ᴅᴀᴇᴍᴏɴ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
karaksys) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
abraxaslogs2024-10-28 12:21 pm
karaksys) wrote in abraxaslogs2024-10-28 12:21 pm
Entry tags:
[ open ] fall / winter catch-all
Who: daemon targaryen + you!
When: throughout october - december
Where: various places! mostly the free cities + nocwich
What: a catch-all for anything that doesn't have a home elsewhere
Warnings: general warnings for a game of thrones/house of the dragon character, otherwise noted in tags!
When: throughout october - december
Where: various places! mostly the free cities + nocwich
What: a catch-all for anything that doesn't have a home elsewhere
Warnings: general warnings for a game of thrones/house of the dragon character, otherwise noted in tags!
🔥 for shepard
This is not the first time he has lurked on the edges of a training yard, observing other duels with a practised eye. He has found himself the least offensive training sword to wear, his hands folded neatly on the pommel like he's always done it.
A sparring match between two soldiers concludes when one yields after being roughly knocked into the dirt, and Daemon steps forward to face the next challenger. ]
You're the one they call Shepard?
[ He'd heard the name in passing a few times. The open invitation had been the latest, and he ultimately couldn't resist. It's no substitute for actual combat, but how often do you get to test your skills against opponents from another world? He enjoys the sport of it just as well.
Admittedly, he's a little surprised that the decorated officer is a woman, but Daemon often forgets that such things are far more common in this world. It surprises him far less that she can fight — he knows well the stories of his ancestor Visenya, whose sword he wielded back home, after all. ]
no subject
[Shepard has been at it since dawn. But then, she's always been at it since dawn; Abraxas is, by her standards, either extremely boring, or extremely deadly, with very little in-between. Getting up before the sun for a ten mile run and combat drills with the recruits was a good way to deal with either eventuality.]
You're Summoned. Come up here just to get your ass kicked? Lucky me.
[She is shining with sweat, dressed only in an undershirt and sand-colored trousers. Shepard is all of five feet and a spare few inches, and she looks up at him with an air of cheerful challenge totally devoid of intimidation or fear. Confidence oozes off of her in every movement.]
Come on, then, blondie. Let's see how hard you can hit.
no subject
For the most part, Daemon has gotten used to people referring to him however they please, but this is a new one. He doesn't object or try to correct her, only smiling to himself as he draws his sword. Let her underestimate him all she likes. ]
Something like that.
[ He extends his arm fully as he strides forward, the sword's tip pointed directly at her. Back where people knew the name Daemon Targaryen, he might've taken a different approach, but here, it serves him better to lean into everyone else's ignorance. If he seems the type to rush in swinging regardless of what he's been taught, it's because that's true.
His first attack is a rather obvious one, exactly the sort of move one might expect him to make when invited to hit hard. He's brought his other hand up for an overhead slash — very Swordfighting 101 — and his form is solid, but that only means he's been trained. His world had known a long era of peace in those days, so it was enough to serve him well against most knights, who had seen little combat beyond a tournament melee. Daemon is sure he'll know soon enough if he should bother making more of an effort than that. ]
no subject
This is not a tourney-ground.
Shepard bulls in with main force, batting his blade aside as if it were something more annoying than threatening, and with her own offhand she breaks every rule of chivalry and good swordsmanship: she punches him directly in the face, rabbit-quick and dazzling. It isn't much of a punch, with her a step too distant to really get her back into it, but Shepard's killed people that way before, and this isn't meant to be deadly.
She steps back a bit to give him room to pick himself up. She may not have the experience, but Shepard is no fool; he'd been testing her, and she didn't appreciate it.]
Come on, this isn't a show. [This is a blatant lie; plenty of soldiers are watching, openly or by lingering at suspicious distance and dubious duties. Anything Shepard does, quickly becomes a circus.] I'm not doing this for my reputation: we're training for war, here. Come at me like you mean it or don't waste my time.
sorry this took so long omg
In any case, the punch stings that much worse knowing so many are present to see it, and it really didn't need the help. It staggers him to a surprising degree for the size of her, so Daemon supposes she must've gotten lucky. Yeah, that's it. Dumb luck. He tastes blood and spits a glob in the sand as he straightens up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ]
Since you asked so nicely.
[ Daemon's teeth are bloody when he grins at her before rushing in, taking a different approach this time. He has no room for chivalry either; what matters is who is left standing at the end, and he doesn't really care how he gets there. If she wants to brawl, he'll meet her halfway. For now, he tries to take advantage of the fact that he's taller and his reach is longer, but the ache in his face reminds him not to get so careless again. ]
Early-to-mid November; Horizon
He's still precious about the question of venturing too far into the Horizons of relative strangers. Those he knows well, those are passed through or lingered in as the mood fits, be it for want of a different sort of setting or to experience weather that isn't just hot, dry, ugh like the Free Cities.
Which is to say that while en route to Jaskier's space, the sudden appearance of a rocky outcropping is a surprise. Not wholly unexpected, the spaces appear and disappear as they will, but the formations are not familiar. What the are is curious, their structure inviting closer examination.
So begins the careful balance of observing without getting too close. The dhampir hems close to the border of the space, moving along with the curves of the landscape itself.]
Interesting. I'm not sure what the formation came from....
no subject
[ It doesn't take long before the environment changes more dramatically, drawing a curious person further in if one follows along the wall to move through a low, narrow tunnel.
The magic here has thoroughly compensated for the fact that the side of a volcanic mountain has simply appeared where there had never been one before, carving down into the earth instead of building up. However, it's clear enough that what used to be flatter land nearby has also been uplifted somewhat, which explains the visible outcroppings further back.
Below, thick clouds of steam billowing from cracks in the dark stone create a soft blanket of fog that obscures the view, making it difficult to gauge precisely how high it is. The haze reddens the sunlight that filters through. A sliver of sea exists somewhere below, judging from the sound of the tide, which is muffled by wind and cloud. It's safe to say one could keep going without fear of invading anyone's privacy.
The path continues along rough steps cut directly into the mountain's face, descending into the gaping maw of a large cavern. Nothing but time, wind, and rain had hollowed out the opening, but within, the first human elements since the steps emerged at last. The sunlight spilling in illuminates ancient stone architecture, and numerous torches flicker in the massive space where the sunlight cannot reach — tiny pinpoints of light in the dark. It's reasonable to assume much of this extends well below other Domains, taking advantage of the unused space without disturbing the surface
it's free real estate.This place smells of fire and brimstone. It smells like cooked meat and burnt hair and hot breath mixing with the salt air — like something lives here, the same way an occupied stable smells of living horses even without a single animal in sight.
The centrepiece is an enormous stone plinth that juts into the cavern's middle and rises well off the floor. Below it are several platforms arranged like steps, and an observant eye can spot the claw marks marring the stone even at a distance.
No one could be blamed for wanting to explore, given the place's natural beauty. There is nothing to indicate visitors are unwelcome other than the space itself, given that most people wouldn't dare wander inside the real caves running throughout the Dragonmont, considering who and what usually makes their home there. ]
no subject
the ground, so it seems, as he carefully walks along towards the steps that lead to the mountain itself. Down being the source makes sense, and he pauses to recall how many other Summoned have decided to include that particular direction in their Domain. Not many spring to mind, and he pauses as he looks downward into it.
The pull of politeness versus genuine curiosity of what the space might look like fight for a few moments. Curiosity wins, but Alucard is careful as he moves downward. Not because the smell is strong (it is) but because down means that escape is harder. Even if he can be bats. (Hell, the bats would feel at home in a cave.)
So downward further and further he moves, careful to be feather light in his footsteps and not to pause at any given sight too much.
Well, until he gets into the cavern's middle. The claw marks? Those have his attention. They're deep and they're huge. Only a large creature could create something like that.
If he's worried about disturbing any of those creatures, Alucard doesn't bother to show it. He takes advantage of the deeply stupid ability that vampires and dhampirs alike have to float and goes to look at them up close and personal. Now he'll linger. Now he'll place his fingers over the gouges to examine how deep they'll go.
Now he'll--
--turn. There's noise coming that isn't from him.]
he probably hoped someone would wander in like this tbh lmao
The magic replicates Daemon's memories better than he could ever hope to describe consciously, but it's hard to replicate something that doesn't exist. It stands to reason that he must've climbed up here at some point to look at them himself, along with his attention to everything else in this place, so perhaps it's a bit revealing in that case. Everyone who said that Daemon never cared for the histories had failed to consider that an alternative source might've interested him more than books.
The noise is a sudden, howling gust of wind that makes every torch jump and flicker wildly. It comes from the opposite end of the cavern from where Alucard had entered, and a sizeable moving shape blots out the sun that had been shining only a moment ago.
The wind dies down soon enough, leaving it quiet enough to hear what's moving through the tunnel with the sound of leathery wings and hard scales rasping against the rock. Judging by the noise and the oddly shrill vocalisations echoing off the stone, there probably isn't enough time to make it back outside again, but at least enough to choose to be anywhere else but underfoot. ]
Need for dramatics recognizes and respects need for dramatics
The nature of the something is what Alucard has to debate before he turns around. Speed of movement is essential in dealing with large creatures, and for the time being, he turns slowly, letting the wind gust blow him back some.
It's enough time to clock the vocalizations and how quickly they draw closer.
Right.
A burst of bats replace where Alucard was moments ago, and they head up for the cavern, ready to roost if need be.]
no subject
With a snarl, Caraxes' great horned head rears back on a long, sinewy neck as pale puffs of smoke curl between the dragon's teeth. Large golden eyes observe the fluttering of the bats, their slitted pupils expanding to make the most of the dim light. ]
It would seem magic bats cannot resist their nature any more than the real thing.
[ Daemon's voice rings out loud and clear as he leans forward in the saddle atop the dragon's back, arms folded with a smug smile on his lips. He looks at ease in his armour, though the dark metal is far newer and more extravagant than the last time he'd worn it for real. It's not the same armour in which he'd gone to war, but something uniquely fit for a king. This place tells on him in that way, too, but he's not exactly objecting either — he's the rightful heir, after all.
His personal crest — the three-headed Targaryen dragon bearing golden spikes and breathing golden fire — is worked on his breastplate in rubies and gold, while his heavy cloth-of-gold cloak bears the Arcana symbol of the Tower as a repeating pattern in red thread. Oddly, a few symbols stand out from the rest because they're green, although it's clear they aren't meant to be a part of the pattern. They almost seem to move with the fabric, always staying just out of Daemon's line of sight. Understanding the Arcana doesn't remove its prior associations, and he often worries about what schemes his enemies are plotting in his absence.
Finally, Aegon I's crown sits heavily on his brow, exactly where Daemon believes it should be. It's not the crown of Jaehaerys the Conciliator that his brother wears, but the Conqueror's iron crown — a strong crown for the stronger man.
Daemon steps onto the platform with ease once Caraxes stands near enough beside it, his left hand finding its familiar place on the pommel of his sword as he looks up into the gloom above him towards wherever the bats had gone. ]
How does it work, anyway? One man, many bats? What happens if you lose one?
no subject
The bats remain bats until Daemon is on the platform. Then they take flight again, swirling and squeaking until Alucard is standing across from the man, but never looking at him. Somehow, he suspects surprise, a person! is not a great idea to be pulling around a dragon. Doing it twice is probably all he should do for now, unless there's a real reason to escape. Even then, it is probably simpler to return to the world by escaping the meditative state required to get here than exiting the cave system.
Perhaps the most telling part of Alucard's entire appearance is that he hasn't changed it from what Daemon saw in the Free Cities. Tunic, trousers, boots. The only accent is a dark, detailed coat that the Free Cities makes pointless with warmth.]
It is a matter of mass conversion. And if I did know what happened if I lost one, do you think I'd share that information? [He does know, of course. He and Geralt got very drunk, figured out the mass conversion, and scared poor Jaskier by having a swarm of bats in the house. One got stuck, and in that moment, Alucard as a person was missing a small body party.]
Your friend inspires an instant attraction. As does the landscape.