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        <description>Wilheim When Server Down

“Again.”

The Provider sat behind Wilheim in a tastefully ornate chair, a walking stick in its hands, across the two arms of the chair. 
Wilheim continued throwing punch after punch at the godly wood, (Arboridium), gritting his teeth through the bouts of pain that came with each strike. 
20 strikes per set. That was the goal that The Provider had issued. Any more and Wilheim risked permanent damage to his hands, since Arboridium was so magic based and dense.
The only ru…</description>
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        <description>He woke up with a start, his body covered in sweat. 
He wasn&#039;t at home. 

To a regular human, the darkness of the room would have been an inky black void, but for Wilheim he could discern the shapes of a desk, a round mirror-like item on the wall, an actual mirror, a door into a bathroom, and an in-wall closet.</description>
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        <description>He woke up in his bed. It was a wide bed, but never lonely. It was where his memories of them were strongest. He slid out of bed, a wisp of his former self, and descended downstairs. Even after all these years, the house was vibrant, covered in paintings, decoration, lights… he remembered decorating the kitchen like yesterday.
The old man stumbled out of Morrow house, gnarled hands gripping his sword, the point digging into the ground as he leaned on it. The other one was still within the ever p…</description>
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        <description>His hands adjusted his tie, looking in the mirror, and his red eyes flashed. 
This is going to be a big one. Stay sharp.

Despite not having been to many parties, Wilheim was well equipped with the art of getting ready. It was such a good routine, even a ritual before something important. 
Carefully buttoning up the crisp white shirt, freshly delivered. 
Delicately pulling on the black, smart dress trousers.
The tailcoat, reaching down to the back of his thighs, and the red silk tie, impossibly …</description>
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        <description>TW Derealisation, dissociation, depictions of violence

A daze.

It had all just been a daze since he woke up that morning, when he robotically rolled out of bed, wondering how long it would be till he heard her voice.

Wilheim walked out onto the cold stone floor, his suit crinkled and slightly uncomfortable, so he adjusted it around his body. Hm. That’s better. 
Pulling on his shoes, he grabbed something to eat from the kitchen and took the elevator up, where he leaned out over the fence, eati…</description>
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        <description>“Again.”

The Provider sat behind Wilheim in a tastefully ornate chair, a walking stick in its hands, across the two arms of the chair. 
Wilheim continued throwing punch after punch at the godly wood, (Arboridium), gritting his teeth through the bouts of pain that came with each strike. 
20 strikes per set. That was the goal that The Provider had issued. Any more and Wilheim risked permanent damage to his hands, since Arboridium was so magic based and dense.
The only rule? Each strike had to be …</description>
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        <description>The lights in the room woke Wilheim up. 
His door was open, and Matern was nowhere to be seen. The only trace of Emissary having lain there was the slight scent of ocean that was left in the room. 
Gods, he loved that smell.

Groggily he shook the sleep from his limbs and swung his legs over the side of the bed, and got out of his comfortable sweater, and put his suit back on. It was difficult to sneak away each night and clean it, but he wasn’t a spy for nothing. Thankfully the whole cycle only…</description>
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        <description>It was different this time. 
He woke to a smell, it was familiar… squid boiling in brine, vegetables, and various spices in the air. 
The door to the bedroom was open, faint humming coming from outside the door. 

Wilheim got dressed to the barest bones of his outfit, just trousers and his shirt, somehow crisp, without tucking it in, and naturally his hat, and  headed out and up the stairs to the kitchen, apprehensive of whatever horrors would await him today. 
But no, it was just Emissary cooki…</description>
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        <description>He’d started to dread waking up in the dreams. 
It always ended up being the same, the brief moments of thinking that Matern and Emissary were waiting just up the stairs and out the door from him, but most days, it happened within two minutes. 
Today, it was shorter. Only around 1:03 minutes, judging by the clock. 
Sometimes, he’d wake up, only to watch them disappear. These were the ones that he hoped for. That he would just turn around and they’d have vanished. Obviously, he would still scream…</description>
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        <title>vassal_dream_4</title>
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        <description>He didn’t remember waking up. 
It was just fading out of dissociation, and then boom. In front of the nether portal, rough seas battering the beach, and Emissary and Matern engaged in a serious and heated conversation, wind whipping both their hair around.
Wilheim hurried over to them both and they turned to see him approach. 
“Wilheim!” Emissary’s voice was stressed, and he grabbed his hands. “Please, we need you to fully focus, now that Blighton has Strawberry.”
Wilheim was shocked for a momen…</description>
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        <description>Gale... the omen.
“Hey, Wim.”

Wilheim paled. The avocado tree to the side of him seemed INCREDIBLY interesting. 
“So, Matern and I were looking at the cameras we all installed yesterday.”
Wilheim could see every bug on the tree. “Mhm?”</description>
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        <description>“So, what are you up to right now?” 

“I’m picking out some materials for Mia’s treehouse, I really need to get it going before it rains later.” Ulysses was knelt on the floor of the underground portion of his base, rummaging through a chest of assorted wood, his entire torso reaching for the bottom of it. He briefly lifted his head out, and whacked the back of it on the curved lid of the chest, sucking in breath and holding a swear in the back of his throat.</description>
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