A room with a Bob [open]

[Bob Barton]

20th night of Summer 511 AV

Bob rubbed and struggled to open his eyes. It was pretty dim for him to see much, but there was no doubt he knows what cold is when he feels it. Thinking to himself about his current situation "Cold and dark...won't Uncle Marny be happy that his ungrateful gambling nephew has finally ended up in the situation he predicted" looking around further and himself.

Breath literally left Bob when he exhaled in surprise finding himself naked! The vapours from his breath convincing him more that the place is cold and he was going to freeze to death. Bob was going to think more, maybe he could escape and turn the tables on his captors but suddenly the situation changed. He panicked running around the room screaming and yelling. No matter what he wanted to do, he couldn't stop himself. It was as though he was trapped in someone elses body and he was just along for the ride to watch the whole thing but this assumption was proven wrong when he saw the walls of the room was made of mirrors reflecting his figure towards him.

Minutes passed until the cold and the disorientation overtook him and Bob was curled up on the cold stone floor in order to try and preserve his body heat. Staring at the the mirror at his own pathetic situation he could only ask himself "What have I done this time? When can I get out?"

[Mok]

Mok wandered home through silent streets of Sunberth. It was a long night and he was exhausted. Reaching the edge of the city, Mok was half a league away from camp. The myrian’s mind was tired as well; he had spent all day with last minute details for the journey out of the Sunberth area. Finally Mok reached the camp and laid down into a fitful sleep.

Mok stood at the bottom of a spiral staircase that seemed to float in total blackness. There was no light at all, except a faint glow from each step on the staircase. Mok began to walk up the staircase, slowly at first, but then he began to sprint. His speed kept increasing and he continued going faster and faster. Eventually, Mok was leaping and bounding up the staircase.

Finally, Mok got to the top. An ominous iron door stood in front of him. Opening the door and stepping through Mok found himself in small room. A small…cold…room. The door clicked behind him and disappeared.

The myrian turned around frantically and began searching the walls for an exit. Unsuccessful, Mok sat down on the floor only two realize to thing. There was a man naked on the floor and he was naked to. To Mok’s horror, the next thing he noticed was that all his tribal tattoos began to move and dance on his flesh. This experience was so frightening for Mok that he became pale and began to sweat profusely.

Looking around for help, Mok tried to yell at the man curled up in a ball, but no noise came from his mouth. No matter how hard he tried, his voice was mute. He tried to get up and get the man’s attention but he was too scared, too scared that one of his tattoos would escape.

Mok curled up as well and tried to calm himself down. He needed to think logically.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

OOCIt looks like the norm for dreamscape is normal text for what happens in the dream, and italics for what happening to the physical world. Also I waited to move the plot further so we can try to get another person in the room first

[Sairque]

Two men, the willing prisoners of their minds and ignorant of their influence on the psyches of one another, faced these demons with the shock and incompetency of newborn fawns. Laid bare, incapable of summoning their defenses, at the mercy of their environment. An environment created by the very entity that knew their every secret and fear. No better labrynth architect existed. The mirrors wavered. Frost that had lingered near the edges and spotted the surfaces like infectious pustules melted, running down the smooth surfaces in streamlets. Expanding outward from these channels, the silvery planes of glass rippled. After an initial wave, most stilled. One continued in its molten dance, whether the men noticed it or not. A hand pushed through first, followed closely by an elbow, a shoulder, a torso, head, and legs. Like a second skin the molten glass clung in opaque silver, the wiry and short figure examining her hands and arms, apparently unsure about this new outfit. With remarkable, and curious, aplomb, the figure wiped at her arm. The sheath of silver bunched and fell thickly to the frosted floor where it cooled and hardened. Pale, muscular flesh with fine white hairs peeked out. Apparently this satisfied the woman and she continued sloughing the glass off until she too stood bare in the cold room. After examining herself one last time, with both vibrant yellow eyes and scarred hands, the redhead bent to the piles of mirror and methodically set about repairing the holes in what had become her door. An unmarred sheet of glass could be the dirrence in life and death in a chill like this. Work complete, all three occupants reflected in the unblemished surface, Sai finally attended to the suffering men behind her. "What are you doing? There's no time to sleep, we have to prepare for Winter." The reflections in the mirrors of the room multiplied exponentially, but each additional figure changed just a little bit into someone else until hundreds of strangers dotted the walls. As the frost returned to the panes and spread across the figures like blankets, they all became a little more emaciated and sick looking. They were all going to starve, there was no food. There was no one working to aqcuire food. Frantically, the flightleader turned to her two companions, didn't they see it?! Didn't they know what they had to do?!

[Bob Barton]

Bob heard an iron door opening and closing shut. The sound then was music to his ears. "Finally! I got a chance to escape." Bob thought to himself. He planned out how to do it, images of him rolling to face his captor, pouncing on him and some violent method to finish him off. Without a weapon he would probably have to rely on his reimancy and the element of surprise to succeed. The image seemed to be as clear to him as he imagined it and he swore he even saw it playing out in the mirrors in front of him with each showing a different outcome. He tried to convince himself by telling himself "Its a well thought out plan, I'll win. I never play games I can't win and now is a time I can't afford to lose!" Unfortunately though the mind was sound the body was not because no matter what, he could not get himself execute the plan.

Then silence. Nothing. As quiet as death his captor was saying and doing nothing. Bob did not like how this was going on but he could do nothing but wait. It took another few minutes until his captor finally spoke. A female, wait until the boys learn that good ol' Bob was captured by a woman. And when she did speak it did not even make any sense to Bob as he thought again "GODS! I get captured by a woman who turns out to be CRAZY?!?" Then a mob of sickly looking people started to come to him one by one. Bob lost all hope then resigning to his fate as he knew that one captor is a lot different from a legion.

OOCSo sorry guys if this post is not up to standard. The sudden developments made me really confused on how I would portray Bob's psyche and conscious mind so I did what I could.

[Mok]

At the woman’s feet laid a dark rose with many thorns. Sadness seeped from the pedals and spread like thick honey all over the ground. The black vile continued to grow and grow until the calloused, gnarled feet were drowned in grief. The rose slowly began to regain its color again and eventually it was a deep rich red. As beautiful as the flower now was, the despair around it was too intense to ignore. The goop was bubbling now and staining everything it touched. The women however was oblivious to this fact until it was too late. She could only think of what was directly in front of her and could not see trouble brewing at her feet.

Mok began to crawl through the bile to reach the woman. The moment in which the dark substance touched him, grief and sadness flooded his five senses. The overload was not taken kindly and the tattoos on his body began to dance more wildly than ever. Weeping and crying was no good. The young man tried to reach the rose but no matter what he couldn’t. He looked up at the woman and saw that she looked worried and distressed as well but did not move from the filth. This caused even more anguish as things seemed to being going for the worst.

Mok did not feel anything but pure melancholy. No thoughts, no words, no images. Just the single rose amidst all the pain and suffering is what kept him going. The goop itself did not go to rest though. It slowly made its way through the room and began to cover every corner and every bit of exposed wall. How this seemingly endless liquid did this could not be comprehended by anyone. Mok’s brain could not explain or even describe what the substance was doing.

All of Mok’s will was bent on the singular purpose of grasping this single thorny rose. The dark, evil bile now began to engulf everything. It crept up the woman’s legs, wrapped around her pale, muscular skin and squeezed into every pore of her body. Mok looked up in horror as the glob engulfed her. It got to the other man as well, and in minutes the man on the opposite side of the room was completely entangled in the black mess. Mok knew somehow everything would be ok if he could reach the single adorning flower. The one glimmer of hope left in the world; the light at the end of the tunnel. He was close, oh so close to it. Just one more inch and he would be free of this despair. He was so close to reaching it, but…

Someone got it first. A single outstretched hand appeared from the goop and grabbed the rose, thorns and all.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Sairque]

Why didn’t they see it? What fundamental instincts for survival and social existence had been crushed in these two? What had warped them into the lazy and blind crawling insects they’d become at her feet? Predatory yellow eyes flickered over the emaciated figures in the mirrors, panic rising in her esophagus until the monumental task of supplying enough for all these people with only the help of two useless layabouts quelled even the most basic desire to work. Despair surged through the Endal’s veins, gauging out her innards like glaciers through the earth. One of them, the more exotic of the two, struggled toward her, scratching the surface of the fragilely stable cage of desolation and spurring a natural reaction to the situation.

Muscles popping, delicate features contorting in a snarl, Sai surged toward the incompetent man struggling toward her. Useless was to dead as laziness was to punishment. Hundreds could have been saved. Now those hundreds suffering in the mirrors would be joined by two more. Oblivious to the amorphous chains and from what they stemmed, the redhead pulled with dedicated force. The futility, apparently, was lost on her in the vacuum of righting this perverse situation. Frozen in place, legs straining to gain ground, fists clenched and at the ready, the Endal's straining lower body slowly disappeared under a layer of emotional muck

Higher and higher the unperceived goop climbed, inching onward and upward against the crystallizing chill of the chamber. The thinly flesh-covered skulls, wailing their famine, had no choice but to cower in their new prison, walled away from their saviors by this amorphous brick wall covering the mirror. Still, none of it registered until all motion in the room stopped at the upthrust of a hand around some flower.

Abruptly, the redhead's struggles ceased. It was all futile. Shoulders sagging, glazed yellow eyes flicked from the man at her feet, over the crust oozing up her body, to the man completely covered in the corner, and back to the floor.

[Chemar Tisserand]

There were only two other Chevi recognizable to the dreamwalker without really having to search the vastness of the Chevena. Rae, here sister, and Sairque, her monkey soldier. She walked amidst the countless Chevi, randomly reaching out here and there to let her fingers glide along brightly glowing threads. A gentle touch of one such thread stopped her in her tracks, and her pause gave it all the opportunity it needed to coil around her wrist in a desperate attempt to be seen. As she was about to disentangle herself she felt a touch of something familiar. Sai? Quickly her eyes searched the Chevena for the familiar thread, there she was, but the light that usually glowed with a known warmth was harsh and blinding. From her experience, there were only a few situations that would lead to this change. Fear or anger. Gold ringed eyes followed the length of her arm to look at the Chevi, she did nothing to shrug it off, curious as to what Sai's involvement with this desperate soul was. As the thread continued to climb along her arm like a clinging vine, the definition of the Chevena faded only to be replaced by a room populated with fear, an endless supply of ghoulish mirrored faces, two men who seemed lost and terrified and a muck covered figure that had to be Sai. For a few moments that seemed only to pass for her as she was fully insinuated into this place, Chemar looked around, doing her best to find some sense of this macabre horror. The shadowy sludge that seemed to envelope everything within sight did not touch her, held away by the glowing gold rings in her eyes. She snatched a rose from the murky black to save it from being devoured only noting the tortured soul who had been reaching for it as though all life depended on it. One of her angled brows quirked for a moment as she looked for the man to the rose. "too slow... She whispered, letting the crawling man be the only recipient of her words. She twisted the stem of the rose between the pads of her fingers, taking care to avoid the thorns. This taunting brought a look of sheer hunger to the man's face and her head cocked curiously, wondering why he held so much attachment to the flower. With slow and deliberate motion she crouched before him, curling her body over bent legs, the petals of the rose brushing her full lips. "Is this yours?" With a quiet motion, she lowered the head of the rose, now brilliant and flourishing as though it gained life from her hand. Keeping the flower just shy of his grasp, she watched the man. "I think it's mine. Sai? Don't you agree?" With an extension of her free hand she reached to touch the leg of her friend. It was only a whispered touch, and when she withdrew, the murky slime followed in a long dripping thread. A brisk flick of her hand shot the goop across the room as though she'd thrown it, and Sairque was left free of it's bonds. Chemar looked up at her friend with a smile, a line on communication sent into her mind without effort. "What a mess." Though Chemar was clear and at ease, everyone else, including her friend, seemed strained, at best, and manic, at worst. She didn't wait for a response from Sai, but instead, turned her attention to the third man. He appeared wholly consumed by this place. Tortured as he sought any feeling of comfort or understanding. In one fluid movement, she uncurled to standing, again, stealing the rose just as the man on the floor seemed poised to grasp it. Eyes cast to the floor, she watched him for a bit before tearing one petal free to let to waft toward him. "Watch the thorns." The dreamwalker turned away just as the petal lit upon the palm of the man. At first there was a flash of joy on his face, but as the petal became two, then three, quickly retaking the body of the full rose, he seemed scared. But even and the stem of the rose began coiling around his arm, thorns driving into his skin, he did not move. Within seconds, he was encased in a thorny coffin, any movement driving a series of jagged thorns into his flesh. The blacky murk had dissolved, but the vicious beauty that was left seemed the greater of the two evils. A lowered look back over her shoulder confirmed that he had reclaimed his rose, so Chemar turned back to the other man, saving Sai for last. He seemed the least affected by the clinging goop, but the most troubled. His fear had engulfed him, his confusion isolating him from the other inhabitants of this place. Chemar approached and he flinched away from her, and even as she repelled the black threads of ooze that had begun to spiral up his legs, the man recoiled from her. The more the man sought to escape her, the closer she got, crowding him until his back was pressed against his gaunt counterpart in the mirror. The reflection's arms emerged from their mirrored bonds and encircled the man, and starving teeth bit hard into the shoulder of his captive. Before the reflection chewed through to bone, Chemar pressed the flat of her palm against one mirror. She looked down at her shoulder, and as though it came from the glowing rings in her eyes, a golden pulse traveled the length of her arm and crashed into the mirror, shattering all in the room. The cannibalistic reflection shattered as well, falling into a jagged pile at the man's feet,covering the pool of blood that had formed there. Chemar appeared before Sai with a movement that was not seen, she curled gentle hands around her shoulders and stared into the monkey soldier's golden eyes. "Why are you here?"

[Bob Barton]

The black gloop crept closer and closer to Bob and clung firmly to his leg. He felt it as it was cold, not as cold as the room but there was a quality to this coldness. With every inch it crept on Bob's skin, a feeling of dread, despair and hopelessness grew stronger and stronger in Bob. It twisted his memories telling him that he was a disappointment to his uncle for leaving, he was incompetent because he had to take magic lessons from a kid almost half his age and that his swordmaster only took him under her wing because she pitied him like anyone would a stray dog. The negativity in Bob fed it, the warmth started to fade to make room for the cold.

"NO! THOSE ARE NOT TRUE!" Bob shouted to himself in his mind, reminding him who he was. The fake memories shattered as they played out on the mirrors in front of him. The dark void which replaced the empty spaces of the mirror had a small light focused in it coming closer and closer as it grew. Bob continued "I have met people, I have seen things, I have lived! That is the only truth that matters and you will never take it!" and the light brightened to blind him. The light illuminated the truth to him again.

He drank the light like a man suffering from an unquenchable thirst. Bob was happy, the warmth reenergized him and through that he found comfort. But it could only last so long. Bob found himself screaming in harmony with the crunching sound of his bones forcing him to open his eyes. He was greeted by a face very familiar to him but he could not recall from where. It was hideous with its sunken eyes, bones showing through its skin and most of all, its sharp carnivorous teeth. Before he could do anything else the face dissolved only to leave skin and bones. But it woke him up to the reality of his situation.

He could feel his limbs again. They were no longer numb or useless. He rolled on the floor and using the momentum used his hand as support at he let himself up. He saw it again, the room but with new things. Near the center there was some sort of package wrapped in vines of thorn and not far from it a woman who he assumed is his captor embracing another. Bob was infuriated, fueled by his rage and instinct for survival. He picked up one of the bigger bones at his feet and charged at the woman, the only one in the room dressed and looking healthy as he shouted "WHY HAVE YOU TAKEN THE JOY FROM ME?!? WHY!!!" The cold of the room no longer mattered, the pain from the bite did not matter. All that mattered now is revenge for the ordeal.

[Mok]

Finally Mok had the damned flower! Nothing else mattered to him at all. Even the entrance of another person into the room was completely oblivious to him. His whole mind, his whole body, was bent on obtaining the single red rose and he had finally got his hands on it. The joy that it brought Mok was overwhelming. To the myrian, this rose represented all of his life struggles culminated all in one single rose. Each pedal that grew on the rose was a single memory in his life. His childhood life of struggle and strife was culminated into each pedal of the rose. Looking at each leaf Mok saw decisive moments in his life vividly appear in front of him. Just as quickly as they flashed in front of him, they faded. Suddenly, the stem and thorns of the rose began to wrap around his arm and body and squeeze tightly. In seconds his body was encased in thorns. His vision began to become blurry until eventually it began dark.

Mok thought for a moment and realized that the thorns represented his past and that he needed to escape from them. Squirming around in his prison Mok only made matters worse as the pain quickly became unbearable. Now the myrian began to scream in anger and frustration. Mok thought if he could just overpower the thorns that he would be able to escape their firm hold. He tried and tried, but they wouldn’t budge. By now he was a bloody mess, but this did not matter at all to him. He would not yield to anyone. The woman that handed him this flower was to blame. She knew that he would get entangled and did not warn him. Hatred began to form in his heart. He cursed the woman that blabbered about preparations for winter. He spat on the man that was huddled in the corner. Most of all, he wanted to bring justice to the woman that brought him the rose. Who was she? She had no right to trap him in such bonds. Mok’s soul was a huge mess of despair and rage. The thorns just fueled the fire.

Scream as he would, nothing could happen. For a fleeting moment Mok understood what he must do to escape the grasp of the vines. The myrian needed to forgive and forget the memories of his past. He needed to make peace with his enemies and start life anew. No. This was not going to happen. He went through way too much. The melancholic path of hatred is his road. He did not care anymore if he would die in these thorns, he would not drop his pride for one moment. Humility was not an option. He didn’t care how foolish he looked or how stupid he was. Nothing. Nothing at all would make him compromise. Mok knew he had another way out and no matter how terrible his chances were at actually succeeding, the warrior would try anyways.

“I am Mok of the Jagged Blade Clan! I am the son of a human man and a myrian woman. I served Myri my whole life, but now I serve none. I am the lone soldier in the fray. I have failed many times. I try and try again, but I keep failing. I will continue this because soon enough I will overcome these obstacles. Eventually, nothing will stand in my path. I am now Mok of the Foolish Tiger Clan, because I am truly foolish to think that performing the same action over and over will change the results. But, alas, I call upon my pride and heart to free me from these bonds!”

Although Mok could not see what was going on his prayer worked. He could hear the sounds of an animal in the room now. Mok began to relax now. Now he was surely saved.

oocSorry for taking forever, had alot of stuff IRL to deal with

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Sairque]

Cocooned, albeit reluctantly, away from the events unfolding in the room not a thing registered to the involuntarily apathetic redhead. Alone and obsessed, her mind put the scene on replay like a never-ending clip of the scant chimes of interaction the three of them had had. Why couldn’t they figure out their responsibilities? How did they devolve into the beings they were now? What would it take to right them? Were they even worth expending the effort to guide? Chemar would know. She understood. Her presence in the doorless room made complete sense. There really was no better way to clean a person than flicking their goop off in a thick string. The Dreamwalker waited for no response, and none she would get from the withdrawn redhead. In the first stages of recovery from the melancholy, the flight leader wantonly watched her friend go to work on the boys with a passive observation. Those thorns would give the man time to stop and think. Reflect on his life, where he had gone wrong, what defects in his personality he’d mistakenly allowed free reign. Chemar had made an apt observation. They were messes. Losing interest as the quiet male quivered in a pile of broken glass, Sai bent and snagged a few jagged pieces up for herself. She had just placed their mismatched ends together experimentally when the elder Tisserand resumed interest in the aloof Inarta. Yellow eyes, as pervasive and illuminating as the sun on a summer day, lifted and met Chemar’s with ethereal certainty. The handful of mirror shards laid flat on one palm, she raised the hand between them but didn’t drop her eyes. The competent and often dangerous fingers of the other hand danced up the woman’s side, passing through the cloth of her outfit as though it were just a faint memory. Which it then was as in the blink of an eye the taller Inarta was reduced to the same state of indecency as the rest of them. The digits caressed to a stop and curled around her rib cage, drawing their embrace into tighter intimacy. “They must be broken to be remade,” the wiry woman answered, abruptly clenching the shards in her hand in a white-knuckled fist. Rotating the hand, fingers peeled open from the bottom up, releasing a steady stream of molten glass toward the ground. Blood mingled freely and the hand crushing the mirror, her right one, slowly regrew the scars it sported in waking life. Sharing a knowing smile with the other woman, she released her in order to catch the glass in the newly-emptied hand. It returned to its proper state, a square mirror. “But one as delicate as you should not be subjected to brute force,” she continued, reaching up once more to embrace her childhood friend. Tucking the mirror against her side with her left hand, the right one wrapped around the back of Chemar’s neck, thumb nestled against the soft skin in front of her ear. In the mess of the room, amidst the sudden cacophony of angry man cries, as though drawing her in for a kiss, Sai pulled her forward. Heart pattering, tongue sneaking out to moisten sun-chapped lips, as graceful as any dancer, the flight leader twirled with her Dreamwalker and sent her spinning out of harms’ way. Bob charged forward, visage distorted in a fear-fueled rage, and Sai neatly replaced Chemar in his line of attack at the last second. Up the mirror came, reclaiming the bone of his reflected counterpart and leaving his hands empty. No weapon, but it was still too late to evade his hurling body. They crashed to the ground, struggling in a tangle of naked limbs with Mok’s prayer booming out around them. For every blow he landed her rage flared, lit like a dry field of waist-high grass doused in oil. No filthy mud grubbing shyke-stain outsider would lay a hand on one of her people. So she resorted to what she knew. Brawling in the dirt, using every nasty trick fathomable to deter him from his goal. “Stop acting like a child,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “You know why the joy has been taken from you.” Personally, she thought it was because he indulged himself too often and couldn’t maintain his duties. OOC : Mok! Sorry I neglected you! But he's a bundle right now.