logsinthenight | 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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Crowley sees the creature leap at him and immediately ducks. Right, there are better things he could do right now, more cohesive things he can do, but this thing can spit holy water----

Wait, the holy water. He looks down at his arm, which stings but isn't melted off. What the hell happened there? He should be dead right now. Dead as he was when he originally died. That should've been it, it should've been all over. How did that----

He sees the human soldier person leap into the fray and decides now is not the time to think about it. He grips the leash again and pulls downwards, to see if he can get the creature off-footing.

The green-eyed hound's jaws fill Crowley's vision entirely, snapping shut— mere centimeters before they would've reached him. The creature manages to dodge its tossed companion, but the Soldier nabs its rear leg and jerks it out of the air.

The hands come back, this time with faces attached, the forms of past handlers, of the ones who shocked him and dragged him to the chair. The hound fights for all it's worth, thrashing and snarling and biting at anything it can reach as it tries to regain control of the Soldier's panic-stricken mind. It mostly ignores Crowley's leash, apparently having bigger problems on its plate.

But the other hound doesn't have any problems, aside from a few stab wounds. It picks up where the green-eyed one left off, trying to eat Crowley's face.

They're really just juggling monsters at this point, huh?

The hound is fighting something as strong as it is, and that already has a grip on it. Hound teeth mostly hit torn leather on the flesh arm, kevlar on the chest and neck, some flesh on the right hand, claws scoring on the Soldier's face.

But hands and handlers just mean that the Soldier thinks the thing it has is one of them. The mind doesn't clearly remember what the Chair does, but the body knows it means pain and terror and burningblindingnothingness, and there isn't enough familiarity yet to make it sit down willingly. It is not letting that happen again, even if it has to tear the hound's/handler's throat right out with its bare hands. Even if it has to tear them in half. And that's what it's trying to do, with the hound/hands/handlers coming right up into its face: dig the metal fingers in tight around the offered throat, with the hind leg still in the flesh hand, and rip.

Crowley's on his own for the moment, though. At least his assailant is damaged from pummeling and knife wounds, right?

"Shit!" Crowley cries out as the other creature leaps at him, jaws snapping. He imagines a cricket bat in his hand and takes a swing at it, aiming for those teeth.

But that's not effective, is it? Just a bat, just a weapon. He thinks about how the muzzle worked, how it stopped the monster in its tracks. If he can think creatively, maybe he can throw this dog off, too.

He thinks about what he knows about dogs. They're large and smelly and generally annoying, but Crowley knows they can be tamed. Tamed how? By treats. He looks at the cricket bat and imagines it as a large bone instead.

Something to tempt the hound, perhaps?

EVENT LOG: ENTER MR SANDMAN (DEFENDERS)

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apologies for the delay