[Open] The Mark of the Herald

[thewatchers]

Mark of the Herald Part I
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Despite certain disruptive events and ominous visions in the preceding month, August is seemingly still free of any problems.

That’s quick to change, however. Starting from the third of the month, strange, circular marks begin to appear on human students around the school - and, indeed, humans around the world. Those affected begin to feel incurably drowsy, something that no magical or mundane solution can seem to cure or relieve; eventually, they’ll fall asleep entirely, whether they want to or not, and enter a state of magical stasis. Not even nonhumans are immune, though whether they’re marked seems to be much more erratic.

Those who remain awake or are otherwise spared by the mark are free to do as they wish - the Academy won’t ask them to do more than keep themselves safe. But where each marked person falls in slumber, a portal will form; a strange tear in reality, offering glimpses of a surreal, nightmarish plane that differs vastly from individual to individual. One thing is certain; the cause of a victim’s seemingly endless sleep and these portals are linked somehow, and the only way to find out exactly how is to go through...and the only ones capable of doing so are those who are still awake.

This log can be used as a catch-all for event-related threads. The information for this event is here.

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[subconmodo]

[He tries his best to ignore the memories that swim beside him. He can't, and so he forces himself to move faster. He can't process them right now, refuses to process them, the flashes of ice swimming past him at the edge of his vision solidifying his decision all the more.

He drags himself out of the fountain, taking a moment to sit at its edge, catch his breath, and wring some of the cold water from his shirt and pants before giving the atrium a cautious once-over.

He doubts that his particular senses will be of much use in a dreamscape, but he keeps an eye out nonetheless.]

[spelleton]

[ The chilled water warms quickly in the heat of the empty atrium; a hallway, with grand doors leading to unknown destinations, stretches out before him.

While he can't sense souls, as such, there's a flickering memory of them, like a faint heartbeat. Through the medium of a dream, it's possible to experience things the way Ekkehardt does, sense things the way he did - including souls.

To Ekkehardt's remembered senses, souls feel like light, fire, shifting and diverse wisps that hold flashes of other things within them. Behind the door that is gilded with gold, there are many; behind the one glittering with crystals, there are more still. More opulent doors, decorated in gems and other shining decorations, stretch the hallway's length.

The crimson door, a nondescript servant's entrance tucked behind an atrium's pillar, holds the sense of only two souls, and a feeling of intense, bloody satisfaction. ]

[subconmodo]

[He lingers in front of the gold and crystal doors longer than what might be necessary, though it's not the individuals within that catch his interest.

Alas... It's not meant to be. Maybe if Jailbreak were here, it would be a different story. And so instead, he follows the feeling of satisfaction and draws closer to the crimson door.

No gaps at the bottom. That makes it harder to sneak in. And when he checks the handle, he finds it locked.

Only one thing for it.

Avery takes a step back and holds a hand out, magic circle drawing itself in the air before him shortly before releasing an explosive burst of black flame.]

cw: ~arson~

[spelleton]

[ The door is as difficult to open as the last one was, but it's also as weak to fire as the last one was.

The scene is also similar, coincidentally. The same tiled floors, the same cold walls. But everything has been scorched by fire; tiles blackened, glass cracked, metal twisted by extreme heat.

It's almost enough to mask the metallic tang of blood.

This, too, opens into a maze. Full of twisting corridors. But there's the flicker of fire, coming from somewhere up ahead; the tail of a torch flicks around a corner, as the door clatters open. ]

[subconmodo]

[Avery looks the scene over. He didn't cause this, that much he's sure of, but he wonders if this is the remnants of some coverup or if Ekke in all his beautiful, wonderful, awful efficiency managed all this himself.

Either way, it seems important to follow after whoever holds the torch, and so he slinks into the shadows to continue his pursuit]

[spelleton]

[ Avery's wondering is answered in short order when he pursues the fire in earnest; Ekkehardt, dressed in hard-wearing black, in a fabric that seems to consume the light of the torch he's holding, walks with a deliberate and steady tread.

Occasionally, he stops to listen for some distant noise, and makes his decision to turn left or right or continue straight ahead based on that.

There's no place left unscathed by fire's touch. The atmosphere might have been choking, if this was real, but since he wasn't affected by it, his memories - and anyone walking in them - aren't affected by them either. ]

[subconmodo]

[As if he couldn't love this man any more.

For once, Avery decides that discretion is the better part of valor (and, perhaps, he's just a little curious), and so he continues to follow after--though he at least has the courtesy to rise up from the shadows to walk behind Ekkehardt like a decent person.]

cw: violence

[spelleton]

[ He seems to be looking for something, though it's hard to tell what exactly until he finds it - or rather, who.

He turns a corner, and a man leaps from a doorway still billowing smoke with an enraged, frantic shout. Ekkehardt steps aside to let him crash onto the floor, and then kneels to gently apply pressure to the small of his back as he tries to get up. ]

And here I'd thought you'd died from smoke inhalation. Imagine my surprise. [ His tone is downright friendly. ]
Were you not happy with my gift? I thought it was decent payment for the way you tortured and butchered me.

[ He applies more pressure. The man coughs and splutters fearfully, clearly struggling to breathe. ] But I'm not you, so I'll give you a clean death. It's not what you deserve, but it's not exactly fair that I'd get to enact what you deserve when all your previous victims didn't get that privilege.

[ The knife flashes, once, and the struggling stops. Ekkehardt stares down at the body impassively for a moment before he picks it up and proceeds down the hallway with it in tow. What he intends to do with it is unknown, as of yet. ]

[subconmodo]

[His heart skips a beat and he holds back a sigh.

How could he not see this through to the end?

Hopefully Ekkehardt doesn't mind an audience, because he's getting one, whether he likes it or not.]

[spelleton]

[ Ekkehardt hasn't turned back once, even as Avery's presence becomes more obvious; this version of him is little more than a memory. He continues on until he reaches what was probably once an airy front room, something pleasant to contrast with the bloody work going on within.

His 'gift' was likely opened here, or escaped here; bloody crimson fire still eats lazily away at destroyed furnishings, chews on paintings and shards of glass. An engraved jar thoroughly charred by its contents exploding outwards lies abandoned on the floor.

Another body is here, too, not nearly as untouched as the one Ekkehardt is carrying. The man's head has been separated from his shoulders, for one thing. With a clean cut, naturally, because Ekkehardt does everything cleanly.

He's also wearing hard-wearing, black clothing. The meaning of such a thing is obvious.

Ekkehardt busies himself with opening vents and what few windows exist in this place, to increase the airflow. The crimson flames surge from little flickers and embers into hungrier life, stoked by the new sources of things to burn. ]

Well, aren't you enjoying yourself? [ This voice is different, closer to reality. A burned shadow on the wall moves, leans out onto a charred desk, his voice amused. ] I particularly like your expression.

[ Even here, in the ashes of what he's about to do to his tormentors, he still finds time for fun, it seems. But it's an old memory, and the things associated with the place of his pain are faded, so he thinks he's allowed it. ]

[subconmodo]

You ask that like you haven't treated me to a nice surprise

[He folds his arms behind his back and grins, walking over to stand in front of the shadow.]

It's not often I get to see you pull off something like this. You even went so far as to burn the whole place down...

[He reaches out to grab the back of the chair, hand close to his]

It's a side of you I don't mind seeing one bit.

[spelleton]

[ His memory-version lights the torch from greedily burning flames, holding it up as he inspects it for some minute detail only he can see. ]

Well...it's a nice memory. [ He laughs, a little; it sounds distorted, far away. It's a nice distraction from his relative helplessness. ] So I don't mind you seeing it, either. [ It's at least something less vulnerable than the last set. What he fears, what he's still weak to...those are far less entertaining. ]

[ He lets the torch fall; the fire quickly spreads, a crimson carpet of flame exploding across the walls. He throws the door open as he leaves; presumably, in the past, it was for airflow. Now, it's another invitation to go deeper into the labyrinth.

The shadow wavers. Fire is still light, and for the moment the fire is bright enough that his projection is going to pieces. The flames don't hurt, but as they continue to consume his memory of the place where he suffered, there's little left to see. ]

[subconmodo]

[Avery's smile falters. Ekke sounds so distant, and the way he wavers... It's disconcerting.

...Right. He's here to wake him up, isn't he?

And it probably won't do him any good to stick around too long in a burning building either.

He holds out his hand to Ekkehardt's projection.]

Come on, sleepyhead. All this heat is starting to get to you.

[spelleton]

[ That gets another laugh, but it's weaker than the last. ] Well, I don't really feel it. You know that.

[ He has to concentrate to keep that projection together; they're weak things, all of his fragility and none of the benefits that make him less so. It would be much easier to let it burn, to reform it in the next part of the maze...it flutters and singes, while he has those thoughts, just for a moment.

Then, he concentrates on what little he can feel through the shadow as he takes Avery's hand and lets the other man lead it through the doorway.

This next part is the corridors of a house Avery might remember seeing in a more pleasant dream; oddly plain, for all the colourful decorations that hang on its walls and decorate everything. But there's no colour to it now; just a sense of claustrophobia, the cloying sense of being hunted.

It's dark. ]

Ah. I know this one. [ His voice is guarded, almost brittle. ]

[subconmodo]

[There's something familiar about this. Not personally, but something long, long ago, and something secondhand.

He thinks he remembers speaking to Ekkehardt when he "was a child" -- the result of that inner child spell that had been cast on the campus nearly a year ago. Ekkehardt had spent much of the time hiding. He'd asked why once, and there was something about a monster and a massacre. The details are hazy, but clear enough that he's able to recognize something of the conversation in this memory.

He thinks he feels something searching for him.

His chest tightens. This time not for Ekke's sake.]

Don't suppose you'd remember the easiest way out of this joint?

[spelleton]

That depends on if this wretched dream cooperates with me.

[ He sounds annoyed, though poking through the annoyance is a rare sign of Ekkehardt actually sounding anxious. The shadow leads Avery through twisting corridors that are stifling and too large all at once, like they're being seen from a child's perspective.

At times, they have to stop. Light flickers through open doorways, then is promptly blocked by something that feels both sickeningly wrong and sickeningly powerful, lumbering past.

Sometimes there's screaming, or the signs of a fight, or blood leaking into the corridors. There are, mercifully, no bodies. ]

How do you feel about tight spaces?

[subconmodo]

["Better than you," he wants to say, but knows better. Jokes are fine, but this is different. He knows that much.]

If I can get through the water, I can get through whatever else you need me to.

[As long as it keeps him away from whatever shadow is on the other side. And as long as there's no more ice.]

[spelleton]

[ He'd just shrug and say that it was accurate, really. But he appreciates that Avery doesn't joke about it; this memory, far in the past though it is, is a vulnerable piece of him that most people never see. ]

You might not like this next part, regardless.

[ Here they are; a room he remembers better than the others, with a closet he can open. No matter how much he tries to think about it objectively, to him it only has room for one person.

He swings the doors open, and gestures.

The feeling of being hunted, that pressure, only increases.

(Now, again, it only has room for one person.) ]

[subconmodo]

[It's small. Only one of them is going to fit--at full size, anyway.]

You first.

[It's said quickly, and with no room for argument.]

I'll figure out the rest once you're in.

[spelleton]

You're the one who's actually here.

[ If he still had a heart, it would be beating fast. He remembers this all too well, in its terrible clarity. There's the feeling of time slowing down, in the way that seconds seem to become longer under pressure.

He's a projection. The most he'll suffer is a dispersal. He grabs Avery's arm with all the force he can muster in this form, trying to convince him otherwise. ]

[subconmodo]

[He stubbornly digs his heels in and glares at Ekkehardt.]

No, what you seem to be forgetting is that I'm the one who can shapeshift, you self-sacrificing fool.

[spelleton]

[ Normally he'd argue and dig his heels in further but, well, there's a simple reason he doesn't want to be the first in, a simple reason he doesn't want to be pushed away, closed in, made helpless again like before.

(It's a weakness. He shouldn't reveal it. It's something that can be used against him.

But if he doesn't say it, if Avery guesses it, then it's not saying it out loud. Then it's fine. Maybe.) ]

Fine. Fine. [ He's not a child any more; it's been years, decades. Surely - surely - he can face this spectre that's always clung to him, this faceless thing that haunted him throughout his childhood. ] Then I stay out here. With you.

[ The knife is in his hand before he even consciously thinks about it. The crashing noises in the distance are getting closer. ]

[subconmodo]

[Avery scowls.

Really. They could have both been safe in there, but instead they're going to go up against the wolves on their own?

He sighs and shakes his head.

Ekke really doesn't want to go in, does he?]

If it makes you feel better, I've probably killed way more people than tall, dark, and spooky out there.

[He lifts his hands and waits]

[spelleton]

What makes me feel better is getting this over with. [ Ekkehardt doesn't look at him; there's a note of shame in his his voice, a rare thing for him.

They don't have to wait long. The monster that crashes into the room is a distorted creature, tattered and warped, with a gaping mouth that opens up to reveal nothing but darkness. Bright-patterned cloth and bloodstained braids decorate it like macabre trophies. It can't seem to decide on the number of limbs it wants to have, but all of them are reaching out.

Ekkehardt's silhouette flits into battle. In a dream, his knife is always as sharp as he wants it to be; it slices off reaching claws and limbs like it was made for the purpose.

(When backed into a corner, he always bites back. He can't afford to do anything else, not when he is the protector, rather than the protected.) ]

[subconmodo]

[Ah.

So Ekkehardt's beyond even quips now.

And then Avery sees the monstrous shadow enter, and the second he sees the braids, he understands.

Gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes, he focuses on a point behind the beast, a large magic circle drawing itself into being. His gaze flits briefly over at Ekkehardt, hoping that he sees it before it goes off.

He doesn't want to take the chance that this hulking beast can understand them.]