Title: On the Room Where Dreams Were Stored
Summary: There's a room in the Academy where all the illusionists keep their dreams.
Notes: This comes before this
and explains where Doe and Ciri are, and why Lyssia has all those people to be harried at. Crossposting to my personal journal.
The Academy of Slíated is a very large building, and tall, with six stories: one on the ground, three above it and two below it. There was a small room on the lowest underground level. It is peculiar in two ways immediately noticeable: a look at the door would inform you that no one had gone in for years, perhaps decades; and the room itself, unlike by far the rest of the Academy, would let any sort of aimed magic in, but wouldn't let anything short of a localized reality storm out: it was amazingly magic-resilient, but only in one direction.
The room was quietly essential to the wellbeing of the Academy and of Slíated in general. Its purpose was known, officially, to several – to the teachers and some staff, and to all the illusionists, be they Colorshifters, Dreamspinners or Light mages, of the Academy and of the City – and, unofficially, to several more. It wasn't a secret, and people talked.
This was its purpose: to give the illusionists somewhere to put their dreams, so that these did not steal, beg and borrow life and proceed to run rampant. To give the Light mages somewhere to put their strange daydreams that wanted to become real when no one was looking; to give Colorshifters a place to send the imaginings and hallucinations that plagued them; to give Dreamspinners somewhere to hide their nightmares, so that these did not go scurrying into others' minds and drive them mad.
All over the City and the Academy, illusionists would send their unwanted dreams to that room, which quickly became very full, since no one remembered that the strange crystals on the City's roofs were made to serve this same purpose of storage.
The imaginings could not be seen or heard. They could not be touched. They could not be smelled or tasted. Faced with them, conventional senses floundered and were lost and useless.
But they could very much be felt.
It took a great deal of shoving and prying and heaving to open the door of the room full of illusions; no one in their right mind would enter voluntarily, and anyone in their wrong mind would quickly be driven out of it if they passed that threshold.
It was into this room that the mages put the necromancer John Doe, as they tried to figure out what to do with him.
Ciri was the first to ask if she could go in. If she could speak with him. She said there was something on her mind.
Several more asked, afterwards. More than several. Dozens. And, with no exceptions, they were all very, very angry.
It seemed that Lyssia had found what to do with him, after all.