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ph_logs2025-01-19 03:59 pm
pumpkinhollow) wrote in ph_logs2025-01-19 03:59 pm
January Event - Lost in Dreamland
**Plain text version here.
You “wake.” Your mind solidifies and reality defines its shape around you. Your eyes focus and you become aware. What are you aware of?
Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Perhaps it seems good at first, but it is not. Wherever you are, only horrors await you here, pulled straight from your own mind. Or the minds of others.
Move. You must move. The dream is a landscape. You must traverse nightmares to escape. Seek other dreamers, and flee. To the center, to safety in false daydreams. To the underground, where the Necropolis will conceal you. To the edges, where you can feel your consciousness break free of this sunken sleep and return to the world of hard objects and light. But you cannot stay here. Gods help you if you stay here.
[ Your nightmare can look however you desire. Laws of reality and physics do not apply. Fuse them, reshape them, choose your flavor. Be liberal with content warnings and respect sensitive content guidelines, but otherwise, there are no rules. ]
What sort of dream do you find yourself in? What do you dream of? Is it success, love, peace? A life that never came to pass? For your troubles never to have occurred? Do you dream of fame or glory? No matter how beautiful or extravagant, no matter how simple or selfish, the things you desire most are yours.
You cannot escape from here. This is the center, as far away from the waking world as you can go. But the dream entreats you, as do the illusory figures within it. ”Stay,” they croon. ”There is nothing for you beyond here. Only nightmares, only terror. You are safe here. You are loved and wanted and happy here. Why would you ever want to leave?”
Time blends together. It often does, in dreaming, but this feels different. How long have you been here? Do you remember what you were doing before? How you got here? Have you ever even been to a town called Pumpkin Hollow? You can hardly remember.
Maybe that was the dream, and this is your reality. Even as the edges of it bleed together with that of your neighbor, even as fleeting memories come back to you, even as a little voice deep within you screams at you to wake up--- you have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of this place. Here you are happy and safe. Here you are everything you ever wanted to be, living the life you always wanted. Here there are no debts, no suffering, and you shall never die.
You belong here. Surely.
A seemingly endless maze of stone walls, mismatched in their depth as if they were patchworked together over centuries. Mausoleums, slotted tightly against one another. Covered marble passageways. Stone statues and carved reliefs depicting gargoyles, knights, Virtues, mages with skull motifs--- necromancers, perhaps? Banshees and dullahans, elves and humans and dwarves and orcs and fae folk of all sorts. All of these things line a network of cobblestone pathways lined with powder snow drifts and crunchy brown grass. Names are carved into the arches above mausoleum doors. Some are familiar, some are not. Fairbanks, Gladwyn, Dirthariel, Leeds, Larson, Endrin, Applegate, Brenning. Above you, white pillar candles float magically overhead, burning bright, lighting your way through the dark pink sunset sky.
In the distance, you see the achingly thin spires of the Winter Cathedral. An austere grey monolith with ornate carvings of horses and snowflake-shaped stained glass windows. Perhaps you will find some solace there. Otherwise, make your way to the river. A familiar ferryman awaits you--- though returning to reality this way will have a small consequence.
[ Encountering Mortanne here is possible, though her threads will be heavily restricted. You can do a thread here with someone else, though! It’s fine to be here without encountering her. Returning to the island by ferry will cause your physical body to die in the process, leaving you a ghost for the usual amount of time. You can also return to the nightmare and get out through the edge. ]
Like breaching the surface of water, you return to the solid, bright sharpness of reality. Actual reality, firm and true. You are where you went to sleep the night before, though some time has passed. It might take you a bit to figure out exactly how much, though…
Lost in Dreamland
Bedtime Story
{ CONTENT WARNINGS: Unreality, dream logic. Mind the CWs in individual threads, as they will vary! }
It is no secret that in the Emerald Isles, winter and sleep have a deep connection. To some extent, this is true everywhere. The whole world seems to fall asleep under the blanket of snow. Plants recede back into the ground, trees stand leafless and slumbering till spring, animals hibernate. Nights are longer. But the local folklore intensifies this, as Mortanne presides over Winter and the Beyond.
As the tales go, the Beyond is the realm of souls, the place where the essence of a person goes when it separates from their body. And while this primarily refers to death, it can also refer to the half-step between living and dying--- the unconscious mind. Sleep, and moreover, dreaming. And thus, winter and dreams have always been kindred spirits. Connected through their ties to Mother Mortanne and to a hushed and sleeping world.
Perhaps it is for this reason that when you go to sleep on the night of January 19th, 16:55, it is a deeper, more consuming sleep than you’ve ever felt. One that swallows you whole, dragging you down, and down, and down, into a sunken place that is deeper and more terrifying than dreams.
By the time you think to feel afraid, it is already too late to jolt yourself awake.
It is no secret that in the Emerald Isles, winter and sleep have a deep connection. To some extent, this is true everywhere. The whole world seems to fall asleep under the blanket of snow. Plants recede back into the ground, trees stand leafless and slumbering till spring, animals hibernate. Nights are longer. But the local folklore intensifies this, as Mortanne presides over Winter and the Beyond.
As the tales go, the Beyond is the realm of souls, the place where the essence of a person goes when it separates from their body. And while this primarily refers to death, it can also refer to the half-step between living and dying--- the unconscious mind. Sleep, and moreover, dreaming. And thus, winter and dreams have always been kindred spirits. Connected through their ties to Mother Mortanne and to a hushed and sleeping world.
Perhaps it is for this reason that when you go to sleep on the night of January 19th, 16:55, it is a deeper, more consuming sleep than you’ve ever felt. One that swallows you whole, dragging you down, and down, and down, into a sunken place that is deeper and more terrifying than dreams.
By the time you think to feel afraid, it is already too late to jolt yourself awake.
LULLABY
Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me
You wake. Or do you? It feels a bit like waking, and yet, it does not. It is similar enough to waking that one might believe it to be so. You feel ground beneath your feet, or perhaps a bed beneath your back. Or something. You feel… something. It isn’t like waking. But it’s a little bit like waking. Perhaps it is not. But perhaps it is as close as you are able to get. Let’s try this again.You “wake.” Your mind solidifies and reality defines its shape around you. Your eyes focus and you become aware. What are you aware of?
Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Perhaps it seems good at first, but it is not. Wherever you are, only horrors await you here, pulled straight from your own mind. Or the minds of others.
Move. You must move. The dream is a landscape. You must traverse nightmares to escape. Seek other dreamers, and flee. To the center, to safety in false daydreams. To the underground, where the Necropolis will conceal you. To the edges, where you can feel your consciousness break free of this sunken sleep and return to the world of hard objects and light. But you cannot stay here. Gods help you if you stay here.
[ Your nightmare can look however you desire. Laws of reality and physics do not apply. Fuse them, reshape them, choose your flavor. Be liberal with content warnings and respect sensitive content guidelines, but otherwise, there are no rules. ]
Starlight and Dewdrops are Waiting For Thee
If you reach the center of the dreamscape (or perhaps you “woke up” there), you will find an oasis. You find yourself immediately embraced by a beautiful dream. All of your wishes granted, your deepest desires pulled directly from the core of your soul and brought to life before you in vivid detail.What sort of dream do you find yourself in? What do you dream of? Is it success, love, peace? A life that never came to pass? For your troubles never to have occurred? Do you dream of fame or glory? No matter how beautiful or extravagant, no matter how simple or selfish, the things you desire most are yours.
You cannot escape from here. This is the center, as far away from the waking world as you can go. But the dream entreats you, as do the illusory figures within it. ”Stay,” they croon. ”There is nothing for you beyond here. Only nightmares, only terror. You are safe here. You are loved and wanted and happy here. Why would you ever want to leave?”
Time blends together. It often does, in dreaming, but this feels different. How long have you been here? Do you remember what you were doing before? How you got here? Have you ever even been to a town called Pumpkin Hollow? You can hardly remember.
Maybe that was the dream, and this is your reality. Even as the edges of it bleed together with that of your neighbor, even as fleeting memories come back to you, even as a little voice deep within you screams at you to wake up--- you have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of this place. Here you are happy and safe. Here you are everything you ever wanted to be, living the life you always wanted. Here there are no debts, no suffering, and you shall never die.
You belong here. Surely.
Sounds of the Rude World Heard in the Day
With how far you had to sink into unconsciousness to be here, it’s hard to believe one could go any deeper. But the Beyond is a many-layered place, and perhaps by descending a bit further, a bit deeper, a bit closer to death, you can find another place. Maybe you have a connection to death that brought you here. Perhaps you find your way by mistake. Either way, you may find yourself on a more peaceful journey through the Beyond through the Frozen Necropolis.A seemingly endless maze of stone walls, mismatched in their depth as if they were patchworked together over centuries. Mausoleums, slotted tightly against one another. Covered marble passageways. Stone statues and carved reliefs depicting gargoyles, knights, Virtues, mages with skull motifs--- necromancers, perhaps? Banshees and dullahans, elves and humans and dwarves and orcs and fae folk of all sorts. All of these things line a network of cobblestone pathways lined with powder snow drifts and crunchy brown grass. Names are carved into the arches above mausoleum doors. Some are familiar, some are not. Fairbanks, Gladwyn, Dirthariel, Leeds, Larson, Endrin, Applegate, Brenning. Above you, white pillar candles float magically overhead, burning bright, lighting your way through the dark pink sunset sky.
In the distance, you see the achingly thin spires of the Winter Cathedral. An austere grey monolith with ornate carvings of horses and snowflake-shaped stained glass windows. Perhaps you will find some solace there. Otherwise, make your way to the river. A familiar ferryman awaits you--- though returning to reality this way will have a small consequence.
[ Encountering Mortanne here is possible, though her threads will be heavily restricted. You can do a thread here with someone else, though! It’s fine to be here without encountering her. Returning to the island by ferry will cause your physical body to die in the process, leaving you a ghost for the usual amount of time. You can also return to the nightmare and get out through the edge. ]
Lulled by the Moonlight, Have All Passed Away
Should you find the edge of the nightmare, you will be able to push yourself through the iridescent membrane at the edge of consciousness. You float through the seemingly endless darkness for a moment, then another, then a third, senses dull and drifting drunkenly, until suddenly---Like breaching the surface of water, you return to the solid, bright sharpness of reality. Actual reality, firm and true. You are where you went to sleep the night before, though some time has passed. It might take you a bit to figure out exactly how much, though…
Those who escape the nightmare will find themselves home sometime between 1/20 and 1/30. Those who stay in the dream oasis will be comatose until the dream ends, and will not wake until 2/8. They will find the return to reality deeply unpleasant. What are you willing to endure to keep dreaming a while more?
no subject
They fall quiet again, leaving only the subtle sound of their breathing and the distant whistling until a sudden, sharper huff like someone making a decision cuts through the air instead.
A limb, a hand, reaches out. Fumbles around, until it touches your arm—light, careful, not a threat, barely more than air brushing by. Then again, firmer and more urgent, grabbing and urging you towards the hiding spot they've already found.
no subject
"Thank you."
He's coming back. She goes perfectly still, barely breathing, nothing in her consciousness but the sounds of his footsteps and his whistle. Measuring how far away. How near. Remember to keep breathing quiet.
no subject
His footsteps approach. The whistling gets louder, more piercing.
Their breathing has stopped entirely, this time. No matter how much their lungs burn, no matter how light-headed they get as their heart pounds in their chest, they keep their mouth clamped shut and don't dare to breathe.
His whistling stops. The footsteps stop. There is the subtle, but unmistakable, scrape of something metal against metal somewhere down the wall from where you both hide.
no subject
Don't move. Her eyes are closed, so not even blinking might distract her.
Please go, she thinks. Something, please happen. Something to take his focus away. Remove him. Please.
no subject
"You can't hide forever, you know," comes his voice, bright and animate in such a way as to feel threatening. A cutting sense of cheer, just as sharp as whatever implement he wields, from someone who doesn't care about you at all.
The scraping ends with a sharp flick. The footsteps move away—slowly, too slowly—until they're so faint you can barely hear them, yet never completely slide out of your awareness.
Beside you, they gasp for air to fill their aching lungs and mutter indistinct curses under their breath, but there is a sense of momentary relief. "We have a few minutes. A— a couple minutes. I-I don't know exactly."
no subject
Despite the terror, despite how close they came to death, something in her mind knows what to do. You simply move to the objective, you keep going, even if you're so scared you think you're going to throw up. Where do they go, and what do they do now - they can do it together. They can get out of here together.
no subject
"I used to know the route. I— I don't know if it's changed."
It's been so long since they felt like they could move—or has it? Time is strange, here. Time has been strange for— for a long time, for longer than they can even remember in the here and the now. Have things changed? There's only one way to find out.
no subject
A hope and a prayer is better than nothing at all. The other voice is her one beacon in this place, where she couldn't tell you how long it's been since she twitched, couldn't say where she's supposed to be. But she's here all the same, and every instinct to survive has kicked back into gear.
no subject
A hand finds your wrist. There is a scar across the palm, but the grip itself is gentle and seeks only to guide you in what they hope is the right direction.
It does not hold on forever. But they do not rush ahead. They don't want to leave you behind to deal with him alone, they've never wanted to put people in harms way for the sake of their own safety, their own principles, and yet—
(Don't think about that.)
no subject
Well. She wouldn't blame them. So she stays near, but prepares for the worst. Hopefully, this is still the way out.
no subject
They lead you down one path, then another. There are corners to turn, shallow steps to descend or ascend, open and yet claustrophobic corridors to pass through. At first, it seems as if their instincts are correct, moving with relative confidence through the impossible maze, heading toward a target unseen even by eyes that can see.
But then something changes. A wrong turn? The space shifting around you both? Something else? It's unclear. It hardly even matters. Because one way or another, they start to sound panicked. Confused. Stressed noises barely suppressed so as not to lose their cool and give your position away as the whistling is suddenly much, much closer.
no subject
"I can help, but he won't like it."
Soft, but somehow still audible to her companion, knowing in a heartbeat that it will mean they will have far less cover. But if they split up, maybe. One person alive is better than no person alive.
"Are you prepared to run?"
no subject
It's happening again echoes in their skull, as their own panicked heartbeat pounds in their ears. Every instinct tells them not to breathe, to clamp their mouth shut until he's gone, until it's over—
But your voice keeps them in the present. "...as I can be."
no subject
She takes a breath, tightens her grip on her cane, and brings it down with force. When it strikes the ground, CT will feel herself brought to a different kind of awareness - the door, the precious way out, suddenly she knows where it is in relation to her, in time and space. But what she's also been made aware of is exactly where he is, everything about him whispering enemy enemy enemy and precisely where he is in relation to the pair of them.
Two things are going to be also extremely obvious. One is that it's a loud enough noise that he can hear it too, and two is that the sound found him to hurt him. Crippling disorientation, she remembers someone describing it as. Ringing in the ears, dizziness, slowing reflexes and timing, one sonar strike that she can only do so often because of the effort involved.
You know where the exit is, Agent. Go.
no subject
Startling clarity washes over her, cutting through the formless infinity to reshape it into the familiar halls of the Mother of Invention. Florida's position rockets itself into her awareness like her HUD lighting up with IFF at the same moment that she hears his unbearable whistling shriek off into silence. Silence and then bright, colourful frustration—danger.
CT does not want to leave the young woman behind. She does not want to leave another sacrifice on the altar of her own survival. But there is a fear in her so deep it strikes deeper than bone, an instinct nearly impossible to ignore.
She rests a hand on the woman's shoulder and breathes, "I'm sorry—"
And then she's gone.
no subject
One more, at least. But she cannot hold it against the stranger. Self-preservation is an understandable thing. Instead, she takes the existing information and uses it to run in a different direction. Still away from him, but not the way that her temporary companion had gone.
If she gets out, then it's worth it. If not? Then Helena's going to be wondering what this was all even for.
no subject
CT does not waste the time she has been given. She knows this place, now, and she knows where she must go—there was only ever one den of safety in this wretched place.
Behind her, Florida is recovering. There is a strain around the edges of his too-cheerful voice as he calls out a, "I told you you couldn't hide forever!" and the footsteps start up again, faster now, more purposeful.
He scrapes the blade of his knife along the wall the whole way.
no subject
Eventually, she'll be cornered. But by that point, maybe the other will be free. And their pursuer will realize he's only chasing a stowaway, not his prize. At some point, the dream must end.
no subject
It's clear that he's tired of the long-game, now. There will be no slow build to her eventual discovery, there is only an armoured man with decades of military training and a nightmare that's on his side.
He and CT clear ground in tandem. Perfect mirrors of each other's progress in opposite directions, dream logic that's invisible to the naked eye. As CT comes upon her target, as she navigates the blind-spots in the final few cameras and keys her code into her bunk door with shaking hands, Florida closes in on his new quarry.
The dead end appears as her door slides open.