Experience the Memory of the OC Above You! [IC]

     Dragon blinked slowly, no longer in the lake or surrounded by swan feathers, but in his bed. "What...?" He slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes, the irises changing from brown to bright blue. Had it been a dream he had just experienced? That didn't seem right, it was so real and detailed. He had never had a dream like that, even for... those dreams.

     Playing it back in his head, the boy tilted his head back. His hand subconsciously rubbed his throat. The voice in that dream, his voice, had been so rough, like it hadn't been used before or... something else. The feelings that person he saw through had were also conflicting, ones he felt were familiar yet different at the same time. There was a sadness to it he couldn't fully understand, and some kind of bewilderment. The longer he thought about it the more he thought about a deep feeling of happiness that bubbled up beneath all that surprise and curiosity. 

     Then there was that man with the blue eyes. He seemed like a hero, pulling the person he saw through out of some kind of darkness and guiding him around. However, every time Dragon thought back to that piercing gaze he couldn't help but feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Something didn't settle well with him, something about the way that man spoke made him uncomfortable. It was almost too inviting. Was that... possible?

     Dragon lay back down on his bed and gazed at the ceiling. Such a detailed dream. This was something that would stay with him for a long time.

     Whether through his eyes or a witness, Dragon is standing before a counter, staring at a glass with something thick and pink inside it. He gives a nervous glance to the person besides it, who laughs lightly in reaction. "It's a strawberry milkshake," they explain with a smile. "Go on, try it!"

     More hesitation, but Dragon reaches for the glass. It's cold, enough to make him want to not try it. Another laugh, however, gives him the courage.

     It's delicious. It's the first thing he's ever had that his stomach hasn't immediately rejected.

Corentine blinks slowly as she wakes. She'd tried to use divination to see into her problems, but it seems the magic gave her a vision of something else. She smiles at the memory. She'd felt so worried. Would the cold make things worse? Would she be able to keep this down? Corentine smiles at the memory of the other person, the one who had given 'her' the milkshake. They had laughed, but it hadn't felt as if they meant it meanly. She wonders briefly where and from when this had happened. Strawberry milkshakes were fairly well known on Zephyr's Rest, so whose eyes had she been looking through? Surely not someone from this island. Corentine's stomach rumbles and she sits up in bed. She should get breakfast. Maybe Kel or Hedgehog had cooked already? She can still faintly taste the strawberry milkshake from the 'dream,' and resolves to make dinner and dessert tonight. Something that goes well with strawberry ice cream.. hm.

The most recent DnD session had an .... interesting plot. Thought it was the perfect memory to share! Many thanks to the DM, my husband <3

Corentine balked at the sign above the door. "Royal Interrogation Room." No one had said anything about an interrogation, just that 'it was an honor to be summoned by the royal family.' But Corrie had no connection to the cult, and was confident she could get through this. She just needed to say what happened when the cult attacked the library, right? She took a deep breath and opened the door. Inside sat a ridiculously long table. It looked like it could easily seat 50 people. But only one chair sat at the table. Corentine went over to it and sat down.

Somewhere in the room a clock struck, signalling the top of the hour. Corentine waited for the royal family to enter, but they did not. Instead the room stayed still and silent. This is unsettling. But before she can contemplate its meaning the air is filled with the voices of the royal family. They seem to emanate from unknown spaces in the chamber, as if they are coming from the walls themselves. The cacophony is disorienting, and no matter how hard she tries she can see no sign of anyone in the room besides herself. And as suddenly as the voices started, they stop.

"Recount the events of the attack on the Royal Library." The voice is male, deep and commanding. She explains what happened, skirting around the bit about Kel'grokon. She's trying to keep the demon a secret, after all. When she finishes a different voice, more stern and authoritative, speaks up. "Were there any warning signs or security breaches that could have signaled the attack?" Corrie explains, feeling a little more confident now. If these are how the questions are going to go things will be fine. But after her answer the voices start up again. This time there begins an incoherent barrage of comments, each voice seemingly attempting to speak over the others. Amidst this experience she struggles to maintain her composure. It’s a mix of formal regal tones and sharp inflections and interjections. And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stops. Another round of questions, another bit where the royal family discusses amongst themselves, and then everything goes quiet. "When we ask of you, you may ask of us."

Corentine sits up straighter. This is the last step. She's heard about this. But she really just wants this over with. "Respectfully, I have no questions at this time."

She is dismissed, and as the attendant opens the door to greet her she finds herself thinking that really, this wasn't all that bad. Eventually she steps outside back into the sunlight. Huh. That’s weird. She can see the sun rising on the horizon. But she’s quite certain it was later than that when she came in. And as soon as she steps out of the palace itself she feels a wave of exhaustion come over her the likes of which she’s never experienced before. Corentine rubs at her eyes. “Am I supposed to be this tired?” After asking that question she also realizes she’s starving and thirsty. She feels like she’s about to pass out and die, and her body is visibly shaking.

"Typically yes!" The attendant says, smile never leaving their face. "Refreshments will be provided in your room."

She returns to her accommodations. Each step she takes makes her feel weaker and weaker. The attendant has to step in front of her and open the door because her hands are too weak to turn the knob herself. She stumbles to a tray of food in the center of the room, which has been thoughtfully placed on the floor. As if they knew she would crawl to it on her knees. Which she does. She cannot stand anymore, her legs quite simply won’t hold her up. She is not consciously aware of what the food is, she is only able to eat it and try to regain her strength. The world around her seems to be fading out, but every time she comes to, more food is gone and her hands are in a different place on the plate. She sees stars for a moment and then blacks out.

Corentine has lost all sense of time but she feels it must have been several days. Multiple cycles of waking up and eating the food, then passing back out. But eventually she wakes up with enough energy to shakily stand. She looks down at herself, finding herself filthy and smelly, still wearing the clothes from what must be days before. She goes to clean herself up. Corentine is trying to return to normal. She’ll be going home soon, after all. She tries to eat at normal times, although she still finds herself scarfing down the food much quicker than normal. She tries to sleep at a regular schedule but finds herself dozing off randomly. And she’s attempting to keep track of days. She’s slowly coming out of it. It takes her about three days since she starts keeping track to go back to normal. She could basically function by the second day but it’s the third day where she thinks to herself ‘okay, I think I’m okay. Just barely.’

And that is of course when there is a knock at the door. She opens it to find the attendant smiling up at her. "Your presence is required in the Royal Interrogation Room. The royal family has determined they need to extend your interrogation. It is a great honor to be offered the opportunity to spend time in their presence." This path is familiar to her now and she gets the sense it will become more familiar over her stay here. The various twists and turns of the maze that is the interior of the palace is no less discomforting than when she arrives and now she finds herself struggling to keep up with the attendant’s brisk pace.

She puts her head down on the long table this time, legs shaking from trying to keep up with the attendant. "Whenever you're ready," she murmurs. The same voices speak to her, asking the same exact questions. Corrie answers, but it takes her longer and she finds herself stopping to catch her breath repeatedly. And when it's over the door swings open behind her. The attendant's smiling face is starting to feel mocking. Walking back is even worse this time. She’s very much struggling to focus. On anything. And it’s about the most she can do to put one foot in front of the other. Again she collapses, although this time she’s crawling before she gets in the door to her room. She fades in and out for an indefinite amount of time.

This process happens nine more times. Or at least that’s the number she thinks it is. It could be more, but it is certainly not less. Each repetition makes her feel more weak, her answers becoming more incoherent, but yet they continually call her in. Wearing her down until she isn't even sure what she's saying anymore. At long last, the day comes where the attendant knocks on her door with a different answer. “Take the rest of the day to pack your things and compose yourself. Your escort will be ready to pick you up tomorrow morning.” She feels like she could cry with relief, if she had the energy to do so.

Tension filled the air the moment a royal entered the interrogation room. Normally, Samaël would poison royalty by spitting into their wine, seducing them or by crying onto their shoulder. This is different. As the confessions began, they couldn't help but feel like something's... Off. They couldn't identify what it is, but certainly there's something with the aura surrounding the interrogation room. Upon the consumption of the food, Desrosiers could tell that there's something about this castle. Raffaëlle can't heal the person of this memory, for it is just a memory. Desrosiers can feel the exhaustion from the repeated cycle of interrogation, consumption, fainting. When it finally ended, Desrosiers felt immensely drained and they couldn't even mutter a word.

Everything's the same in the village, just as it used to be. Even after the death of the old woman who raised them, Desrosiers couldn't stop but stare at her grave. She treated them like her own kid and yet...

"This is your fault"

The nagging voice from the depths of their subconscious surface to their thoughts.

"You are the reason your real parents are executed"

They thought to themself, "Mais je n'étais qu'un bébé..." But it was pointless. An angel approached the teenage half demon, half angel.
"See? This is your fault," He told Desrosiers. "Your parents... And now your adoptive mother. Dead because of you." Desrosiers balled their fists. The last words of the old woman that she told to their child.

"Ne t'en veux pas si je meurs... Ce n'était pas ta faute..."

"Que savez-vous de sa mort ?" They mumbled, gritting their teeth, furrowing their brows and their head hanging low.
The angel looked at them and asked Desrosiers, "What did you say?"
"Je vais vous demander encore... Que savez-vous de sa mort ?" A yell echoed throughout the sky. "Vous ne saviez rien d'elle quand elle s'occupait de moi !" They tried to hold back their tears.
"Oh, and your parents?"
"Qu'en est-il d'eux ? Vous les avez tués et vous m'accusez ! C'était il y a treize ans et vous en voulez encore à un enfant de treize ans ?" Their voice becomes an angered and shaky roar. "Pourquoi est-ce que je mérite une telle cruauté ?"

The angel just scowled at Desrosiers. A cloaked young man showed to the scene making the angel flee.
"I heard your scream, is everything alright?" He asked.
"Qui êtes-vous, Monsieur ?" Asked Desrosiers
"I am Johannes Émile Daniel, call me whatever you like, but I'm here to take you under my wing. I live within the village like you."

EclipsedShadowK Archimedes gonna watch Desrosiers memory :D

Archimedes felt uneasy, a heavy feeling when he "woke" up. Yet, it seems different, far different from where he slept. He opened his eyes, he was surrounded by lush, green forests and mountains, dominated by rose bushes. This doesn't look like the outdoors of Athens and this isn't in Greece either. Seems to be somewhere in Central Europe, yet it doesn't have any significant details where exactly is as the structures are as old as the middle ages. Looking his hands after he inspected his pockets or bags, there are no phones either. Was it some VR prank from the gamers from the squat or just his Naughty twin doing tricks again? No, neither of the twins bear oneirokinesis nor the gamers playing around the VR nor Archimedes had a dream spell. 

Archimedes looked his own reflection towards a puddle, yet only an apparition of himself. The waterproof jacket, steel toed boots, cargo pants, and the London After Midnight shirt he wore for the 3rd time was gone, replaced by the clothes that was specifically in that period. As he walked through a village in the middle of the forest. The atmosphere felt like those from an anarchist social center, yet quite different from modern times he lives. There, he saw a young individual, with horns and tail of a demon and a halo of an angel. With hair that resembling Archimedes, split between light and darkness. They seem familiar, as if Archimedes met this person before... yet everything seems changed. The teen was staring at a grave of somebody, perhaps a loved one or someone close to him. 

As soon as Archimedes watches the grieving person, a voice can be heard from a far "This is your fault! You are the reason your real parents are executed!". An angel appeared and approached to the teenage angel-demon hybrid with a furious demeanor. 

The teenage angel-demon said something in French, unfortunately for Archimedes, he cannot understand a word. He has no idea what the young person said, yet, the angel kept degrading the young person by insulting them. Despite his stoic expression, his heart felt sinking when he heard the young angel-demon at the moment they are furious. As if someone felt injustice and a self-criticism for something they didn't even do. 

Archimedes clenched his fist and attempted to give the angel a knock-out punch. However, it went through the angel unaffected. The engineer said something to the teen, they didn't hear him either. Seems Archimedes is just a ghost, a spectator within Samael's memory... for whatever reason. When Archimedes saw a cloaked figure approaching, the angel left. There was someone helping the teen away from the harassment they experienced. 

As soon that memory ended, Archimedes abruptly woke up in the real world. He messaged Desrosiers if there is something wrong with them because of the things he saw.

It was year 1985, the year he's going to study engineering at the university. While he and his twin aren't together at the uni, Archimedes met a programmer named Nafsika that time. It wasn't the stoic, cold, shell Archimedes has when he saw them. He shows more his softer side, a more compassionate, generous side of the tough engineer. Nafsika introduced Archimedes to tabletop games such as DnD and he played as a chaotic good cleric. The catch is their sessions doesn't have any game master, so the players come up with their own scenarios and such. During his free time, Archimedes alone builds robots made out of junk toys, often participates in robot combat events. 

Outside the university, Archimedes, Alkinoos and Nafsika went to mutual aid organized by the local anarchist areas and punk shows in the various places. There was an event in Radiant Wight where it was a bi-weekly theater and punk show and Archimedes was part of it. He didn't tell Nafsika about it since he participated until the start of the show itself. As soon as Archimedes shows up, holding a baglamasas well as his father was with him, performing together for tonight. The engineer was masked and dressed all black, as if he wanted to draw attention to the music more than his appearance. He felt nervous at first, as he barely perform in an open stage.

Grim Illumination, his father announced the band's name with his deep, passionate voice. They were playing in a more folk style of music, yet the lyrics were more punk. Typically, his father sings in the band but there was one song Archimedes made and his father let him lead the song. A song dedicated to Nafsika, that was written by Archimedes since he met them.

v (glad she liked experiencing a punk show and a folk punk band)

It felt like a haze to the knight, observing the life of someone else. It was odd, experiencing it from this angle, up above from where Archimedes stands, walks, and lives his life. Brown and gold wings keep her aloft, though it's not as if she has to dodge through buildings and rooms to view. A blessing in the oddity of this situation. 

Everything was new to her, many of the things they did, used, and played music with were all new and unusual to her. Though with her experiences traveling into whimsical and unusual places of the fey, was it really all too different? From what she'd observed of the man, he wasn't exactly the most friendly sort often coming off as cold, so every victory and softening of that rough exterior is worthy of a cheer, even if the facsimile of Archimedes in this memory can't hear her.

It passes faster than in real life, something Illanya would consider a blessing as she watches Archimedes play with the band, time only resuming as normal when the important things occurred. Illanya doesn't even consider it odd when she claps at the end of his performance, a proud smile on her face until she returns to her own body, sitting up with a blindfolded figure nearby, their head tilting towards the paladin from where she lays. 

"Did she show what you were looking for?"

The Paladin sighs, running a hand down her face. There's still a fond smile on her face even as she shakes her head. "No, I didn't. We can try again another time. Thanks again though, good cleric." The knight stands and bows politely before carefully striding from the tent.

(Sorry it's long I've been wanting to write out something for this for a while)

Yur’vic was unimpressed. He had walked the halls of the black wood camp enough to not fear the glass shards, nor the ice. All they were was an intimidation for cowards who couldn’t see beauty for what it is. 

But at the events transpire, as the voice coos in the knight's ear. Yur’vic was filled with….SOMETHING. It was something one gets when their superior tells them off. It felt like a pit. What was the knight doing? Don’t go for the fool getting himself killed. RUN! GET OUT! YOU WASTED SECONDS AND NOW YOU ARE STUCK! 

Then she started moving without her input. Yur’vic knew he couldn’t control her, this was a flicker of the past. He knew he could do nothing but watch as the mind he inhabited could no longer move its own body. Even still he tugged and pulled back to get her away from that damn cage, she had to get out before the glass took her. Yur’Vic’s chest felt like exploding as she entered that damnable cage. 

————————————-

Np: oh boy I had this ready and everything

Blood flowed freely down Yur’Vic’s face. The entirety of his right snout had been obliterated by a Minotaur’s club. He had escaped, but he was going to die. Die in a filthy ditch when he was designed for SO much better. Why did he have to be so unlucky? Why was he killed for worshiping a god?

He stared up past the canopy of trees towards the void beyond the realm. A quiet plea for help. He knew he didn’t deserve it, he was hardly even worth anything. No more strength in his body, no more energy, nothing. All he was, was another Bestigore who had gotten unlucky. “Slaanesh, please…I need help. I’ll pillage a thousand villages, write a thousand poems, indulge in the flesh a million times. Please just save me.”

He was unlucky, he always knew that. That’s why his snout blazed with pain again. Why it felt like he was growing, but at the same time why he couldn’t breath. He was dying, but there was a hand on his snout. Long, purple, and powerful. With magic dancing through his fingers. Where his hands touch wounds replaced themselves with glass. Where the glass appeared, glorious pain blossomed. Slaanesh had sent someone to save him? 

No, Slaanesh had sent a King in glass. With a deamonic face which leered down at Yur’Vic with cruel compassion. With a voice like silk, the King spoke “You, you prayed for a savior. I have come, my beautiful Glass Thing.”

What in the sane hell is this? Sarge wondered, though it was quite hard to think really, it felt as if another mind was in his head. He questioned if this was somehow a trick or some black magic from General Slaughter to torture him. It sure felt that way, the mutilation done to this body, even if not his own, made him sick.

Ah, typical religious violence, he thought sardonically. Sarge probably would not accept whatever god they worshiped, but he always hated conflicts such as these. He pitied how pathetic the beast felt laying in the ditch tasting the bitter flavor of death. He was no stranger to death, however, most on the battlefield were quick, not drawn out like this, it was horrible.

Their face stung like someone poured salt into their wound, their throat tightened, and they couldn't breathe. To make matters worse glass crept up the ruined side of their face, some horrible demon was messing around with their body. While the beast seemed curious if not a little relieved, Sarge was panicking, horrified at the sight and feeling of their body being forcibly changed against their will.

This is...

It was agonizing and violating. Sarge wasn't sure if he wanted to cry, vomit, die, or all three in that order. A chill ran down his spine as the demon stared down at them, voice smug as if acting like they were his property rather than a person. Sarge screamed.

(So this tormented him more than I thought.)

So Sarge is a toy soldier and he got his scars from fighting a giant hand with an X-acto knife. Have fun! Also TW a bit of gore.

Peter didn't have nightmares often, but this one was going to last him a while.

His dream started with him hovering in a dim and messy garage as if he was some omnipotent god. It felt weird, and even more so as he focused his vision on a soldier standing below him. He seemed to be lost and confused from the look on his face. It must have been the same expression Peter wore when he went out for an expedition - not knowing what was coming next, or often times worse, when.

He got the answer to both in the next few seconds. There was a sea of creatures with parts taken apart and meshed together like terrible arts and crafts projects. Part of him knew very well that these were just kids toys, and that it was stupid nonsense. Yet he didn't feel that way. Something burned inside of him, shouting and screaming that this was a terrible injustice.

The soldier below him seemed to agree. He couldn't even react before a giant hand grabbed out and snatched him. The poor army man fired his gun at rapid, inhuman speed, though there was nothing that could be done.

Peter wanted to help, but found his body was nothing but a ghostly husk. His palms only got sweaty, and his vision blurred.

Then he woke up.

He shot straight up in his bunk bed, not wanting to wake the other soldiers with his heavy breathing. Questions flooded his mind, a lot of them with answers he didn't want to know: why did he have that dream? What did it all mean? And worse, was that soldier supposed to represent him?

-

np: have a wholesome memory :D

Four found herself in a bewildering situation, completely disoriented and unsure of her surroundings. Just moments ago, she had been peacefully tending to her plants in the kitchen, but now she stood amidst a group of men on horseback. A startled cry escaped her lips as she jolted in surprise, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. However, her presence seemed to go unnoticed by the riders, adding to the strangeness of the moment.

In an attempt to break the surreal silence, Four mustered up the courage to speak, "Excuse me...?" But her words fell on deaf ears, for one rider simply passed right through her, as if she were a mere apparition. It was an odd sensation, unsettling for the woman who felt entirely out of place.  Amidst the confusion, Four's attention was drawn to a young boy who appeared to be struggling with his mount, while the others effortlessly rode on. Eventually, the boy managed to get his horse moving, and laughter erupted as he swiftly raced away on his horse.

Left alone with her thoughts, Four stood there with a perplexed expression, watching the horses fade into the distance. And just as abruptly as she had arrived, she blinked once more and found herself back in her kitchen, as if nothing had happened. She wondered about the identities of those people on horseback and how they were faring today...if there were still alive, or if what she saw was even real. 

The memory of her parents death, tw for mentions of violence

Hey! Quick Mod Post! Please skip me!

Since the four-hour time limit has far since passed (my bad for not catching it sooner) the next user should skip the user above and reply to Aloofcloud

Thanks!

     Allegro was just a kid, no older than three. He sat curiously at the table as a man with purple eyes and white hair excitedly set down a plate of some kind of new food in front of him.
     "Eat up, little guy," said the man. "These are called Hot Pockets. They're delicious and all the rage where I grew up! You'll love them!"
     A woman about the man's age with white hair and golden eyes seemed to say something about the food not being as good as he claimed, to which he took cartoonish offense. They playfully bickered over the nutritional value of a Hot Pocket while little Allegro took a first bite.

     "Mmm." The two parents stopped to look over at their son, who had already finished half of his first Hot Pocket. "It's good!" 

Ophelia bolted up, confused with the situation she got herself into. She rubbed her eyelids to see a small child enjoying what seemed to be a new food. She scoffed, as why in the world would she want to see this. But something pierced through her cold, dead heart. She looked at their happy faces, they are simply just eating together, trying something new, but why is everything so cheerful. The bickering was only playful, their eyes gleamed love and joy. Something Ophelia was jelous about.

Though it's not unordinary that she's like this, but why is this envy so painful. Of course, her own family wasn't like this. While her father was as bright as the sun, her mother kept trying to find something wrong with him, to criticize, to judge, it was clear she only married him to brag that she's married a doctor that works with the mayor. She had to endure her family break apart, but why does she have to see THIS family be happy, to MOCK HER? to BRAG?

She felt like she'd had enough, but she couldn't look away. Seeing this made her felt a bit warm inside, as she imagined, what if her reality was just like this one? No, it could never be. It will never be like this.

AAAAA I TRIED MY BEST HOPE YOU LIKE IT