Nightmares Reimagined

[Nox]

A tender finger stroked his cheek and Nox clamped his eyes shut fighting white hot tears. Sadness, anger. Fucking hatred. Not at Raffe, at himself. He hated himself. Was far harder to hate Raffe, the blame was his and he'd fucked up.

"I cannot. And I will not. I will not give myself that hope. You can claim I can be whatever here. But you don't have to live with what's in here." He pointed to his heart and head. "You don't have to see him everyday and pretend like nothing has changed. Like your world isn't dead, that your heart isn't broken all over the fucking floor." Nox growled and the rage fell into the emptiness of the void. He tried to reach for the power and it did not come, but the effects of his desire did. The white hot rage in the emptiness filled the scene with the Aurora Borealis. The blues and greens skittered across the sky and his skin. The effect of the power manifested without the weave used to make it. The dream was strange, there was no burn of power, no stickiness from the horde's residue, it just was. It was nearly perfect except the entity he shared it with was not Raffe.

The remnants of the horde slide across the void Nox hid his anger in. They scratched at the unseen walls of his mind. They wanted in too.

[Adrian Kane]

A tender touch broke the veil of tears. Before Rafeal’s hand retracted, his finger captured one sliding droplet, brushing it tenderly away.

Such defiance.

Overhead, the sky blossomed a river of color and light where it was usually unnaturally lit. To find it blanketed with something else was quite beautiful. As the real Rafael might have marveled for it, so too did this one. He turned in a slow circle, admiring the art that Nox surely created for him and wondered at its meaning.

His voice was a whisper, reverent for the moment. “Then all the more reason to Dream of this. To Dream of me.” And he stepped nearer.

[Nox]

The embodiment of Raffe stepped closer and Nox growled. His good hand jut out and kept the being at bay and his anger roiled through him. The lights went from cool blues and greens to reds and oranges -- like a wildfire raging in the distance. The first sound of invisible walls breaking as the horde found purchase once again in his mind. They pushed through the cracks feeling Nox's want and desire -- the same fucking thing that happened with Jay was happening now. "Why the fuck!" Nox shouted in the void of his emotion, though inside his head as they were it raged with fire and fury and it sounded quite odd to Nox as the words fell out of his mouth. "Does no one fucking listen." The power brimmed and brewed around him. There was no festering of power, no lost control for there was nothing but the dream manifesting Nox's absolute control of the power in his anger. There was no fight the effect was immediate in the dream. No struggle with the power. No resistance, it just was. "When I say NO." The last words came with a sudden burst of fire from around the pair of men standing.

The eyes that had started to creep through the cracks now turned tail and ran with the burst of fire spread out from Nox and Raffe's forms. The earth shook though they did not. The fire roared and yet they felt no heat. There was no stench of burning flesh and hair. They were all memories but in the dream they didn't exist. Just like in his dreams the people never spoke, just images on repeat. While this didn't happen and Nox remembered the burning stench that covered his body the night he fucked his life up, it wasn't present.

But with each fiery death a slash struck Nox's dream form. The glowing red slash bit and stung. It bled fire as it each one landed and the pain seared his soul. He'd never forget the pain of feeling the horde die to his hand. Each one left a mark. Each death flayed his skin from his body, gouged a new scar, burnt harder and deeper than the last until Nox was on his knees, tears silently streaming down his face. The horde would not win. This demon thing before would not win. He stared up broken, dripping fire and blood with defiance. "I WILL NOT" What should look like a battle field was nothing more than ash and dust. All the bodies he'd killed gone in the raging inferno, the horde was quiet in his head -- they weren't gone, just waiting -- waiting for another crack to form. Waiting to make him the monster he feared so much -- himself.

[Adrian Kane]

Rejection manifested physically, this time, and Rafael retreated beyond the reach of Nox’s arm. Pain swirled within the man at his side almost as powerful as the fear that fed the Nightmares, and then that pain exploded from the man at the center of it all.

Fire rolled across the earth, devouring everything it touched yet no heat flushed Rafael’s pale cheeks. The ground trembled as though reacting to the inferno yet Rafael remained steady and calm.

What drew his pale eyes narrow with concern were the lines that marred Nox’s body. They grew in number and depth, and while Rafael was concerned for the harm being done, he offered no comfort. He was a being of love and acceptance and was coaxing the Dreamer to nestle safe in the arms of such protective emotions. It was clear, however, that deep within Nox, something was pushing back.

He remained impassive as Nox crashed to his knees, tormented and twisted. His defiance roaring, "I WILL NOT.”

Rafael crossed his arms over his chest, and an uncharacteristic twitch tugged his lips in approval. The Dreamer may have fought those Nightmares with love but anger was even better.

“That will work.” He said to himself.

Then the figure of Rafael shimmered, faded and morphed once more into the towering form of The Sandman.

“The Nightmares fear you now. They know you are no easy meal, and if they return, they will come in fewer numbers.” The force would be less destructive for the human and for the Dream. The Sandman’s work was done.

“If not, you may see me again. Have you any last words, Dreamer?”

[Nox]

Nox panted from the searing of his soul. It ached to his bones. It had ached the night they happened in the depths of the tunnels. It had drove him to tears and the loss that accompanied it only fueled the pain. All of it -- everything since was just more added pain and the creature shimmered and shifted from Raffe's form which was a great relief but Nox hated every second of saying no to Raffe. Whatever this thing thought it was about, he was wrong. Grateful for a reprive of the nightmares. That was not going to stave off his own fucking thoughts.

Nox put his hands on the ground noting two living hands, though where he should feel the ash below his fingers he did not. There was no sensation -- just a memory. Fucking memories... Soft images flickered through his mind of the plane crashing. Of landing -- of forgetting. If only...

Nox didn't look up at the figure offering parting words. "Why the fuck do you even care if they destroy me? I wouldn't be so kind should the roles be reversed." Though that was a lie. Nox would take the compassionate route if the monster in question was human enough. Wolfkin, sentient, rougarou, even dreyken and drainaka could live close to human if not completely human. He protected the innocent -- nothing more and nothing less. That was his route. Not a monster hunter. Protector.

He sank into Child Pose, hands outstretched before him, back arched and forehead pressed to the ground taking slow deep breathes. He couldn't wake, whatever hold the drugs had they still held. He didn't care if the creature answered or not. "Why him?" The loss and pain leaked out and he let the tears flow. He'd fucked up and there was no salvaging it. No way forward except through and through was going to kill him if not physically, metaphorically

[Adrian Kane]

The Sandman's nostrils flared as he drew in a deep, ominous breath, sending shivers through the very fabric of the Dream. With an imperious tilt of his chin, he loomed like a sinister colossus while the Dreamer curled upon himself and bowed his forehead to the unforgiving ground.

The Sandman's colossal presence left prints in the ashen landscape, his clawed feet carving a sinister path as he rounded the Dreamer’s prostrate form. Should the Dreamer dare to cast his gaze upward, he would behold the horned demon crowned by the malevolent crimson glow of a sky set ablaze by the Dreamer’s own anger. It was a hellish landscape, a Field of Mourning, and the Sandman was right at home.

Kneeling, wings folding behind him, he palmed a handful of the lifeless ash. When he unclenched his fist, it spiraled around him, caught in a vortex of his energy emanating from his formidable will. The ash obscured his features, transforming him into a being of power and authority, yet his voice, laden with the burden of his responsibility, cut through the swirling grayish cloud that cloaked him.

“Because I am the king of Dreams, and while you are here, Dreamer, you are a subject of my realm.”




[[See separate PM]]

[Nox]

Nox relaxed in to the familiar form stretching his aching muscles, feeling the pull in his lower back. He laughed at the presumption of Kings and gods. "You are no more king than I am a god." Nox said into the ground below with a deep breath to follow and a slow exhale before he sat on his heels and looked up at the demonscaped dream before him. "We are just men with a power. I don't know you. You don't know me. But you are just a man with a gift. And if you aren't a man you are a monster. Monsters who prey on innocents don't live long around me." He gave the demon a smile. "I didn't ask to be here. I didn't ask to be your subject. I want to sleep in peace to dream of nothing."

"Why him?" Nox asked again.

[Adrian Kane]

The Sandman remained unmoved by the assertions of this mere mortal. He knew full well who held dominion over the realm of dreams. Yet, not once, but twice in recent memory, his authority had been challenged by wandering Dreamers. His crimson eyes gleaming with the light of glowing rubies, narrowed in contemplation. Had the Age changed so much that even a king could be treated with disdain? Perhaps it was time for the Sandman to remind these humans of the sovereign who sat upon the dreamer's throne.

In that moment, the swirling vortex of ash came to a sudden halt, the black flakes cascading like the snowflakes of the damned.

He stretched out his awareness, and as he did, he raised his arms slowly. The enormous wings on his back lifted to leathery points far overhead, while the gleaming jewels that constituted his eyes ignited to fiery embers. He seized hold of the threads that wove through the Dream like a beast seizing its prey, and wrenched.

Suddenly, countless figures materialized all around them — a tapestry of men, women, and children, each unique of size and color. Some stood with age-bowed backs, others with the uncertainty of youth. They gathered in a controlled ring, encircling the Sandman with Nox nearby, and still, he exerted the weight of his influence upon all of them that held them in place.

His wings unfurled to their fullest extent and then pulsed down hard with a powerful force, and the demon lifted from the ground, ten, twenty feet in the air, where he peered down upon all these beings with the guise of monarch on his throne. In perfect unison, they all assumed a posture of deference, bowing as Nox had before.

His voice echoed as he spoke from on high. “I am neither man nor monster. I am the Prince of Night, the Son of Sleep, Shaper of Forms—Morphê, The Oneroi, the Dream Eater, Watcher of the Eyes. The King of Dreams,” he declared with commanding authority.

The flex of his wings released, and he descended to stand before Nox once more. “You, Dreamer, may address me as The Sandman.”





[[See separate PM]]

[Patricus I]

Since arriving in Norway, Philip avoided dreaming of this place. He loathed the powerlessness he felt of late, and dreaming of keys and Arboreals only frustrated him further. Like all things eventually, temptation stirred in him, and on one night in particular, he opened himself to the dream. 

He was walking the grounds of the Pontifical Palace in Gandolfo, observing the wide vista and thinking of how to proceed when something seemed to grab hold of his mind. A moment of being startled was the only warning, and the dream blurred fiercely.

In the next moment, Philip stood engulfed in a crowd. At his side was the young girl that Nimeda called Mara.

A deep frown lined his expression where everyone else seemed confused or lost, but otherwise, he did not stand out at all. He wore his usual white track suit, cashmere and clean and bright for all the darkness that seemed to emanate from the demon at the center of this force. He started to take a step forward and confront it again, but before he could, a force pushed and he was on the ground bowing.

Which really pissed him off.

[Nesrin Aziz]

Something pulled, and Nesrin’s carefully laid plans unravelled as she was wrenched free of another’s dream. She blinked among the sudden sea of people, immediately uncomfortable, and tried to shrink her way backwards. The tall man beside her muttered a string of Scandinavian curses, and Nesrin narrowed her eyes for no reason she could discern beyond a frank desire to remove herself from the vicinity. Only she couldn’t. The child beside her began to cry and reached for Nesrin’s hand when she beheld the great winged demon at their centre. But in the next breath they were all laid low upon the ground, bowed like servants.