Issue 1 Downtime

The Archivist floated around the edge of Will's dreamscape, carefully considering it. She looked like Miranda would have had she never lost her eyes, though perhaps older. She was dressed in a robe of brilliant red. She sighed, audible in the space and called out softly, "Champion."

Will's dreamscape was in the shape of a walled city, with whatever was inside opaque, as if it was under some sort of dome.

A will, dressed in your stereotypical policeman's outfit, walked from a gatehouse up to her.

"You are...the Morrigan's daughter."

It wasn't a question.

"To a certain extent, that is true," she agreed. "I need to speak with her Champion."

"To what end?"

"I need his help. I cannot reach the Morrigan or the Sphinx and the Daughter of the Morrigan is in danger."

"Danger he can take on, but not the Morrigan? This must be a very specific danger, indeed," the watchman said, dubiously. "You may enter, but be warned: you are being watched."

"I expected I would be. Thank you," she said, taking that as her cue to move towards the dreamscape.

Entering through the gate, the Archivist would be metaphorically assaulted by organized chaos. It was if a street fair was going on, with booths selling various grilled meats and delicate pastries lining the streets, and people crowding, singing, and generally having a good time.

Ahead, at the gates to The Factory, The Champion sat on an elevated chair, watching the festivities with a smile on his face, occasionally talking to some of the people who were walking past him, joking and teasing.

In the center of the town square, between the booths of food and the factory, an apparently golden statue of the Morrigan had just been raised, her arm transforming into ravens as it reached towards the sky.

The Archivist paused at the statue for a moment, bowing her head to it in a gesture of respect. She held that pose a moment before turning to head towards the Champion. She approached slowly and carefully, apparently very wary of her position here.

"I hear from immigration that you've gotten in over your head!" Champion-Will laughed from his chair.

She smiled at Champion-Will, "It is possible. Though 'out of my head' would be a more appropriate statement. You are familiar with my sisters, the Seer and the Huntress?"

"Vaguely," he lied.

"The Seer is head-strong, invested with most of the willpower and decision-making ability of the three of us. Lately she has stopped hearing my advice and I recently learned she has implemented plans to 'retire' to the Astral for good. I am insufficient to operate the body on my own and the Huntress refuses to take sides."

"I've heard the astral is quite nice this time of year. Good seasonal pastries."

"I'm not sure you understand. Now that the Seer has left, the Daughter of the Morrigan is vulnerable and her body is uninhabited. From a purely practical standpoint, the body will eventually die, unable to sustain itself. From a more... esoteric standpoint, her body is uninhabited, meaning it is open to any being that might wander by with enough willpower to overpower what little remains as defense."

"This would be the same body that has felt it appropriate to take shots at the Champion, yes? Who has made it abundantly clear that he is not welcome, yes? Who felt the need to publicly denounce the games held in Her honor?

And your plan is to get aid from this person? A bold strategy, if I do say so myself."

"The Daughter of the Morrigan struggles with herself and the Seer frequently sees things as she thinks they should be. That is a luxury I am not afforded. I must deal with the reality of things. In the absence of the Morrigan, I must turn to her Champion."

"You are the judge of character, then. You believe that, despite are disagreements, I will help you.

...You believe rightly."

"I am her memory, for good or ill. It is by that evidence that I judged you and believed you would help. I know she has wronged you and for that I am sorry," she said, bowing to Champion-Will. "I thank you for your assistance."

"You shall take me to her. And from there, we will put some sense into her head."

"Of course, Champion," she said. "I can take you there immediately." Apparently, she was as good as her word, pulling Will along with her to a well-manicured garden. It might remind someone of a memorial garden, complete with mausoleums scattered around among the trees and flowers. Here and there monks in brown robes walked the paths with their heads down. The whole scene was serene and perfect... except for the bank vault-like doors on the mausoleums.

"What is this place?" Will asked, turning his head...

...Or rather, not. Outside of his own dreamscape, things seemed to work a little differently. Rather than actually turn his head, it was if his face receded into his skull and a new one appeared where he planned to look. It was very fluid and swift, but weird looking.

"This is the stronghold that the Seer has wrapped around herself. I tried to come here to talk with her, but her constructs repelled me. Apparently memory is not welcome in her memorial garden."

"And that's where she's sealed herself in, hrm?"

Will approached the doors, legs appearing and disappearing as he glided across the landscape.

"If I had to guess, and I hate guessing, I would say she has used these buildings to seal away memories. Some of the scrolls are missing from my library."

As they approached one of the buildings, a shadow detached itself from one of the walls, resolving into a black cloaked figure stepping into the 'sunlight'. It stepped in front of the door, head bowed. "By what right do you trespass here?"

"Do we trespass?"

"She at the very least has been warned against being here," the figure said, pointing at the Archivist.

"Just a construct, not the Seer herself," the Archivist whispered, "And they may have told me to get lost the last time I was here."

"I have never been warned against being here, though. So I'm not trespassing, then, am I?"

The construct seemed to consider that, "I suppose not, so long as you do not disturb the vaults."

"Which is what I did the last time I was here."

"What's in the vaults?"

"You make it tempting. But I shall leave the vaults closed," Will nodded. "Now, stand aside."

"You may pass. She must leave." The figure stepped partially out of the way.

"Good luck, Champion. She is counting on you."

"I'll do my best," he nodded, as he glided forwards.

The entrance led into a short columned hall. Despite the sun outside, very little light manages to touch the darkness inside the building. What light is there is provided by guttering, smokey torches.

"I will have to give the constructs more explicit instructions." The voice came from a figure in a feather-trimmed cloak, standing with its back to Will. The figure seemed to be regarding a large vault door.

"You'll find I don't always play by the rules. To whom am I speaking?"

"I am called the Seer by my sisters," the figure said, keeping her back to Will. "I take it the Archivist brought you in to bring me back."

"You see the situation quite easily. Aptly named."

"The Archivist speaks of reality, but she only knows of what has past. She cannot possibly comprehend what is to come. She should not have brought you."

"And you can comprehend what is to come."