The Watchers of Night (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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daybreakacademy2020-05-20 05:47 pm
thewatchers) wrote in daybreakacademy2020-05-20 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
Into the Depths
INTO THE DEPTHS
Log Comm | Network Comm | OOC Comm | Navigation
Something was riding, an omen of great things to come. Focusing on this lead, the Academy sent a team to follow the Dullahan on it's ride.
A. Descent
The Dullahan was persistent, and the more observant that followed would realize that the Fae was intentionally leading them through the thin veil into the Outlands. The surroundings get gradually less and less normal, less familiar until they’re fully into a place that doesn’t feel touched by humanity at all. The air has a strange, salty tinge that can be tasted on the tongue as strangely bare, bleach-white trees reach up into the sky, reedy tendril-like grass crunches under the feet, with bizarre flat and fan-like protrusions rising up and jabbing into the air. Be warned, however; careless contact with any of these features draws blood, they’re all rough-textured and sharp.
Here and there, more and more as the dullahan proceeds, bodies are scattered across the ground and the trees. None are human; in many cases, some aren’t even approaching humans. But they are all dead, without doubt, their pieces torn and scattered across what must have been homes once and are now broken craters, like wounds in the world.
B. Ambush
The unnatural horse suddenly halts, all four hooves planted in the muddy ground, snorting heavily. The headless rider does not try to force his steed on- instead, he readies his weapon.
“Thy mulish persistence begins to become tiresome.”
Utultar’s presence warps the world around him, like a cloak. His eye gleams red, and the sky itself seems to darken. The Dullahan’s horse screams a challenge and charges.
“Begone from my sight, insects.”
His assault is sudden and terrifying; a series of blasts that seem to tear apart the world, hungry and malevolent. The force of their deployment alone, not to mention the impact, is enough to throw people around like dolls, scattering them far and wide.
C. Aftermath
The light was blinding, and it felt as though you were lucky to be alive after it - let alone being able to stand. The strange bleach-white forest seems to stretch on forever, somehow looking dark and gloomy despite their stark color and the lack of foliage. On the pearl-white mud rose small trickles of a blue-black inky liquid that seem to roll rivets into a trail. Perhaps it will guide you to the others who have been separated - it’s better to find someone quick, as it’s unlikely that the Herald is the only threat in this place.
At points, the strange fluid suddenly stops, forming a small puddle before solidifying, lightening in color and warping, leaving a mask behind, and a soft whisper swims in the briny air, the opening to every story known, a promise of power and safety. Without the mask, the strange air makes it hard to breathe, and even harder to think; eventually, the pull will be too strong to resist.
Wearing a mask makes things seem brighter and more colorful; the physical world wavers, to be replaced by strange patterns and symbols and the sense that you’re inside a dream, or a storybook - a place both real and unreal. Following them will lead you to your fellow travelers, whose masks and minds have created colorful storyscapes in which you can easily slip into.
D. Water?
Eventually, as you walk through your own stories and each other’s, you’ll come to the edge of a vast, blue sea. Something as large as an island, imprisoned by three massive chains biting into the ground, wallows uncomfortably, making pained calls that echo across that vast space. Even from a distance, it’s clear to see: it bleeds the same deep, dark blue as the ‘water’ that surrounds it.
It wants to be free, that much is clear. And for those who look closely at the scraps and ruins that litter this vast shore, they may find clear hints to this being’s true nature, and the benefits to freeing it:
-A great deal of Utultar’s power to make and maintain a large library of contracts comes from bleeding this creature and bathing in - and drinking - a regular, fresh supply of its blood. Freeing it will weaken him significantly, setting back his progress to usher in Nightfall.
-The creature is a primordial fae called Nammu-Ninsiku, and was the first to Contract a being on Earth. It has the ability to change or nullify one condition of any contract and will grant one such ‘wish’ to the ones who have a direct hand in freeing it by putting on the masks. This wish can be transferred to a willing recipient if both parties are amenable and the original bearer doesn’t want the responsibility. This wish may have an additional price, depending on the magnitude of the wish; the fae will inform the wisher if this is the case. It will never be anything fatal or too high to pay, but it may well be significant.
-The dead Outlands beings scattered among the coral forest were attempting to free Nammu-Ninsiku, and paid for it with their lives. The dullahan was just one of many of these beings and has been looking for an appropriate way to dispense revenge since the initial slaughter.
Of course, you might just want to free it for being a creature in pain. It’s up to you.)
((OOC Post is over Here for questions or planning))
Chains are first come, first served! If you want to volunteer your character for a mask, reply to the relevant toplevel in whatever way suits your character best and treat it as a starter you can jump off of.
no subject
Their... eyes...?
The musician hesitates, a sort of fear turning in his guts. He stares at them a long moment, and then rises back to his feet, stepping to them, reaching out for that mask. His fingers settle on the edge of it. ]
...A light home is worth more than I can pay. I cannot take your eyes, Giver. Instead, I ask for your company. Will you allow me this? Will you journey with me?
no subject
They're confused.]
I make poor company. [The people outside wearing gold and jewels sought company with each other once they stopped being what was needed.] Do not worry. My eyes will be returned to me until they are needed again. Take them.
[It does not hurt anymore.]
no subject
[ He draws his hand back. ]
I can't hurt someone like I was hurt.
[His brow furrows, almost as if confused. He was hurt differently, wasn't he? Or is it that all pain is pain in the end?]
You are certain you won't join me? I've seen no fault in your company yet. Only understanding, perhaps.
no subject
[It is not just the bindings nor the lock on the door. The people outside were far more effective at keeping them in then any sort of binding. They were a being of immense power but held fast under the water of desire and love.
Yet...yet still there is a voice on the winds. Quiet and the musician may mistake it for the creak of wood. But it's loud enough for him because he has heard it before.
"Let me go...let me go..."]
no subject
For a moment, he remembers; the classroom, the destruction, the crying out. He remembers searching, being unable to find, and fearing what might be done while horrors filled his mind.
He's tugged back to the moment, but the moment is no longer the same. Everything feels tilted off its axis. ]
...Why can't you leave?
[He's looking around the room, looking for something sharp enough to cut silk. ]
no subject
Because they love me.
[And because they are loved, they stay. And because they are loved, they're bound.
But it looks like Héctor's in luck. Someone's left a knife behind. It's pretty bloody and there is a dark energy humming from it.
A desire. To leave, to hide...to kill.]
no subject
...Do they?
[ It doesn't look like they do.
He freezes when he spots that knife, afraid and uncertain. Did they...? No. No, they offered their eyes and-- well, that thought is even worse. He swallows hard and reaches down for it.]
If they love you, then they will not mind if you go. Not so much to stop you. Surely you'd like to see the world. Surely they'd want you to have what you want.
[ He goes to that first bit of binding, levelling the knife at it. ]
And if they do not, perhaps they don't yet know how to love.
no subject
[It's just the way it has to be. The people outside told them that they were loved and so they were. It was fine.
Yet despite their words, something under the silk begins to bulge and fight against the tightly wound fabric. Not to get away from the knife...but to hold the silk out so Héctor can cut it better
More and more what's under the 'skin', it will force more silk forward. Take them apart, tear it all apart.
Let them go. Please, God, let them go!]
no subject
But they shift and squirm like a butterfly unable to break its cocoon. He must. He must help. And if they truly want to stay, then they will. There will be no need for bindings. There will be no need for locks.
He takes the silk he cuts. One piece after another, he cuts it away.
His heart pounds in his chest. If this should result in his death, it won't matter. He'll be with his girl all the same. ]
no subject
But once he gets far enough an arm bursts out of the cocoon, then another one. Covered in horrible wounds they may be, the arms start tearing at the silk with the ferocity of something that has been trapped for so long and been given the chance to escape.
And finally, finally, they break free. The mask the being was wearing clatters to the ground and shatters as what was contained falls out. It's...not pretty. It's someone who's been cruelly tortured and bound for so long it's clear that they can't move their legs. A featureless mask made of leather has been bound to their face by belts and globs of blood drip from their chin. Something else is keeping the mask welded to their face....
Their wings, once beautiful and full, have been carved to pieces so they can't get away and are nothing but bones. Their white hair is matted and much longer then it should be.
They claw at the mask, trying to pull it off even if it tears their fingernails apart. They can't quite form words so they do the next best thing and scream.
It's a sound he's heard before.]
no subject
Buried alive. He was buried alive, he thought, a sharp revelation through a brain that could process nothing else. He couldn't even scream. The dirt poured into his mouth but he couldn't taste it. Something was wrong, everything felt wrong--
They reach out and tear at the rest of their bindings in a frenzy, desperate to--
Escape. He had to reach the surface, he had to claw, he had to climb and get out, he didn't want to die, he didn't want to die, oh god, oh please, he didn't--
They tumble free. They're a mess of wounds and blood. Their wings are--
Bone. He was bone. He had broken the surface, saw himself, screamed. He tried to escape all over again but this time he couldn't.
There's no getting the mask off. He reaches out, to help or stop, he doesn't know.
And then the scream rips through him and he's neither here nor in the ground. He's somewhere else, somewhere distant, a classroom. He's knelt by a student and pleading for a name, some means to find... ]
You...
[ He says it breathlessly. ]
It's you. You're still... Hang on. I can help. Hold still...!
cw: gore, body horror
But the other person calls out and they still for a moment. Long enough for him to attend to the straps of the mask. It's simply buckles that keep the straps locked in place and it's not hard at all to get off. But given their general panic it's obvious they'd hurt themself long before they calmed down enough to undo it themself.
When the straps are undone the mask doesn't fall. Gripping the sides, they pull hard and it comes off with an ugly pop and a shower of blood. The mask slams against the ground when they throw it and why it was stuck is revealed: lining the inside of the mask are spikes coated with both new and old blood. They've had to wear it for so long their skin healed around the spikes and it fused to their face. It's why they couldn't talk with their own words.
Just as those people planned.
Their face is a mess, peeling in chunks like there's even another layer under that mask too. The fake face is still visible, however. Golden eyes, a friendly smile. Smooth and without flaw.
What's underneath it is ugly. Red eyes, pain and rage. They reach up and start to tear the fake skin. There's more eyes in darkness under their real flesh.]
Let...me.... [Their real voice is harsh and rusty.] I'm going to...die. Die, die, die--!
cw: gore, body horror
Who would...? Why...?
He gets the barest chance to glimpse the other face-- golden-eyed and perfect. He wonders why it feels familiar. He doesn't get to think about it. Something more is beneath, something ugly. ]
NO! [His hands go out.] Please! We can go! We can get out!
[ They don't have to die. ]
no subject
They shake their head. The mask of flesh nearly slips off completely from the motion.]
Not me. Not yet. Them.
[The venom in their voice pratrically drips out of their mouth and they stare at the door and beyond it.
If Héctor listens, it sounds like the party going on outside has stopped. Aside from the pair in this tiny room...it's dead silent.]
no subject
Their threat puts a chill in him but it's only then that he notices how quiet it is.
Those people. They did this. They were cruel enough to put that mask on them, those bindings, the locks. Cruel enough to know this and yet still say You can take what you wish from the giver.
He can't speak. He's afraid but he doesn't know what he's more afraid of. He rises unsteadily to his feet. He reaches for the door, trying to see if he can open it up just a crack. ]
no subject
The door creaks open to the exact amount he wants. He didn't lock it, after all. But all that's beyond this little room is just darkness and eyes. And a voice that hisses in his ears, a woman's voice.]
This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault--
[The being staggers to their feet and lunge so they can slam the door back shut.]
no subject
The slamming door is the only thing to shake him. It rattles him to the core. ]
What... what did I... do...?
no subject
Not your fault. Aegle. Their fault. Binding. Fear.
[They want to cry or scream. Both, really.]
...do you want out?
[He probably wants out.]
no subject
But he takes them in, bent in despair, hiding their face. Mask after mask after mask and still he doesn't see their true face.
The words they speak float through his mind like distant calls through a dark fog. Each unsettles him.]
What about you?
[He's still staring down at them.]
I can't just leave you here. They hurt you. They'll...
[They'll keep hurting this person. The "Giver". They had given nothing. Everything had been stolen from them.]
no subject
[No...they can't. Once they're free, somewhere in the back if their mind, they know what they'd do. They'd burn it all and they'd slaughter the survivors. The death of the people outside wouldn't be enough to pay for their sins if they didn't do it themself.
They lower their hands and touch the ground. It feels like flesh and iron bars at the same time.
It feels like ages ago. In a small room, in a body that was still not their own, they asked a single question.]
...help me. Please...someone...anyone. Help me...!
no subject
But this... he has nothing on this. The helplessness gnaws at him. It feels like... like bound limbs and hands rooting through him.]
I won't leave you here.
[He kneels down to them. He kneels so he's just before them, and he reaches his hand out for theirs, just like he did last time, in a world beyond a dream.]
I promised to help you. Tell me... what can I do?
no subject
But they hear what he says and they look up. He reaches for them and visibly they look terrified by the action. They want to lash out at everything and burn it all down. Something smells like smoke.
Still there's something in them to reach out and take his hand eventually. Promises don't mean much...but he's trying.]
Talk...seals...[It's vague. They don't remember.] That family. Aegle.
[Something pounds loudly against the door. They shrink back.]
no subject
But there's a stir of memory.
"Aegle," He murmurs. "I know that na--"
The sound at the door causes him to startle. He looks back at it. A jolt of fear goes through him before he looks back to them.
"I'll protect you," He says. "I remember something. About myself." That he's dead and it doesn't matter what happens to him (except it does and he's lying and he's terrified but he'll lie to help them.) "I'll protect you."
He gives the faintest squeeze to their hand. Then he picks up the knife and turns from them.
"Stay behind me," He urges. "And if you get the chance, run."
no subject
And there'd be nothing stopping them. In fact, it'd probably be better if they gave up and ran. What's outside the door is something they're terrified of. It's the wall blocking them from being free, the shell they're trapped inside.
What tears the door apart is either a God or a twisted angel. They can't tell. But he's not going to get far with a demand or asking questions. A burst of flame, a blast of wind and the upheaval of the earth below the thing's feet cause it to go barreling right back outside.
They hear it on the wind anyway. "Be good. You are the protagonist of this story. Play your part. Obey. And this will end when we're hap-"
Fuck that.
They stumble to their feet and black and red sludge starts pouring up from the cracks in the floor to start flooding outside. It's a curse. A Death Curse. It pours over the being outside and it starts to scream as its soul is torn apart.
Its will is weaker then their's. They know this and will never stop casting. It struggles to escape the sludge and they wind their arm back and punch it square in the face. Again and again, and again--
"I'm. Not....not your protagonist! I'm me! I existed! I'm still here! And this ends...when I want it to!"
And as they scream these words, this once pretty forest begins to burn under the strain of no longer having a main character to this story. Because they refuse to play along. They refuse to be silent and just take this abuse any longer. The people in the big houses begin to scream and sob at the loss of their wealth and the soul memory can't bring themself to care.
They're angry. They hate humanity and God. And that rage is what they hold onto as they sunk into the abyss, laughing until their throat breaks under the strain.
This is a story with no happy or sad ending, for it has no ending. It has no protagonist.
This is just the story of an angel who became a monster.
no subject
And then the thing is flung out. He hears its cruel demands. The sludge rises up and he feels sick, but that's all. He doesn't feel sorry for the struggling creature.
But that person, whose name he still doesn't know, he watches as they're swallowed into darkness too. He rushes out. He reaches into that cursed sludge to grasp at them.
"NO! We can still get out of here! Please! If we leave it we can still--!"
He has been a monster. Is a kind of monster in some eyes. Fairytale endings have no place for him. But he fights for it anyway. Fights and reaches and pleads with gods that have forgotten him. He will pull a fellow monster back or he won't.
And the darkness of death will call him back for the hundredth time without rest, whispering gentle and unkind reminders that cautionary tales cannot exist without souls to fall prey.