Between Dreams and Reality RP

Welcome to my first real RP.

The basis: your character has crossed the border between the waking world and nightmares. Somewhere along the ways, you came down a foggy road in the rain to a great manor that looks mostly abandoned. The entity controlling this world seems to prefer fear and sorrow over gore and mutilation, and the rain hasn't let up since you reached the road leading to the mansion's steps. There are a few trapped with you, perhaps they will be your companions, perhaps they will be your rivals. All you know is that you are all in this together.

(Character requirements: You don't need to post a bio here, and the restrictions are simple - Humans, extremely limited magic [ie; it tires your character out whenever it's used, or maybe they don't know they have any magic at all, regardless, it's taxing and hidden], and really, just make a character you want to play.)

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Be prepared for anything...
There's something wrong!

And the worst is yet to come.


Rain.

When would it stop?

He lifted his fingers to the window, pressing them against the glass. Yes, the glass, the window, the very damn room seemed intent on imprisoning him. And the rain seemed to be part of the conspiracy. What was he supposed to do? Remain here, imprisoned in an empty manor with no hope to escape, no hope to be rescued. There was an outside world out there, he knew it, he had seen it and dreamed of it. There was a world outside the fog and rain and snow, something out there had to be keeping him trapped. With a small sigh, he turned away from the window angrily. The Polish composer scowled a little, frustrated with the world he seemed to be trapped in. It was not the gentle world of his dreams, one of colors and grace and beauty. No, it was one that kept him wrapped in his nightmares, one that trapped him inside, away from the real world.

But what if this was the real world?

He tried not to think about it.

Still wearing his nightclothes, he moved from the room, being allowed to roam around for the time being. His feet made little sound on the fine polished floors, and he tugged his shirt around him as if it was a coat, and he shivered from the cold. His reflection seemed to glare back at him in the mirror, its lips turning into a smirk that he did not share. It was mocking him, whatever malevolence that was keeping him here was MOCKING him.

Before he could stop himself, his hand smashed into the glass, blood and reflective pieces clattering to the floor. That was it, he was going crazy and there was nothing he could do. He was going absolutely crazy. Perhaps that was the goal of this whole... thing. Turn him mad and get him shipped off to the nearest asylum. In that case, was this the real world? Did his friends, his family, everyone he knew, did they leave him knowing that his madness and his sickness was going to overtake him?

Frederic pondered this idly as he started pulling pieces of glass from his hand, throwing them to the floor.

His head snapped upwards, listening to the halls. He moved along until he found the front doors.

Was there someone... knocking?

Sally walked up to the front of the mansion, and knocked on the door. She was a bit confused as to why she wasn't shivering from the cold, but decided not to question it.

There were MUCH weirder things in need of questioning at the moment, afterall.

Jake was lost. Was that a mansion? What the hell?

"That's not good, is this a dream?" He looked around. No wait, he mostly just looked at the mansion, and around the mansion.

"What in the world?" He asked nobody in particular. He often thought aloud when he was alone. He sucked in a deep breath, and walked through the rain to the front door, where he saw someone knocking. He decided to stand back a bit and see what he could see.

He debated for the longest time on whether or not to answer the door. Was he really supposed to answer it? Were those real people on the other side or was he imagining things? Chopin pondered this from the top of the stairs, shaking and jumping with each pound on the door. He had to determine whether or not these were real.

Deciding they were, he ran down the stairs, grabbing the door. He coughed once, realizing his hand was still bleeding from punching the mirror. Oh well, he would have to deal with it later. The door was heavy, heavy and hard for him to move with his sickly body, but he had done, he pulled it open.

"Hello? Are you real? Please tell me you're real..."