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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
He leans down, and takes another look at her - and, now, he catches that listlessness, that reluctance, and tilts his head, almost cartoonishly.
"Hmm, but maybe yew're lookin' for somewhere to fix all'a dat gloom, huh? Plenty'a people come to God Grove for just that, yew know! Fixin' broken hearts, findin' their places in da world, meetin' people who are just like 'em after bein' all lost n' lonely in their lives..."
A beat. He cracks a ridiculous little grin.
"Da food's pretty good, too. Yew feelin' lunchie? I know I shore am."
no subject
(Oh, yeah, because you can toooootally trust anybody calling themselves a god, right, that is like the opposite of being trustworthy -- )
"Um. A little, maybe." Hesitant, she tries for a smile. There's not a lot of feeling behind it. "Yeah."
no subject
Hey, a smile's a smile, right? That's progress! Breaking down those walls is all about patience, after all. He spent years upon years coaxing nervous, lonely Drainfolk into becoming energetic, proud Bizzyboys, so what's one stranger who's a little troubled? Sure, he let his name and the Bizzyboys as an organization do the work for him for years, but it's probably like riding a bike, he imagines. Never quite forgetting how, even if there's some rust to shake off!
He doesn't generally conjure objects in his domain, preferring the fulfilling weight of hand-made food, but that doesn't mean he's ever been incapable of doing so. And, here, he can do it himself here and there! He does still go for comfort food, however - a simple snap clatters a colorful tray of fast food onto small marble perches, the appearance of bright plastic contrasting with elegantly carved stone strangely.
Inspekta doesn't hesitate to dig into his own, though, just barely not talking with a full mouth. (He's the God of Leadership, not Elegance, cut him some slack.)
"So, what's da place yew came from like? It anything like things 'round here?"
no subject
"Ooooh," she says, the brightest she's looked since she walked up to meet Inspekta, and seizes the closest burger and fries. Nimona upends the entire cup of fries straight into her mouth and gets to work demolishing the burger. "You mean the Kingdom? It sucks. Hopefully it sucks a little less since I exploded part of the Wall they said kept all the monsters out, but doing that exploded me too, so, you know. Or do you mean the island? 'Cause that's way better. Except for that time I got a cursed locket from a demon, but I've sworn bloody revenge on that guy and a bunch of his family too if I can swing it. Hey, whaddya think'll work better, tearing his eyes out or ripping off his arms first?"
The more she talks about her violent plans for Efrain, the more cheerfully animated she gets, like she's talking to an old buddy and not a God of Leadership.
no subject
Another few fries munched, all too casual. He looks incredibly pleased with her brightening as much as she has, though. Food and violence! Who knew that was the key to friendship all along? Somebody should write that down.
"If I had to guess, prooooob-bubbly his arms, but I think yew could get a lil' more direct with it, yew know? If yew take out his eyes or dis-arm him, he'd still be able to move around, right?" He asks, without so much as a hint of irony. He's genuinely contemplating all of this. "What'cha gotta do is get him in a way that he won't be able to move anymore! Like his legs! Or his heart! Or yew can convince one of his family members to get him, keep yew from havin' to get yewr hands dirty. There's a lotta options, dependin' on what yew're after!"
no subject
"Dude," she says, delighted. "How come you didn't say you were the God of Leading Awesome Revenge Plots?! You're way cooler than I thought." Stuffing more of the burger in her mouth, she swings her legs to sit crosslegged right across from him. "Going for the heart. Classic for a reason! I definitely wanna get my hands dirty, though."
Curving the fingers of one hand, she pops out a set of claws that weren't there a second ago.
"I'm gonna wreck that guy's shit if it's the last thing I do."
no subject
The teasing comes with a snicker, but it's all in good fun - the way Nimona lights up has Inspekta brighter in return, entirely too joyful for someone who's contemplating the murder. What does it matter where the comradery comes from, though, so long as it's there? (And, after all, what's a little demon assassination among friends?)
The joy on his face only dims when its replaced with curiosity over her claws, his detached head tipping to the side. "Hey, that's a neat trick yew got there! Bet it'll be real hand-dee tearin' that guy apart."
A pause, long enough to dump the last of the fry container into his mouth, before he perches his jaw against one of his disembodied hands, looking like he'd be leaning against a table if he had one. (Or an arm to do so, for that matter.)
"So, cursed locket, huh? Must'a been a real bad one to wanna moider over it! Unless yew're a death for mild ink-con-veen-yunce type'a person. Which I guess yew can be back on dat island! Eugh, do yew think the demons come back after yew kill 'em? That'd be da worst, wouldn't it?"
no subject
She flashes another sharp-toothed grin.
"And I dunno, if Efrain comes back? That just means I get to kill him again. There's worse ways to spend a weekend."
no subject
While teasing, there's a genuine affection there. Maybe she just reminds him of some of the flair of people back home, maybe he's charmed by how frank she is with all of this, but consider Inspekta a fan. Of all the visitors he's had in this strange place, it'll be a particular shame to see this one go.
"When yew tear him up good, then, come lemme know, will ya? Don't spare no details, neither! I know yew're gonna get one Drain of a story outta it, and I wanna hear it all!"