Patrollogs
(A battle in the Nightmare)
[Tue Apr 8 2025]
On Elm's Bane
This long, straight road plunges deeply into the dark heart of the forest, the mist-soaked depths of which pour brambled thorns and creeping overgrowth like some arboreal vitae that coats the sides of the asphalt implement buried within it. Wide enough to allow the passing of two decently-sized cars, it's flanked by ancient elm trees spotted with lichen that clings to their craggybark and twisted, reaching branches. Many of the elms are dead; twisted grey skeletons with cracked bones that refuse to shuffle off into decay and instead impede the growth of the still-living trees that seem to always be growing no matter how often they're cut down. Prickling burrs and nettles creep amongst the dead, dessicated trees, winding themselves about their splintered trunks and branches. The thickness of the elm growth barely allows for the briny, seaside breeze to freshen the area, causing the air to hold a cloying mustiness of earth and decaying wood.
The atmosphere of the forest this far in is sinister and ethereal; it needles at the skin and causes a sense of foreboding hyper-vigilance, especially to those unaccustomed to otherworldly circumstances. Unnaturally large animal tracks are evident here and there to the side of the road, and there is an eerie silence that is occasionally interrupted by the snap of a twig, the scuffle of footsteps, or the rustling of undergrowth.
It is night, about 55F(12C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds. Ankle high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
Lanaeis says "Well, that was quick."
Justin was standing deep in the forest; and now, he finds himself deep in the nightmare. The keying of his radio suddenly goes to a static silence, and he swallows whatever words he was about to share on the encrypted wavebands. "Easy enough to find a fight out here, isn't it?" he counters back.
Lanaeis says "Pretty easy, yes. Might I ask a name?"
Justin makes sure that there's a fresh magazine in his rifle. "My name? Well, why would that matter? Another speed-bump to greatness; that's me," he retorts; before lifting the rifle to his shoulder.
As the nightmare clears, Justin crouches down on a thicket of psycho-natural trees - he finds an appropriate log, or, the figment of a log, to brace against. He takes sight of Lanaeis in the distance, and twists the ranging on his sights. It's a waiting ploy.
Shaking his head, Lanaeis springs through the air, soaring in a long arc to close on Justin. "I'd like to put a name to the face, but very well." Drawing the massive bow off his back, he releases an arrow to streak through the air, thudding into the tree next to Justin. Undeterred, Lanaeis calmly begins to ready another arrow if necessary. "Lanaeis. Its a pleasure to meet you, I hope."
Suddenly, Justin is cursing his decision to dig in -- the angel wings on the apparition of Lanaeis, and the distance that his opponent just crossed, informs him otherwise in tactics. Regardless! After a nervous glance up to the imprint of the arrow that spiked into his trusty tree, he looses a rapport of gunfire back at Lanaeis as a response. A pleasure, indeed.
Sprinting forward in a burst of speed, not quite as far as his first leap, but definitely still a significant distance, Lanaeis pulls back the bowstring. For a moment it looks like it might snap... then, with a loud twang, the arrow comes streaking through the air, hammering up to the fletching inches from Justin. "Please. We can really be pleasant about this. Perhaps we can have a friendly drink afterwards. I am here on behalf of Vox Dei, but I do not shun those that refuse to accept our mission as vital." He pauses, thinking this over again. "Actually, are you a member of The Temple by chance?"
For some reason not yet apparent, Justin responds to Lanaeis's encroaching assault with more gunfire. The arrows are honing in; but he's having difficulty in drawing the proper bead on this aggressive maneuver. "No, I don't think we can drink over this," he wagers - before another magazine feeds in.
In a flash, Lanaeis stands over Justin. He holds his sword at the ready, but doesn't strike, slowly circling Justin as he continues to chat away amiably. "Oh truly? I think most problems can be fixed by a good conversation. Of course, if your part of The Temple, and support the misuse and slavery of those with Angelic blood, I'll unfortunately be needing to kill you eventually. You understand I'm sure? Nothing personal."
Suddenly, Lanaeis is upon him -- and when the blow from the arming sword doesn't come, Justin rolls over and scrambles up to his feet. The debris of the psychic forest falls from his blood-stained clothes, their apparition disappearing in time... Justin slips a knife from his jacket pocket, the curved point emergent from a holster there -- "Maybe we do have something in common after all," he weathers, in the lull before the melee. "But for me, as far as the angels go. It is personal."
Lanaeis's movements are casual, almost lazy as he circles Justin, but still no blow comes. "Oh? Now I really must know who you are. We should meet in the physical world sometime and continue this discussion about angels. Also, you should have probably brought a longer knife friend. That's not going to help you much. Then again..." He scratches his chin with his free hand. "Neither will running to use your gun, come to think of it."
"It's not about the size of the sword," Justin proffers, tossing his karambit from one hand to the other -- probing for an opening in Lanaeis's defense. "It's about where you stick it!" The lunge of spark against edge keeps Justin at bay, winded in the moment. His feet dig for solid ground in the elastic of the Dream, trying to hold his own against the aura of Lanaeis.
Knocking aside the blow, Lanaeis's face splits into a wide grin. "Oh, so you are quite skilled. Good. I needed a proper partner to practice with." Then it comes. A flurry of strikes, first a feint towards Justin's right side, a spin to bring the silver bladed sword around and causing the singing of metal on metal to fill the air, before a quick spin has the blade in his hands and the pommel swinging like a hammer towards Justin. Immediately, the blade has been spun again, the hilt back in Lanaeis's hands in the blink of an eye. "Truly, you should just tell me your name friend. Maybe I could make this less painful for you in here if you do."
A trio of blows, lightning quick- as angels smite - ambushes Justin. By the skin of his teeth, he turns the three away from a decisive cut -- but the pommel strike! It has knocked the wind out of him. He wheezes, his poor battered kevlar giving way to the aggression of more medieval armaments. Justin slices towards Lanaeis, if only to establish some distance from him. "We both know it's not about pleasure, here," he exhales through the pain. "Your mercy comes with its own trappings."
"Mercy? Who said anything about mercy?" Lanaeis's face hardens for the first time, golden fire roaring to life on his sword's blade as he grips it in both hands, his eyes practically shining with divine fury, like a mask being taken off. "You admit to hatred of my kin. And you think that you deserve mercy?" The sword flashes out, knocking aside the knife with ease as Lanaeis steps back. "You will all burn for your sins. And you? I will find you. And when I do. Rest assured that we will continue this discussion. And you will be begging for the mercy you think you deserve in truth then. Don't worry. Though you refuse my offer of temporary reprieve here and now... we'll meet again." A golden arc flashes in the air, before burning, white hot agony in the form of the flaming blade is slashed across Justin's chest, cutting armor and flesh like butter.
Justin fades out of the nightmare.
A Battle In The Nightmare 250409
(A battle in the Nightmare)
[Tue Apr 8 2025]
On Elm's Bane
This long, straight road plunges deeply into the dark heart of the forest, the mist-soaked depths of which pour brambled thorns and creeping overgrowth like some arboreal vitae that coats the sides of the asphalt implement buried within it. Wide enough to allow the passing of two decently-sized cars, it's flanked by ancient elm trees spotted with lichen that clings to their craggybark and twisted, reaching branches. Many of the elms are dead; twisted grey skeletons with cracked bones that refuse to shuffle off into decay and instead impede the growth of the still-living trees that seem to always be growing no matter how often they're cut down. Prickling burrs and nettles creep amongst the dead, dessicated trees, winding themselves about their splintered trunks and branches. The thickness of the elm growth barely allows for the briny, seaside breeze to freshen the area, causing the air to hold a cloying mustiness of earth and decaying wood.
The atmosphere of the forest this far in is sinister and ethereal; it needles at the skin and causes a sense of foreboding hyper-vigilance, especially to those unaccustomed to otherworldly circumstances. Unnaturally large animal tracks are evident here and there to the side of the road, and there is an eerie silence that is occasionally interrupted by the snap of a twig, the scuffle of footsteps, or the rustling of undergrowth.
It is night, about 55F(12C) degrees, and the sky is partly covered by dark grey stormclouds. Ankle high mist flows through the area. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
Lanaeis says "Well, that was quick."
Justin was standing deep in the forest; and now, he finds himself deep in the nightmare. The keying of his radio suddenly goes to a static silence, and he swallows whatever words he was about to share on the encrypted wavebands. "Easy enough to find a fight out here, isn't it?" he counters back.
Lanaeis says "Pretty easy, yes. Might I ask a name?"
Justin makes sure that there's a fresh magazine in his rifle. "My name? Well, why would that matter? Another speed-bump to greatness; that's me," he retorts; before lifting the rifle to his shoulder.
As the nightmare clears, Justin crouches down on a thicket of psycho-natural trees - he finds an appropriate log, or, the figment of a log, to brace against. He takes sight of Lanaeis in the distance, and twists the ranging on his sights. It's a waiting ploy.
Shaking his head, Lanaeis springs through the air, soaring in a long arc to close on Justin. "I'd like to put a name to the face, but very well." Drawing the massive bow off his back, he releases an arrow to streak through the air, thudding into the tree next to Justin. Undeterred, Lanaeis calmly begins to ready another arrow if necessary. "Lanaeis. Its a pleasure to meet you, I hope."
Suddenly, Justin is cursing his decision to dig in -- the angel wings on the apparition of Lanaeis, and the distance that his opponent just crossed, informs him otherwise in tactics. Regardless! After a nervous glance up to the imprint of the arrow that spiked into his trusty tree, he looses a rapport of gunfire back at Lanaeis as a response. A pleasure, indeed.
Sprinting forward in a burst of speed, not quite as far as his first leap, but definitely still a significant distance, Lanaeis pulls back the bowstring. For a moment it looks like it might snap... then, with a loud twang, the arrow comes streaking through the air, hammering up to the fletching inches from Justin. "Please. We can really be pleasant about this. Perhaps we can have a friendly drink afterwards. I am here on behalf of Vox Dei, but I do not shun those that refuse to accept our mission as vital." He pauses, thinking this over again. "Actually, are you a member of The Temple by chance?"
For some reason not yet apparent, Justin responds to Lanaeis's encroaching assault with more gunfire. The arrows are honing in; but he's having difficulty in drawing the proper bead on this aggressive maneuver. "No, I don't think we can drink over this," he wagers - before another magazine feeds in.
In a flash, Lanaeis stands over Justin. He holds his sword at the ready, but doesn't strike, slowly circling Justin as he continues to chat away amiably. "Oh truly? I think most problems can be fixed by a good conversation. Of course, if your part of The Temple, and support the misuse and slavery of those with Angelic blood, I'll unfortunately be needing to kill you eventually. You understand I'm sure? Nothing personal."
Suddenly, Lanaeis is upon him -- and when the blow from the arming sword doesn't come, Justin rolls over and scrambles up to his feet. The debris of the psychic forest falls from his blood-stained clothes, their apparition disappearing in time... Justin slips a knife from his jacket pocket, the curved point emergent from a holster there -- "Maybe we do have something in common after all," he weathers, in the lull before the melee. "But for me, as far as the angels go. It is personal."
Lanaeis's movements are casual, almost lazy as he circles Justin, but still no blow comes. "Oh? Now I really must know who you are. We should meet in the physical world sometime and continue this discussion about angels. Also, you should have probably brought a longer knife friend. That's not going to help you much. Then again..." He scratches his chin with his free hand. "Neither will running to use your gun, come to think of it."
"It's not about the size of the sword," Justin proffers, tossing his karambit from one hand to the other -- probing for an opening in Lanaeis's defense. "It's about where you stick it!" The lunge of spark against edge keeps Justin at bay, winded in the moment. His feet dig for solid ground in the elastic of the Dream, trying to hold his own against the aura of Lanaeis.
Knocking aside the blow, Lanaeis's face splits into a wide grin. "Oh, so you are quite skilled. Good. I needed a proper partner to practice with." Then it comes. A flurry of strikes, first a feint towards Justin's right side, a spin to bring the silver bladed sword around and causing the singing of metal on metal to fill the air, before a quick spin has the blade in his hands and the pommel swinging like a hammer towards Justin. Immediately, the blade has been spun again, the hilt back in Lanaeis's hands in the blink of an eye. "Truly, you should just tell me your name friend. Maybe I could make this less painful for you in here if you do."
A trio of blows, lightning quick- as angels smite - ambushes Justin. By the skin of his teeth, he turns the three away from a decisive cut -- but the pommel strike! It has knocked the wind out of him. He wheezes, his poor battered kevlar giving way to the aggression of more medieval armaments. Justin slices towards Lanaeis, if only to establish some distance from him. "We both know it's not about pleasure, here," he exhales through the pain. "Your mercy comes with its own trappings."
"Mercy? Who said anything about mercy?" Lanaeis's face hardens for the first time, golden fire roaring to life on his sword's blade as he grips it in both hands, his eyes practically shining with divine fury, like a mask being taken off. "You admit to hatred of my kin. And you think that you deserve mercy?" The sword flashes out, knocking aside the knife with ease as Lanaeis steps back. "You will all burn for your sins. And you? I will find you. And when I do. Rest assured that we will continue this discussion. And you will be begging for the mercy you think you deserve in truth then. Don't worry. Though you refuse my offer of temporary reprieve here and now... we'll meet again." A golden arc flashes in the air, before burning, white hot agony in the form of the flaming blade is slashed across Justin's chest, cutting armor and flesh like butter.
Justin fades out of the nightmare.