cultor | DARK SIGNS ● PLAYER EVENT [MINGLE/OTA]

PLAYER EVENT: DARK SIGNS

WELCOME TO THE AUCTION OF LORTEL KEHELLAND

THE AUCTION

(warnings: mutilation, dismemberment, organ trafficking, non-consent, physical assault, sexual assault, gore/blood)

The Auction House is grand and ageless and rotting. Once a venue of glitz and great grandeur, the gilt now peels, the paint fades, the varnish cracks. The double doors open to greet you as if already aware of your invitation. The rich, vellum envelope burns in your hands, ice cold and aching, and you can't bear to let it go until you are within.

But where are you?

Does it matter?

A sense of urgency--hurry, it's already underway! you'll miss out, there are the most wonderful things in tonight's catalogue, did you see her tongue? so smooth, so silver! and what about--drives you through the fracturing foyer. The show awaits, beyond.

The bidding hall is built like an auditorium, as if this were a performance and not a series of financial transactions. The distinction between the two ideas, between show and sale, is murky to you now, somehow; if there was truly ever any difference, you can no longer recall what it was. The seats are filled with countless Dream Vessels, masked and draped in finery, hands clutching bidder paddles. Desperately they bid for each and every piece that is offered on display. They clamor for it, the room raucous with silent voices. You feel a strange sensation as if you are missing out, as if you need to join in lest you lose your chance; look down, and you may find yourself holding a bidding paddle of your own.

Upon the stage stands a grand and golden idol, too beautiful to be real, too perfect to be anything but imagined, too graceful to be human, ten feet tall and sparkling under the stage lights. You recognize her, perhaps, by the tumble of her hair over her shoulder, or the sweet, sly quirk of her lips, or the teasing way she gestures with the hand that holds a dripping golden sickle.

Her other hand holds, impossibly, her right arm, severed at the elbow, the stump bleeding shining ichor that spills onto the stage. A translucent, spectral copy has taken its place; you are able to see through it, glimpsing the shadow of iron bones within and the rich red curtains that cloak the stage behind.

"The bid starts at 400 gold!"
This continues, and continues, and continues. Ever more does she carve away pieces of her body; ever more does she smile. Her gorgeous, gleaming blood floods the stage, and eventually starts to drip over the edge. She gouges out her eyes, she cuts out her tongue, she saws off her legs, she trims away chunks of her gut. When there is no flesh left to give, she slices out her liver, pulls out her lungs, and finally, when effigy has become nigh entirely specter, she carves out her still-beating heart.

All this, for sale. All for sale. Always for sale. All for gold. Always for gold. Everything has a price. Anything can be bought.

Watching has an increasingly deleterious effect on your resistance to the spectacle. The longer you stand witness, the more desperate you are to participate. You may find, to your horror or your glee, that your hand raises all on its own.

NOTES:
Welcome to The Auction House. This is the first open, mingle option for characters to tag around to one another. The longer you stay, the harder it will be to resist bidding on, and winning, a piece of Lortel. Characters will find a coin purse on their person the moment they come to in the dream; it will somehow contain exactly the amount they require to bid on the piece(s) they wish to buy. Each piece comes with an effect. Any character can win any piece any number of times; she will sell herself to the highest bidder as much as it takes.

EFFECTS:

For winning an arm, you feel seized by the desire to possess. You may grab the nearest character or Dream Vessel and draw them close to you, as if they are yours. You may attempt to steal that which others have rightly bid on and won. Perhaps you'll try to uproot and take the very trappings and furnishings of the House itself. The longer you resist, the more desperate you become to possess something, someone, anything.

For winning a leg, you are captured by the need to run. Hide. Get away. Stay safe. Should you win a leg, you will become an object of great interest to any nearby Dream Vessels, and they will quickly converge; other characters within your vicinity may also feel drawn to hunt you. The urge to move will be overpowering. Luckily for you, the House is large, with plenty of places to hide--and get hopelessly lost in the escheresque architecture.

For winning a piece of her flesh, you develop a deep sense of unease that will quickly unfurl into horrific paranoia. It will feel as if every eye in the room is on you. Watching you. Gauging your worth, waiting for your mistakes. You will feel compelled to finish arguments other characters may not have even started. Accusations will fly from your mouth no matter how spurious. The Dream Vessels stir; your suspicion makes them uneasy.

For winning a piece of her liver, you are filled with a sense of loss, as if something has been taken from you. Something dear, and dearly important. Eventually, this sense blooms into a mortifying fear of betrayal. Perhaps this crushes you; perhaps you drop on the spot and burst into tears, unable to right yourself without assistance. Or perhaps it drives you to horrible rage. Perhaps you feel a need, soul-deep, to have your revenge on those around you, so clearly responsible for your woes--whatever it costs.

For winning a piece of her heart, you will fall immediately and powerfully in love with the first person you see, and this effect will remain in place for the remainder of the dream. The longer the dream goes on, the sicker you will feel with it. What may begin as a pleasant feeling soon curdles into a burning, terrifying desperation for recognition and reciprocation. And you may take the love you need from your object of affection whether they consent or not.

WITH MY LOVE AS YOUR GARDEN

THE HOST

(warnings: physical abuse, sexual assault, possession/compulsion, non-consent, sfw underage sexuality, absorption/consumption/cannibalism, child abuse, child endangerment)

Should you wish to see her, Lortel is, of course, here.

Not just up on the stage. The girl herself is, simultaneously, running the show, adorned in gold from head to toe, but otherwise human, skin pink, eyes green, as petite as ever. She's busy, hard to catch, always in quiet conversation with Dream Vessels that seem torn between adoration and animosity. Some spring to their feet to seize her in the throes of passion; she fends them off with her mask and slips from their grasp. Some charge at her, bidding paddles raised like cudgels; these unfortunate dream-souls have their necks simply, swiftly, snapped.

Far from her usual gentle warmth, her aura is one of powerful and abiding cold. To be near her is to feel it seep into your bones; speak to her, and you realize your teeth are chattering. Come close enough, and you will feel a powerful urge to touch her. Anywhere, any piece of her, as long as your fingers can brush skin. She will not stop you from doing so, but in exchange, she will exact a price.

Most notably, perhaps, to those who know her: this vision of Lortel never, even once, smiles. Her voice, when she speaks, is eerily layered; those with keen ears will hear the underlying baritone of an older man, severe and clipped, beneath her sweeter, higher, fluting voice.

Those tethered to Lortel will feel a different, deeper pull. It will lead them away, out of the auditorium, into the decaying bowels of the House. There is no glitz, no glamor in these claustrophobic, rough-hewn halls. Crumbling stairs will lead them down, down, to a heavy, metal-banded wooden door. Behind it lies a long-forgotten storage area, thick dust coating the floor and every surface. No one has been down here in a very long time. Knick knacks litter the room, small items too worthless to ever put up for auction--if they were remembered at all. A dried, withered posy, much handled and beloved; a hand-made stuffed animal, lopsided, so misshapen as to be unidentifiable, shredded; three apples, half-eaten and half-rotten; a small, rough burlap sack with holes cut in it as if for a head and arms; a bent, worthless, iron penny.

Laying your hands on products someone else has already claimed has consequences, you know.

NOTES:
Here's the hostess herself, should you wish to see her. This is the option you want if you'd like to interact with nightmare Lortel directly. Being around her has a continuous, negative, series of effects: it is literally chilling, and your character will grow increasingly cold either physically or emotionally. The longer your exposure, the greater your character's desire to touch her will become until it is eventually irresistible.

Touching her, however, is far worse: doing so will cause your character to become physically bound to her, skin merging with skin. Allow this to continue, and she will slowly, and inevitably, subsume you (which will, for your character, bring about the end of the dream). You may resist, or remove her, however you wish; it's only a dream, after all. You wouldn't be hurting a real girl, no matter how much she bleeds.

For her tethers: touching any of the items in the underground storage area will cause your character to see a memory of hers. Anyone who does so will also find that, rather suddenly, or perhaps all along, nightmare Lortel is right there beside them, examining the same item(s). Specify whether you'd like the posy, the toy, the apples, the sack, or the penny in your comment.

WON'T YOU FALL FOR ME?

THE END

(warnings: death, murder, gore, compulsion, worship, memory loss, body horror)

The auction is over. The House, literally divested of its beating heart, begins to crumble. It is abrupt and catastrophic. The ghost on the stage withers and collapses, leaving behind only those worthless iron bones. The walls fall like avalanches, pouring into the auditorium, and before you can blink, you are buried alive.

The auction is over. The House, literally divested of its beating heart, begins to crumble. It is abrupt and catastrophic. The ghost on the stage withers and collapses, leaving behind only those worthless iron bones. The ceiling caves in, great chunks of it cracking apart and dropping right on top of your head.

The auction is over. The House, literally divested of its beating heart, begins to crumble. It is abrupt and catastrophic. The ghost on the stage withers and collapses, leaving behind only those worthless iron bones. The Dream Vessels panic, screaming with no voices, crowding, stampeding; try as you may to run, you are quickly crushed.

The auction is over.

˙ɹǝʌo sı uoıʇɔnɐ ǝɥ⊥

ꙅ̵͎̻́̂i̸̪̓̾ ̵̼̔̆ᴎ̷̨̛̹̂ó̴̪́ỉ̸̙͂ƚ̴͙̄ɔ̴̠̋ǘ̶̖͠ɒ̴͔̤̿ ̸̫͒͛ɘ̸͔̄ʜ̴̠͍͗T̵̤͂ͅ

You die, and you die, and you die. But with every death, you learn a little more. You get a little further. You gain another clue. Gain two clues, and the path to escape will unfold itself before you.

NOTES:
This is the second open, mingle option for characters to tag around to one another. To exit the dream, characters must escape the time loop that is the House's implosion by surviving and getting out. If you are creative enough to bend the dream to your will, you may be able to escape on your own, or guide others to escape; otherwise, escape will be impossible if you work alone. In the latter case, characters will have to earn two clues total to meet the criteria for finding the escape path, and clues must be pooled between characters (e.g., two characters each earn one clue, one character earns two clues and brings another character with them, etc.). Clues may be earned in multiple ways:

Save another character from being killed

Die in another character's arms

Submit to the compulsion to confess a long-held secret

Force another character to join you in worship without dying for at least one minute

Get another character killed/kill another character on purpose

Steal another character's winnings

The loops themselves are not without their effects. The more loops your character experiences, the more of themselves they will lose. This may mean sense of self, or memory, or even pieces of your body. The longer it takes you to escape, the more destroyed you will become.

Should you become too disabled to escape on your own, you'll either need to rely on another character to carry you out ... or let the dream slowly, painfully, finally, after what feels like an eternity, collapse in on you entirely and expel you back into the waking world.

Oh God, I wish you were here.

Welcome to your first player-driven Somnia event!

This is an event log that is open to all and intended to be a mingle log for the first and last prompts! Feel free to top level and tag around as you would a normal event log. To interact with Lortel's prompt (and her directly), just put a starter for it in your comment as you normally would and I'll come to you ;) You can also choose to interact with only that prompt, or choose not to interact with nightmare Lortel at all--the world is your oyster! Any and all effects experienced during the event will end as soon as the dream does.

Canonically, Lortel will be asleep on and off until the 4th of October, after which she will be awake again as normal; this nightmare takes place during that time asleep, though the log itself is open to tag for the entire month of October. This log is serving as Lortel's canon update. When she awakes from this dream on the 4th, she'll have a few months' worth of new, horrible memories to sort through!

For any questions or plotting, you can hit up my plotting comment here or find me on plurk at

heartfuls!

Lyrics throughout/secondary song for this event ~~because I couldn't pick just one~~: Sleep Token - Fall For Me

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