THIS PROGRAM HAS BEEN CANCELED [S!1][ROUND THREE: PORT CERIDWEN]

Last Thing Standing Presents:
Preludes and Nocturnes
(A Supplementary Documentary to Clear Up Some of the Ambiguity Surrounding Our Most Mysterious Contestant)

Once, many generations ago, a powerful wizard had found a way to bind Oneiros the god of dreams. In a small shack in the middle of a dense forest, a full day’s walk away from the nearest town, the living embodiment of dreams was bound.

Oneiros was not as patient then as they would grow to be. They killed that wizard that very day, refusing to listen to his demands. But the magic didn’t lift and they remained trapped. It was an old magic; ancient and masterfully executed. It was built into the very structure of the shack.

Had Oneiros been at the height of their powers it would have been childsplay to tear it down, but part of what made the trap so effective was that it cut them off from their source of power. No dreams from the outside world could filter through. Oneiros only had what power they had brought with them and the dreams of those within the structure.

So, for a long time the dreams of one world went unregulated for long enough that Oneiros was eventually regarded as an old myth or a fairy tale.

One day a young child, Maria Appolonia Shutjer, stumbled across a house in the woods and never returned home.

Cut to today. Now, the prison of Oneiros, now dubbed the Traveller’s Rest finds its way into Port Ceridwen, a place made of dreams, made in dreams, where dreams are a popular mode of transportation and the products you buy and the currency you buy them with and more. For Mister O (as they had come to think of themselves) it was a feast. The task they’d labored at for generations was complete in minutes.

They were finally strong enough to break out of their prison and return to the world. As the illusion of the inn shattered what remained of the shack sunk into Port Ceridwen’s waters. The dreamers awoke, Maria, finally aware of the decades that had passed sleeping, Yaelja and Saint and some others managed to find their way to the surface of the water and that should have been the end of that.

The battle would have continued, with perhaps the powers that be behind the scenes designating Oneiros as the contestant in the wake of the inn’s dissipation. The former staff might have made it to shore and found themselves embroiled in some other hijinks.

But that magic was ancient and lingered still in the wreckage of the shack, and what’s more is that over the years it had mingled with Oneiros’ own magic. In any other locale that would be an interesting sidenote nothing more, but in Port Ceridwen, it was a disaster waiting to happen. The wreck of the Traveller’s Rest took only minutes to reform, pulling in ambient dreams and nightmares alike.

And now without Oneiros at the helm the inn was perhaps more than ever vulnerable to the dark influences it couldn’t help but draw in.

Coming up next live interviews with the friends and family of recently eliminated contestant Nizzo. Don’t go anywhere!

—

We’re all familiar with The Treachery of Images correct? The Magritte artwork that depicts a pipe but crucially is not a pipe. Dreaming is like this. If you dream of an object or a person in your dreams that object, that person is recreated, but they are not a true version of that person.

The exception is when it comes to things that live naturally in dreams. A dream of Oneiros is while still not being the actual thing, much closer than would be comfortable to the dreamer.

In the reformed ship Maria’s nightmare of Mister O still lurked. He was never killed exactly, he had simply been pushed to one side by Oneiros regaining control of the Inn in the moments before its great swell of power.

Initially a monster defined by Maria’s fears, as he consumed more and more nightmares within the halls of the reformed Traveller’s Rest he was growing not just stronger, but more real, more conscious, more ambitious. Somewhere, nearby there was another cache of dreams not unlike the inn itself, and with those he could become even stronger.

But he was careful to stay out of the way of the mortals. He wasn’t ready yet. They wouldn’t believe that he was their beloved proprietor. So he left Acting Captain Saint a map, attached to a lingering dream that it had been given to her by the real ‘Captain O’.

And then he waited for his moment to seize control.

—

And it came. The Traveller’s Rest Reborn was closer to a living entity than the original had ever been. Instead of an immaculately constructed illusion formed of dreams and false memories it was a wild nightmarish beast, only maintaining the form of a structure (be it a boat, a submarine or a spaceship or all of the above at once) out of habit.

Acting Captain Saint painstakingly piloted the ship through the increasingly unreal geography of the port, but as they approached the location marked on Captain O’s map, suddenly it was as if the ship was alive. It drew close to the golden star that was apparently their goal, and all through the ship echoed the gnashing of teeth, the scratching of claws, gouging and tearing and breaking and -

Saint covered her ears and fled the bridge, hurrying down the rusted metal corridors towards the docking bay. This was getting too much. She was getting sick of following the vague command of a man who had gone missing at the time he was needed the most. She was sick of the ship in the state it was in, swarmed with nightmares that moved in the corner of your vision, and her in command of the place but yet no power to fix any of it.

At least the noise of the ship… fighting???… wasn’t too loud out here. As she continued to the docking bay (it probably wasn’t safe to leave the ship right now but it was starting to feel like it wasn’t safe to stay on board either) she ran into Morale Officer Maria and Chief Science Officer Yaelja along the way. Yaelja’s bark was currently the feeling of a loud alarm clock that you can’t quite find when you’re still half asleep.

“Not a fucking clue.” Saint replied. “Lost control of the ship and then,” she held up a hand as if to gesture at the omnipresent noises of brutal combat.

Maria didn’t say anything. What was there to say at this point. They’d been on a downward spiral ever since Eta Carina, and at least nothing seemed to be trying to kill them at the moment. The docking bay doors were open, and beyond them was a wall of light, a star viewed far too close for comfort.

“Maybe it’s time to get out of here.” Saint suggested. “I think the upper decks of the ship are still above water. We head up, signal one of the other boats, maybe we can get picked up and importantly the hell off this awful ship.”

“But what if Mister O comes back?” Maria asked.

The hollow feeling of your childhood bedroom emptied of furniture Yaelja replied.

“He wouldn’t abandon us.” Maria insisted.

“It’s not inconceivable that he’d abandon us.” Saint admitted.

And right on cue there was Mister O. Nobody saw him approach, just suddenly there he was. There was something subtly off about this incarnation of the innkeeper though pinpointing exactly what would be difficult. It was a combination of small differences such as a thinner build, slightly longer limbs, longer, wilder and and more unkempt hair and his teeth somehow more ominously prominent. The end result was sort of uncanny even if you couldn’t exactly identify the exact reason why.

“Alright crew. I’m back, and I’m going to need you to get out there and get hold of whatever it is that you perceive that golden thing as, for me.”

A burning heat and a blinding light Yaelja somehow managing to infuse this sensation with her incredulity. Saint peered back into the docking bay to see that the scene beyond was different now. It was a large empty room like a museum with a golden case on a plinth.

“Mister O!” Maria cried out triumphantly. “I knew you weren’t going to abandon us, where have you been?”

“Oh, places, you know how it is.” Mister O smiled widely. “I have to go and take the helm again.” And with that he took one step into the shadows and seemed to disappear entirely.

“Okay well, he never used to be able to do that.” Saint said. “Or maybe he could but he was never so fucking brazen about it.” But any further rumination on the topic was cut short by the ship’s renewed wailing.

“I’m going to find Mister O.” Maria announced, her vigor and determination barely reduced by her age. “You two grab the thing.” And with that she was off, running through the corridors back towards the bridge.

“Maria wait.” Saint called after her. “I don’t like this Yaels.” She stepped closer to the docking bay doors and hesitated on the threshold.

The nagging fear that you left the door unlocked.

“Yeah, me too.” Saint said. “But we’re already waist deep in this bullshit, bit late to stop now.” And they stepped out into the room beyond.

—

The bridge was in normal circumstances a large square room with banks of computers along most of the walls and a large viewing screen taking up the far one. The Captain’s seat in the center from which they would command the whole thing. When Maria had first seen it she’d been convinced she’d walked back into the world of Galaxy Guardians.

However the room had quickly been suffused with nightmare stuff and now most of that detailing was lost unless you knew exactly where to look for it. Viscous black goop engulfed the computer banks, the walls were bleeding, the floor beneath you seemed to try to grab your feet if you lingered in place for too long. There were eyes everywhere, bloodshot and unblinking, fixated on Maria as she moved through this ghastly space.

Standing in the middle of it all, apparently unaffected by any of the surrounding horror was Mister O.

“Mister O?” Maria asked.

“Oh, Maria. You’re here.” he said, a noticeable pang of irritation in his voice, belying his wide smile. “Didn’t I give you a task to complete?”

Maria felt herself tense up. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. “What’s happened to you?”

“I’m fine. I’m good. Once I’ve got hold of the heart of this place I’ll be even better. I’ll be perfect.” Mister O said.

“This isn’t you. This isn’t like you at all.” Maria said firmly.

Mister O sighed. “Take a seat Maria. I don’t have time to deal with your little crisis at the moment.” There were hands reaching out of the nightmare material, long skeletal arms with fingers as large as her head. They grabbed her wrist before she was able to even react to their existence.

“What are you doing. You’re not Mister O. He would never do this.” She cried out, batting at the arms with her free hand as she was dragged to the nearest computer bank and deposited in a seat before it.

—

Saint and Yaelja hadn’t anticipated being attacked by costumed heroes and despite their efforts, and the straining efforts of the Traveller’s Rest itself, they were unable to claim their prize. The ship pulled them both back inside before extricating itself from the library.

In the bay of Port Ceridwen the Traveller’s Rest resurfaced. In its hurt it had abandoned all pretenses of being any of the vehicles it had been so recently imitating. Now it didn’t really look like anything in particular, too many individual nightmares trying to force their shape onto the overall structure of the thing. The best description you’d have been able to manage would be some sort of gargantuan near-black serpent thrashing in the water.

The inside of the Rest now more than anything else resembled the insides of some great monster.

“Oh this sucks.” Saint said as she and Yaelja traipsed through the pulsating fleshy tubes that were the latest iteration of its corridors. “Frankly at this point even if that thing is Mister O, and all this is intentional, I’d still say it’s about time for a fucking mutiny.”

The press of a palm to against another, fingers interlocked Yaelja replied. Saint grinned and reached out and took Yaelja’s hand, replicating the sensation.

“I knew I could count on you.” Saint said. “God now if only I had the first idea how to deal with this shit.”

…

That wasn’t quite true. There was one thing she could try.

“Mister O, the real Mister O… Oneiros. He told me who he was. Why he did this. We didn’t know each other that well at the time, but I helped prevent a dangerous infection from consuming the Inn and I wanted answers. So he gave them to me. I think partially he was just happy to have someone to confide in.”

“Amongst what he told me there was a technique. Something that could help undo all of this.” Saint gestured to the omnipresent unpleasantness. “But first I need to be asleep again. I doubt this place has guest rooms any more.”

A silent clearing in a forest and a hastily drawn floor map on a chalkboard.

“Oh Yaelja, I could kiss you.” Saint said, “But later, when this is under control.”

A brief moment of A forest and every tree was blooming beautiful pink petals, before hurriedly cycling back to the chalkboard sensation. Then, hand in hand they ran through the grisly corridors. Straight on at the wall of gnashing teeth, take a left through a copse of withered trees lit by menacing red light and an ominous shape moving in the distance, another left at the rusted blood drenched knife mannequins (quiet so you don’t wake them) and finally a heavy door emblazed with an O. Mister O’s office.

They pushed their way inside and inside it was the same as it had been when she was last here. It was a collage of memories; entire rooms and open fields and city squares and neighbourhood streets all at once, all somehow occupying the same physical space in a way that shouldn’t really be possible. Saint was thankful that it had been insulated from the corrupting force of the nightmares.

Yaelja on the other hand responded to this sudden overload of sensory input by almost collapsing. Quickly Saint caught her and helped her stay upright as they both stepped into the room.

Pasting up cherry red wallpaper together and the sound of every musical instrument being played at once at full volume.

“Yeah it’s a little much.” Saint said apologetically. “Think you’ll be okay?”

The patio of a small house, engulfed with snow, but we watch a time lapse as the season passes, the snow melts, flowers bloom and then it is the comfortable warmth of summer again.

It was a particularly intense sensation, and Saint, for a brief moment, found herself distracted from her purpose, entranced by the inherent beauty of Yaelja’s sensory messages. Earlier she’d half joked about kissing her and now the thought reappeared more tantalizing than ever. What would it be like to-

But no it really wasn’t the time for that. “Um, good to hear.” she said out loud, trying to force herself back on task. “Okay. So, I need to go to sleep, become a dream version of myself and then I’m probably going to need your help Yaels.” She squeezed Yaelja’s hand gently. “I’ve no idea what I’m going to be like in that dream version of me. You’ve got to help me remember what’s going on and help me get to the vault. From there I think I can cleanse this place of nightmares… Maybe… If I’m lucky.”

The press of a palm against another, fingers interlocked It was almost the exact same gesture of solidarity as before. The difference was that last time it the hands in it had been theoretical. More the idea of hand-holding than the feel of any one person’s hands in another’s. Now it was their hands, hers and Yaelja’s, as they were right now. It was strange, but pleasant to feel this connection from both sides. An intensity in this small intimacy shared.

Saint said nothing. She struggled for words for almost a full minute and then shrugged and reluctantly disentangled her hand from Yaelja’s. “And somehow after that I have to try to sleep.” She chuckled at her own attempt at a joke.

In the flickering memories that made up Mister O’s office there were many bedrooms. The tricky part was focusing hard enough on any one scene to make it tangible enough to interact with. Saint tried to sit down on a bed a couple of times before she managed it. Yaelja’s buds snickered slightly as Saint fell through the transitory memory of a bed for the third time.

Saint made a wordless gesture as she rose as if to say ‘think you can do any better’. Yaelja somehow managed it first time and Saint rolled her eyes.

“Oh of course you would get it first time.” Saint sneered, but as she took a seat next to her (significantly easier since Yaelja had paved the way) she softened “We really lucked out meeting you huh?”

Ystalach morning and the entire lounge is full of presents in brightly coloured orange and green boxes, so many that you can’t even see the traditional Ystalach Altar any more. Even if Saint had no concept of the holiday in question she still got the message. Then, the sensation of a seatbelt, tight against your chest.

Saint glanced around at the constantly shifting office curiously. “Brace for what?” She asked.

Exhaustion. A tiredness so great that it is impossible to keep your eyes open, no matter how hard you tried. A mug of hot chocolate and a hot water bottle. A cozy bed with a warm body to snuggle up against. An inescapable drowsiness and why would you even fight it. Why would you hold yourself back from the pleasant slumber it offered.

Yaelja lay Saint’s sleeping body down on the bed and got to her feet. The room was still a little bit much for her even after this period of adjustment, so she was back out as quickly as possible, closing the door firmly behind her. With a sigh of relief she picked a direction and off she went to look for the dream manifestation of her dear friend.

—

For a while after its resurfacing all that the Traveller’s Rest did was thrash in the water and attract the concerned attention of the local dream-trawlers.

Eventually though Nightmare Oneiros reasserted some measure of control over the structure. With the Mirror Library off the menu and lacking another particularly dense source of dreams in this world he did what Regular Oneiros probably would have done.

The Traveller’s Rest swam to the shore, still in the form of an enormous repulsive sea serpent, beaching its ‘head’ upon the sands. The Port Ceridwen residents who were enjoying the sunset stood and stared, the dreamlike nature of the world dampening the impact of what they were seeing.

After a minute of complicated reshaping the Traveller’s Rest opened its jaws wide and inside there was a lobby. A reception desk with a receptionist with piercings and a shaved head and an expression like welcoming customers to the inn was her favourite thing in the world.

As this world was a dream Nightmare Oneiros had some limited influence beyond the walls of the Traveller’s Rest and he used it. Throughout the city people started thinking about that exciting new hotel that opened up right on the beach and wouldn’t it be fun to go there for a night? It probably has really good amenities and wow a little vacation right about now would just be fantastic.

If he was to be denied the Mirror Library he would at least make up for it by amassing whatever power there was to be had in the people of this town.