This is My Island in the Sun [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The Rift wouldn't say it's sorry for the fit it threw the other day, because the Rift never needs to apologize. It is (mostly) perfect, and all of its decisions are well reasoned and just. Obviously. But perhaps it has fallen into a bit of a post-tantrum sulk, because this dream is milder than one might expect. In fact, it's downright nice.

The dreamers will find themselves in an archipelago of small islands - most only a few acres in size - connected by narrow strips of sand or pebbles. The surrounding waters are calm. Little waves lap against the shorelines, and no rising tide will cut the islands off from one another. The islands themselves seem to have been lifted from every climate zone on Earth and several from beyond. Some are tropical, some colder and home to hardy conifers, some mossy and boulder-strewn, some covered in multicolored sand and odd, coral-like trees.

Most of the islands boast some kind of manmade or otherwise non-native structure, be it as small as a bench or as large as a pavilion, though there are no houses or shops to be seen. It's more like parkland, just civilized enough for a nice picnic. Some of the islands even have little grills, and a sufficiently motivated dreamer might be able to rustle up some hot dog or burger fixings if they poke around a bit.

And they'll have an extra pair of eyes to help with their searching, because their beloved dæmons have returned… again. Or perhaps they're being introduced for the first time. Regardless, it's the bi-annual dæmon dream party!

Comments

[biscuit_powered]

It takes Asmodia longer than it really should to realize that this isn't Shadowfoot Island. The island on which she finds herself is much too small, the ocean audibly too near at hand behind the nearby trees, the growingly familiar compound absent from the view to the east. She might be forgiven, though, for initially believing herself still at home for a moment or two, given the...peculiarities of the view. Weightless boulders bob gently in the breeze, and a stream that looks almost exactly like the one she broke back home flows noisily uphill.

"Come on, Biscuit," she says, turning uneasily to go. "It's not safe here. You, too." She glances up at the raven wheeling in tight little circles overhead.

"I don't know!" calls down the bird cheerfully. "I kind of like it!"

Asmodia laughs and picks up Biscuit -- and, as an afterthought, the smaller rodent toddling about at her feet as well. The jolt of...weirdness that goes through her hand (and through the guinea pig, into Biscuit, and up their emotional bond) makes her stop for a second and stare at the little animal, surprised, before hastily putting it on her shoulder to stand on her shirt rather than bare skin. She lets Biscuit clamber onto her other shoulder, though she knows she'll regret it when he starts to feel heavy in a few minutes. "When did I get two more familiars?" she mutters to herself, amused and bemused. Maybe it has something to do with the broken physics of this place -- either way, best to leave before a rock falls on her. Minding her step lest she find something else magically wrong with this place the hard way, she sets off for the treeline, away from the floating boulders.