12642/15 Fears: The Midnight Flight of Michael Hanningan

15 Fears: The Midnight Flight of Michael Hanningan
Date of Scene:	31 August 2022
Location:	The Astral Plane
Synopsis:	Michael Hannigan finds that the Ivory Tower restored to its former glory and meets with the Lord of the Fears. A dialogue ensues, a warning is given, and the clock is ticking.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Hannigan, Chas Chandler

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Michael Hannigan has posed:
It is an incredibly peaceful day in the park. The sun is shining, there's the sound of children playing over on the playground and there's even the glimpse of a picnic blanket or two upon the lawn.

Michael is not participating in either of those things. He's much too large for the playground equipment and there's no picnic waiting for him. Instead he strolls down a park path, glancing around to the scenery. As he comes across a bench that has a woman seated alongside a child, his steps slow, glancing to the scene. While the woman's head is turned, obscuring the side of her face, the portion visible bears a striking resemblance to the child. And Michael as well.

Giving a small smile, the musician seats himself down on another bench. Quietly observing.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The scene plays out before Michael as it should for a time. Nothing in the peaceful park changes and the woman and child exist and go about a day at the park as they should with their quiet observer unknown or unnoticed. All is well.

    Until it isn't.

    The first out of place sound that impedes on Michael's senses is the crash of waves on a rocky shore. It's followed by the hiss of a torrential rain on a body of water. The sky of this serene memory or metaphor is clear, unmarred by any form of raincloud or storm for as far as the eye can see. And yet, the clap of thunder that cuts through the water sounds is unmistakeable.

    None of those about him seem to notice or react to the turbulent catastrophe reaching his ears, but to the holder of the Phantasm, the sounds are unmistakeable as anything but a storm over turbulent waters. But nothing in his immediate vision explains them.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
It was a simple scene. The woman had produced a present and the child was quite happy opening it. There's little explanation to outside observers the reason such an exchange was reserved for a park. But there it happened. All the while the woman's head remains fixed in position.

The foreign sound causes for Mike to frown. Shaking his head, he stands up, giving one last look to the small family unit before it, and the rest of the park fades from view. The musician turns his head, directing his head towards the element that wasn't his doing. "Are you going to tell me what you're doing here or just going to stare all dream?"

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The scene fades and something altogether different blooms to view. A tower of Ivory standing on a small island in the middle of a vast ocean. It's not an altogether unknown sight for the bearer of the Phantasm's power. He's been there before. He helped rescue Rien from the confines. Or better put-- he helped her rescue herself after she blew the top half of the place to rubble with conjured C4 explosives.

    It stands solidly, reformed and pristine on its island. There is nothing to say it's occupied, but something about the feel of the air tells Mike that is very truly is. Occupied by something dark and powerful.

    He stands a bit over the turbulent waters. Beyond the island the lake or ocean flows over the edge into the abyss of nothingness beyond. Where staring too long is not advised, lest something stare back from the void. Even with that warning in mind, the blackness seems to swirl and congeal to draw the eyes. Flickers of light against the dark are an indicator that not all is emptiness in the beyond.

    One thing is clear to Michael, there is danger on the horizon and even though nothing lets him know it, he is far from alone in this vision.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Ask and you shall receive...

As the visual of the Ivory Tower forms, Mike grumbles to himself. He had been hoping it was someone else. Maybe someone getting pissy about the lack of phone signal and they just decided to do a dream conference call instead.

But that damn tower.

His head turns surveying the scenery. In general it's a bad idea to go wandering into the darkness in strange scenery. But being it's still kind of his dream...

He reaches into his pocket, drawing out a sizable heavyset looking flashlight, flicking the INCREDIBLY BRIGHT HIGH BEAM on to shine it into the void. He's not sure if it'll do anything but maybe he can get some gratification by pissing off what's in there a little.

"Asshole." Michael mutters, "No one bothers knocking anymore."

Granted he wouldn't have let them in. Which does bring up a good question.

How did they get in here?

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The high beam flashlight seems to garner a bit of a response as the myriad colored lights flicker and bloom in response, but even so nothing of substance forms from the intense beam. The congealing continues and the oppressive feeling of being anything but alone in this dreamscape only grows.

    There are not many creatures that can override the control the Phantasm has over its dreams. Which means only one of two options. One, the oprressive watcher that lingers in the dark drew him here--not the most comforting of thoughts. Or two, that his boss--the entity known as Endless Dream, an ideologue of immense power and only vague understanding--sent him here for a reason.

    A purpose.

    A warning.

    The swirloing lights coalesce into single points. Eleven of them to be exact. Their colors range over the visble spectrum in a variety of hues: sickly yellow, bone white, maddening pink, blood red, emergency yellow, foggy blue, burning red, earthen brown, firey orange, deep sky blue, and even a dark black only mildly brighter that the void that it stands against.

    The eleven points of light start to hover and swirl towards one another and a crawling dread starts to swell in the back of Mike's mind. Even with this swelling and mounting fear, he can't hep but observe and see, locking to his spot as the watcher of the land of dreams.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
The musician considers the scenery once more. So aggravated he was about the dream being interrupted, he didn't consider other possibilities. What's to say that instead of popping into his dream, he got drug out of it instead?

Michael fights the temptation to cut off the high beam. Sometimes being impulsive can be a bad thing. But, once you bang that gong there's really no going back to the silence.

Also if those things are coming out at him, he's going to want to see it coming.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The points of lights grow brighter and brighter as the move closer together and the mounting dread grows in kind. As they draw to a central point, four holes appear in the circular pattern. Even with the holes it is clear that a something is in that central point. Something incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous.

    The spinning kaleidoscope of colors speeds up and becomes a rainbow hued blur around the central point and something speaks. The words don't have sound, instead they have a physical weight to them that hammers against the dreamform of Michael and press against nerves in his mind that humanity has forgotten about. "And so my younger brother sends his agent to greet my return. How touching."

    There are a great many things that are called evil in the world, but none truly encompass that concept. The owner of this voice embodies evil in a way that is tangible and the words crawl over Mike's skin like a cancer. A plague that screams that such things should not be. "I would be honored were my feelings for the traitorous welp not burned out of my body by eons of torment in the Prison." A low rumble of a chuckle flows from that unseen central figure. "Or perhaps, you are here for some other purpose. Perhaps you are an offering of peace? An attempt to save that which is slated for utter corruption? Or, even better, you have no idea why you are here?"

    Another low basso rumble of pleased laughter. "After all what could a mortal truly understand about the will of gods?"

Michael Hannigan has posed:
There are things about the Phantasm that most are not aware of. And one of which is the absence of the sense of touch, taste, and smell. But Michael had been dreaming prior. And he can definitely feel this.

The musician cringes to the pressing sensation of the barrage of colorful language. The prickling feeling coats over, leaving a film of ickiness. Ugh.

Michael shakes it off, "He'd know better than to send me for a negotiation." The musician replies, "As for what I understand. I know gods tend to be selfish assholes. But, Do go on if I missed something important. It's probably been a long time since you've had an audience."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The central figure, unseen but clearly there, changes its perspective. An action felt as a shift of that uneasy filth that coats as it surveys Mike in the dreamscape. "All too true," it replies with amusement. "I do recall some facets of decorum. Introductions are usually first. I know you, my brother's touch lingers upon you like tattered rags. Phantasm is the word given your station."

    The perspective shifts again, the feel coming from slightly behind and to the left of Mike even as the kaleidoscope of lights continue to dance in the void before and beyond. "But I hold the advantage. I am called many things: The God of One Thousand Faces, The Black Pharaoh, The Crawling Chaos. Some mortals attempted to put my name to their own primative language, spawning the name Nyarlathotep. But even this fails to do justice to what I am."

    There is a swelling as the spinning lights increase in their speed. "Let your Dark Justice attempt to fight me. Let them throw themselves against that they cannot understand." A laughter bubbles from the void. "I will give you this warning."

    The lights are a blinding circle around the central void point. "None of your kind will survive when faced with the wrath of -----------------!" The final word doesn't compute to anything that Mike could consider words. It's not even a sound. It's just... a feeling. A madness. A terror. Something that hammers against the walls of sanity and pounds down the foundations of reason reducing both to powder that is easily swept away.

    The dreamscape shatters like a pane of glass and Mike is swatted from slumber like a gnat is swatted from vision, waking the quarters prepared for him on the Akiar homeworld.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Michael nods as the being mentions the introductions. "Oh yeah, I forget that step too." The musican admits. Tone a bit casual considering the EVILAF Captain planet (existence? reality? Eh. Work in progress.)! vibes he's getting off of this guy but it's about time Michael uses his acting skills.

Either way he did trigger the villain speech. Michael blinks at the flashing colors, doing more to his eyes than they seem to do to the colors of the evil-bow. He lifts up an arm to shield his eyes, the scar still present even now.

There's the sudden intake of breath as Mike's eyes open, granting him a lovely view of the ceiling. He stills, confirming the soft silence save for the occasional snores coming from elsewhere.

Exhaling. Mike pushes himself up, feeling a need to get some air.