songerein | Open - Sweet dreams are NOT made of this

[Based on Hilda's experience, these large horned humanoids must be bandits. Why else would they be ransacking a village like this?

Luckily, Hilda's experienced with fighting bandits ~~because that's all early-game Fire Emblem fights are~~. What she's less experienced with, however, is the level of absolute savagery present here. The sight makes her hesitate, and not simply because of laziness--rather, she feels a chill down into her bones and instinctively takes cover behind some debris. To face them down alone would be suicide, and above all else Hilda values staying alive.

The calls of a familiar teenage whose face she can't quite place catch her attention, and she makes her way over to him.]

Shhhh, they're going to find you if you keep screaming like that!

[Bandits, yes, but they're also distinctly inhuman--monstrous, even. And unlike most bandits, their goal isn't just to pillage what they can from this village, but also to kill everyone in it. The kid, meanwhile, is far less concerned about his own wellbeing than that of his mother's.

He's startled when Hilda approaches him, his eyes wide with fear--not at her, but at everything else going on here.]

You...! [He clambors over to her, desperation in his face.] Have you seen my mother? She has long white hair and... I-I can't find her!

Edited 2022-01-07 12:20 (UTC)

[Yeah, the 'kill everything in sight' thing is new. So is the monstrosity of bandits. It's not a great time.

This poor kid is panicked, and Hilda finds herself totally at a loss as to how to calm him down. She just knows that with each word he speaks, she finds herself looking over her shoulder for the inevitable monster come to do them both in. For a spoiled noble girl like her, this level of fear is an entirely alien feeling--but it pervades the entirety of the dream as much as the air they're breathing.

(Is this how Dimitri felt during the massacre in Duscur? She realizes, very suddenly, that she's never actually given that any thought...) ]

I-I haven't, but um. We can look for her. But quietly, okay?

[The boy swallows thickly and nods in agreement, his jaw set. Tears prick at his eyes, but he keeps quiet as instructed, knowing full well that noise will only endanger her.

He ducks behind a broken bit of wall and points toward a small house that's half-collapsed nearby.]

That's my house. [He speaks just barely above a whisper, his voice nearly lost in the chaos around them.] I haven't been able to look there yet, so... Please help me!

[Hilda follows him to cover of the broken wall, turning toward the remains of his home when he points it out. Shakily, she nods.]

Yeah, let's look in there. That's the most logical place for her to be, right?

[Even though she's sure the Goddess can't hear her here, she silently prays that this boy's mom isn't actually dead. That by some miracle, she's alive in the house and waiting for them.]

I've got an axe, so I can cover you while we go there okay?

[The axe wasn't there a moment ago. Where did it come from? Dream logic--don't question it.]

Lead the way.

[The dream has already deviated from the memory of the event that it's depicting by a wide margin, but such is the nature of the dream world when one who doesn't know the dreamer well enters.

The boy nods without sparing the magically-appearing axe a second look, and he pokes his head out from behind the wall to make sure the coast is clear before making the dash from their hiding spot to the crumbling remains of his home. Immediately, he starts to dig through debris, searching for any sign of his mother.

She isn't here. There's fresh signs of a struggle; claw marks, deep blade gashes in the brickwork. No blood, fortunately, but the boy's mother clearly isn't here, and he's getting visibly more distressed.]

[Damn. So much for that plan. At least there isn't blood, so there's a chance that his mother is still all right somewhere.]

Okay. Um. We'll just keep looking, right?

[Please don't panic, kid! Hilda's barely holding it together as it is.

As she looks over the remains of this boy's home and debates where to try looking next, Hilda notices in the shadows that a someone is approaching.]

Someone's coming! This way.

[Hilda ducks underneath a fallen portion of the roof, making sure to leave room for the boy to follow her.]

[He's about to start trying to move a fallen beam bigger than his body when Hilda sounds the alarm, and he ducks into her hiding spot with her just in time for a large demon to shamble past, dragging a struggling woman along with him.

A woman with long, white hair and dressed far too finely for such a poor village.

The boy's eyes widen at the sight and he grits his teeth in fury, fingernails digging into the dirt beneath his hands and murder in his eyes.]

[Damn! Why can't things like this ever be easy?

The boy is not reacting well--which of course he isn't, that's his mother!--and Hilda feels momentarily torn. To intervene is to go against every self-preservation instinct she has. She's determined to stay alive at all costs, even at the expense of her professor and classmates back home if need be, and the thought of giving her life to help a stranger turns her stomach. But this kid is so upset, and if this woman isn't saved she's going to die for sure.

This is all a dream, right? Worst case, Hilda gets killed and she wakes up. So she goes for it.

With a scream, Hilda charges with her axe raised...

...and is promptly swatted away by the demon like she weighs nothing at all.

She hits the remains of a wall hard, slumping and in a great deal of pain--but still conscious. And she now has a front-row seat to what's about to happen next.]

[The boy watches, speechless, as Hilda charges forward, only to get effortlessly knocked aside and slam into the wall. A wicked smirk spreads over the monster's face, and he can't take it any more.

Blood-red flames ignite from the teenager's eyes, and he lets out an inhuman roar of rage. The demon stops, startled at the sound, but only has a moment to process the sight of the bladed, spinelike limbs that burst from the youth's back before they shoot forward and impale him through the chest...

...As well as through the boy's mother's.

The boy doesn't seem to have realized what he's done yet, for flames still burn in his eyes and the tendrils emerging from his back lash out wildly. They topple the burning remains of houses, and slice through demon and villager alike indiscriminately. He screams in rage and agony, but no longer has the presence of mind to know what he's doing any more.]

[Unable to move from where she landed, HIlda watches the scene unfold with increasing horror. The only frame of reference she has is what happened to Miklan several moons ago, how he transformed into a terrible beast as a result of his actions and defiance of the natural order and common sense. That day had been awful, sure, but at least it had some sense of karmic justice to it. And it's not like Miklan was her brother or anything, so the true emotional depths of that tragedy were more or less lost on her.

This... this is so much worse. It's wanton destruction, wrought at the hands of literal demons. It's also grossly unfair--what has this boy done other than be driven to despair? That his mother is among his unintentional victims doesn't escape Hilda's notice, even as it escapes the boy's for now.

Desperate and panicked, Hilda screams toward him.]

STOP IT!!!!

[As if punishing her for her attempted intervention, one of the bladed tendrils impales her straight through in the following moments. Blindly sharp pain erupts through her whole body, and it's only because of the logic of dreams that she retains consciousness and doesn't fall over dead right then and there.]

[The arms slice through building and body with far more savagery than even the demons who had been sacking the village, and Hilda's desperate cry only gives him momentary pause before she becomes another victim of the demonic arms.

And then it all stops. The noise of the raiding demons, the roar of the fire, the boy's bloodcurdling screams. All of it goes silent, the scene freezing as if someone had hit pause. All of it, save for the huge man now standing between the rampaging teenager and Hilda. His expression is calm and contemplative as he looks at the younger version of himself frozen mid-rage, before turning to look down at Hilda, and she'll find her wound gone.]

Sorry about that.

[This version of him, Hilda recognizes, and that recognition is enough for her to piece together what this is. It's Asura's nightmare, borne from a memory, and she was the unlucky soul that got sucked into it.

Not that the realization makes her feel any better. The pause confuses her at first, and she pats down the front of herself in an attempt to figure out why the gaping wound is no longer there. When her mind catches up to what's happened, the relief is tinged with the still-lingering horror of what she's just seen. She has no emotional reaction left to give except to start to cry.

For once, her tears are sincere. Despite all of her big talk, the fact remains that she's a nineteen year old girl who has been largely sheltered by the privilege of her noble upbringing. She's seen battle, but she hasn't seen anything like this.]

I want to go home.

[Home-home, back to Fódlan.]

[Asura says nothing in response to that at first, but he does cross his arms over his chest and as he closes his eyes, the scene fades away to empty blackness. He just lets her cry for a little while, because the scene she'd witnessed had been horrific, and even if Asura himself came to terms with it centuries ago, Hilda was seeing it for the first time.

After affording her a few minutes of crying, he finally speaks.]

Describe it to me. Your home.

[The request brings Hilda out of herself a bit, and she looks up at him from where she's still sitting on the ground with a teary sniffle.]

My home?

[She sniffles again and wipes her face despite the fact that she's still crying. This is meant to help stabilize her, or if it's not meant to it certainly will work to, and she soldiers through the description.]

Fódlan's a land made up of three countries: the Adrestian Empire, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Leicester Alliance. My family's territory is in the Alliance. There's... there's a lot of mountains, so most of the people live in the lowlands of the western part and only go into the mountains for mining.

The lowlands are fairly warm, and it only really snows on the tops of the mountains in the winter. And there are a lot forests. There are forests all over Fódlan.

[It's an overly broad description, but he can work with it. The fact that she's actively thinking about it will also help.

The more she describes, the more the surrounding dreamscape will begin to reform--blurry at first, then details will gradually come into focus. The mountains in the distance, peaks peeking over the tops of the trees that now surround them. He's never seen the place in question so the image remains hazy, but Hilda's own cognition will help shape it.]

When someone enters the dream world of another person, the dream can easily become unstable. [He explains.] The visitor will influence the dream whether they intend to or not. Keep describing it with a clear picture in your head.

[Hilda watches with no small amount of wonder as the dream around them begins to change. At first, the image is as vague as her descriptions, but once she recognizes what it's intended to be it starts looking more like the Goneril Territory she grew up in.

Even incomplete like it is, the sight is comforting.]

Um... my family's estate would be right over there. [She points to indicate where she means.] It's this big building of wood and stone, a bit less castle-y than a lot of the major buildings in Fódlan. The grounds surrounding it are always full of flowers--no matter the season, the groundskeepers would find something that would bloom. My father used to tell me growing up that all of them were planted just for me, but now I'm pretty sure it's how the grounds have always been.

[Her voice softens at the memory. As she speaks, her childhood--and current, technically--home fades into view. For her part, Hilda's getting so caught up in her own talking that she entirely misses it.]

I'm the only girl in the household, though, so it was always loud with the sounds of boys running around and training. Especially when we were all kids. Holst and Balthus chased each other and fought all the time, trying to outdo each other.

[The sound of playfighting can clearly be heard in the distance, a pink-haired boy just shy of adolescence and another darker-haired one crossing wooden swords. A younger Hilda looks on, doll in arm, obviously bored with the display.]

[Asura watches the scene form around them in silence, his expression remaining placid and unreadable. Usually, distortions in the dream world are best avoided, but in this case he feels it necessary. Hilda did not need to witness what she had--his past no longer haunts him and so one else should have to have that horrific scene inflicted upon them either. Changing the scenery to something comforting like this is the least he can do to make it up to her.

The landscape is so different from the Demon Domain. It's bright and green, full of life and happiness. He watches the children playing and his impassive expression gives way to a soft smile. This is how kids should live: innocent and free of the horrors of war.]

It's a good place.

Mm?

[Hilda looks up at him quizzically, then follows the line of his gaze to see the full extent of what's been created. The sight is every bit as comforting as Asura intends, evident in the relaxation of her posture and the softness that slowly overtakes the last of the fear in his expression. The dark-haired boy tackles the pink-haired one to the ground and whoops with the joy of victory, and in response dream-Hilda flops dramatically to the ground and starts complaining that she's bored.

It's not the same as being home, of course. But it's a happy memory.]

Hey, Asura? Thanks for this. And sorry about the nightmare you had.

[Asura says nothing at first, merely watching the children play (and the younger Hilda whine), but he does feel some measure of relief that the current Hilda is no longer distressed by what she'd seen. His red eyes fall back to her when she speaks, and his smile fades, but he shakes his head to dismiss it.]

It happened a long time ago--I've long since forgiven myself for it, so I only regret that you had to see it. [And also get stabbed. He does genuinely feel bad about that.]

Yeah, me too.

[Hilda is not the sort to put on a stiff upper lip. What she saw tonight is going to stick with her for awhile, even if the situation ended well, and it would be a lot better if she hadn't been sucked into this nightmare at all.

But she was, and it's neither of their fault. So she'll have to deal somehow.]

I'm glad that you've managed to forgive yourself. It... it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I couldn't help dream you more.

[Asura gives a short, wry chuckle at that and pats the top of her head.]

It took me a long time to accept that, but it's fine now. Sorry you got dragged into it, but don't blame yourself for my bad memories.

It's not like you meant to. But I appreciate it.

[No hard feelings, but also don't be surprised if she keeps a bit of distance for awhile.]

I... think I'd like to wake up now. Can I just do that?

[He won't blame her; he's used to that kind of reaction from people anyway.

Fortunately, Hilda's request is a simple enough one to grant, and he nods as he raises a hand. In his palm, the image of a lotus appears, and he holds it out to her.]

Touch it and you'll leave.

[It won't be forever, at least. At the end of the day, Hilda does really like Asura. She just needs time to process all this.

The fact that it's a lotus makes her smile a little. Of course it's a lotus.]

Thanks. I'll see you around, I guess.

[With that, Hilda reaches out for the lotus and soon finds herself sitting up in bed. She's somewhat soothed, but still shaken enough that she doesn't want to go back to sleep... ever.

So she gathers herself and heads over to visit the man who was once the dark-haired boy she dreamt of.]

Open - Sweet dreams are NOT made of this

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