Dream a little Dream

The dream begins in darkness, but it's not immediately apparent that it's a dream. Instead it feels like a memory, or perhaps simply any other day. The dream, it begins with a whisper. "Tackle him into the water."

Then it resolves and Verna is looking out at the Temple square. It looks different though than she might remember it. Battle worn, with a number of Adventurers she knows and recognizes. "Kol Demontry, why the lucht? You know as well as I what it is you truly wish. Come, then. Face me, and perhaps you will get what you truly desire." The words leave her mouth and she looks down at her own arm, her sword swiftly cutting into flesh without hesitation so that she bleeds down the now-injured limb. It stings.

There's no time to think about how it feels though, Kol is there, holding a little lucht in his arms and rearing back to strike. He grabs the wounded arm and she feels the bite of his teeth sinking into her flesh. This is far more painful than the cut, and she can _feel_ her blood leaving her body. Her strength ebbing, her life force slowly retreating into the form of the monster at hand.

Peaceful slumber is something of a rare commodity these nights. Following recent light-hearted events, it is perhaps more enabled and a welcomed respite. Delightful darkness... until things materialize within it.

The whisper is vague and offers nothing until light and shapes materialize from the dark. Into HIM, among others. With so many memories of Kol, and certainly vehement desire to face him and halt the suffering he inflicts, this may well be past recollection or even idyllic future?

The sharp sting if teeth sparks a hiss of pain that dims yet continues with his feeding. She fights to deny him as much satisfaction of reaction as she may, as the focus upon her was her plan all along, was it not?

A wave of dizziness hits her as the vampire drinks her blood. Yet she must persevere! She has the vampire right where she wants him. "NOW!" she shouts, as loud as she can. "HOLD HIM IN THE WATER!" The result is an explosive struggle of flailing limbs, shouts, bodies, water, blood, and chaos, as multiple bodies tackle a held Kol into the running stream from the broken fountain. The struggle is real on all sides, and it's a fight that leaves everyone involved soaking wet in seconds.

Yes. A plan. A trap for the abomination. Verna grabs hold with strength unrealized, even lacking that sapped, even sapping, from Kol's feeding. She prays it enough... but her own need not be: unlike Demontry, she does not stand alone.

The chill waters spewing from the ruined fountain that the mass moves into only serve to reinvigorate her resolve and purpose. This ends here and now.

The vampire thrashes in the water, a loud, uneasy grating noise and the sound of harsh half-caught sounds rise from the creature as it slips free of her grasp and rides the pile of people. A writhing of limbs and somehow he is on top but he's a terrible sight to behold. Half his face is gone. His skin sloughed off and his skull showing. Fangs snap in the air and he laughs, and laughs. He's not even mocking her efforts, he's _enjoying_ them. "GOOD, GOOD my sweet friends." His body shakes and jitters. His fingers are claws of bone and ye-gods he's healing. You can see his flesh knitting back together. It's sickening. It's disgusting. This thing shouldn't be capable of speech and yet his voice comes through that half-melted death's mask. He flows backwards, still within reach but not in the water any longer.

The ruined face is not nearly ruined enough. Half remaining is half too much. Verna yells encouragement, nay, an order(?) to the mass around them even as she reaches for Kol anew. The water is working, but he must stay there, even if it might take hours. Preferably with his face under so that none are forced to witness his leering, fear his fangs, nor listen to his mocking.

It seems to take forever, but then again... it only takes a little bit before the vampire is truly gone. And then the perspective changes, and the reality of the dream becomes obvious in retrospect. Verna can see now, that her perspective had been that of Seldan's. Seldan who now breathes heavily and wearily against the fountain, bleeding heavily and exhausted but victorious with his allies all around him. And she? She is merely watching.

It is not until the perspective shifts that Verna becomes aware that it was not originally her own. She has not wielded a blade nor worn armor since basic training. In aspects of mindset: faith; intent; and commitment, however, there were little or no differences between she and him or then and now.

Only now does some part of her realize that she did not witness these events first-hand. Not until now, at least, if it can be called such. It is distinctly satisfying to witness the end to the atrocities. It would be even more satisfying were it not for the fact that Kol Demontry, or some aspect of him, unlives again.

The dream fades again to darkness as Zeke comes out of the temple to heal Seldan and begin the process of recovery. Realization that this is a dream makes it simple to awaken. She turns, finding Auranar asleep beside her. A soft movement reveals an odd shadow to the side of Auranar's head, and Verna touches it to find wetness. She lifts her hand and finds a dark stain on her fingertips. More urgently now she touches Auranar and the other woman falls back to her touch. A pair of fang-marks on her neck, what little of her blood remained spilled out onto the bed.

The shift to further aftermath is soothing to Verna even if the wounds healed, nor the memories of such, are not truly her own. It renews the sense of accomplishment and easies some of the nagging worry of current Kol. It also makes cognizance clear that this is a dream, which enables her to wake.

Turning with only a mild shift between dream and reality, she is further soothed by the sight of Auranar beside her. As Verna has a tendency to do without much conscious thought, she lifts a hand to lightly tuck a few errant strands of violet-tipped hair behind one pointed ear. When her fingertips return wet, it takes a moment to process through the haze. Once parsed, the haze is dissipated as fog by a tornado and Verna sits upright.

"Aura!" she calls, reaching to jostle her awake by the shoulders, only to see...

No.

NO!

NONONO

This isn't a dream, it's a nightmare!

Please be just a nightmare…

The realization that this might be further dreaming awakens Verna again to her own room. This time there is no Auranar beside her, but the bed is mussed as if she had been. The moon shines brightly through the bedroom window which offers a view of the city below it covered in snow. It's beautiful. Yet the fact that she had 'woken' from the dream only to find another dream has her heart pounding in her chest. She rises from the bed, thinking to seek out Auranar, only for the woman herself to enter the room.

Verna can tell immediately that something is wrong. Auranar's eyes are vibrant green rather than black. She closes her eyes, and the thought that this too is a dream has her waking up yet again. Heart in her mouth.

It happens again and again. A cycle of dreams that she's caught in. Each seeming as though they are real. Each one part of the dream. Until she begins to doubt reality. The dreams seem so real. Too real.

GAME: Verna rolls will: (18)+24: 42

Admittedly, it is less conscious realization and far, far more flailing hope that all is not real. And then, suddenly, she is alone...? Whether this is comfort or not remains to be determined... and determining this is the first thing on Verna's mind as she rises to seek Auranar. Swiftly, it seems she does not need to as her lovely visage enters the room.

Except... no! Even were the emerald not something so pertinent and fresh (even seared) in her thoughts at the moment, the oddity is noted immediately. It is not Auranar. It is HIM. Which leads Verna's thoughts back to all manner of horrific possibilities. In a manner most illogical and infantile, she squeezes her eyes shut.

If she does not witness it, it did not happen? Could not happen? When she opens her eyes again, all will be well?

All she can do is hope and pray, though her beseechment is rendered in only a single, whispered plea.

"...Please..."

Most horrifying of all then comes a feeling. A feeling of disconnection. As if Vardama is not listening. Can not reach her here in these dreams that keep rising. Yet when she awakens she feels something different. Something that tells her immediately that this is not a dream. It's warmth. The warmth of the bed and the comforting sensation of Auranar at her side.

It has happened... how many times, now? Verna does not know. Even if she had a precise count, could she trust her perceptions as truth? The warmth of the bed, and Auranar's presence are comforting, assuring... but are they, truly?

She looks to the woman beside her a moment. It is not a long appreciative gaze of contentment, though a part of her very much wishes to curl up, embrace, and seek solace in that presence. Another part is terrified of what she might find should she do so, the moment she dares believe and lower her guard. A part that both MUST know and is fearful of discovery.

She reaches for Auranar's shoulder stutteringly before finally grasping it to try and rouse her. "Aura... Aura...? Love?"

-End