The Portal Fever Dreaming - Printable Version +- the Rift (http://riftrpg.net) +-- Forum: Archives (http://riftrpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=20) +--- Forum: Year 1174 (http://riftrpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=63) +---- Forum: Completed (http://riftrpg.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=64) +---- Thread: The Portal Fever Dreaming (/showthread.php?tid=1106) Pages:
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Fever Dreaming - Vroskar - 05-16-2018 He didn't remember much other than the feeling of falling, plunged into darkness as the ground was sucked out from under him. He hadn't thought much of it. Vroskar often had dreams of falling, and he always awoke just before his innards were dashed on the ground. Only this time there was no ground rising up fast from below and instead of a brisk jerk back to consciousness it came slowly and groggily, as though coming to from a blow to the head. There was the splitting headache too, that made him squint against the kaleidoscopic light that birthed him out of the void and into a strange forest shrouded in shadow. He was a ghost from the neck down. He was only aware of his legs splayed uselessly beneath him when he looked to see if they were still there. He couldn't will them to move for a long time. Not until he grew frustrated and forced his body to stand, wincing against the prickling rush of blood as it surged back into the places it was supposed to be. His body swayed as he gathered his footing. Nausea made him feel weak and feverish, as though he had gotten too drunk the night before. —Where was he? It took a few minutes for him to gather his wits enough to make sense of his surroundings. There came a steady downfall from a crowded canopy up above, an assortment of menacingly gnarled tree limbs curling up toward a sunless sky. All about him swirled a heavy shade that writhed and moved as though it were as alive as he was. They were not merely shadows, but something more tangible, like smoke. As he looked closer, he noticed it was punctuated here and there by bright and blinking eyes, which Vroskar was quite unsettled by and set the hair on his back into bristles. He thought for a moment maybe he had chanced upon some psychedelic mushrooms while foraging (because he had done that before, mind you, but even then he hadn't felt so far thrust out reality as he did now). It was like a dream, only he usually didn't notice when he was dreaming. He couldn't shake the suspicion that all of this was in fact very real, which only made the phantom eyes all the more unsettling. Feeling rather exposed and wanting away from whatever it was those eyes belonged to, he got to moving. Hopefully he could figure out where he'd gotten himself off to. Magic . His blood is molten and burns to the touch. As a result his body temperature is much higher than usual and his skin feels hot. Mutations . Enlongated canine teeth . Long, thick fur like that of a wolf ooc; I'd sorta prefer if @Rift Presence posts before any others! RE: Fever Dreaming - Valkyrie - 05-16-2018
Notes for clarity: - Valkyrie was cursed here. Physically she appears as a stallion, cannot remember why she hates men, and views others as the opposite gender. - Vynter gave her a bead here that alters her body language to favour males. RE: Fever Dreaming - Rift Presence - 05-17-2018
(Welcome—) The eyes blink and wink, disappear and reappear, moving closer; but they have no bodies. They're just the eyes of the Rift, perhaps an echo of something trapped somewhere else, stuck between realities—or it's just a trick of the light. A chorus of foreign birds ca-caw somewhere in the distance. Vines, rain-wet and shadow-dark, spring from the ground around you; they latch onto your legs, holding you fast, a hold too strong to break as they slither up your legs your chest your neck your face into your nose your mouth down your throat— Just when you think they'll fill your lungs and slowly choke you into oblivion, they disappear in the blink of an eye. Were they ever even there? the Rift [ ACCEPTANCE NOTES: VROSKAR ] Magic: The Rift eats your magic. Mutations: Enlongated canine teeth Long, thick fur like that of a wolf RE: Fever Dreaming - Vroskar - 05-18-2018 He tried to move his feet, but that must've been displeasing to the beings of whatever strange realm he'd been dumped into—whatever dream he'd been sucked into (he still wasn't convinced any of this was real). Vines slithered up from the undergrowth with unnatural sentience to wrap around his ankles, tentacle like, and only then did Vroskar finally snap out of his stupor. For a moment he watched stupidly as they twisted up his legs, his brow knit as he stooped over to investigate. He tried to lift a hoof to rid it of the errant foliage but it pulled back and squeezed tighter. Suddenly alarmed he began to thrash his hooves at them, but it was useless; they kept coming, and no amount of protest could bid them away. Higher, still, they crept, til the cold wet arms wrapped around his neck. At once his heart began to beat furiously—faster, faster—til the blood hammered in his ears and the whites of his eyes flashed bright in the sockets. His whole body was stiff with panic as the vines then crept into his nose, down his throat, provoking tears to needle at the back of his eyes. He began to choke. Normally, this is the part where he would wake up now. Wake up now. Wake up! cried his own voice. Not his voice, but one that sounded like it, and it echoed into the stillness as he gasped for air. Just like that, they were gone— The vines. The eyes. And still he was stranded in that god forsaken forest, choking for air and fighting back the sting of bile in his throat. It felt as though all the blood had fled his body, the familiar warmth stolen right out from under his skin. He shivered against the cold wetness that now became unbearably absolute. He felt... empty. Hollowed out. Like a piece of his soul had been ripped away. Vroskar swore he heard the creatures of the shade laughing at him from their refuge, pleased with the penance they had robbed from him. For a long while he sat in silence, eyes roving to and fro trying to make sense of it; trying to remember where he had been—what had he been doing?—before all of this. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't think through the smog that muddied his brain. A smog very similar to the shades that whisked all about him. Hello. He quaked, still halfway prone on the ground as he wrenched his body around to confront the newcomer. Feeling rather weak in the knees, he didn't make it to all fours. Instead, he kinda sat there with his haunches tucked under him and his ears drooped indignantly. Noticing it was a horse, and not some monster come to torment him, he visibly deflated a bit, reeling his gaze away in quiet condescension, keeping an ear irked in that general direction. He was resentful of having his privacy intruded upon in such a vulnerable state as he was (though relieved all the same to encounter a bit of normalcy at last). He felt the stranger's eyes as they so unashamedly looked him over, and Vroskar's pride bled a little; a cold wet dog left out in the rain. The stallion introduced himself as Valkyrie, which struck him as a little bit odd but he didn't have enough interest to probe any further. Especially after he made a comment about his... trinkets? Vroskar gaped at the stranger in disbelief and shook his head with a sigh. The absurdity of his predicament juxtaposed with the oblivious casualness of the conversation prompt made him downright irritated. He had half a mind to rip the decorations off his horns right then and there. He didn't, of course. "Valkyrie," he repeated, "of... where exactly?" His voice came hoarse and humorless. Please just tell me where I am. @Valkyrie RE: Fever Dreaming - Valkyrie - 05-19-2018
Notes for clarity: - Valkyrie was cursed here. Physically she appears as a stallion, cannot remember why she hates men, and views others as the opposite gender. - Vynter gave her a bead here that alters her body language to favour males. RE: Fever Dreaming - Vroskar - 05-19-2018 Instead of answering his question—a very simple question—the stallion elaborated on his title, as though it meant anything at all to him. Vroskar's glare grew heavier, deadlier, ears deflated and his lips fattened in a scowl. A shieldmaiden? He would have laughed if he hadn't been in such sour spirits. Instead, he felt his anxiety bubble into low-simmering anguish and the rain that gushed down from the heavens—where the gods must have looked down at him with mischievous grins—thoroughly soaked him til even his bones began to shiver. Vroskar had never been so cold. It was as if all the life had fled from his body. He imagined this must be what it was like to wake up after dying. Had he died? Was this some sort of purgatory, and he was doomed to walk in the rift between worlds—being haggled by stallions who thought they were mares? Perhaps you would like to join the cause of the sisterhood? Ignoring, he tried to muster up the strength to get back to his feet. His muscles were noodle-like and disobedient. The warrior of Jardis felt like a newborn colt, wobbly in the knees. For a few promising moments, he was standing, 'til his haunches crumbled under him again and shame burned hot in his gut. His whole body throbbed frantically to the pulse of his heart, beating on stubbornly. His lungs heaved a hefty sigh. Resigned to his indignity, he tilted his head in Valkyrie's direction. He did not meet the stranger's eyes. "And what cause is that?" To make him think he was a girl too? This place must do strange things to the mind. @Valkyrie RE: Fever Dreaming - Valkyrie - 05-20-2018
RE: Fever Dreaming - Vroskar - 05-20-2018 Oh... there's a twig in your tail. Vroskar was now convinced he was being made a mockery of. His anguish blistered into full-blown, seething frustration—a slow-bleeding volcanic ooze, red hot in his chest. He grit his teeth so the muscles played like piano keys in his cheeks, lips peeled back in a snarl. If he hadn't been so compromised, he would have bitten back already, but as it were he merely simmered in his chemicals, cursing the blinking, breathing shadows for sucking the life nearly out of him and not finishing the job. The stallion answered his question—uninterested though it had been put forth—with self-absorbed enthusiasm. He was completely unphased by Vroskar's not at all amused attitude. It struck Vroskar that he was either dim-witted, mad, or a combination of the two. To avenge the women of Loorien, he said, as though it were so blatantly obvious. Vroskar snorted rudely. He wasn't aware the women of Loorien were in need of avenging. He was just about to say so, but then something caught his ear, and he flicked it forward attentively. The Rift... Right on time a murder of crows ca-cawed just out of sight, wings buffeting the air overhead. Vroskar looked all about him, noticing not for the first time the way the shadows curled and dripped and twisted, and light seemed to pool like oil in the air in some places, as though the very fabric of space were melting; as though time had been pulled apart—rifted. Understanding lit up his mind. Vroskar had heard of the "otherplace." The place between worlds, between seconds. He never thought it was real, much less that he would go there. The gods certainly had a peculiar sense of humor. The molten-flow of acrimony in his chest hardened into stones in his gut and laid heavy in his belly, steaming. Once again he sighed, a surrender. Dread and resentment twisted up his insides. On the outside, he trembled against the cold rain seeping into his bones and had all but forgotten about his strange company. He spoke past the lump in his throat. "Is that what this place is called... 'the Rift?'" He asked, questioning the open air as much as his company. He hoped this stranger would show a bit of mercy and say something useful. It seemed about as likely the shades would hear him out. @Valkyrie RE: Fever Dreaming - Valkyrie - 05-23-2018
RE: Fever Dreaming - Vroskar - 05-23-2018 The stallion-playing-mare jeered at him with eyes narrowed into patronizing slits, as though he were the magnifying glass and Vroskar were the tinder. His words did a fine job at fanning the embers of his aggravation. A familiar heat licked at his innards—a pitiful, imaginary flame, not nearly warm enough to fend off the feverish cold that raked his body nor dry the wetness from his coat. Even more maddening was the invention of a poorly mimed smile spread upon his mug and Vroskar's ears sewed themselves ever tighter to his nape. After a silence that stretched for a few brave moments, what Vroskar already knew was confirmed. Yeah it's the Rift—welcome to hell. It was all very fitting that Vroskar's own personal hell would be one of rain and no fire (no warmth at all in fact). He could appreciate the irony. He supposed he deserved this. Still, he always hoped hell would have better company. "Does it always rain this much in hell?" he scoffed. Sarcasm needled the deadpan rasp of his voice, melancholic syllables rattling from his tongue with the musical pitch of the sky-children. The peaks of Jardis loomed impossibly far away now, and though he had long been doomed never to return, he feared this was the final death. Heartache bore deep and bittersweet in his chest with the sudden vengeance of an angry wasp and he did his best to dig out the stinger, if only to survive this exchange with a shred of pride intact. @Valkyrie |