logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

Entry tags:

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

EVENT LOG:
ENTER MR. SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

characters: those who signed up as defenders for the event
location: all around Beacon
date/time: november 16-29
content: the defenders attempt to drive off a spirit invasion
warnings: lots of horror! body horror, psychological horror, gore, violence, etc.. please cw all threads where appropriate! mods will do the same

in your closet, in your head.

It all happens in a matter of moments. Your friends, your companions, and even some people you aren't all that fond of; everyone who took so much as a bite of the spirits' feast suddenly collapses into a comatose heap. Which is bad enough already, but the worst, by far, is yet to come.

Before anyone can really figure out what's happened to the sleepers, the woods surrounding the town come alive with sound. Rustling, screeching, clicking, howling, and under it all, the characteristic hoots and whistles of the forest spirit tongue. But these aren't the friendly creatures that set up the banquet in the first place, and they aren't the familiar faces (or masks) from around Beacon. As they begin to emerge, bursting forth from the trees, these spirits reveal themselves as a horrifying army of terrors. And sprinkled among them, distinguishable by the emerald glint in their sockets, are the infamous "green eyes", the dangerous spirits that appeared once before.

Attempting to talk to these spirits is a moot point, made obvious by their immediate assault on anyone they get close to. They attack with claws and teeth, with limbs far stronger than they have any right to be, and the green eyes, as they are wont to do, will try to get into your head. Somehow, they seem to know what it is that scares you most, and they don't seem too hesitant to use it. It's not clear what they want— are they here to eradicate you? To frighten you? To send a message?

Whatever the case, one thing is very clear: you and everyone else, sleeping or waking, are in serious danger. Are you ready to defend Beacon?

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Like Crowley, Luna finds herself pacing around the sleepers, not out of anxiety or the need to move, but simply because she is a healer and a healer always watches. She's been popping in and out; doing what she can for those inside and heading back outside to fight off any of those nasty spirits that seem to want to come at them near non stop.

She nearly bumps into the poor man as she's busy using a piece of her own dress to try and wrap the top of her arm where a large gash now resides, though she hardly flinches even as she struggles to tighten the white fabric.

She's noticed things, and she's noticed how exhausted he looks.

"You need to rest. Sit down, take a nap. We've got things under control for the moment. I'm heading back out."

Crowley recognizes Lunafreya immediately----she was, of course, one of the reasons why he's not limping around in a splint during this. He can't even imagine what it would be like if he was trying to navigate this with a broken leg. He supposes he should thank her. He won't, but he supposes he probably should.

"Nah, I'm all right," he says, eyes drifting down to the sleepers. He hasn't slept since this started, and he isn't about to start now. What if Aziraphale wakes up? What if he dies?

He turns to Lunafreya, glancing at her arm. "Are you---are you going to heal that?"

Luna isn't particularly concerned with her own injuries right now, not when there are so many others who need the attention. She's tried to use her magic on several of the sleepers, Ignis and Noctis included, but they've not stirred and she is growing increasingly more concerned as the hours and days roll on.

"You need to keep your strength, Crowley," she responds, finally resorting to using her teeth to properly tighten her makeshift bandage enough to where she can be satisfied.

With a flick of her wrist, her Trident materializes in her right hand, and she shakes her head. "No, not when I could be using my magic on others far more injured than myself." A pause as she gives Crowley a once over. "Are you injured at all?"

"No," Crowley says. "Certain people won't let me leave. Seem to think I'm just going to get myself killed."

Which, to be totally fair, is a pretty reasonable thing to think, considering the circumstances.

He looks at her arm, and reaches out a hand to lay over it. He's been doing a surprising amount of healing lately. If he can't fight (which he really can't), this is at least something he can do. And it can be a way of saying thank you to Lunafreya, he supposes.

"It is safer to be in here, it is true. Besides, we need capable people such as yourself here just in case those things get inside," she replies with a small, tired smile. "You are most certainly needed here."

Oh, she thinks Crowley is probably extremely capable, more so than herself. All she can do is flail her trident around and toss herself at things and spirits until she's sure they aren't moving anymore.

When he places a hand over her arm, her smile widens. "You don't need to do that, dear Crowley... thank you. I very much appreciate it. How are you holding up in general? How is Aziraphale, still sleeping?"

Crowley focuses, healing as best he can. The more he heals, the more he remembers how to heal. He was an angel a long time, but he was a demon for far longer---the angelic tendencies don't come as easily as the demonic ones do. He still repairs the skin, stitching together where the wound is.

He moves his hand away.

"He might never wake up," he admits, sighing. "Unless we do something. Figure out a way to rouse them. Healing doesn't do anything----there has to be something keeping them under."

Luna had no idea that Crowley, too, could heal, and it's amazing to be on the receiving end honestly. She's never healed herself, and at home there was no one else on their star that had the magic that she had. It's a strange, wondrous thing, to watch as her skin literally pieces itself back together until the wound is no more.

"Thank you," she responds again, genuine relief in her voice. She shakes her head, lifting a hand to lightly touch his cheek. "Don't say those things. He will awaken, as will the rest of these people," she continues, shifting slightly. "But you are right. We cannot stay here forever and wait for a miracle. We must take action. Perhaps they are under some sort of powerful spell..."

She moves to touch his cheek and Crowley moves his head away with a look that says: Enough of that now. He's not a touchy-feely sort of person, Crowley.

"Spell, incantation, poison. We don't know, but they aren't waking up and nothing seems to budge them," he says.

He spares a glance at the door. "Do you think she knows? The Lighthouse keeper?"

Hand dropping back to her side, she hums and tips her head, considering.

"Whatever it is, it is powerful. But even the most powerful of spells can be undone," she offers, before her gaze drifts back to his face, her expression growing more serious.

"Absolutely. My dear friend, Ignis, once told me that she mentioned to him being able to have some control over the ghosts and spirits that dwell here. If that does not scream 'guilty', I don't know what does. But right now... I suppose we have only speculation."

"It doesn't have to be speculation," Crowley says. "The spirits are all here, attacking us. We can go there, now. We can confront her."

After all, the Lighthouse person has been very silent throughout all of this. If that doesn't tell Crowley who to blame, he doesn't know what else would.

"We can go there, yes. Do you think those that remain here will be able to hold their own, if we leave?"

She agrees, and she's hardly afraid of the woman who calls herself the 'Keeper'. Robin. She is, however, afraid for their loved ones, should they just leave. But there's only one way to find out.

"If you wish to go, then I will accompany you."

Crowley spares a look over his shoulder. This is going to infuriate the human soldier person and Xayah. They told him to stay put. But, then again, when has Crowley ever done what he's supposed to do? Aziraphale is still asleep, and there's no way to rouse him. This could be their only way out.

"Let's go, then," he says, nodding towards the door. "We can fly. I'll carry you."

He's not the only one who is going to get scolded for this. Granted, Prompto isn't going to freak out on her, but Nyx will. Not that she's seen him since the chaos broke out. It's why she nods her head at him; if they can figure out how to stop this madness at the source it will be worth a few angry shouts in their general direction.

"Very well," she replies before she blinks. "Are you certain? I wouldn't want you to break your arms or your back on my account."

"Has to be safer than walking through the woods with those creatures around," he says.

Besides, Lunafreya can't be that heavy. Crowley's carried far heavier in his time for far longer. He can handle a few miles. The flying spirits, though----that is something he worries about. He doesn't know how he will be able to fight in the air.

"Anything that trident of yours can do?" he asks, stepping towards the door. "Because we'll probably still need to defend ourselves."

"If you are certain. Though you must promise me that you will drop me should I get too heavy or become any sort of a burden," she states, the seriousness reflected in her tone.

Looking at her weapon, she takes it in both of her hands, humming. "At home, it allowed me to call upon the Gods and the aid of fallen kings, among other light based magics," she begins slowly, frowning. "This place has stripped me of that magic, but it is still considered a royal arm and I can still very much stab my way through enemies. I do wonder, though, if I were to use healing magic on these spirits... do you think it could do any sort of damage?"

"I don't know," Crowley admits. "But it's worth a shot, right? Some of the things you least expect affect them."

He remembers his trick with the muzzle seemed most effective against the hound spirits they fought, but other miracles did little to nothing against them. Who knows what a healing spell could do. It could be exactly what they need.

He holds the door for her.

"And don't worry, the moment you're too heavy, I'm dropping you." He would never drop her.

"It is," she replies with a nod. "At home, it purged daemons... perhaps it will do the same to the monsters and spirits here. There is only one way to find out."

And she is going to be absolutely blasting anything that comes hear them with as much healing magic as she can. Between stabs and jabs, of course.

Such a gentleman. Smiling, she walks outside and looks back at him.

"Thank you. And yes, good. I am glad that we are on the same page." She wouldn't fault him for it; heavy is heavy and being air born whilst carrying someone can't be the easiest thing in the world.

Crowley is not a gentleman. He is an evil, nasty, uncaring demon. She'd do well to remember that.

He steps after her and looks up to the darkness of the sky, then over to the darkness of the Lighthouse. He takes a breath, and extends out his long, black wings.

"If I'm holding you, I'll need you to defend us. I can avoid shots at us, but you'll need to keep any flying spirits away," he says. He's certain there won't be many out there. They have to all be focused on the town right now.

He is a gentleman and she will fight him on that until the end of time, thanks.

Part of her brain, the more logical part, thinks of the Bonfire. Thinks that perhaps they should grab at least one torch before take off, or try to. But doing that would waste time, and so she turns to him fully, nodding again.

"I can do that. I promise, anything that comes at us is going to get skewered."

"All right."

He steps towards her and gives her an awkward look. How best to carry her? Lift her up in his arms? Hold her under the armpits?

He opts for holding out his arms.

"Here, you decide how you want to do this, I'll go along with it." That's his experience with most human women in general.

She looks at him, then at his arms, and then him again, a brow arching. Despite the seriousness of the situation, this is... extremely amusing.

"If you are certain. Here," she approaches and winds an arm around his neck gently, swinging herself up into a bridal style position. Her arm immediately comes back to her front so that she can secure her weapon properly.

"Is this alright? Are you comfortable enough?"

"Yeah, that'll do," he says. She's fairly light, and he knows his wings are strong enough to carry himself and quite a bit more weight than she is made up of, even with her weapon.

"Hang on," he says, holding onto her.

He looks in the direction of the Lighthouse, focuses on the light there, and beats his wings, lifting them off the ground. He spares a glance back at the Invincible, trying to see if he can catch a glimpse of the human soldier person, to make sure he's watching over Aziraphale while he's gone----but he has to focus on where they're going.

It's an odd sensation; she's not particularly used to being carried, or flown around, really. She's been in airships a few times, but she's always traveled by foot or by Imperial envoy for the most part. So having these two things combined is a strange sensation, especially once they are actually off the ground.

She's going to have to ask him where he keeps those wings of his. Later, perhaps. When they get home.

"Yes, thank you, dear Crowley," she replies, grip tightening onto her trident. She's hoping that they're not going to run into too much trouble; she's more concerned about what may be lingering at and around the light house, after all. But those green eyed spirits are no joke, and she's not sure just how high they can go. "Here we go."

Dear Crowley. He can't help but immediately think of Aziraphale. Lunafreya really is rather like him, Crowley supposes. She's kind and gentle, and thinks highly of him, though he definitely doesn't deserve it. She's even got a really dangerous weapon, just like Aziraphale did when Crowley first met him.

He flies up, staying as close to the light as he can, but up above the treeline to avoid the spirits. He can't see anything, it's just so dark.

"What's out there?" he asks, "What do you see?"

She's glad that she's going with Crowley for this. This is not a one person job by any stretch of the imagination, and the very thought of Crowley trying to do this alone is something doesn't want to really think about for long. She likes him; despite what he says about himself, there's something about him that reminds her of herself. Perhaps it's the need and want to do something instead of sit around; maybe it's that he doesn't seem to fear anything, either.

She squints in the dark, peering back and forth. It's hard, and she can barely make anything out.

"I see..." she makes a noise that sounds half unsure and half frustrated. "I think I can make out the silhouette of the lighthouse in the distance," she continues, before her head whips off to the right suddenly as a noise catches her attention. "...I fear that we may not be alone up here, did you hear that?"

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