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    1. Densoro 9 yrs ago

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In Dream Dive 8 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
Do you exist in your dreams, or are you just a disembodied observer? I exist physically, but I'm also outside/above the dream, commenting on it like an audience member.
--Are you your real-life self, or do you take on other identities? I can be either. Sometimes I'm realistic strangers; sometimes I'm video game characters. Sometimes I'm just me.
---Do you think of your dream-self as yourself or another entity? Myself. However, both of my selves seem to think of one-another as separate entities when they comment on each-other.
---Are your dreams in first- or third-person? It changes moment-to-moment. It seems like I use third-person for large-scale coordination, and first-person for finer motor control.
Are you in control of your dreams, or do you watch them unfold like a movie? Usually I'm in control. However, sometimes there are short scenes with no characters that play out like commercial breaks.
--If you have control, how much/over what in particular? Myself. Sometimes I control myself kinesthetically; sometimes I issue commands or have to do QTEs. Sometimes I press the wrong button >__>
Do your dreams have a defined beginning/ending? Never.
Do your dreams tend toward the realistic or overtly fantastic? Usually I'm either exploiting glitches in a realistic setting, or straight-up diving into video game settings.
What are some recurring items/themes in your dreams? 1) I usually find some sort of glitch I can exploit in the dream's physics, allowing me to glide, run at superhuman speeds, or similar bugs.
2) Swords. Because, obviously.
3) If I lose sight of something, it ceases to exist. However, I remember it, and tend to search where I last saw it. This applies to specific items, or entire locations within the dream.
--Do you ever have recurring dreams? Nope
--What about continuation dreams, where a previous dream serves as backstory? Usually, I seem to remember the events of one dream, when I transition to the next while I'm still unconscious; each REM cycle seems to combine to form a single continuity. Lately, I've been able to pick dreams back up if I woke up in the middle, assuming I can get back to sleep quickly enough.
--Is there any emotion that seems stronger or more common, across your dreams? Enthusiasm. I always feel like my actions are important and decisive, or that my abilities within the dream are things I've been working at for years irl.
Do you ever know that your dream is a dream? I've started to figure it out lately, but only infrequently. It's always a secret to be uncovered.
--Can you ever remember the real world? Pretty much never.
--Does the dream provide false memories? All the time.
Do you have any powers that affect the meta/format of the dream? 1) I can sub-subconsciously cause moments within the dream to repeat, like a skipping record. Most commonly, I use that to fix my mistakes or replay especially fun bits.
2) The revelation that I'm dreaming often wakes me up -- either passively, by breaking my suspension of disbelief, or by actively empowering me to choose to wake up, as the case may be.
Anything else that seems relevant? Sometimes I have night terrors. They used to focus on silly scenarios that I found hilarious once I woke up, but now they're about witnessing gory acts of violence that I'm powerless to stop. I seem to have much less control over these.
In Dream Dive 8 yrs ago Forum: 1x1 Roleplay
No character sheet, just a quick psych survey xD

Do you exist in your dreams, or are you just a disembodied observer?
--Are you your real-life self, or do you take on other identities?
---Do you think of your dream-self as yourself or another entity?
---Are your dreams in first- or third-person?
Are you in control of your dreams, or do you watch them unfold like a movie?
--If you have control, how much/over what in particular?
Do your dreams have a defined beginning/ending?
Do your dreams tend toward the realistic or overtly fantastic?
What are some recurring items/themes in your dreams?
--Do you ever have recurring dreams?
--What about continuation dreams, where a previous dream serves as backstory?
--Is there any emotion that seems stronger or more common, across your dreams?
Do you ever know that your dream is a dream?
--Can you ever remember the real world?
---Does the dream provide false memories?
Do you have any powers that affect the meta/format of the dream?
Anything else that seems relevant?
The School

Generations ago, humanity realized a utopian goal: a society without war, without scarcity, without violence. In the face of this newfound peace, we grew as never before: we poured ourselves into physics and technology for the joy of discovery. We received that much in spades. We discovered the planes -- parallel realities nestled just next to our own, housing their own planets and systems. When we developed the technology to visit these new lands, we found them still ravaged by the diseases of our earlier age: death and injustice, conflict with no path to resolution. In these new lands, we saw something of our younger, lost and bloodied selves. And so we established the School Mediātōrum as a training ground to channel the wandering minds of directionless adolescents. One day, these students will become mediators: visitors who help other worlds manage chaos on the way toward lasting peace.

Each and every one of you has that potential.

The setting

In the society surrounding the school, designations of country and brand have vanished. Everybody is taken care of according to their needs, and citizens can work for a paycheck to buy extra luxuries. Through all this, The Oligarchy has earned the people's trust. At the age of 14, students settle on vocational studies; The Oligarchy assigns any who remain undecided. Some were assigned to the School Mediātōrum in that way.

The school itself has a dormitory for each of its early- to mid-teenage students, as well as top-of-the-line medical facilities and a staff of countless seasoned mediators. Students are expected to shadow staff on low-danger, routine missions in order to learn the ropes. For the most part, this consists of talking to the locals to learn of their problems. Occasionally, mediators guide the creation of a necessary new tool, or find some way to speak to significant members of the involved society, with the goal of creating sustainable new alternatives to the current situation.

Between outings, these same instructors teach a number of relevant subjects, from mathematics and planetary physics, to linguistics and moral philosophy. Every subject is targeted at improving a student's efficacy as a mediator in their own right. The version of English spoken throughout most of the school is tinged with British regional dialects and turns of phrase. More than anything, though, the school provides a break from the action, allowing students to get to know their peers.

Each student is equipped with an Interplanar Communication Device, or ICD – a sort of smart watch, controlled via neural link. In addition to communicating across planes, it adjusts to local time zones, maintains a holographic codex, and enables travel between planes, as well as teleportation to geographical coordinates. Finally, it contains a pocket dimension, serving as an inventory for the wearer. A focused thought is all it takes to activate all but planar travel.

In addition, students are issued their choice of hoodie color, which serves as something of a school uniform. Apart from that, they are common, relatively modern teenagers.

Profile

Name:
Appearance: Whether you describe this or use an anime-style picture is up to you.
Bio: A general idea of who you are. You're all playing 14 year old freshman students.

You have 10 stat points, with a cap of 4 per stat.
0 – Weakness: You have a deficit in this area.
1 – Tolerable: While not a weak area, not one to lean on either.
2 – Average: Usable; nothing stands out about it, good or bad.
3 – Admirable: With a bit of effort, this is one of your strengths.
4 – Effortless: You make it look easy. Because, to you, it is.

Perception: Determines how obvious small details are to you. This also increases fine motor control.
Coordination: Affects speed and power, and motor control in a broad, athletic sense.
Resilience: Decides health and stamina.
Charisma: Influences bravery and skill in handling social situations.
Luck: Involved in random happenstance, whether finding rare items or stumbling into coincidence with the locals. Amongst groups who travel together, this stat averages out, resulting in Group Luck.

In addition, you have one
Personality Trait: A mission-relevant aspect of your personality that affects you qualitatively.

Missions allow us all to grow as human beings; between missions, you may redistribute stat points or replace an old personality trait with a new one.



As the swordsman closed the gap toward the pillar of fire, Arvyria awaited the defining moment: was the creature friendly or hungry?

As Arvyria waited, a more pressing issue arose. A great, rumbling voice shook the ground beneath her feet, and from much, much closer. Whipping around to the side, she watched a mass of claws and wings unfurl itself before the slight form of a redheaded woman, unarmed and unprepared.

"<Get back!>" She dashed along the forest path, heart pounding with sympathy for the unarmed woman. That had been her, not so long ago: stranded domesticity, frozen against the wild violence of a world she'd never dreamed of confronting. The clank and creak of her armor with each step reminded her that she'd been given a second chance -- and third, fourth, fifth. As the creature drew itself up to full, tremendous stature, some part of her shouted back to herself, Run! Run away, now! Tears in her eyes, she imagined what the redhead must be thinking -- that fear spurred her faster, closer to the rising monster.

Self-preservation be damned, Arvyria threw her armored self between the two figures and stood her ground, wondering what the hell to do from here.
@bcc
[suspects everyone in Swedish]
One after the other, blades sang free of their scabbards. The too-familiar screech of steel pulled Arvyria back to her senses immediately, and she staggered back before she even realized she was on her leaden feet. All around her, strangers muttered and shouted and interjected in a language she'd never heard before; keeping her momentum, she strafed further from the group toward a forest she'd only just noticed. She chambered her armored right arm in front of her face like a raised shield, peeking over her bicep to keep the entire group in her field of vision. She'd already heard the waking cry of two swords -- she scanned the group for other weapons. A knight's sword and a foreign, curved blade stood out most readily, but she didn't come all this way just to die of oversight.

...As her pulse steadied, she remembered just how far she'd come: she'd fallen asleep inside a guard post. For an instant, she wondered if the building had vanished from around her, but it was more than that: none of this terrain looked the least bit familiar. As such: however she'd arrived here, from black midnight until sunrise, these strangers had clearly not harmed her. In fact, none of them paid her any mind. Gradually, their heads turned away from her, toward the horizon.

Blinking her bleary eyes, she suddenly realized the figure at the edge of her vision wasn't the rising sun after all. It had too many arms. Brilliant though the creature's aura was, she couldn't help but gaze directly at it. Whatever spirit or fae this might be, she knew even less about it than she did her...captors? Companions? Mortal fascination could not outrun her fear and unease.

A man -- braver than her, thanks surely to the sword in his hand -- broke from the group and made his way toward the creature. Her eyes darted between the rolling flame and the glint of light on steel, desperate to see where they fit in the puzzle.
Name: Arvyria Kanset


Appearance: A lithe 5'9", her strong bone structure contrasts wispy blonde hair and an unobtrusive gaze. She wears a clearly borrowed cuirass with matching pauldrons -- ill-fitted but functional -- as well as leather pants and high, thick boots. The only piece that truly seems to fit her is the winding, ornate vambrace, with a separate piece to protect the back of her hand. Though exaggerated in its sculpted musculature, it holds snug to her arm, which moves with intuition and dexterity.

Tag: The Stranger

About: Arvyria lost her way of life when her village -- nestled between 14th century Norway and Sweden -- disappeared overnight, leaving only wilderness. Though she understood the language of those two neighboring countries, the difference in accent remained apparent: she read her A's as 'eh's, and her R's trailed half a second longer than other people's. Without a community of her own, she became an easy target for brigands and 'respectable' nationalists alike. The guards along the national border nearly put an end to her wandering one night, but the guard post was ambushed and her captors slain. However, rather than taking her captive, her rescuers left a sinewy-looking steel demigauntlet in her possession and demanded that she 'follow it to its source.' She drifted into sleep still digesting those scant words...and once more, awoke to an unfamiliar new world.
Name: Arvyria Kanset


Appearance: A lithe 5'9", her strong bone structure contrasts wispy blonde hair and an unobtrusive gaze. She wears a clearly borrowed cuirass with matching pauldrons -- ill-fitted but functional -- as well as leather pants and high, thick boots. The only piece that truly seems to fit her is the winding, ornate vambrace, with a separate piece to protect the back of her hand. Though exaggerated in its sculpted musculature, it holds snug to her arm, which moves with intuition and dexterity.

Tag: The Stranger

About: Arvyria lost her way of life when her village -- nestled between 14th century Norway and Sweden -- disappeared overnight, leaving only wilderness. Though she understood the language of those two neighboring countries, the difference in accent remained apparent: she read her A's as 'eh's, and her R's trailed half a second longer than other people's. Without a community of her own, she became an easy target for brigands and 'respectable' nationalists alike. The guards along the national border nearly put an end to her wandering one night, but the guard post was ambushed and her captors slain. However, rather than taking her captive, her rescuers left a sinewy-looking steel demigauntlet in her possession and demanded that she 'follow it to its source.' She drifted into sleep still digesting those scant words...and once more, awoke to an unfamiliar new world.
1:26 pm

The golden sting of afternoon sun brought Hiko back into the lobby. Slumped in a waiting room chair, he lifted his chin and tried to remember where he was. Groggy, he thought back to the other side of the morning: to half his phone's battery spent playing Nujabes, to the hourly chime of the wall clock's music box -- to the sting in his right shoulder, visibly bloodied and stark against the white bandages. That woke him right up.

The clock must have chimed four, last he heard. Looking out the front windows, he was horrified to think how late he'd slept or what his makeup must look like, but these small terrors made his aching body feel almost normal. The last thing he wanted was to see his unkempt mug in the mirror, but the first thing he didn't want was to show it to the rest of the world, and quite frankly, he needed coffee. Stat.

Straightening his rather long back and trundling past various tenants who seemed shocked to see him alive, he searched for a restroom. His artist's fingertips strategically washed away the blurred eyeliner. Gradually, the effect shifted from 'dumped on prom night' to a more respectable 'walk of shame' aesthetic not entirely out of line with his actual mood. He folded the crusted, bloody side of his jacket into itself and draped it over his damaged shoulder. Voila: at least now, he could pretend it was a sports injury. He smoothed his shirt against his taut stomach, pulled his shoulders back, and put a smile on before he walked out of the building.

He'd only seen this part of town once before -- 13 hours ago -- but his nose was all he needed to find coffee. It was a standard selection: French vanilla, hazelnut, flavors you could get at Costco, but the smell of good preparation lured him through the front door and directly in-line. He double-checked he still had his wallet after last night--

...and his gut bent inward on itself. Not twelve feet away sat Ms. Koizumi, quietly trying to get on with her life after the nightmare that was last night. He prayed she hadn't noticed his head bobbing above everybody else's on the way over here.
His jaw fell lax, like a fish waiting for a coherent word to drift into his mouth. He leapt toward the ground floor, darting back and forth in search of another entrance. He glanced at Koizumi repeatedly for reasons he failed to place: there had to be another exit, right? She'd heard all of that, right? And more to the point: she didn't think he staged it...right? His expression drooped with every pass.

The simple entryway didn't seem to have room for secrets or side paths. However, very real bandages pressed into his collarbone as he walked back toward the staircase, still dazed. Very real terror still hung in the air between him and the wide-eyed woman who'd saved his life. And this is what she gets in return...? He stopped walking and gave his best effort to look at her, but his eyes only made it to her kneecaps.

"I...um. I'm sorry for imposing on you, Ms. Koizumi." Keep your door locked. Please. There was no way to say it without further incriminating himself. After everything she'd done for him, this was all he could give.
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