Nightmares and Dreamscapes
Aug. 30th, 2013 12:39 amDolemeck was exhausted from his day with Derek and Q-11. He got to eat outside of Atlas for the first time and discovered milkshakes. He saw a modern store for the first time, and managed to replace the broken microwave in the kitchen of their home. It was a good day, so hopefully he would get a good night's sleep. He stripped out of his clothes, neatly placing them in the hamper, then put on a pair of sleep pants and a shirt. In his era, he would sleep in a long night shirt, but the pants and short sleeve shirt in this era were more than welcome (and more comfortable).
He threw back the blankets of his bed and crawled in. After pulling the blankets over himself, he turned off the lights and tried to go to sleep. It did not take long for Dolemeck to drift off to sleep, as he was exhausted from all the travels and stimulation he had been put through in a single day. He never thought that being in the outside world would be so... tiring.
As he dreamt, the world around him changed. It was not the warm, comfy room he was given by the Atlas Foundation. But the dark, damp dungeon he had been tortured in for weeks. He gave off an audible gasp, feeling as though he had been transported back in time to one of his worst memories. His brother Dayton, who was the head dungeon master was not there. He had been sent away and another man was in his place. He was pudgy and his face covered by a black hood any facial features that could identify him.
"So, you like forcin' yourself on nubile maidens, do ye?" The man asked him. His voice heavily accented, more so than his own. "Do nay like men like you, boyo. Do nay like'em at all."
He was trying to profess his innocence, but for some reason he could not move his lips. In fact, he could not move at all. His arms and legs were just frozen, unable to move an inch. There was some dried blood on his body, and only s tattered sleep shirt covering him. Dolemeck could hear the rattle of a chain as he breathed. There was a big, iron collar about his neck that had a chain leash attached to the floor.
"Why can I not move?" Dolemeck thought to himself. His fear was starting to rise as the man walked over to him, his boot clad feet making a terrible pounding sound on the stone as he walked.
"Ye brother is nay going to save you this time." The torture master spoke in a sickening tone of voice. "He may 'ave saved ye from havin' your pretty lil' eyes gouged outta your head. But he ain' gonna save ye from sufferin' from your crimes, now."
"Dayton... where are you? Where was his brother? He was supposed to be here, not this man. He was supposed to keep him safe! He promised to keep him safe! Just as he managed to get his mouth open, the torture Master grabbed his jaw with one hand. The other had a pair of medieval pliers. "Dayton... save me!"
"Time to loosen that tongue, ya? A bastard like ye don' need to use no sweet words on anymore maidens or the King anymore." The Torture Master sounded gleeful at what he was about to do. Just as the cold, iron pliers were about to come in contact with his tongue, Dolemeck awoke screaming his head off.
It was not the first time he had such a nightmare, but it still distressed him. Not because it was a nightmare, but a memory he could never rid himself of. Sitting up in his bed, Dolemeck's hands went to his head, his knees pulled up to his chest to see if they could move. He was intact, he was okay. But that did not stop his heart from racing or the tears from escaping his eyes.
Dolemeck bolted from his bedroom, running down the hallway and pounding on Derek's door. He knew Derek would still be up, as he stayed up later than Dolemeck (Dolemeck was often in bed by eight o'clock each night). His fist continued to pound on Derek's door, hoping he would open it up and let him in soon.
He threw back the blankets of his bed and crawled in. After pulling the blankets over himself, he turned off the lights and tried to go to sleep. It did not take long for Dolemeck to drift off to sleep, as he was exhausted from all the travels and stimulation he had been put through in a single day. He never thought that being in the outside world would be so... tiring.
As he dreamt, the world around him changed. It was not the warm, comfy room he was given by the Atlas Foundation. But the dark, damp dungeon he had been tortured in for weeks. He gave off an audible gasp, feeling as though he had been transported back in time to one of his worst memories. His brother Dayton, who was the head dungeon master was not there. He had been sent away and another man was in his place. He was pudgy and his face covered by a black hood any facial features that could identify him.
"So, you like forcin' yourself on nubile maidens, do ye?" The man asked him. His voice heavily accented, more so than his own. "Do nay like men like you, boyo. Do nay like'em at all."
He was trying to profess his innocence, but for some reason he could not move his lips. In fact, he could not move at all. His arms and legs were just frozen, unable to move an inch. There was some dried blood on his body, and only s tattered sleep shirt covering him. Dolemeck could hear the rattle of a chain as he breathed. There was a big, iron collar about his neck that had a chain leash attached to the floor.
"Why can I not move?" Dolemeck thought to himself. His fear was starting to rise as the man walked over to him, his boot clad feet making a terrible pounding sound on the stone as he walked.
"Ye brother is nay going to save you this time." The torture master spoke in a sickening tone of voice. "He may 'ave saved ye from havin' your pretty lil' eyes gouged outta your head. But he ain' gonna save ye from sufferin' from your crimes, now."
"Dayton... where are you? Where was his brother? He was supposed to be here, not this man. He was supposed to keep him safe! He promised to keep him safe! Just as he managed to get his mouth open, the torture Master grabbed his jaw with one hand. The other had a pair of medieval pliers. "Dayton... save me!"
"Time to loosen that tongue, ya? A bastard like ye don' need to use no sweet words on anymore maidens or the King anymore." The Torture Master sounded gleeful at what he was about to do. Just as the cold, iron pliers were about to come in contact with his tongue, Dolemeck awoke screaming his head off.
It was not the first time he had such a nightmare, but it still distressed him. Not because it was a nightmare, but a memory he could never rid himself of. Sitting up in his bed, Dolemeck's hands went to his head, his knees pulled up to his chest to see if they could move. He was intact, he was okay. But that did not stop his heart from racing or the tears from escaping his eyes.
Dolemeck bolted from his bedroom, running down the hallway and pounding on Derek's door. He knew Derek would still be up, as he stayed up later than Dolemeck (Dolemeck was often in bed by eight o'clock each night). His fist continued to pound on Derek's door, hoping he would open it up and let him in soon.