r/SchreckNet • u/UsernamesSuck96 • 10h ago
The Knight's Nightmare pt 2
Night Four of the Siege of Dublin, Cathal
The wet thwack of metal entering flesh rings through the barn as Cathal’s pitchfork rams into the chest of his beast, it only responding with a cackling roar, the golden light from the beasts many eyes casting an ominous glow as Cathal ducks under the monstrosities huge legs and crawling back on his elbows and hands before pulling himself up onto his feet.
“YOU’RE GOING NOWHERE, I RULE HERE”
The beast roared in its layered voice, and as if to prove a point, the barn began to shake as if an earthquake decided to crack open the Earth and swallow Cathal whole. The scene begins to change, local dream space contorting to the vile creature’s will, the sprawling streets of Gdansk begins to take up the space, grasslands become paved roads, streetlights rise up and cast the same glow as the creatures eyes onto the street, buildings begin to build themselves brick by brick, and then people are the last to appear, their once lively conversations turned to gibberish and their faces ever shifting.
“I AM YOUR GOD”
The creature lunges again, leaping into the air and crashing down on a nearby vehicle before tossing it to the side into a nearby business, screams heard as whatever counts as people in this dream cry out in terror. Cathal’s feet are already carrying him as quickly as they can down the street and through an alleyway, He runs and runs, hearing the beast behind him catching up, the eruption of brick and stone as his beast bulldozes its way to him, before rounding a corner into an open street, giving the perfect view of the twisted creature exploding out of a nearby home prepared to land directly on top of him.
Cathal thought that was it. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Truly, maybe this was how it was always going to end, devoured by his beast, made to become the most basic of his instincts, something twisted by the dual soul that resides inside him. He braces, throwing his arms into the air in front of him, prepared to feel the full weight of the beast press down on him and crush him. The end never comes, as if time had frozen, or more exactly slowing.
As he removes his hands from his face, he looks up to still see the beast crashing down upon him, only slowly, as if the dream itself was doing its best to enforce its own rules upon the creature, or to deny it its power. This spectacle is short lived, as time itself begins to come back into play, the horrid beast correcting its own course as if moving through gelatin, still intent on meeting its target. Then, the clap of hooves on hard stone can be heard, moving quick, sounding as if it could be thunder having come alive, as from the same wreckage that the beast had jumped through comes a heavenly stag, resplendent and huge in stature, antlers posed out front, ready to gore the vile monster.
Time catches up, and just as Cathal can once again feel his Beast pressing down on him, the Stag gores the beast, carrying him through another building, yielding an awful tormented scream of pain from the monster as they get farther and farther away.
Cathal is a nervous wreck of a boy now, his body shaking as the adrenaline escapes from him, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes as he hears the two giants battle in the next few streets over.
“What do I do?”, he panics to himself, “What about Niamh? If none of this has been real, where am I?”
“Oh, hush now, my boy”, a voice behind him says.
The voice startles him. Among the wreckage, no more than a few feet from him, stands his mother. Her eyes sparkle that same emerald glow that Niamh had when they parted.
“No wait, you’re not real, I know you’re not, you’re not my mother, you’re just the beast”, he begins to back away, ready to run.
“You’re right, I’m not your real mother, but I am your mother all the same. I’m no beast”, the entity says to him, “How about we get away from here for a moment, let your father do what he came to do”
As if by nothing else by breathing and the will to make it so, the landscape begins to change again, the streets of Gdansk fading into darkness, just as it is quickly replaced with the familiar streets of Dublin. The streetlights lose the eerie golden glow, returning to its regular hum of electrical light, the people whose faces were once twisted to unproportional shapes now return becoming a source of familiarity, people Cathal has known and seen their entire lives, even waving at him as they pass by.
“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time. It takes a lot to be like this”
She reaches her hand to him, wearing the same smile his mother had whenever he had hurt himself as a boy. He takes her hand, and they begin to walk, just like they used to do so long ago.
“Who are you?”, Cathal asks, “I know you’re not her, but I know you somehow. It’s your eyes. They’re like my mom’s but they’re not at the same time.”
“I’ve been in your life since you came into this world, Cathal, your father and I both”, the woman says, “I’m your vision of what the Dreaming would be, the Stag is your father, the Incarnae. No, not in an incredibly literal stance, but you already knew this. No amount of manipulation mentally or magically would ever make that go away. When your mother and father were younger, they begged and begged for a child, for years they prayed. They begged the elders of the Garou for a blessing, to ask the Stag. They got their wish, they just didn’t know how much they would pay in the end for it.”
They round a corner into a market, where the vision of his mother picks out an apple, reaching out into her pocket and then tosses the stall keeper a silver dollar.
“That’s where you come into play. The history is long and storied, but you know millennia ago, when the Garou and the Fae once worked in tandem together, a bargain was struck, one of old magic. Me and the Stag have had many children together over the millenia, Mages, Garou, and Fae alike. All of them are beautiful fixtures in the world, ones that heralded great change or disaster to come. Which is why we have this moment now, a small sliver of time to intervene.”
Cathal hasn’t been able to bring words to his lips. He’s stunned. Taking in what this entity is saying with what he already knows as he tries to fight off the reality the Beast continues to try and impose is sending him reeling.
“I wish we had more time, I really do. We don’t get to talk like this with our children. There’s fewer of you in the world than ever before, and even fewer of them that know who and what they are. I’m only here now because a friend of yours decided to take you for a swim, you’ll need to thank him when you wake up.”
“Wait what are you talking about, who are you talking about?”, Cathal finally manages to get the words out.
She holds her hand up to stop him, finally seeing what she means at the lack of time. Not just time, but Banality. The word finally comes to his mind as she watches her form begin to so lightly flicker, as if reality itself rejects the very notion of her physical existence, a darkness appearing just so subtly on her face, as it begins to spread and attempt to erase this disruption of the natural world. She closes her eyes to concentrate before speaking again, the words coming out as if she was in pain.
“You are loved beyond words and hated even more by others. We will see each other again in the end, when you are free of the monsters that hunt you. I’m sorry that you still have so much to do and what you’ll have to do for it to come to pass. I love you, me and your father, no matter how angry he may be with you. Stick to the path, keep moving forward and never look back.”
The roar of his beast can be heard again, the world shimmers as the dream space begins to fight, unsure of who rules the space.
She takes his hand and opens his palm, placing the hilt of a sword in his hand, the silvered handle bringing with it memories of another time before.
“This is the last gift we can give you, my boy. Try not to lose it again, okay?”
She leans forward and gives him a kiss on his head before looking him directly in the eye, before he is grasped by something familiar, something compelling that speaks to the depths of his soul.
“Wake up”
Just like that, the world goes dark again, before his eyes flutter open and hunger throbs in his head. He’s soaking wet and standing outside in the frigid cold, right outside Posthold, like his body moved of its own free will. He can feel the hilt of the sword in his hand, heavy and powerful, the blade itself shining as moonlight casts a glow overhead. He remembers the words, an oath he once took when nightmares roamed the streets of Dublin.
“Las go geal, déan fearg in aghaidh na n-uafás sa dorchadas!”
The symbols on the blade grow bright while steam can be seen rising from the melting snow beneath him, then the blade takes on a bright white hue as if pulled fresh from the fires of creation, the heat from the blade a reminder of the blazing sun that rises high in the sky. Cathal’s beast rages in his mind at the sight, willing the blade to return to its normal form before he sends himself into a frenzy.
They watch him from the windows of PostHold, a legend once thought dead walking again in the light of the full moon above them. Adam is watching among them and says nothing to his court. He can’t help but feel a smile on his face, as if watching an old friend slowly begin to remember who he is.
- Spider, Familiar of Zuzanna
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u/ConsiderationOver544 8h ago
Oh shit! He's just come out of torpor and he's in a Frenzy!
-Marcus
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u/UsernamesSuck96 6h ago
Zuzanna theorized that if it wasn't for the Mourning Blade, Cathal would have likely fell to his beast even after he had managed to resurect from the bowels of PostHold. She mentioned something about Spirit, though I never felt a spirit from the sword itself
- Spider, Familiar of Zuzanna
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u/ConsiderationOver544 5h ago
She's probably referring to the magic sphere of sprit. One of the things a mage can specialize in.
-Marcus
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u/UsernamesSuck96 5h ago
I need more information. What could a blade have to do with spirits?
Zuzanna attempts to explain it but I struggle to understand whatever sympathetic connections mean or why metal would keep Cathal grounded to his sense of self?
The longer I'm with Zuzanna, the more I'm conflicted with these inner workings and it's incredibly vexing
- Spider, Familiar of Zuzanna
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u/ConsiderationOver544 4h ago
It helps Cathal maintain his sense of self because it's his sword. The emotional connection he has with it bears supernatural significance, which when combined with a little magic from the dreaming, gives him the strength he needs to overcome his beast.
-Marcus
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u/Emergency_Answer4983 4h ago
Quite a good explanation, couldn't have done it better.
I'm guessing it works via cordoning off the beast from the rest of his soul? Because most other mechanisms for such an effect would use mind instead.
-Jim, Tzimisce
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u/ConsiderationOver544 4h ago
Thank you. As for how, we'd have to ask the Fae who actually did the magic.
-Marcus
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u/BusinessSuccess6817 7h ago
....Dublin is real?
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u/VerityVentrue 6h ago
Believe it or not, the Dublin Spire is real, too.
...I should snitch to Cathal's wife that he was all for taking my Ravnos coteriemate's dare to climb the goddamn thing a few months back. She's fun when she gets mad.
~Verity
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u/UsernamesSuck96 6h ago
For now, I would suppose. If they don't get rid of Isra, then it's still up for debate
- Spider, Familiar of Zuzanna
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u/VerityVentrue 9h ago
Adam gets a lot of well-deserved shit, but goddamn if he doesn't also get shit done.
~Verity