[MU] - EAU DE RÉSISTANCE

[story_teller]

[Those who have been keeping themselves awake, or who have fought themselves free, or who have not yet succumbed to the enchanting pull of the fantasy that has been made of Mu's metaphysical landscapes - they will all find themselves abruptly being yanked laterally into a dream entirely separate from the rest. Immediately, they may notice that standard setting the Storyteller employs for these sorts of dream-talks has changed.]

[The campfire flickers low, as though having been lit surreptitiously. The beach is absent; in its place is the rustling whisper of shifting plant matter, as the spot they've chosen has been cocooned in those ever-present vines, and the thick scent of decay is heavy on the breeze.]

[The Storyteller sits on bunched haunches mere inches from the guttering flame in the shape of a coal-gray capybara, their nose twitching anxiously. When they speak, it is in a whisper.]

It took me...some time to create a space independent from the rest. For that, I am sorry. I'd thought...

[They abandon the sentence before they can finish it.]

Ziziphus was...is...another god's home. I don't understand why... [Again, they must work to smooth over the agitation spiking the fur along their spine.] We called them Rapsho. Others called them Scioli, or the Sweet Bloom. I'd thought they'd grown smaller, weaker, not...not as they are now. Ziziphus - it is so beautiful. It was made beautiful, so that they would last. They could look at the flowers and the trees, and be...happy.

Happiness. Happiness. They are Bliss. They are not supposed to make...to make things be like this.

[But everyone who lives in those make-believe lands - they are happy, aren't they? They're so very, very happy, at the expense of all else.]

I cannot influence lands beyond my home. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry - but again, I must beseech your aid. If your friends remain in Bliss's grasp for too long, they will die. Bliss does not allow for moderation. It does not bother to account for what one needs; only what one wants. It is happiness, at the expense of all else.

You must take their dreams apart. Enter their worlds, with grief and with hopelessness, and with every terrible memory you can imagine.

You must cut and burn the vines that hold them. You must advance to where the attack began, and then beyond that.

That is where you will find Bliss.

That is where you must...

[The words break.]

[They cannot seem to bring themself to finish.]

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