[IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

[faithlikeaseed]

(( Need to get a hold of Myr? Drop him a line. Notes, in-person visits, sending crystals, spooky Fade dream shenanigans, you name it. Just specify the type of contact in the first comment of the thread and away we go.

Need to get a hold of the player? Plagueheart#0051 @ Discord or a DW PM is the easiest! ))

Comments

[minrathousian]

Atticus stands immutable in the thick of the maelstrom, wind whipping his robes around his body and tousling his short hair, but the sea wall itself doesn't touch him. He's close enough to it, though, that when he reaches out to touch it, the water rushes over and between his fingers like wake from a boat.

Maybe two feet away from him in that prison of ocean current, Myr thrashes and struggles like a fish caught on a line, his every effort and propelling himself towards the surface rendered futile as the sea clutches at him and holds him fast; the sea is greedy to keep its victim for itself, to share what it has found with the shadows that prowl ever closer, their low groaning and growling resonating with hunger. Much more of this, Atticus knows, and he will drown; a death from a somniari in the Fade means death in the physical world as well.

The mage's body contorts in painful spasms as the the instinct to breathe finally triumphs over his mind's knowledge that doing so will kill him. Atticus watches. Waits.

There. That's long enough.

Wake up.

[faithlikeaseed]

Wake up.

He comes up sobbing for breath, soaked in fear-sweat and clutching at his chest as if that could drive away the phantom pain of drowning. Blankets tangle around his limbs, constricting--too much in that instant like the feel of the merciless hungry sea all around him and he struggles out of them, throws them off the bed entirely in momentary panic.

Then sits for a long silent time with a fist pressed against his lips, shivering in the cold of a southern night and waiting for the nauseating aftermath of the nightmare to subside. Soon enough the blood's no longer singing in his ears; his heart's no longer pounding and the agony of the ocean in his lungs is little more than a memory.

It's too damn bad the blackout darkness of impending death is with him to stay.

At length, he drags himself out of bed to begin his day.