Rea Family/Dancer/Nightmares

"He who fights monsters should beware, lest he become a monster himself." - Friedrich Nietzsche

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

Nightmares 1 Letters stacked his camp desk, inked words flicking and twisting under the lantern light. Dark bags had settled under his eyes, and his clothes were disheveled. He drummed his fingers on the desk, face set, assessing the letters spread before him. Truly, he was the candidate with the most experience, the most honorable, the most prestigious, the most logical choice. However, he couldn't simply tout his full credentials, and he certainly hadn't been in this realm long enough to accumulate a list of recent accolades for a high council position. For a moment, he paused his drumming, eyes falling on one of the longest letters. The only real threat to his candidacy, and she was still so green. Children seemed to be ruling the world these days, some literally, others stirring the whole court into a fight over a few peasant deaths, and still others leading the greatest Hypocrisy he'd seen since the Invasion. Eva. A low growl escaped him, rage boiling to the forefront of his mind. The reports had come in weeks ago of her abdication of the throne, shortly after the reports of the loss of the Hypocrites' so called 'oracle'. It didn't take a genius to untangle what had happened. Dancer resumed his finger drumming, harder. Eva had been an innocent child, and they had taken her deeper into their Heretical fold. How far, he did not know, but a power vacuum of that magnitude opened many pits into Heresy. "Sir!" A messenger barged into the tent, neglecting all common courtesy. Ragged, sea-soaked clothes hung off the man, squelching as he pawed through a bag slung around his torso. Still inwardly fuming, Dancer struggled to keep his voice as neutral as possible. "What, exactly, makes you think you can simply bust into my tent?" Entertaining thoughts of murder, Dancer stood, pulling his sword out from under his desk and brandishing it. Steel glittered in the lantern light, Dancer's eyes shining in the same fervor. "M'Lord Dancer, a package for you! I've traveled all the way from the Colonies, Sir! I was told to get this to you as soon as possible!" The messenger pulled out a silver tin the size of a small dog, a large stylized 'D' twirled around the outside. Dancer didn't lower his sword, but his eyes gazed hungrily at the tin. The messenger shuffled his feet, discomfort flooding his face. "Sir?" Dancer broke from staring at the package to glare at the messenger. "Holt!" Dancer rose his voice to a commanding shout, and a middle aged man promptly marched into the tent. Dancer strode across the tent, deftly nipping the tin from the messenger, sword at the ready with every step. "Take him to the nearest Mordok pit, and chuck him in, as quick as you can." The soldier wasted no time jumping on the messenger, both men hitting the dirt. Muffled protests from the messenger went unanswered, as Dancer stepped back, keeping his distance from the pair. He wasn't taking any chances when it came to his brother.

Dancer Rea

GM Announcement

Dancer's Cookie Jar Dancer's patience was running thin. He had tried to hide his cookie jar. Still, it was found and pilfered. Now, he was moving onto boobie traps. Rubber bands, a bow, a clay pot, and some deodorant were all he needed, and he had gathered them together. The cookie thief would rue the day he stole a cookie for Dancer Rea! And the thief had taken not just one...

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

Nightmares 2 Flickering fires light the night, hundreds of homes and shops burning across the city. Black smoke choked the streets, the roars of fell beasts echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once. Dancer stumbled though, coughing harshly. His men had fought to the last, Captain Lenard ushering him from the keep shortly before it was overrun by a legion of skeleton warriors. What a coward he was, running. He hadn't even seen the men give their lives. The undead and monsters had come from the sea, horde after horde of nightmares rising from the deep. The realm had collapsed quickly, hundreds of hateful words flying between nobles, blaming each other for the falling defenses. Many nobleman had been killed, heroically defending the walls, including Dan's liege. A crumpled letter was all that remained of his home, clutched in his fist. The King had sent all of them one final missive before departing; they were to meet in a realm to the north-west, Shattered Vales. Dan had never been there, but the tenuous alliance was all they had left. It had only been six months since he'd been told he'd have to leave his brother. The thought of Darius sent a pang of longing though him. While Darius had never been the best brother, he'd always looked out for Dan, making sure he got a fair turn with the toy box, dragging him home before dark fell, protecting him from their father's rages as best he could, helping Dan with his schoolwork, and playing hide and seek with him even when Dominic refused to because it was "childish". A crack split the air, and a large timber came cutting though the smoke. Dan through himself sideways, narrowly avoiding an early, pastey death. Hot air blew past him, making the air even harder to breath. Dan coughed harder. "By Tialok, that was close." A shrill scream broke through the air, coming from his left. His feet moved before his brain, and in moments the smoke opened up to a young woman, one of her legs trapped beneath the massive timber. "Miss! Hold on.." The timber was burning fiercely, and Dan had to close his eyes to get close. He pulled his shirt off, tearing it in two. Quickly, he wrapped his hands, and dove under blaze. Black smoke filled his eyes and nostrils, and his shirt did little to help with the flame. His flesh burned, but the timber groaned, and shifted just enough for the woman to roll free. The woman coughed, thank you's spilling out, relief softening her face. Dan tossed what was left of his shirt, blisters froming up and down both of his arms. "Can you walk, miss? We need to move." "No, Milord, my leg Sir, I think it's broken...." Not wasting time or precious breath on more words, Dan hauled the woman over his shoulder, and set off again into the flames. They made it to the city gates without more incident, where a small cogent of city guards were protecting citizens, and giving directions to a refugee camp that had been set up some miles away. Dan happily put his charge on a cart bound west, sighing in the waning sunlight. He looked longingly at the burning city, well on it's way to being overran by every manner of monster and undead. That foul Daim- Suddenly, his world broke into pieces, colors and sounds jumbled together in a cacophony of sensations. Darkness, pain, lights, screaming, a stone brick wall, chains, blood, darkness, agonizing pain. Dancer woke with a start, cold sweat covering him head to toe. A single lamp burned low, barely illuminating the command tent. Dancer closed his eyes, attempting to control his breathing. The nightmares were clearly getting worse; it had been many years since he'd even thought of his early days on the island. He chewed on his dream, trying in vain to recreate those last images. What had they been? His dream had been so clear, so real, up until the end. He sunk his head in his scarred hands, breathing slowing. He'd need to eat more of Darius's brownies if he was going to get a full nig- A crash split the night, a ferocious roar shaking his tent shortly after. Dancer grabbed his sword, safely tucked near his bedside, and rushed for the sound.

Dancer Rea

Roleplay from Dancer Rea

Nightmares 3 The cooking tent, of all places. Dancer narrowed his eyes, and hopped a small pile of equipment. There was only one thing in the food stores worth the racket. Rounding a corner, he drew his weapon, simple longsword glittering in the moonlight. Really, he should have grabbed his proper ritual shortsword for close quarters fighting, but he'd been so distracted by his dream he hadn't even put a shirt on, let alone spared a thought about weapon choice. Confused soldiers, still trying to put on bits of equipment, stood around the tent, fumbling for swords and shields. Dancer ran right past them, sword drawn. Ducking into the tent, Dancer paused, perplexed. Three of his night guard stood in front of him, weapons trained on a massive dog. The monster's midnight coat rippled with muscle, and canines hung out of its mouth, sharp points dripping with drool. Its ears pointed straight up, and its eyes were fixed on the cultist. A silver tin lay a few feet farther into the tent, stylized 'D' marred by a large dent. White powder was scattered around the tin. Clearly Dancer's trap had sprung, and the brownie thief stood before him. The cause of the racket became apparent when the beast shifted slightly, a severed hand and smattering of blood shining in the torchlight. "Steady men. Watch for-" Dancer's orders were cut short, as without warning the hell hound silently leapt through the air. It hit the line of men between the two smallest, getting close fast and rendering their weapons nearly useless, so its massive frame could push them out of the way like small children. It touched the ground once, before it lept again, claws digging into the dirt. Dancer tried to defend himself with his sword, but the length of the weapon proved to be to much for the tight space. Paws hit his chest, and Dancer fell back, hitting his head painfully on the ground. The guards recovered, and through themselves to Dancer's aid. "Hold!" The hellhound stared into his eyes, and drool dripped slowly onto Dancer's bare chest. It had placed its paws to either side of the cultist, and its hot breath ruffled Dancer's hair. The tension in the space was thick enough to cut with a knife, as the two agents of the netherworld stared at each other. Dancer's milky blue eyes steadily met the hell hound's dark purple gaze, silent understanding passing between the two. The hound broke the stalemate first, glancing at the ajar tent flaps. Sounds of reinforcements could be heard, men shouting for reports, or orders. The beast glanced down at Dancer, before bounding out of the tent. Dancer closed his eyes. He'd seen it before, in Bym. How long had it been following him? How long would it be before it attacked again?

Dancer Rea