[open] on rocks i dreamt of where we stepped

[scowlish]

Who: onni hotakainen; open
When: throughout aguril
Where: various
What: catch-all and quests for the month
Warnings: tba in subject lines



Prompts in the comments, marked open or closed. Hit me up by PM, discord (coffee #6251), plurk (caffemisto), or with a comment on my cr meme post if you want a specialized starter or to plot in advance!

I'm writing prompts in brackets style but if you prefer prose feel free, I'll respond in kind.

Prompt Links.

i. building supplies: scavenging wood to build a sauna, various places in the city

ii. picnic serenades: wandering in the gardens, offering to play music for picnickers

iii. out of the city: general medical care and fighting in the outer city

Comments

cw: minor blood

[silentsavant]

[ Soren studies the post-apocalyptic fantasy forest man, pupils dilating and retracting as he focuses on this stranger. He'd noticed the witch before, but he never attracted much of his attention, fading into the background as he surveyed the rest of the outer city and kept clear of anyone who so much as coughed. It was easy when others tended to avoid him with as much scrutiny. A dragon is easy to infect. That's why he never goes out of his way to help those on the outskirts, only visit from time to time to see for himself how things change — even if he's equipped with protective wards and clothing.

But he's observant enough to suppose that this man's different from the others at a fundamental level. He can't be a hundred percent certain without confirmation, but he struck him as an outsider like him, a Mirrorbound. He has a good sense for that. And for medical attention, he'd rather seek out one of his own "kind", so to speak. He points to the dirty nick on his brow, frazzled but trying his best to swallow it down and managing good success on that front. ]

Yes, please. And if it looks infected, please don't hesitate to let me know.

[ Thankfully for the both of them, it's just a bleeding impact wound, like something rough had been hurled at him. No Cwyld. ]

[scowlish]

[A lot of people as new to this place as Onni and from different sorts of worlds might scoff at a dragon worrying about a tiny nick above the brow, Onni comes from a place where even the tiniest wounds can be absolutely deadly in the worst possible way. And so, even if the dragon is holding back his panic decently well, Onni reacts as if it's a serious issue, especially since he knows enough to know that dragons are particularly susceptible to the Cwyld.

Leaning in, he takes a close look at the wound, lifting a hand to push back a few strands of hair so he can see it clearly.]

Hm.

[Letting go of his hair, Onni steps back and beckons with one hand, jogging back toward the supplies. Over his shoulder, he responds, realizing he hadn't actually given the dragon an answer about the infection.]

It doesn't look infected, from what I can see. But once I clean it, I'll know for sure.

[Another pause, and then-]

It might hurt a little.

[silentsavant]

[The suppressed anxiety swelling within him depresses at the disheveled stranger's primary assessment, but he's still holding his breath until they can absolutely confirm he's in the clear. Soren's face never shifts to display any sign of balking at being warned of glancing pain.]

I can handle it.

[It's just a gut feeling at this point, but Onni gives off the impression that he can be relied upon to at least help him out of this small bind. Once he's taken care of, he intends to leave the Outer City. It's proving to be too much for his sensitivities. More so than usual. Almost foreboding...]

[scowlish]

[Onni believes the dragon when he says that he can handle the pain of getting his wound treated. It isn't just because Onni is an honest person and therefore generally takes people at their word, but also because he seems composed and stoic enough to be able to handle a bit of pain. Those are both traits that Onni generally finds enjoyable in other people.

So he makes a little 'mhm' of acknowledgement and goes back to get the medical supplies, unpacking them methodically and then putting some disinfectant onto a small cotton pad with a sort of easy familiarity that suggests he's been caring for small wounds for a very long time. Lifting a hand, he carefully pulls back the dragon's fringe and holds the pad against the cut for a moment before dabbing carefully. Putting the pad aside, he wets another with disinfectant and gently slides it across the wound a few times to carefully draw some flecks of dirt out of it. Squinting a little, he puts the pad down and lifts a thumb, very carefully stretching the skin near the wound so he can clearly see whether it's clean and uninfected.]

Mm. Looks good to me.

[silentsavant]

[Soren scarcely protests during the procedure, naturally wincing as his cut is treated to stinging and the light but necessary abrasion of cleaning. When Onni is finished inspecting the mark, he touches the spot just next to it, then cards his fingers through his hair to put it back into place.]

Thank you.

[The dragon surveys their darkening surroundings again. He can't help it; he's on edge. The denizens aren't much different, casting wary glances their way, sometimes even in contempt. A chill skirts past them, blowing frosty air from the Wilde through the slummy streets. Soren shivers. He directs his attention that way, pupils constricting. It feels heavy. Ominous. It has been feeling this way, like something is portended to happen. But Soren is rather sensitive to these things.]

I've got... a bad feeling. You've noticed it, haven't you? The people of the Outer City seem to be at unease. More than usual, I mean. They're not usually this spiteful toward us outsiders, either.

[As if to confirm this, screams erupt from further out toward the edge of the dilapidated clusters of buildings. Soren whirls to face it, wings unfolding, body tensing for confrontation. Following the cries of men, women, and children, a phantasmal, whinnying shriek pierces the biting air. Terror-stricken humans and monsters alike flee like roaches being exterminated. Soren's eyes flash to Onni with urgency.]

I've heard that sound before. It's a type of hideous, flesh-eating and grudge-bearing horse demon. But they aren't supposed to be found around here...

[Another hair-raising shriek rings through the streets, this time closer, the clop of trampling hooves growing louder...]

[scowlish]

[When the dragon pushes his hair back into place, Onni clucks his tongue and pulls out an adhesive bandage. Smearing a bit of antiseptic ointment across the wound, he puts the bandage over it quickly before a protest can be mounted.]

If you don't keep it clean, it'll get another kind of infection.

[His voice is grave as he says it, and then he goes about packing the supplies away again. As the darkness starts to fall, Onni can feel it too, the prickling at the back of his neck, senses well-honed from a lifetime of being afraid of the things in the dark alerting him to a chilling presence. He may not be able to hear them here the way he can at home, but like the senses adjusting to fill the gap when one is lost, his instincts have gotten a bit stronger.]

I feel it, yes. Something is weird.

[Narrowing his eyes, which are so pale they almost glow slightly in the falling darkness, he scans their surroundings, and a chill goes down his spine when he hears the screams. It takes only a few seconds for him to have left the medical supplies, pulled his bow from his back, drawn and nocked an arrow from his quiver, eyes still scanning the area around them. When he hears that horrible whinnying sound, he flinches slightly and draws the arrow back, the feathered end of it against his cheek.]

It reminds me of something I encountered at home.

[His voice is low and serious, even though his heart is beating hard suddenly and he can feel that prickle of panic at the back of his neck. He listens to the dragon's information and makes a soft 'hm' in his throat.]

I hope it's nothing like the one I ran into at home. That one was an intangible spirit, and after I fought it I was asleep for a long time. Hopefully arrows will be good against this one.

[And then it's coming toward them and Onni's eyes widen, he lets out a little gasp of air in spite of himself. No matter what he's gone through since he left Iceland, he still has that instinctive will to survive, that fear of death that won't leave him.]

It looks like it's found us. Should I shoot?

[silentsavant]

[There is precious little time to divulge any more detailed information when the foul, one-eyed skinned fusion of beast and man gallops toward them single-mindedly. It would be next to impossible to decapitate anything with an arrow, but they might as well make use of his prepared attack if it can buy them even a few second's worth of time.]

Legs!

[To slow its advance. Even if the trajectory of Onni's arrow flew true to the mark, the Nuckelavee swipes its apelike arm to intercept the shot, allowing its forearm to get punctured in lieu of its powerful equine legs. It takes a fantastic leap...

Soren cannot take to the air in time, especially not while trying to rescue Onni. Wasting not a second more, he shoves himself before the witch as though to take the blow for him even though he's much smaller, steps forth a few steps, and in an eruption of bluish white light, Soren's compact little body unfurls like a bud revealing a vast bloom contained within in fast motion. He grows wide and especially tall between Onni and the creature until he's well over ten times his own size, and replacing the long-haired boy is a dragon about the size of an elephant and standing erect.

Don't worry, Onni. He minds his long-ass tail.

The Nuckelavee's hooves collide with his chest and it seizes hold of his collarbone plating with its injured side and snatches his jaw in its massive grip, clamping his mouth shut like a muzzle. Soren grunts against the assault and catches its wrists in his own grip, which rivals even the Nuckalevee's. They grapple; the Nuckelavee shrieks and stomps and Soren weathers the blows, though it's not easy. He speaks to Onni without even needing to open his mouth, his voice seemingly disembodied as though it's delivered through some sort of psychic means.]

It can only be... defeated by beheading either the "horse" or its "rider"...

[The horse end of the equation starts trying to bite at Soren's neck.]

[scowlish]

[The thing moves so fast, fast enough that when Onni lets his arrow fly it manages to swipe it out of the air. Despite knowing there's not much of a chance that he'll be able to do it fast enough, he still reaches for the next arrow in a fluid motion. Time seems to crawl as the thing barrels toward him and he draws the arrow back, eyes narrowing, adrenaline thrumming through his system, his heart beating so hard it feels like it'll burst...

But before he can loose the arrow he's drawn, the boy he'd been helping with a cut on his forehead shoves his way in front of him and abruptly, with an intensely bright flash of light, he transforms into a massive dragon. Onni lets out a gasp, and takes a few quick steps backward, releasing the draw on his bow with the arrow still held between his fingers, eyes wide.

It's an impressive sight, there's no doubt about that - the creature grappling with the dragon, its hand holding closed the dragon's mouth, both of them stomping and clawing and shoving, and then Onni hears that voice telling him it needs to be beheaded. For a moment, he's completely still, frozen in place, holding his bow and arrow loosely in front of him. Then he takes a deep breath and puts both away and draws his spear instead.

The bow and arrow aren't the weapons for this fight. The spear isn't either, and Onni feels a moment of regret for not arming himself with a sword, even if it's not his strongest weapon by quite a wide margin. What he has will have to do, though. Taking a deep breath, he charges forward, teeth grit with some combination of desperation and terror, and skirts the dragon's tail, the flailing limbs of the horse creature, reacting on instinct driven by adrenaline to the sight of the horse-shaped head going for the dragon's throat. Jumping forward with a grunt of effort, he drives forward with the spear held in front of him, head turned to the side in an instinctive effort to protect his exposed face from any splatters of ichor that might come from the blow he's about to land, and slams the spear hard into the side of the creature's neck. He makes two quick jerking movements, attempting to withdraw the spear to spill blood, but he can't get it out and loses the courage he needs to stay close enough to keep trying. The thing's jaws snap at him just as he darts backward, chest heaving with the energy expenditure.

Scuttling backward, he gets a few feet of clearance, enough to stay out of the range of attack or the radius of any limbs or other appendages, and gathers his focus. The spell he's thinking of isn't one that he's had much practice with, but it's the only way he can think of to mimic a blade that might work to behead the thing. And as afraid as he is, the chanting comes naturally to him, his voice confident and slightly hoarser than his usual voice, slightly louder and deeper while he channels the magic through the poetic words he speaks almost without thinking, appealing to his fear and his need to protect others and his sense of self-preservation.

Hopefully, Soren will be able to hold that thing off long enough for him to produce the fire blade. Hopefully he will be able to produce it.]

[silentsavant]

[It's a struggle even for the dragon, which speaks to the power and tenacity of the beast. He tries and tries in vain to wrench his neck free, for his best weapon comes from there, and if he could send a blast of breath at such close quarters, it might end this once and for all. But the Nuckelavee seems to recognize this. When the spear plunges into its equine neck, it unhinges a broken, gurgling shriek, releases hold of Soren's scapular plate but doesn't dare relent on his sealed jaws.

No font of blood, ichor, or any liquid erupts from the wound. It is as though he'd aimed his spear at a bundle of clumped straw. The rider twists its fleshless head to glower at Onni, its eye aglow with pointed malice. It bares its gummy, gnarled teeth.

Then, it snatches its hand away from Soren, grabs the spear, and rips it straight from its neck, aims it at Onni...

But Soren quickly snatches the wrist back, thwarting the attack.]