Date: 10/31/2008

Location: The Dreaming

Report status, tired buy successful.

Report Summary: Hard to explain, will attempt to.

The dreaming is an odd place that is beyond difficult to fully explain it's discrepancies and nuances but to those favored by fate it is a place of odd comfort and endless possibilities ((Unless you are trying to move the real into the realm of the unreal or vice versa)) and to say it is difficult to fully control is an understatement. What was achieved was something amusing and that I swore could not be done without a proper anchor.

While initially I wished to use the autumn courts lord of nightmares, I found a more suitable member of our court who had long ago lost the last remnants of his sanity. It was from this fractured mind that I was able to feed and siphon unnatural amounts of glamour in and out of while he was under the effects of certain goblin fruits obtained by Guild. ((Note: Do not trust Guilds goblin fruit ever again, if it can knock out someone while I pile drive fear into several targets at once, I do not wish to partake of it)) The results were astonishing.

I started the search in an area that would be little affected by the goings on of All Hallows Eve, a state run mental health institution. I was intrigued by how many of their patrons they had on heavy sedatives during the night, making them a wonderful testing ground for my thesis. I must say, the mentally unstable, weather they be changeling or truly mortal, make wonderful tools.

The mind I ventured into was a mess to begin with, much akin to walking into a Picasso after the painter had lost his mind due to mercury poisoning. Fractured pieces of one train of thought here, spattered bits of dreams left unfinished, and my favorite, nightmares that lingered far after waking. While these thrilled me greatly, they were not what I was looking for, the individual personality that had buried itself underneath these layers of dementia. That was my first task.

Time passes oddly in this realm, much as it does in Arcadia but unlike Arcadia it has no reason to mirror the real world, anyone with a strong enough will and familiarity with this place, or really, the mind you are in, can allot themselves as much time as necessary. It cost me precious glamour to forcibly slow these shattered thoughts into a easily reached series of panels, labeling each one as I dug out that tiny fragment of a true person that laid beneath them.

Flying houses that ate nuns, chainsaw macaroni, nuclear toothpaste that caused anti fruit to exist; what I had discovered was a mess, albeit a useful one. After what my demented anchor knew to have been an hour, I found a tiny glint at the bottom of this well of dementia. I wondered for a moment if I had overlooked something as a soul that felt as ancient as stone looked past me through milky white eyes and ears that looked as if they had heard only silence centuries. This is where the real test begun.

On the blind and deaf, normal fears tend to be useless, fear of the dark, fear of noises that can not be explained, what was left was by far more disturbing; Primal fears. Drowning, death, being eaten alive, the never ending fall, loneliness, losing our identity, the unknown, what I would try first would be drowning to see if any other senses had been destroyed in this fractured mind.

Drowning is by far a fear that no living thing ever rids itself of, even those that die by intentionally doing so often go into a frenzied panic right before the end comes and thus the first drops of water started to fall upon the visage of age incarnate. Splotches of water quickly matted down the worn grey sweatpants and undershirt that sat before me, quickly saturating them and filling the floor of this little dream bubble. What I had started as a rainfall quickly crescendoed into a billowing torrent, leaving worn and old within its swirling center.

There was no movement at all as the waters filled the dream bubble to age's chest, just the sign of near perfect stillness ruptured by slow constant breathing. When it reached the mouth, it just hung open for a moment as if confused by what was happening before closing itself. Once it had passed over the nose, I could hear my anchor laughing with pure malice as for what could very well be the first time this crone had felt anything for eons. While I watched, fed, and filled my glamour, wierd and mantle into this nightmare I could feel a change within the subject, a change that was quickly becoming overwhelming.

The first sign of struggle came from the crone as he floated off of his chair, leaving its simple wooden frame stuck on the dreamscape floor that he had been hiding in for so very long. The second came when a thin line of bubbles, a dream of breathing, slipped from his lips. It was as if I had entered into a bizarre personal heaven as I basked in a terror far unlike anything I had felt before, while I did not have the ability to store anywhere near what I had achieved, the anchor I had chosen had. (( The death of his fetch I assumed had something to do with it, as he always carried an odd box with him that he referred to as "Terror stored, loved and cherished" ))

While a single primal fear can feed any of the autumn court for a good period of time, what I needed was to keep pushing this non existent visage until I could do no more. The second fear that I slid into this dreamscape was the complete loss of ones identity, for it is among the things I fear most, and my own terror would be added to his. What was done first was to take away his memories, his dementia.

Dreams have an odd way of favoring those who are overly prepared, as all I had to do to pull away what he had become was to veil his memories in shadow so his mind could no longer see them. The first one I took away was an odd childhood memory I believe, one in where he had won an odd game of throwing an oblong ball from one child to another. The amount that he cherished this memory was greeted by heavy thrashing as I pulled it away from his minds eye. Another stream of dreamed bubbles slipped from his lungs.

I would not have much time until this little bubble dream burst, as my anchor let another manic giggle slip into this tormented mind and informed me that his terror was about to breech through to the dreams the anchor had help affix it to. ((The short term contract I had him sign stated that the initial test would only be amongst those near and within the mental health hospital. His payment, feeding off of raw terror… the way he accepted unnerves me to this day)) pulling away the rest of his identity quickly followed.

What happened next I am not quite sure, as I removed the last of his identity, a steady stream of dreams breath started to slip out of ages' mouth. What I do know is that loneliness and terror were deafening to all of my senses as I watched the pupils of that souls, at least what I believe may have been a soul, return to the shocked blue of their owner. The skin snapped back to that of someone maybe in their late thirties as I was forcibly hurled out of the dreamscape as a whole. Much to my amusement, so was my anchor after a very brief statement of "Overload in the Reactor Core"

I allowed for nearly an hour to pass in the waking world as I slipped back into the dreaming to look over the area where I had released my little experiment. I could feel the mind I had started in, and from a distance, the horror and screaming of dozens around it that appeared to be going through a similar reaction. It was at this point that something far more terrifying than the chain I had started slipped into my mind. The dreaming, the hedge, and Arcadia… all frequently intermingled.

This would need to be closely monitored considering our current situation. As for the experiment, I know that those who were sedated long enough for it to take effect were most certainly taken by it, and from the feeling, those who were hard to wake around the hospital were more than susceptible to it as well. Perhaps this was too much?

Adje's journal

Page 207-209