Cold fog swirls, and makes the darkness even deeper, shrouding everything in a damp, cloying mist. There's a smell of ash in the air. To the side, a single golden pin impales a blue butterfly with black markings, just above the thorax. It struggles with a vain flurry of its tired wings, but for all the writhing desperation, there is little life left in the spasming body. It rests weakly between fits of frantic activity.

Beneath the butterfly, a picture of a blue-haired girl in a tiara and sailor-style collar has been clearly marked 'Mercury'. Nearby, similar displays bear the names of other planets. In some, the butterfly's wings have been pulled off or its body has been singed and scorched or bent to sickening angles; others are fresh and empty, but labeled in anticipation. They stretch into the distance as far as the eye can see in all directions.

The world of this dream is different from those Tseng has previously been found in, though it's eerily similar to the frozen library. Pillars and archways of ice form meandering pathways across the vast frozen landscape, everything crafted of ice and snow aside from the clusters of lillies that grow impossibly from the at times transparent ground. Ribbons of light twist beneath the ground and in the air, forming rivers and flowing endlessly back and forth.

All paths, however, eventually will lead to what could be seen as some sort of receiving area or strange bedroom. Frozen constructs shed cool light in the area, illuminating carved seats draped in heavy fabrics to keep the chill off of skin. Whites, blues and pale greens dominate with the occasional glint of gold bringing the only visual warmth to the scene.

Despite the frigid scene there's a pervading deep sense of safety and home that seems to come from a rather scantily clad blue skinned woman who's mass of dark blue hair falls in braids and twists bedecked with gold and ribbons. Seated on one of the larger 'chairs', she seems more than content to let the dark haired man rest with his head in her lap as she gently runs her fingers through his hair in soothing affection a soft hum of a long lost song floating in the air.

The tialk on Tseng's forehead is blue, instead of it's usual black and he's dressed in a draping blue and silver cloth that leaves his arms and one shoulder completely bare. What can be seen of his skin is littered with scars, alluding to those that aren't visible. Despite being obviously more relaxed than anyone has likely ever seen him, he doesn't look younger. If anything the loss of the tension revealed how very tired he'd been, how thirty years of being a Turk wore at him.

Despite the somewhat obvious implications of the dream, there's no sense of sadness. Tseng has long been at peace with his own demise, and in some ways it's a bit of a relief to finally have it done with.

When approached, she gives whomever it is a look that speaks volumes. Violence of any sort will not be tolerated in her domain, and while she's incredibly tolerant and understands there may be a good deal of anger she will stop anyone from harming her charge. He is hers to protect, at least until he's good and ready to defend himself again.

She touches Tseng's shoulder, head bowing as she speaks to him briefly and shifting as he sits up to greet whomever it is with a tired though open smile.

[OOC: Holy tl:dr batman!

So, basically Tseng's dead now, timeline wise for the ff7 people who're in line with him this dream happens the night after the wails of thousands of dying souls is heard coming from the abandoned Midgar sometime just before Dirge begins after Deepground's attack on Junon where said thousands of people were taken from.

And yes, the woman is Shiva!]

Once upon a time, for all good stories start with once upon a time, there was a great forest.  It stretched on for days, for countries, for unclaimed fairy tale after unclaimed fairy tale in fact.  This was the Great Wood, the Olde Wood, the Place Where All Things Start.  This was the forest of all the old tales and it will ever be, until men are legends that dogs tell each other around the fires at night.  Everything lives in the depths of these woods and nothing at all.  Be careful what you whisper when you go into the dark for even the trees are listening and stories have a way of happening here whether you want them to or not.

Deep in the darkness, in one of the less traveled spots, there lives a wolf.  The Wolf, if you will.  For he is the Big Bad, the Howler at the Door, the Winter Wolf, the Devourer, the Nightmare That Creeps In Windows, the Child's Warning and, occasionally, the Huffer and Puffer, though he's taken to outsourcing the last one after one particularly embarrassing incident involving a hay allergy.  He's the wise talking beast or the prehistoric feral fear.  He is, in short, whatever your story needs him to be.

Don't expect him to be particularly pleased or even helpful about it though.  He's been doing this job for a while now and he's getting sick of getting yanked out of rolling in dead animals just so that he can trot his fuzzy butt over to make menacing, half-assed attempts at your basket of treats and God help you if he has to dress in old lady drag One More Time!


OOC: so.  Here's Cloud to provide all your Big Bad Wolf TM needs.  Or frankly, the forest isn't above dragging him in to take over any animal need.  There appears to be a shortage of fairy animals going around at the moment, something about better paying jobs in Hollywood.  Does your story need a talking bear?  Suddenly you've got a snarky wolf as your guide.  Your brothers got the mill and all you got was a cat?  Well, it's a wolf now and it's not happy about having to wear boots or do all your work for you, you dolt.  Need that straw spun into gold by morning?  Looks like you're duck out of luck.  Wolves can't spin, though he does a very impressive cats cradle if you give him enough yarn and tie the knots for him.  Point being, if your fairy tale has an animal of any sort in it, you've now got a very grumpy wolf who can't say 'not interested' the way he'd really rather.  And, of course, he's still here for all your big bad wolfish metaphorical needs as well.

A little girl lost her father when she was still young. Realizing she also had no godfather, she decided to seek one out for herself. However, who should it be? The Light, she felt, was too careless of the people it should care for; but the Darkness often deceived its followers, too. In the end, she chose Death as her godfather, for Death put no person above another.

Once this was arranged, Death took his goddaughter to a well-known research laboratory. There, he showed her certain compounds and medicines that could cure any illness, no matter how grave. Moreover, whenever she made her rounds at the hospital, Death himself would appear at the beside. If he stood near the head, then she was free to give the patient the medicine and see them recover. But if Death stood by the feet, then the patient was already claimed by him and nothing would suffice. It was their time to go with him.

As Death knew she would, the girl worked diligently and became a very famous doctor, said to be the youngest in the world and praised for being able to tell when a patient would live or die, and for her miraculous cures. One by one, her patients lived, and they showered her with fame and money. For as long as she obeyed her godfather's advice, everything went well for her - for as long as she obeyed her godfather's advice.

And so, the physician walked confidently into the room with her next patient.

(ooc: Taken from Godfather Death. Open to any type of encounter, including cheating Death for close friends/CR.)

((OOC: This is totally not my writing style. But I wanted to follow Grimm's style, so that is what I did here. :3 I hope you like it/it is acceptable))

Once upon a time...

On north of side of Gaia was a town called Midgar. The citizens of Midgar were honest folk who lived contentedly in their urban houses. The years went by, and the town grew very rich.

Then one day, an extraordinary thing happened to disturb the peace.Midgar was struck with an illness known as Geostigma. A black plague swarmed over the whole town. The terrified citizens flocked to plead with ShinRa to free them from the plague of Geostigma—which the ShinRa company had been responsible for. But Rufus ShinRa had, for a long time, been sitting in the Presidential room, trying to think of a plan.

"What we need is an army of SOLIDERS!"

But all the SOLDIERS were dead.

"We'll atone for our mistakes then . . ."
But most of the damage was already done and even attempting to please the Planet did not stop the Geostigma.

"It just can't be done without help!" said the president sadly.

Just then, while the citizens milled around outside, there was a loud knock at the door. "Who can that be?" the Turks, ShinRa’s henchmen, wondered uneasily. Mindful of the angry crowds, they gingerly opened the door. And to their surprise, there stood a teenage boy, dressed in dark leather, with silver hair that obscured half his face, and waving a double bladed katana at them.

“I can cure your little problem,” the stranger announced, “All I want in return is Jenova!”

"Jenova!" exclaimed the president. "We'll give you Jenova and all her remains!"

And so the deal was set.

The sun was still below the horizon when the sound of zealous gospel wafted through the streets of Midgar. The little remnant slowly made his way through the houses and behind him flocked the diseased. Out they crawled, the ill of every size, all after the remnant. And as he preached, the stranger marched straight down to a black river, right up to his middle. Behind him swarmed those who were plagued and every one was taken over by the remnant’s will and told to remain out of the city to be used for a later purpose.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, there was not a diseased person in the town. There was even greater delight at the town hall, until the remnant tried to claim his payment.

"You want Jenova?" exclaimed the Turks, "Never..."

"You promised you’d give me Mother!" cried the little remnant angrily. But the President broke in. "Geostigma is dead now and it can never come back. . ."

His eyes flashing with rage, the little remnant pointed a threatening finger at the President and told him he’d regret his actions.

A shiver of fear ran through the Turks, but the President shrugged and said excitedly: "We've saved the Planet!"

That night, freed from the nightmare of the Geostigma, the citizens of Midgar slept more soundly than ever. And when the remnant returned to the streets at dawn, only the children were interested this time. Drawn as by magic, they hurried out of their homes. The long procession soon left the town and made its way through the woods and across a glowing forest till it reached the foot of a huge crater. Beyond lay the Northern Cave. All the children had followed the remnant into the cave, to which he held them captive by pure Willpower alone.

Only one little girl escaped this fate. It was her, named Marlene, who told the anxious citizens, searching for their children, what had happened. No matter what people did, the Northern Cave never gave up its victims, for you see, they had become the remnant’s new brothers and sisters! A brand new army of children to fight for Mother! And it was here, that the remnant known as Kadaj would keep the children until ShinRa upheld their deal—and returned Jenova to her rightful family.

The scenery within this new (perhaps not quite) foreign subconscious is a confused jumble, as if its unsuspecting creator cannot quite decide just where to be — a snowy mountainside has burst up from beneath the streets of a staircase city set into the rise of sheer, seaside cliff. The pieces are whole, details sharp and clear on narrow, towering buildings all crammed close together and rocky outcroppings with their blankets of heavy snow (still falling, as it is, in weird pockets only over corresponding ground).

But these little scenes are shattered among each other, shifting constantly, uncertain as the blank, white sky above, which reflects a dull grey in the ocean below. Where these two endless, colorless stretches of space reach to meet on the horizon, they blend seamlessly, as if meeting the edge of this conflicting reality might be as easy as setting sail for the fragile inner boundary of the eggshell shape it almost appears to be locked within.

Bright and cold, the silence falls as heavy as the inclement weather, in each vacuum of space that covers the mountainside, doing its best to muffle the staccato beat of his boots on uneven pavement broken over icy faces of stone and the competing race of his heart, now trying its hardest to burst clear out of his chest. (And in a dream, who's to say it mightn't?) With his rifle hugged tight against his back by its strap, where it beats a solid rap against his shoulder blades, a sharp reprimand for every stumble, a lone soldier in drab blue is fighting a very literal uphill battle.

The uniform he wears obscures all of him but the lower half of the pale, strained expression writ across his face, solemn as he barrels up the insurmountable slope in leaps and bounds, shadows chasing behind as he rounds a street corner onto another craggy patch of open ground. Snow kicks up in misty clouds around his ankles as he stumbles, but doesn't stop, always only one step ahead of his pursuers.

They're monsters, or maybe only the distant memory of a child's imagining of such, solid enough as they crumble up out of the earth in his wake. But they fade to dust as phantoms while he manages still to evade the catch of claws and snapping jaws at the heels of his badly scuffed black boots, the shirttail tucked under his belts. Shameful as it is not to stand and fight, outpacing them is this dream's objective, instead, and he can't seem to stop his feet from moving on, hands scrabbling at each new hold to pull himself higher.

At least not on his own.

Zack's strength of mind hasn't been at its peak lately, which may explain his absence from the consciousness of others.

As it was, the former SOLDIER was secluded in a web of emerald wisps and crystals, cocooned in the center by an even thicker web and two white wings surrounding his form. His eyes were closed, head bowed, the rest of his body also concealed by the maze of webs. So he... hasn't been able to meld himself entirely cohesive yet, but he's getting there. There's no telling what the rest of his body looks like, trapped in that mess.

If you dare to approach, he'll glance up briefly, quietly. He's studying you, wanting to know the reasons why you would come deep into the Lifestream like this, to talk to a forgotten, deceased SOLDIER.

And he'll welcome the company.

Near the north pole of planet Mercury, there are signs of life, all enclosed in a thin, transparent dome that still allows a clear view of the heavens. Inside, the air is clean and breathable, and even stirs itself in artificial breezes.

The entire city is a mass of blue crystal, luminous with the glow of thousands of solar trees both within and without, their blue cels attached to silvery branches and trunks. It makes a striking contrast, and the structures provide the city's energy, veritable solar power farms, bustling and thriving like the city itself. . Everywhere, the roads lead inward towards a palace, attention drawn to it by its height, taller than any nearby building.

The lush sound of splashing water comes from a clear, ornamental pool in the entryway. Tropical fish swim contentedly there, glimmers of golden koi amid and around the stems of water lilies. There is greenery, too, and flowers provide a seasoning of color. Overhead, the ceiling is dizzyingly high, adding to the sense of open space.

Seated at the edge of the pool, dressed in an elegant gown and with the sigil of her planet showing proudly on her forehead, is the Princess Mercury, now queen of her reborn kingdom. She plays a simple, longing melody on the harp she holds in her lap.