• Closed • Refuge From the Cold

(Pegasus) Patrick spends the eve thinking about his next move.

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Patrick
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Refuge From the Cold

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Refuge From the Cold

Zi'da 61 716

Location: The Golden Flask

Three days ago their ship had arrived in this mysterious place; three days ago Patrick endured the blanketing snow. Three days ago... things just kind of blurred together for Patrick really. Between keeping inside where it was warm and drinking himself stupid, he'd kept to himself mostly as he wasn't quite sure how things panned. Rei and Wendell were no doubt together by now and well enough; which left him alone now that he would only be a third wheel to their little party. They had their fun to be sure, but he couldn't picture himself trying to chase after Wendell forever. Or Rei. The two were focused on one another after all, and where Patrick likely remained was nothing more than a sidewinder. A supporting figure who resided in the background, and while the idea seemed acceptable at first he didn't think so now.

"Same as before?" The dark skinned barkeep inquired as he brought offered an exchange, Patrick merely nodded as the empty mug became replaced with a new one. Was that how he was now? Replaced? He had no ties here like he did in Rharne, no legitimate bonds to this place save for a few friends here. Where were they now? Freya likely had Gorroc to deal with seeing as how he was behind the bounty on her head, the other two were... elsewhere. Honestly Patrick hadn't kept up with them, felt better off avoiding them so that they could have their time together. Then of course Alistair could've been here but... well shit... That's everyone on his list too; which meant he only needed several digits to count them. Shouldn't be too bad really if he were to go off on his own, do something alone like he'd been for the past year.

Rharne is a chapter behind him but that chapter wasn't over; not by a long shot to say the least, thanks to the loose ends he still left behind there last season. "Thanks." He mumbled softly with eyes rather somber to the cider, he then dipped a couple fingers into his pocket to pull two silvers out for the drink. Third drink down and another to follow; how many more until he was content with sleeping the cold away?

"Hey!" A voice rang out as the little ball of light soared through the room, Ri'ku then fluttered around him in a lively matter while he ignored her presence. "Now's not the time to be all mopey! You've gotta figure out what to do next!"

"Pff, I've already done that." He silently remarked in his head while he tilted the mug towards his lips, the warm taste of sweet apples caressed his tongue while the liquid went down. The best part of winter if you asked him; coming from a drunk though any warm alcoholic beverage was the best.

"Listen! There's gotta be somethin' here in Ne'haer you can do; you're a man who has to have some particular talent."

"If by talent ya mean carin' too easily 'bout some people, then yes I definitely got that down."

"Really. Come on now, what did you do before you left your home?"

Patrick sighed at her although he probably more or less appeared occupied with troubled thoughts. Seeing as how he was the only one who could see her, that posed a relatively ongoing question as to whether or not Ri'ku was real. Fairies were a little out there to him; and the fact only he could mysteriously see her when others could not didn't help. So was he going crazy? Or was she really there trying to coach him? "Well I used t' serve drinks; but as irony would have it I'm being served them now. Then again I also did escortin'."

"Escorting? Well then there you go!" Her enthusiasm only highlighted the naivety in knowing what he really meant, and while Patrick found the idea only an amusing jest on his behalf; he definitely wouldn't have minded a nice shag right about now. Nearly seventy days. That's how long they were at sea due to the trip, no stops elsewhere either so no contact with land until recently. Zi'da didn't make it any better either, the bitter cold brought icy snow throughout the season. Only recently after his arrival did the blizzard that hovered here subsided, even so he still kept here to himself where he was warm and semi-alone.

Another drink of the mug occurred as he traced a finger around the rim; he could only guess the sound that followed from her was a sigh? Either way she got the point that he wasn't really gonna budge, therefore she went on about her same activity from earlier. She'd been wondering around the establishment left and right watching others here; which was fine by Patrick since that meant he'd be left alone for a while.
Last edited by Patrick on Sat Jan 14, 2017 12:31 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 862
"Freedom is everything."


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It was quiet and warm and Patrick was stuck here. The flurries outside meant that he was, literally, stuck here and as he sat in comfort he had some time to think about things, to consider his life thus far and where he was going now. It was an evening, it seemed, for reflection, because there were many others in the bar, also, all of whom seemed to be thinking, pondering.

Quiet is a strange thing. Noise moreso.

In a place like this, at this time of the trial, there is a correct amount of noise. Not too much, not too little. People's opinions, of course, would vary on what "just right" sounded like but, as Patrick lifted the glass up to his lips, he became aware that total and complete silence was definitely not 'just right'. But it was what he was hearing.

Then, the smell hit him and as he looked down at his drink, the liquid bubbled and boiled over, noxious green in colour and giving off the scent of death. It bubbled over his hand and was soothing and cool. Which was strange of it, really. But as the fumes from it assaulted his nostrils, he felt himself fall into unconsciousness and a deep, terrifying, nightmare.

Or maybe, of course, he had already been there.....
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So, Patrick is asleep and in the grip of a Nightmare. Please post accordingly and stop at the absolute zenith of the Nightmare in question ~ when he gets to the point just before it's so bad he would wake screaming.
Important point to note: the Nightmare might (or might not) have an impact in the waking world. If, that is, you are truly asleep.
Enjoy! :)
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He remained quiet in his state of contemplative solitude; unaware of the fact that everyone else around him had seem to act quite the same. Truly the fact it was quieter now counted as a blessing at first, but with the next tilt of his mug for more a repugnant odor wafted into his nostrils. That odor which had once been a favorable smell of cider now bore the stench of... decay; as if death had somehow graced its aroma within his own drink.

"The Fates?" He mumbled to himself as he looked down at its contents with furrowed brows, not a moment too soon did it bubble over afterwards. Putrid green liquid brimmed over the edge and onto his hand shortly; moist and cool compared to the amount of steam that presented itself. The event certainly proved unusual and he definitely pulled his hand back with a few soft shakes, its back rubbed over his shirt to relieve itself of the sudden toxicity found within his beverage. And then it finally hit him, the whole of the room was too quiet actually. Nobody really seemed to liven the place up or fill the room with energy; in fact the very atmosphere felt too laid back and... silent.

Had it grown this quiet earlier? No he knew too well this lack of volume was unnatural, even amidst the winter there would always exist an ambience of noise in a bar. His eyelids felt heavier all of a sudden and before he knew it; his head fell forward to rest hard into the crevice of his elbow. From there he felt pretty sure he'd fallen into a slumber, albeit one he didn't anticipate to be rather sudden. His eyes opened once more as he could see the surface of wood within the darkness, his head lifted once more to reveal a change of the environment around him. Though his mug still remained there it's same profound aroma, the room held quite the resemblance to that of his apartment located back within the city of Rharne.

Wait. It was dark... He was alone... By the Fates it was happening again! Quickly he rose out of the chair as the legs screeched against the stone floor, his eyes shot from the table to the wooden door which rested partially opened. No. Not good! He thought he could hear Ri'ku's voice in some great distance, but its faint echoes were too far off to even comprehend as he froze in place. He felt himself petrified as he knew who was here, who exactly would jump at him from the shadows like he always did. Kar. He heard a noise behind him and felt the reaches of his stomach turn into a pit; already sweat broke out across his forehead as he reached for the mug on the table.

Should he take a drink? If only he could stomach the putrid smell, right now he needed a drink before what came next. With a hand now gripped on the mug he swung around with the intent to throw the object, the silhouetted figure of a person in the shadows now caught in the path of whatever the beverage became. No good. His throw had merely been dodged while something sharp gleaned within the dark, its point shot forward while the figure lunged in for the kill. "You sonn'a bitch!" He cried as he attempted to catch the hand that directed the blade; he had done this before and many times afterwards in the same vivid nightmare. No matter how much he wanted to however, he could never fully fight off the man that assaulted him. Kar.

The knife was misdirected when Patrick managed to shove aside the weapon arm, and yet when the face of the figure drew close enough to visualize detail; the man who resided in this darkness looked nothing like Kar at all. Who then? Kar was the one who'd done this repeatedly in his dreams, yet this time it wasn't Kar at all so just who in Idalos was it? He felt the right part of his face become blindsided by an unseen punch, a sudden grip at the hair on his head forced it down onto the table mere seconds afterwards. He felt his forehead crash into the wooden surface and then for a moment lost all sense of awareness, until he'd found that he'd fallen onto the floor with the figure above him. That proud and tall stand he held, the gruff facial features Patrick found himself able to identify.

The lighting from the outside proved dim but enough to allow Pat to see something at least, but was he really seeing this man standing above him right now?

"Wendell?!" He muttered in complete shock and disbelief as the Hound looked down upon him, upon the recognition of his face the man went in for the kill as the blade glimmered through the dark and into his flesh. He felt a sharp and painful prick into the shoulder once more, as both his wrists managed to still the blade when they caught Wendell's arm midway. Patrick's heart practically wanted to stop while all he could hear and feel was pounding, mainly all over his head as he struggled to fight in his disorientation.
word count: 904
"Freedom is everything."


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The Nightmare, as Nightmares are wont to do, played out in front of him. But it did more than that. It played out inside him and around him, within and without. It was all encompassing and as real as anything Patrick had ever experienced. The smells, the tastes, every physical sensation completely overwhelmed him ~ assaulting him from all angles.

It was beyond real. It was true

And as Wendell stood over him, Patrick spoke his name, questioning if that was him. It was Wendell, he knew it. But as he looked, the man he knew, and who he knew, had a mop of unruly straw-coloured hair. But then, he didn't. His steel grey eyes blinked and they were back to the eyes he knew. But one glimpse of those eyes was enough to know. Without a doubt, without a pause, without let or hindrance, Patrick knew.

The man, the being who stood over him was lost to all sanity. He was every nightmare that Patrick had ever had and he was all of them at once.

Patrick and Wendell struggled, fighting together as Patrick held the man off from killing him. Spittle fell, dangling from Wendell's lower lip before it dripped into Patrick's eye. He felt it land and it started to hiss as it burned its way through the flesh of his eyelid. In his deepest nightmare, Patrick felt a pain which was utterly excruciating and, without question, he screamed.

But every cloud, as they say, has a silver lining. The effect of the pain and the location of the pain specifically meant that he closed his eyes. Which was a good thing because it meant that the bright white light wasn't as bad as perhaps it would have been. But still, it was shocking, brighter than anything he could describe and yet there and gone in an instant. When his eyes flickered open again, he was sitting once more at a table in the Inn. Wendell, or whoever it was, had gone. The drink wasn't in his hands, but it was on the table in front of him. Next to him, he might note, was a pretty young woman. Her light blonde hair was in a messy pixie cut and she looked exhausted. Her skin was dotted shining silver freckles, dancing across the bridge of her nose.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry about that", she said. Her voice was like a cool drink on a hot day and she appeared to be genuinely concerned for him. Around them, the noise of the Inn continued, as though nothing had happened.
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Before this was just a repetitive nightmare to him, and half the time the surrealism found within it could've been shut out midway. Now however not even the act of shutting his eyes did the trick; and the whole scene itself unfolded into a completely separate experience for him. Wendell had become the figure that tried to murder him, and while it didn't completely resemble the man that he became fond of; the striking resemblance did well enough to convince him otherwise in that moment of time.

The edge of the dagger shimmered above his chest in the faint light of the room; both their arms trembled as he used all his strength push back. To resist. He didn't wish to suffer this any more, not when it came with the cost of Wendell's own hand. Was this even real? He believed it to be real at this rate; his heart literally pounded out his chest, the tip of the blade in a slow and frantic descent for the place the beating rested. Then came the slobber that fell over into his eyes, their contact created a vivid burning sensation afterwards. The pain! How in Idalos could such pain like this exist?! The burns he felt over his eyelids weakened his focus in his arms, the protective nature to wipe his face overcame that current task.

One falter of his reflexes allowed this monster above him to gain what he desired; the blade fell before Patrick could completely regain ground, and so the tip managed to pierce into the skin while he cried out in desperate agony. Before he knew it there was all this hopeless darkness and doom above him, and then not a moment to soon glorious light shone beyond his eyelids. Bright light that would've blinded him to be sure, and had he not been in such great pain already; then sure enough his eyes would've felt something against the level of luminescence around him. When he opened his eyes after the fade away he found himself alive and well, in fact he pretty much awoke and stirred to find himself in the same place as before.

Nothing had changed really. The bar kept its usual activity with a little bit of ambience to hear, a boon to his ears now that he felt more aware of the reality he was in. A woman apologized to him then and when she did he looked to her, confused as to what exactly she meant in regards to that. "I'm fine but..." He murmured as he looked from her to the mug of cider before him; clearly he became fully alert of the fact he wasn't dreaming once more. In truth the Nightmare had been so alarming, that he wasn't quite sure whether this was actually reality or a dream itself. "What in Idalos was that?" He spoke quietly before he looked to her once more, his eyes found perplexity in her features upon sight.

She was a lady who looked to young and exhausted for some reason, silver dots seemed to dance across her face as she spoke to him. Why she seemed so concerned for him though was beyond him, they were practically strangers in this establishment. "Did me a favor when ya woke me up actually." He complimented with a corner of his mouth twitched into a grin, unaware of the fact she very well could've been the one to actually awaken him. Patrick didn't really know if she actually did wake him up in truth, but he wouldn't deny that her presence there made the act of it better somehow.
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"Freedom is everything."


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"It was a dream, taken and twisted around a little, emphasised and made more real," she smiled at him and gestured to his face where, despite his wakefulness, his eyelid was still burning. When next he looked in a mirror, there was a small mark there in a perfect teardrop. She watched him as he came around and looked at the room, checking his surroundings and making sure that he was actually awake this time. He certainly seemed to be and everything seemed quite real.

As he looked at the tired looking woman next to him, Patrick might notice that her freckles, smattered across her face were glowing little pinpricks of light, dancing on her skin, each one like a tiny star. She leaned forward, lifted up his mug of cider and sipped it, then pulled a face and put it back. Her gaze on him was intent and she studied his face like a scholar studies a text book.

"Patrick," she said his name like she was trying it out for the first time. "You have a lot of dark dreams. You carry them around with you, don't you? Aren't you tired, Patrick?" She was tired, there was no doubting it, but then she looked at him and lifted her head from where it was resting in her hand. As she did, her face grew more animated and she seemed suddenly filled with energy, enthusiasm, even.

"Do you ever wish that you could stop having bad dreams? Would you lose them if you could?" For whatever reason, she seemed very interested in his answer.
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At her regard towards his little dream he found disbelief in her words, even with the amount of truth found in them a dream was still a dream. Yet even then it seemed so... real. Somehow the burning over his eyes resided and much to his surprise, her hand led him to discover the mark in the form of a tear upon the corner of his eye. Coincidences weren't something he cared to consider, not particularly when he felt the need to drink his problems away.

The drunk noticed the movement of her freckles of course, an unusual effect he never experienced before of course. Alcohol nor drugs hardly seemed to produce this sort of hallucination, but when he thought more on it he realized something; he wasn't entirely as drunk as he should've been. At least not in order to see things like this; therefore it stood to reason that this curious woman, somehow had sparkling freckles that moved on their own. "Tired? Me? Trust me twinkle cheeks," He mused before a sip from the mug followed, "if I carried such incredibly dark dreams with me; I'd never even know what sleep really is."

His remark was in essence denial of the whole situation, too much pride and care went into play on his behalf. Yet this woman seemed genuinely focused on them, on the idea of these dreams and their being somehow eradicated. Erased as though they were nothing more than ghosts, no longer chained to him like the prison he became. Patrick found the idea quite an agreeable one to be sure, and while he might've vocally avoided admitting it his body language said otherwise. To be rid of the same dream, the same nightmare that haunted him with no end, that would've been more than a relief on his behalf.

He could gain an actual restful nights sleep for once, without the fear or worry that his enemy still lurked in the shadows. Even so that fear kept him alive thus far, and it wasn't something he could just easily 'eradicate' like she suggested. "Bad dreams are what remind me that I'm still breathin' unfortunately." He sighed as he finally allowed himself to indulge in the subject. "If I could however I most certainly would relinquish their existence. Been too long since I've felt safe anywhere."

Were he to tell her the whole story? It would've certainly shed some light as to why he had such bad dreams, of course to do so would be to share a very personal matter. Why do such a thing to a person he never met, a person who looked very well sleep deprived actually. Yet now she seemed... radiant with energy. Where did that come from? The woman proved to be a questionable mystery to him, and he certainly wasn't sure whether or not she was completely human as of now. "Why? Do you have bad dreams as well? Night terrors that just won't leave ya be?" For a trill he thought about offering her a night of distraction, something the he most certainly would've enjoyed if she were willing.

However that offer never surfaced actually; for whatever reason Patrick somehow felt it too... irrelevant. This woman had piqued his curiosity well enough, yet somehow he couldn't find it in himself to divert from the current conversation. About dreams! Dominek would be pissing himself if he learned such a thing, that his younger brother found such a conversation more fascinating than a rumble between the sheets.
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"Freedom is everything."


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She smiled at him, her eyes showing her amusement when he called her 'Twinkle Cheeks', but her gaze turned serious as she listened to what he said. She shook her head, though, with an expression on her face which was more or less unreadable, "But you do, don't you? Carry those dark dreams. One of them, anyhow. Over and over again."

She tapped the tankard he had, light fingers dancing over the rim of it and, for all the world, it made a twinkling sound, as though she had struck a beautiful windchime. "You can't hide in dreams forever. You can't hide here forever either. When was the last time you properly slept? Sober, lucid sleep? It has its power, you know, sleep. Dreams you dream then tell you of your waking self, but they are cradled in a much bigger truth. You should try it. Or don't."

Did she have bad dreams? She looked at him and surprise registered on her face, the freckles alight in the relative darkness of the room. "In all my arcs, I don't think anyone's ever asked me that. What a surprising man you are. Yes. I dream of my brother. Or someone else's."

She stood up, then, smoothing down her dress and she looked down at him. For the very briefest second she looked what she was, beyond mortal, more than he could comprehend. "You should visit me sober, Patrick. Step into my realm completely alone, naked of your defences, truly yourself and actually in control. You never know, I might be more impressed." With a smile, she moved a piece of his hair away from his eyes, which she looked at intently.

"Or don't. It's up to you. But tonight? When you sleep, tonight I will watch you and I promise you, there will be no bad dreams." She lowered herself, hands on the table, palms flat, and she whispered in his ear.

"Wake up, Patrick"

He did, of course. In the bar where this had all started he jolted awake. The barmaid was there and she smiled at him, shaking her head. "Who's the lucky girl, then? You were mumbling 'er name. Jes.. Jesnine, I think ya were sayin'?" His tankard was empty, yet Patrick realised that he felt completely, absolutely sober. Like he hadn't had a drink at all. There was no hangover, no feeling of anything other than sobriety.

"Want another?", the barmaid asked.
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Her transition into a bright and energetic personality perplexed him in truth, but her reception to his answers posed interest between the two for sure. The way she spoke to him alarmed him, but that sense of awareness wasn't exactly all too bad. In all honesty it allured him in a much different way, he'd found an interest in the woman that never really stemmed in others.

He wanted to flirt at this rate but with the way she spoke, the topic of choice however kept him far to hooked. How was is she could tell he carried these memories so close, that he buried these fears so deep that they haunted his dreams? She knew without even blinking, as though she were an omniscient entity well aware of the secrets he carried. Perhaps she was. The woman certainly wasn't normal, granted her face twinkled like the night sky before him. Yet that seemed normal to her honestly, as well as the conversation she was having with him actually.

Certainly more or less omniscient granted she posed a riddle at him, the idea of choice in lucid free sleep being offered to him though? A silly one at that but somehow she seemed more than serious, she seemed inclined to share with him this belief. To provide him that sense of shelter from the event that haunted him, that in turn brought him to question whether her next. How could someone like her not be so interesting? Literally the way she spoke to him affected his impression of her, what started as a simple conversation between them somehow took a different turn. Even more surprising was how much he actually liked this, essentially it felt like he already bore his soul before her; what with how she could determine his quirks by mere dreams.

That's probably why it made it so easy to talk with her, to listen to her while she too seemed to have nightmares. Something she mentioned remained cryptic to him, yet somehow the relation that existed in her words... Brother? She didn't seem quite sure as she questioned it to be hers, or that of another which she dreamed about more or less. Either way the response led him to a mixed feeling, one of curiosity on her behalf while the other somehow understanding. Patrick sometimes dreamed of his own brother, and the ties that made their complex bond sometimes felt questioned. Often it depended on the dream of course, overall though it led up to Patrick thinking back on better days with the sibling.

Visit her sober? When she expressed her next bit of insight he somehow froze, unsure as to how he should react when she stood up in the process. Realm? Alone? She wanted him to be free and... naked? The word honestly registered in to separate ways, yet even when his mind faltered to devious intent; he somehow remained understanding of her actual meaning. In the light of her close approach and whisper, he felt a sense of awe just before the words seeped into his mind. Wake up.

With the sudden state of awareness found in his disposition, Patrick had awoke in the same place he had before. "Wha?" He quirked when the barmaid seemed interested, something he said in his sleep apparently led her to believe he had someone. He... mentioned a name though? Jesnine? He thought quickly back upon the dream he had, the woman which he quickly named 'Twinkle face' never said her actual name. But could it have been? Could he have heard Jesnine somewhere along the way, and merely forgot that part before he had awoken? His mug was empty to be sure but he wasn't drunk, quite the opposite of that in actuality. Since when did he ever wake up completely sober?

She offered another to him then, her smile warm and vacant while he still seemed out of it. "Um. Nah." He chuckled with a silent bit of amusement on his part. "Thanks anyway." He added as she giggled and moved onward, he watched briefly until he was alone of course. The exhale of a sigh followed as he grasped the mug and looked deep within, his eyebrows rose as he too couldn't help but laugh a little. Whatever that was about, whatever Jesnine found in him, certainly influenced that choice in the end. "Alright Twinkle face," He murmured as he rose to his feet with a soft stretch, "I'll sleep on those terms for sure."

Ri of course followed along with him and though she didn't say much, she was obviously well aware of his encounter. The two retired to his room quietly, where he found himself able to quietly sleep for the first time in ages.
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"Freedom is everything."


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Knowledge:
Detection: Noticing changes in ambient noise.
Detection: The signs of tiredness.
Discipline: Forcing abstinence on oneself
Endurance: Enduring pain
Jesine: Met you in Ne'haer
Jesine: You call her "Twinkle Cheeks"
Jesine: Was surprised at your concern for her dreams.
Jesine: Dreams of her brother.
Jesine: Invited you to visit her sober.
Jesine: Granted you a restful night's sleep.
Location: The Golden Flask
Psychology: Emotions are powerful drives.
Ri: Doesn't want you to be sad.

Injuries: 1 x small scar on your eyelid - shape of a perfect teardrop. It doesn't hurt at all and, in just the right light, it's a little bit sparkly.
Loot: 1 x night of very good sleep.
Fame: +5
Devition: +3 devotion to Jesine.
You may not use these points for magic

Please do pm me if you've got any questions at all. Hope you enjoyed the thread!
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