No Malice, No Waves

As we plummet towards the Dreamlands once more, the Haze thins, as we approach a vision involved with the Elder Sign - and the clarity that surrounds its corrupted intelligence. We find ourselves in the asteroid belt known as the Diaspora, our camera bobbing around dozens of floating boulders before it pans to our target - the city of Broken Rock, the secret stronghold of the Free Captains, the pirate guild of the Pact Worlds. We zoom in, traveling along the great rift known as Besmara’s Smile, into the city proper, where thousands of citizens live hidden from the law - their entire lifestyle and economy surrounding the business of pirates, and the black market. The Lucky Lily is our first stop, a hotel and casino known for its high stakes, and beautiful women.
There, an overweight Free Captain grunts over the top of a red-haired young woman - Poppy, perhaps ten years younger than when you first met her. She stares disinterestedly at the ceiling, but places her hands just right, ooo’s and aah’s where she’s supposed to, and in the end, fakes a small smile, rolling into the covers as the man gives a satisfied grunt, throws a bundle of syringes on the bed, gathers up his clothing, and leaves.
As the door closes, Poppy glares daggers into the cracking wood, but keeps her peace. With a practiced motion she pulls out one of the syringes, lies back into the bed, and injects the serum inside directly into her veins. Her blue veins spread black and purple as the drug works its magic, and the pleasure cries of the Lily’s patrons fade to far-off echoes around her. If we were to watch this event in real time, the story would end there. Poppy would drift into unconsciousness until the Madam came with her next patron, and the cycle would begin again. But we are wise to the nature of sleep, and the cruelty of dreams.
The Haze enters into Poppy, and as we are of the Haze, so do we. A vast blackness. Wet, and briny. The bottom of the ocean. A city buried beneath the sea. The fabled halls of R’lyeh [Reel-yeh], home to the High Priest of the Great Old Ones. Him Who Lies Dreaming. Him Who Will Rise Again. Cthulhu.
The Haze does not show us his form, as it is wise, and shelters the minds of its passengers. So too does it guard Poppy, creating a cloud of black ink around the figure. But Poppy is not afraid. She has seen her dark god many times, and she craves his audience. Poppy bows before the Old One, pressing her forehead against the stones.
Poppy: “I have come again, my Lord.”
The water shakes with the creature’s barest of attention, flattening the sea grass and shifting the sand. Protected by the Haze, Poppy remains deathly still.
Poppy: “I ask you again, same as the first and this - my thirteenth prayer. Great Dreamer, Spawn of the Stars. I ask a favor in your name.”
Another wave spreads through the halls of R’lyeh, this time far more passive.
Poppy: “Power to charm and power to heal. Power to harm and power to steal. Power to summon and power to scheme. Power to bind them and power to dream.”
A whisper through the waters follows. A question asked, but never head. Poppy understands what the Haze cannot convey.
Poppy: “What do you need? Just get me away from here. I- I want to see the stars.”
Silence. No malice. No waves. Poppy tenses, digging her forehead into the rough stone, her back arching with the strain of it.
Poppy: “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
The Elder Sign thrums with power, challenging its ancient enemy, and the Haze flees, wrapping its wards in its protective arms, shepherding you out of the dream.