[Open but with warnings] There is no difference between what is right, and what is necessary.

[sandsofhell]

WHO: Martin Walker - Open
WHAT: Walker drank the water, bad stuff happens. Everyone who wants to get involved has been warned.
WHEN: Cloudreach 15 and spanning
WHERE: Gardens and medical tent
NOTES: I was originally going to post this on the mod post, but given the nature of the content, I think it's best to put it behind a cut. It deals with controversial topics like, Post-traumatic stress disorder, war crimes, death, language and very dark material. Please bare that in mind if you comment.

(Garden)

Walker was starting to feel rather under the weather, this didn't surprise him initially. Living in a world different from his own, covered in diseases foreign to his own body would often leave him with spells of sickness from time to time. This was different however, this time he began to hear whispered voices. Something that had surprised him, but whenever he tried to focus on them, they would disappear.

For a moment he thought it was all just his imagination.

Then he took notice of the shapes wandering around the gardens. Fleeting glimpses at first, but as the fever progressed, they would become more prominent, he could hear them and tried to focus and listen to what they were talking about, when a whispered "Walker" buzzed by his ear.

"Who's there?"

Violently whipping around, he found himself to be alone. No, no not again. This can't be happening again. For those unaffected it would appear like he was starting to have a nervous breakdown. But for those who also have the fever, they may have caught a glance at a surprising amount of spirits hanging around a man who normally keeps to himself.

And they were angry.

(Healing tent)

The fever was becoming too much for the man. Eventually even Walker had to admit that he needed help. Though he still has a few misgivings towards the medical rationale of these people, at the very least they may know something that he doesn't; plus he knows he's not the only one experiencing it.

This was an epidemic.

Great, just what he needed to get caught up in. Of course it was bound to happen, large amounts of people in a small space, and little to no sanitation systems in place; it was just a disaster waiting to happen. And it was probably the water, it always is.

But he couldn't find it in himself to care. Mostly because the moment he had entered what constituted as a ward, was the moment he set up a space from everyone and collapsed in a pool of sweat, not even bothering to cover himself up with blankets.

“You left me to die!” One of the spirits would yell out as he tried to rest before the rest would swarm over him, doing their best to try and smother the man.

That’s when Martin began to scream and they left him, letting him heave and catch his breath.

(Dreams)

To those who can see them, Walker's dreams would look to be a jumbled and violent mess. Every now and again they might catch snippets of certain conversations, flashes of what looks to be a younger Martin before cutting away to—

“You’re fucking kidding right? That’s white phosphorus. You’ve seen what this shit does, you know we can’t use—"

“We don’t have a choice, Lugo.” Walker could be heard replying. “There’s always a choice.” Lugo retorted, before it would cut away. A memory.
------
The rest of the vision looked smashed together, ugly and disjointed, much like that of a cubist painting. Bodies hang from ropes, wires and telephone lines. The faces of the people in them were blank, their voices silent. Even as they suffered in agony, clawing at the walls, and cradling one another to escape from the horrors they were experiencing.

The most telling of all was that of a mother holding her child close.

Occasionally the sound of a man would chime in asking things like "Do you feel like a hero yet?" and "None of this would have happened if you just stopped!" in the center of it all sat Walker, unresponsive and just...

...staring.

But his voice could be heard, “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody.”

Before voice of another man, same one who was talking responded. “No one ever does! Welcome to Hell, Walker.”

Comments

[samahl]

"You've been yelling," Cyril offers, though his voice is soft now. "Are you all right?"

[sandsofhell]

"I'm fine."

His reply was sharper and more harsh than he meant it to be; stated through gritted teeth and the form of a growl.. Quickly he paused before sighing.

"...Sorry."

[samahl]

Cyril shook his head. "There's nothing to apologize for. We're all having trouble with these spirits. Is there anything you need? Maybe a distraction? Zevran taught me some card games when he was recovering. I'd just have to track down some cards."

[sandsofhell]

Trouble might be a bit of an understatement. Especially when he questions his sanity. "...Alright...."

With a groan, he sat up in the bed. His shirt stained with sweat.

[samahl]

Cyril smiles and then goes to find some cards. It's not that hard since so many people are cooped up and looking for ways to entertain themselves.

He comes back to Martin with the deck. "Have you learned any Thedosian games since you arrived?"

[sandsofhell]

Silently he watches Cyril leave for a few moments to find a deck. The whispers of the spirits around him were starting to come back when his companion returned. "Only 'Wicked Grace'."

He replied, sitting on the edge of the bed now before reaching over to grab a nearby end table. "Chair's over there."

[samahl]

Cyril goes to get the chair. "We can play Wicked Grace, or you could teach me one of the games from your home?" If teaching would help get Martin's mind off of things more, he'd happily learn something new.