Tender Lumplings Everywhere, Life's No Fun Without A Good Scare [Open to All]

[applesaucemod]

The woods are dark and deep, but not particularly lovely. If anything, they feel dangerous, as if something terrible might come lurching out from behind any given tree and tear into the nearest warm body. What that terrible thing might be is anyone's guess. A cat with hands? Slenderman? Stegosaurus? Actual cannibal Shia LaBeouf? All of the above in a horrible mob? It's anyone's guess. But every dreamer will be absolutely convinced that there is something unspeakable out there, and that it's after them.

The dreamers have two things on their side. The first is that there is actually nothing dangerous lurking in these woods (with the possible exception of other dreamers). The pervasive terror the dreamers are feeling is just that: a rift-given feeling, nothing more and nothing less. That snapping twig or rustle in the undergrowth is almost certainly just a squirrel or something else equally harmless.

The second is that no dreamer is alone. They all will be reunited with - or introduced to - their dæmons, a source of comfort in this dark, intimidating wilderness. However frightened the dreamers might be, at least they have someone with them who definitely doesn't want them dead.

[OOC: as ever, any and all are welcome! You don't have to be in the game to join the fun. Dreamers can remember or forget the events of the dream at the players' discretion. And the party only stops when you want it to; feel free to backtag forever.]

Comments

[noteasybeingblue]

The sword pings against the hardened skin-armor of her shell. It should not hurt. Nothing can hurt the eternal, the God-King, the Shaper of All Things.

But it does.

It is a burning, bladed thing that slides into the imperceptible areas of her self, the non-physical, something that cannot be warded away by the carapace of her shell, and the agonizing shrill of its flame-brightness as it drives against her sends Illyria sliding backwards with a cry of - of pain.

"You dare," she spits, the churning darkness of her core rising and pouring over, boiling, enraged. "You would dare."

Pancakes' cries for caution go unheeded. Illyria lashes at the principality with a whip-crack backhand, drives a fist at its thorax, the fierceness of her blows impeded by the agony in her aura, her wholeness, her being.

This thing dared touch her. For that it will suffer.

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale barely has time to savor the momentary victory before she's at him again, and it's scarcely all he can do to block her blows; she's faster and more vicious than he, and he can't catch each one, each hit drawing a pained, choking sound and a tremor from his serpent. He slashes again, desperate and frustrated, and catches her across the back.

He hears her beast crying out as well, and suffers a moment of pause; just as Orisa seems to be feeling his pain, so does that thing feel Illyria's. Much as it attacked moments ago, he doesn't want to harm the creature.

The hesitation costs him the upper hand he might have gained after striking her again, and from the trees Orisa snarls furiously, "Don't just stand there!"

[noteasybeingblue]

This time his blow provokes a cry from her, a wrenched-out grunting twisted noise, the vocalization of her fury and pain and frustration from the swordstroke. After the blow hits she retreats and circles, warily, seeking out her next opportunity and ignoring the pitted ache that blazes in the parts of her being with which the sword connected. Its pain is low and visceral; unnatural.

Pancakes' low, whistling wails command her attention, but only briefly. Her pet is in pain, just as she is, despite having only touched the principality for an instant. There is connection here but it is one Illyria is uninterested in investigating at the present time. The battle calls for her. She will not deny its importance.

The principality hesitates, its concentration slipping but for a moment, and Illyria pounces. This time she targets the hand bearing the sword, her greatest threat. Iron in her grip, she seizes its wrist and applies to it a brutal torquing grasp, ferocious and unrelenting, squeezing with all her concentrated might, and slams her other hand around its neck to wrap her shell-fingers around it, vicelike.

"You are tiny," she whispers into its shell's ear, her voice alight with the promise of victory.

tw: strangulation, also daemon-on-daemon fighting about to commence

[bibliophale]

He pivots back at Orisa's shout, trying to catch Illyria first, but once again she's too quick. He manages not to let go his sword even as she all but crushes his wrist, letting out a strangled grunt of pain. The hand around his throat is similarly unyielding, and for a moment he's pinned in her grip, his movement limited to awkward, frustrated struggling.

Orisa releases a most un-snake-like growl and slithers down from her perch, cutting a line in the dirt not for Illyria, but for Pancakes. By now she's pieced together, that pain is shared between body and soul-manifestation, and that attacking Illyria would throw Aziraphale off just as it had Illyria and Pancakes earlier. The beast is her only logical target.

She wraps around it quickly, baring her fangs and biting down hard.

[noteasybeingblue]

Pancakes let out a high-pitched vrrschh of agony as the worm-thing coils around her, sinking powerful jaws into her gray flesh. The Yastigilian hound jerks her head, rolls to the ground, kicking tentacled feet in an effort to shake the thing that has a grip on her like steel.

Illyria releases a similarly strangled cry, tears away from her victim and curls one hand around her midsection. Agony, biting and abrupt, licks up her, and for a dreadful moment she cannot see for the blinding pain roaring through her. Then her vision returns, and she sees the cause for her hurt.

Cold rage infuses the whole of her self. The principality would unleash its worm upon her pet. None lay fingers, coils, or fangs on her pet. None.

The God-King charges at the pair struggling on the ground, falls to her knees halfway from a renewed burst of ache that accompanies Pancakes' fresh squeal. With an agonized roar, she redoubles her efforts, reaches and rips the worm from her pet and flings it, desperate and furious, at the nearest tree. Her shell shudders and she nearly collapses entirely from the effort. She must brace herself on all fours to control the rippling pain permeating her every movement.

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale falls to his knees when she releases him, gasping and bracing on his sword. He struggles forward, reaching out in a desperate attempt to pull Illyria back, or perhaps to recover Orisa himself - stupid, involving herself, he had this in hand! - whatever it is, an attempt far too late. A shock of strange, foreign pain rips through him when she seizes Orisa and wrenches her away from the beast; he lets out a startled yell, overcome by this unfamiliar, terrible sensation. Is this what she'd felt when her beast had touched him? This rank sort of violation?

He breathes out in a ragged, relieved burst when she flings Orisa aside, though he feels her violent impact against the tree reverberating painfully through his body. He turns his back on the enemy, now concerned only with the snake's wellbeing.

"Orisa!" he cries, his sword vanishing as he gathers her up. "Are - are you?"

"I'm all right, stupid," she says, sounding hassled and alarmed. "Are you?"

"You shouldn't have - I was fine!" He holds her close in spite of himself, only distantly surprised at how much this creature means to him, having only known her a short while - and yet, what feels like the whole of his existence.

"I've always been with you," she says, soft and impatient. "Always. Don't you understand?"

He does, after a moment, though it's difficult to comprehend. He glances back to Illyria and her creature, curious to know how they fare, knowing what he now knows.

[noteasybeingblue]

I am bleeding, mistress.

Pancakes is bleeding. It is small but it is deep, thick and dark blue blood drooling from the puncture marks. Illyria would heal her if she had the power, but all of that energy has been locked away from her shell and she has no access to it. She touches a finger to her pet, fluttering and mournful. She cannot ignore the sabotaging ache running through her own being. They are tied together by some indescribable, intrinsic bond. When she threw the principality's worm she must have injured it similarly.

It appears to be in distress over the state of its worm. Good. It should regret ordering it upon her pet. She stands with significantly less coordination than is her equilibrium and glowers at the thing.

"You injured my pet," she says, her voice icy and vengeful. "What have you done to me? Why do her injuries affect me so?"

[bibliophale]

"She's not your pet!" says Orisa angrily; she rests her head on Aziraphale's shoulder, too weak to raise it herself. "She's part of you. Your internal self. That's why you share thought and being, why you can feel each other's agony. He didn't do anything to her, it was my decision, because you were hurting him."

"Orisa, please," says Aziraphale in mild embarrassment, stroking her back in an effort to calm her down.

"I'm not poisonous," Orisa goes on stubbornly. "She'll be fine."

[noteasybeingblue]

This thing's opinion of Illyria weighs less than the air it breathes. It is small and weak and wriggling and can do nothing to harm a God-King. If it has one grace, it is that it has left her pet in no danger.

She snaps her gaze to the one holding it.

"Control your worm," she orders coldly, "before I crush it."

[bibliophale]

"Worm?!" Orisa echoes in outrage, just as Aziraphale pulls her closer and cries, "No!"

"How dare you," Orisa continues, aflame with the same pride that Aziraphale feels all too often. "That's royal bloody python to you. And he does not control me. We are equals. Or are you too thick to realize that, even after what your beast has been through?"

"This is not helping!" Aziraphale snaps sharply under his breath, holding her tightly. To Illyria, he says, "There's no need for any more violence. Let's just - let's be reasonable, for goodness' sake."

[noteasybeingblue]

Illyria watches the worm's outrage with vague unconcern. She is uninterested with the self-righteous anger of those beneath her. The principality no longer wishes to do battle, it seems. This is a disappointment. She was beginning to enjoy their violence.

"You forswore reason when you sought to challenge me," she answers. Her pet has risen to rub her head against her God-King's leg, an assurance of her health. "And you rejected mercy when your worm damaged Pancakes."

[bibliophale]

"She's a python," Aziraphale volunteers delicately, before both he and Orisa freeze in mutual bewilderment over what they just heard.

"P-Pancakes," says Orisa. "Did you just say Pancakes?"

"Is that that's name?" says Aziraphale incredulously, and it might be the pain, the terror, and the general hysteria, but he can't quite keep from snorting.

Orisa joins him all too easily, laughing full-heartedly, her heavy coils shaking with mirth. Something so terrifying, named Pancakes. This nightmare is achieving new heights of absurdity.

"W-why?" Aziraphale demands.

[noteasybeingblue]

The principality makes some bizarre choking noise, it and its worm shuddering with something Illyria cannot perceive. Is this some sort of fit? A strange pre-funerary ritual of their species, perhaps.

They are laughing, mistress, Pancakes informs her sagely. They find my name amusing.

"I do not understand." She addresses both her pet and the principality, unable to hide her confusion for these circumstances. Her head tilts onto a skewed axis. "It is the name of my Yastigilian hound, as she chose. You would do well to respect it, or I will make collars of your spines."

[bibliophale]

"It's just - well, it's not very fitting, is it?" ventures Aziraphale, sobering up as much as he can. "Sorry, sorry. I, er. Just wasn't expecting anything like that."

Orisa slithers up around his shoulders, resting her weight on him tiredly. Aziraphale stands up, still feeling a bit shaky.

"We're going to, er, go, then," he says weakly.

[noteasybeingblue]

"It is her name. She chose it. Therefore it fits her." Illyria's logic is infallible. Pancakes winds one tentacle affectionately around her mistress' arm in appreciation of the defense of her title. She was very proud to come up with it, undignified as her mistress may find it.

The principality wishes to leave. She cannot suppress her confusion at that either, for there is nowhere it may hide from the Shaper of All Things, truly.

"We have not finished engaging in glorious battle," she murmurs, puzzled despite herself (confusion, emotional output, a remnant of the shell she is in, and nothing more). And she is - disappointed. The principality was a challenge of the metaphysical, fragment of the world she once ruled without question. She would have liked to exercise her authority over it and triumph in conflict once more.

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale stares at her, not entirely certain what's happening here. She wants to continue fighting, but she seems almost - sad? That is not what he expected. For a moment he wavers, feeling irrationally guilty.

"It wasn't that glorious," he ventures.

[noteasybeingblue]

"I enjoyed hurting you." She inclines her head minutely in recognition. He was a rare worthy opponent, and she feels that if he must leave he should know it. Even if the worm intervened to end their regrettably brief conflict. "You are the first of your kind I have faced."

[bibliophale]

"Er." Aziraphale narrows his eyes at her. Is that meant to be a compliment? Well at least she enjoyed herself. He can't say he hopes to face her again. He thinks he would have noticed if she'd arrived in Manhattan, so... perhaps she's just a one-off oddity of this particular dream. One can hope.

"Well," he says as he slinks back into the woods. "All right then."

As soon as he feels he's put enough distance between them, he turns on his heel and hurries away, cradling Orisa in his arms.

[noteasybeingblue]

She watches him go and cannot stifle the odd feeling of mourning as he flees into the woods, apparently not looking upon their battle as fondly as she. Illyria would prefer to do more violence but without enemies she has no means.

With the principality gone and no further reason to remain, Illyria wanders on with Pancakes at her side in search of more violence.