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[npc-excolo.livejournal.com]

Time has little meaning here, though your body back home may disagree.

Dream.

A forest.

A forest of the oldest sort, thick with brambles, trees snarled with centuries of life. It stretches for miles, many of them very dark, because the trees grow so close that it is hard to see. From a high vantage point, on one of the hills of the forest, one may glimpse a tower at the heart of the forest, a great graceful column of grey stone. Here and there there are clearings, bright with sunlight, and streams running with clear water. But mostly there is dark.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf.

[OPEN TO ALL]

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[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

I've been lost in this forest for days, I think. I don't know how long it's been. My hose is torn, my arms and legs scratched, and I am grateful I wore a leather doublet (http://www.maineantiquedigest.com/stories/prch4477.jpg) and gloves or I would be worse hurt than I am. I lost my horse long ago, but I still have my sword and knife. My knife grows blunted from hacking at the undergrowth.

It no longer seems such a great thing, to get to the tower. What use is a sleeping princess, anyway? I don't really want to marry someone I've never met. I was looking for glory, and this is what I get. Unless I figure out a way to escape, I'll die like the other princes. I've seen their bones, caged in thorns or drowned in shallow streams.

(They haven't all been bones. But I won't think about that now.)

I push my way into a clearing, and I could almost cry with relief just for being in daylight. I drink thirstily from the stream, and then I lie down on the grass, stare up at the blue sky.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

In daylight there's not so much to do, collect dirt under fingernails and break thin green stalks into bleeding sap. It's better in night, the air moves more quickly in the night, and the forest grows. But new things happen during the day, loud and clumsy noises coming down the river.

This one doesn't drown; this stream isn't one of those.

Not dead yet, and do not think he has seen me. Ragged sort of man on the outside, but as I said... not dead yet. Settle back on my heels and consider him, I've seen things like him, but not usually still moving, and I wonder how else he is different.

"You're a long way from home," I say blandly. Cock my head to one side and consider him. There should be a graveyard here, for all the pieces I find, but there's no way to break the ground so deep.

[kateohara.livejournal.com]

This (http://shimmeringways.files.wordpress.com/2010/02/1000168-2-the-cottage-in-the-woods1.jpg) is my home. I know it, know every stone of it, so I don't know why it seems strange today. There's a nervous feeling in my stomach. I want my love to come home before dark. I keep seeing shapes in the shadows at the corner of the room, and I tell myself not to be silly but I can't help jumping. And the colour of things are all wrong, somehow. The red cloak on the back of the door makes me sick to look at. It's the colour of blood dried into cloth.

These are silly things to think about, and so I go out to the well to draw water.

[westin-sagert.livejournal.com]

It has been a long road, and a lonely one. My coat is warm, though, and the stitches small and neat. It looks rather patchwork from the outside, piecemeal leather, but that is fine. (Although the piece at my collar has begun to smell faintly of salt, which I find odd.)

And I come to the clearing, and there is a woman there--but another approaching, and a child with her. Well. I shall simply be cautious.

"Lady," I say. "Could you spare some water for a traveller?"

[mistresswanda.livejournal.com]

The path is dark today. The woods I know so well seem ominous. Every stick that cracks beneath my slippered foot seems like a gunshot in the echoing woods, bouncing off the trees and startling the small birds hiding in the trees.

It seems that I have been on this path to Grandmothers... Godmother's far too long. I have not found the fork that leads away from my little cottage to her's by the sea. The wolf howls, and although I know his song, I find I do not wish to hear it now.

With a sigh, I wander over to the side of the path to adjust my hood and see what I can take out of my basket for it has grown heavy. I set it down on a stump, open the lid and reach in...

only to draw out my little daughter, Rose. With a gasp, for I do not recall putting her in there, I hold her close and wrap my coak about her. She seems none the worse for wear though, for see looks about with almost intense curiosity. "Little one, did you come with me so you may meet Godmother as well?" I ask, rocking her slightly and smiling. She looks up into my eyes. Stay with Mother, I will. Echoes in my mind, and I nod, realizing we are dreaming in tandem. Look down at the basket, and my simple shift, and realize these will never do. Shape a thought...

and the white cotton dress turns to leather pants, boots, and a study but comfortable corset. The basket leaves, and instead I have a sling to carry my child in. I do keep the claok though, to keep the breeze at the cold at bay. The last item... my gladius on my hip.

"Alright Rose, we're ready. Shall we go find Godmother?" No response, but a sense of urgency. I start back down the path at a brisk walk, singing softly to my daughter as we go.

Into the woods
Without regret,
The choice is made,
The task is set.
Into the woods,
But not forget-Ting
why I'm on the journey.

[lord-icelus.livejournal.com]

Time to meet some of my new citizens. I move through the thick woods, and I glimpse an interesting sort of woman. She knows she's dreaming, does she?

It won't help, precious.

I put on the body of a little girl, sweet and sturdy, and come running down the path. I trip a few feet away from her, and start crying in that healthy, full-bodied way children do.

[silence-excolo.livejournal.com]

I am going to the woods.

I am going to make my own way, my own path. My brother (the devil?) coveted, loved them. He thought them pure, beautiful. He wanted them tainted, so he could take them, take me. My tears kept them clean for so long, but still he came.

So I cut one off.

I look now to the stump of my left arm, the hand severed at the wrist (was this always-?). He took the other in a trick of brambles & lies, all rage & hurt, & I've nothing to hold me back, now. Ha. Hold. So I leave for the woods, on my own, to find my path.

I do not cry anymore.

I am growing hungry. There is a tower in the distance. Perhaps there will be an orchard.

[chester-excolo.livejournal.com]

I am on my way to the Tower, the path lies through the woods so made sure to take a few things with me. The sword of course is indispensable. As are the boots and them of course the hat and cape and other foolishnesses of human fashion.

I slip through the trees until I catch a human scent. I look past the screen of greenery to see a woman with no hands. Seeing that I pop out of hiding and into her view. "Hey there, lady. You headin' for the Tower?"

[benedict-donner.livejournal.com]

snap

And I fall, clear until the ground, and I gasp air past the red rawness of my throat. I'm so hungry. There are gnarls of roots and soil and the scent of forest and I'm so hungry.

I pull off the hood, my torn nails scrabbling at the thick twisted rope, and I'm so hungry. For a minute I think I'm blind, I'm buried, but it's just dark under the trees, and I'm so hungry.

There are forest sounds, and people sounds. Some close, some far. I taste death in my mouth, and I'm - so - hungry.

[iago-excolo.livejournal.com]

I'm lost in the fucking woods. Again. Where the hell did Lannie go? She, at least, knew the way back to the Tavern. I light another smoke, watching the smoke bubble away in the darkness.

Wood crackles behind me and I spin around, trying to see who it is. No one. Fuck. Right, onwards then and there's more sounds and whispers from the night. Perhaps people? I hope so and adjust my cloak as I try to get my bearings and determine a safe path through the woods.

[fairy-fiona.livejournal.com]

There are people in the woods.

They're lost and trying to find their way and they can't but it's only because they don't understand the rules. The forest has rules and you have to follow them.

The path always bends to the right. The third son is always the bravest. The grandmother is never what she seems. Names have power. The answer to the riddle is always 'nothing' or 'a person' or something you've never heard of. One twin always lies and the other twin always tells the truth. Straw always spins into gold.

And there are always happy endings. Somewhere. Somehow.

Those are the rules.

[aerika-dragon.livejournal.com]

I wish I understood why my feet are bleeding. They do not hurt, but they will keep bleeding. My shoes are fur, and the toes and heels are soaked with blood. The shoes are too small for me.

But here is Fiona, and she cannot wander the woods alone. I know her from the Daughters of Hesperie that I have been running for some of the girls of the town - their lack of religious education is shocking, but more so is how little there is for them to do, if they are not at their schooling or at their parents' work.

"Fiona," I say, and hold out my hand. "Why are you wandering, little sister?"

But as I reach for her she is gone. Is she lost? Well, then, I must find her.

[hopenotfaith.livejournal.com]

Know that this is a dream, cos I can see. But it seems so real, every crack o'the branches an' such, smell of the air. Don't know why I'm 'ere or where I'm goin'. Or why I'm dressed up like a princess. Dress (http://cdn.buzznet.com/media-cdn/jj1/headlines/2006/05/enchanted-movie.jpg) is pretty but it ain't practical fer the woods, an' I'm a bit cold. Wish Faith was 'ere.

[edmund-white.livejournal.com]

The woods are quiet for the most part. Birdsong and the small noises the animals make when they rush by in the underbrush. Once or twice I hear the noise of a larger creature, some very close to me. I have no need to follow them, or un-sling my bow- I am not hungry, and walking keeps me warm enough that I've slung my cloak off my shoulders. I am content to stay quiet and travel, blending in unseen in my greens and browns, almost feeling like I am part of the forest.

And then I see her-standing on the path, arms wrapped around her to ward off the cold. Her dress is bright and I'm drawn to her like its a beacon.
"Are you lost, Miss?"

[mister-foxton.livejournal.com]

This is not the waking world. I've walked in otherworlds in spirit in my work, and I shall -

The dead walk here. I can feel it, and I follow the sensation. Ah. Ah. So much power to be used in such a creature. I would have had his body, if I could. She guards the dead, though, and keeps them deep.

I am not wholly myself here; of that I am already aware. I keep my coat well wrapped around myself, to disguise whatever lies beneath, and I follow the dead man and the living (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10244458#t10244458) at a distance.

[lei-miao-shan.livejournal.com]

I do not know how long it has been since my father died. I lost count of the days long ago. But the passage of time has little meaning here. I live and I sleep in my cave, I gather wild rice and roots and lemongrass and herbs and fruits and nuts to eat, I sit by the pond and call my golden fish to my hand. It is as it has always been, and I am content.

There are times when I think, when my fish's scales flash in the sunlight, when the water is so clear I can see every movement of the creatures in its bottom mud...there are times when I think that there is something wrong. That I should not be so alone, that there are meant to be others here. But there have been no others since my father...and my father...

When did my father die?

But then I trail my fingers in the water, and my golden fish, my friend, nibbles at the sensitive flesh at their tips, and I smile. No. Things are as they are, and I am content.

[westin-sagert.livejournal.com]

The thorns and branches tear at me as I run, and it seems thin wails are following me from the lining of my coat. I do not dare turn back to look, the ground is uneven and headlong flight seems the best option, but I am sure it is behind me, right behind me--

And I trip, and find myself headlong on the ground, and in my breathless silence there is no sign or sound of the wolf. There is nothing, in fact, although I have lost anything that resembles a path. I draw myself up, and wrap my coat around me, silencing the memories.

That (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10258538#t10258538) was not pleasant, that was not pleasant at all.

I can see the sunlight somewhat clearer ahead, and make my way forward, and find a clearing--a small pond, and a cave laced around with gently growing green. And there is a woman sitting by the pond. She doesn't seem to be dressed for travelling, which is a good sign, but I am rather inclined to be careful of this place's inhabitants, now.

"Good day," I say cautiously. "Pardon me, but I-- I am rather lost."

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

Valmont answers "A little heartsick, miss, from weariness (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10233194#t10244970)," which strikes me overall as a sensible answer. I come up to the edge of the water myself, skirting the wolf and staying downstream--I don't care to startle him. The rocks in the riverbed are smooth as eggs, and I pick out a few white ones and gather them out.

"You can fly," he adds. "Have you ever flown near the tower? Do you know what it is like?" And that I would care to hear answer to.

[fairy-fiona.livejournal.com]

"A little heartsick, miss, from weariness,"

"Oh. I'm sorry. That is sad. But you're very brave!"

The boy drinks and so does the prince, and the lady picks up white stones that look like bones. Or eggs. Or monster teeth. But I like eggs best so I'll think that that's what they are. Stones and bones and eggs and legs! I swing my legs over the eggs and giggle again.

You can fly. Have you ever flown near the tower? Do you know what it is like?"

And then I'm not laughing at all. "Oh, no! It's not safe to go near the tower. I wouldn't go there all by myself! There's something wrong in the tower," I say, and I shiver again. "Something very very scary wrong. And it's locked up tight. If you want to get in to fix it, you need to find the key."

[ares-thracian.livejournal.com]

There I am, minding my own fucking business, hacking at whatever crosses my path. Block, swing, a scream and the wet ripping of flesh. Withdraw and swing again.

A great rushing of wind....

There is no flesh anymore, just fucking brambles. More fucking brambles, and a tower far in the distance. What in the Blue Bloody FUCK?! What quest is this, Father, you monkey's cunt. These games are becoming rather tedious...

Looking about, I yawn to show him my disinterest. Much like the Shadowlands and Red's dreams, I'm in my Roman gear, but I'm damn well nowhere near Rome, Greece or Olympus. Where in Hades am I? And fuck these brambles. I reach down to uproot one of these wretched things and my hand goes right through it. Swing my sword at it, they fall to the ground. Well I'll be Medusa's twat... I've seen some fucked up shit, but this ranks rather high on the scale. You have an imagination after all, father, you prick.

May as well make the best of it, I suppose. Begin chopping my way through the brambles singing,

"Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire!
I do wander everywhere...
Don't recall the rest, but fuck it, who cares!"

[regal-vigilante.livejournal.com]

I ride.

The forest is vast, and I lost the path long ago. My steed is up to the challenge though, and we fly through the underbrush.
I ride on.

Soon a sound breaks into my world. A hacking? No. Slashing? Not quite. No, a chopping. And....singing. A voice rumbles to me, and I slow our pace as the man comes into view. Dark hair, muscle, leather and a fine blade. Just my type.

Spur my horse until we're galloping up behind the man and we jump, landing just past him in the clearing he's chopping to. I wheel the horse around and feel my face shift into a grin.
"That looks like hard toil, you must be determined to get somewhere interesting."

[danashee.livejournal.com]

I pause for lunch near a pleasant stream, I cannot stay long, just enough to eat some cheese and bread and let my horse drink from the stream and then we must be off.

I hear sounds that might be people and wonder if I should call out to them or use glamour to hide.

[chester-excolo.livejournal.com]

Http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10234986#t10234986

The girl without hands is happy to accompany me and says so, I would be honored to accompany you, Master Cat, if only to somehow repay your kindness.

I wave the matter of my kindness aside, was less about kindness than about arranging things to my liking. I like company and she is pleasant as such. Willing to listen as long as I wish to talk. And so we make our way to the water. A nice enough little river babbling happily to itself and to anyone willing to listen.

We are not the only ones attracted to the river. A woman and a horse are already here. A woman? One taste of the air and my fur already ruffling up in caution. For both the woman and her horse smell of the fae.

I sweep my absurd hat off my head and bend into a deep bow studying her as I do so. Tall and slender with hair of brilliant fire and flashing golden eyes. I cannot tell if she is upset that we have intruded upon her or is merely surprised. "Greetings fair lady!" I call out keeping an eye on my companion to see if she follows my lead.

[damien-dw.livejournal.com]

Walking the roads once more, carrying all that I own with me, plus a cloak over my coat fastened with a silver flower. The forest feels immense, old and a bit oppressive. I realize almost immediately that this is a dream and pause for another and better look around me. I can't see anyone but it doesn't feel like I'm alone.

It feels a bit like the dream where I met Nanshe again, partly mine and partly some one else's. More the some one else's than mine but it's still sort of mine at the same time.almost as if it's both smushed together somehow. I still can't see anyone but the sense of being watched; its still there. I spin round once more and then give up on trying to catch whoever or whatever it is. Could be that there is nothing to catch in watching me. At least not with just my eyes. I reach for my cigarettes as I consider what to do about it.

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

"I am beginning to be of a mind that you lose things from outside these woods, you stay here overlong."

"Yes," I say to Glas. "I'm finding it... hard to remember what came before this." I furrow my brow. "I've forgotten the name of my country," I admit, and the thought is frightening.

"The key is that way," (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?thread=10300266#t10300266) says the fairy, and we follow her lead. The terrain is hard, and I find myself envying the fairy as she flies above us, because sweat's collecting at my back and under my arms again. If I ever do find this princess, she'd better not mind that I probably smell, I think, and almost laugh to myself.

"Listen," I say, holding up my hand, because I can hear voices.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"Oh, but if you lose things then you can find them again!" the faerie says, people and thoughts and manner of seeking and finding. She's flickering around the wolf, and I catch a low chuff, as if he's like to sneeze again. "Did you lose your idea about why you want to go to the tower?"

"Think I lost my idea to be going," I say, which is maybe a little different. "Shouldn't maybe need a why to know your home, but..." I trail off and shrug and Valmont picks up the thread of the lost.

"I'm finding it... hard to remember what came before this," words slow and awkward. "I've forgotten the name of my country," and oh, well. Look to him startled and could maybe see some doing that but not so much a prince.

"The key is that way," flitter and point, and then Valmont calls us up short and I cock my head to one side and let the voices filter through.

"Know her as lives here," I say mild--not to speak to particular, but know her. Lives off water and green, sensible and quiet. Listen a moment and'm hearing her voice in the others, and not shrill nor shaken, and come forward.

First thought's that Valmont's come late to the tower, as either man might stand in the woods (not seeing a weapon on the dark one) but the woman's wearing clean fine clothes; but hear words and guess at the way of things. Well, then. Sit back on my heels and clear my throat, glancing from one to the other. "You're for the tower all, then?" I say. "Coming strange common, now." Not sure how long I've been here in the forest, but sure as bones that those looking for the tower haven't been clustering so afore they died. Not before.