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Post by tyrin on Dec 6, 2011 10:28:42 GMT -6
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Post by fang on Dec 6, 2011 14:15:00 GMT -6
A faint hum rang in the stranger's ears. They had just fallen asleep, but they were soon to wake up in a nightmare that they had never faced before. The continuous ring was like a low toned bell. No matter what you couldn't shake the sound out of your head. It was always there like a scratch you couldn't reach. Maddening, isn't it? The ground was brick and mortar. Another sound came to the stranger as they awoke.
The commotion of people. Upon closer inspection, the people that seemed to be around were simply shadows. Their bodies like floating smoke that wouldn't fade in to the air. Words buzzed around. "That guy, he's not worth it." Another voice echoed in the odd room. "Yeah, he's a wash up." More voices chimed in as they hummed around the room. "What a lap dog. He listens to everyone. He never was a leader."
Darkness poured in from the corners of the room. It crept across the world until the environment shifted and contorted in to that of a bar. The shadow figures continued their idle chatter and criticism as one walked up to Tyrin. It's arm outstretched a silver platter. The human's reflection refused to show, nor did any other reflection appear against the clean platter. Like a motion picture, his memories of his earlier days as an alcoholic flashed across the silver object.
The figure cast an arm across the platter before a bottle of Romygor rum appeared. To the side was a bar counter with a line of shadows, seemingly drinking alcoholic beverages. One bottle held a note protruding from it.
Your choices...
- Take the bottle and drink it, it's only a dream right?
- Knock the platter away from you. Screw alcohol, you don't need it anymore.
- Say something to the shadowy figure. Maybe it can understand you.
- Walk away and investigate the counter with a note in a bottle.
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Post by tyrin on Dec 31, 2011 3:09:44 GMT -6
 Tyrin wasn’t particularly given to nightmares. He certainly had plenty of nasty memories he kept shoved to the back corners of his subconscious, where they couldn’t bother him, but considering all of the nightmare fodder he’d experienced in his life, he spent remarkably few nights being woken up by them. Of course, that was mostly because he worked himself to exhaustion on a daily basis and only slept when he couldn’t keep going on anymore without it, but the point still stood. Whether it was chance or a side effect of his lifestyle, he didn’t suffer too much from nightmares affecting his sleep.
So it was unusual enough for him to have a nightmare, and this dream seemed more vibrant than most. It began with a humming in his ears that set his teeth on edge, irritating him even before the scene swam into view before his eyes. Shadowy shapes and the echoes of voices flickered around Tyrin as he existed there in the weird mist. ‘Stood’ wasn’t the right word, nor ‘floated’ or anything stupid like that. He was just… there. He supposed he must have ears to hear the voices that whispered through the space around him.
It was nothing new for him to hear. He’d been told his whole life that he was worthless because he was human, because he was inherently weak and would never amount to anything. Everyone from random nonhumans on the street to his own father had told him he was doomed to fail. He’d spent his whole life thus far proving them wrong. Leaving home had been the first step, then joining a pirate crew. Gaining the position of captain through his own merit, without treachery or trickery. Becoming one of the most infamous pirates in the world, and slowly earning his way to the top of the Navy’s Most Wanted list. And then staying there. And, by sheer force of reputation, becoming a major player in the future of the world, a responsibility Tyrin had never wanted. He wasn’t about to let a few whispers in the mist undo that. Not when he had so much evidence of his accomplishments.
After a moment, the mist resolved itself into something more concrete, and Tyrin felt himself become aware of his body again. It was a weird feeling. Plus, this was the first time he could remember that he knew he was dreaming. And yet it seemed more real than other dreams had. Different, somehow. He couldn’t pinpoint how, but a brief attempt to will himself back to his bunk on the Leonine with Francis didn’t work, so he resigned himself to sticking around until whatever was going to happen happened.
A shadowy figure walked up to him and held out a platter. Tyrin found that, rather than his own reflection, he could see images of his unpleasant past as a drunkard. The nights stumbling back to his ship barely able to stand upright. The one time he’d passed out in an alleyway. And, to his even greater shame, the night Francis had discovered the problem he’d so vehemently denied to himself. Tyrin felt his face flush with shame and had to fist his hands at his sides to keep from knocking the platter flying. He forced himself to keep looking as the images flashed in front of him; he needed to remember how fucked up he had been before, so that he never let himself go back.
As a result, when the bottle of alcohol appeared on the platter, Tyrin barely even spared it a glance. He wasn’t about to touch it after that unpleasant reminder of what it had once made him into. Giving the figure holding the platter the briefest of glares, Tyrin turned his back definitively on the alcohol. In doing so, he noticed the line of bottles on the bar; more specifically, the note sticking up from the mouth of one of the bottles. It seemed as good a lead as anything in this place.
He walked away from the figure and up to the bar, plucking the note from the bottle. Maybe it would give him a clue how to get out of whatever the hell this was. He unfolded it, sea-green eyes scanning the words written there in search of a clue as to what to do next.
Choice: Walk away and investigate the counter with a note in a bottle.
Words: 722
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Post by bex on Mar 21, 2012 16:40:31 GMT -6
The moment the silver haired human chose to read the note, it appeared as if everything else has simply disappeared. He is surrounded by nothing; as if the note he has chosen to read has some sort of significant power. The note itself was old, shriveled and yellowed from age. A powerful, but confusing message lay singularly on the small note. 'All dogs lay the same.' Schiller is confused, not quite yet understanding what the note means by this. However, soon things will become unnervingly clear. Hushed voices can be heard from every angle, whispering the phrase over and over in the back of Tyrin's ear. Other insults, such as 'dog' and 'good for nothing' made their way into the mix as well. The note is dropped near his feet, as the setting around him begins to shift.
Within seconds, Tyrin finds himself on the corner of a street, which is easily recognizable. It's a run-down street in a human district in one of the poorer towns. It was dark, probably sometime later in the evening. There are only a few streetlights to help you see in the black blanket the sky is wrapped in. They flicker on and off, though one house, at the end of the street remains untouched by the light from the streets. The house seems to be average for the neighborhood, smaller in size and is in desperate need of repair. Most of the lights are off in the house, with the exception of a soft glow coming from a back bedroom. It begins to rain, first a little, though it picks up speed and intensity in moments.
First there is nothing coming from the house, if it weren't for the furniture in the living room, which can be seen from the window, it could be debatable whether anyone actually lived there or not. At first, it could be blamed on the rain. But soon enough, the loud sobs from a younger child can be heard from the room which has the lights on. There is soon a crash and a loud 'thud', followed by another, but softer sob than before. This goes on for another moment before an obviously intoxicated man's voice can be heard in a harsh tone. "Y'good fer nothin' bastard. Deserve whas' commin' to yuh."
Your choices...
- Go in and try to help who's ever in trouble.
- Walk away, let the brat deal with his own problems.
- Try and find a window to see what's going on.
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Post by tyrin on Apr 28, 2012 21:27:48 GMT -6
"All dogs lay the same"? What was that supposed to mean? Some part of Tyrin's mind registered the change in scenery as the bar disappeared from around him, leaving him in a strange void, but most of his attention remained focused on the note. Judging by the way it had been presented and the result of picking it up, it might be the key to something big. Like how to get out of this dream. And that was something Tyrin wanted. He only ever had bad dreams; he couldn't remember the last time he had had a good one. This one hadn't been bad so far, but there was no doubt in the pirate captain's mind that it was heading in that direction.
He looked around as the scene reformed around him, shoving the piece of paper carelessly into a pocket. It didn't seem like he was going to figure out what the hell it meant anytime soon, and standing in one place worrying at it wasn't going to help. Maybe it'd click, maybe not. He did better with riddles when he didn't think about them too directly. So he turned his attention to what he was better at - dealing with whatever was going on in front of him.
The street he was now standing at the end of looked familiar. Too familiar. Tyrin's stomach twisted. No. This was going too far. He forced the bile rising in his throat back down, plunging himself into denial. He was pretty good at it by now; he'd spent a lot of his life in denial about things he didn't want to face. Compared to that, it was easy to stifle memories he was already in the habit of packing behind a wall in the back of his mind. So he did, ruthlessly shoving them away so he wouldn't have to face the truth that was making his stomach churn.
Still, he found himself moving towards the all too familiar house at the end of the street, beneath the one streetlight that had given up its incessant flickering and decided to just go dark. Every piece of peeling paint was like a blow, forcing him reluctantly closer and closer to admitting to himself the disturbing turn that his dream had taken.
He gravitated towards the one dimly lit window of the house: the back bedroom, the part of his mind that had accepted reality whispered. Tyrin stopped dead beneath the tree that drooped beside the window as the muffled sounds of sobbing reached his ears. The rain continued to pour, flattening Tyrin's silver hair against his head and soaking him to the skin, but the pirate captain barely even registered it. His fists and jaw clenched as a crash could be heard from inside. His stiff posture only grew stiffer, tensed muscles tighter, as the sounds continued: a thud, more sobbing, and then speech slurred by drink.
It was a testament to Tyrin's ridiculous stubbornness that he yet refused to admit to himself what he was hearing. Still, he couldn't bring himself to walk away, either. Instead, with stiff, reluctant steps, he moved to the window, keeping to the shadows beneath the tree where he would be difficult to see. Once he was close enough, the pirate captain peered inside, every fiber of his being dreading what he knew he would see inside.
Choice: Try and find a window to see what's going on.
Words: 561
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