- 27 - Repentant tears wash out the stain of guilt.

[toobravehearted]

Backdated to the evening of Day 3 - 22nd.

[ It didn't help that things were fraught enough, it didn't help that they had already lost people. It didn't help that the search in the woods had failed and that three of their party had been taken, and it didn't help that the Doctor kept hearing soft wind chimes that were dreadfully familiar and didn't exist anywhere here. It didn't help that he kept seeing things from the corners of his eyes that he didn't want or have time for and it didn't help that things were getting desperate.

Logically, he should be rallying another group to go out and search for their missing friends but that he couldn't risk. Another group going out meant that more might be taken and that he did not want in no uncertain terms. So he was planning to go out alone. Now was not the time for reacting; he had to act. Running up the stairs, his coat tails flying, his intention was to program the TARDIS to home-in on his elder self's bio-signature to find him. Entering onto the corridor however, he cried out in pain, clutching his chest and he skidded to a halt. ]

Oh no. Oh no.

[ Gasping out in pain and doubled-over, he already knew. He could feel it. The ability to sense himself that had been in his mind for months now, was suddenly gone, wrenched away in a cry of agony. Struggling for his journal, the Doctor flipped frantically through the pages, hoping still that what he had heard from the book wasn't true. But he didn't have to look, he knew.

Sliding down to sit on the floor against one of the mirrors in the hallway, across the hall was another, showing back this incarnations reflection. Swallowing to compose himself, he dictated quietly to the journal. ]

The Doctor. I-- He-- He's gone. He's dead. I--

[ He would never shed tears for himself. But closing his eyes now they felt moist. It was another failure, something else he felt responsible for, something else that was his fault. Just like the wind chimes he kept hearing, just like the tinkle of a woman's laughter that had been joining in, just like the accusing faces he kept seeing of his friends here, just like the snake he thought he kept seeing at the edge of his vision. It was a reminder of what he'd done, what he'd started and the guilt kept getting heavier. When he opened his eyes, he certainly hadn't been crying, but from the corners of each eye there were trails of blood. When he next speaks its with a voice that's firm, but if a little distracted and detached. ]

We have to act quickly to save the other two. Someone please tell me they have found a way to stop this; I'll be going back out to the woods shortly and a solution would obviously be very nice.

83; action/dictated

[gottaknockhard]

( Queen Anne )

[The mirrors that overtook the halls really add a nice touch to the disorienting atmosphere. He closes the door to his room after a mildly successful rounding of supplies, and uses the journal to avoid looking at the walls.

It only occurs to him then that he's forgetting something. Although as frequently as the dog has to take care of himself, he wouldn't be surprised if Ein wasn't already five steps ahead of him. He sounds tired, rather than panicked, but you can't account for sleep around here.]

To top it off, the dog got out. Talk about your bad luck.

38 - Savage Helm | 25th / Day 6 Evening [ Voice / Action ]

[radiantwingedone]

{forward to Monday Evening / Day 6}
[ There are only a few things that make Duke angry, and it just so happens that these last few days have done so. Its just harder to tell when he doesn't use his face make use of expressions. ]

If there are any left with the idea that magic is a cure all, let me disabuse you of that. It is a tool - it can be powerful, it can save lives, it can be absolutely worthless in the next breath. [ There's the anger, in the clipped words and slightly more forceful tone. This he isn't apathetic about. He liked the other Chimera mages, and now there's a lot gone.

And he can't figure out what to get rid of to make it stop. There are too many new things, and he's not going to wander around like a mad man lighting everything new on fire. It would make him feel a bit better for only a little while. ]

Or perhaps you lived in a truly wondrous and terrifying place where such things had no rules or logic behind them.

[ He is silent for a good minute, basically taking the time to calm down. ]

... Regardless of your opinions on magic, I have done my best to increase the durability of the table and chairs in the kitchen and lobby. Should you need to use them as a barricade against anything, they should last longer. I will do the same to the door and furniture in the library as well.

Dual Post - Haunted and Brought Back

[im_the_doctor]

Haunted by a Doctor - Day 3 (after his death) - 4

[ Dying wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. He should know, this was his Tenth, (well okay technically his Eleventh but he didn’t like to count that one time), time dying. Usually, it was different. Usually he regenerated into someone new and had a funky day or two while he adjusted. This time wasn’t like that.

This time he remembered his death. Every grueling detail of it. The attack of the Wendigo, having its claws rake into his flesh and yes, he even recalled the creature taking bites out of him as he drew his last breathes. It was not a pleasant way to die and he certainly didn’t recommend it.

There was a brief nothingness and he fully expected his regeneration to kick in. It was rather a surprise when it did. Perhaps there wasn’t enough energy, or of him, left to do so.

But then suddenly he was back again. In one piece although he seemed to be awfully transparent. And why weren’t his feet touching the floor?! ]



Being brought back to life is not all it’s cracked up to be – Day 5

[ Suddenly with a gasp the Doctor sits up in his bed.

Pain. All he can feel is pain. Each laceration from the creature can be felt, his throat feels raw from yelling and his lungs are ready to explode. And the pain, the pain coming from his right hand is nearly unbearable.

So much so that he doesn’t stop to question why he’s alive, or how.

Throwing back the sheet he sees the blood, his blood, staining the sheets. Blood coming from the stump where his hand should be.

Where his hand should be. His hand… They took his hand!

Getting out of bed he stumbles across the room to the dresser. There he grabs a towel, wrapping it tightly around his lower arm.

He searches himself for regenerative energy, finding none. He needs help. Looking around the room, he realizes there’s nothing to help him here. Stumbling to the door, he exits his room and searches for someone to help him. ]


[ OOC: Feel free to find the Doctor anywhere in the Castle. Headers will be created below for each scenario.]