RP: Waking From The Nightmare? Characters: Magius(Narrative) Time/Date: 07/10/10 Location: His room Warnings/Rating: A little PG-13-ish, for talk about depression and reference to nakedness Summary: Magius thinks over his time in the strange new world, and ponders on a new plan. Status: Complete
Magius scrubbed at his skin with the odd thing of fabric, something like an old rag, one he had found in his bathing room upon arriving. The skin was already raw and well-cleaned, but he did not notice. Haunted eyes stared out of his face and into nothing as water poured down on him from the showerhead. It was a small thing, that showerhead, one small piece of the many wonders that surrounded him in this new world. And it did not bug him, even if it added to his feeling of unease, of lack of knowing, and to his complete feeling of being lost.
He scrubbed at his skin, and thought, mind flashing backward along the days he had been here, images and memories plaguing him and forcing his mind to think...
It had begun in the outer room of this very place he was in now, his mind whirling and his body weak from whatever drug they had used to abduct him from his captors. The feeling of relief from pain and captivity had been slowly erased(somewhat) by the realization he was now a prisoner elsewhere, even if it was a much more pleasant imprisonment. Despite the advice of the note greeting him on his arrival, he had remained in hiding, in seclusion, preferring to observe those around him instead of interact. Maybe he could find some clues...
...the storm that had blown in that next day had been a brutal blizzard by his standards, and he had been caught out in it, seeking to see and understand the limits of the island. When he had managed to find his way home, mostly unobserved, he had been miserable, shaking, and sick. The warmth of the place he'd been given to stay made him cry in relief, and the shame for how grateful he was for that safety still made him wince, and scrub all the harder...
...one of the greatest shocks had been his discovery that he no longer had access to the greater powers of magic. All of his spells above the 3rd level of difficulty had been erased from his mind, and the books containing them, as well as the Staff of Magius, and his bag of holding, had been taken from his prior to his waking up. Thus he was bound to only be able to perform minor magics, and the theft infuriated him. His helplessness to stop it or to regain his items made him even more furious and lost-feeling...
...the nightmares had started soon after, inflicting imagery of his time in the hands of the dark sorcerors, of Takhisis' people, and of what they did to him. Waking again and again to the sound of his own screams had become exhausting, and his voice was still slightly raspy from it. Other nightmares had waged war with those for dominance of his sleep. Dreams of dark moments and decisions he had made, of evil things his magics had done, of murder, and of worse. He woke shaking, crying, and praying to his gods, and facing dark nights and bright days with hollow eyes fear of what the night would bring...
...the absence of dreams one night, and of a peaceful sleep... it had been a gift from the Gods, or so he supposed, but observation of the others taught him that all were affected the same, and he was once more plunged into despair. He was a plaything of some being, some darker God, maybe even Takhisis herself. All he knew at this point was that he felt completely out of control of himself for the first time in his life...
...his first venture out of the hotel afterward had led to his near-death when he wandered into a building that had seemed safe, and only when he had managed to penetrate to it's center had began to collapse. His fleeing from it, aided by a fireball, and by use of some of his spells, had been frantic and careless, and he was scraped and hurt by his passage, limping back not proudly to his room...
...rested again, fed by the food he found in the strange hall of supplies, he had been captivated by the strange motion boxes. He did not know how they worked, but he had begun watching his one day, and been captivated utterly. When they started to play very odd and upbeat shows, he only found himself more intrigued. The lessons and speech in them seemed as if aimed at children, and children seemed to be the focus, though odd creatures and monsters also appeared. It was puzzling, and made him think of an instruction manual, in visual format, for how to interact with those cultures and monsters...
...the most recent madness had been the strange scents. It had been like waking in a graveyard, smelling what felt like, and scented like, wet dirt. He had been unable to shake the smell, and he had gotten such a scent of it that he had almost scented it everywhere. But it was strongest in his room. The scent was rich and somehow disgusting, at the same time as feeling... fake. And when it ended, only yesterday, he had felt like dancing, taking great breaths of clean air again, and just feeling exhilarated...
Magius slumped against a wall, the water rinsing his skin, cleaning away memories and leaving him feeling dazed. A feeling of lightheadedness told him he had been in the heat and water too long, an he staggered out, slapping the water off, before collapsing in his bed.
He could not go on like this. This despair and feeling of loss, of helplessness, pushed him to heights of strangeness, and his isolation had obviously given him nothing of use.
With a sense of fatality, he nodded to himself. Tomorrow, he must speak to those around him. Tomorrow, he must emerge from the shadows. Tomorrow... he must begin again.