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antitimelordPoor Johnny had been at least slightly doomed from the moment he agreed to help; Zagreus has a reputation to keep up, after all, and no good turn goes unpunished. Was that how the saying went? It's hard to remember things exactly, in dreams.
And in dreams they still most certainly are. Leaving the dream-house had been no trouble (Zagreus breathes a muted sigh of relief) and once on familiar generic dream-ground he has no more qualms. That house had almost certainly been bad news in some form or fashion, and he had not been at all grieved to leave it behind. Johnny probably hadn't either, inasmuch as he can feel things in this state.
The dreaming becomes less generic as they travel, taking on a heavy, oceanic cast and a distorted feel. Now they're in his element, cold and salt and pressurised, where only he can move through with ease, like some prehistoric fishy behemoth. Where before the dreaming had felt limitless, now it feels closed in on every side. Dream architecture creeps in as they progress, pulled from a dream that was clearly unable to decide what it was about. Rotted wood and worn stone mingle, as though the location couldn't pick between a shipwreck or a decrepit marble ruin, and got caught in some liminal state. The vertiginous geometry likewise refuses to take sides in the matter.
His charge he mostly ignores, until they reach an interior chamber of more cohesive design, though no less warped. The strain of an environment being bowed by an alien pressure is a metallic submarine groan just outside hearing. Zagreus takes stock of the experiment and gauges it a tentative success.
And in dreams they still most certainly are. Leaving the dream-house had been no trouble (Zagreus breathes a muted sigh of relief) and once on familiar generic dream-ground he has no more qualms. That house had almost certainly been bad news in some form or fashion, and he had not been at all grieved to leave it behind. Johnny probably hadn't either, inasmuch as he can feel things in this state.
The dreaming becomes less generic as they travel, taking on a heavy, oceanic cast and a distorted feel. Now they're in his element, cold and salt and pressurised, where only he can move through with ease, like some prehistoric fishy behemoth. Where before the dreaming had felt limitless, now it feels closed in on every side. Dream architecture creeps in as they progress, pulled from a dream that was clearly unable to decide what it was about. Rotted wood and worn stone mingle, as though the location couldn't pick between a shipwreck or a decrepit marble ruin, and got caught in some liminal state. The vertiginous geometry likewise refuses to take sides in the matter.
His charge he mostly ignores, until they reach an interior chamber of more cohesive design, though no less warped. The strain of an environment being bowed by an alien pressure is a metallic submarine groan just outside hearing. Zagreus takes stock of the experiment and gauges it a tentative success.
