theianlogs | [Open] The Long Night is Coming

Entry tags:

[Open] The Long Night is Coming

Who: Jon Snow and YOU!
When: 9/09
Where: Around
What: Settling in, combating monsters, etc.
Warnings: Violence and bloodshed

Main Street

Home. It wasn't a concept Jon had much experience with, even Winterfell had not exactly been home to him. A bastard had no rights or claims, he had no place in the world. Yet this place claimed to have been his, that he was a part of this place and his other life nothing more than fantasy. It didn't sit well with him, the dismissal of his life, experiences and struggles.

It was why he wandered the street with a harsh expression on his face, looking over every building with distaste and suspicion. It was all some form of magic, a kind that he hadn't experienced before. So long as he didn't lose his identity or memories, this place would not fully hold and own him.

If you pass him, it is easy hear his mantra, mumbled under his breath. A reminder for something he might one day forget. You might even make out the words: "Jon Snow...Winterfell...Warden...the North..."

Open to Housemates in 1002

He visits the room that apparently belonged to him, sparse and bare like his own in Winterfell. The fur coverlets are familiar, as is the wooden bed itself. It looks like it was pulled from home, but that couldn't be possible. It was some illusion, all of this was. How else was he to accept what was happening? It wasn't real. He had to believe that or go mad.

Finding nothing to explain this strangeness, Jon returned to the common room. It wasn't like anything he had seen before, but there was apparently food, though it was cold and kept in some sort of box. There was no hearth to cook the meat, only a stove top with weird dials upon it and no place to stock wood or light a match.

He glanced between the meat and the stove in confusion, about ready to kick the thing into compliance. "How am I supposed to cook?"

Monster Mash - Open

He may know nothing about this world, his apparent home, but he knows monsters and creatures that lurk in the dark. Large hulking beasts and wiry creatures with claws loom closer, swarming the solitary human on the street. It's obvious they smell prey and alone, Jon appears defenseless, but whatever brought him here saw fit to keep Longclaw at his side.

Sword in hand, he manages to cut through several monsters, ducking and weaving out of the way of teeth and claws. These are not the Others, but they are no less a threat and he had not yet lost the desire to continue on. Some fight, some purpose would keep him going and fighting these creatures provided it.

The sight of a figure just out the corner of his eye is enough to divert his attention. He turns to glance toward the person standing nearby. Before he can return his focus to the spider like creature he is fighting, it manages to catch his arm with its claws. He gives a cry of pain, but carefully turns to place himself between the person and the monster.

"Go! Run!"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's a foolish thing to allow time to flit by, particularly in an unknown land. It's a foolish, foolish thing to do. She'd nearly forgotten--somehow--that she was no longer on the shores of Westeros. That the walls of the library, lined with hundreds of books, was not, in fact, a sanctuary. That the building was across town from her chambers. Normally, this would be a detail overlooked. Were it necessary to walk, she had her knights and Unsullied for protection.

Here, however... it is enough of a walk that with the sun quickly shadowed by darkness, and the sounds of unnatural creatures stirring nearby...

Dany's step quickens. Not quite a jog, there is a determinedness tinged with the faintest trace of fear. "A dragon does not know fear," she whispers to herself, "A dragon cannot be felled by tricks of the mind." Why then, does she walk fast enough that her braids dance in her wake? Why does her pulse skitter in her throat as it once did when she imagined the Usurper's assassins tracking her and Viserys?

The howl is unnatural, far more chilling than Viserion's death cry. And then she sees it from the corner of her eye: the hulking form of a--is that a person? The sound of battle clangs further down the road, yet she does not dare tear her gaze away from the form which lumbers closer. Groaning. Shuffling. Nearer, nearer. Now she does dart ahead, whispering her mantra in a rushed breath which the darkness greedily swallows.

She is alone, here. A Targaryen left alone in a foreign world, and this is far too reminiscent of her earlier days when she was but a slip of a girl. Defenseless.

Go! Run! echoes ahead. That voice...

"Jon?"

The sound of her voice has him turning one more time, more sharply than before. It is enough to let the creature swipe at him again, catching him more sharply in the side. There was fear in her eyes, enough to send his adrenaline racing and leave him feeling breathless. That same anger that surged to the surface at her dragon's death returned. Whatever his injuries, they were overlooked with the need to protect and defend.

Swinging his sword around, he struck out at one of the many legs, hacking it at the knee. "Daenerys, go!" He couldn't afford to look over his shoulder again, but the words were forceful enough. She was in danger here. His concern for safety and survival shifting, now that there was a purpose and a reason to fight.

Another hack and one of the legs fell. The creature shrieked loudly in pain, rattling Jon to his bones. He rolled out of the way of another swipe, a smear of blood left behind. Jolting up, he stuck his sword in the side and ducked away again. Affording a quick look, he saw her still nearby. "Run! Leave!"

Dragons, Drogo, and now Jon. The third surprise is the sharpest of blows, leaving her winded in a way frantic steps cannot. When last had her heart flown to her throat? Most recently, it'd been due to him, surrounded by the dead as he'd been. Even so, the only other vivid memory is back in Meereen, when they'd been cornered in the pits by the Sons of the Harpy. Drogon cannot come to save her this eve.

She would not abandon him. Dragons made her a formidable foe. Alas, battle does not come naturally, it is not a fluid thing like the Dothraki swinging their arakhs, or knights with their swords. She's only aware of the inflections in her voice, a stubbornness and ferocity that will likely prove more a distraction than any aid.

"No!" Gritting her teeth, she spies debris nearby. Stone and wood, some steel-like cylinder. The blows would likely not come from her hand, but it would be enough. A distraction for him, perhaps. She'd not risk the chance of his injury, whether this is another illusion or not. He means too much.

With that thought firmly in mind, she stupidly skids to a stop by the pile, rifling through it and searching for anything useful as a projectile. Stones and broken brick are then tossed toward the lumbering creature which had turned its eye toward Jon. "Jon, come on!"

It's eyes shot to Dany, seeing her defenseless compared to Jon. Charging forward, the creature nearly trampled Jon in an attempt to reach her. Just in time, he ducked down and rolled under the creature, thrusting his sword up in time to slice into its belly. There was a piercing SHRIEK as blood coated Jon and the creature collapsed on top of him. It twitched once, twice and then lay still.

Pushing his way out, he grimaced at the smell. His eyes scanned the roads and alleys, searching for any other threat. There was nothing, only the quiet and the sound of his ragged breath.

A mix of emotions shot through him, fear and anger battling each other, clashing until he couldn't see the difference between one or the other. His face was stony as he approached her. "I told you to run!" She was a headstrong woman, that much he had learned, but he didn't think that she would actually put herself in such a dangerous position...which he should have, given her haste in coming to him beyond the Wall.

There had been the briefest of moments. A pregnant pause as fear and regret mingled together, fighting for dominance within her. That was a foolish thing she'd done. This all was so very foolish in more ways than she could list. The belief that she could skirt the streets with no sign of trouble was her first mistake. This is not her home, despite what the ruler of this realm would have her believe. Her protectors are not here.

Well, Drogo and Jon are. That sense of security which came to her as she rode beside Drogo in the days when she was nothing more than a khaleesi provided her a falsened sense of security. Foolish. She would not make the same mistake with Jon, despite the familiar draw which seems to make her circle him like a moth to flame.

Jon, who stalks up to her with fury simmering inside him. She knows him. Not everything, no, but she recognizes the siren's call of adrenaline, battle, and outrage. It is no stranger to her, by any means.

Like calls to like, and her own expression hardens. She cannot recall a time where he'd turned his ire onto her thusly. Not even her knights would address her in such a way! "You would do well to remember you do not command me, my lord." Bloody, cold like the lands he hails from. He makes quite the sight, she'll accede that.

He knew she had fire, witnessing it on the beach as she reprimanded Tyrion and demanded Jon's advice. Her ire could be easily raised, as was his. They were alike in that way, as they were with many other things. When one responded in a rage, the other was raised to it and then it only escalated. He knew without saying it aloud. They were only going to return to yelling at each other and it was born out of fear and adrenaline. She was here, but for a moment, she hadn't been safe.

"I don't command you, your grace, but I thought you had sense enough to leave when there was a threat." How many times did Tyrion remind her about the dangers of arrows? Now she would disregard his concerns just as easily. "That thing could have cut you to ribbons, but you thought you could face it unarmed!"

He's bristling with the same fury he showed the Night King, the loss and danger just as real as it was then. She lost a dragon and he could have lost her. "Are you so willing to throw your life away? And for what? Your pride?"

They are both prideful creatures--perfect matches in all the ways that matter, and imperfect in all the ways that can hurt them, if they allowed it. Her fire burns hot and bright, like a dragon's flame: relentless, punishing, and unseeing of many things in those moments when it ignites. Dany misses important details of this encounter--the fury upon which he responds demanding more of her attention than the why behind such anger. His own fury is cold like the snows Drogon treaded--yet never cold like the Night King.

"Leave you, you mean," she responds flatly. She would fly North for him, sacrifice a child for him, and he chastises her for some silly creature? Dany's spine stiffens, obstinance rooting her feet in place. This is a foolish thing; even now, they likely draw attention to themselves. "You're here, are you not? Tell me how I've risked throwing my life away when your sword swiped its belly open. It is not my pride which halted my steps." It's you.

Now she steps closer, watching him, her expression hard. Even now, she battles the urge to reach for him, to inspect him, to ensure he is uninjured. Unknowingly, she even lifts her hand, which fists and drops back down to her side as she catches herself.

"I will not lose you."

He knew in the back of his mind that this was a fight that was baseless, born out of fear and the heat of battle. He had seen her ride off to face a Lannister army and rescue him from the Dead. She was not helpless and he would never want her to be. He loved the dragon in her and her undaunted strength. She was fearless and so it shouldn't surprise him that she was that way now. It didn't erase though his concern or the image of her cut or clawed by that creature.

Losing someone he loved. He didn't know if he could survive that again.

"If it had crushed me when it charged forward or if I couldn't get my sword raised, it would have torn you apart!" He looked back at the creature, crumpled and indistinguishable than before. If he had been an inch to its left, it's legs and weight would have killed him.

Just as quickly as it's raised, his anger is exstinguished. Those words and that she nearly reached for him dulls the fury of his words. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to gather his thoughts and to let the rage billow off of him, disappearing against her light like morning mist.

"I didn't know you were here and I could have lost you."

Her expression grows pinched as he bellows at her, nostrils flaring as if she were the one to soon breathe fire. It would be fitting if she had that skill; what is the Mother of Dragons if she did not yield the powers her children held?

"I am not a helpless child. Continue to raise your voice at me, Jon Snow, and I will show you exactly why my enemies fear me." Ferocity in her tone, reminiscent of the times when she stood up to Viserys, or battled her enemies. She would not suffer this sort of talk, no matter their relationship. ...No matter her love for him.

"Furthermore--" Here, she steps closer, a finger jabbing him in the chest. So mundane, the gesture is, speaking of familiarity and defiance and her incessant need to touch. "--I should expect you to examine your own position. Battling on the roads, alone, under the moon's eye? What if more creatures were to come?" Even now, she hears the skitters of footsteps nearby, drawing forth pebbled skin on her arms.

Trailing off, she looks over his shoulder, staring hard down the road, into the darkness. Nothing reveals itself. That might not be the case for very long.

His admission has her looking back at him once more, expression softening, eyes softening. A look only for him. This one is not affection, however, but something understanding and mutual. Despite the blood on his face, she reaches up to cup his cheeks, shoving aside the anger from moments ago. "You will not lose me that easily." Not if it's something within her power.

He recognizes the clothes. They are silly clothes, ones that are restricted to those that hide behind metal to fight. They are the type the beggar king wore, but with fur. Drogo's lower lip curls into a sneer. He is yet to find his Khalasar, yet to find his bloodriders. Instead, he has a small man who likes to talk, if the way his lips move go by.

All the people from across the poison water, all of them, it seems, like to do nothing but talk. It is an undesirable trait, and one that is weighing heavily on his mind. Should he endure the other's potentially constant babbling in his ugly tongue, or should he continue on?

Drogo settles for the latter, turning his red around, riding up to the small man, hunched over like he is cold. Drogo is not--he is tall, proud, and looks down at the other from his horse, saying nothing for a few moments, eyes raking over him.

"You." He sniffs. "Home."

He hates that word. Home. It's been repeated several times now and he can't fathom why anyone would view this place as a home or why they would think he came from here. He knows enough to understand there is magic at work, but it hasn't rendered him senseless or removed the memories of Westeros. He would find a way out and until then he would hold to that past and who he is.

It only occurs to him a moment later that the man isn't telling him he is home but is saying they come from the same world. He had only given the tall man a brief glance, but a quick sweep over his form is enough to tell Jon that he is a Dothraki. Not from among Daenerys' horde though, not that he can recall.

"Aye. Home." He seems to know enough of the common tongue to say that much. "Daenerys?" He might know if she was safe. She would wake to find him gone, drawn out of their world to here. Would she search for him? Or would she do what needed to be done and save Westeros? "Safe?"

Daenerys. Drogo shifts in his saddle, but other than that, his expression is still scrutinizing, lip still curled slightly. Yes, this man is from home, but he dresses like Jorah. He doubts he is good, like Jorah, not when he's wearing black cottonstuffs like Daenerys' brother.

But he knows her. He knows the moon of his life.

Drogo nods.

"Safe," he repeats, although why the other wants to know, Drogo is at a loss. He doesn't bother to dismount, doesn't bother to even try the foreign familiarities he's seen others do. And why should he? He is a Khal. The silver bells and long braid are a testament to that.

"Khaleesi." He juts his chin out, as if to say 'explain.' How does he know his queen?

The relief is evident on his face, as is the emotion that accompanies it. He doesn't know yet if she is here or not, but wherever she is, she isn't hurt or lacking protection. Though, knowing her, she didn't need it. She would charge off and face the threat on her own, leading the armies in his absence or facing these monsters alone. She was a true dragon in that way.

It takes a minute for him to understand what Drogo is asking and even longer for him to know what to say. How did he explain how he knew Daenerys and what they were? He pledged himself to her, but he wasn't completely beneath her. He was Warden of the North, but not simply her subject. It was not easy to define.

"We're allies." That seemed the safest route and the most honest. The rest, he would keep to himself. "In Westeros."

With a momentary lack of monsters on his tail, Ankh had paused off to the side to watch the action unfolding in front of him and study how the monsters fought, as well as the man fighting them. He hadn't intended to interfere unless one of the monsters decided to come after him, but apparently he'd been spotted otherwise. He smirks a bit at the command yelled at him.

"Why should I? You're the one who should get out of the way." And with that, he sends a fireball hurtling toward the monster, aimed to the side of the man, though if he in fact doesn't move it might be a bit close for comfort.

It was a bit too close for comfort. Before he realized it, there was a fireball hurtling towards him. Instinctively (and not without a bit of panic), Jon rolled out of the way, listening as the creature screamed next to him. Before he could look back at the man, he swiped out at the monster, catching him in one of his legs and severing a limb.

He drew back a few feet as the monster flailed around both from the pain and the fire. It at least wouldn't be able to move far as Jon held his sword tighter, watching and waiting to see if it would survive. "Where do these things come from?"

Hearing his voice, the spider like creature swiped towards him with one of its longer legs. Jon ducked out of the way, raising his sword again. "You can summon flames?"

At least the man there had the good sense to actually get out of the way. Ankh was sure Eiji would have given him hell if he'd managed to hurt someone along with the monster, however unintentionally. Ankh kept his eye on the monster as well, waiting to see whether it would recover or not.

He didn't have a clue as to what the answer to the first question might be, but before he had a chance to respond, the monster was moving again, and he answered the second by sending another fireball toward the monster, with less uncertainty about a potential casualty this time.

"Don't ask stupid questions."

"It's okay," Eiji insists, readying his Medals for transformation. "I was just about to try something, actually."

Lion-Tora-Batta isn't quite as strong as he might really need, but at least it'll give him a burst of light and claws to fight with.

As soon as Jon looks like he's in trouble, Eiji rushes forward, rushing his extended claws toward the monster.

It was a sight he hadn't expected to see, men growing claws and bursting with light. The transformation is enough to catch his attention, allowing the monster to catch him at his side. He gives a cry, stumbling back as it seemed that Eiji was rushing forward. All Jon could do was stare in amazement at the claws and foolhardy way the man darted forward.

There was something admirable in it.

"Is that magic?"

The flash of light does cause the monsters to recoil, but not explode like the ones in Hal's video before. It's just as well, though; they're stopped long enough for Eiji to claw through.

And it helps when he too stops, scratching the back of his helmet in confusion from Jon's question.

"...I guess? Kinda? I don't really know how to classify it."

It likely wasn't going to be something he could understand and it didn't really matter in the end. A few more strikes with his sword, a bit more use of the claws and the monster was already showing signs of weakness.

He paused to catch his breath, wincing a little at the pain in his side.

"It's good in a fight. Have you faced these before?"

Eiji saw Jon needing a break and gave him some cover with another flash of light.

"Not these, no. Different ones back home, though. There were a couple types that didn't like light and heat. I guess these might be the same."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Open] The Long Night is Coming

monster maaash

no subject

WHERE ARE HER DRAGONS

They're eggs!

/frowny face

/kisses

/harumphs

Don't give me that look

PUFFS CHEEKS AT

Main Street

no subject

no subject

no subject

Monster Mash

no subject

no subject

Monster Mash

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject