A time for combat: the Weaver and the Night Prince

[Jantus]

~Round 1 has begun. The characters find themselves in a foggy dreamscape with the knowledge that each person they meet is a bar in their cage. Dreamers now fight for escape. Whether their foes are real or only a dream facsimile is unclear...even one who is a friend in the waking world must surely be an enemy, here. The players can set their fight in any environment they'd like, given that each is taking place somewhere in a dream. Background story below for those interested.


The strumming of the lifelines purred beatifically to the Weaver as she twined them together and drew all into a red tapestry. Long had she aspired to affect this: a grand event to assuage her thirst for the wine of the living, to drink deep of the bloodcup as it brimmed over with the froth of their toil. The reality of her great work was parallel with their own, a world they could only enter in sleep, and only leave in violence. The realm must needs have a door of escape, she knew, or she would lose her champions. Yes...she had elected four which suited her. A traveler whose road had just begun, a rejected princess turned to viciousness against her sister, a wolf doomed to share his body with a demon of his mother's giving, and a lost and unloved child whose strength was not his to command. Yes, these four would do nicely. Of the four, she had her favorite, the one she had chosen to slaughter the rest in this dark and foggy dream, the steamy clouds raising from her tapestry lit from behind with the crimson glow of their four lifelines. It was a loose design, but their timber when she ran her finger across them was good, and she was proud of the conflict she had orchestrated.

It was due to her intense satisfaction that her irritation flared at the appearance of the interloper. His pitch coat contrasted sharply with her dusky red, and the silkiness of his voice and motion offended her, who could surpass it only in the subtlety of her weaving. The Night Prince had come unbeckoned to her place of labor; she could see his black shape starkly through the rising mists of her straining and strumming creation. The lifelines burned hotly in her net, and now she must contend with one who could unmake it all with a swipe of his claw.

"Greetings, seamstress, he crooned, his bright eyes shining with lunar light. His shadow swam beneath him, and as he reared back and stood to his full height, it flowed upward to and billowed as black cloth in the ethereal wind. She snarled as he smiled knowingly at her. Her words and manner were far coarser than his own, but her hands...her hands would create works by far fairer than any he himself could ever attempt. He knew this, and had destroyed their works before. Today, however, he would make use of those hands, instead.

"Your creation is magnificent: a dreamframe which has snared four mortals in its web. They are trapped within, ensorcelled into that tiny world of your making. I can read the threads clearly: to dream is the door in, to fight is the door out. But only four have you snared, and I would guide four more within. I bring with me lifelines which your hands could bend and sew more adeptly than mine. I bring them as materials for your art: weave them into your creation, and make it the grander. Let us see if the lifelines I have chosen can surpass those you have selected yourself. Mayhap the skill is yours, but have you my eye for beauty and strength, oh Weaver?" His laughter was derisive and still so soothing to the ears that it jarred the listener. The Weaver had met him before, however, and knew the Prince's manner.

"So it will be," she replied gruffly. "My hands will work these new dreamers into my tapestry, and there they will fight their way out or be trapped thenceforth. A warrior whose word is God's word, a giant of pitch and pure heart, a scarred king of the southern territory, and a rogue who has walked a long and twisting road. These four shall compete with mine for the surest path through the fog of the dreamframe, trapped within the resonating cords of their fellow dreamers until they shall fight their way out or fall through death back into their bodies." The hands of the weaver were calm and sure, and yet their haste was evident. The dream would soon begin, and her time was short to tie all ends together artfully. When her work was done, she strummed the cords, and stepped away, the musical vibration of the straining mortalities building up to crescendo. It had begun.

[Jantus]

~Round 2 has begun.


The early music of the strings was beautiful and yet so discordant that the Night Prince winced as it assaulted his ears. The Weaver appeared unbothered by this, and it took him some time before he too heard the subtle melody behind the squeals and scrapings of each mortal strand. Once he keyed in on that tune, he could not draw his attention away from it. This was what he'd come for, this experience, and the chance to best the Weaver through her own creation. At the wonder of her skill, he marveled, and faltered in his belief that he could spite her in this way...she was far too adept at her art, it seemed folly to believe he could in any way manipulate this thing to work against her. He read the notes and realized that she had not pitted all of her souls directly against all of his.

"I see the demon savages the princess, and my soldier of god slays my rogue. Why have you woven it so?" His irritation was evident only in the slightest tones, he had wanted his four to match squarely with her own and conquer, but he saw now that she had muddled his design...perhaps with intent, perhaps because he had foolishly expected her design to walk into his own. Regardless of how it had come to pass, he was not pleased.

"I created this tapestry, and don't intend to sacrifice my desired flavors of turmoil for your additions. The princess was brought to suffer, your rogue knew your soldier, or did you not see this? His pain was greater thus. Your giant has defeated my traveler, however, and my hunter your southern king." His attention had been partially diverted in their discourse, but now that he listened to her song and looked down into the dream between the lifeline cage, he knew her words were true. His anger flared. The king was meant to slay the hunter. He was pleased with his giant, but things were not going as planned.

"Already your king begins to fade from the dream. You have brought me inferior material, Prince!" It was now her own turn to feel anger. The mortal Leroy was fading back into consciousness. He had died at the hands of the child, her hunter, and now he slipped through her net. His lifeline fell from the tapestry like a snapped spider web, drifting slowly down to earth, slowly back into his resting form far from here. She bared her teeth at the Night Prince, whose lunar eyes flashed spitefully back as his serpent smile answered her hate.

"And now my soldier meets my giant, and your hunter meets your demon. Little contest has this been, but I will stay and watch it to the end. Weave my bloodless line into your orchestra and see how I sing alongside them. I will test my fangs against your traveler, and drink his youth through my black fangs. Weave and witness as I save your creation." As her creation began to collapse, the Weaver quickly took his offered soul-thread and repaired the damage. In her fervor to save the experience, to continue basking in the red light and heat of their combat, she had missed one detail altogether. She snarled, and looked down into the tapestry...this is what the Prince had wanted all along.

[Jantus]

The Weaver watched and waited as the next stage of her creation unfolded. It was with great dismay that she saw dreamers dropping from the weave...it was the dark one, his choices had been made poorly. Slowly but surely, the lifelines he had snatched began to twang arhythmically, before fading from the tapestry and returning the dreamers to their sleeping bodies. First it had been the king, then the rogue, and now the giant. Only one remained, now, contested by three of her own choosing. The demon had slain the child, as she had intended. The sweet taste of the child's death flavored her cup, curbing the sting of the Prince's betrayal...or was it incompetence? Regardless, she set her thirst aside long enough to draw the Prince out of the dreamframe, his line powerfully thrumming between her fingers...his anger infused his being, and he flew out of the dream in a wave of blackness, his lunar eyes shining brightly down into hers as he rose to his full height.

"Why have you removed me, witch?! I was not yet finished...I had only just begun!" His tirade was cut short when she indicated the dream frame with her slender forefinger. He saw now that three of the threads had fallen away, all threads of his choosing. Only the soldier of God had remained within.

"I did so to permit battle between the princess and the traveler. I cannot drink of your efforts, Night Prince, and I don't intend to let you enjoy the traveler's pain alone. Your soldier will face my demon. That should be sufficient nourishment--and entertainment--for both of us." Her expression was flat. She was greatly displeased that he had complicated and damaged her creation...there would only have been four to start, but she didn't approve of this chaos...having four dreamers who remained until dismissed would have been far more to her liking. It was now a marred work, and its success was subject to the whim of wakefulness. The Prince grinned toothily.

"Indeed, it will be enough. A soldier of heaven goes out to meet a monster of hell. Yes...I had not predicted this matching, but I think I will enjoy it. Let us see if my choice can not overpower your own. Let us watch the winner of this fine contest, Weaver, and be content with the result." He was ever confident of his selection...the others may have faded away. He did not think that the soldier, driven by the Word, would.