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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
Cassandra looks pointedly at CT's knife, then back at her face.
There's one of him.
no subject
Eyes flick nervously toward the general direction of the approaching sounds, jaw working silently.
...I know the weak points of the armour. But he's one of the best.
no subject
Tell me.
no subject
She mimes, more than signs, now: under the arms and a gap between the shoulder and chestplate, the inside of the thigh and groin, the space between the underside of the helmet and collarbone, a narrow sliver of the abdomen.
no subject
We can try to get out, and hit him if he reaches us. Or we can ambush him first.
no subject
CT's hands flash through signs with a tangible terror. If he gets the jump on us by even a second, we won't stand a chance.
no subject
A pause.
Your call.
no subject
CT's hands still for a moment as she listens, mentally mapping the remaining distance between their hiding place and the encroaching whistling. Closer, now, ever closer. From... the west side, from whatever maze of corridors stretches out from around the corner CT had been braced behind before she lunged.
...if you think you can get his back to us.
no subject
She swallows; her throat moves visibly.
Take cover.
no subject
CT's hand goes back to her knife and with a quick glance, finds a nook that may or may not have been there before to press into for temporary cover.
Maybe this is insane. But a part of her is so very tired of simply hiding.
no subject
It's that knowledge as much as anything else that lets her try again, crouching low and tossing the pebble with a flick of her wrist, as though skipping it across a pond.
no subject
Again, the footsteps pause and the whistling slows. For all that he should, perhaps, be more suspicious of the same trick twice, sound is sound and after a long stretch of silence, he'll take advantage of whatever he can.
He walks faster, this time, those heavy armoured boots against the metal floor. Bright blue armour intercut with those thin slivers of less-protected black undersuit rounds a corner, back to the corridor they hide in.
CT glances across at Cassandra.
no subject
Lowers the third, and draws a dagger and flings it in the same motion.
(Somewhere outside the dream, outside the world, a twenty-sided die tumbles and comes up 19.)
cw: violence, blood, death
The dagger cuts through silent air and bursts that silence with the sharp point of Florida's pained shout as arterial blood erupts from the vital structures in his inner thigh.
His leg gives out, his knee hits the ground, the hefty blade of CT's combat knife sails end over end until its point buries itself in the exposed sliver of his throat.
A fresh spray of blood. Horrific choking sounds. Sudden pounding feet as a figure of brown barrels into him, grabs the combat knife and drives it deeper. Pulls it out. Drives it in again. All without a word, only grunts of exertion and gargling from the man as CT makes sure this sticks.
no subject
It's probably unnecessary to look about and make sure there isn't another assailant approaching. She does it anyway.
no subject
There is no one else. There is only the visceral sounds of violence turned back upon its once-expected perpetrator and the dark.
Except, no—the dark shifts, changes, clarifies. There is a structure, now. An inverted dome-shaped room, a circular metal platform jutting out into an expanse of glass: an observatory, hanging from the bottom of a ship floating through open space.
CT and the lifeless form of Florida now occupy the centre of the platform, blood pooling in their shadows. CT's whole body heaves with her breathing and her hands are covered in blood.
There is no pride, or even accomplishment, but there is relief.
no subject
Cassandra crouches slightly to meet CT's eyes, and speaks aloud for the first time -- quietly, but it still resounds after that heavy silence. "Are you with me?"
(Not are you all right.)
no subject
CT swallows, hard, but nods. "I'm— I'm with you. Fuck."
Keep it together. She goes to drag her hands down her face, but stops short when she smells the blood. Right. Don't do that.
"We should move," she says, her head half-turning toward the door in the room's rear bulkhead.
no subject
"Agreed," she says, and follows the other woman's glance. "Do you recognize this place?"
no subject
A quiet thank you as she wipes her hands, as best as she's able. A nod, in answer.
"...this was home for four years," she says, feeling somehow like an admission. "I know it like the back of my hand."
no subject
She puts every bit of certainty she can muster into the words. If CT believes it, it may work.
no subject
"I know the way to safety," CT specifies and affirms at once. There is no easy exit, but there is a logic to this place, this memory-tangled nightmare. Maybe, in this place, that's the same as a way out. Maybe when they reach the sanctuary of her old room, the door will lead somewhere else. Somewhere free.
CT nods her head toward the doors, again. "Follow me."
It's not a complicated route, not really. A corridor, a lift—the only way out of this isolated area of the ship, the whole reason Florida had once been able to back her into a corner here. More dark, silent halls where CT leads them through every blind-spot on well-worn instinct. Cold grey metal and looming, illuminated screens full of names and numbers, even less sensical in the dream than reality. All leading towards a single, simple hallway of eight doors with nameplates where CT knows exactly which to head for.
no subject
(The screens have names on them, names she's almost sure she recognizes; places, she thinks. Places she's never been to, only heard of. Maybe that's only the dream.)
no subject
First door on the left. A digital nameplate reading Connecticut and South Dakota. A number pad on the lock, the numbers shifting, changing, making it hard to focus on.
CT glances back at a diagonal, at the second door on the right, as if nervous. The sign there says Florida and Wyoming.
She looks back, but closes her eyes and types the code from muscle memory alone.
The lock clicks.
no subject
And stands ready to follow CT through the door, when it opens.
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