A Rift Through Worlds (A Dream SMP x Hermitcraft AU)

Sad ghosts and building spirits

Meeting Ghostbur must have had been one of the most heartbreaking experiences in Iskall's life Seeing the ghost of a father and ex-president who lost his way living in two planes rather than one was bizarre and sorrowful. The ghost had brought a storm with him, black clouds and way too humid air foreshadowing a promised catastrophe. Tears of blue still stained the ground, both gravel and grass as he approached his son and Iskall, who could be considered a stranger.

After hearing the story behind Wilbur's sanity spiral to the pits of the Nether, Iskall had tears of his own to console the other two. Before, he could have been considered an outsider, someone just prying around and not feeling for those around him. But now? Now, he knew all the secrets they shared about the wars, the exiles, the fate that would have beheld him had Fundy not stepped in when he had. He felt for them and he felt for Tommy for having to go through it young as he was. He did not know the kid's exact age but he had guessed on the first day that he was below twenty.

"Why are you here, Iskall?", Ghostbur asked right as the tears stopped running, voice meek and broken yet protective all the same, "Why are you with my son?"

Fundy furrowed his brows, eyes slipping into horizontal slits from emotion. Anger perhaps... or betrayal. The latter sounded more logical. Iskall had gathered that the Wilbur before the explosions and the wars and the tragedies had been a caring father with a lost lover by the riverbed but the Wilbur after all the ordeals had simply forgotten of what should matter most. Fundy had been left out, a confused boy in his late teens alone in a world with big wolves and wild bears to survive on his own whilst his father tried to fight wars he couldn't win.

It was normal for him to feel the way he did. Who wouldn't feel that way? It is the reason Iskall feels the need to protect him but in the Dream SMP, he can do no such thing and he can not exactly pluck a fox from its den and expect it to be happy.

"Fundy, hush", Iskall asked of the ginger and after a few thrown curses, Fundy grew quiet, a mere shadow in the background as the other two talked. Iskall ignored the fact that the ghost knew his name, he could dig into it another time.

Soon, Iskall was led to Logstedshire, a grassy field surrounded by trees and ocean, reached the fastest by boat. There was nothing of use in the land anymore; the oak and birch walls that once stood proud and tall were now black pillars of ash and charcoal. The building made of cobblestone and terracotta inside had been blown to bits and pieces, any barrels and storage containers either emptied or burnt. The small pathway was slowly being claimed by nature as small patches of grass had sprouted in the shoveled dirt. No one had been there in a while -well, at least no one who had legs of flesh and bone.

It was horrible what a man could do in a fit of anger.

"This happened two days after Tommy disappeared", Ghostbur informed and Fundy went to further inspect the damage. It wasn't the first time he had seen such a horrid display, Iskall was sure of that, but no one gets used to instances of power like those easily. He felt sick himself just looking at it.

The storm clouds had followed them; more specifically, they had followed the ghost's sadness.  So far, there was not a speck of rain but as they approached the entrance of the walls, little droplets mixed with the sea salt in the air. The wind picked up and Iskall immediately felt the atmosphere shift.

There was something accompanying the sadness... was it grief?

"Dream said he had gone on a small trip but that was a lie. He wasn't wearing this", Ghostbur produced a faded red bandana from the pocket of his trousers to show the man, "He put it on right after he woke up",

There were visible tears in the ghost's eyes, fresh blue staining ashy, translucent cheeks before falling off the waterfall of his chin. His hands raised, holding the faded red piece of fabric out very carefully, mindful of not soiling the color; holding it as if the red was fragile glass that would shatter at the slightest touch. Iskall slowly raised a hand as if that would calm the spirit.