hadriel_logs | Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

Entry tags:

Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

Who: All characters participating in the event
What: The event log for the Dreamwalker part 2 event
Where: In your dreams
When: October 14th-20th (the second log will go up on Oct 23rd, please keep the two weeks of the event separate!)
Warnings: All different kinds of dreams falling under the umbrella of Delight, Rage, Sorrow, and Hope.

This time, the weird stuff doesn't happen when you're awake- as a matter of fact, your waking hours are the normal ones. That's because you're forced to sleep by some unknown entity, getting more and more exhausted by the moment as night falls. Better make sure you're always around a soft pillow.

Once asleep, it doesn't get any less weird- your dreams will be influenced by one of the four gods that make up the first week. Something to make you smile, something to make you angry- or something that reminds you of your deepest regret or most vulnerable hope, they're all things that you're dreaming about now for some reason, no matter how hard you may try to pull away from them.

To make matters more complicated, there are others intruding on your dreams who definitely don't belong there, and while they may seem like manifestations at first, it becomes clear that these others are actually the consciousness of other members of Hadriel, getting some top quality exposure to your angriest, happiest, most sorrowful moments. Hope it doesn't get awkward when you see them tomorrow...

► This log covers October 14th-20th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well
► Please tag headers of threads with content warnings where they apply
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!
► If you die in dreams you don't die in real life, but if you somehow die in real life anyway, please let us know here.

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"Oh? What were you hiding f-," Delmar doesn't get to finish before the little boy is trying to yank him along. Not dissimilar to a very small dog tugging at the leash and yet still inspiring its owner to indulge its urgings to go ahead despite the owner having the upper hand in terms of size, Delmar finds himself allowed Atem to drag him forward

"W-where are we going?"

"Shh, keep your voice down--" Actually he stops, he doesn't know... They could find him anywhere!

"Can you take me out of here?"

"Aren't you lonely, my child?"

Mist has always been a quiet village, at least that's how Rydia remembers it, and there's little to break the silence beside the peaceful rumors of the river, the sounds of the wind between the trees and the whispers.

"Look at you, surrounded by humans... disgusting."

The summoner is still walking with her head high between the small streets made of dirt, mud is staining her boots and her clothes but she doesn't seem to care. Why would she when there's no one who'll ever notice? She's just surviving but there are no more summoners, no more eidolons and humans aren't allowed between those mountains -and why would they want to visit such a desolate place anyway?-, Rydia has to move on with her routine because she's too scared of dying but... why?

"There's nothing left for you in this world..."

All those whispers come from tall stones, graves with illegible names carved on them, whenever she passes in front of any of them. Some sound like her mother, some like people she no longer remembers and others... others are whispers from the childhood friends she lost in the fire.

"Come play with us,it's better on this side!"

Nothing seems to really happen or change in this dream, stones will talk whenever someone gets too close to them usually offering depressing sentences, throwing accusations or remembering how easier it'd be to take the easy way out and just die not to deal with the pain of being 'the last one' any longer. Nothing really happens in the dream itself, you're just left alone with the voices and a suffocating sensation of being trapped in the village- because no matters how much you try to move on, no matters if you find another family, you can never really escape your past completely.

"Out of here?" Delmar casts an uncertain glance around as if on some off-chance he might spot what the boy is running from.

"But why?" He asks in a hushed voice, "Is it not safe?"

"It is! And my classes are gonna start soon. And I don't wanna go, Delmar. They are boring I wanna play instead."

He pouts... The little prince pouts. Are you going to say no to that face?

Eddie doesn't even remember falling asleep, it had been that swift. Undoubtedly he'll wake up in some embarrassing position the next morning, but for now he's staring over at Ephemera like the guy has just sprouted a second head. There's no question how how he managed to get here or what was going on. Hell, Eddie isn't even distracted by the fact he's in what seems to be the world's smallest set of combat armor (whiteand pink trim, Eddie duly notes). No, what's distracting Eddie Kaspbrak right now is how high up they are and the words coming out of Ephemera's mouth.

Jump? Is this guy joking right now? Eddie's so shocked that he stands near the edge as he casts Ephemera what he hopes translates as a disbelieving look.

"I don't think so. Pass. You go I'll watch or something." Some people might find it fun, the others who have gone before them don't seem to have any kind of issues with this, yet Eddie just knows it won't be the fall itself that kills him but the thud he'll make on impact.

"I'm not a medic," Ephemera murmurs, holding Chica's head as gently as he can. She's wheezing still, in pain when she exhales. He can hear it every time her breath rattles out, but she's alive. She's alive and he'll do anything so she stays that way. Water in her lungs, bruised or broken ribs when they brought her back, whatever else is still wrong from the fight. Ephemera can feel sharp edges when he cups her skull, blood drying thick in her hair. She's hurt but she's breathing, so it's going to be okay.

It's going to be okay.

He lifts his head a little, staring at Washington. Doesn't care that his face is wet still from the crying, that the desperation has started bleeding into his voice, into everything. "Help me. Please."

He'll do anything.

It doesn't see strange to have Eddie in the dream and Ephemera just flashes him a bright grin, the scars pulling at his mouth. It's a training jump, the conditions are fucking perfect, and they're going to go. There's no arguing. It's too perfect to waste. "Get your helmet on, kid."

They're going to jump and it's going to be beautiful.

He looks shocked. And here he had been worried that someone was coming to hurt this little boy and in the end he just didn't want to go to school. Some things really don't change about humans, do they? Whether its the ancient world or 1960, little boys still want to play instead of go to class.

It brings a little laugh to Delmar's throat, eyes sparkling a bit as he tries to hold it back. He remembers what it was like. Even as a boy who liked school, there were days where you just didn't want to be cooped up and told what to do. "Wellllll really I should tell you that you have to go to your classes," he starts before sighing nostalgically.

"But maybe a little break wouldn't hurt."

Edited 2017-10-14 19:46 (UTC)

"Neither am I." Don't trust him. Sharkface has no reason to trust him, he'd obviously be begging anyone right now, and...

Wash sighs and activates his bioscan. Checks what else is wrong with her, what they need to address. What they can fix. She's weak, her lungs are indeed compromised, her ribs are indeed broken, and she's got one hell of a concussion. There's only a moment's hesitation before he reaches back to pull out his healing unit, activating it and gesturing for Sharkface to ease up his grip on her a bit so he can settle it against her chest.

Apparently, he's all in now.

"Do you need me to carry her?"

Oh... no why, Atem's shoulders droop a little as Delmar speaks, maybe he's right, he should go learn all that boring stuff he barely understand right now--and then the little one freezes. Is he for real?

"!!" See that little face illuminate and smile, and those eyes sparkle, there is even some rosy color taking on his cheeks because he is so excited about it!

"Really!?" Ye nearly screams! Oh right, they were hiding, he covers his little mouth with both hands, then he whispers. "Really!?"

((OOC Notes: You don't need to plot with me to tag into these, but if you want to, plotting comment is over here!

Prompts will be posted below.))

The kid gives another look down, noting that he can't even see his house from here because they're a bajillion miles up from the ground. He can't even make that joke!

Eddie can just about hear his mother right about now. Don't you do it Eddie, this is how you break bones, this is how you die! Do you know how many people die a year from falling?! After the great friend debacle of '89, Eddie can't deny he's tempted to ignore the shit out of his mother's voice and do this anyway. He just needs to get his legs to start working again.

"I don't even know how to do this. You'll make sure I don't die, right?" Even as he says it, Eddie is dutifully putting his helmet on. Safety first, for all he knows he could trip over and hit his head off of something.

[The first part of this dream is from a perspective that's not your own. Or maybe it is, maybe you've always had that unbearable static and pressure in your skull, maybe you've always had a deep and all-consuming need that you knew you had to satisfy. It certainly feels like it's yours, in any case.

The need leads you to a house in the suburbs, where you unceremoniously shatter the front door off its hinges before barreling in. You are drawn here, pulled like the needle on a compass, because this is where you'll find what you're after. It shows itself before long as you prowl the house: a terrified person, running through the rooms, trying in vain to fend you off. You don't get much of a look at the face, but you don't care about that anyway. A pulse pounds in your ears, and you are ecstatic in the moment of the hunt. You cry out in joy, a piercing, alien noise.

The chase ends when you corner your prey. Their feeble attempts at self-defense are no match for you, and you toss them against a wall with a mere swipe of your hand. And then you pounce. The rest is a blurred rush of fevered sensations: the give of the flesh at the tips of your claws, the snapping of bones between your teeth, the taste of blood. It's a high unlike any other, and you find yourself reveling in it. You find yourself satisfied.

And then it's over, and you're you again, sitting on the couch in a modest living room. There are candles on every surface, some lit, some snuffed by the recent altercation. Strange, arcane symbols have been drawn on one wall in what might be blood; a pentagram, Baphomet, some runes and sigils. It's nonsense if you can read it. There's a deer-skull mask and a knife on the coffee table. Oh, and a corpse slumped on the floor, mostly torn to shreds. You can't even make out the face anymore, and it's certainly no longer in one piece.

But more importantly than that, you note that your head is clearer. There's no more blood rushing through your skull, no more static, no more pressure, no more pain. It's just silence. Relief.

Sitting beside you on the couch is another person. Maybe you recognize Michael, maybe you don't, though it's a little hard to at the moment, since he's sort of curled up with his arms around his knees, head down. Maybe he knows what the hell just happened?]

You wake up in a cell.

If you're expecting a normal prison, this is not a place that one would recognize. It's cold, damp, the metal whines and hums. Muffled noises of cries and yells echo through the empty space, indiscernible between the ten-by-ten foot walls that confine you. The ugly gray jumpsuit is definitely not the attire that you went to bed in, with numbers stitched into the back that you can't see, but they bear the identification S██.023; it differs from subject to subject.

Might as well get comfortable, because you're going to be here for a while. Scream, yell, bang on the doors; maybe even try to open the grating underneath you. No one comes, save for the occasional heavy footfalls that clank outside the only steel door with a slider. At some point, food passes through that opening; it's a tray of fruits, nuts, and vegetables, like a salad just thrown together. Nothing one would expect from a place like this, except for a side of some sweet applesauce-like paste and a cup of water. Eat up, drink, you'll probably need it for energy.

After what feels to be days, the locks in the cell door whine and unlatch -- and then open.

Light pours in from outside, outlining the shape of two individuals. One of them is a pale-faced woman wearing a helmet covering her mouth and black riot armor over her body. On the surface, she appears to be human. But upon a closer look, her eyes are wrong. Glowing, iridescent, almost beautiful.

The figure beside the woman is a machine, nine-feet tall, lanky and bearing steel rods at its sides that spark when it draws it into its hand-shaped limbs.

"Put it down," the woman orders the machine, clear in the meaning that she is referring to you as 'it'. "Then prep it for extraction."

Maybe you're weak, tired, or just furious from the boredom of being cooped up for god-knows-how-long, but the machine comes for you. It doesn't give you much time before it swings the metal rod, electricity sparking from its metal, and proceeds to start beating you down. The question now is: Will you fight, or will you submit?

Edited 2017-10-14 20:24 (UTC)

"I'm good," Drake replies, surprised to find that it's true. He's... not afraid after all? The five seconds before Ephemera followed him were spent in awe, just taking in the sky and sensation. It's not unlike the rush he got the first time he rode a motorcycle, felt the first big drop on a roller coaster. He smiles inside his helmet and holds on to this feeling, commits the experience to memory. It does feel like flying.

He doesn't know shit about the right form, about how to hold himself, so he's just sort of falling and trusting the armor to do its thing and keep him alive. Trusting that if he does something actually wrong Ephemera will give him instructions.

Healing unit. It clicks into place and Ephemera imagines he can hear it kicking into gear. Doing its work. Chica twitches, but doesn't say anything. She might not be capable of saying anything, but she's breathing. And that's what matters, that she's breathing. That she stays breathing.

One thing at a time.

Ephemera takes a shuddering breath, lets it out. Focus. Get her stabilized, get her warm, and keep her alive. Whatever it takes. "No. I've got her."

Even if they take her to fucking Freelancer command, Ephemera doesn't care. He'll do it. Whatever it takes.

Carefully, so carefully, he gets his arm under her, and lifts. She barely weighs anything out of armor.

Wash stands as well, looking around again. It's just a beach, cliff face behind them and the land curving off in either direction. If they get moving they have to find something. He leaves Chica's armor behind in the sand and sets off in a random direction.

"She'll be alright now," he says, because it feels like the right thing to say.

Delmar takes just another minute to consider his options, knuckle pressed against his lips in thought, before nodding. "Yes, alright."

The little one just looks so excited he can't help himself. One day off couldn't be so bad for him, could it?

"Where should we go?"

From a cave to another cave! Welcome in the Feymarch, citizens of Hadriel, hopefully you like music and celebrations because you just found yourself in the middle of one! To be a wooden city surrounded by nothing else than darkness this monster infested place seems only filled with joy and happiness: many creatures went outside to hunt and brought back enough meat to feed the community for a long while ~~and yes, some of them may not need food but Rydia and the less powerful monsters certainly do~~. For a world almost lost in time what's better than a big celebration to remember everyone they're alive?

Rydia can be seen dancing between a chocobo (An overgrown big yellow bird), some green goblins and her favorite uncle, a lovely giant, who keeps spinning her around and throwing the summoner in the air. She appears younger than usual and is just wearing a plain green dress and she's clearly having fun: no magic practice needed for now, no challenges to face, no books to study, just her whole family there to play with her.

Join the party! There's roasted mistery meat for everyone, most of the flying creatures are offering rides around the town if one isn't too heavy, drums are being played and most creatures seem absolutely inoffensive right now.

Upon immediately entering the scene, it's apparent that this is a place out of time. Mid-19th Century America, to be in fact, somewhere in the bayou of Louisiana. A fog covers the darkness of the lake, and the only path leading anywhere is to a tiny shack by the waterside. It's old and rickety, the wood nearly rotted away. It's obvious when you enter that this place is not meant to be lived in, and hasn't been for some time.

And yet, at first glance, there is a bed around a corner, the wall decayed with several holes and nearly crumbling. Feet can be seen, covered under a layer of dirty sheets. Motionless at first, and then coughing. A few hacks turn into a fit.

Take another step closer into the shack, and a swift motion that barely makes a sound comes lunging at you from behind the door. Stopping right at your neck is the curved blade of a scythe, belonging to a long and crooked bone staff that resembles a spinal cord.

Holding such a weapon is a tall, towering woman, in a long red and black kirtle.

"You should be more careful where you walk into," she warns, before lowering the blade an inch from your neck.

[Laura has never seen, never even imagined this type of carnage before. oh, sure, she had her teachers droning on and on about wars and battlefields, but this is beyond her.

she wanders up to a dead soldier? knight? she doesn't know and it probably doesn't even matter. he's dead. he's dead and his eyes are wide open and staring at her. it gives her creeps, so she tries to close them. she can't. they're frozen open, so she stumbles backwards, nearly falling over another corpse in the process. she screams and it echoes back to her, mocking her with its sound.

she starts to run, dodging bodies and weapons and shrapnel along the way, only to find herself funneled onto a bridge. a bridge with a crucified man in the center of it and Aren there, saying that he needs a pyre.]

--what? Why? Who is he?

[cw for talk of suicide and gore]

[You're in the tiny kitchenette of a cramped studio apartment, but the details of it fade under a shocking amount of blood. Kyna is crouched on the floor, the body of a man beside her. If you're particularly observant, you'll spot pointed elf ears knifing through long, white hair. He's unnaturally pale, and Kyna's hands are pressed to his throat, blood bubbling up between her fingers. There's too much of it—far more than one body can hold, puddling on the tile and splattered on the cabinets, red soaking into Kyna's jeans and coating her hands. In that hazy certainty reserved for dreams, you know help is coming, and you also know it won't matter.]

Shit, shit, shit.

[Kyna's breathing is ragged and her voice is panicked, and she's too focused on her useless attempt to stop the bleeding to notice that anyone else is there.]

[this is not something that George should be seeing. that she knows for sure, even if she's not sure how she got here, she doesn't know who that guy is, and all she does know is that she wants to make him shut the fuck up and stop hurting Jo.

she tries to walk over to try and make him shut up, but she's frozen in place. she tries to speak, to tell him to shut up, but her vocal chords aren't working. nothing's working except that fucking guy's voice as he continues his taunting]

To join a foreign culture in their celebrations is a gift, and one Brennan embraces fully. She will even put her vegetarianism on hold in order to participate the way she should, and to not ruin this new connection she is forging. It's good meat, well spiced, warming her from the inside to match the warmth of joy that is in the air.

She watches the girl with green hair fly through the air after the giant has thrown her, and when Rydia lands, Brennan approaches her with a smile.

"Will you teach me how to dance?"

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Page 3 of 104

Event Log: Dreamwalker the Second

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Sorrow

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delight

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Michael Munroe | OTA

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Delight | CWs: Gore, Violence, General Badness

Rage: The Sky Prison. (OTA)

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Delight

Ravine. Sorrow: Louisiana Bayou. (OTA)

Sorrow

Kyna Midha | Sorrow | OTA

Sorrow

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