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outofshadows2013-12-17 06:59 pm
shadowmods) wrote in outofshadows2013-12-17 06:59 pm
Entry tags:
Nightmares!
Hello, players.
The RNG has spoken and the following characters have been chosen to have nightmares:
Maria Collins Carbonell
Dorian Carver
Peeta Mellark
Draco Malfoy
Herc Hansen
Elena Gilbert
The mods are going to ask those chosen to write up a detailed description of a single nightmare your character will have. Please posted it as a comment/reply to this post. We're going to give you a week to do this. Please get your nightmare to us by Tuesday, December 24. (If this is going to be a problem, please let us know!)
Remember, just because you weren't chosen to have a nightmare, that doesn't mean you're not going to be involved in the plot. Far from it. In fact, this plot is going to encompass the entire game. More details will follow.
I would say, "the odds were ever in your favor" but Peeta was one of the chosen few so that would just be tacky
The RNG has spoken and the following characters have been chosen to have nightmares:
Maria Collins Carbonell
Dorian Carver
Peeta Mellark
Draco Malfoy
Herc Hansen
Elena Gilbert
The mods are going to ask those chosen to write up a detailed description of a single nightmare your character will have. Please posted it as a comment/reply to this post. We're going to give you a week to do this. Please get your nightmare to us by Tuesday, December 24. (If this is going to be a problem, please let us know!)
Remember, just because you weren't chosen to have a nightmare, that doesn't mean you're not going to be involved in the plot. Far from it. In fact, this plot is going to encompass the entire game. More details will follow.
Nightmare for Dorian Carver
"David, did you fall asleep again?" The voice spoke, amused.
"Michael?" Dorian's voice replied.
"Wake up, Jesus, for a dead guy you sleep too much. How's my princess doing?" Michael asked as Dorian looked up in the rearview mirror. He had no reflection but he also could not see Michael's face just the smoke rolling. He didn't smell cigarettes.
"Are you smoking? And why is the car red?" He sat up confused by it. Something was wrong. "You're dead, Michael!"
"David, I told you to quit smokin' that ganja, it's making you crazy. Well crazier." Michael laughed and turned his head looking at Dorian as they rolled down the road. Dorian realized what the smoke was. He could see straight through Michael's head. His right eye gone and half his forehead. The smoke rolled from the wound. Yet Michael did not seem to notice it but Dorian, froze in horror. "How is she David, you were suppose to take care of her." Michael spoke as Dorian started trying to open the door and by the time he got it open the whole scene changed, melding into another one.
Four chairs and each one had someone bound to it, beaten and bloody. Hikaru Sulu, Sarah Jane Smith, Jane Kirk, Kurt Hummel. There is a woman in white standing in the middle smiling a bit too widely. For those whom saw into Dorian's mind during the mindscape, it's clear who it is. It's Phoebe, his sire. She stood in a blood stained wedding gown with a white veil over her too pale face, white ringlets of hair hanging around to frame it.
"Come out, come out, my love." Her voice sounds like honey, but her eyes show a darkness her young body hides. "Come to me, I have a new game for us to play."
Stepping into view, half cloaked by the shadows was Dorian, He looked confused. Looking around for Michael's corpse or the road, but dressed in all black, a sharp contrast to Phoebe's bloodiness and white and red. Black on black, and a whiter shade of pale. "I am not your love. I hate you."
"Foolish boy, must we fight this every time, my darling husband. You belong to me. You shall always belong to me. Quit snarling and get over here." She spoke in that sweet voice but Dorian did not move, it was like he did not see the friends he cared so much for busted, bloody and bruised around her. At least until she stepped up and ran her claw like nails across Sarah Jane's arm getting a scream from the woman then the sounds outside of Phoebe licking the blood off her fingers was muted like it was all muffled under water. "I will enjoy devouring them, they all taste so good in their own ways. This pretty flower, you fancy her. But you know she's pure. I can taste it on her as much as you can read it off her. Why not give into him, destroy the innocence? You will feel better my love."
"I am not like you." Dorian hissed, fangs and all yet still, he kept to the shadows. He made no steps to save them, he knew Phoebe well enough. Glaring at her with a hatred never before shown to those in this world. "Let them go, and you will not speak of her like that."
"No." She spoke grinning wide, her teeth dripping blood now that they had not before. "She's sweeter then any I have had... Well, short of your children."
The hiss returns again as Dorian finally steps into the light. Kurt looks up form his chair and tries to speak but it, like all other sounds, is muffled. Dorian walked on past Kurt and towards the woman in white. "I killed you once, and I can do it again."
"You cheated, and here I am, powerful. You may get your hands on me but not before I kill them. What is more important, me or them?"
"Them." he hissed at her.
"You hurt me." Her hand reached back and yanked, the potence she had displayed, as she yanked Jane's head clean off. Sulu was screaming and fighting against her chair but the sounds were muted. Dorian's eyes went wide as Phoebe and he were sprayed with Jane's blood which gushed like a fountain.
"Remember when we used to dance in the garden to the sounds of their screams, my love?" She coo'd as she cuddled Jane's severed head like a teddy bear. Swaying a bit. Dorian stood frozen staring at his sire in horror. He had no words, words failed him in that moment as he watchedher with the head.
"Do not look so horrified, you wanted to do it, you thought about it that night she was in your bed. Oh, the way this beautiful girl teased you. It was an art, she would have made a better Kindred then you." Phoebe chuckled.
"Shut up! I never wanted such a thing!" He finally said, stepping forward to try and knock the head out of Phoebe's hands. He did not fight the fact Jane would have been a better vampire. That much was true. She let go of the head, which rolled away. Her hands shot up
around his neck and she started to squeeze. Despite being short and young, she was strong enough to lift him up off the ground by his neck. Her eyes glew an unnatural color of blue.
"These pathetic humans weaken you, just as my brother weakened you! Stop being a coward, kill one of them and I will spare the rest." She hissed throwing him backwards into the wall. "Kill the virgin and I shall bother you no more. Be the killer I made you!"
Hitting the wall hard enough to crack it. He coughed up some blood as her words hit, his eyes shifted to Sarah Jane, he could not. He just COULD NOT do that. "No."
Phoebe shrugged as the floor opened and the chairs all fell through, even the one with Jane's body. Spikes under, death was swift and fast for everyone. The spikes rolled, the bodies vanishing as blood started to ooze from the walls and for some reason was rolling also from Dorian's fingertips "No choice is a choice. It condemns them all to death. Their blood is on your hands, bow, carry that weight." She started throw him backwards into darkness as everything went black.
maria's nightmare
her heels are loud in this dreaded silence. while off in the distance a dog may bark, a trashcan may clang over in an alley, or a siren may cry, all sounds or signs of life are far. everything behind her has shut off into complete darkness; she cannot turn back. there is only forward. but as she passes by one open-shuttered window, it turns closed and cuts her off from the light. then the next, and the next. never any of them stay open. a closed door locks just before she passes by it. she sees the shadow of someone in a window just before it closes. she's alone.
sooner rather than later her eyes just remain on the bricks of the street as she hears the sounds of the tail-ends of people withdrawing around her. nothing she catches out of the corners of her eyes are solid figures, just the glimpse of a person there, their arm, shoulder, a silhouette. a tremor is rising in her body as the darkness encapsulates her from their neglect. the lamppost at the end looks farther and farther away. too many shadows between.
soon she's running toward it; something is nipping at her heels. she can't look back to find out what. her breath is ragged. the faster she runs the harder the doors and windows slam closed to her till it's a cacophony of banging like gunfire sounding out in a war. finally, she reaches it, and she stops right at the edge of the circle of golden light, but suddenly the light on the lamppost is impossibly above her and out of reach. she looks up and up but she can never find it, and that's when the thing behind her grabs her, shadows wrapping around her from behind and covering her mouth.
maria gasps awake.
elena gilbert | if this is too much detail, lemme know.
You’re not alone at first. You’re surrounded by people, friends, family. You feel warm and safe, and surrounded by love, and you’re happy. Happy isn’t a feeling you’re used to feeling, but everything around you is familiar. The friends you’ve known since you were children, the man (men?) you love, the family that has always protected you. Even the woods are familiar, as you’ve never been anywhere else.
You’re home.
But that feeling of security doesn’t last for long. Standing on the hill ahead of you are three figures. Two of them are people – or at least shaped like people. You can’t see their faces, but one is dressed in a suit, the other a red dress and necklace. They’re both carrying long daggers, and while the wound in the man’s chest is evident, blood red staining the dark blue of his shirt, the woman’s is only evident when her back is turned, a hole where her dress should close and dark red discoloring the magenta color of her dress. Between them, sits a wolf, glowing eyes gleaming out from the darkness and lips pulled up in a snarl. All three of them give off the impression of power, the idea in less than a second they could take everything you value from you and feel no remorse at all. They feel old, the kind of people who have seen empires rise and fall, some of them even their own.
Maybe it’s because they have.
The man in the suit is the one to speak first. You’re terrified of him, but you trust him over all the rest, even if that trust is tenuous. He promises you that the people you love will be safe, all you need is to give yourself over to the wolf. You’re ready to do it, you will give anything to protect the people you love, but that doesn’t seem to save them. They die anyway. You’re the doppelganger, after all. You are to be protected, which means no one around you is safe. With that, you watch them start to fall, the bodies piling around you like a mass grave.
A woman with long black hair bursts into flames.
Another woman takes a stake through the heart, her body fading and desiccating as she collapses to the ground.
You can feel your neck starting to bleed, the dark red color spilling down the front of your shirt, but before you can feel the lightheadedness of the blood loss wash over you, another man drops to your left, taking the hit for you.
Two shapes try to take a stand in front of you, but one is bitten by the wolf, and the other is taken away, lured to the side by the blond that holds her hand out to him.
All your defenses are gone, save for one. You only have one thing left to lose and it’s the thing you treasure the most, the thing you’ll stand in front of, blocking the path of until the day you die. You will let them take everything else, but you won’t let them take him.
Then, out of nowhere comes the Hunter, moving faster than you can even begin to comprehend. He kills the wolf, quickly and efficiently, and the two on either side break apart, the woman with a violent scream, and the man looking away suddenly, the grief apparent in his stance.
The wolf was their family, after all. Even you can see that.
They know how to stop the Hunter, however. The only way to do that is through you. They turn, daggers in hand, and you do the only thing you can do.
You run.
You turn and bolt down the path, running as fast as you can, and as you do, the forest becomes a graveyard, stones marking the names of the people you love. Isobel Flemming, Jenna Sommers, John Gilbert, Alaric Saltzman. As you get further and further down, the names become more and more important. Damon Salvatore, Stefan Salvatore, Caroline Forbes, Tyler Lockwood, Matthew Donovan …
Until finally, the last one you reach is your own.
And standing behind it is … you.
Only, it’s not you. It’s just your face, the one that’s never truly been your own, no matter how much you’ve tried to claim it as such. She sneers back at you, holding up a nice and slicing open her wrist, letting the thick blood dribble out onto her skin.
Last chance. Her words echo with a sneer as your eyes are drawn to the blood, your last chance, your possible salvation. One sip and you’ll live forever, become the thing you never wanted to be but finally be part of the world you never seemed to be allowed to leave. Three … two … one …
You watch as the wound closes over, and she shrugs. Better luck next time.
The next thing you feel is a blade slicing through you, one strong arm on your shoulder as the edge of the dagger is driven into your back. It’s done with so much force that it feels like part of your body has gone numb. You look down, and you see a hole in front of your gravestone, only it’s filled with the water of the river that runs under Wickery Bridge.
Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it, Elena? The woman’s voice is snide in your ear, but that’s the last thing you remember before you tumble forward, ready to sink to your death and let everything else fade away.
And with the splash of the water, you wake up.
Nightmare for Peeta, WARNINGS.
A high-pitched scream woke him up. Peeta blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze that surrounded his vision. He tried sitting up, and that's when his torso slammed directly against the cold metal strip that kept him down.
"Katniss!" He was yelling uncontrollably. The screams must have been hers, and she must be nearby.
It had all been a hallucination, brought on by the venom they were injecting into his system daily now. Prince Tristan, the Nysgods, Gebo, Diana, and—
Katniss. She'd just arrived in Gebo.
Another shrill shriek, and Peeta no longer had the luxury to think about what was real and what wasn't. He could pinpoint the origin now. It was coming from right behind the curtain to his left. The curtain was beautiful and thick, and it was covered with a mesmerizing liquid shine that oozed and slid down the fabric.
"Katniss!" He was banging himself against the metal now, yelling and crying and roaring. He could feel it. They'd done this so many times to him now that he could feel himself loosing his mind.
Then the person next door spoke, and Peeta felt a dread rise over him. It wasn't her. It wasn't even a woman's voice. Had he imagined that too? But the voice was unmistakeable. It was Haymitch.
"Is that all you've got, sweetheart?" Delirious laughter followed before it was muffled by his mentor's violent screams.
Peeta saw a set of slender, silver fingers pull the curtain back, unveiling both Haymitch's tormented body, and a stand topped with a tray of sparkling surgical instruments. But neither horror could be compared to the woman who had moved from one body to the next and was now standing just inches over him.
A strand of her curled, brown hair fell off her smooth shoulder and bounced just over Peeta's face. He barely whispered his next word, the only word he's said since he woke up.
"...Katniss?"
She smiled and ran her hand down his cheek. Even her eyes, which had been painted with a dark purple eyeshadow, glimmered.
"Don't listen to her Peeta." Haymitch's voice was rough and scratchy. "She's a mutt. That little girl from District 12? She's been gone for a long time!"
His mentor was now the one banging against his metal constraints, howling for Katniss to come back to him, to leave the boy alone. Peeta couldn't stop looking at her. She leaned down so slowly, staring into his eyes and yet taking time to steal glances at his lips.
"Your heart belongs to me, doesn't it Peeta?" she asked, her voice so soothing and coy.
And then whatever Haymitch was saying transformed into a dull, white noise. Peeta only nodded, giving her whatever answer she desired, and when he did, she planted her lips on his and kissed him.
The next few seconds were a blur. When he opened his eyes again, his shirt was unbuttoned and pushed aside and Katniss stood over him, back straight, lips pursed. A flare of light and then he sees it. The knife in her hands, positioned over his heart not with the precision of a surgeon, but with the desperation of a murderer who's finally caught her prey.
The last words he heard before the knife plunged and Peeta sat up, panting and sweating in his lofted bed in the Men's Barracks of Gebo, was accompanied by a careless, unattached voice:
"You said it was mine."
Draco Malfoy
You smell it before you even open your eyes, that acrid scent of burning hair and flesh and everything else that goes along with it. Something's on fire; you'd know it anywhere. You spent a week trying to get the smell out of your nose before, and now it comes to you in a flash along with all the memories that go along with it. The sudden nausea that hits you is like a sucker punch, rendering you almost immobile for a long before before you coach yourself through it in a soft, constant murmur: Open your eyes, Draco. It's not Hogwarts. You're not at Hogwarts. The war's over. Open your fucking eyes.
It works after a few repetitions, and though you're pretty sure you're pathetic for needing that sort of assistance, you push the thoughts to the back of your head. One thing at a time.
Nothing's registering to you besides that constant, overwhelming odour. You know you have surroundings - you have to - but you don't really register them; you're in one of the tunnels, and you don't know how you got there, just that you are. It's a faint hissing, then a gurgling, and then a rushing of water that makes you finally pay a little more attention, your eyes coming to focus on the tunnel just in front of you. Something's cracked, things are giving out all around you; tunnels are filling up with water that soaks you to the knees, and there's a creaking you didn't realise had been there before. It's almost a constant, a low groan indicating strain on something. You can put two and two together: you're going to die down there.
You shut your eyes again, and when you open them again, there's nothing but crackling. You're not sure what's worse, the telltale crackle of flames licking up something or the strained groan of the tunnels; you don't much care to think about it.
It takes another murmuring of your mantra before you open your eyes again, and this time you're huddled in a corner of the barracks. One of the innumerable floors: it looks the same as all the others, except that things are flipped over, used as some sort of cover for people to hide behind. That doesn't change the fact that the floor is littered with bodies Nysgod and candidate alike, each bleeding out, their lifeless eyes staring out in various directions. Most are twisted in such unnatural ways that it's impossible to tell yourself they're just sleeping, and so your eyes snap up to the lone bit of wall that isn't splattered with ichor and isn't in the direct line of one of the fires that's broken out, creeping its way up curtains and wood and anything else that gets in its way. You stare at it for a long moment, only aware that you're talking to yourself after your voice gets loud enough to drown out that crackle.
You're not at Hogwarts, you're not at Hogwarts, you're not at Hogwarts.
It's not helping; your voice cracks.
You're in Gebo, you're in Gebo, you're in Ge-
Your chatter is abruptly silenced by your own shriek, which is just as abruptly silenced by your hand clapping across your mouth, and you shrink even further back into your corner. A beam gave out somewhere in the room, the ceiling starting to collapse in places, and the fire roars alive; your mind provides the serpentine image of Fiendfyre upon it, and with a jolt, you shove yourself up, forcing yourself out of the room. Your feet skid and slip on the slick floors, though you refuse to think about why they're slick. Blood, you're pretty sure, but you don't think about it. It's all in the back of your mind, tucked into a tiny box to be forgotten about.
You shove your way through a door, ducking to keep from losing your head to another cracking beam above you. You thought there should be stairs here, but there's not: there's more of the same, more of the bodies, more of the fire. Another door lies ahead, cracked ajar unlike the one you'd just gone through, and your feet are making a mad dash for it before your mind can catch up with everything around you. Before you get there, you trip, your shoe catching on something you'd been ignoring on the floor - a body, an arm, a tangle of limbs no longer attached to their proper own; you don't know - and you hit the floor harder than anticipated. Something cracks loudly, and you're almost grateful for the way your heart is thudding a tattoo against your ribs that makes it all the way up to your ears. You're pretty sure you're bleeding - you taste blood in your mouth, if nothing else - and the fact that you can't move one arm suggests that you've probably broken it in the fall. Your body is numb; you can't tell one way or another. That's probably how people sustain further injuries, you think bitterly.
But your brain is set to one thing alone - escape - and a broken arm is hardly going to slow you down. Not if it means the difference between surviving (again) or not. You don't want to die in here; it's not even your home. You knew full well before this was the coward's way to live, and you know it now just as well, and that doesn't stop you from doing so.
A voice sounds in your head, and you blink, your eyes focusing on that very same body you tripped over, the one that lies right in front of your face. Your bad arm still hasn't moved, and you're frozen again.
"You're still alive?" The voice asks with a sneer, and you realise it's Devi; her neck's snapped, her trademark jacket ripped and torn and splattered with all manner of unsavoury things. She's been fighting, not that you find that surprising. She's better than you, and you know it. You both know it. Except that she's dead, and you're- Well, you're not. "Wonders will never cease. Of everyone in this place, it's you who's still running. Always running. You're such a waste of space, Draco. Maybe you'll get lucky and fall down the next flight of stairs you find.
Her words are loud in your mind, drowning out everything else. They ring and ring and ring, echoing around your head until you can't get them out. You've been moving - somehow; you don't know when you got up - again. Possibly driven on by the fact that you know she's right. But you're terrified; you don't know what you're even doing except running. Where? You don't know. Just one foot in front of the other until you push past another door. Still more of the same, though this room is more blackened. The fire's getting thicker, and there's smoke threatening to choke you out right from the get-go, billowing up in thick puffs. Your eyes are starting to burn, and you force yourself down to the floor, ducking down beneath the low ceiling formed so you can actually have half a prayer at getting out. Never mind that the barracks is going on forever. Your skin feels like it's on fire, stinging from the extended proximity to everything burning around you; your breath comes in tight wheezes and gasps.
You squeeze your eyes shut again and force forward. Suddenly, there's a sensation of falling, your feet giving out from beneath you, the floor giving out from beneath you. All you can hear is your own scream again as you tumble to what you expect is your own demise. You hit the ground, your head snapping back; there's a sharp pain in the back of your skull, and when you reach back, your fingers come away sticky and bloody, and it occurs to you for the first time that you never even thought to look for your friends while you were running. Stupid and selfish and cowardly, that's you.
You've spoken the words aloud before you even realise it happened, and a familiar voice - almost more familiar than Devi's, more comforting - washes through you. Maybe it's a hallucination, maybe your subconscious has taken on Charles' voice in hopes of making you some sort of better individual; Merlin knows he's pretty much the definitive 'nice', at least as far as your experience goes.
"You can't even look where you're going, can you? You're so damn scared, you don't even care where you go. You left me behind, you know. I didn't even realise what was happening, and then I was dead." The word catches in your ears, and you try to sit up. All that results is a wave of dizziness that has you collapsing back again heavily, your broken arm splayed out to one side. You can wiggle your fingers; they catch on someone's clothing, and you give it a little tug, just to make sure you're doing something instead of rolling over to die. In your head, Charles goes on: "But good riddance, honestly. There was only so long I could keep up that little facade. You're just so desperate for approval and companionship. It's pathetic."
The implications don't go unrealised, though you simply stare up at the hole in the ceiling, the one you fell through; you barely realise what you're looking at. It looks like a gaping wound, and bile rises up in your throat.
"You didn't honestly think I wanted to spend that much time with you, did you? You're not exactly good company; you're so fucking depressing all the time. Your mind was so easy to twist and manipulate. One planted memory, one kind word every now and then, and you'd come running back like a puppy. It was such a nice reminder of exactly what I can do to a person with my mind alone."
A strange sound cuts through the room, and you realise it was a sob. Your bloodied fingers come up to your eyes, and you realise they're wet. You blink, and when you reopen your eyes, you're back in the tunnel. You're on your feet for half a moment before your knees crumple beneath your weight, the dizziness from the head wound making a resurgence that literally floors you. At least in the tunnel, you're alone. That much is a blessing. You can just drown in peace, you think as you're forced to your knees, wobbling a little where you kneel in the now waist-deep water.
Something strikes the back of your head again, and you cry out, thrown forward; it takes all you have to catch yourself, and there's a shooting pain that emanates through your whole body as a result. It's an all-encompassing throbbing that makes it hard to focus. Your head spins, your body aches, and you want nothing more than to roll over and finally let the darkness creeping at the edge of your vision take over.
"Finally planning on kicking it?" A new voice taunts, this time aloud. Kurt's voice is just as familiar as the other two, and there's a few splashes as he circles around you. You don't look up, you can't look up, not if you want to keep what little you feel like you ate (you can't remember when you last ate; you can't remember what you had) in your stomach. "Oh my god, it's about time. I mean, I went to a high school in Ohio, and you? You are probably one of the most boring people I've ever met. And that's including the football team, some of whom are more one-dimensional than you can even imagine. But you seriously take the cake."
There's another sharp pain in your head, and you're thrown to the side, submerging beneath the water, and you realise that Kurt kicked you. Maybe it's not him, you hope; maybe it's a hallucination brought on by pain and a probable concussion. Your breath escapes you in a rush of bubbles to the surface.
"Trust me, I am never making that mistake again," Kurt laughs, the sound ringing out through the tunnel. "There's definitely better company to be had around here. No doubt about that. I bet people would even thank me if I just let you die right here. I can see it now - a parade held in my honour. Rachel, eat your heart out." Kurt grins, the expresson wicked and unnatural. It's the last thing you hear, and he's the last thing you see before there's a crunch. Everything goes black and painless.
You wake up.
Literally just waiting for me. Sorry! CW: Death
That is what Squadron Leader Hercules Hansen is thinking as he wanders through a deserted, destroyed village in the middle of the desert. The primary reason the village was deserted was due to the impact crater in the centre... A crater he caused.
The remaining buildings were blackened on one side, partially destroyed, but still mostly standing. Herc is wandering through as if in a daze, eyes wide as he looks from charred building, to charred plant... to charred body.
His eyes linger on that figure, it's arms raised as the blast overtook it... And he falls to his knees, dust being kicked up from the ground as he does, planting his hands on the ground.
I'm a monster...
How many times? How many times had he pulled the trigger, cruising thousands of miles in the air, computers locked onto the target... how many times had he done this and flown off without a problem? Without a care?
Too many.
He raises his eyes to the crater in front of him and slumps back onto his legs. A pilot rarely sees the massive destruction they bring. Death from the skies...
He knew the basic details. This was a town of 350 people... mostly civilians. Families. Farmers, wives, children... most gone. Because of him. He had his orders, but orders can't stop the fact that he was the one who committed mass murder.
And, suddenly, amisdt the destruction, Hercules Hansen starts to laugh. A bitter sound, complimented by tears rolling down his cheeks. He looks up to the sky, still chuckling darkly.
"I guess this is why I deserve to be alone." He says that to no-one, voice ragged.
Alone, stranded in the wasteland. No family, no friends... No, they had all been ripped from him... Karma, he guesses.
He continues staring at the grey sky above, before the grief overtakes him. He curls into a ball, muffling the sound of his sobbing, as his tears wet the dust below...