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middaeg2019-12-01 10:21 am
curruid_coinchenn) wrote in middaeg2019-12-01 10:21 am
Entry tags:
The dream was now broken, though rudely awoken [closed]
Who: Diarmuid and Berserker
When: Early Deceuer
Where: Their apartment
What:Nightmare Dream sharing
Warnings: Trauma! Mentions of blood, mass slaughter, other fun stuff.
[ Sometimes it's difficult for Berserker to sleep. It's taken him months to get used to having a mortal body and limitations. Sleep doesn't come easily on most nights and, when it does, it's full of disturbing dreams. He runs himself to the point of exhaustion so when sleep finally comes, he's too tired to have the dreams. It's to keep him from inflicting his dreams on his Bonded (both of them). Diarmuid coming home to find him collapsed on the couch from running himself ragged made him change his sleep habits at least a little bit. He doesn't want to worry the one who stays by his side so faithfully.
So, on this night, he lets himself go to bed when he's tired. He lays alongside his Bonded, though not snuggled up with him. His familiar presence is enough to help ease him into sleep. The problem is, though, that the nightmares come again as he drifts off. A dreamless sleep would not happen tonight.
A cold, dark battlefield. The overwhelming stench of blood fills the air. Numerous dead already lay at Berserker's feet and he wrenches his spear from the body of another. Blood splatters stain his dark armor and bare skin, including his face. There's no emotion on his face as he continues to cut down person after person who opposes him. No motion of his spear are wasted, each strike either crippling or killing his target. He steps on the still struggling, screaming person he just cut down, armored foot on their head. ]
Please, I'm begging you, don't kill me! Spare my life and I'll never return here, just please let me live...
[ Their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. ]
Die with some dignity.
[ A sickening crunch of bone and squelching of brain and blood fill the air as he stomps his foot down, grinding his boot into the mess. He steps over the now dead body before him; he feels nothing for the corpse and felt nothing more the living person it used to be.
Nothing behind him but corpses, nothing before him but living who would become corpses.
Even those strong enough to strike him are calmly killed. An opposing army to take down this one man war shows itself in the distance. Survival is all that matters. Anyone he can kill with just his spear are taken out, but the numbers get to be overwhelming. His expression doesn't change as he prepares to throw Gae Bolg. A horrifying tearing sound, bone and muscle separating in his chest and shoulder can be heard as he hurls the spear at the remnants of the army. It hurts, it hurts, but his face shows no expression. Runes glow on his body, the damage done repaired. The army is no more, leveled by the superior show of force. He collects his spear and continues forward.
It never ends. It never ends. It never ends.
Exhausted, he stops. A petite, pink-haired woman in white approaches him. A sense of unease and resentment comes from Berserker, though he does nothing against her. He continues to stare at her with the same indifference as anything else. She puts a hand on his bloodstained chest and smiles. ]
Perfect, my love, my Mad King. [ She reaches up to cup his equally bloodstained cheeks in her hands. ] I knew you were the perfect King for me. I love you!
[ It never ends.
With that vision of Medb, the dream ends. Berserker doesn't stir from his sleep, though he does shift around. It's background noise. He feels nothing seeing this dream, just the crushing apathy that used to make up his entire being. Protection is what it is.
If he were conscious, he'd only hope that Diarmuid didn't experience what he'd just dreamt. Of course he couldn't be that lucky. ]
When: Early Deceuer
Where: Their apartment
What:
Warnings: Trauma! Mentions of blood, mass slaughter, other fun stuff.
[ Sometimes it's difficult for Berserker to sleep. It's taken him months to get used to having a mortal body and limitations. Sleep doesn't come easily on most nights and, when it does, it's full of disturbing dreams. He runs himself to the point of exhaustion so when sleep finally comes, he's too tired to have the dreams. It's to keep him from inflicting his dreams on his Bonded (both of them). Diarmuid coming home to find him collapsed on the couch from running himself ragged made him change his sleep habits at least a little bit. He doesn't want to worry the one who stays by his side so faithfully.
So, on this night, he lets himself go to bed when he's tired. He lays alongside his Bonded, though not snuggled up with him. His familiar presence is enough to help ease him into sleep. The problem is, though, that the nightmares come again as he drifts off. A dreamless sleep would not happen tonight.
A cold, dark battlefield. The overwhelming stench of blood fills the air. Numerous dead already lay at Berserker's feet and he wrenches his spear from the body of another. Blood splatters stain his dark armor and bare skin, including his face. There's no emotion on his face as he continues to cut down person after person who opposes him. No motion of his spear are wasted, each strike either crippling or killing his target. He steps on the still struggling, screaming person he just cut down, armored foot on their head. ]
Please, I'm begging you, don't kill me! Spare my life and I'll never return here, just please let me live...
[ Their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. ]
Die with some dignity.
[ A sickening crunch of bone and squelching of brain and blood fill the air as he stomps his foot down, grinding his boot into the mess. He steps over the now dead body before him; he feels nothing for the corpse and felt nothing more the living person it used to be.
Nothing behind him but corpses, nothing before him but living who would become corpses.
Even those strong enough to strike him are calmly killed. An opposing army to take down this one man war shows itself in the distance. Survival is all that matters. Anyone he can kill with just his spear are taken out, but the numbers get to be overwhelming. His expression doesn't change as he prepares to throw Gae Bolg. A horrifying tearing sound, bone and muscle separating in his chest and shoulder can be heard as he hurls the spear at the remnants of the army. It hurts, it hurts, but his face shows no expression. Runes glow on his body, the damage done repaired. The army is no more, leveled by the superior show of force. He collects his spear and continues forward.
It never ends. It never ends. It never ends.
Exhausted, he stops. A petite, pink-haired woman in white approaches him. A sense of unease and resentment comes from Berserker, though he does nothing against her. He continues to stare at her with the same indifference as anything else. She puts a hand on his bloodstained chest and smiles. ]
Perfect, my love, my Mad King. [ She reaches up to cup his equally bloodstained cheeks in her hands. ] I knew you were the perfect King for me. I love you!
[ It never ends.
With that vision of Medb, the dream ends. Berserker doesn't stir from his sleep, though he does shift around. It's background noise. He feels nothing seeing this dream, just the crushing apathy that used to make up his entire being. Protection is what it is.
If he were conscious, he'd only hope that Diarmuid didn't experience what he'd just dreamt. Of course he couldn't be that lucky. ]