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wyvernquill · 2 years ago

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I am NOT writing a Dreamling Anastasia AU

...but. If I were...

(Edit: I am, find the masterpost here!)

It would not, actually, be a full human AU. The Endless are still Endless, but humanity has risen up against them, to terrible results. Their “domains” are still somewhat intact, so humanity can mostly go on as normal, but the personifications have been torn from them, weakened, have barely any control over them anymore. Their realms have crumbled, their tools are damaged, and they’re in exile...

And Death has offered immortality to whosoever will return her lost brother, Dream of the Endless, to her.

Enter Hob Gadling, vagabond, mercenary, and not very fond of dying as a concept; and Gilbert, a dream who survived the destruction of the Dreaming, and has lived among the humans ever since.

Dream of the Endless has been captured, turned human, and killed. They all know it, everyone does - it would be a pretty story if someone recovered him, a pretty story indeed, finally bringing peace and comfort to his family and the remainder of his subjects, but it won’t ever come true...

...unless someone were to make it true. Of course. Out of pure charitable sentiment, and not for the immortality reward at all.

All Hob and Gil would need is a lookalike they can pass off as “Dream of the Endless forcefully turned human” - and the amnesiac ravenkeeper “Murphy”, misanthropic and eccentric to the utmost, might be just what they’re looking for.

(But the traitor at Dream’s court has not yet given up on destroying him utterly, and is following after them with a razor-sharp knife and three mouths hungry for “Murphy”’s blood...)

---

(A scene I typed out just for funsies, from later in the plot, under the cut - also, tagging @10moonymhrivertam who I believe was interested in this!)

[Context for the scene:

Murphy-pretending-to-be-Dream has already presented himself to Unity, Desire’s Queen Consort, mentioning that he vaguely recalls being saved from captivity by a young guard shattering his glass cage with a sledgehammer. Soon after, he finds out that Hob had ulterior, selfish motives for this plot, and does not take it at all well.]

When Murphy is finally called to stand before the siblings to prove his identity, only Gilbert is accompanying him inside... and he's glad for that. Betrayal rankles in him, the first buds of love trampled brutally underfoot by the man's selfish human cruelty - a lie and a con for immortality! What a low cur! Murphy despises him, and if he does not see him again until 100 years' hence, it will still be too soon.

The Endless siblings await him in a room that seems perfectly cosy, but also painfully small. Beings such as them are made for grand halls, and to see five of them crammed together on a couch and some chairs seems... wrong, almost.

Destiny sits in an armchair hood drawn low, arms curled around the charred and torn remnants of what was once a book. Death sits on the couch, radiating a solemn sort of warmth, while Despair is huddled up next to her, eyes wide and uncertain, with her twin's hand resting protectively on her shoulder from where they are perched on the armrest, the other holding Unity's, who is seated in the second armchair.

("And Despair... oi, Murphy, are you listening?" says Hob's voice in his head, warm with fondness and a broad grin. "Despair was killed but reborn in a new aspect during the uprising. She'll still have all her old memories, though, so remain on your guard even around her."

Oh, those endless lessons. He will never forget a word of them.)

The youngest, Deligh- Delirium is seated on the floor, humming to herself and drawing swirling, colourful patterns onto the carpet. She hasn't as much as looked up at him.

Gilbert steps forward.

"Your Highnesses," he murmurs, politely removing his hat and squishing it in anxious hands. "May I present: Dream of the Endless."

They ask him questions all over again, particularly Death and Desire - hers gentle and probing, theirs sharp and cutting - and Murphy answers as best he can, trying to ignore the longing in those eyes. The hope.

They want, so badly, for him to be something he is not. It is heartbreaking.

And then, finally, Death says "one last test, if you please," and Desire adds, spitefully, "this is the one they all fail," their twin nodding jerkily.

Death calls for Lucienne - ("Lucienne has always been your most faithful servant," Gilbert explains, "a librarian like no other, wise and ever loyal. She remained in the Dreaming, praying for your return, until it crumbled under her very feet...") - and Lucienne strides in.

She freezes, when she locks eyes with Murphy, and there it is again. The flash of hope, quickly tempered, but forever burning.

"The final test." Death instructs her, and with a bow Lucienne sweeps out again, only to return mere moments later with...

...with a raven perched on her arm, white-breasted and fine-boned, dark and keen eyes observing Murphy curiously.

"Jessamy!" He blurts out, and Death nods.

"Jessamy." She confirms, as Lucienne transfers the raven to her. "My brother's trusted companion. Touch her, now, give her a pat - and if she accepts you as her master, we'll know you're really him."

(Gilbert feels the tranquil summer day he has in place of a heart sink. This is what it all hinges on, then?

This is something they had no way of preparing Murphy for. No way to influence it. Jessamy will know him for a fraud, that much he is quite certain of, and their game is up, now. Their game is up.)

Murphy rises up, and goes to kneel at Death's feet, on eye level with the raven - and one has to hand it to him, he looks at her so softly, so adoringly, as if she really were part of his mind and soul and heart, the way Matthew is for Murphy, in truth.

He reaches out one trembling hand, all eyes in the room on him.

(Jessamy twitches her wings, gaze fixed on his hand.)

And then he drops it again.

"Jessamy the Raven died as she attempted to rescue me from imprisonment," he says, and his voice echoes, deep and dark as midnight. "Lady Death, you hold an illusion on your arm."

Silence in the room. Nobody dares to as much as breathe.

And then Not-Jessamy squawks, bright and approving - and bursts into hundreds of Delirium's incandescent butterflies, dispersing in the air.

They're all staring at him as Murphy gathers his robes up and returns to his seat.

Death stands. If her gaze was glowing with hope before, it is now like a firebrand on his skin.

"Despair? Bring his tools," she says, too soft to be an order, but with steel underneath it.

Despair scrambles up, and returns in moments with the strange helmet that is the symbol of the Dreamlord's power, and his ruby - cracked, but not broken.

(Gilbert, staring at Murphy as if in a trance, produces the sand pouch, and adds it to Despair's arms. Some thought flickers through his mind that those tools would, all taken together, kill a mere human - but that is not what Murphy is, after all, is he.)

Desire takes the ruby, and drapes the chain over Murphy's neck - and he sees it in their golden eyes, feels it in the tremble of their caress against his neck, that they have never desired anything more than their brother back.

Death takes the sand pouch, and presses it into Murphy's hand, closing his fingers around it with such gentleness - she had thought her beloved brother dead for so many years, dead and gone, and there is relief in every fibre of her being.

And then Destiny sets the scraps of his books aside, and takes the helmet in his hands, bidding Murphy to incline his head so that it might be fitted onto him, and he might recover all his past, present, and future.

Murphy takes a deep breath.

Closes his eyes.

And bows his head.

The helmet slides over his skull as if it was made for him...

And it was.

Something changes in the air.

A shifting, like air flowing in to fill up a vacuum.

And something about the-man-who-used-to-name-himself-Murphy changes.

The chapped and broken skin on his hands smooths to the point where his fingertips would not even leave prints; the fabric of his robe sparkles with stars, and floats like mist at nighttime about his form; and when he raises his behelmed head, his spine seems to crack and lengthen, taller now than he was before, too tall and thin to be human.

(Matthew squawks outside the window - and with one beat of his wings he is inside the room, settling on a narrow shoulder.)

Hands that have folded lovingly around so many newly-created dreams and nightmares come up, to lift the helmet off again...

And where Murphy's eyes were a watery blue, Dream of the Endless's eyes are midnight-black, with only a single star each glowing in their depths.

He blinks.

Looks down at his helmet, then up, at the roomful of Endless - his family - all staring at him in something between disbelief and incandescent joy.

"...siblings," Dream breathes, his chest warm and full as it never was when he was human except perhaps when Hob Gadling smiled at him, surrounded now by all of them...

And "BrOTheR!" Delirium squeals in rainbow tones, jumping up from the floor to throw herself into his arms, where she is immediately held.

"Brother," echoes Death, hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes - and then she, too, is folding him in an embrace, and Desire, and Despair, joining... even Destiny rests one wizened hand on Dream's head, tender and brotherly.

Lucienne is crying into a handkerchief from joy, and Gilbert keeps whispering "oh my. oh, goodness. oh my."...

And Dream holds his siblings close to him, home at last.

"Robert! Robert!" Gilbert is gasping, having hurried as quickly as he could. "Robert, you will not believe-"

Hob drops his nearly-done cigarette on the ground, grinds it out with his boot.

"And?" He smiles, though it hardly reaches his eyes. "Did they buy it?"

"He's real! Oh, goodness gracious me!" Gilbert rests one hand on his chest, as if to clutch at pearls there. "He is- Robert, he is the true Dream of the Endless! He, he knew that- and when they gave him the tools-"

"Ah!" Now Hob actually laughs. He fiddles for another cigarette, offers the package to Gilbert, who declines with nothing more but a distracted wave. "That. Yes. I knew that."

"You KNEW!?" Gilbert flusters.

"Since the talk with Unity." Hob's lighter takes a few tries to work. Ghastly thing. "It was me, you know."

"I don't follow." Gil blinks.

"It was good work for hired muscle, guarding some prison in a cellar - and they did say that greater rewards were in store. Riches. Fame." Hob grimaces. The cigarette smoke tastes like ash in his mouth, but he takes a drag anyway. "...immortal life. Thought it would be the best work available to me - and it was. But I couldn't stand it, watching him in there."

Hob blows the smoke up into the air, and thinks of a pale, inhuman face behind a glass pane - and then that same face haggard but human, blue eyes twinkling at him with challenge and fondness both.

"I was the guard who took the sledgehammer to Dream's prison. Woke up a few hours later with a splitting headache, and soon enough they were saying they'd killed him when he tried to escape. Quit, ran, and never looked back."

"By Jove!" Gilbert gasps. "Robert! You've saved him twice over, first in the cellar of the Magus - and now! Returning him to his family! Bless you, lad, bless you!"

Hob lets Gilbert grab his hand and shake it enthusiastically, though he can hardly muster up anything more than a weak smile.

"You should- oh, you should come inside! You must tell this story, see Lord Morpheus returned to full form, the siblings shall wish to thank you-" Gilbert babbles joyfully. "And your reward! Of course! Twice earned, my young friend! Twice earned!"

"Hmm. I don't... think I should." Hob carefully ducks out from the arm Gilbert has thrown over his shoulder. "Leave them to their joyful reunion, eh? Give them a little time to breathe before I remind them of... business."

"Ah, but-" Gilbert tries to protest, but Hob is already starting down the street. He should quit smoking - he already nearly has. Only does it when he's stressed, or heartbroken... or both.

He will not bother Dream of the Endless, the man who once was Murphy, with his presence now.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #no no no i will not write more of it no #but i'm proud of these snippets and the concept #so out into the world they go #also i really enjoy the thought of grumpy and unpleasant ravenkeeper murphy #slowly softening as hob keeps chatting amicably with him #and slowly learning how to act like otherworldly nobility (with some things coming so easily to him as if he'd always known them)#might write a feeeew more scenes of this au?#but i doubt it'll ever be a full fic #feel free to send me asks or some such about it though!#or about anything else really

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hearthedungeons · 7 years ago

Link

This artist could stand to tidy up their bandcamp page - at first glance it would appear this artist has put out some 13 releases since April (including one somewhat unexpected cover of the Terminator 2 theme...), but closer inspection reveals that some are singles intended to preview forthcoming albums, therefore containing redundant tracks, and some are unrelated EPs full of bonus tracks. A little overwhelming if I was to discover the main bandcamp page first without any context.

So what we have here is vaguely Diablo 2-inspired Dungeon synth - a perfect fit, really, as Diablo (1) was my first computerized Dungeon crawler and probably many people of a certain generation have this association. As best as I can tell this project serves as a kind of extended role-play for an original character created for the game, which is cheesy but also exceedingly charming. The narrative contained therein seems to incorporate various figures and events in the lore of Diablo 2, intermingling with other original characters/settings, and occasionally referencing the artist’s real life girlfriend, if I’m understanding this correctly? Also, half the titles are in Icelandic. But even though we never get a full rundown of the story, I am getting a sense of it just from the artist’s conviction, which is pretty astonishing.

Between the acoustic guitar (played by the artist) and various high quality harp and bagpipe samples, there’s a strong folky vibe on this album, and a great use of nature recordings that makes moments utterly immersive. If you look too closely at individual tracks, you see a level of minimalism that borders on the naive. Trolls undir máttugra tré, for example, is over 7 minutes of a minimal loop that seems to drop a beat every time the loop begins again, but for some reason is totally hypnotic throughout. The later Dreams is build around a 3 note broken chord played at varying speeds throughout, but still somehow works. Many tracks are a single instrument or synth patch playing a wandering melody with some nature effects in the background, but in sequence help to maintain this dizzying mood. Sonically, the album is kind of kitchen sinked - there’s hardly a texture or sound returning from one track to the next, and this does make the album kind of wear down over the course of its nearly one-hour length. 23 tracks is a lot to digest in one sitting, especially since they are all so dissimilar. A great many tracks feel as though they could be improvised, but many of them do not suffer for that fact (some definitely do, however).

OK, there are some things on here that I really do not enjoy listening to, but this release has some magical power of sincerity going for it that goes an astonishingly long way. It feels like the dungeon synth equivalent of outsider music - some really strange choices, some things that just simply do not work, and yes there _really_ are 23 tracks on this record. But something makes it more listenable than not. I almost don’t want this artist to refine their sound, but maybe trim some of the fat to make the record not feel like a chore to get through in full.

#Ravenkeeper #dungeon synth #leoric #skeleton king

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