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[nWoD - Changeling IC] That Strange Little Town
Teyar
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
You were running, hounded by things from your Keeper, right up until the wind started picking up, just as you began to dive through the holes in the Hedge. It wasnt like any wind you'd ever felt, even in the infinitely varied realms of Arcadia. There were lights inside it. Mind? Soul? Wyrd? The tempest lashes not only your flesh with wind, but your mind with sensation, a flood of things too fast to process, too intense to be clear.
The searing, repeating pain of bone-burning Fire.
The fear, chasing along the path wreathed in Lightning.
The bite of countless needles, filled with withering Plague.
The shame and pleasure after every Assignation.
The merciless bite, followed by the crunch and screams of Prey.
The mirror with prismatic eyes, staring over a too-wide Smile.
The images that drive you from the hedge are shared, in those brief moments being thrown about in The Whirlwind, a barest glance into the horrors that bring you five together, finally dropped through The Thorns with a final crash.
The dust settles slowly, occasional gusts of sharp, midnight-cold late Autumn wind carving through the broken, empty windows, clearing the air eventually. Out of a closet, climbing out of what was left of the stairs, landing on a couch, and tumbled into the fireplace, you four are able to recognize each other, instinctively matching the distinct, sharp imagery to the faces around you. Just as you know the other two are missing.
Sound starts up with a jolt, a single car honk followed by the whirling rush of cars along the highway, and the wind through the leafless trees, and the thousand other subtleties of sound you cant avoid around civilization. You're Back. That isnt the sound of Arcadia. And Arcadia could never have a.... so horribly ruined look to a house.
(( CJ and Lynx's characters not present, although Melissa and Joseph both suffered a crippling dream-vision on par with the escapee's experience, jolting them both awake. All four have a single piece of clothing from their escape, whatever they were in. This outfit is Fae Made, flawless, and contains the essence of Arcadia and your Keeper's craft. It is midnight, the morning of December 1st. And it is 30 degrees in the room. In your first post, re-include a single-Spoiler'd copy of your character background'n'stuff from the other thread, a link to your sheet, and your contact info. Neat, simple housekeeping on data is our friend. ))
The searing, repeating pain of bone-burning Fire.
The fear, chasing along the path wreathed in Lightning.
The bite of countless needles, filled with withering Plague.
The shame and pleasure after every Assignation.
The merciless bite, followed by the crunch and screams of Prey.
The mirror with prismatic eyes, staring over a too-wide Smile.
The images that drive you from the hedge are shared, in those brief moments being thrown about in The Whirlwind, a barest glance into the horrors that bring you five together, finally dropped through The Thorns with a final crash.
The dust settles slowly, occasional gusts of sharp, midnight-cold late Autumn wind carving through the broken, empty windows, clearing the air eventually. Out of a closet, climbing out of what was left of the stairs, landing on a couch, and tumbled into the fireplace, you four are able to recognize each other, instinctively matching the distinct, sharp imagery to the faces around you. Just as you know the other two are missing.
Sound starts up with a jolt, a single car honk followed by the whirling rush of cars along the highway, and the wind through the leafless trees, and the thousand other subtleties of sound you cant avoid around civilization. You're Back. That isnt the sound of Arcadia. And Arcadia could never have a.... so horribly ruined look to a house.
(( CJ and Lynx's characters not present, although Melissa and Joseph both suffered a crippling dream-vision on par with the escapee's experience, jolting them both awake. All four have a single piece of clothing from their escape, whatever they were in. This outfit is Fae Made, flawless, and contains the essence of Arcadia and your Keeper's craft. It is midnight, the morning of December 1st. And it is 30 degrees in the room. In your first post, re-include a single-Spoiler'd copy of your character background'n'stuff from the other thread, a link to your sheet, and your contact info. Neat, simple housekeeping on data is our friend. ))
Kick At The Darkness Until It Bleeds Daylight
Teyar on
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So we packed the van and took off from East Lansing, MSU in our rear view. While we were on the road, I drifted off to sleep in the backseat.
Next thing I know, I'm in some ... thing's ... clutches, forced to run faster and faster, never stopping.
I don't remember much, but I do remember one morning the guards weren't there. I found a different path and ran, never looking back, not even once.
His eyes are a very pale blue, almost white. He never seems to look directly at a person when talking to them, and there always seems to be a distance he puts between himself and others.
Since he was kidnapped in his sleep, he doesn't sleep much anymore and never in a vehicle. If he isn't in a bed with the door to the room closed, he really can't fall asleep. Either from this lack of sleep or his constant exposure to the electricity of the Hedge, he's incredibly forgetful. He tries to write down little notes to himself, but it's not a perfect system.
Before his capture, Eric was an extreme sports enthusiast. He was in track all through school, but he wouldn't hesitate to try out rock climbing, white water rafting, skydiving, pretty much anything that allowed him to go fast and challenge himself. Now he uses these skills to stay one step ahead of his Keeper and his or her minions...
Three Questions:
2. Yep, straight out of the hedge.
3. He remembers about what's up above. Once he's up and about from the Hedge, he'll go by Swift.
He lands on the couch with a distinct thwumpf. Clad only in his Keeper's full body running suit, Eric's hair is plastered to his face with sweat. He quickly rolls to his feet into a runner's crouch, his clear black eyes scanning the room. He hears the sounds of ... traffic? ... outside and lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.
He looks around at his fellow escapees. "Is this it? Did we make it?"
Whatever had happened, she knew what it meant. There were new... guests. So to speak.
Her role had been made patently clear by her superiors, or whatever passed for them. She rose to her feet, drew the shroud of a hooded cloak around her, and departed into the night. The vision was vague, but she could trace it well enough. What did the Court mean for her to do once she got there? Who knew. She'd just improvise, she supposed.
Background:
I think one day I saw too much. A glimpse of shadow in the dark, a flicker of a visage horrifying beyond the wildest vision or nightmare.
I wish it had ended there. It only began.
I only half remember what came next. I've forced myself to scatter the fragments of those memories into dust. Occasionally they come back, in form of echoed screams and unanswered, agonized cries; from many, many others. It's only through great resolve that I don't break at the mere recollection.
Oh, the departure? I remember that vividly. The path came to me in a vision.
An hour and a place when the gates were unwatched, the road cleared of obstacles and that demon's sentries.
It was then that, very simply, I departed back to the world I left.
I've heard it said that many come back to find their world changed.
Their former lives ruined, their surroundings alien and foreign, no chance of returning to the lives they once knew.
I wish I'd been that lucky. Nothing had changed.
Same lifeless town, same dreary existence.
It was like I'd never left.
The locals still avoid me like they used to. Just now, they do so in public as well; strangers and neighbors alike. That's fine, I have no need of their company.
I remember that creature's face vividly. I know she'll be back for what she believes to be hers.
I wait, and prepare, armed with that which she can not possess.
__________
A young woman from the outskirts of town, orphaned(or abandoned, some claim) not long after birth. When she came of age, she accomplished little of note. The girl became an effective recluse, tending to a sparse residence barely funded by odd jobs and the occasional exhibition of her penchant for the occult. Tarot cards, fortune telling, sometimes meager sales from books on local myths and folklore.
She maintained a quiet, unassuming existence.
Since returning from the Hedge, she goes by Melissa. Few recall what she was known before her disappearance, even fewer care. Arcadia took up months if not years of her life.
Barely a day had passed in her wake.
Melissa resumed her previous role without delay, though instead of unfocused studies, she now has a purpose: learning the way back, to bring ruin to those who would see her works put to perverse ends.
She sometimes dabbles in the efforts of the Winter Court, as their goals suit her well; they don't bother her, she seldom has need of them.
Melissa's Seeming has drawn even further on the darkness that she's resided in her whole life. Whereas before she had a plain, unassuming look, her Seeming lends her a downright gothic countenance.
Her skin is blanched white, streaks of black passing over her skin in spiraling lines where visible, a colorless appearance broken only by pupils of dark, bloody red, black lips forming a deathly smile that never seems to entirely go away.
Contact: cjiwakurax (AIM)
"We're back," he whispered, almost as if saying it too loud would expose it's falseness, or would bring his Keeper down upon him. "We're back. We escaped." He spoke louder, stronger. This wasn't false, this wasn't some fanciful dream of the past while his body burned, this was the present, this was the now, and they were back. He glanced at the others. He did not know them, but they too had been like him, taken, tortured in ways beyond imagining, and they had all escaped.
His EMT-training kicked in. "Is everyone alright?" He asked loudly. That was a stupid question. None of them were alright, not anymore. "I mean....is anyone hurt?"
Sheet
Contracts completed.
Background:
A fiery prince saved him, became his keeper, only to bring him to a raging hell. Daily, the prince would burn up his subjects in an inferno, turning his victims to ash, only to reform them again for more torture. The prince's home resembled the religious Hell, tortuously hot, fires raging everywhere, the prince himself taking an appearance similar to the devil.
One day, after countless torments, the prince reformed his subjects during the night and suddenly left, having to deal with something that had come up. Seeing his chance, Daren fled, ripping through the Hedge, running with all of his strength and more, anything to get out of that terrible hell.
Now he's somewhere he's never been before, some small town, but it doesn't matter. No point trying to go back to the life he had before. He goes by Red. He remembers everything.
Description:
Tall and muscular, wearing fiery red clothing, short brown hair, tan skin, and a fiery glint in his eye, like he's always looking at a fire and it's reflecting off his eyes.
Mortal Mien:
Amaranth might as well have walked off a billboard or out of the cover of a magazine. His skin is flawless and smooth, having just that touch of color required to avoid looking pale. His hair is long and strangely pale, nearly silver, stretching almost to his shoulders. Tall and lean, he managed to avoid looking too thin by scant degrees, and his every movement was elegant and well-defined. His face and overall build was unsurprisingly somewhat androgynous, but many of the Fairest tended to be. He certainly seems somewhat normal, if a bit more forward.
Fae Mien:
Amaranth looks surprisingly similar to his mortal mien, but everything is simply more intense. His skin would nearly have an internal glow, his eyes pools of glistening amethyst. His ears are pointed in an almost ridiculously traditional way, and his features were sharp and well defined. Tattooed vines in dark ink can sometimes be seen crawling up his arms and the base of his neck, but they seem to shift whenever no-one's looking.
Contact: [email]schwartzlich at google mail dot com[/email]
There were others. Seated in the closet and catching his breath, that was the only thing he knew for certain. That and the fact he had escaped. The details were fuzzy... hell, everything was fuzzy right now. Like waking up from a dream, details that seemed so sharp an instant ago were already fading like sand through his fingers. What did he just do? Moments seem to stretch on forever as he tries to get a grip on what just happened, but eventually he stands nervously, pushing open the door and looking down to regard his now bloodstained pajamas.
His clothes looked like they were woven from spun ruby, embroidered with perfect, shimmering gold in the form of a flower and vines. The fact that it covered so much made it hard to tell he was bleeding, but blotches of dull color would reveal the problem. Wincing, he takes a step forward and feels the splintered hardwood beneath his sore feet, the rough texture only irritating his wounds. Composing himself, that pain fades into an annoyance, and he sets out for the sound of the others.
Fairest, Dragonic.
http://sheetgen.dalines.net/sheet/8198
Human Life
When he got out of high school, he was easily accepted into Boston University. However, when he got there he met his greatest opponent. Himself. Alexander was never exactly focused. High school was easy because he was pointed in a direction and told what to do. In the freedom of college, he crumbled. He took many pointless classes, unable to pick a solid major. His classes ranged from Programming, History, Art, and even a semester of fencing. Then, even his grades started to suffer when he discovered drinking and partying.
After 2 years of floundering Alexander decided to take a semester off, further delaying his choice of a major and a direction in his life. Deciding he needed time to think, he headed back towards the sleepy town he grew up in...
Being Taken
The Return
Alexander had returned, still destined for greatness.
Description
To those that can see his true form, Alexander appears as a magnificent vision. His eyes have turned completely metallic and lazily drift over those speaking to him as if wondering if they are worth his time. His mouth is full of far too many teeth each one pure white and dangerously sharp. Long fingers extend into well manicured claws that occasionally drift up to push a lock golden metallic hair behind an elegantly pointed ear or to move it away from one of the twin scarlet horns that have erupted from his forehead to slide back along his skull in an elegant curve. Scales appear on the back of his hands and in other patches. But most notably is the small wisps of smoke that drift up from his nostrils, turning into heated plumes when he is angry.
Three Questions
2. He is fresh out of the hedge.
3. He goes by Alexander and refuses to allow anyone to shorten it.
Contact
Gmail: moosehativ@gmail.com
With the clatter and crunch of wood the sagging door to the closet flops open with enough force to rattle some plaster loose from the ceiling which, truth be told, is not actually that much force. A tall, lithe man practically slithers out, bringing a wave of warm, humid air roiling out behind him. For just a moment in the darkness of the room behind him, thorns and vines can be seen, lit only by sparks and burning embers. The tiny lights fade and all that is left is a darkened, rotted closet.
The man is breathing heavily and sending jets of smoke from his mouth and nose into the cold air. Small wisps of steam rise from his skin, especially along the hundreds of tiny thorn slices along his arms and shoulders. A loose fitting crimson toga clings to his body, doing little to protect him from the cold winter air. The tunic is made of deep crimson and the trim sparkles like dying sparks in a fireplace. On closer inspection, one can see the darker outline of scales and serpentine forms sliding and slithering as the fabric moves.
Looking around the room, a clawed hand rises up to push the stray stands of hair behind his obvious, curved horns and sending the plaster that had settled onto the burnished gold locks back up into a halo of small white motes. His eyes fall on the others and he mumbles in a deep voice, "This isn't... we aren't... ". His head tilts at the sound of a car horn and his smile widens revealing large teeth. "It sounds like home..."
"You all are late. We should be moving along before the hour grows later."
Whatcha doin?
His nervousness managed to easily dim the bite of that cold on his skin even despite the fact that his clothes were hardly constructed for warmth, and before long he had managed to find a door- whether or not he met anyone else on the way out was another question entirely. If he did, it' be pretty damn obvious that he was running from something non-too-pleasant, and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it at the moment- things were plenty nervewracking as it was without /that/ happening.
"I'm your chaperone. Now come along, children. The faculty awaits."
No. Daren closed his eyes, took a deep breath, settled himself. He slowly opened them, taking in the scene around him. The house had not burned down. His companions remained as they were. He was not there. And yet he couldn't get the memories out of his head.
One in particular, older woman, Daren had actually talked to her a couple times. Her screams were the worst, particularly delightful to the Prince, who then burned her to ash, and left her like that, as a reminder to his other victims what he could do. She was gone but the screams still remained, Daren knew he would hear them forever. At the time, Daren remembered envying her, for her, the pain had ended while he had still been stuck enduring pain forever...
Daren shook his head, clearing himself of the images. "Chaperone? Children? Faculty?" Daren's nostrils flared. "I don't like the sound of this. We just escaped to freedom, yet we are children in need of a chaperone? Faculty?" Daren glared. "After what we went through..." Daren shrugged. "I just don't like the idea of following orders right now."
A part of his brain wonders if he is following ... or pursuing.
"Chaperone? We're not on some damn schedule here!"
Swift's eyes dart to the various windows and doors, calculating how long it would take to make it out if needed.
If you want a haven, I suggest you come along whenever the fancy suits you.
Whatever you decide, believe you me, you are very much on a damn schedule."
Little curling Thornbranches crawl up the sides of the TV's box, leaving it a little bit more upright than it was before, tightening back down with an audible crackle.
It also occurs to anyone who looks. The portals haven't closed.
"Fuck this, I know I can outrun you. Lead on."
Back Story
Young Joseph never really took much stock in his illnesses. In fact, it was his Uncle Rick's death that got him into medicine. His Uncle was a bit of a partier in his time, and somewhere down the line he had contracted HIV. HIV eventually became AIDS, but it was the common cold that struck the fatal blow.
Although he was a bright lad, he still struggled through medical school. He found it prudent to sometimes sabotage his fellow classmates so he would look better in comparison. One day while Joseph was studying in the university library a mysterious man approached him and began asking him all sorts of questions about illnesses that infect the human body, and Joseph was all to happy to indulge his curiosity. When the man finally seemed satisfied with what he had heard, he revealed himself as Doctor Orduke Vorswaze, and he was scouting out promising grad students for potential employees sometime in the future. The doctor asked Joseph if he would like to see some of his work, and as it turned out, Joseph did.
This discussion had some... unfortunate consequences for Joseph, for the doctor was not a doctor at all, but a Lord of Faerie. At first Joseph worked as an assistant, but the doctor quickly discovered that Joseph was not skilled enough at the tasks he was assigned, so Doctor Vorswaze decided that Joseph would make a much better lab rat then lab assistant.
Locked in a small, dark cage, Joseph spent most of his days being subjected to the most horrible experiments one of the Gentry could inflict. Pumped full of countless fairy viruses and bacteria, Joseph eventually became one with them. Joseph eventually made his escape when he was subjected to a supernatural form of rabies that increased his strength ten-fold. With the virus coursing through his veins, Joseph managed to break his bonds and escape once more into the sunlight.
Joseph did not arrive home in Burlington when he emerged from the Hedge, but instead he appeared in the backyard of his grandparent's Brattleboro home.
Not quite sure what had happened to him, Joseph quickly realized something was wrong upon talking with his grandparents. For one thing, the date was all wrong, they also kept asking how is practice was doing and how his girlfriend was. Joseph had always played it on the down-low, so he managed to avoid blowing his cover. After several days of tense living with his grandparents, Joseph eventually ran into more of his kind and managed to adapt to his new lifestyle.
Joseph now works at a local private clinic as a janitor were he goes under the name "Lou Hotchkins." His employers think him an odd, quite man, but otherwise ignore him.
Appearance
Underneath the fairy magic, his pale skin becomes white, like a maggot. His bloodshot eyes become blood filled pools with green puss occasionally flowing to the surface. As for his hair, it is not hair at all, but greenish cilia.
Joseph bursts awake in a cold sweat. The cold sweat was actually normal, so were the nightmarish dreams in fact. What stood out most to Joseph was the headache. He hadn't had one of those since arriving home from that awful place.
Stumbling out of bed and into a bathrobe, Joseph heads to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Considering the circumstances, you would think Joseph would want to turn on some lights, but the darkness had long ago lost all of its frightening power to him. Honestly, he was stronger in the dark then the light.
While grabbing a cup of water from the cupboard, a startling realization entered Joseph's head:
The dreams of escape he had awakened from were not his own.
After drinking his fill, Joseph grabbed his cellphone and his handgun and sat on the coach.
It was going to be one of those nights.
Besides, what Changeling hasn't sat awake at night cradling a gun, worried about what the future may hold?
Come along then, the Court's waiting." She turned and departed from the room, drawing that hood back over her features as she exited the building.
"At least, they better be."
"What? ...The parcels are en route. Once they're in your care, I have better things to do.
...I couldn't care less about how I rank with your clique, ma'am." Not much of any formality in her voice.
"There's four of them. Possibly less, they don't seem very trusting. I'm not about to force them along at gunpoint if that's what you expect."
Some annoyed backtalk is silenced as she closes the phone and moves it out of sight, giving the group a backward look from a solid red stare. "There's a van coming. Maybe."
"Court? What kind of court? I take it we are not on trial for anything...", he takes a step further away from the TV and closer to the front door, trying to make it look normal and not frightened.
Despite his growing sense of dread, he quickly follows after- he sure as hell wasn't being left here alone. It was bitter cold already, and his prospects didn't look good if someone didn't come in the near future. As tempted as he was to chat with some of the others... well, that'd come in due time, he was sure.
He follows the woman out of the building, hearing her talk on some cell phone call. It looked a lot smaller than any he remembered seeing ... how long had he been gone?
He looked around at his fellow escapees. Some looked noble, others ... not. None of them looked remotely human anymore.
"So does this van have windows? I know we're not in Michigan anymore, but I'm sure we'll stand out looking like ... like this."
He gestured his sharp, aerodynamic fingers at the motley group, feeling the cold night wind flow effortlessly over them. "And speaking of here, where the hell are we?"
unfortunately.
"Yo, there, lil goth dudette! Hear Lady C's ripped off atcha a bit, eh? Niiiice. You must be the new kids! Come on, come on, lets get the freak-show outa the road, guys!" Out he hops, yanking the sliding side door open, making a swift, swirling, rapidly disassembling "in, in, in" motion with his arm. " I'm digging the duds, but they aint exactly winter wear!"
"So you're saying no one notices a van like this driven by a guy made out of smoke? Did we land in Amsterdam?"
He hops into a seat in the back away from the long windows on the side, glad to be out of the cold. He looks up and out at the sky, the stars and clouds reflected in the black pools of his eyes.
Watching him pluck a cigarette from what must be a pocket, light it, and take a drag off of it, is a particularly surreal experience. His fingers never quite seem clear or solid enough to hold anything, and you can see the swirl of blacker smoke filling into him. "But yeah, no, we're good, I aint got anything of the good stuff on here, and I doubt any of you kids came out of There packing smack, right? Riiiight."
"Let's get this over with." Melissa climbed into the vehicle, moving as far back into the rear as she could.
Quickly making his way to the van, Amaranth slips inside and finds a seat- anything to get his feet off the frigid ground. And besides even that- even if there wasn't some form of concealment for them... standing around here certainly wasn't going to be any better. "Thanks for the ride... where are we going?" Ever so slowly, that creeping sense of dread began to nibble at the edges of his mind. Wasn't this all a bit convenient? "And... how did you find us?"
However, the last question he asked drove a spike of ice into Swift's heart. If they could find them, couldn't ... They? His eyes darted from window to window, not even daring to blink.
Swift looked around at the things around him in the van. What had happened to them? Now that they had escaped, what did they do next? Were his parents still worried? Were they still alive?
"Wait ... what year is this?"
He sits in the hippy van, his eyes glancing about. Even in escaping pure madness, he has come back to a place he never wanted to be.
The vehicle runs fairly well, aparently lovingly cared for. Each seat, and the walls, are lined in a thick red velvet, gold trim on just about everything, and more slogan pins than you could probably count. But mostly, its just blessedly warm.
"Okay, so, first order of business. One, yer safe. We take care of our own in this 'Hold, and we aint had an incursion from the old bosses in like, four-five years. I been here ten, and we do pretty damn good for ourselves here, I like to think. Just closing the book on the year of somebody's lord twenty-ten, the US aint collapsed yet, a couple wars are on, but nobody really cares about 'em anymore. Everyone recognizes internal combustion, I see, so I'm gussing you all're mostly up to date, yeah? Nobody from pre-internet times? "
And then came the information. It had been a long, long time since he had heard any of the terms the driver used, and there was a moment of blank confusion before he started to piece any of it together. Okay, things hadn't changed much, time just... progressed. And they were going somewhere safe, it seemed. The fact that the driver managed to survive that 'incursion' was encouraging, to say the least.
At this point, he took his time to actually gain a measure of composure and take stock of the situation. There was something vaguely... unsettling about being free now- for a long time, he really didn't have to concern himself too much with the future. Now, it loomed large before him, and as he looked over his new 'associates,' he started to wonder what it might hold. One way to find out.
She chimed in from the rear of the vehicle, with a plainly bored expression.
Things he has not thought about in what seems like a lifetime begin surging back. The streets, the sounds, even some of the shops begin to creep back into his mind.
"Speaking of unfinished business, some of us have homes to go to. Even my family would notice I have been gone, or at least strangely quiet. You may drop me off as well."
"Shit!"
Joseph slams on the breaks of his Plymouth moments before t-boning a hippy van. Sighing with relief as the old station wagon comes to a halt, Joseph grins at his luck. While the Changeling community in Brattleboro was pretty large, and Joseph wasn't exactly a socialite; everyone, Changeling or not, wouldn't be able to ever forget that piece of work.
I guess I can't be considered late if I show up with the guests of honor.
Pulling up behind the van, Joseph follows it to the Court.