[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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[spelleton]

[ The chains are firmly secured, leading into a metal container that looks more like a medieval torture device than any kind of casket or coffin. It swings, with the occasional creak, suspended from unseen anchor points high above the lake, as if cradled by a slight breeze.

There are locks, but the moment Avery makes an attempt to open it, the locks crack and fall into the water.

The shadow that's been guiding him is gone as if it was never there; there's no need for the projection, now that he's found its source. There's no other doors this time; Ekkehardt, his face in shadow, wreathed and shackled in chains, is bound inside. Perfectly still.

The only question is what to do in order to wake him up.
]

[subconmodo]

[Avery's stomach turns, the sight of all the shackles and chains making his chest tighten.

It's not him there, he knows, but seeing someone else in that position isn't much better in the end.

He reaches in, both to try and remove the chains and to shake Ekkehardt awake.]

[spelleton]

[ It would be almost expected if the chains tried to seize him, yank him down or try to imprison him.

They remain completely inert, if stubbornly heavy to push aside. The more Avery looks, the more details on the shackles and chains become clear; symbolic scenes of grasping, clutching hands and blood being spilled.

The more he touches them, however, the more they begin to rust and crumble away. Ekkehardt is still, seemingly, completely inert despite the shaking, though every time a shackle breaks or cracks, he stirs like he's struggling to wake up. ]

[subconmodo]

[He growls.

This would be so much easier if he could just blow up the damn thing and somehow leave Ekkehardt intact!

He pauses to ram into the side of the casket with his shoulder, more out of frustration than anything else, then returns to digging him free.]

[spelleton]

[ The combination of movement from digging out the chains and hitting the casket has an unexpected effect; the entire thing tips violently, dumping Ekkehardt out unceremoniously.

There's a moment of ringing silence as chains and shackles clatter to the ground all around him, and then he sits up, eyes glowing. It's so absurdly abrupt that for a moment, all he can do is cover his face and laugh. ]

[subconmodo]

[He winces when Ekkehardt hits the floor, and little by little he cracks open an eye to watch as he... laughs?

...

Not what he expected there, but at least he's awake.

Avery visibly relaxes and folds his arms.]

Have a nice nap there, sleepyhead?

[spelleton]

It wasn't the worst rest I've ever had. [ A pause, and he grins a little; they're alone in his dream, after all. ] You did sweeten things a little for me, however.

[ He wonders if this will fade from him or not; his unremarkable dreams are the only things that tend to slip away from him, abstracted shards of colour and sound gone like sand drawn into the tide. The dream is already beginning to crumble, gently, around the edges. ]