INTO THE WOODS ※ GAME EVENT

[wildestmods]

INTO THE WOODS

The faerie faire goes on into the evening, the faire filled with the sounds of revelry. For those who've spent the day there, the cool evening air is welcome respite from the bright sun that's shined all day. Those who still have some faerie gold might even want to invest in a cloak if they haven't gotten one yet, because it may get chillier as night falls.

As evening descends and various floating flowers start to glow to provide light, the spring faeries start to bring out night-time merchandise and amusements, like brightly-colored phosphorescent flower jewelry. Fireflies are charmed to blink in different colors and magical fireworks paint the sky in vibrant light. They're quieter than normal fireworks, but there are still satisfying snaps and hisses.

It seems like it'll be a pleasant night at the fair and those only just arriving in the evening will find a charming scene opening up before them.

But one thing that isn't noticed as evening begins to fall is the way the winter faeries suddenly slink away into the rising dark. Or at least it isn't noticed until it's too late. Some of the summer faeries start to react to it with alarm.

"Where did they go? The winter faeries are supposed to provide security, they signed an agreement. Go tell Ponto and get some faeries with warding magic to shore up the wards." Faeries start flying with purpose to speak to others that need to be put on security. "We can handle it ourselves but we need to get enough people out to the borders."

"Should we disperse the faire?"

"No, there's no sign of any threats and if we re-ward it, they'll be safer here than people scattering in the woods at night. Even if we had the bad luck to be attacked before the wards are re-done we can defend them with our magic - and we're contracted to."

Unfortunately that bad luck hits too soon. While the faeries scramble to re-do the defense wards, an unearthly fog rolls in. Terrible screeches start to rend the air, sounding similar to the screams of foxes. Warning bells ring from warning wards placed in certain areas of the woods.

"Nightrenders!" someone calls out and people in the crowd start screaming, gathering their loved ones closer. Horrifying beings start to pour into the faire and the hand stamps of all the people who bought tickets ahead of time start to glow. Faeries rally around those people, casting powerful defensive spells. Due to the panic, several stalls start to go up in flames due to knocked over cooking fires. Fortunately the stalls are small enough for people to escape them easily and spread far enough apart that they can be avoided, but smoke joins the fog in the air.

If a faerie sees one of the squad of otherworlders, and their lack of glowing hand stamp they're quick to offer a warning. "You have to run! The people who bought tickets ahead of time entered into a magical agreement of protection. The warding takes time to charge. We can do nothing for you, without slow-charge wards we're not powerful enough to protect you. The Nightrenders will devour your brain, or your soul."

Apparently that little disclaimer about not being fully protected that some of them read while coming in (for those that had arrived earlier in the day) was more important than it seemed.

The faeries always point the same way, still trying to help the people without tickets. "To the north! There's a place in a canyon with a large, glowing crystal. It looks like an abandoned market and dwellings. You'll be safe there, the magic of the Heartstone will protect you."

USEFUL LINKS

Setting Background/FAQ | Major NPCs


NIGHTRENDERS

The beings known as Nightrenders start amassing on the faire. Their movements are quick but clumsy, as if every one of their movements is made up of a hundred janky, smaller fits and starts, like they're made of clockwork. The faerie magic summer faeries use seems to do no more than stagger them back or temporarily knock them over, but at least makes it clear to the squad that they at least can be knocked over and slowed down. At the very least it seems to take them some time to get off the ground and back to their feet.

Attacks

They attack anyone they see in different ways. Some they wound with massive claws. Or they squeeze someone's torso and nearly suffocate them to give them a chance at possibly chomping into the heads of their victims to get at the brains. Most dangerously of all, they breathe in with a loud sucking noise, clawed hands guiding the magic that lets them drawn out someone's soul to devour it. It looks like a small delicate thing, sometimes in the form of a glittering star or a flower, as its drawn out of the victim's mouth.

This process can fortunately be interrupted if the Nightrender is attacked. As long as the soul hasn't been sucked into their mouths, it goes back into the victim.

Cursed Aura

But the whole thing is complicated by the magical aura caused by the Nightrenders. When they draw close, everyone around them is choked with fear, grief, and dread. Some succumb to visions of their worse memories playing out in their heads over and over. Some might be able to still stagger away in this state, trying to see through the visions, especially if someone helps them along, but others will find it nearly impossible to do anything other than curl on the ground. It is unknown why some don't have the flashbacks or can power through them more than others, though it's thought that those that repress their bad memories or negative emotions struggle more.

Anyone that helps someone who's having visions may get a glimpse of their memories - and empathically feel a flash of the pain, fear, rage, or grief they felt during the memory. If two people try to help each other move forward when both are having visions, they may transmit glimpses back and forth.

Weaknesses

The Nightrenders cannot be destroyed, only knocked down, or slowed down. However, those with "holy" weapons, spells, or powers, or those who have weapons, spells, or powers that can hurt "ethereal" beings or evil spirits will find they can cause them enough pain that sometimes they run away. Spells and abilities that create magical manifestations of good will and happiness, as well as spells of light, or purification can also harm them and drive them away.

THE SISTERS

The Nightrenders don't speak, but some have the misfortune of hearing two voices echo out of the fog. The come in stereo, only just slightly out of sync.

"Chosen Ones, you must be so confused. You've become lost in the forest, and the Dark Lord's nightmares already pursue you. Fortunately for you, our mistress desires your company. You'll adore obeying her will. Don't run, embrace a better destiny."

Two woman in white masks and straw hats, with cloaks made from the feathers of ravens, come out of the fog, body language almost identical. No eyes can be seen through the eyeholes of their masks, just darkness.

They start attacking, and when they beset their victims they stop speaking, refusing to talk or answer questions, instead filling the air with wild, mocking laughter. One wields twin katanas, the other a kusarigama with a painful claw at the end of the chain that closes down when it hits something.

Nets

While they're extremely willing to injure the squad they seem to be trying to capture them instead of killing (albeit capturing them after they're maimed), occasionally tossing out nets of glowing silver of moonlight. Being caught in the nets renders someone paralyzed and weak, a deep cold settling into the marrow of their bones. Some may even hear the shrieks of dying loved ones, whether they've actually died in reality or not. The Sisters apparently have the strength to carry even the largest of the squad in the air and will attempt to fly away when someone is ensnared.

The nets are difficult to destroy, but can be with great force of some kind. It has to be aimed at the part closest to the Sisters' hands, because the force required to break the nets would also injure those trapped inside them. The cold and paralysis fades when the victims are free, but some of the rescued may feel weak and need help staying on their feet. Unfortunately, even when they're broken, the nets of moonlight seem to be something they can recreate within several minutes.

Smoke Monsters

For some, they don't attack directly. Instead, one of the sisters pulls out a pipe and smoke monsters pour out of it. They try to drag their victims closer to the sisters so they can be caught in their nets. Fortunately, they can be destroyed with enough force.

While the Sisters seem impossible to injure, they can at least be caused pain with extreme enough attacks, something that makes them teleport away before risking any further injury.

PROMPTS

a) RENT
Uh oh, a Nightrender has you. Either it's squeezing you so hard you're suffocating and about to chomp into some juicy brains, or it's in the process of sucking your soul out through your mouth. In either case, you're likely broadcasting visions of your worst memories in small flashes to whoever is near. You're in desperate need of rescue and the summer faeries can't help - their magic is all but useless on the Nightrenders if it didn't have time to build by a covenant. Only others that fell into the Wilderlands like you did can save you.

(Feel free to provide multiple memory options ala a memshare, but keep in mind they'd only be flashes instead of a full memory!)

b) NABBED
The Sisters have got you, their smoke monsters are trying to drag you away, or you're still trying to fight them to avoid being caught. It'll be a lot easier if you have help - otherwise you're outnumbered and possibly outclassed. The only way to stop them is fight back hard enough that they feel you're not worth the effort and teleport off.

c) RESCUE
Perhaps you're not affected by the Nightrenders or are just good at powering through the haze of painful magic they're inflicting on the area. Either way, you're out to help the people around you. Perhaps you run into another member of the otherworlder squad that needs saving - or maybe they join you to protect a third otherworlder, or a denizen of the Wilderlands that also forewent a ticket and is therefore at risk. Unlike many of the people from other universes, many of the denizens of the Wilderlands are powerless and thought they were in for a day and night of safe fun.

There are also other hazards to rescue people from. Maybe a small child has been separated from their parents and is disoriented by smoke, in need of rescued from some flaming tents. Or maybe an elderly person has fallen and is at risk of being trampled. There are lots of reasons people might need help, due to fires, panicked horses, collapsing tents, and panicking crowds.

d) RUN
It's time to run! Perhaps, after some screaming and confusion - and teleportation - you finally grab a buddy and bolt through the woods. You better run fast because the Nightrenders and the Sisters may give up chase at some point but it may take time and moving through difficult terrain in the fog to lose them. Perhaps you and a partner have to help a third, injured otherworlder because they're having trouble walking.

Better head north like the faeries said. The faeries were right that this Heartstone to the north may be your only hope - and you'll have to reach it despite the fading evening light, skies overcast with dark clouds, and fog.

It may be easier navigating in the dark with a partner or two.

e) WILDCARD
Maybe you decide to do none of the above. Go nuts!

OOC DETAILS
❧ Quest magic: Players can handwave that the quest bond magic is tugging the group northward to the safe place, with the mysterious Heartstone. They can also use the quest magic as an excuse for many different threads. As the group tries to run, their scattering movements will affect the magic and cause people to teleport at random, allowing for many different encounters with many other characters. This can explain why two characters that might otherwise stay together through the whole thing might get separated.

❧ Network: The network can now be used. Mirrors can and do float if someone is trying to talk through one and running, and can follow someone as they move, allowing people to communicate on the go or during action. Feel free to start using the network in parallel with the log events.

❧ NPCing: The mods won't be npcing but players are free to npc the actions of bystanders, the Nightrenders, and the Sisters. The Sisters won't speak, just continue laughing, and players can npc their specific attacks, capture attempts, and teleportation. Please just don't have them talk or godmode them dying - they're currently a little too sturdy for that. If you have a question about whether/how something will affect them feel free to ask the mods in the first comment below.

❧ Environment: Feel free to manipulate the environment. There are things left over from the faire people can work with like bow and arrow sets from the competition, horses (which can be temporarily stolen, though we'd like to limit any that are permanently stolen to the (1) horse another player already requested), and even explosive faerie fireworks (they're quieter than the normal thing but still create a big bang). Abandoned stalls also have weapons and supplies to grab as people run for it. If they didn't think to steal or buy useful things during the day, please limit this to only grabbing one or two items as they run, like a cloak or sword. They won't have time to loot for more.

❧ Experimentation: We'd like to encourage people to experiment! Obviously ask other players if they're down first, but it could be fun to do something other than 2 person threads, like maybe 2 PCs banding to rescuing a 3rd. Players are also encouraged to set limitations if they think it'd be more interesting, like locking their final escape prompt from the faire grounds to a single thread partner and playing out the drama of a full escape.

[OOC: Plot is visible so people can see and start plotting together but not open until Nov. 1. The mods will enable comments then.]

Comments

MOD QUESTIONS/COMMENTS/REQUESTS ETC

[wildestmods]

Ask the mods anything or get help with something by going here!

Please use the ooc comm comment so it's all centralized in one place for the mods.

Dan Sagittarius

[hallelujahjunction]

I. Open to Bunny

[In terms of starting off a mission, Dan's finding this all a lot more pleasant than the sterile sheetcake party back on the Rig; so far, it's largely having jovial conversations with faire-goers, enjoying the free ale, watching the live music, collecting all the information they need in the most joyful and friendly way possible, by getting to meet people. Dan's in his element, schmoozing with the faerie folk and, currently, listening to a summer faerie break down the properties of the wards around the event.

What exactly are you warding against? Dan asks, and then, as if on cue, the fog rolls in and the screaming starts.

Dan launches himself up onto Concrete Blonde and brings her around, moving towards instead of away from the incoming attack. He makes eye contact with Bunny and gives a quick nod; they tend to operate in a certain rhythm together, Dan doing crowd control and sniping from a distance while Bunny more directly addresses the threat. And there's a lot of crowd to control here, with people stampeding through the fairgrounds and smoke monsters belching up from the fog. Somehow, even in this chaos, the laughter of the two people who seem to be behind this rings loud and clear.]

I got your back. I can chauffeur the injured out. [Dan gestures to the horse.]


II. Open to Ace

[While Bunny's occupied with one sister, Dan's doing his best to get people away from the warpath of the second. He's got an unconscious woman draped over the back of his horse, and he only just manages to jump the creature over some wooden fencing and into the clear as some of the second sister's smoke creatures claw at her hooves.

Take her, he says to a faerie folk escaping the faire, lowering the unconscious woman into his arms. I'm going back for anyone still back there.

He wheels the horse around, nocking an arrow into his longbow, something he used a few times growing up but woke up here with an absolute mastery of. He sees a large man on the ground, trapped in a net as a laughing sister drags him and struggles to bring him in. Dan's arrow makes a whistling noise as it zips through the air and lodges in the sister's shoulder. It doesn't seem to affect her.]

Get out! Get out now! [Dan yells at the man on the ground, hoping untangling from the net is even an option.]


III. Open to Kaworu and Jon
CW: Dead Children

[Dan's never looked more like the Sagittarius he derives his stripper name from than right now, firing arrows off a longbow at nightrenders atop his stolen mare. He's ferried a half-dozen injured people out of the line of fire, and has, by now, realized that pinning nightrenders to whatever's right behind them is more efficient than going in for a kill shot.

He sees a teenager from the faire - a gangly, barely-past-puberty kid Dan remembers mostly for trying to look down the bosoms of all the women around the free ale cart, a kid named Brent - fall down in front of a nightrender's massive claws, and Dan directs the horse to peel around so he can take a shot. He snipes the nightrender right through the bicep, impaling the limb and pinning the nightrender to the shop wall behind it, right out of reach of the kid.]

Get up, kid, this way- [Dan grabs Brent by the arm and hoists him up onto the shoulders of the horse, trying to position Brent so they can ride off. It's that split second where he's trying to adjust the kid that the nightrender yanks the arrow out from its arm and thus frees itself from its bondage. Instead of going for Brent, it aims for Dan.

Dan doesn't even notice himself falling off the horse, nor does he notice the nightrender standing on his chest and forcing him to exhale a small, glittering thing, what looks like a precious diamond being coaxed into the mouth of the nightrender.

Dan doesn't notice anything, because he isn't on the battlefield anymore. He's somewhere in his past, so overwhelmed with flashes of kids that look just like him dying with horrific grotesquerie, of being in a beat-up van while he watched his brother's bones vanish from his body or his sister's skin turn to acid, so overwhelmed that he forgets that he ever came to the faire or ever left that bloodstained van at all.]


IV. Open to All

[Thankfully, Dan isn't one of those people who needs time before the next fight; in fact, running straight towards danger tends to be his favored coping mechanism. Kaworu and Jon pulled Dan out of the absolute hell of his own mind, and the only way Dan can see to stay out of there is to go back into the fray.

He finds the horse again and gets astride her, firing arrows off to slow nightrenders down. He doesn't know where Bunny is, doesn't know where Price ran to, but it doesn't matter. There are wounded people trying to get away, and Dan focuses himself on that, backing up anyone he sees struggling and swooping in to haul off anyone he thinks is a sitting target.]

I

[bringinghopewithme]

"Shout if you need me," Bunny responds to Dan's nod, nevermind that Dan can barely raise his voice above a speaking tone. He knows what Dan needing his help sounds like. If anyone can hear him over the sound of a fight, it's Bunny. But he doesn't expect to be needed, just yet - Dan knows his limits in a fight, if nowhere else, and with Dan on civilian duty, Bunny launches himself to the edge of the fog to find and confront whatever's summoned it.

Spencer Hastings | Open to Anyone

[eternalmisery]

[It's been a lovely evening full of fortune-telling, gamboling, revelry, drinking and hearty feasting. The faire's a resounding success, and it seems like everyone is having a good time, from the mudsoaked jousting challengers to the giggly bar wenches to the little children precociously demanding the heads of their enemies on a stick. It's a fantastic event.

The problem? Spencer hasn't been awake for any of it.

She tried to stay awake, and God knows there was enough interesting and disorienting material to take in, but the weeks of sleep deprivation torture has clogged her brain full of cotton, and after the third time finding herself asleep standing up, she's taken the initiative to go to the stables, which she figures will be nice and private and full of soft hay. Spencer's comfortable around horses, even though one tried to murder her once. She clumps some of her voluminous dress around her as a sort of bedding on top of the hay, closes her eyes, and really sleeps for the first time in over a week.

She doesn't wake up when the attacks start. She doesn't even stir when one of the cooking fires lights the hay at the other end of the barn and starts to fill the stable with smoke. She just lays there in the stable, completely defenseless and unaware of her mortal peril.]

Re: Spencer Hastings | Open to Anyone

[talk_radio]

[Despite the monsters swarming everywhere Bumblebee's first priority isn't escaping. It's getting everyone else out of here safely.

One of the Nightrenders moving towards the stables despite the fact that the building on fire is a solid clue that there's someone inside. The monster doesn't get very far before Bee sends it flying with a well-placed kick. He takes a moment to assure himself it's not coming back before ducking down to get a look inside the stables.

The presence of a human girl who has somehow managed to sleep through all of this is surprising. She can't stay here though. Even if he disregarded the Nightrenders Bumblebee is 99% sure that fire plus humans equals bad

Bee cues up a song and turns up his volume as high as it will go for a much-needed alarm.]

♪Wake me up before you go-go!
Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo!♪

Elle Bryant

[millenyal_pink]

For a moment Elle’s senses are completely overwhelmed with the stench of fear and the sound of screams. As she is jostled around by fleeing faire goers, she comes back to herself.

She looks between the monsters, the overturned stalls, the faeries, and the running civilians. She sees a woman and a child hiding behind a stall, trapped by fire and fear, and she runs over.

“This way!” she calls and reaches her hand out.

She stays crouched and escorts the two humans between covered areas, overturned booths, and spreading fires until they reach the edge of the faire grounds.

“Go!” She tells them, then turns and runs back into the faire to find more people.

I) RENT: Open to Dan and Kaworu (PM me if you also want to tag this)

In the chaos, a Nightrender has managed to wound Elle. A great tear has been gouged across her shoulders, staining her pink sweater with blood.

Fuck, she really likes this sweater.

As she instinctively goes to shift, she is caught in the creature's Aura.

Elle is lying prone on the ground and attempting to push through the overwhelming memories. She shakily begins to push herself up as the Nightrender moves in to attack her again.

II) RESCUE: Open to All

Elle has been leading civilians from cover to cover, hidden away from the creatures and into the woods. Her own natural stealth has allowed her to help others to stay unnoticed as well, but her good luck can only last for so long.

While leading a small group away from the chaos and confusion, a Nightrender tears through the fallen booth they were using as cover. Elle immediately puts herself between the creature and the others and begins to change.

Her bones cracks, she sprouts fur all over her body, and she grows to eight feet tall. Supernatural Rage pours from her, potent enough to unsettle even the most stoic of beings.

With a great roar, she bares her fangs at the Nightrender and prepares to pounce.

III) NABBED: Open to All

While she is failing to shred through the Nightrenders the way she would most creatures she encounters, Elle has found great success in knocking them down or tossing them away.

As she disposes on the Nightrenders, she fails to notice one of the Sisters approaching until it’s too late. The net has been cast and Elle has been caught.

She screams as the silver burns her skin on contact. She begins to tear at the net with her claws and teeth, acting on little but instinct, but she only manages to tangle herself further.

Elle is desperately clawing into the ground, trying to anchor herself as the icy chill and weakness sets in. The Sister is beginning to drag her away.

[hallelujahjunction]

"Hey, you!"

Dan isn't talking to Elle as he thunders in on that stolen horse, wielding his longbow and accompanying arrow with so much ease that you'd think he was born with it in his hand. He's trying to get the attention of the nightrender as it moves in on Elle, and he's successful - successful enough in getting its attention that he can fire an arrow through its foot and into the thick mud, hoping that that'll help pin it.

"Get away from her." Dan pulls the horse around again and pins the nightrender's other foot, aware that telling someone to back off while pinning them in place is counterintuitive, but hoping he's making his point clear. He jumps off the horse and grabs Elle, trying to drag her away from the nightrender and get her on the horse-

-when Elle's bad memories crash into his own mind so hard it's almost like the nightrender itself has got him again. Dan gasps and lets go of Elle, then goes to help her up again.

"It's okay. It's not real. It's not happening right now," he whispers in her ear with that scratchy, ragged voice of his, his throat constricted from what he just saw.

Stacia Novik (open to all)

[credit_not_blame]

I: Werewolf? Therewolf!
Stacia looks around, wild-eyed, at the fog and the approaching monsters within it.

"Uh-uh," she says, shaking her head. "Oh no. Fuck that."

Then, to the surprise of anyone who overheard her, she runs toward the horrors, shoving people along as she travels the opposite direction of the fleeing crowd.

"Get out of here!" she yells. "Run! Move!"

Once she's passed the bulk of the crowd, she explodes upward and outward, floral romper vanishing beneath brown and gray fur, fingers curling into taloned claws. The bipedal wolf-monster screams a challenge into the fog.

II: Rent!
The horrible rickety-looking things are remarkably resistant to Stacia's claws. It's one of many things that Stacia doesn't like about them. She's too big for a single one of them to grapple, but she did make a distraction of herself and she's very much regretting that now. There are several on her, trying to corner her, and their combined presence is making the flashes of memory (violent, horrifying, full of monsters and blood and screaming) worse. She can feel her Rage boiling under her skin, but it won't do her any good unless she has some space to move.

III: Nabbed!
Oh does Stacia scream when she's wrapped up in the silver nets. It tears through the fog like a siren, equal parts pain and fury, before the hulking beast slumps and collapses inward to reveal the teenage girl beneath. The teenage girl who is, unfortunately, much easier to carry away into the night.

IV: Rescue!
In this shape, Stacia's not very good at guiding people away from danger. She looks like danger. She has to be careful not to send someone fleeing into the arms of the Nightrenders or one of the burning tents. Fortunately, there are people who seem to be keeping their heads in the chaos. She spots one such person and lopes toward them, shifting back to Homid as she does.

"I'll keep the monsters and the creepy twins off you," she says quickly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Just focus on the people who need help."

V: Run!
This isn't a fight they're going to win. Stacia's hurting, and she has Garou healing going for her. It's time to retreat before this fight turns into a loss.

Tearing through the woods in Crinos is a bad idea, but that's what Lupus form is for, isn't it? The big bad wolfmonster disappears, leaving a wolf in its place.

III Nabbed!

[wheyoftheadept]

Saturday doesn't recognize the girl tangled in the sinister silver nets. She doesn't need to. Monsters bad: fight monsters, save girl.

She bellows a challenge and dives in. The one with the sword intercepts her; the bitch with the chain scythe moves behind her, thinking Saturday won't notice. But she can feel them, unnatural in their passing, like razorblades along the weave of the world.

She ducks down and rolls. Sword-bitch's blade bites the earth, and she has to jerk back as scythe-bitch's chain hisses past her face, aimed at the place Saturday's back was a moment ago. Saturday is already by the net as they recover, pulling at the strands. Then she sees their captive's face.

"Stacia?"

And the net is silver -

"Fuck. Fuck!"

Behind her, the sisters regroup and advance.

Mackenzie Haynes (first prompt is open)

[ragefeathers]

Rent

Mackenzie isn't worried at first. They're just things. She's broken plenty of other people's toys before. It's fun and easy. So she looms upwards into a massive half-wolf, half-man looking creature, a snarl on her face and charges in without regard for her own safety. That's what she does. That's when the memories start to hit her like a ton of bricks falling onto her head all at once. For those nearby, it's only flashes and glimpses--a dark warehouse, an explosion of fire and flame, the sense of loss, of someone being torn away from her. Gunfire. Pain. A body cradled in her arms. None of it makes much sense, but it hurts. What's more it plainly hurts Mackenzie. She dances back, her body trembling, her Rage yearning to be released. She's torn between the urge to fight and the urge to flee--

Made easier when someone else ight need her help. She snaps at someone if they get to close to her, urging them back.

"Go! I fight!" Garou aren't the most articulate in the war-form, sorry.

Run! (Stacia & Ace, Caroline)

The problem with a frenzying Garou is trying to get them to do anything except fight what's in front of them. And Mackenzie is still very much all about the fight. The massive nine-foot death machine is snarling, snapping and clawing at just about whatever is getting close to her, eager to close in on the Nightrenders and keep trying to tear them limb from limb. Unfortunately, with the way things are going that's probably a very good way for her to get dead very quickly.

So it would probably be a good idea for someone (or someones) to either herd her away from the enemy or try to get her to calm her shit.

Run

[just_ace]

Ace's ears perk up at the familiar but still utterly terrifying sound of an Ahroun in full frenzy.

The next sense to register as he scans the ongoing melee is scent. The Nightrenders themselves have a strange non-smell, like if fungus were also void. Over that there is a lot of blood and sweat and fear, but also the distinct signature of flannel, turkey grease and musk that has to belong to Mackenzie, the woman he met earlier.

It isn't long before he spots her. She is headed the wrong direction and is furiously trying to tear apart one of the nightmares. Most of the newcomers quickly learned that was futile, but full-moons are stubborn and he himself had required rescue before finally admitting they need to retreat or at least change tactics.

It looks like Mackenzie lost her cool before she could come to that conclusion herself. Understandable, but inconvenient... He likes her and has decided she is his new friend. No one has told her that yet, but that's not the point.

Oh well, nothing else for it.

Others might have more elegant solutions, but he only knows one way to stop a frenzying ahroun. Time to hug it out. This is going to hurt.

Kaworu Nagisa | OPEN

[diedforyoursins]

a.

[Everything is a mess. Screaming and running and burning, and in the middle of it all is a scrawny, pale teen, quiet and still like he's in the eye of the storm.

Kaworu senses the presence lunging at him from behind before he sees it, looking over his shoulder just as one of the things thrusts an arm forward. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. Sharp claws come within a foot of his face before being halted abruptly with an almost metallic ringing sound. They clash against some kind of barrier, visible only in a flickering of orange energy that emanates from the point of contact in an octagonal shape. The creature presses against it with a fury, what passes for feet digging into the earth with the effort of it, but the barrier doesn't budge and Kaworu remains still, watching it with a somber thoughtfulness.

He glances away from it to scan the nearby panicked crowds curiously, apparently unconcerned with the clawed thing viciously stabbing and scratching at his barrier. No one seems to pay him any particular attention – no more than they do to anyone else around defending themselves with whatever might or magic is at their disposal.

It's odd. Interesting. He still has no idea what sort of timeline this is, what sort of world this is, and how he fits into it. The unknown is a little thrilling, even in this chaos.

He's only allowed a moment to muse on it before his attention is dragged back to the creature, a more unexpected effect suddenly hitting him. He can feel it like a wave crashing against his AT field in the more metaphysical sense, grief and despair and failure. His serene expression is finally shaken. Pale brows knit together in a wince and he clenches his eyes shut as it all washes over him. The claws even seem to sink ominously into the barrier in his distraction, just a little.

Well. That's definitely unpleasant.]


b.

[The general consensus seems to be run like hell. Those not under the protection of the faeries are heading north into the woods, fleeing the chaos and creatures chasing them.

But by all appearances, one would guess that Kaworu didn't get the memo. He's moving north, sure, but it's completely without any sense of urgency. His pace is relaxed enough that it almost seems like he's being overlooked by the enemies hunting them through sheer nonchalance. Not quite, if the way another Nightrender dashes at him and clashes against his strange energy barrier is any indication, but. Y'know. Someone tell this kid to get his ass moving.]


WILDCARD

((ooc: Hit me with a starter of your own! Feel free to poke me @ tinybro if you wanna plan something specific!))

b

[takenalive]

<You are falling behind,> a voice says. Receiving thought-speech isn't the same as picking up sound - there's not a sense of what direction it's coming from, but it is fainter than when the Andalite is right up close in a clearing.

Up above, visible only as a shape passing across the stars and a weird shimmer of teeth, is a great dark delta-winged flying animal a little bit like a rayfish, staying well clear of the sister-creatures.

Alloran continues, sarcastically courteous. <I don't suppose it's particularly scenic down there?>

Cammie MacCloud

[tr1xx]

1. headsnatcher (cw: violence, memories of decapitation by proxy)

a. open

In hindsight, she let her guard down too much. The faire had seemed so harmless that, after everything on the rig, she just wanted to relax for at least a little while. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Like anything's that simple.

The faeries tell them to run north and aye, that seems like a damn good idea, one Cammie has every intention of listening to, until suddenly the world around her is blotted out by the memory of a swirling, dark purple, smoke-like mass of nanites and a four-armed monster mech coming for her.

She doesn't stand a chance after that.

Cammie staggers and stumbles away from a figure that doesn't exist anywhere except her mind and her legs fall out from under her, the weight of the memory pushing her down, down, until she's doubled over on the floor, grasping her hair in closed fists. Agonising pain and bone-deep terror pin her in place, and anyone who comes close will get flashes of a terrifying figure, of metal creaking and tearing in such a way that you can feel it like it's a part of you, and a high-pitched, visceral scream.

b. for Caroline

It's only a matter of time before one of the Nightrenders comes upon such an easy target. Token efforts to push through the flood of memories only ever get her a few steps on her own, and it's only when the Nightrender grabs her by the torso she regains enough clarity to realise just how fucked she is.

It'd almost be funny, how history repeats itself, if she wasn't struggling to even breathe let alone clear her mind. Here she is again in some thing's grasp as it goes for her head, only this time it's really her. No Holon, no metal, just squishy human parts that can ache and bruise and bleed and die and the worst thing is, she can't even do anything about it. Past and present are blurring into one and though she grasps and kicks and screams, it feels like she's just repeating herself, mirroring the memory still running through her mind, still sending out flashes.

In both the past and the present, Cammie braces herself to die.

2. not gonna get me again

It's only when she's far, far away from the Nightrenders that Cammie can hear her own thoughts—with adrenaline pumping through her system she wouldn't even go so far as to say she was thinking clearly again, her mind racing and a familiar mix of anger and fear the force behind every choice she makes.

And the choice she makes is to help. To fight. To do something, to not be so goddamn useless that she's let this same shit happen to her twice now and— focus, Cammie.

a. open

There's people who need help, and that's something Cammie knows how to do just fine. She cuts loose horses with her sword where fumbling hands fail to release them, she shoos people in the right direction when they look lost in panic, she helps people to their feet and passes off the injured to someone who looks like they can help. She moves north, little by little, but she helps.

At one point, she stops when she hears shouting from beneath a collapsed tent—one on the bigger side, the material and poles heavy and at risk of catching light. Cammie runs over and starts trying to shift it, but it's harder than you'd think it should be. With a frustrated grunt, Cammie turns to look around and shouts at the first person she sees, "Oi! Come give me a hand here, would ye?"

b. open

Handy thing about this weird magic sword that's almost as tall as she is: when she's holding it, she feels like she knows exactly what to do with it. Never held a sword in her life before, but you wouldn't know it from the way she wields it, now, striking out at smoke monsters attempting to drag someone else away.

Cammie's short, and hardly muscled, but she didn't get through months of training at home and on the rig without getting fit, and no angry teenage girl should ever be underestimated. As one still-forming smoke being dissipates, she offers her hand to pull them up and says, "Come on, we gotta move! Those things that're blowing this shite out can't be far!"

3. wildcard

[ Throw something else at her, or feel free to hit me up at bluecitrine for ideas. Also, will switch to brackets if you prefer. ]

1a

[wheyoftheadept]

"Nn - " Saturday grunts, Cammie's memories hitting her like a fist. But they're not her memories. They're not her pain. They don't have any hooks, they can't linger. She can push through and she does, collapsing next to the other woman.

"Cammie? Cammie, that you? It's me. Saturday. From the Rig. We gotta move." She tugs at Cammie's shoulder, trying to get her to stand. "Get up! Move! Come on!"

Saturday

[wheyoftheadept]

Closed To Guts

Saturday stretches her arms over her head, walking along in the twilight. Guts is a familiar presence at her side, quiet and watchful. The sun shimmers on the horizon, a dying candle in a pool of wax. The night is drawing down behind them, soft as a bruise and speckled with stars. In a moment, it will be dark. But for now, their shadows stretch out long before them, crossing the last rays of the sun streaming through tents and stalls like the fingers of God.

It feels good. Good like nothing’s felt, recently. There’s a steady, satisfied ache in her legs from walking all day. She’s eaten her fill, she can afford a warm bed tonight, and the heavy purse at her side promises that won’t change anytime soon. Guts had helped her buy supplies for camping, and was going to show her how to use them. She could ask for more - she could ask to be home, for real, or at least to let home know she was okay - but…

She stops in her tracks and smiles up at Guts, suddenly understanding the warm feeling that’s been enveloping her. It’s happiness. The real kind, that sinks into your bones and makes them strong. She’d almost forgotten.

“Hey. You know what? It’s been a pretty good day.”



Open to All

Her nose itches. She’s crouched under the wreckage of a jewelry stall, surrounded by a fortune in magical gems winking in the dark, and her damn nose itches. The horrible thing is still outside, stalking. It knows she’s in this pile somewhere. All she can do is stay as still as she can, and hope it gets distracted, and then she can, can -

Can do what, exactly? The wound in her leg aches coldly. The fucking thing had tagged her. Tagged her! Reached out with claws that stank of vile magic and ripped into her calf as she ran past it, trying to distract it from the frightened couple. She’d goddamned distracted it, all right.

It shouldn’t have been able to get a hit in. It shouldn’t have connected, should have glanced off the way those things always did but it hadn’t. And she doesn’t know why.

She can feel it moving around her. Herky-jerky, stuttering, malicious. She can’t get any smaller than she already is, not unless she stops breathing. And she can’t stop thinking about the worst things that have ever happened to her. It’s a magical effect - has to be - but that doesn’t mean it isn’t working. It’s stalking around the wreckage, toying with her, and all she can feel is roiling dread, all she can think of is how it hurt her and Maggie isn’t here to fix it. She’s failed them all so many times, and now she’s going to fail them again, here, dying as a hiding, wounded animal -

The tent rips away, scattering jewels like stars. Saturday tries to run. The horrible thing grabs her around the waist and squeezes. She gasps, and can’t get back her breathe. It raises her to its tortured face, sneering, and tilts up her chin as its mouth opens like the gate to hell.

She finds her breath and screams.

LETS GET THIS STARTED

[garmr]

"Haven eaten that much food in years, that's for sure."

The peaceful look in Guts' expression said all that his words didn't. He was much more at ease here than he'd ever been on the Rig, trudging through the countryside with only the long strides of his legs to move him forward. Even with the unknown on the horizon, that blazing sun and its protection sinking further away, Saturday's familiar presence made the approaching night that much less daunting.

He meets her with a subdued smile of his own, watching silently. A ray of light had caught on her dark eyes and made them appear nearly gold. He allows himself to enjoy the moment. Just them, the journey ahead, and the idle noise of the faire interspersed with the last birds of dusk singing their songs.

"We should find a clearing in the forest to set up the campsite."

Little Cato - cw: lots of harm to children, child abuse/imprisonment, child murder

[furtitude]

a) RENT [OPEN]

For Little Cato, there is a deep well of nightmarish memories for the Nightrender aura to draw from. Even discounting most of the last four years, he has 60 years of deeply repressed memories of soul-crushing loneliness, so bad he outright lost his damn mind.

And yet he doesn't curl up on the ground and wait to die. Even as the nightmares of the past play behind his eyes, he struggles to his feet, over and over, every time he falls. He looks almost blackout drunk, like he can barely see what's going on around him.

He fights hard enough that when a Nightrender looms up before him, he's still able to lash out with one of his swords, but it just bounces off the Nightrender's hard skin.

"S-stop. Stop. Get out of my head!"

Anyone that comes close will feel bad memories crash against them like a storm surge, memories no child his age should have.

a-1

An extremely small alien with a round green head, eyes glowing a sinister yellow, looms above raging fires in a dead, decrepit meadow.

Little Cato is much younger, smaller, held in place by two guards in very Stormtrooper-esque uniforms. Another older Ventrexian stands nearby, wearing a severe military uniform. His fur is much different, somewhat more plain, black with a white strip down his face. He has no mohawk-like tuft of hair on his head and his eyes are a bright yellow instead of the Little Cato's bright green. It's hard to tell that they're actually related - because they aren't. Avocato is not Little Cato's real father.

"Dad?" he says, eyes wide, frightened. The older man says nothing.

All around Little Cato are other children, in a curve around the field, some of them even younger, hands bound behind their backs, all forced to their knees. Some of them hang their heads in quiet resignation, others sob, a few are begging, voices high and terrified ("I want to go home, Papa, please take me home!")

Older people stand nearby, the same species as each child. They all wear similar uniforms to the adult Ventrexian.

"For eternity! For Lord Commander!" the adults chant, and then every one of them other than Little Cato's father shoots their child in the head, blood and brains spattering onto the ground. Little Cato watches them all fall, one by one, face first into the dirt.

Then he turns to his father, expression stricken, desperate, arms tensed where the guards hold them firmly and his father raises his gun and points it at him at him...

"Do it, Avocato, and become my first," the Lord Commander's voice rumbles, as he grins a wicked, toothy grin. "Do it."

a-2

Little Cato is in a cell, mostly empty, with clear forcefield walls. There's a hallway beyond, like this is an open place where people can sometimes comes in and see him imprisoned. He looks to be be maybe 2 or 3 years younger, which means he's very small. A tray of food has been dropped to the ground so that most of whatever mush was in it has slopped out onto the floor.

The Lord Commander floats in the air, his back temporarily turned. The memory catches the moment Little Cato grips a piece of scrap metal he's palmed and secretly sharpened, sliding it out of his wrist wrap. Then the child tries to do a murder, teeth gritted, running up behind the alien, but just as he gets to him, the alien turns and basically does a telepathic force-choke, grabbing the boy by the neck with invisible power. It stops him from his attempt to slit the alien's throat.

"Did you really think you'd actually manage to kill me?" the Lord Commander taunts, wrenching the shiv away with telekinesis, lifting Little Cato off the floor by the throat and squeezing. Little Cato chokes and claws desperately at nothing, finding no purchase on anything he can hurt to break free. "When will you get it through your thick skull? I'm the one that decides whether you live or die, not the other way around."

Little Cato kicks desperately but there's nothing to kick against. His eyes start to roll back in his head, and whoever's experiencing the memory gets a sense of what he saw in the moment, black creeping in from the edges of his vision, glowing yellow eyes and glinting sharp teeth the only things lighting up the oncoming dark.

Before the darkness finally takes him, the Lord Commander hurls the boy against the wall so hard he winds up with a bloody nose. Little Cato crumples to the ground, and curls up there, wheezing.

"My --" wheeze "-- father --"

"Your father will never find you. I own him," Lord Commander snarls, and then he floats closer, looming over him. Little Cato stays down. "Because I own you. You. Belong. To me."

a-3

In the memory, Little Cato's other father, Avocato, stands there on a dusty, battered world with a gun in his hands, his eyes glowing a toxic, bright pink.

Gary is dragging himself along the ground, hand clasped over a torso wound that pulses with red blood, pooling rapidly on the ground. Little Cato is looking on in horror from where he kneels nearby, catching his breath after getting kicked.

"Avocato, whatever that thing is, it's poisoning your mind! You asked me to look after your boy. We broke time to save you! We're friends!" Gary cries out.

"I'm not your friend!" snarls Avocato, shooting Gary again through the shoulder; Gary cries out in pain and collapses. Little Cato crawls over and wraps both arms around Gary's head.

"Stop! Please stop!" he begs his other father, pulling out his own blaster and training it on him with a shaking hand.

"You would choose him over your own father?"

"Please! If you're in there, stop this!" Little Cato cries out, eyes welling with tears.

"I would never father something so weak!" Avocato growls, advancing on the two.

"Please!" Little Cato begs, but Avocato keeps advancing. Finally, one of their guns goes off.

It's Little Cato's. Blood blooms from the chest wound on Avocato's body. Little Cato sobs out, "I'm sorry!"

"You are no son of mine!" Avocato says, collapsing to his knees. Shadows reach out of the ground and start to wrap around him.

"I am your son. I am," Little Cato says softly. "Always will be."

"I will find you, and I will kill you!"

He gasps, "You aren't my father."

"Neither is he!" Avocato says raggedly, the shadows consuming him into the ground, as Little Cato continues cradling Gary's head.

d) RUN [LOCKED TO ELLE AND CATRA]

He's so close to the edge of the faire. So close. But it's too hard to see when the visions keep creeping in and out. He keeps having trouble staying oriented to the present, his body keeps acting the way it had in the past.

He drops a few meters short of the woods, struggling with a memory that's too painful, too recent.

"You can't...you can't hurt me with this, it's already - it can't hurt as much as the first time."

Whatever place he's in in the memory is hellish. A teenage girl with glowing magenta eyes and pink hair floats in the air behind him, against the backdrop of a giant magenta eye radiating swirling dark energy. The pupil is focused on the two of them. The glowing light of the eye matches the glowing light in the girl's eyes.

Gary and another Ventrexian, Avocato, stand in front of them, looking concerned and afraid for Little Cato. Little Cato turns to look at the girl, Ash.

"Little Cato," she says, "don't forget: they don't deserve you! They never will!"

Little Cato turns, his back to Ash and the evil eye, facing his father, looking stricken. He calls out raggedly, "Did you really do it?! Did you kill my parents?"

Avocato lowers his guns, eyes widening as he realizes his son truly knows the truth.

"From your mouth!" calls out Ash. "Tell your son. What. You. Did!"

"I'm sorry," Avocato says, his ears flattening against his head. "I'm so sorry."

"Did. You. Do it?!" Little Cato calls out.

Avocato hangs his head and finally murmurs, "Yes."

The world tilts. Little Cato gasps out shuddering gasps and collapses like a puppet with cut strings, dropping awkwardly to his knees. He presses his forehead to the ground, burying his face in his arms, fists clenched, and moans out "Nooo!" and starts to sob despondently.

When he finally sits up, his eyes are wide with clear shock, like he's starting to outright dissociate from the moment.

"I told you, you can't go back," says Ash in a voice that's clearly off-kilter. "It's me and you forever now."

"You can't hurt me with this again, not the same way," he says, fumbling along blindly towards the trees, completely unseeing. But the tears that stream down his face say otherwise. "I already know."

It can hurt him with it. He can barely see and two Nightrenders are creeping towards him.

d

[heterochrocatic]

This whole situation is a mess. Catra had gotten separated from Cato once they'd hit the fair--he seemed like a kid who could take care of himself after all. Now as things went to shit, Catra found herself looking for him. Younger Catra would have thought it in spite of herself, but this Catra, the older, wiser Catra knows that it's because she doesn't want to let another kid go through this crap alone. With faintly glowing spear in hand, she's been ducking and weaving her way through the fight, always doing her best to keep at the edge of things. She can't help Cato if she gets sucked into something else. As she hears the edge of the faire, trying to follow his still unfamiliar scent, the memory starts to hit her. It is scathingly familiar. Someone you trusted, someone who should have been there for you--they lied. They want to hurt the person you care about. Catra hisses and clutches at her head for a moment as the memory's emotion threaten to overwhelm, then takes a running leap towards Cato.

Catra skids to a stop, interposing herself between the advancing monstrosities and the feline child. The spear is leveled and she reaches back and down to grab at Cato's scruff. She can apologize later.

"Up! Get up, Cato!" Flickers of her own memories are starting to flow and flicker. Catra is drowning, her lungs filling with a green liquid as pain courses through her body.

She's not going down easily.

"We have to keep moving," she almost snarls, but somehow manages to retain a hint of civility.

"You can cry it all out when we're not being chased by monsters!"

Raistlin Majere

[hourglasshalfempty]

Closed to Need

Raistlin emerges from the trance Need’s put him into a vision of hell. Fire, fog, and a cold spreading dark that has him clutching his staff in one hand and Need’s hilt in another. Faire-goers are running, screaming, trampling each other and knocking over tables. A summer fairy pulls at his sleeve.

“Run! We can’t protect you!”

And then the first nightrender appears. It moves like something from a nightmare, stuttering forward at strange angles, and with it comes a wave of horror that nearly drives Raistlin to his knees. He’s a child again, ten years old, face ground in the dirt. Where’s your magic now, Majere! they chant. Show us a magic trick, wizard!. His lungs fill with dirt, he can’t breathe, they won’t let him up -


Open to All

Raistlin can barely breathe. He has his kerchief over his mouth and nose, medicinal herbs grasped tight within them, but the smoke of the fires is boiling in his lungs and the terrible darkness of the creatures’ fearful aura is snatching the air from chest. Even the screams have faded to a kind of dull background roar.

That’s when the sisters find him. He knows at a glance that he can’t outrun them. Without his brother, he’s unlikely to succeed in fighting them. And yet, he finds himself raising his hand to cast, searching for the strange new channels of power this place had carved inside him -

And then the one with the chain moves faster than his eye can see, and cracks him over the head.

He comes around as he’s being dragged across the ground, bound hand and foot in smoke, and understands that his life is over. No one here knows him. No one here has any reason to help him. He sees someone watching him from cover, and meets their eyes with a tired resignation of a dying animal.

[likeits1999]

Kevin has gotten worrisomely accustomed to weird shit happening to him, but it still takes Kevin a minute to assess wild new situations. That's how he ended up behind one of the racks of archery targets.

There are... smoke monsters, bro. He doesn't know what they are, and there are scary masked women and creepy... Kevin doesn't have the spare brainpower to drag up adjectives for the nightrenders.

Should he run? He should run. He should definitely, definitely run.

That's when he sees the guy from earlier. The one with the weird eyes, who told that story about dragons? He's getting dragged away.

Kevin is a skatepunk, full of risky impulses. Kevin has made it through his first decade as a vampire, meaning his self preservation instincts do at least exist.

It means he hesitates, but only a little.

"Let him go!"

The pale fire of the klaive flashes through the smoke as Kevin rushes into it, whirling Foehammer in an undisciplined but fast arc. He can't tell if there's damage done, but at least the creatures are distracted by the need to separate around the blade hacking through them.

Scooby's with him, bouncing and darting at shadows, staying just out of reach.

[cookiehusband]

C) Rescue (closed to Little Cato)

Outrunning the awful things that make you feel every bad thing you've ever stuffed deep, deep down where you can hopefully bury it until you die is a matter of what feels like life and death, with all the awful things Gary's seen and done lately. He didn't realize how much he still remembered how it smelled when Fox died on his sword arm, of all things, and yet -

Finding Little Cato also feels like life and death, but looking for his boy brings Gary screaming right into the path of a tall, dark-haired woman, who doesn't even shift an inch as Gary runs throat-first into her grip.

"By Grandor's glove," he squeaks out, as the sister smoothly lifts him off his feet, dangling him mid-air by the throat he can barely speak out of - but is still doggedly doing. "You are - you are strong! Hnnck! You're like - like a hydraulic press of a woman, do you get that a lot?"

"You have nothing worthwhile to say, and yet you won't even die quietly," the sister intones, her voice smooth and dark as velvet as she lifts her face to look at him through her unchanging mask, under the wide brim of her hat.

"Strong and -" Gary chokes, his face visibly purpling. "-and stylish too," he laughs nervously, as he scrambles to try and free himself. He seems to have forgotten he can turn one of his arms into a sword. "Did you make your mask yourself? Is it a self portrait? Are you ladies twins?"

"Excuse me?" the sister tightens her grip on Gary's neck, attempting to silence him. The attempt just causes him to make louder, grosser choking noises, followed by his more strained continuous stream of words.

"- not to make this weird or anything, I have a girlfriend, but do you get a certain kind of guy just lining up to be killed by you?"

Real disgust twists the sister's previously calm voice. "You impudent, worthless -"

"I'm just saying! I've seen a lot of me's die! And none of them got to go at the hand of a spicy lady, so if we're talking worst deaths, this wouldn't be -"

"How dare you!"

The sister throws Gary aside. He hits the ground hard, striking his head, his neck bruised, purpling fast like his horse-kicked black eye. He gets up, but it's slow and agonized.

"Oh sorry," he whispers, through his crushed throat, "did I make it weird for you? Did I make killing me weird? Because I -"

He can't see the sister's expression as she draws both her swords to silently make the kill quick, but her voice is still outraged as she interrupts. "Shut up! Shut up, you festering idiot -"

"Hey, I already said I have a girlfriend, stop trying to sweet talk me," Gary says, with an edge of a chuckle, that turns to a wheeze of panic real quick as the sister takes a slice at him. He finally remembers his sword-arm just fast enough to block her first strike, but not her second.

[furtitude]

It's a little hard to follow through on a sword swing when someone small, but strong for his size, comes at you like a spider monkey, clawing his way up your back with a yowl and loud "KSSSS!"

"Get away from my dad!"

While his claws have to scrabble for purchase a bit because of the mask he manages to jam some of his clawed fingers in the eyeholes of the mask, making the Sister shriek in outraged pain. She throws him off but he skids to a stop while still on his feet, drawing his own dual swords.

Mona Vanderwaal | Open to All

[skinlotion]

i. going north
[Whatever is going on here, Mona knows one thing for sure: if she's being told to go north, her best option for escape is to go in any other direction. There's a risk of being punished for it, of course, or a risk of running into another electric fence boxing her in, but she can't pass up the chance to lose herself in the trees.

Unfortunately, whenever she manages to get any significant distance away, bunching her skirt up in one hand and stumbling over the uneven ground as best she can in her prom shoes, she suddenly gets teleported back towards the main group. She catches herself before she falls, taking in the sudden scenery change with a snarl.] God dammit!

ii. rescue lines
[Mona's managed to get herself on a horse. Knees squeezed tight and hands strangling the reins as they pick their way through the chaos, it's not all that much faster than if she were on foot, but it gives her space to catch her breath and keep an eye on her surroundings. This isn't her first time escaping from the woods burning down around her ears, and she couldn't have done it without help then either; maybe that's why she stops to lend a hand, some sympathy pain reaching back to the last time smoke filled her vision and the night devolved into chaos.

Maybe she hears someone coughing and stops to look for the culprit; maybe there's a burning tent in the way or just someone in need of a hand to yank them out. The important thing is that, breathless and clutching onto her horse as she tries to keep it from bucking, Mona says the first thing that comes into her head.]

Come with me if you want to live.

iii. rescued lines? - warning for psychological torture/captivity in memshares
[This time it's Mona in need of a rescue; a Nightrender has its hands around her, tight in an unbreakable grip as it starts its horrible sucking noises. Mona's hands are fumbling around a broken arrowhead and her legs are kicking to try to find purchase, but her glancing blows don't seem to stall the creature at all. Her breathing ramps up in desperation as the terror of the situation and the aura of the Nightrenders settle in, projecting flashes of fingers scrabbling against the walls of a deep hole raising up above her head in near-perfect darkness or piercing alarms and broken sobs playing overhead as she covers her ears, too thirsty to cry anymore as she struggles uselessly against her attacker.]

iv. wildcard
[Feel free to toss anything my way and we'll roll with it! I can be reached for plotting on the CR meme here or at plurk on spoilers if you'd like to set something specific up or talk ideas to get CR!]

[eternalmisery]

You too?

[Another girl in an ugly prom dress shows up, only Spencer's got soot all over it and hay in her hair. She's been rudely awoken from the only sleep she's gotten in over a week by a fire and a giant robot rescuing her from it. She almost wonders if it would have been better to just burn alive.

Throughout the day, the only thing that's been more depressing than disorienting has been that despite finding Mona, Spencer hasn't seen a trace of her friends. She can't think of any reason that A would want to splinter the group in this particular fashion; Spencer feels like A always seemed to prize Aria as his favorite toy, Emily as his favorite punching bag, with Spencer occupying that null space in the middle. Like the plaything a little kid would throw around at home, but not take with them on vacation or to bed. She can't suss out why A would split her and Mona off unless-

-unless they're being singled out because they were the ones to come up with the electro-magnet bomb. Put the smart ones together. Let them devour each other alive like scorpions, probably.

Well, despite all her very justified misgivings about Mona, Spencer felt a pang of sympathy when she saw the state of her in the dollhouse, and felt a pang of relief when Mona was on her same wavelength in terms of building a magnet bomb, and felt a pang of gratitude that Mona had done so much legwork exploring the dollhouse. All those pangs adds up to camaraderie, in a really twisted way. Spencer reaches out to grab Mona and steady her from falling.]

I'm going southwest. [Spencer feels like she would need to explain why to her friends, but Mona's probably already on the same track.]

Counselor Aiden Price

[myagents]

D) RUN
Questions borne out of scientific curiosity can't help but come to Price's mind, with just that tiny bit of fascination that comes with them, yet the fear and dread that the Nightrenders instill are so primal that running away without a second thought seems like the wisest choice.

Upon stopping to catch breath, he runs his hands long the surface of the trees, examining them carefully.

"The faeries said to go north." he thinks out loud, hoping that a friendly presence will find him and help him navigate the area "If we assume we are in the Northern Hemispehere and that this is radiation fog, following the moss could be a safe enough plan."

He's not sure the faeries can be trusted, but if anything showing even a fake compliance could get him somewhere. He knows it has for all his life, so this won't be too different, hopefully.

Another important variable in this whole scenario is the fact that he's likely to encounter either strangers or enemies. Or Dan, who is...A special case, that happens to be very reckless, so statistically speaking? He's in trouble.

[paganpoetry]

"Oh, yes, because following the faeries never leads to anything sinister."

The voice from behind Price comes from a tiny woman with massive red hair and the sort of fashionable dress that suggests she'd be better off at a gala than in the middle of a firefight, but she doesn't seem scared at all. She seems, if anything, very, very annoyed.

She doesn't particularly want to admit that Price is right, nor does she want to follow any command handed down to her by a being with so much more information than she has, but beggars can't be choosers. A nightrender approaches, and with a gesture and a shout, Rowena telekinetically lights its head on fire.

"These bloody things can't be taken down by mere magic," she informs Price. "This is a battle to run from, not fight."

Henry Townshend

[wisdomreceiver]

B) NABBED

Henry wanders about the woods with a distracted expression. He's not sure what's going on here, but he's seen more alarming things, and either way he has to get back to Eileen before Walter murders her for real this time. He blames himself a little, thinking he shouldn't have crawled through the hole the last time, but what else was he supposed to do?

"Huh..." he recognizes something familiar on the ground, it looks like one of those legendary Swords of Obedience "How did this get here?"

The writing on it looks close enough, he was never really able to decipher it, but it must be the spell. It means it works. Does it also mean it's needed?

Not even the time to finish that thought that a hook is driven through is ankle, and he groans in pain.

"What the--?"

There is a chain attached to it, and it continues behind him. He hears a mocking laughter, and the first thing he does is instinctively grab the sword, but he's quickly pulled away.

"HELP!" he screams, but no one has heard him so far. He drops the sword as he's being pulled, but he crawls nonetheless, attempting to reach it. It's just slightly too far, and he sees someone is walking by.

"Hey! A little hand, here?"

Re: Henry Townshend

[ferengineer]

A blast of magic hits the chain, breaking it. Seconds later another blast sails off through the trees towards where the hook came from.

"That should keep them off us for a bit," says a rather short humanoid carrying a crossbow that's almost too big for him

"Don't try to pull the hook out, it's the only thing keeping your blood in right now. Do you think you can stand?"

Jennifer

[poor_unlucky_girl]

C) RESCUE

It might be because she is used to confronting her bad memories, it might be because her hallucinations make her See Things, but Jennifer is mostly unfazed for now by those evil presences. She makes it back to safety quite easily...Until some familiar barking distracts her.

"Brown? BROWN!"

Like hell she's going to allow anyone to hurt Brown again. This time she will keep her promise and protect him. She runs straight into danger.

[darvit]

It's the shout that catches Holly's attention, and then the teenage mud girl running directly into danger. What on Frond's green earth is she—

With a wordless frustrated groan and really wishing she had her gear, or at least the common sense to stop chasing humans into danger when it's not even her job, Holly runs after her.

"Hey, kid! Watch it!"

Agent Texas ★ OTA ★ Will match style

[a_shadow]

i. memories —

[ Tex is caught up for a few moments in the bad memory flashes that overwhelm her when the Nightrenders appear. She's a strong-willed person and unlikely to dwell long, but the flashes are strong, too.

a. You're fighting your way through a zero-gravity environment, battling another woman in teal armor. She doesn't lose, but she doesn't win. Instead, you're both thrown to the front by the ship crashing. You go straight to the computer; you have to talk to him.

But he doesn't know, doesn't remember you, doesn't understand. You have to leave him behind.

b. You are trying to end the war. This is unethical, this is wrong and bad, but it's the only chance you know of that'll work. You load up the ship with the child, the helmet, and the alien, and you turn after giving the command.

'Goodbye,' you say.

c. She's everything to you now, the one person you can still save after all this disaster. She's also someone you came to love, for various reasons, even though you know she hates you. You run forward—and Maine throws her teal-armored form over the cliff.

'No!' you shout. But there's nothing you can do, now.

d. You fight, you fight, you fight, surrending Omega and Gamma to him as you try to avoid being taken. But Sigma was right, all those years ago—the Meta has found you, and now you're about to become a member.

Fortunately, Tex is strong-willed enough to be able to leave this haze and fight them. But the memory flashes will be there, regardless. ]

ii. rescuing —

[ Tex has two weapons right now—the glaive that had mysteriously been in her possession upon her arrival, and the sword she had bought during the faire. She can't fight with one in each hand, so she alternates them, dropping the glaive when an attack with the sword makes more sense. She has had no lessons in using either, but she did a good job fighting with pugil sticks during training. She does her best to kill the Nightrenders, but her blows seem ineffective.

In any case, she perseveres. When she rescues someone from the nets, she rushes to their side to ensure that they're okay. ]

iii. running —

[ After rescue, Tex knows it's time to run. She puts her arm around the person she had saved. ]

You good to go?

iv. wildcard —

(( Want to do something else with Tex? Tag it in or hit me up at texelations! ))

II

[unsealthecatbox]

[Despite how hard she tried to run away, it was only matter of time before she made a mistake. Unfortunately, that mistake ended in her being captured by a net. If there's something Ange has a lot of, it's thoughts about family members dying, that's for sure. It doesn't take long for her to go limp in the nets, head filled with the screams of her immediate and extended family, tears having filled her eyes.

She doesn't notice right away the net falls apart. She stares at the ground, almost crumpled over. Ange definitely is not okay right now, but at least the screaming of her family is gone, replaced by screaming from a lot of strangers around here.

Barely better, but still]

Inigo Montoya | OTA | Will match style

[studiedhisagrippa]

i. memories —

[ Inigo is brought to his knees when the memory flashes begin. He doesn't understand it at first; why is he thinking about these things? What horrible timing. But soon enough he realizes that it's magic.

a. You're a boy of ten and a nobleman has come to ask your father to craft him a sword. It's now a year later and it's time to give the nobleman what he has ordered.

But he throws the quality of exquisitely-made sword back in your father's face. And when your father refuses to sell it to him, a knife goes through your father's gut.

b. You are trying to find the six-fingered man. All over Europe, you have tried to find him. The first taste of alcohol means little to you during this time. But its addictive charms are something else.

You remember the first time you get drunk. You remember blacking out.

You remember being a failure.

c. You cannot fins Westley. You cannot find the way into the dungeon where he is being kept. There are so many creatures here. Even Fezzik is scared.

When the coils of the giant snake envelop you, there's nothing you can do.

When Inigo realizes this is only magic, he stands up and fights, stronger than ever. He will help the people around him. ]

ii. rescuing —

You will not take them!

[ Inigo points his sword at the Nightrenders, defiant and proud. ]

You have to go through me.

iii. camp —

[ Inigo checks on as many people as he can once they've arrived. ]

Do you need anything?

iv. wildcard —

(( Want to do something else with Tex? Tag it in or hit me up at texelations! ))

III

[unsealthecatbox]

[What a question. Ange doesn't even turn her head, still catching her breath. So much happened in such a short span of time. This all will take some time to adapt to]

A way out of here and back where I came from would be too much to ask, wouldn't it?

[That's what she needs right now, really. All this? It's none of her business. She'd rather be in her world]

Jim Hopper | OTA | Will match style

[hoponpop]

i. memories —

[ Hopper is unable to resist the charms of the Nightrenders once they have overwhelmed him. He tries to press forward, to fight, but instead he's left lying on the ground. Memory flashes overwhelm him.

a. Your daughter is sick and you are powerless to do anything about it. She suffers through the cancer treatments, and you know that your efforts to keep her spirits up do little, but you press on.

And then, she dies. You are crushed.

b. You didn't know this place would lead to your being caught by the creature that had been let in from the Upside-Down. You explore, and you light the way, but the tentacles of the creature grab you.

And then one is forced down your throat.

c. Your wife is devastated by the loss of your little girl. The two of you argue, and it gets more and more intense, but any attempt you make at making peace fails. The divorce happens, and far too soon.

d. Eleven is missing. She was your charge, and she is missing. You cry into the radio. Please answer. Please answer.

Hopper feels himself being grabbed, and he puts his arms over his head. It's too late, now. ]

ii. rescued? —

[ Hopper is raised from the ground by the power of the net. The Night Sisters begin to suck out his soul.

Suddenly he realizes that he really doesn't even care. He stops thrashing and bows his head.

Someone needs to intervene as soon as possible. ]

iii. camp —

[ Hopper makes it to camp, but doesn't try to do much once he arrives. Normally he'd be checking on everyone else, getting acquainted, and making sure they have the things they need. But instead he sits down on a log and bows his head again. ]

iv. wildcard —

(( Want to do something else with Tex? Tag it in or hit me up at texelations! ))

3

[greyerrant]

[ A large figure in armor looms nearby in camp, watching over hopper. ]

Something is wrong. [ It's not a question, just a statement from a protector of mankind, self-styled though he may be. ]

CT

[liesdontfindyou]

1. dreams have turned to fear (cw: violence, memories of death)

a. for Tex

They're still talking, when the commotion starts. CT's hand is on her knife before she's even on her feet, the paranoia that's been tickling at the back of her skull ever since they got here growing into a full blown itch. Apparently her instincts haven't been dulled by months in a city where threats were more abstract than violent—in a split second, she takes in the screams and cries of 'Nightrenders!', the warm flash of flames catching, the faeries directing people north, the thrum of terror that fills the air...

Flipping her hold on her knife into a proper reverse-grip, she glances over to share a look with Tex. "Well, it didn't take long for the catch to show itself after all."

b. open

i. The first time the Nightrenders get too close it sends CT to her knees, the ghost of pain blooming through her chest as an old memory, the all too clear memory of dying, is dragged up to the surface to breathe its own air for the first time in months. There's flashes of red lights, of gunfire, of a fight with teal and black figures, of an impact that winds you, of a voice some may recognise as Agent Carolina's snapping at someone else asking what the hell they think they're doing. Flashes of agony, of the taste of iron in your mouth, of the strange mix of bone-deep fear and acceptance that you're going to die for trying to do the right thing and—

ii. Every other time, CT staggers, but pushes herself to her feet and pushes through the memories that flood her—she has her sights on someone to help, on something to do, and as she drags you away from a Nightrender or pulls you to your feet where you've stumbled, or helps you free someone else from being trapped, those memories flash out towards you.

Reading the news, realising that your family is gone, that your home has been turned to molten slag and you'll never see them again, that you'll never leave here and go home. Hiding in the dark, curled up into such a tight ball it makes your muscles ache and holding your breath for so long that your lungs begin to burn; the knowledge that if you're found, it's all over, you're dead, you'll be dead and no one will ever know the truth. Waking up alone, too warm for your usually ice-cold partner to be there tucked up where they should be, the sheets flat and undisturbed just empty, a flash of panic and frantic searching and the moment where you accept that they're gone. They're gone.

2. run - open

She sticks around at the faire for longer than she maybe should have, too determined to see as many people get past the boundaries of it and into the woods to break for their own freedom to focus on getting herself to safety. It's only when she can feel the exhaustion starting to set in that she starts to consider it, and only when she sees someone else in a similar state doing the same that she actually makes a break for the tree-line at their side.

"They said north, right? We just have to keep running north."

3. wildcard

[ Throw something else at her, happy to do anything combat starters are just my nemesis. Will switch to brackets if preferred. Feel free to poke me on bluecitrine for ideas. ]

1-B

[myagents]

The effect of the nightrenders on those who witness the visions of others sure is strange. Feeling other people's emotions, feeling their pain, is this what empathy feels like? Price will still take his cognitive one over this, sorry.

He gives Connecticut a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"It's alright, CT." he uses her preferred codename to make her listen, once again, but not to hurt her "It's over, now."

aziraphale | open

[oldbookshop]

c1.

[ Aziraphale could, in theory, pick up a sword. If nothing else, they're certainly in supply. What is it humans say, like riding a bicycle?

In theory.

In practice, in accordance with a repeated personal choice spanning most of the entirety of time as a concept, Aziraphale opts not to pick up a sword. Given the chaos and the crowds, he thinks he might make that choice regardless just to mitigate potential very terrible accidents. He's never been a fan of violence. Certainly not of enacting it himself.

This doesn't stop him from trying his resolute best as far as the Nightrenders are concerned. At a certain point, things turn rather as-needs-must.

Aziraphale doesn't have a fraction of the power or range of ability with it that he should, that he always has. He has almost no idea what's going on large-scale and only an understanding of the most immediate priority in circumstance on the smaller scale.

But he's always been good at compartmentalizing, at pushing things back for later. For now, he's considering it a good sign that holiness is at all effective, when it sort of matters quite a lot to be able to be effective.

Broke: attempting to hack at lurching, horrifying nightmare creatures with an aura of dread and evil with a weapon that he hasn't actually used in thousands of years.

Woke: blessing a very sturdy skillet and slamming it into a Nightrender's knee to make it lose balance so he can try to get its victim back up and running. ]

Right, there we are, up you pop-- [ The Nightrender is making some brand of horrible because of being hit with a holy cooking implement. Lame. Aziraphale shoots a sidelong glance at it that's one part reflexive "please don't interrupt me" and two parts "mostly-concealed panic," which may be more commonly known as "urgency." ]

I'm afraid I haven't bought us very much time at all.

[ (Up for memory flash swaps as desired or up for more straightforward escape stuff! It's not his natural instinct to be especially touchy, but Aziraphale is willing to help people get up or hauled off if they need the assist!) ]


c2.

[ There are multiple factors contributing to Aziraphale lingering in this general disaster area for a grip. One of them is quest bond magic teleportation going haywire and popping him around a little bit. Cool! Disorienting. He may suddenly appear in the vicinity, looking disheveled and offended. He's not sure if he's offended at himself for being teleported or offended about it in general, but he's offended.

Other factors are empathy and poor impulse control. The offense simply can't linger in the face of someone or something needing a hand. Maybe it's helping a person up, helping them hobble their way to a safer space. Maybe it's trying to very quickly untie some horses before a tent fire can spread to their tethers. Maybe it's a couple of stealth-drop minor heals trying to keep a person from bleeding to death. It could even be hitting more things with his technically-stolen skillet.

(It's a different universe entirely, isn't it? Technically, he hasn't been given be-all, end-all instructions about directly interfering with what's happening around him here.)

Truly, the world is everyone's oyster.

The point remains. Catch these anxious (helping) hands. Or direct them to somewhere that could use them. He is dumb and nice and maybe a little bit thrown by the fact that somehow this day is even weirder than the literal apocalypse he was just busy with. ]


e.

[ and wildcard! For any in-between type prompts or post-running Heartstone hangout content. Feel free to hit me at comatoseroses to hash out ideas. ]

c1.

[zerg_rush]

[The flicker of recollection shouldn't be so frightening—a little redheaded girl, old enough to perhaps be learning the times tables or wondering why English spelling has to be the way that it is, glares up at a hard-faced man in military fatigues decorated with insignia no one from Earth would recognize, save for one shoulder sporting an anachronistic Confederate battle flag—but it's saturated with fear and anger and a grim, unshakable resolution that for a moment make the memory more real than the world around them. Stuff like that happens when a telepath freaks out. Sorry.

The Holy Frying Pan (blessed be its cast iron) breaks the Nightrender's hold, and Kerrigan snaps back to the present to hear a mild-voiced man saying something in an apologetic tone. The content doesn't register, but it (and the holiness radiating off him like sanctity from an ange—uh, never mind) makes her subconscious mark him as no threat, and with one of those kung fu movie maneuvers that only the appallingly athletic can manage she's on her feet, squaring off with the Nightrender.

Did you know that even abominations anathema to the very soul are vulnerable to judo throws as long as they're basically humanoid? Neither did Kerrigan, but she's still pleased with the result. Following through the movement, she scoops her discarded and apparently useless rifle from the grass and whirls on Aziraphale, long red ponytail still swinging with the motion after the rest of her has stopped, her eyes slicing into him for a moment. It's the same implacable stare as the little redhead in the memory, but after a fraction of a second, it softens.

He seems nice.]

That was you? Great, thanks, time to go.

[With her free hand, she grabs for his wrist, ready to haul him off behind her as she sprints away from an enemy she can't kill.]

OOC: Kerrigan's telepathy permissions, but I'm taking what I assume is the uncontroversial position that a literal archangel casting holy spells comes across as safe to a telepath.

[slowmotionbuscrash]

A/D Combo - We don’t need no freaking hand stamp - oh I see, we need a hand stamp.

When the cry of “nightrender!” goes up, Tommy doesn’t know what to immediately expect. From the immediate reaction of the crowd, it’s going to be bad. When the huddling and cries turn into running and shit getting knocked everywhere, Tommy starts pushing his way through the fleeing crowds to get closer for a better look in the growing fog.

Hey, something brought him here and messed with his powers. It’s probably whatever’s causing Ye Olde Stampede.

“Hey, you! Yes, you, young man.” A woman grabs Tommy’s hands and roughly pulls them forward for inspection. “Didn’t you hear them saying anyone who didn’t buy a ticket needs to run? You don’t have the protection wards like the rest of them?”

“I can’t run - your blind archers put an arrow in my leg earlier, and…”

A thing lurches its way into his peripheral vision. It’s slow and herky-jerky, and its appearance shuts him up while the glowing hand lights in the fog and smoke suddenly seem very important and nearly ubiquitous. Tommy was not on the guest list for this particular rave, and he clearly needs to bounce before the bouncers see him.

Something... not right is going on as the nightrender gets closer, like the entire mood comes crashing down around the faire, and Tommy thinks of screaming babies and the smell of sulphur. It's time to go. It's beyond time to go.

He yanks himself away from the woman and starts a limping jog north. He'll stop for anyone whose hands aren't glowing or otherwise in danger, but otherwise Tommy thinks that those warded will be fine.

[ Actionspam welcome. If you want something else, that's fine too.]

Ronan Lynch | OTA | CWs for memories: death, suicide, internalized homophobia, gore

[somnioergosum]

[I can switch to action tags too if you prefer. Also if your character remembers him from P90, it actually is cool to remember him and brings it up. This starting should make him build a bridge and get over certain levels of paranoia. (Though he might still feel weird about it)]

a) RENT

Ronan hadn’t bought anything, not once he realized these were actual fairies. But his father’s stories couldn’t work past basic human instinct. When he realized they were being attacked, Ronan grabbed a sword. It was too bad it had failed him.

With so much chaos, Ronan hadn’t noticed this Nightrender until it was almost on him. He raised his sword but it stretched out his hand and breathed.

Ronan fell to his knees. His eyelids fluttered as he fought back-- and lost. Black ooze welled in his eyes and ran down his nostrils. A raven not far from Ronan fell to the ground.

[Options are below, with CW’s beside them so you can skip. Everything is kept very brief and just basic descriptions.]

1. His mother’s death- CW: death, gore, dismemberment, grief
“Mom!” Ronan knelt before the pieces of what used to be a person, a blond woman judging by the hair. A girl with the legs of a deer sat close by, crying. Next to Ronan, stood his boyfriend, who looped his arms around him.

I can fix her—” Ronan said, his voice growing increasingly frantic. “I can put her back. I can put her—” Ronan’s voice broke.


2. After the “suicide attempt” cw: suicide, hospitalization

Ronan lay on a hospital bed. His arms were bandaged almost up to the elbow, which luckily left enough room for an IV. A nurse stood watch at the door but she averted her gaze to Ronan’s vitals, allowing Ronan and his friend the pretense of privacy.

“Declan’s talking to the doctor now,” Gansey said. “He said they’ll release you under conditions.”

“I know,” Ronan said dully.

“I said that you could stay with me,” Gansey said. “That I’d make sure you didn’t… that this won’t happen again.” He took a deep breath. I need you to tell me before you ever—”

“I didn’t—” Ronan started and then stopped. “It’s not like that.”


3. Being Unmade [cw: death/dying]

The world was all darkness. Ronan was nothingness in them. A small figured in the middle of a void of nothingness that seethed hate. It held him, suffocated him. He couldn’t breathe but he could breathe life into something else. He created a monstrous and beautiful bird— the size of a condor, with six beaks, 12 wings, and 12 claws. It was pure white.

The demon’s hold on him loosened. Ronan jolted awake and the scene shifted to two teenagers in a car and three outside of it. Ronan, in the front seat, gasped as he awakened. His eyes were full of black ooze and it trickled down his cheeks. In the backseat was Adam and also in the car was a young girl. Black trickled down her ear.

The bird flew away.

“What was that!” One of the teens outside the car jumped back.

“He brought it back from his dreams,” another said. “It won’t hurt us.”


4. Crushed by Crushes [cw: internalized homophobia]

The thing about a bad memory is, sometimes it’s not just one instance, it’s not a single moment in time. There are long strings of connected events that hit you like a sucker punch each time. When combined? It devastated. Adam saying the waitress was cute. Adam holding his girlfriend’s hand. Adam, looking at her and never at you, because he just didn’t feel that way and never would. And Ronan, who could never admit why he felt so angry and hurt every time it happened. He couldn’t even say that he was jealous because he would have to face the truth about himself— as if being a dreamer wasn’t enough to damn him, he just had to be gay too.


When Ronan’s soul emerged from his mouth, it was a small glowing flower. What kind changed from moment to moment, now a rose, next a lily, then something that only existed in Ronan’s mind— the soul of a dreamer. The black ooze stopped pouring from his eyes, nose, and mouth and what was left slowed to a trickle.


c) RESCUE

Ronan soon found that the sword he grabbed was useless but he still held onto it. At first he didn’t know if these memories were coming from his own mind or not, but he soon recognized the emotion. This was like a nightmare but one he couldn’t change (and he’d tried). It was one thing to have his thoughts torment him. Just thinking that something else was doing it pissed him off, enough to fight back.

So when he was forced to remember when his friends had left him or that Adam was leaving, he thought about the times they spent together.

And then something flickered inside of him. So he concentrated harder until a doppleganger made of light emerged. It was himself but purer and with raven wings as large as an angel.

Ronan stared. “What the fuck,” he said.

Then someone screamed and the— whatever it was— responded to his thoughts and flew towards the person.

“Hold on! I’m coming!”


e) WILDCARD
Want something else? Surprise me! (Or message me first, whichever you prefer)

a) RENT 3.

[millenyal_pink]

The sudden flash of someone else's memories and the familiar sensation of non-existence suffocated her for a moment. She looked around to see who it was coming from-- there.

Someone kneeling on the ground with black ooze dripping from his face. The Nightrender in front of him prepared to strike.

Elle leaped forward and knocked the Nightrender over, but not before her own memories rushed forward.

Elle could feel every cell, every atom, of her body pulling apart and the very essence of her being unmade.

The pain was beyond comprehension; beyond screaming or crying or any reaction at all. One moment she was whole, and the next she was torn apart completely. She only existed as a vessel for agony, before she ceased to exist at all.

Even the echo of sensation had Elle paralyzed from the pain.

At least she already knocked the creature away. Now they weren't in immediate danger from anything other than their own minds.

Tim Drake

[the_hit_list]

A/D Combo.

Tim is in rough shape. The only reason that he’s on his feet is because he’s hugging his staff like a drunk hugs a lamppost. He’s been able to make some attempts to evacuate himself out of the faire, although the staggered stops and starts go only vaguely in the right direction, give or take 90 degrees.

He’s having trouble seeing reality through the memories, and even when he can the perspective feels off. He can be looking down at his dad’s body, a boomerang impaled in his chest, and between a row of market stalls simultaneously. Over his shoulder at the Nightrenders- or is it the same man, one of a pair of rotting zombies dressed in black and black light? No, up at Bane throwing Batman off a building while his eyes are straight ahead. At own his unsteady feet on the ground but he’s kneeling at the body of his best friend. While he knows that what he’s seeing isn’t real - it’s some sort of fear toxin or hallucinogen - that doesn’t dampen the effect of being caught halfway between a blind panic and crippling despair.

And the shifting visions don’t lessen the anguish that washes over him. Every time is the first time; even though Tim knows more than months or years have passed. It’s a fresh horror each time, every time.

He still tries to head north through the stalls, but he’s walking like forward is interchangeable with every direction on the x-, y-, and z-planes. The nightrenders will catch up with him soon, even at their slow, janky pace. He probably won’t even react.

[ Your choice of what vision or visions to pick up. If you’re canon familiar and would prefer something other than the options given, just let me know. ]

B/Cish.

There are times where Tim is able to put enough distance between himself and the nightrenders to get some sort of clarity, but it’s never enough. It’s only enough for decisions like to protect someone who’s fallen behind in the race to flee the faire - higher levels of executive function that might discern that he is not consistently in good shape to do so? That escapes him. Those things are going to kill people if no one does anything.

And now, they’ve drawn the twins attention of the twins, who are floating steadily towards Tim. Tim produces a bo out of seemingly nowhere in response to the weapons that they’re carrying.

“You need to get out of here,” he says, as if he doesn’t need to do likewise. “I don’t know who they are, but nothing that floats and talks in unison is good.”

[ Actionspam is also welcome. ]

B

[talk_radio]

Tim's suggestion just gets a look. No quick radio clip, no trill, just a disbelieving stare. Because, really, of the two of them Bumblebee is pretty sure he's not the one who should be getting out of here right now.

Besides, he gets the feeling that running for it isn't going to deter to these two. They need to be driven off. Bumblebee's armblades click into place as he gets ready to do just that.

"♪Hit me with your best shot!♪" Pat Benatar's voice screams.

Dean Winchester, CW: implied child abuse, homophobia, mention of suicide, death

[rambles_on]

Dean’s first thought after waking up in the middle of the woods is shit.

That is also his second, and third thought.

He doesn’t know where he is or how he got there, he has no service on his phone, and his gun is missing.

The last thing he remembers is pulling over at a rest stop and going to sleep in Baby.

If anything has happened to his car, he’s going to kill someone.

Fuck, Dad is going to kill him.

The woods were like no others he’s been in before in that it is like every other forest he has been in before, which is a lot. It has no definable characteristics that he can see. He knows he had fallen asleep in Arkansas, so chances are that’s still where he is, but this could be literally anywhere.

So he decides to look around. There’s this feeling in the back of his head and the base of his gut urging him to move in a particular direction. He isn’t sure if it’s his instincts or some sort of spell from whatever dropped him here.

Walking right into a trap is probably more productive than just waiting around, at least.

He decidedly doesn’t let himself think about the fact that he is completely lost and alone and that his dad just checked in with him a few days ago, which means it’s probably gong to be a few weeks before anyone even notices Dean’s missing.

He hasn’t been walking for very long when the screaming starts.

He runs.

When he comes to an opening in the trees he is greeted with a scene of pure chaos.

People are running and screaming, there’s fire everywhere, and there are these creatures attacking. He’s never seen or heard of anything like them before.

It probably says something about him that he feels better being faced with monsters and violence than he did wandering around, but he doesn’t dwell on it. People are in danger, it’s time for him to do his damn job.



1. HELTER SKELTER

Dean ran headfirst into the chaos, determined to help people get away, only to be immediately entrenched in memories that he has spent years of life purposefully not looking at.

a.

Dean is in the familiar position of standing between Dad and Sam while they scream at each other.

“You want to leave so badly?” Dad screams over his shoulder. His face is red and his hands are shaking. Dean had just pushed Sam away from their Dad because he started clenching and unclenching his fists in a way that set off every warning bell Dean has.

In the other side of the room, Sam is mirroring John’s posture. There’s a duffel bag in his right hand. He’s standing next to the door. He’s looking at Dean, betrayed.

Don’t Dean wants to beg. Don’t leave me.

He’s always known that Sam was going to move on to bigger and better things, he just always hoped that he would take Dean with him.

“If you walk out that door, you better stay gone!” Dad says.

Dean freezes. Sam freezes. The room is silent as they all process the ultimatum.

Sam’s expression turns from hurt to determined.

“Sammy-“ Dean tries to say before Sam cuts him off.

“Fine.”

Somehow, Dad looks even angrier. He starts moving toward Sam and Dean does the only thing he think of in the moment.

He moves first.

Dean pushes Sam towards the door and yells “Then go!” His voice is filled with panic and hurt and anger.

An even deeper look of betrayal flickers across Sam’s face before his expression goes blank.

He opens the door, walks through, and slams it behind him.

John throws his half-empty beer bottle against the cabin wall. Dean flinches.

The room is silent and Dean feels like he’s drowning.

b.

Dean is seventeen and standing above a freshly dug grave. The top of the casket is broken, allowing him to cover the bones with salt and lighter fluid. His hands shake as he tries to light a match.

Two weeks ago, John caught Dean walking back to the motel with another boy. He doesn’t know what tipped Dad off. Was it they way Dean was looking at the guy? Did he stand too close or laugh too hard?

Dean thought the that Dad hadn’t noticed the way Dean smiled at the boy until Dad gave him his first solo case.

Now here he was, burning the bones of two nuns who committed suicide after their affair was discovered. The night air is cuts through him.

Message received.

The sweat that had built up from digging the grave is beginning to feel gross and tacky on his skin. His hands are almost numb. He wants to puke.

Dean hesitates when he finally manages to get the match to light, then drops it into the coffin. Something inside of Dean starts burning away, too.

The smell of burning, rotting flesh is absolutely awful. There are tears stinging his eyes. He wants nothing more than to go home, but home hasn’t existed for thirteen years.

Happy birthday, Dean he thinks to himself.

c.

Dean is four years old and his brother is heavy in his arms. He stands outside of their home, waiting for his Mom and Dad to run out after them.

His mother on the ceiling, bleeding from her stomach, then catching fire is etched into his brain like the sun when you stare at it for too long.

He is waiting for his Dad and Mom to come out.

Even from the lawn, the fire is hot enough to hurt. He holds baby Sammy tighter.

Sammy is crying. Dean is not.

His Dad runs out of the house.

His brother is heavy in his arms.

[hallelujahjunction]

Dan's galloping through the fray, exhausted but looking for anyone who might be left behind. He's shuttled about a dozen people out, mostly other faire goers, mostly all in good shape but terrified. He's back out in it, feeling his age and the exertion of riding a horse and hauling people around, longbow prepped with an arrow in case he needs to try and pin anything.

"Dean Winchester?" Dan's voice is quiet, rarely gets above a speaking tone, but he raises it as much as he can as he brings the horse around and sees a young man beset by a pack of nightrenders, all of them squabbling with both the man and each other to try and get the little star of a soul that's being coaxed from the man's mouth.

It's the flash of memory that does it; Dan's seen this fight before, from Sam's perspective. He knows who this kid is, how brave.

Dan charges the nightrenders and forces his horse to rear over them, hooves flailing, while he fires off an arrow. It's enough to buy time for the little star to go back into Dean's mouth; not enough to keep Dan from getting a snatch of a four year-old boy carrying a baby.

Dan was four years old when his little brother was born. He thought that baby was heavy too.