metaverses | CRISIS ON INFINITE DREAMWIDTHS: EVENT END

AT THE END OF THE WORLD

The sound isn't unlike thunder when the universe begins to crack apart. Loud, thrumming thuds that tear the sky and the fabric of reality. The nexuses are being stomped out, engulfed back into the void one by one.

Characters may be in these nexuses as they're slowly engulfed by the cracks. Some may be saying they're final goodbye's to old friends, new friends, or simply watching as the apocalypse descends on whichever world they're in.

And then, just before they're about to fall into oblivion - they're snatched away.

IN CENTRAL CITY —

Outside The Alliance HQ, Chaos Gate and the Silent Mystic stand with their eyes tightly shut, hands linked together as one. Above you the sky has turned a deep crimson. The crack is a yawning chasm as buildings are torn apart brick by brick, falling into the abyss.

If something isn't done soon then you're all dead.

This world is a nexus and this can't be changed, but it can be pulled from the 'between' it has fallen into, and restored to its proper place. This will require an enormous amount of energy. The mystics bid the gathered to join hands: they ask you to remember their world, the one they left behind and tether this world to it. Your strongest memories may bleed out, giving the people around you a glimpse of who you are, what you were.

The universally displaced are here with you. This is a last mingle opportunity. The comm will remain open so people can continue to play any threads they didn’t get a chance to during the run of the event. They too can join hands and share their memories, but as they are not tied to this dimension, when it’s restored they will either return to their own worlds or the nexuses they left behind.

CONNECTION —

Everything goes dark.

It feels endless, swallowing your sight as well as all sound as it closes in. Slowly, glowing threads begin to appear, tying one person to the next, then to the next, and so on. Only those who are linked to Metaheroes are tied with these golden glowing threads. The threads flow down to their feet and then shoot up towards the sky.

There's a boom, different to the thunderous cracks of before. The sky rushes back into place, day and night speeding by as it hurries to realign itself to the proper date and time. It's dizzying, for a moment, before it begins to feel grounding. Right.

The air feels different. Fresher, somehow. The sky is brighter; the world seems fuller, like it has been allowed to become what it should have been all along. A cheer goes up. The people are elated, relieved to see the sun again.

Players may be troubled should they have ventured into other worlds. They have seen the nexuses that have fallen to ruin, know how they too once felt exactly like this.

THE WORLD CONTINUES TO TURN —

The world has been restored to its proper place. Interdimensional communication is coming through again. The Guilds, exhausted as they were putting fires out across the non-meta cities, are relieved. Perhaps this is finally over.

With the return of interdimensional communication comes the return of interdimensional travel as well. This technology has been used in this world before; it was only with the advent of the recent powerful Confluences that it all went dark. Now that it’s back, the Guilds start to make plans immediately. It will take a little time to organize everything, but once they have a system in place, it shouldn’t be too difficult to locate everyone’s home universes and return them there. They set a tentative date for September 4th to start trying to return everyone home.

That being said, the government is none too happy with any of this. The Guild Systems were put into play by two metahumans who wanted the best for the world, as a means to protect them from those who would do them harm. Years have been spent slowly wrestling control from those two and now there is an opportunity.

Behind the scenes a storm is brewing. If they can spin this to blame the Unaligned then perhaps they have no more need for the Guilds. The Society is a thorn in their side that they’d like to finally be rid of, but they’re essentially untouchable. The Unaligned, however, are flagrantly breaking the law. Constantly putting themselves in the spotlight, making it all too easy to yank the rug out from under the metahuman leaders.

How wonderful for them that these strangers from away have made such a wreck of the trust in the systems that protected the metahumans of this world.

Mechanima is all too aware that things are about to go to hell. The Society is welcoming all metahumans, regardless of moral alignment, to join them. It is heavily encouraged among the rumor mill that the Unaligned should start reconsidering their position.

As the days go on, things begin to change across Meta.

Excelsior has become vehemently anti-metahuman. While this outrage may pass, they’re passing new AI laws in rapid succession. Limitations on what AI can and can’t inhabit. Limitations on robot bodies, on mechanical prosthetics, on the research that can be done into what gives things the spark of life. Magic is essentially forbidden within the city. Any abilities that can be mistaken as magic are treated as suspect.

Sunset Falls is worse for wear. Yet the people remain as grateful as ever to the metahumans who stepped in to save them. That gratitude outweighs any fear that they could have caused this - Sunset Falls has disasters all the time that have nothing to do with interdimensional weirdness. They continue to be unbothered by the metas among them.

Central City, having witnessed all the off-world metas stepping in to save them, is oddly grateful for this - but they haven’t forgotten what happened. The disappeared are among them again and are unharmed despite their sojourn through the universe, but the fact that it happened at all is cause for concern. Confluences are a problem. They want answers, they want solutions.

Little Love remains untouched and unchanged.

I DREAM A DREAM SO PRETTY —

Two days after the apocalypse is averted, every off-world meta will find a pillow lying on their doorstep. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you live - one of these pillows will find its way to you.

If you’re quick or wary enough, you may be able to catch a glimpse of the being that placed it there: a figure clad in blue robes. They’ll appear seemingly out of nowhere and lay the pillow down before vanishing into dust. Should they happen to notice they’ve been spotted, they’re clearly started, and lay a finger to their lips before departing.

Atop the pillow is a note: an invitation from the Dreamers of the Willow Maiden. You would have undoubtedly heard of this group: they have a presence in this world, though their reputation’s benign. They’re oddballs and weirdos, but ultimately harmless. They believe in the power of a good night’s sleep - literally.

If the note is to be believed, then the Willow Maiden herself has requested an audience with you, and this audience can only be granted in the world of dreams. Should you accept this offer, the note explains, all you need to do is lay your head upon this enchanted pillow. Sleep will come to you quickly.

Your dreams will be extremely vivid. There are recurring themes bleeding through them: your greatest accomplishment juxtaposed with your greatest failure. The moment you could have acted but stayed still. Highschool embarrassments. Falling. Flying. Here in your own dreamscape, you’ve got more control than anywhere else; you feel as though you can do anything. But beware: these dreams grab for you, both the nightmares and the fantasies. It can be easy to lose yourself and forget what exactly is real.

Luckily, the dreams grab for others as well. Sleeping metas may find themselves involuntarily wandering into one anothers’ dreams. Visitors to a dreamscape don’t have any powers outside of what they normally would, but they can reach out to the dream’s host, should they want to.

If no one else arrives, don’t worry. She is patient and waiting, and doesn’t mind that you stumble. Fall too far into the abyss, and she’ll reach out her hand to steady you.

THE WILLOW MAIDEN —

As you find your way out of the haze of your subconscious with uour allies at your side, the Willow Maiden greets you. She is a massive tree nymph, long-limbed and wooden. She is curled against an enormous tree, looking like a statue. At your approach, she lifts her head from the crook of her arm and extends a hand in greeting. Her smile is warm and motherly. You may feel distrust, but that feeling of safety and protection that guided you home radiates from her.

“You from a far away land, come to this world and made its own.” Her wooden lips don’t move, the words echo through your soul itself. “I can do little for you now but issue warning. Danger is waiting in the dawn, in the shine of her sword. You won this battle, your strength and the strength of all those you have touched has saved you… but she is coming.

She is coming.

“My time is short… your words cannot reach me as you are now. Carve yourselves a new future. One in this world and all others. Dream, and in those dreams, you shall become more powerful than even she can stand. My gift is the gift of new life, new lives, new futures… I have shielded you from her gaze until I could no longer bear it and now… I must rest. May the next time we met be true conversation.”

The Willow Maiden lays her head back down on the curve of her arms. Within moments, she’s asleep.

You wake. Not with a start, but as though you’ve been gently roused from a deep and restful sleep. The dreamsharing effect lingers, and can reoccur off and on throughout the month of September, but you will not find your way to the Willow Maiden’s realm again.

IN SUMMARY.

The fourth wall ends in a near apocalypse. Characters will have a chance to say goodbye while the metaphorical walls are closing in. They will be pulled back from the brink at the last second.

Through the collective effort of metaenergy, Metaheroes will rejoin the multiverse, tethered to the worlds which playable characters come from.

As a result, there's tentative optimism that characters will be able to go home

Anti-meta sentiment is growing across Excelsior, and within governing bodies. Government officials will begin looking to blame Unaligned heroes for various crimes and disturbances.

It's a good time to pick a side. Or don't.

Amidst all this, The Willow Maiden invites players to Meta's first dream share event. The dreaming effect lingers and characters may find themselves intermittently sharing dreams throughout September.

However pleasant this is, however cathartic - it doesn't change that things are tense in the waking world. The Willow Maiden's warning will ring in your ears, too: who is coming?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[CW: Mass Murder, survivor's guilt, and associated trauma. Worse warnings that may be necessary, given the extensive crimes of the person responsible, but they will be raised via PM beforehand as a precaution and then and tagged accordingly as they appear. If you'd prefer brackets to prose, I'll match.]

{I'm begging you, please wake me up}

At first, this all felt like the most pleasant dream Nox has had in ages. Outside wanderers might disagree of course, as, all things considered, this was a fight for survival in the depths of the void: the final confrontation with the Immortal Emperor, deep in the recesses of Nox's own subconscious mind. While unmistakably dark--in more ways than one, given whose mind it was, and the fact the Emperor had already begun reshaping it in his image--there was still a strange, ethereal serenity to be found. A literally timeless island, floating high above the clouds and suspended amongst the stars. A place where even flames hung frozen in the air.

It was the sort of place Nox would have gladly lost himself in, if it weren't for the man he was there to kill. Though calling the Emperor a mere man wasn't appropriate. If it were anyone else, even Nox might have believed that he'd been one once, but by all accounts the Emperor had been a wretched affront to nature even as a child. And now, that cursed spawn of Dramath had grown into a malignant force that posed an existential threat to every last living thing in the galaxy. Even now his power served him well, and even with the aid of the monster's children Nox could do little more than annoy him. Any blow that did somehow get past his defenses may as well have been mere words of disapproval from the most insignificant speck riding atop the tiniest of insects. But that was only true so long as the Emperor still had his power.

This was Nox's mind. The Emperor's power was only his so long as Nox allowed it. And once Nox realized that, the tide of battle turned. This was his mind, and his will was the only real power here. Something the Emperor realized far, far too late. And as far as dreams went, if he had his pick Nox would have gladly revisited the experience of finally cutting down the galaxy's greatest monster a thousand more times and never tire of it. But the fact that Nox was dreaming was itself a problem: These days, his dreams were never this pleasant. And this time would prove no exception.

Once the blinding light that followed the destruction of the Emperor's spirit faded, Nox didn't wake up at the foot of the Eternal Throne, but instead found himself someplace much, much more familiar. It was no longer Nox's mind, but a barren, desiccated, lifeless landscape of dust and ash. He was standing outside the silent ruins of a dead city in a wasteland that stretched for miles in every under a sky darkened by enormous clouds of ash. For a few precious moments, there was nothing to be heard but an oppressive silence, only occasionally broken by the occasional gust of wind or the distant sound of rocks tumbling free from jagged cliffs.

At least, until the screams returned. Millions of them.

They were distant at first, but soon it was a deafening chorus that assaulted the ears from everywhere and nowhere all at once. And with them comes a flood of sensations, not just for Nox, but for any unfortunate soul stranded here with him: The final, agonizing moments of a world faced with its impending demise. A million desperate hopes that they would somehow be spared, the primal urge to run and never look back, even the pained resignation of countless lives who chose to spend their final moments consoling those they held most dear. Nox and the interlopers would be subjected to a swirling maelstrom of human suffering that turned seconds into an eternity before one final flash of pain as millions were torn apart and consumed. And then...nothing. The dead world was silent once more.

It wasn't clear when he'd realized someone else was here with him, especially since even now he refused to so much as look at them--his gaze remained fixed on the darkened and lifeless remnants of what had once been New Adasta. He could only bring himself to offer a few brief words to acknowledge whoever had joined him in his dreams:

"...I'm sorry."

It's much. It's so much. It's too much. Mark wants to scream at the tension all of the memory, the dream, the whatever offers him. This is dark. He's been in a lot of places, seen a lot of bad things, and failed to prevent some in the past too. But this? It's too much.

It's a dream, and Mark wishes he could wake up. He knows it's a dream. He had tapped into the powers of a Dream-Walker before. Knowing the truth of a dream isn't so hard for him, but the pain of it.

"Fuck," he groans, falling to his knees next to the other dream-presence. "I think I liked it better when I was trapped in musical theater dreams where everyone confessed their worst feelings with song."

CRISIS ON INFINITE DREAMWIDTHS: EVENT END

Darth Nox | Star Wars

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