bravelyrunsaway | spontaneously there was a post

spontaneously there was a post

There were even scenarios! They go something like...

Bodyguard: He's both a great and terrible bodyguard, but hey, that's... half the fun?
We're on Horror Island: Don't worry! He's got this handled! ... as he runs away...
Stuck in the Snow: Not as much of a problem when you can turn into a wolf and... still steal the blankets. Wait???
Getting the Treasure from the Dragon's Cave: Dragons aren't real, right?
Set it in some Random Gamescape: Just because we can???

... No one said these were good setups, go WILDCARD or hit me up with a character/prompt/or idea and I can spin wheels on the bus that go round and round.

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[He had a bodyguard. He had a bodyguard because...

He was carrying an important letter. Anyone with eyes knew the sort. The important kind. The special kind. The kind that if it didn't get delivered wars were going to start and lots of people were going to die. That kind. And while Zelos was good, inhumanly good in fact, he'd been ingloriously cursed recently so.

No magic. No angelic copouts. It was sword skills and a whole lot of praying.

And. You know. The bodyguard. Standing in the audience hall of the castle because of course the King had had to order this.]

Alright. First rule: three feet at all times. Second rule: don't block my field of view of the hunnies. Third rule: act an whole lot like you're a block of wood and we'll get along great. So! Ready to go~?

[Wood didn't talk, but details.]

[ Rule one: pretend to pay attention to the things your coinpurse thinks is important. Once you're away from official eyes, the game changes, because that's inevitably what happens. In this case, being told to heel by someone ordered around by top brass like a king means that if he'd had other ways of getting the money without brushing anywhere this high up the totem pole, he'd gone for the option. Licyn was in a tight spot, Rillin had stormed off to gods knew where, and his only chance learning that where meant sucking up as much as possible to the people with connections to the people with information.

He needed Rillin. There was nothing romantic or even sweet about it: Rillin himself was, by most estimates, an abnormality for wolfen and human psychologies, but Licyn wasn't. He needed a pack, needed the stability.

... Then again, he supposed stable wasn't the word for it, but hey, who cared? He's just here to watch the messenger. Meaning he's looking Zelos over (... very clearly checking him out), though it's more for an evaluation on stance, build, and movement over anything else. Zelos finishes his list, and Licyn smiles, a slow curl of his lips upward as he half closes his eyes, giving Zelos a lazy, two finger salute. ]

Like a block of morning wood, let the attractive people have at you, and find a length of rope to tie us together. Convoluted, but if it keeps you happy... Lead on, fearless messenger.

[ Paperboy. ]

[Wow? Brushing his hair over his shoulder Zelos smiles winningly.]

If I'm lucky you'll be a corpse on the road before we're a day into this journey. [LOOK AT THIS WINNING SMILE] Let's think happy thoughts, hmmm?

[When he'd said he didn't want a bodyguard he'd really meant he didn't want a bodyguard. Even he wouldn't go against the King though.

Probably.

Leading the way out of the hall he didn't even ask for a name. He should. Because this guy was going to be around until Zelos found a plausible reason to ditch him. But fuck that. Outside of the castle it's an easy walk down the main boulevard to the city gates. Not something Zelos would normally use, but now that he has an hanger on he might as well be official about this.

And, as much of a dick as he is, he's not going to take some untested interloper down through the slums. At least on the main boulevard no one would dare make an attack. Of course, every single wannabe assassin will know their exact location and their route now. And once they're outside the gates there will be no guards to make any jumped up self-important thug make a try. This is going to be troublesome...]

[ The slums are what he better knows, Zelos. People are a lot more survive by the skin of their teeth honest and backstabby where they're dying and starving: been there, done that, eked his way back out again.

Those attacks are more honestly bought off or desperate than the rest they'll be facing, but hey, no one asked his opinion. It makes his skin crawl thinking about obviously projecting where they are, but it's not a bad plan as they're leaving.

Or it is, and he's just going with it for now. Not until they're outside the gates, heading down the main road and into the countryside, at which point he opts to mention: ]

How familiar are you with these roads?

[ Are they mounted, are they on foot, doesn't really matter to Licyn, but he's curious about the familiarity with details... ]

( Consciousness refuses to leave, even when he wishes it would. It's difficult for restraints to work on him long term, between form changing and his ability to heal, the way he's twisted wrists to escape bonds many times before. These, however, had magic: magic he felt like near burning heat from a fire at his wrists, his ankles. Like blood, trickling from the strange contraption hooked into his arm, feeding the pattern below the egg that settled monolithic before and beneath where he was hung against the cave wall.

Grunting, he shifts himself back, as far as he can with the chains and the wall to brace him. He can barely stand, up on his toes, less because of pointed malice, more because of poor logistics. He was shorter than they expected. More magical, based on the surprise on the face of that magic worker, whatever school or group they came from. He didn't recognise their clothing as unique, hadn't seen any symbols on their neck or otherwise to indicate an affiliation.

Nobles were storm-struck fools. It's why he didn't like working with them, why he stuck with merchants and other folk who had to work, who played their funds because at some point, they'd had their hands involved in its cultivation. Not more honest, few people were genuinely honest without also being god touched or aligned or naive, but easier to predict.

He licks his lips, dry and cracked. Shoves the inadequate darkness back, eyes dragging from the egg, like carved granite, to the lit alcove by the entrance to this particular carved out cavern. Air, fresh, teased him even now when it flirted through the cavern, away again, still too distant to tell him he's close to any way out.

Even if only for spirits and ghosts.

Thirst pulls at his thoughts, and another dry lick of his lips has him wondering if he could survive drinking from himself; the thought makes him shudder. He's only glad Rillin had nothing to do with this job, that he'd sent his senior partner, his pack, away to that farm, to see if it would work as the big man had always hoped.

If he has to die in this lightning-struck place, then he can at least know that much. Even as he hopes the Storm takes every last searing fool who filed through these caverns, messing with magic and myth, deluding themselves into the belief they had anything like control over what was coming.

His voice creaks when he speaks. )

I know you're there, love. ( A different scent to his recent tormentors. He doubts charm will be any more effective than it has, but he'll be as annoying as possible. ) You don't happen to have the water with you, do you?

[ She's not present when they bring the sacrifice in, she hears about it from one of the other chambermaids of her Ladyship, who titters with delight - as if she's talking about dinner plans, and not about the loss of life. It's probably a good thing, in hindsight, that she was not there, not that she would've been welcomed either way.

The noble family that her family sold her off in the service of when she was still young has many things to speak against it: they don't believe their women are worthy of a seat at the table, they think that magical talents are something you must be born into for generations instead of something to teach yourself in a few years, and there's the dragon egg and human sacrifice bit.

If she had been present, she probably would've stirred up trouble before she'd had a time to form an actual plan. She's been thinking about this for months now, biding her time and braiding hair and giggling about future marriage arragements like she wasn't aware of what laid beneath the mountain.

It's been a few days since the lord of the castle boasted having captured the last piece for his puzzle of power, or something like that, and Hermione has used her time well. Two waterskins, two thick woolen cloaks, a potion that will replenish vitality within seconds of being consumed, and a satchel with all the potion ingredients she doesn't want to leave behind.

She's snuck inside the cave, sorted her way through the winding tunnels, and reached the room where the sacrifice is being held all without being noticed, even by the guards - this part, primarily because she put them to sleep with a well-timed spell. ]

Good, you're awake. We don't have much time. [ She slips into view of the man that her patrons (her owners?) have strung up so crudely, and takes out the dagger at her hip. ] Stand still for one moment - and don't kill me, I'm here to help.

[ There's not much time for pleasantries. She cuts the rope that holds him up in mid-air first, and then the bindings around his wrists and legs, with her magic-infused blade. ]

Here. This will replenish the blood you've lost - are you strong enough to carry that egg out?

[ Because let us be honest, if they leave without the dragon egg, all they will have achieved is to delay them and irritate them. She wants them to fail - and for that dragon to roam free, whenever it may hatch. ]

( Licyn blinks, slow and lazy from the start from his own state, but the smile that follows when she sneaks closer with the dagger pulled off her hip is enough to almost make him laugh. His throat proves too dry for it, and while he could summon up the final burst of energy to snap her neck if there'd been a point for it, he was weak enough to want to conserve energy. Even as she's cutting him down, his limbs numbed and his ability to catch himself momentarily left uncertain, he only stumbles for a moment before steadying out.

The effective change is near immediate, even before he glances at the potion offered over. Licyn doesn't bother hiding the way his lips pull back from his teeth, or the dry snarl that catches in his throat and turns into a coughing fit. His body wants to heal, and while a shift would make it far faster, it does what it can with the ropes removed. He knows too well what that potion, what her blade, what the quietness from the guards mean, and his skin crawls at the knowledge. Magic. Storm take him, but it had to be. )

Even without whatever's in that, love, I can.

( He doesn't want to, but that's not what she asked. He reluctantly holds out his hand for the potion, grimacing. )

What'd you do with the guards?

[ It's the second time he's called her that - love - and she's noticing it's a trend. His mannerism, possibly stemming from wherever he is. He snarled at her, and at the potion, and she can't imagine he holds much love for her right now.

Which is fine. He can keep his mannerisms, as long as he helps her steal the egg, and they escape together. She can make her way through the world alone, later. (This isn't part of the plan, but Hermione can learn to improvise the same way she learned to make blood-replenishing potions.) ] I put them to sleep.

[ And yes, they were knocked out with magic, which means that when they wake up they will know - this will be easily traced back to Hermione. She has high hopes she's far from this place when that happens. ] The master of the house has plans for you for tomorrow, there's a full moon. Let's not be here for those plans, hmm?

[ She does something foolish, next. Hands him the potion, and turns her back to him, to get the egg. She crouches down, sensing around the plinth it's laid on for any sort of magical trap, barely managing to disguise a snort of disappointment. Nothing - nothing at all? - incredible, the ego of that man. He truly thought five guards and some chains would be enough?

Honestly, this poor planning is another reason he deserves his plan to fail. ]

Alright, let's get going before any of them wake up - I know my way through the tunnels, I can take us to the forest exit.

( The dry laughter that has so little humour in it again, but he grunts, downing the potion with a wrinkled nose and the careful awareness that leaving samples of anything behind isn't useful: he shoves the empty container back at his saviour, having rounded the egg again to do so. Then he simply slips his arms underneath it after crouching, and stands with a ore ponderous grunt, the sunken skin beneath his eyes filling out as her potion takes effect.

He still looks sleep deprived and not entirely healthy, but also much less like he's about to keel over.

Congealed blood smears across his arms as he lifts, the pattern below the egg disturbed out of the crude carved channels keeping whatever magics were in the process from requiring constant tending. Just his blood, he supposed, and the vileness of that has him baring his teeth again in a full toothed grimace. The egg throbs, magically so that Hermione might feel it, physically so that Licyn feels it, and he bites back another curse, starting backward and keeping his hold on the egg through willpower rather than wish. )

Lead away, love, I can't scent any fresh air this far in, and I wasn't all that awake when they strung me up in this place.

( Oddly, the blood smeared underneath the egg appears to be slowly... disappearing. Absorbed into the egg, though he doesn't know that, only has a sense of the scent becoming incrementally less intense as time progresses. )

[ No time for small chat, not while attempting to sneak out of the castle undetected. The tunnels are not watched, also unsurprisingly. It's going to be a lesson for the lord of the castle come morning - if you're going to attempt such vile magic, don't assume you needn't be vigilant.

It will be a lesson she sincerely hopes he does not learn.

She walks ahead, stealthy as she can be, listening for footsteps or movement, but there is nothing. The way out takes about an hour, give or take for pausing to give the man more water from her waterskin, and to listen if they're followed, but eventually the tunnel spills them out into the woods, and it is still the middle of the night while at it. ]

It'll be better to go around the woods while it's still night outside. About five miles down that way, there's a village - we can...try to make them lose our track by finding some way of travelling.

[ She means steal a carriage. (She does carry some coin to leave for the poor family whose cart and horse she fully intends to steal!) But now that they're outside, she takes out the spare cloak from her bag and holds it out to him. ]

Here - and also, before you call me love again, it's Hermione.

( Better hydrated, and indeed looking more lively now than he had when tied to the wall and bleeding in slow, ceaseless ways, Licyn breathes in deep and digs his toes into the forest floor upon their eventual return to the better part of the world. The offered cloak is... awkwardly accepted, before he's crouching down and working to create a sort of sling for the egg with it. Storm take it, but he'll be a better guide on all four than in carrying this horror, one he fears is matching his heartbeat with its own subtle pulsations. )

Licyn, and it won't stop me saying love, Hermione.

( He picks up the sling and egg, offering it back to her. )

I'm a better guide than you are, I guarantee. How often have you trekked through a wood, love? When carrying burdens, at night, with no clear sense of where you're heading?

( Asking as someone who has done all of this more times than he'll bother counting, for much less... bloody... reasons. But not ones which had less passionate pursuits, from time to time. )

Ugh. [ Heard. Around. The world. He's lucky she's pragmatic right now, with the whole daring escape - it means she doesn't want to waste time on making him not call her that anymore. But, be that as it may, she still finds space to be impressed by his managing to fashion a sling out of the egg.

It is impressive.

She is impressed. She is also reaching for it when he offers it to her, and puts the sling on, the egg resting on her back like a knapsack. She knows better than to have the sling in front in the woods at night, for how clumsy it would make her. ]

Alright, fine. But if you run off and abandon me, I am going to remember this and I am going to find a way to curse your name. Let's get out of here.

Then I advise you don't fall behind, love.

( Because he's shedding what little was left on him, his human form blurring at the edges as a silvery mist seems to swallow him whole, his outline losing clarity and shifting downward as the mist falls, gentle.

The wolf that gains outline and clarity as the mist continues its gentle fall to the ground shakes himself, starting from the nose and traveling down the length of him, massive and imposing this close up. He's far too large for the majority of wolves, no loss of mass between shifting from human to wolf.

His massive head turns to regard Hermione, head tipping to the side, tail dropped low and giving a poor imitation of a half-hearted wag as indication of intent. Then he turns his head forward, sniffs at the night's air, sneezes, and kicks at the remains of what he'd been wearing, little as it was, toward Hermione.

Nothing left behind, right? )

[ This is her first. Given all the books she's read (under the cover of darkness and in secret, of course, since she was never meant to serve as more than just a chambermaid with skills in illusion for her ladyship), and the whispers from the guards about what manner of creature they had strung up in the dungeons, you would think that it would not surprise her.

But a werewolf would pick up on the way her pulse skips and races, heart beating loudly in her ears, her eyes fixed on the mist, the magic, the change.

A big wolf is left behind, big enough to frighten a girl Hermione's size, looking at her. She is easy to get rid of, if he needed to shed her; she's outlived her purpose, after all, having freed him.

So maybe she's been banking on him being, potentially, good. Maybe she'd hoped that there would be a kinship between them, two underdogs (inappropriate?) looking to escape together.

She notices the wolf paw at something on the ground and jolts down to get it. His clothes, mostly stained with blood. ] Well, let's hope for some peasants leaving their clothes out to dry tonight.

[ It's a quick spell. She barely uses an incantation or ingredients. One second the pile of clothes is in her hands, then there's burst of flame, and then nothing but ashes scattered in the wind. That'll confuse the hounds.]

No traces. Lead the way, Licyn.

( One great ear flicks back, listening to her as much as his nose informs him on her overall overset emotional state: all he listens for are signs of danger to him, rather than concern over her own handlings. Fear that leans toward the sorts of actions which mean he'll be at risk, nevermind that it's difficult to cause him lasting damage and he's no fool to stay still and allow for it to happen.

She doesn't lean herself toward behaviours that read as dangerous to him, so he stays, even through the burning that sets his fur standing on end, his ruff visibly fluffed out. It doesn't settle so much as his tail stays low when the ashes are caught and carried by the wind, and she turns, and he turns, circling around to brush past her side and take off at a slow trot.

The pathways he finds are indeed small game trails, sometimes larger, and it doesn't leave Hermione free of branches at uncomfortable heights or scratching at any unprotected skin. But they're robust, these branches, not snapping but flinging themselves back into place, and the path worn in enough that careful steps leave few to no prints behind. No skirting the forest, no blind dash, but a pointed, guided crossing and direction switching and, eventually, the stilling of his steps near the edge and the flickering lights caught between the trees: a village, yes, but his ears swivel around, listening to the commentary of the creatures chorusing through the night. Something is... not right. )

[ He will note then that she is trusting to a troublesome degree. This whole plot of hers to free the prisoner and steal the egg would have happened regardless of whether the prisoner had been a werewolf or not, him or other. It had little to do with identity, and mostly to do with what was right.

The nobleman and his court getting access to powerful magic by resorting to death, to control, or dark magic just wasn't right.

A more cunning woman would be making demands to be lead away to safety, but Hermione has forgotten about demands. She trusts that this man, Licyn, can lead them away from the castle and the woods and this whole kingdom now, before dawn comes and they become aware of this theft.

It's a nasty trek, either way. She follows him as well as she can, trying to step in the grooves left by his paws at all times, keep at least their footprints masked. If they were lucky, it would begin to rain. They won't be so lucky, however.

She is, the way she sees it now, stuck between a rock and a hard place: she can either trust the wolfman to not lead her off a cliff, or she can strike out on her own off that cliff. So she trusts the wolfman, even if it ends with a few branches smacking her in the face, one catching and tugging the hood of her cloak down, another snagging on the leather strap that holds her hair braided. (She does reach back to take the strap from the branch. No traces.) By the time they get near the village, she looks scraped and dishevelled, not the picture of a prim chambermaid she was two hours ago. She's also breathing heavily, from the exercise.]

What - what's wrong? What've you heard?

( He grunts, a loud enough sound for her if little else and without more to follow, butting against her side with his shoulder again as if to ask she hold still, rabbit still, prey still in the pre-dawn light painting the skies increasingly less black and more grey.

He stays still, with her: across the open area, leading into the fields likely belonging to the village she had in mind, figures are moving. Two on horseback, another handful at minimum on foot. Those on foot look like they're from the village; the two on horseback from elsewhere. The horses themselves are blowing hard, soaked in sweat, heads hanging.

He feels bad for them. None of the rest. The voices are largely unheard, until one of the mounted men kicks at his horse, who doesn't respond, and shouts something about thieves heading into town.

He leans hard into Hermione, pointing his nose across her body and to the far side of the fields. They can't head into this particular town. Better round it, and head down further; he has a bad feeling, and even tired, it'll be better to keep going.

Or sleep in the agriculture ditches to stay unseen from the roads. He has zero illusions that they're being chased for anything other than the dragon egg on her back. )

[ It's the whole being bumped into by a large predator - for that is what wolves are, and werewolves by extension - that draws Hermione's mind back to a very stark reality. She's on the run with a werewolf, after having freed him. That alone is enough to get her whipped generously by her former master if caught, but add to it that she taught herself more magic than she should've had access to, and stole a dragon's egg from the Lord.

She is going to end up with a noose around her neck if she's lucky, so it benefits her to do exactly as she's told. Or growled at. Her breath catches, she stands still, and the appearance of riders sends her heartbeat wild in her chest.

She hears thieves - ha, she's the thief! - and then the soldiers keep moving. There's this idea gone, the village is compromised and he is not wrong about the bad feeling. ]

Shit.

[ She sighs, and nods at the wolf, turning towards the woods to circle around the town. Her back is killing her with this egg, and she's not at all inconspicuous, with the way that she's dressed and the prim hairdo. Something has to change.

She has to change. ]

Hold on here, while it's dark.

[ She's going to find a grouping of thick trees and take off her cloak, take off the egg in a sling, and remove the dress she's wearing. If he were to watch - as much as it would displease her to be observed, she's got bigger fish to fry tonight than modesty.

Five minutes is how long it takes for her to figure out how to wear the egg in a sling over her stomach, so it makes her look more like a pregnant woman. Nobody generally bothers pregnant women. Nor do they suspect them. She pulls the dress back on when she's done, and takes her hair down from its braid, leaving only a mess of curls that halo around her head wildly.

With the cloak on again, she nods to Licyn. ]

We can keep going now.

( He half idly listens rather than watches what she does, turning to fully face her once he hears clothing pulled back up, whatever else she's still doing. Watching his erstwhile rescuer let her hair down over her very egg-front-heavy form, and he snorts, audibly. His mouth opens and tongue lolls out one side, canine silent laughter on full display.

Of course she's ready now. Another good switch of expectations, because a pregnant appearing woman, near to term, and a large dog companion traveling is... understandable. The sort that gets sympathy and quiet nods for a woman to do as she must: traveling in her state, there must be reasons, and no one leans toward saying where and why so heavily as they do otherwise.

After all, no woman would move that pregnant if she didn't have to, would she?

He sets the pace, slower than before, his nonverbal cue for how a woman in her state should be... careful. Walk with more deliberation. Be more aware of her aches and pains, though he doubts much needs faking, with the distance they've covered. Her back must ache. A protective hand over the egg will read naturally as well.

He lifts his tail, like a lazy wag is just a breath away. There's no disguising he's a wolf, but this size, he might be a cross, and if he acts tame enough, he's her sureity. For now.

They'll need more clothing before he can be a human easily playacting part of concerned brother, or something of the kind. (It does not, for various reasons, occur to him to fake being the husband or father of the disguised egg.)

There are different small pathways better traveled by human feet he leads them along, outskirts of fields and ducking back into the woods as more visible faces in farmyards might turn their way. Slower, but steady, until he brings them to a smaller road, taking a moment to pause and orient himself.

He looks to her, blinking large wolfish eyes and canting his head very obviously, as if utterly confused. Which way? He's not familiar with these roads, and he can follow scent, but she might have an idea, might have heard from travelers to the castle or estate or wherever he searing well had been kept for however long, bleeding a slow drip toward death. )

[It's a good change in the end, her fake pregnancy. She's been around pregnant women before enough to know how to move like them, one hand on her lower back and one on her 'belly', the egg pulsing against her palm even through clothes.]

This thing is so creepy... [One new development happens as they carry on, under this new disguise. She starts talking more, to her wolf-dog.] What are we going to do with it, Mr Wolf? Can't just drop it off somewhere, I imagine, or it would end up nabbed by some other ambitious, creepy rich man, but I hadn't planned on carrying it to term either, so I -

Hmm, oh. That way. The other way will circle back to where we came from. We should find somewhere to rest, if not sleep.

[A pat to the egg.] This will hopefully get us enough sympathy for a warm barn.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

spontaneously there was a post

1 welcome to hell????

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closed | welcome to kalir

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I return!!! /Bodyslams