Richtor's already pitiful attention span was torn in three directions at least. The big eye monster invited him to be an ally, the guy that was in charge of this whole situation told him to fight everyone, and now a familiar voice shouted his name. He recognized Sarah from his sister's job, but it didn't really make sense for a peacekeeper to be here. In all the chaos he felt a grin begin tugging at his lips as his nostrils flared as he stifled laugh. No matter what, a big fight was starting. If he joins the eye thing and the one that brought it out, he'd get to tussle with a Warlord and his bodyguards...Gah, but that thing was pretty big and probably strong. It even looked like a Nightmare! Option three was to just fight like the crowd expected, which would be fun too.
His shallow thoughts were interrupted by a desperate shout from some stranger charging at him, their arm morphing into an imposingly sharp medical syringe. His slowly growing grin suddenly exploded into a hearty laugh as he turned to face his opponent. "Alright, that's better. That's enough thinking...I'd rather fight anyway!" Richtor's hand was raised to the sky as vague images of metal and lights shot through his mind. Out of those thoughts formed a massive arm with a fist the size of a dumptruck raised towards the sky just as Richtor's were.
The massive robot arm's open palm slap collided with Richtor's assailant, completely overpowering the man and launching him like a ragdoll across the arena. Much to Richtor's dismay, the weakling didn't stand back up. He could see the guy breathing, but apparently he'd just decided to stay down and play dead. It figured that the only one willing to just charge in like that was probably the weakest one there. What even was that dream, a dream based on syringes? Worthless, seemed to be pretty new to their power too if their only plan was to just run in and spear the nearest person.
Richtor 'reasoned' that the only guarantees for a good fight were the big eye thing and the boss guy himself. "Fine, eye-monster thingo, you're on! I want to punch that asshole right there!" He shouted, both his arm and the massive robotic one beside him pointed directly at Morski. The warlord, for his part, simply looked confused and offended by the display. " 'Sides, if he's gone, the shard's free game anyway!" The warlord in question stared on at the battlefield in shock. He'd expected this to be more chaotic than the one on one fights he'd forced dreamers into in the past...but this was getting out of hand. It hadn't been thirty seconds and he'd been challenged by at least two contestants, some of the others were still hiding in their cages, and a couple of them were clearly trying to eye escape routes. Maybe this was a sign that he'd need to be more specific in the future when looking for vict-contestants. Just when things couldn't get more ridiculous he heard one of these Dreamers had just offered to heal the others too, of all the moronic..."For the love of all that is...KILL EACH OTHER ALREADY!" He shouted, causing his nearest bodyguard to tense up slightly at the sudden noise. He could feel his own Dream bristling slightly at the challenges from the fighters on the ground. Who did they think they were? The audacity to decide there was an 'option C' to their predicament in the first place was just unthinkable. "You're all making it really hard to enjoy this, and after all the effort I put into getting it all together. Disrespectful useless weaklings, all of you!" Morski whined, his unnaturally razor sharp teeth visible to any that stared directly at him. He didn't doubt for a moment that he could take any of these Dreamers down himself, but some of them looked at least slightly troubling if he had to fight them all at once.
A dull headache, one that’s familiar to many dreamers. The feeling one gets when they’re a bit too close to insomulite. Not quite as bad as having Dream-suppressant cuffs on, but enough to reduce one’s dream to a mere whisper of its standard strength. Even without opening one’s eyes it’s painfully obvious that the situation isn’t particularly favorable. The dry warmth of a metal floor as well as the uncomfortable feeling one gets after being haphazardly tossed into a cage barely tall enough to stand in. A faint buzz of a few dozen people chattering and cheering nearby at least confirmed that this wasn't in the middle of the wasteland.
Richtor
Richtor stirred a bit before wobbling to his feet, the pain in his head amplified by the realization that he’d been whacked in the head by something pretty heavy. His memories of recent events were blurred at best. Whoever got him got him pretty damn good. A quick look around revealed that he was in some sort of cage, a single stone hard stuck to the ground…Definitely the culprit behind his inability to smash his way out. He could see a few equally cramped looking cages arranged in either direction. Even he could suss out that they probably held Dreamers too. Looking around the area didn’t exactly make things more optimistic.
The area around the cages was walled in, like some sort of impromptu arena complete with a crowd in the stands patiently looking down upon them all. At the tallest point of the spectator area was a middle aged man on some sort of makeshift throne flanked by a bodyguard on either side. Anyone that’s been outside the cities for more than a week could guess he was either a warlord or at minimum wanted to carry himself as if he were. Upon noticing the people in the cages stirring he stood up and shouted to the crowd and the imprisoned Dreamers.
“Welcome to this week’s show! Had to call in quite a few favors to get those cages…But the fruit of those labors is going to be one of the best brawls any of you have ever seen. Our acquisitions team alongside a few independent mercenaries have been busy snatching up dreamers from the area, burning up a few settlements, ambushing some idiots on the roads. No method’s too much for a chance to see a show like this one.” The man boasted proudly.
Richtor rubbed the back of his head upon hearing the ambushing comment. He felt a bit of dried blood on the relatively fresh wound. Still, he wanted to see this show he’d apparently been kidnapped for.
“These Dreamers before you have one great reason to fight!” The man spoke up, promising an answer for the silent question likely forming in the more intelligent ones’ heads. “Their freedom, of course, as well as a nice little trinket.” He said, patting a box before partly opening it. The glint of a decently sized purple crystal causing the crowd to gasp. One that size could pay for a few months worth of supplies. The crowd began to chant ‘Lord Morski’ over and over as the man was clearly eating up the excitement and praise.
Richtor stood up and tried to just open the cage, the door was shoddily built but just sturdy enough to not give at a normal push. Rearing back, he kicked the cage as hard as he could with his power suppressed causing the rusty fragile lock to snap and the door to fall off. He blinked at how poorly made the whole thing was. Honestly, it looked like something he’d glue together back in his free time back when he was a kid…though he imagined the glue would have held a bit better than that.
A shocked gasp omitted from the crowd as ‘Lord Morski’ looked down a bit surprised. What kind of idiot kicks a metal door? With a gesture, the remaining cages opened as well. “I guess someone was eager...Just take the wind out of my sails why don’t you.” He said, slightly deflated at the clueless blonde that was just looking around, clearly lost. Had he not even been listening?
Richtor’s a pretty big guy, standing at 6’1 and packed with natural muscular bulk. Despite all of that, his naturally open demeanor makes it hard for most to consider him to be all that intimidating. He wears whatever he can find, which right now is just a green hoodie and some worn jeans.
Carefree and friendly, but naturally destructive. Richtor is a thrillseeker, a survivor, and a damned fool. He’s a bit cocky about the sheer destructive power he wields, but generally not all that interested in assaulting weaklings. He genuinely believes a fight to the death should be flashy and exciting. While his personality usually vibes with people, the baggage that hangs around him causes most of those people to be fair weather friends at best. He’s actually rather loyal, especially to those that stick around. He’s basically a golden retriever with a destructive streak and an ego problem.
Richtor doesn’t understand his dream too well, he’s caught plenty of glimpses of giant robots and the like…but he can hardly even conceptualize regular sized ones as he’s never seen one. Fortunately despite that he’s able to pull at least one giant robotic arm. Thankfully a big arm is something he can understand, a big arm means big power. He may not be able to get much more out of his dream past that, but because he’s worked with it quite a bit he’s become pretty proficient with the clunky appendage. While it’s naturally pretty slow, it makes up for it in raw power. A solid strike from that fist is something even most Dreamers won’t appreciate being on the receiving end of. The arm also doubles as a pretty decent source of cover.
Richtor was raised by his older sister, Lynn, in the Nova Republic’s capital city. For fourteen years he grew up, went to school, got lectured for skipping school, and got reprimanded for trying to leave the city walls. Of course as his sister was a peacekeeper, he found himself being scolded quite a bit. He looked up to his sister, sure partly because she essentially raised him but also because she had powers. Unfortunately those powers meant he couldn't even attempt to fight her, but he thought they were so cool. His envy built up for fourteen years of hellish boredom…until he saw it. Heavily guarded by the city’s police, a Shard intended for lockup. He hatched a foolhardy plan, playing on his sister wanting him to get into law enforcement and tricking her into taking him to the station with her to ‘see what she does every day.’
What followed was quite possibly the dumbest heist in history. Somehow Richtor managed to get his hands on the shard and gain a power of his own…Only to immediately 'accidentally' smash a giant hole in the side of the police station. Of course he was banished only a few hours later, and his formerly ‘doting sister’ refused to even look him in the eye as an enforcer escorted him to the gates with a bag of nonperishable food and a basic survival guide that he tossed away pretty quickly.
Of course despite all logic, he’s been doing rather well on his own. His naturally earnest yet dumb personality has caused a few of the people he’s met on the road to help him out from time to time. That’s not to say he hasn’t gotten into his share of trouble. At the slightest chance of a fight, Richtor gleefully went all out. More than a couple of would-be muggers on the road have been flattened after threatening him.
Almost two centuries ago a mysterious meteor crashed down to earth. It wasn’t large enough to cause any panic, and most people considered it a rather mundane astronomical event. Well, that was before the vast majority of people on the planet vanished. The ensuing chaos destroyed the majority of what remained of society as survivors panicked, planes and other vehicles crashed, unattended appliances caught fire, etc. The apocalyptic event was thought by many to be the Rapture, but it seemed to pick its victims without any obvious criteria. Saints, sinners, and anything in between…Humanity was essentially wiped from the majority of the planet all at once. In reality the meteor, a massive crystalline structure, had absorbed those billions of lives and incorporated them into a permanent dream-like state. Once it hit the earth, much of it shattered and scattered to the winds along with the souls that had been sucked into it.
Centuries later, still slowly picking up the pieces in the new and terrifying world, many humans have stumbled upon shards of that strange meteor from forever ago. Those that make contact with the shards find them fusing to their flesh before eventually vanishing altogether. These humans go through a harrowing process as the souls, still in their unending dream, begin to use them as a host. This horrific process is not wholly without its benefits though, as the hosts gain abnormal powers tied to the specific shared dream of the souls they hold. Many of those unaffected by these shards call these hosts possessed, demons, monsters, or any other manner of insult. By themselves and the more open minded, however, they are called Dreamers.
These Dreamers, depending on the number of souls within them, often feel a pull towards somewhere distant. Rumor is, their shards are trying to drag them towards the master crystal. What would happen if they made it there is anyone’s guess, but it’s spawned quite a few stories. Promises of powers untold, maybe the ability to ask for a wish, or perhaps free the billions trapped within it. People talk, rumors are passed around as if they were fact or just passed up as baseless stories. The fact remains that every dreamer can occasionally feel that tug. Though, naturally the closer they venture to the Master Crystal the more dangerous things are. As a result many Dreamers have settled down as far as they feel comfortable venturing, creating settlements and camps.
Of course, as usual with humanity, civilization has begun to re-emerge. The Nova Republic has founded multiple new cities and slowly expanded along the fringes. To maintain order they have fully disallowed all Dreamers, aside from those that are government sanctioned and trained to keep the peace. The Republic doesn’t hunt Dreamers down, but they do keep an open bounty system for Shards.
Naturally the Republic isn’t the only game in town, but they are certainly the largest and most recognized. Other settlements, especially due to the Republic’s intolerance of ‘unlicensed Dreamers’, crop up often. Of course, due to infighting and the instability of the powers of some Dreamers these settlements deal with their share of hard times.
Purplish objects of varying shape and size that house anywhere between one and a few million unconscious souls. Each shard contains a unique dream as it’s splintered from the whole. These days it’s quite rare to find one that hasn’t been claimed by a person or…something else. One can be traded at any Republic outpost for a pretty generous amount of supplies. So long as one doesn’t make direct skin contact, it cannot assimilate to their being. As a result, whole groups of Shardhunters have cropped up throughout the lands to support themselves.
Wielders of the souls found within the Old World Shards, Dreamers run the gauntlet between godlike power and perhaps being able to manifest a rubber duck. These abilities all depend on the souls within them as well as their own willpower and creativity. At minimum, each Dreamer has enhanced durability and strength, able to take blows that would kill normal humans and shake them off with some minor bruising. Of course this isn’t without its drawbacks as every Dreamer runs the risk of losing themselves to the Dream within and becoming a horrific abomination known as a Nightmare.
Each dream is unique and unending. One may contain a thousand souls dreaming about rubber ducks, or a hundred about nuclear armageddon. Each of them is essentially an entire realm that, with proper preparation, a Dreamer may explore while they sleep. Take caution though, if a Dreamer were to lose control of the collective unconscious they could very well become a Nightmare.
Each Host can take aspects of their Dream and manifest it into reality within their own predetermined range. Of course, it’s rather hard to steer a dream of that size to specifically give you exactly what you want. As a result, many Dreamers just kind of ask for something and try to make due with what they get…Though thankfully, Dreams can be a bit repetitive so they often get the same thing each time and eventually just learn to work with it. Of course one can go deeper and take the reigns to manifest something more specific or coherent, but if that’s done recklessly it will most certainly end in disaster.
Horrible abominations that are created once Dreamers lose control. The shared consciousness leaks into the world and transforms the host into a warped manifestation of their dream. They tend to be powerful chaotic beings with unpredictable powers and temperaments. More often than not they are hostile and are drawn to the Master Crystal as well as places that used to be densely populated.
These horrific monstrosities are why non dreamers are so afraid of Dreamers and typically oust them from society due to them almost constantly being at risk of transforming into these beasts. Depending on the original dream they can vary from being feral predators to sadistic monsters. Very, very few have been passive as most fight amongst themselves and anyone else for territory. And unfortunately they don’t seem to pass from age so unless they are actively killed the stronger ones will last for quite awhile and pose major threats.
There are very few cases of a Dreamer regaining control once they become a Nightmare and there is no known guaranteed method of doing so. And it is almost entirely unheard of for someone to gain control of this transformation since the very nature of becoming one breaks one’s sanity and individuality.
An entity which could only be described as a cobbled-together form of government, consisting of descendants of survivors of the calamity (the "old guard") and some new faces that emerged after other politicians disappeared to fill the power vacuum. The so-called old guard tends to harbor hostile attitudes toward dreamers, believing them to pose a threat to their power and legacy, while the newer members seek to use dreamers to their advantage. Neither party is particularly benevolent or trustworthy, and even the extremely anti-dreamer church considers them to be collectively fragile and unreliable, describing them as "iron mixed with clay" and other such derisive scriptural references. While Nova does allow some dreamers to live within their established territories, requirements for these dreamers are stringent, and those whose powers are not useful for any kind of labor or are "too dangerous" are unlikely to ever earn their stamp of approval, unless they are easily controlled or could manipulate the public perception in their favor. It's sadly not uncommon for dreamers to be granted citizenship as children only to be quietly ushered out of the country once they become a bit too capable for Nova's liking.
While it may be a bit of a low bar, the Nova Republic is also the apex of current technology. It's essentially all salvage from the world before things ended, but they have also made adaptations to defend themselves from Dreamers and Nightmares. On the whim of one of their top scientists they began crushing up gemstones like moonstone and mixing them into the metal used for bullets, cuffs, and cell bars. This alloy, nicknamed insomulite, suppresses and harms Dreamers and Nightmares. Just coming into contact with it makes all but the most powerful dreamers powerless and causes severe headaches.
"The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters became wormwood, and many died from the water, because it was made bitter." Rev. 8:10-11 Believing themselves to be living in the end times, Nova's URC cites the above references as proof, claiming that a multitude of peoples and nations are often symbolically represented by "waters." Indeed, the process of absorbing crystals and attempting to become a dreamer often results in the death of many, when dreamers mutate into corrupt nightmares and slaughter innocents in their rampage. Those who survive are left in an altered mental state that the religious may describe as a "Great Delusion," which is also referenced in the increasingly popular Book of Revelation. Naturally, the church believes dreamers and their powers to be demonic in nature. Aside from those sanctified by the church of course. A few believe it is the church's duty to capture and attempt exorcisms on dreamers, but such activities are hidden from the public and most have given them up for damned. Different groups within the church debate about the great disappearing, some saying it was the Rapture, others saying it was the gathering of the wicked to be burned. Overall, however, the church is more united than in the past, as the name would suggest.
Government officials seeking to exploit the potential for cheap and effective enforcers of Nova's will are more than willing to exploit the sympathies of open-minded citizens to gain support for their agenda. As in every group, there are both true believers and grifters seeking undeserved trust and favors from dreamers simply trying to fit into "normal" society, making the organization as a whole unreliable. Experienced dreamers quickly learn to avoid this group if they really need help from a human within the Republic. True supporters are underground, unorganized, and unequipped to do much.
The Perimeter is more or less an imaginary border marked by outposts and a force of specially trained peacekeepers. This border is maintained for the sake of containing the more powerful Nightmares and Dreamers that lurk within as well as to deter Dreamers from seeking the Crystal. Of course, despite having one within their ranks, they allow Oneir to come and go as they please.
Most of dreamer society remains scattered into various small settlements outside Nova's reach. Might makes right in many of these places, and the names of rulers and their factions are quickly forgotten as blood is spilled and heads roll one after another. The Nova Republic is known to do what they can behind the scenes to keep these conflicts going and maintain the disorganized status quo, as a united nation of dreamers could easily topple the outwardly impressive but equally fragile human government. Because of these efforts, many dreamers are wary of non-dreamers, and they even more commonly treat Nova's dreamers like traitors. While there are some moves toward unity among dreamers, they necessarily take place underground, as those who support it too loudly tend to disappear, dying even younger than most, or, as some rumors suggest, being quietly ‘recruited’ by Nova.
While there do exist dreamers who seek salvation from their current state, a new spiritual movement has emerged and gained some appeal outside the Nova Republic. They see the meteor event as part of a new Turning, and dreamers as the next stage in human evolution. To them, it is only logical that the living would one day reconnect with the dead, and from there, both will someday connect to the gods. While not all of dreamer society spiritualizes the concept to the same degree, the fact remains that their ideas have gained traction, and DNA's recruitment efforts are often responsible for the creation of new dreamers. Those unfortunate dreamers who become nightmares are seen as unprepared or unworthy to ascend toward enlightenment and treated as unclean, rejected by the gods—perhaps for coveting too much power, as the transformation is often a result of absorbing too many crystals, and failing to adjust to the psychological chaos created by conflicting dreams. DNA's ultimate stated goal is to locate the original master crystal and return the shards. They see non-dreamers not as enemies, but baggage to be left behind. However, dreamers who seek shards for Nova are treated as thieves and fools that need reeducation.
A word that’s essentially lost its original meaning over the years, often shortened to Oneir, it is used to describe legendarily strong Dreamers. They aren’t unified, in fact plenty of them are naturally at odds with each other or have never crossed paths. Some of the most well known are the Nova Republic’s self proclaimed superhero Skeleton Man, and a woman codenamed Starweaver, her space Dream leaving destruction and misfortune in her wake.
@Bartimaeus Some of those questions are better answered in the discord for now. Let me shoot you an invite. Basically though most of the technology is salvaged.
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