Open Chronicles Blood and Wind

A roleplay open for anyone to join
(OOC: I dig it. We're gonna make it happen!")

"If it is corporeal, we can kill it. If at all, it is the beast that I think it is."

Arnor turned his head towards Edderick's suggestion- he had passed the tavern on his way over, though he didn't quite linger over to it to investigate.

Arnor murmured something in his native tongue- something he rarely did, before turning back to the gathered party, and then pressed on. He entered the tavern quietly and slowly, glancing to and fro. Not too many patrons were left- but the party that walked in was the one he addressed.

Arnor took the lead back to the tavern, but after that, he was as useful as a wet towel.

"Uhm...where are the... others?"

He asked the smaller female, not feeling entirely comfortable speaking to an undead giant in a suit of armor that called him "kinsmen".

Edderick Stormbane
Cauldwin Talson Valfnyr
Ras Sorane
Flint
Sharon Trask
 
The next several minutes were comprised of Sharon, or who Ras thought was Sharon, tearing off bits of fabric from her clothes in an attempt to wrap his wound tightly, hoping to stop the blood that flowed forth from it. "It has more control here than I could've ever imagined. It's not aiming to kill, though. It would have already, if that was the case." He spoke, wincing at every light brush against the gash on his side. "It's giving us trials... Testing our fears, repressed memories. We've got no choice but to play its game."

'Sharon' looked up at him, listening intently to his estimations of the situation they were in. After a bit, she stood, beginning to pace around without a word. "You're rather nonchalant... I'm guessing this dream has been treating you a bit nicer?" Either she wasn't paying attention, or she was intentionally ignoring him. Either way, her avoidance of his question made him uneasy. "Ras... Let's start being honest for once, yeah?" She asked, turning to him with narrowed eyes. Ras raised a brow, but he didn't move for his dagger just yet. As she turned to him, stepping slowly in his sirection, he stood his ground, not betraying fear.

"How long? How long before I'd outweigh my usefulness, and you'd turn your back on me and Flint? Everyone loses their value after awhile with you, don't they? You simply toss them out like trash." Her stance still wasn't a hostile one. In fact, her tone was even playful, and a smile creeped on her lips as she began circling him. "If you're going to paint yourself as my allies, you should've done your research first... I see right through your tricks." Ras murmured, glaring at her with each pass she made. She sharply turned towards him, face inches from him as she retorted. "What if this is a trick? In your dreams, anything is possible. I can be anyone you want me to be. Right now, I'm Sharon... Just another woman for you to fuck, and then kill if need be. You don't put value in people. Let's be honest, Ras." She repeated, smile now somewhat unsettling as she moved ever closer to him.

Ras slowly stepped back towards the door of the keep, making sure not to turn his back to her. Even then, her steps followed suit, not letting him get too far. Her movements were seductive, yes, and her eyes alluring. Yet, they were distinctly inhuman. Jittery, mechanical, cold. His hand reached behind him, searching for the wood of the door, hoping to find it unlocked. "Let's. Be. Honest..." His eyes went wide as the subtle changes to her face became noticeable. The widening of her mouth, the extending of her fingers into grotesque, dirty claws.

As his hand finally found the door, he gasped out, feeling as the wood suddenly changed form, a sudden wave of cold hitting his back as he fell through what was now a wall of black smoke, similar to what the keep was formed from within the dream. On the other side of the smoke, he thudded against a cobblestone floor, looking behind him to find what he dustinctly remembered to be the inside of the keep. Another Sharon stood there, along with... Him? An exact copy of himself? "This is becoming bothersome..." He growled, shifting to his feet as he looked back in front of him.

The fake Sharon had now fully transformed, skin leathery, with several dark splotches. Her face had extended into a jagged muzzle with several sharp teeth, her eyes sunken back into her skull, fully black in color. The creature was hunchbacked, its feet nothing more than two thick trunks of flesh with no discernable toes. "TRUST. NO ONE." It growled in a distorted voice, slowly lumbering towards him. The first good piece of advice, and it came from an absolute abomination. He couldn't be certain that the Sharon behind him was real either, so he barely interacted.

Drawing his dagger, he swiped it side-to-side at the monster, not making contact, but slowing its advance. Looking over his shoulder at Sharon, he quickly shouted his order. "If you're the real one, be ready for that bastard beside you to change at any moment!" He told her, looking back just in time to hop out of the way as the monster's fist collided with the floor, the impact cracking the stone.

Sharon Trask
 
Sharon looked around the hallway they were in. In spite of the storm and creepy vibe it was a rather comfortable looking place.
"Have you seen Flint yet? We should stick together, who knows what the dream demon will try first."
The false Ras shrugged, "Your guess is as good as mine, perhaps we should look for him, he could be anywhere and like you said the demon might try to take us down while we're separated."
Sharon nodded and boldly led the way down the hall, foolishly turning her back on Ras.

They wandered through the halls for a few minutes before Ras unfortunately decided to fill the stormy silence with conversation.
"How do you know so much about dreams demons? Have you faced one before?"
Sharon shrugged, not wanting to get into that line of questioning that would no doubt lead to more.
"No... Not as such... I heard stories from someone who had, and the rest just made sense, ya know?"
She hoped that the questions would stop there but it wasn't meant to be.
"But even so, you seem very calm even though you realize that we're in a dream realm that it controls and everything is false..."
Wanting to change the subject she turned to him with a smile, "Well, I know that you're real because I fell asleep on you, that sort of closeness obviously put us in the same dream!"
With a small twirl she turned back to face down the hall... But not before she glimpsed a trail of blood being left behind them, this caused her to pause and furrow her brow, there wasn't any blood trail ahead of them...

She suddenly stopped and drew her sword when a door opened ahead of them and... Ras fell through it? He stumbled to his feet and swung his knife as a demonic version of herself came after him.
"If you're the real one, be ready for that bastard beside you to change at any moment!"
What? But if that's Ras...
She was about to turn around and swing her sword when she suddenly felt a cold chill rapidly spread out from her right shoulder.
She found she couldn't turn around and when she tried she felt a hand on her opposite shoulder to hold her facing forward. She looked down and saw a set of long straight claws impaling her from behind and protruding from her chest, so sharp and thin that she didn't even feel any pain... Till now.
She was suddenly aware of a hundred cuts in her back that had created the trail of blood behind them, he had been attacking her this whole time without her noticing!

She gasped as she felt the strength leaving her leadened limbs and she heard a now demonic voice in her ear.
"You're a conundrum... All at once mistrustful and yet far too trusting!"
It was all she could do to maintain the grip on her sword. The demon lifted her in the air on his claws, further impaling her on his hand, and then her weight drove her down to his elbow.

Her vision grew spotty, her blood was flowing freely and she could vaguely hear the laughter of the demon behind her... But it sounded distant...

So far away...

... So quiet...

... Time to sleep...

Eh, screw that.
Her eyes snapped open and she suddenly brought her sword up and then down clean through the arm. The severed member flopped to the floor and Sharon pulled herself off the bleeding stump as the dream demon screamed and vanished into smoke.
Blood welled up in her throat and she coughed it up onto the floor as she teetered forward and fell to her knees.

She didn't know how she did it or what to do now... But survival was the only thing on her mind, and to do that she needed to wake up.
She looked up at Ras facing his demon.
"I hope you wake up in time... It'd really suck to die like this... If you don't I'll bleed all over you."
The adrenaline that brought her back was draining, and with it her subconscious consciousness.

___________________________​

In the waking world she was indeed bleeding all over Ras, coughing up blood and fighting to wake up.
 
Edderick seemed confused at being asked.
"Uhhhhhh, well they should be upstairs. Though it's really quiet."

The young adventurer rings out her cloak before putting it near the fire on a table and heading up the stairs.

There she found the innkeeper and the sleeping adventurer.

"Did they get tired?" Edderick asked innocently before the tavern-keep shook his head and wiped his hands with a comfortable rag, his stress and fear of sleep on his face. But before an explanation could come, Sharon had begun to bleed in the waking world. The tavern-keep got on his knee and tried to staunch the flow, but found no wound but her internal organs. Her body convulsed and he seemed completely unequipped.

Edderick rushed to the girl's side and held her down the best she could before looking over to one of the bystanders trying to stay awake to avoid being put in a nightmare world.

"Grab my bag!" Edderick screamed, her hands getting covered in blood incredibly quickly. Once the bag was in reach the young adventurer reached into the bag and fished around as fast as she could while the tavern keep struggled to keep the woman held down by himself. Edderick found what she was looking for, a simple looking tiny rod. Edderick snapped the rod and gently whaffed the chemical under Sharon's face, trying to wake her up through a stimulant of ammonia. An old Volta miner trick.
 
Sprinting through the forest seemed like a daring and heroic thing at first. After about five minutes, it was just getting tiring.

Flint had slowed to a jog, his eyes scanning amongst the trees ahead of him. He was deep in the forest now, but he hadn't heard the demon since it first beckoned him onwards. The barber halted, catching his breath as the frantic sound of his stride died off to a silence. All around him, tall dark trees loomed, and the man felt disoriented. Which way had he come from? He turned his back, and-

Something heavy fell on him, bringing him down. Flint screamed as he landed on his back, holding a terrifying figure at arms length. Its skin was rotten, its eye sockets empty black voids. With chattering teeth, it wailed at him.
"You could have saved me, lad! You left me to the worms!"

Flint swore as he threw the figure aside, scrambling away to brace his back against a tree trunk. He looked at the rotting corpse that had fallen on him, it's decrepit face all too familiar.
"You... father? How are...?".
He'd lost his father a long time ago, and while this corpse was rotten and long dead, it held a haunting resemblance to the man he once knew.


The corpse stretched a bony arm out towards him, reaching for Flint's shaky leg. Before it could take a hold of him, the arm fell off. Flint watched in horror as the corpse began to fall apart and melt away, the head leaving out a final few words before it too faded to nothing.
"You failed me, boy. Deep down you know this...".

Silence reigned once more, as Flint sat alone breathing shallowly. A single tear slid down the barber's cheek, and despite sustaining no injuries, he suddenly felt too weak to stand. The silence did not last long however, as an oddly familiar voice filled the air. Flint's horrified expression shifted to one of bewilderment.

The laughing man walked out from behind the tree Flint was leaning on. He too wore a waistcoat, and sported a belt clad with multiple throwing blades. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black in this light. His hair was just as dark as the barber's, his build uncannily similar to Flint's own.

"Look at you. You're pathetic."

The figure that stood over him was... Well, it was him. Flint met the eyes of his identical doppelganger, a tall man who cracked his rough knuckles as he came into view. His hair was trimmed just like Flint's, as was his beard. He even smelled of ale and wine, which made sense considering the night Flint had just had. All that differed with this clone was his smile; a sick, twisted curl of the lips, teeth gritted into a wolfish grin.
"You let your old man die!". The clone moved with lightning speed, coming down on Flint with a savage punch to the jaw. "You'll fail tonight, and let Ras die!", Another punch, this one to the bridge of the nose. The real Flint's eyes began to tear up, pain flaring across his face. The clone did not relent. Continuing with punches, it continued in its rant. "And when I'm done with you, I'll slaughter everyone in this damned inn. And it will be all. your. AGH FUCK!"

With its last punch, Flint swung his head to one side, the doppelganger cracking its knuckles against the hard bark of the tree. It fell back a couple of steps, and the barber pressed his boot against its stomach, kicking it away. Flint rose to a stance, a cloud of dark smoke behind the doppelganger catching his eye. Through it, he saw a terrible sight. Sharon was on the floor, and Ras was grappling with some awful looking beast. One thing was for sure. He and Ras were going to have to drive this demon to the waking world. They couldn't beat it on its own turf. They needed the advantage, and backup.

Flint's clone snarled at him, stepping between him and the cloud of smoke, separating him from his only ally. The barber raised his fists, ready for a bloody brawl.
"Alright you handsome bastard, come at me!"
 
The small group had arrived back at the inn without incident, but it appeared those who stayed behind were not so lucky. A few of the villagers had succumbed to sleep, Cauldwin quickly shook a few of them awake and turned to say to their new compatriot, "If your really here to help with whatever this is, try and keep the weak willed awake."

"Did they get tired?" Edderick asked innocently before the tavern-keep shook his head and wiped his hands with a comfortable rag, his stress and fear of sleep on his face. But before an explanation could come, Sharon had begun to bleed in the waking world. The tavern-keep got on his knee and tried to staunch the flow, but found no wound but her internal organs. Her body convulsed and he seemed completely unequipped.

Cauldwin's gaze dropped to the two, he shook his head. Weren't these the ones who initially planned to hunt this thing? Was there plan really to enter a state at which they would be at this things mercy? Rather foolhardy. The dark haired woman he had met earlier stomach then violently ruptured followed by spasms. Well, that's bad, but before he could start applying first aid...

Edderick rushed to the girl's side and held her down the best she could before looking over to one of the bystanders trying to stay awake to avoid being put in a nightmare world.

"Grab my bag!" Edderick screamed, her hands getting covered in blood incredibly quickly. Once the bag was in reach the young adventurer reached into the bag and fished around as fast as she could while the tavern keep struggled to keep the woman held down by himself. Edderick found what she was looking for, a simple looking tiny rod. Edderick snapped the rod and gently whaffed the chemical under Sharon's face, trying to wake her up through a stimulant of ammonia. An old Volta miner trick.

Cauldwin grabbed the bag with his arm and set it beside them. He kneeled down next to Eddie and the woman to get an idea of what to do about the situation. Eddie had the right idea, severing the woman from whatever force was causing such grievous injury but this was somewhat beyond worldly alchemical solutions. This ailment was doubtless of an otherworldly origin and would need something more than what amounted to smelling salts to deliver the woman from this affliction.

Cauldwin reached back to the alchemical satchel behind his hip, left of his coin purse and right of his waterskin. He took from the satchel a long folded line of tattered linens, only semi sterile as they were taken as spoils from his many sentencings, but it should be enough to somewhat stop the bleeding and buy the woman some time. As he dressed the wound, he quickly weighed his options. Without anything short of divine intervention this woman would die, thankfully the Warfather was watching Cauldwin. He whispered a small oath beneath his breath, beckoning to the Warfather to bring the woman's consciousness from her dreamscape, through the Rusted-Realms and back the the waking world, using Cauldwin's shade in that realm as a guide.

Either he would be wrong about the simpler solution, his shade would drag her back, or she would perish. In any case: it fell to her to survive long enough for a solution.

Ras Sorane
Flint
Sharon Trask

Edderick Stormbane

Arnor Skuldsson

 
Ras distinctly heard the sound of tearing flesh behind him, and the sounds of pain that escaped his companion. Fuck... She was in trouble, and he had no space to go and save her. The monstrosity before him continued slamming the ground, Ras continuing to jump back to avoid the devastating blows. In no time, he'd be cornered. He had to give himself some breathing room, but this monster's reach far exceeded his own. Hand diving down for his axe, he tossed it just as another massive claw dived down towards him, missing the throw by mere inches.

As he continued to step back from the beast, he'd find himself near Sharon, glancing just in time to see her bloodied state. Those words she spoke, and the way she looked... They didn't have time to screw around. Grabbing her by the arm, he suddenly pulled her behind a corner, the creature sweeping a claw through the space they once stood to leave a massive gash in the wall and floor. "Shield your eyes, if you still have the strength." He ordered, unlatching a flash grenade from his hip, pulling the activation cord before blindly tossing it around the corner. Even through his closed eyes, the brightness of the bomb illuminated his closed eyelids, and the screech the monster made was all the indication he needed.

Rushing out towards the beast, his dagger met a surprisingly soft abdomen, plunging in with a gasp of the monster. Dragging the blade up through the sternum, black blood spilled forth, Ras hopping up to dig the blade once more into its eye. Just as her demon had dispersed into smoke, so did Ras', but this time, the smoke surrounded him. It swarmed Sharon as well, and darkened their surroundings. When it cleared, they no longer were in the main keep hallway. Instead, they were somewhere that brought Ras terrible flashbacks. However, he needed no flashbacks here. His memories played before his very eyes.

The room was illuminated by two torches on opposite sides of the jagged cobblestobe walls, the wooden, rotted floorboards splattered with blood and gore. Several crude tables and displays were lined across the walls, both filled with objects of torture. There, in the middle of the room, tied to a chair in the near nude was an older fellow by the name of Bradley Graves, a merchant that Ras knew for all the wrong reasons. In front of him, wielding a red-hot iron was a copy of Ras himself, shirtless and sweating from the heat of the room. "Last chance, Graves... Speak the truth."

His copy spoke, neither him nor Graves acknowledging his presence, or the bleeding Sharon's. Why was the entity showing him this? Graves, already with a noticeable amount of wounds from the torture session, just laughed weakly, spitting at the Ras copy. "Eat shit, torturer... I have nothing to admit to." He shook his head, grinning in defiance. Ras' copy just wiped the saliva from his chest, scowling before leaning forward, pressing the iron into Graves' shoulder, eliciting an ear-piercing screech. "We can continue this game all day, Graves... I don't tire easily. I know you're a conspirator, and I don't plan on leaving until I hear you say it." Ras' copy coldly spoke once he removed the iron, circling Bradley. "I'm a fucking merchant! I care not for your baron or his rule! Yet, here you are, cutting my flesh and singing me to near death! Are you proud of yourself!?" Ras' copy just chuckled, laying down the iron on one of the tables. "It's a simple job, once you learn all of the ways to make a man squeal... I do what needs to be done, as an oath of loyalty to the crown." He explained. Bradley scoffed. "You're a sadistic little puppet." He insulted, the Ras copy turning back to him, wielding a pair of rusty hedge clippers.

"I ought to cut your tongue out, merchant... That wouldn't get me anywhere, though. I need answers, after all." He told him, Bradley's eyes going wide with fear. Ras turned his head, not wanting to watch anymore. "Now... Let's see how many tendons I need to cut to make you speak." Ras didn't see the morbid actions being performed, only Graves' screams and protests, and a horrific snapping sound. However, in no time, it was all silenced. As he looked back, the two were gone in a puff of black smoke, a new figure standing at the far wall.

He was dressed in black, standing little taller than him. It was nobody he recognized, the man's skin pale and wrinkled with age, pure white hair cut short, and swept back. He wore black garments, hands gloved as he extended his arms. "Sweet memories, aren't they, torturer? So much ammunition to fuel your own personal nightmare..." Ras wasn't an idiot. This was him. The demon, revealing himself in the flesh to taunt his prey in person. "I'm no torturer anymore... It's behind me. You reached far for that memory. I thought I'd forgotten his face. I'm impressed." Ras addressed him, sheathing his weapons. "Who are you? Why are you hunting people in their dreams?" He asked, those questions being the only ones on his mind at the moment. The man in black only smiled, eyes downcast. "You kept calling me a demon... I regret to inform you that it isn't that simple. I'm actually worse." The eerie response was only met by a narrowing of Ras' eyes. "You can call me many things. The Sleeplessness... The Nightmare. However, I've grown a liking to the name 'Vaskyr.'"

Vaskyr began circling the room towards them, hand moving across the instruments on the table. "Tell me... Have you heard the tales of wizards who experimented with their consciousness? Brilliant minds that wanted to bring their dreams to life. Well... I wasn't what they had in mind, but... I gladly accepted it." He explained, chuckling. "It was enthralling... When the storms grew wild, the sleeping folk were at my whim. Their dream was under my command, I could exist everywhere and nowhere, all at once... When I discovered that they could die in here... It was pure glee. Their final moments, so full of fear... A beautiful thing." Ras didn't react much, but stayed on guard as he came closer, listening intently. "You don't gain anything from them? You don't require the hunt? It's simply a big game to you?" He shook his head. "Just their suffering. Some don't need reason, Ras. Some just revel in the chaos. I'm one of those individuals."

Looking over towards Sharon, he analyzed her wounds, looking disappointed. "The hunts got old, of course. I found no fighters, nobody to fight back the nightmare. So when I found you three here, I jumped at the opportunity. A true test of my talents. Most of you impressed me... She's a tragic case, isn't she? Doesn't seem like she has very much left." Ras looked towards Sharon. He was right. Not only that, at any point he could kill her instantly, and Ras would be powerless to stop it. "And what of Flint?" Ras asked, Vaskyr chuckling. "The barber especially surprised me. Somehow, he remains standing. See for yourself."

Vaskyr extended a hand to the far wall, the cobblestone disappearing to reveal a sort of dimensional window. From there, Ras could see Flint in a forest clearing, fighting a copy of himself as he and Sharon had previously. He seemed to have the upper hand, and unlike them, had no serious wounds. Ras had almost forgotten in the heat of it all, but his side stung like Hell, and his armor was a bloody mess. Looking to Sharon, then back to the scene with Flint, he spoke up. "Bring him here... If it's a challenge you want, then I have a proposition for you. One you may find to your liking. I can't give that to you if he dies." He stated bluntly, Vaskyr raising a brow. He began to notice Sharon's form fading as he spoke. Someone was trying to wake her... Honestly, in her state, he was glad someone had stepped in. Vaskyr pointed towards him slowly, chuckling. "I do like a negotiator... Besides, you've earned at least a bit of humoring."

Raising a hand to the viewing window, Ras began noticing Flint's surroundings collapsing and his form wavering, assuming Vaskyr planned to do as he requested. This was their chance to bring this thing out into the waking world...

Flint Sharon Trask
 
The Nordenfiir had their own set of ghouls, vampires, demons.

Ghosts. Spirits. Specters. Some corporeal. Some not. But across all of Arnor's travels, he found one universal truth in the origin of all things that returned from the land beyond:

Pain. And Suffering.

There were no ghosts born of love. Love, passion, happiness- no demons from a love of life, of things. Spirits remained due to torture, or a desire to cause more suffering.

"We will call this spirit to us. Prepare yourselves."

Arnor stood watch, before he fell to his knees, his sword below him. He closed his eyes, and rested his hands on his knees, focusing on the silver in the room. He learned the meditation process from the Templars- knowing that he could not reach into the dreamworld that the other persons found themselves in, he reached within-

Calling upon the spirits of those that came before, he reached out with his Svalen- and sent the bear wandering to the spirits around him, his head turning only slightly while he focused intently, trying to meet the spirit plaguing these people on his own terms.

Granted, his Svalen form was that of a giant fucking bear and that was something to behold in either the physical world, or the spirit world he was trying to reach. The Templars he met with used it to call Demons out, though it was more akin to lighting a torch in the distance than walking through the door.