Soren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
silentsavant) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
middaeg2019-06-22 12:09 pm
silentsavant) wrote in middaeg2019-06-22 12:09 pm
Entry tags:
June Event(s)? Catchall
Who: Soren and the garden variety of poor shmucks
When: Late Iuneril
Where: OH, AROUND AEFENGLOM...
What: Event stuff; more moon stuff; maybe catchall stuff; tl; dr this boy is a disaster...
Warnings: violence, body transformation, blood, and others if/when they come up
Soren is a rare sight on the streets. However, as the moons swell fuller, he's compelled to keep out of his usual secluded haunts in fits of increasingly undeniable agitation.
He's not one for festivities. He doesn't care for the dirty looks and mischief of the townsfolk, either. He also doesn't care for the way they gulp and turn away after they peer into the his scarlet eyes like they're a bad omen. Like his very existence is nothing but an affliction...
Superstitions turn humans into heartless cowards. Resentment boils in his aching heart.
But his heart aches for something beyond his various cloisters. And once the moons reach their peak, that ache manifests into a sort of crazed longing. He senses someone; he's sure of it. Even if it's just an impression, even if he's only deluded, the faintest intimation of that presence drives his grief into action. He must find him, whatever the cost, whoever he must cross, even if he has to tear this city down brick by brick on his hunt for him.
1.BEFORE THE MOONS ARE FULL
FULL MOON
The last full moons had been a rude awakening for Soren. He had to come to terms at last that he was shedding his humanity for some grotesque unknown. It's observable that other offworld monsters have been undergoing their changes at varying rates; and his have been slower than most, it seems. It would be foolish not to prepare for the next inevitable night self-control slips from him. To abate the tremendous growing pains, he takes potions. In the few days preceding Lithra, he's discovered that he needs to imbibe them with more frequency. It helps that he got a friendly delivery from someone who's looking out for him... Chasing the pain away does nothing to banish his twisting mind, however, and the unbearable anxiety, the impulsiveness to wreak havoc to match his heartache.
But he knows what helps. In case his consciousness threatens to go black again, he procured a few of the vials of that silvery liquid from the Coven with the intent to make a quick emergency bond. He has someone in mind he feels he can trust above all others here, someone he has already shared that intimacy with once before just to test. And to help not only himself, but to help control others who are less prepared, he makes sure to keep some magical items with him for his fellow monsters who are driven into a corner. It's not out of any sense of altruism, but something that needs to be done to mitigate the collective damage they are all capable of unleashing upon each other.
However, things don't quite go as planned. Before he can seek her out, something powerful snaps in Soren's brain. It charges through him like heaven itself directed a thunderbolt crackling with divine knowledge. All of a sudden, his senses are tuned into the faint, indistinct, but primal understanding: Ike is here.
And from that moment on, he changes into something else entirely: an entity bound to that singular purpose. But the longer he doesn't have him, the more unchained he becomes. As his desperation mounts, his reason descends.
3.NIGHTMARES
[[ HI! Making decent, workable top-levels is a challenge for me and I am fairly unsatisfied with my half-conscious attempts, so I ENCOURAGE asking for custom prompts that are tailored to your character/what you want out of an interaction! I know a lot of these prompts are kind of vicious/antagonistic in nature, so like... if you want something more low-key, feel free to ask. I may also whip up more open-ended promptswhen my brain isn't oozing from my ears if the notion strikes me, either in the comments below or by editing more into my post. You can best reach me via paingel#4140 or just old-fashioned PMs, but if plurk is more your style I'm at ![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
wingything. Also, you can use action-style tags ans I'll sync up with your style. I just prefer prose. ]]
When: Late Iuneril
Where: OH, AROUND AEFENGLOM...
What: Event stuff; more moon stuff; maybe catchall stuff; tl; dr this boy is a disaster...
Warnings: violence, body transformation, blood, and others if/when they come up
Soren is a rare sight on the streets. However, as the moons swell fuller, he's compelled to keep out of his usual secluded haunts in fits of increasingly undeniable agitation.
He's not one for festivities. He doesn't care for the dirty looks and mischief of the townsfolk, either. He also doesn't care for the way they gulp and turn away after they peer into the his scarlet eyes like they're a bad omen. Like his very existence is nothing but an affliction...
Superstitions turn humans into heartless cowards. Resentment boils in his aching heart.
But his heart aches for something beyond his various cloisters. And once the moons reach their peak, that ache manifests into a sort of crazed longing. He senses someone; he's sure of it. Even if it's just an impression, even if he's only deluded, the faintest intimation of that presence drives his grief into action. He must find him, whatever the cost, whoever he must cross, even if he has to tear this city down brick by brick on his hunt for him.
1.BEFORE THE MOONS ARE FULL
a. A-HUNTING WE WILL GO (cw: violence and blood)
If it weren't for that anxious itch, Soren would never participate in a festivity like this. But as his mood changes, he finds himself desperate to try anything to untangle his frantic nerves. He's better prepared than the last full moons, but nothing he does seems to counteract the restlessness that possesses him. This maze exercise might prove effective, especially given the understanding that monsters who 'fight' their instincts often find themselves having a harder time controlling themselves under the lunar sway. As much as he detests this acknowledgment that he is slipping into the mindset of some brainless, bloodthirsty beast, he humbles himself by joining in on the "fun". And the stench of slaughter blooming from within the overgrown walls does a fine job arresting his heightened senses.
Maybe your character is going to be paired up with this sourpuss? You might as well say hi, since he's not likely to make the first move. Or maybe you run into him while he's on the hunt for some game...? He could be cornering some unlucky livestock, ready to pounce on its weak spot. Or he's already ripping into flesh with his sharpened claws, sending feathers or wool flying in cloudy tufts. Nasty! But it's only now that he realizes how hungry he's been... Or maybe... he's been at it for a while, and now he's decided to pursue you.
(Don't worry; you're not on the menu.)
He's a small, stealthy little hunter, and has a keen sense of direction to boot. Before you're even aware of it, the force of his (tiny) body might pummel into your character's backside with unexpected strength to pin you down. Gotcha!! That's right — he's going for ambushes!
...or maybe, your character managed to retaliate in time? Or perhaps... they're the hunter? Good luck; Soren makes for some crafty quarry! He won't be so easy for just anyone to catch.
b. KLEPTOMANIA
Physically, Soren hasn't changed much. Even with the keratin growth of his nails into sharp points, he has simply taken to grooming himself more rigorously so that they remain at respectable lengths. However, they do tend to accelerate at the height of the moons' cycle... Perhaps most striking, however, besides the few scales showing on his hands, are his elfin ears. Unseen are a few... behavioral quirks. One of them is an odd penchant for keeping things, and never for any practical reason. It's purely sentimental, and always when the mood strikes him. Once it does, he has to have it.
He's carrying one of his prizes through the shopping district, admiring its radiant blue hue, when a gust of wind steals it from between his fingers and carries it aloft. He snatches at bare air and watches with a hole punched into his heart as it flies far from his reach.
"Ah!"
But when he really wants something, he is never one to give up, even if he has to shove at the crowd and make a scene just to reclaim his treasure. The wind sure is wily! Where will its whims take this feather? On the top of a stall too tall for a shortie like Soren to reach? Will it find a new home in your character's fur? Slip into their belongings? Or somewhere else? You guide the wind, for it is beyond Soren's control!
FULL MOON
The last full moons had been a rude awakening for Soren. He had to come to terms at last that he was shedding his humanity for some grotesque unknown. It's observable that other offworld monsters have been undergoing their changes at varying rates; and his have been slower than most, it seems. It would be foolish not to prepare for the next inevitable night self-control slips from him. To abate the tremendous growing pains, he takes potions. In the few days preceding Lithra, he's discovered that he needs to imbibe them with more frequency. It helps that he got a friendly delivery from someone who's looking out for him... Chasing the pain away does nothing to banish his twisting mind, however, and the unbearable anxiety, the impulsiveness to wreak havoc to match his heartache.
But he knows what helps. In case his consciousness threatens to go black again, he procured a few of the vials of that silvery liquid from the Coven with the intent to make a quick emergency bond. He has someone in mind he feels he can trust above all others here, someone he has already shared that intimacy with once before just to test. And to help not only himself, but to help control others who are less prepared, he makes sure to keep some magical items with him for his fellow monsters who are driven into a corner. It's not out of any sense of altruism, but something that needs to be done to mitigate the collective damage they are all capable of unleashing upon each other.
However, things don't quite go as planned. Before he can seek her out, something powerful snaps in Soren's brain. It charges through him like heaven itself directed a thunderbolt crackling with divine knowledge. All of a sudden, his senses are tuned into the faint, indistinct, but primal understanding: Ike is here.
And from that moment on, he changes into something else entirely: an entity bound to that singular purpose. But the longer he doesn't have him, the more unchained he becomes. As his desperation mounts, his reason descends.
2.OBSESSION (cw: body horror, violence, possibly blood)
It doesn't matter who you are. If you're in the streets, in the Coven, in the barracks, in the brothels, Soren will dig his claws into whatever he can grab onto someone's person and yank with astonishing strength for a young man of such slight frame, baring his broken teeth and boring the fierce, reptilian incandescence of his eyes into yours.
"Where is he?" he growls tremulously. "Ike... I can FEEL him..."
More dusky scales have traveled up his forearms, and a black spine dipped in red at the ends protrudes on each arm like the beginning of fins trying to fan outward. There is a bilateral hunch in both shoulder blades where his skeleton tries to break through his very skin. He looks rather like he's coming undone, which suits him. Something much greater than himself feels like it's trying to erupt beneath the runty body that can scarcely contain the ancient power lurking within. Even giving him an answer he doesn't like seems like it might set him off...
3.NIGHTMARES
a. SENSELESS SELF
The chilling, permeating dread of the city and the Coven does not reach the Looking-Glass House, but it is here that Soren's heart stiffens into ice.
His mirror. It is broken.
It speaks to him in symbols, in meanings. This mirror he had begun to cherish like a worshipper kneeling at an altar, but for him it was the last palpable connection he had to home, a lock without a key. He no longer... feels Ike like he did beneath the moon's sway, and that in and of itself is an ill portent. Gazing upon the cracks in the mirror fills him with that feeling of severance even more. He feels worse here than he did in the streets.
And in between the cracks, a boy who has sprouted dark red draconic wings accented with black, strikingly similar to those belonging to the rare black dragons of Tellius, peers back at him forlornly. Lost, without a home. Without an identity, one he bound intricately with the man he ached to see beyond some reminiscent scrollwork patterns. Now that he's lost sense of him, staring at a dragon boy with unsettling coincidences of body parts in the mirror of a house in the dream of a frightening world he doesn't belong in, he really doesn't know where he stands. He touches the glass. It's just glass.
His lip quivers.
Someone else is coming. It pulls him back into the present, however much he longs to be somewhere else. He cannot while away his time wallowing in loss when he should be focused on experiencing one of those shared dreams everyone had been speaking of. In his profound desolation, he's unusually drawn to the companionship of someone who can relate even, in the mere sense that they share the same bewildering hardships. He treads toward the figure, trembling in the cold his new scales are sensitive to.
"Did you find your mirror broken, too?" he whispers on a threadbare voice.
[[ HI! Making decent, workable top-levels is a challenge for me and I am fairly unsatisfied with my half-conscious attempts, so I ENCOURAGE asking for custom prompts that are tailored to your character/what you want out of an interaction! I know a lot of these prompts are kind of vicious/antagonistic in nature, so like... if you want something more low-key, feel free to ask. I may also whip up more open-ended prompts
full moon, 2
the jerk to his wrist forces him to a halt; the bag of groceries swinging from francel's elbow falls from the crook of his arm into his palm. at once, the young lord looks into soren's eyes and does not like what he sees.
the truth is that francel, too, might have become a dragon like this — crazed and feral. he has come close enough to this sort of panicked desperation to recognize soren's behavior as a kind of moon-induced madness, which is all the more reason — not without a twinge of sympathy — he immediately steels his nerves for a fight, wrist tensing in soren's grip.]
I know no man by that name.
[he speaks with a calm and commanding demeanor that — he thinks — aymeric might possibly approve of, if only he were around to see it.]
Pray unhand me.
OH BOY
his grip tightens around his wrist, the opposite of francel's request. he sinks another hand into him, tugging at his shirt with enough force to make this tall stranger buckle and bend to him. his words squeeze from clenched teeth.]
Blue hair, a powerful physique dedicated to the sword... Blunt and stoic on the outside, but kind and passionate within. Have you seen this man?
:eyes: !!!!!!
still. there's no chance at all that haurchefant survived and went on to become some man named ike, and in any case, francel hasn't even met anyone named ike here in aefenglom. he tenses his wrist in soren's grip, worrying to himself that this man — this boy? — could very well snap the bones in twain. he remembers a little bit of his training in swordplay; he thinks he still remembers how to twist his hand sharply enough to escape a grip to his wrist. but what good would that do? that might just upset soren even further.
his mind whirling, calculating, francel decides not to press the issue further. he remains outwardly calm, though his heart is beginning to pound. he has the advantage in height, perhaps build, but in his current state, can he take another dragon in a fight? a moon-touched dragon, at that? soren is tearing the sheet wrapped around his body, and they stand nearly nose-to-nose.]
...I have not seen him, good ser. I would be willing to help you look. Is he a friend of yours?
no subject
Oh, yes... Yes, he's... the most important person... The only one who truly matters.
[his 'turn-it-down-a-notch' switch is woefully broken.]
And he's here... I... I need him... [and then, his eyes narrow. with the sophistication of his keen mind melted into an unreasonable, indistinct mess, he can only access his lower, more instinctual wits.] But you're not willing to do anything for me... Only compelled to. [anger and violence swirl inside the vortex of his hazy mind, a dark hatred for francel as much as anyone else who isn't Ike.]
no subject
Yes, well, perhaps if I were not being implicitly threatened, I would not be so compelled.
[...he must... have a death wish...]
no subject
...it's quite impressive, and maybe a bit absurd to behold. a scrawny young man with the build of a boy scarcely over five feet tall throwing a tall, slender elezen well over a foot taller than him with little effort.]
You're just like anyone else! [he advances upon him, pouncing, hanging off the already ripped fabric of his garment like a cat, eyes radiating a light of their own like embers spurred by wind.] Why should you help me? Nothing's in it for you! [he swipes at his face, more like a slap than a scratch, but the impact is great and his wicked nails are still involved.] Just keep looking the other way, then! While I... suffer!!
[too good... this is so satisfying...! he can barely hold onto the words that tumble straight from his gut without being processed by his mind, but his animal brain can't get enough of ripping into this outlet.]
no subject
the young lord himself is not surprised. it is a little-known fact that francel is quite capable of taking a beating, and in this case, he doesn't even flinch at the sting of pain. his mind is whirling, however. he knows himself well, and so he has an inkling of what sort of madness has afflicted soren with regard to ike; he is reasonably certain that no one save ike would be able to talk soren out of his feral anger.
so: what is he to do? fortunately, although he and soren are likely of a similar build, francel has the advantage of height, and a slightly larger mass besides. it is easy for him to catch soren by the wrist, speaking to him firmly, as if to a child.]
Listen to me. I have no intention of leaving you to suffer. Take hold of yourself! You are better than the twin moons!
good lord soren calm down you little freak...
it's like the meaning of francel's words have been diluted. all he hears is his own suffering, his own rage, his own desire. and then he feels that presence, and he aches even more.]
Ike! [he pushes harder into francel, digging his hand into flesh as well as tattering clothes, the heels of his boots into him. his sight is an indistinct haze, reptilian pupils almost shaking as he sees beyond francel.] Forget the moons, everything else! I need him! If I cannot have him, I'll rend you... these buildings, the continent itself! I'll tear it all asunder just to be by his side!!
[the level-headed strategist of the greil mercenaries is certainly beyond reason... he howls and sinks his teeth into francel's wrist in another bid for freedom.]
i love and support him
[francel finishes that swear under his breath, hissing softly as soren's teeth break skin over his wrist; awkwardly, he tries to block a couple of soren's kicks with his own longer legs, the effect of which is that he'll have some nasty bruises to his thighs and knees in the morning, and any passersby unlucky enough to come across the two of them might think the two dragons were locked in some bizarre otherworlder dance.]
He's not here, damn it! This won't bring him to you!
[mentally, francel thinks to himself that if he ever comes across this "ike," he'll have to punch the man just for putting him through this. for a wild moment francel considers biting back — but then he realizes with a jolt that for all soren's size and anger, his own transformation is closer to completion. francel has his own claws, his own fangs, fully developed. if he took a bite out of soren —
no, i'm not going to do that. francel's grip holds steady in spite of the sting of pain from soren's teeth. blood is running down both his face and his arm now, even parts of his chest where soren's free hand tore into his skin, but francel swipes blindly for soren's other wrist, trying to hold the red-eyed man in place.]
content warning: tooth loss
HE'S HERE!! [he tries to wrench himself free to no avail.] YOU LIE!! HE'S HERE! AND I WILL FIND HIM!
no subject
soren is out of control. presumably, he doesn't have a bond. the coven encourages witch-monster bonds, ostensibly because one party must transfer magic to the other, and monsters do not produce magic on their own — but monster-monster bonds are not disallowed, which means it must be capable for one monster to transfer magic to another. theoretically, then, if francel has latent magic from his bond with aymeric, then it should be possible for francel to give some of that magic to soren. but will it work if they don't have a bond between them?
only one way to find out.
how does it feel when aymeric tries to calm me...?
with his eyes closed, bleeding and still trying to keep soren calm and pinned beneath him, francel tries to imagine it — a font of magic within him, flowing through his hands and into soren's core...]
no subject
but soon enough, and perhaps in part from minor exhaustion and growing futility, some presence of mind shutters open for him. the feral glaze of his vibrant eyes dims. some tiny point of his consciousness hones in on his circumstances, and his gut plunges in horror. he still doesn't understand it. what's going on? he's terrified, lost, in search of someone he feels especially in this moment that he cannot live without. what has he done? he still doesn't know. he only knows what he's capable of doing if left unchecked. he barely even sees who's above him, a graceful silhouette with fine-pointed ears blocking out the ghostly light of the moons, but he knows that he's been pushed past the threshold of self-control. stirred to the vestiges of any clarity he has left, he chokes out a final, desperate plea.]
Please...! Knock... me out... I-I don't care how...
no subject
francel's grip on soren's wrists falters as the mage makes his request. his expression turns solemn, resigned, as he ignores his own aches and pains long enough to process what soren is asking for.]
...As you wish.
[he has had too much experience, himself, with taking blows to the head to attempt to deliver one — instead, he opts for the next safest option, which is in itself not entirely safe. praying that his control is measured and that he doesn't somehow crush the man's windpipe, francel locates soren's carotid and applies, as best he can manage, a hard pressure — firm enough that perhaps the other dragon will soon fall unconscious.]
goodnight, sweet prince...
flights of angels, etc etc
— but, after a moment, he realizes that it's fine. soren is unconscious, yes, but his body soon resumes its normal breathing, its normal blood flow. francel pulls his shaking hand away from soren's neck, and then looks around the dark alleyway, wondering what he should do.
the twin moons above are still full.
after a while it occurs to him that the safest thing might be to bring him to the coven — there's always witches working there, and they'll take care of the otherworlders, especially the ones who aren't coping well with monster changes. before that, however, francel needs to make sure that soren won't wake up and hurt anyone further. he remembers a few things about tying knots from his onetime training as a knight; he tears more strips of cloth from his tattered robe, using it to bind soren's wrists and ankles securely. he ought to gag soren too, objectively, but he figures that won't be necessary. the coven can figure something out with magic if it comes to that.
mercifully, soren is small, so it's an easy thing, once he's trussed up, for francel to lift him, and take him to the coven. with the smaller dragon secure in his arms, francel brushes a lock of hair out of the man's face, and then starts to walk.]