams. As Robert speaks, he looks to him, fixing him with that unsettling oblivion gaze a moment. Then he responds quietly, evenly. "When the Dream falters...all thin's suffer. When it trembles wit' rage, n' slips inta darkness, we fall wit' it. The ties are undeniable... n' ta close our eyes ta the truth only brings `bout our ruin..." *as much of an answer as he will likely give to their radiant host tied up therein.

[Michon]
Closing his eyes, the Eshu clutches to his chest with both hands the flute he'd instinctively drawn, as Brighid had begun to speak. Feeling the sickened thudding of his heart, as a tear trickles down his dusky cheek for the poor Childling. And even the lost Sidhe...

[Emerald]
Brighid's talking about King David and Concordia and the power struggle wash right over Emerald... she has no idea of what she's talking about, she's still attempting to adjust to the fact that the goddess is actually there. During the story, tears stream down Emerald's face... at one stage, she almost struggle's from Mzisi's arms in the attempt to reach out to save the boy. By the end, righteous anger doth burn from her eyes! How dare they slay a child like that! Have they no honour, no decency? One can tell just by looking at her that if it were possible, she'd rip their heads off in a second. However, the words of Brighid doth calm her down, but she's still resolved. She'll do what ever she can to stop these kinds of incidents from occuring, and never, EVER would she slay other of her kind.

[Myrddin]
He nods slowly... looks at Chess... "Knew this was going to happen sooner or later... Commoner and Noble, what's the difference?" He then shakes his head. "As if this'll stop Winter..."

[Aedin]
The child in the 23-year-olf body stops "zooming", looks at everyone with wide-eyes. "No sleep now..."

[Chess]
She watches the distressing scene in utter silence – not unusual for her – and fine tears of Glamour slowly roll down her pale cheeks. She’s quite aware of how uncultured she looks. But at the moment, she could honestly care less…She hides her face in Myrddin’s shoulder once the incident has ended, crying in earnest.