[D8:Dreamtime] Enemy mine (open)

[Baelon Drakeson]

His wings spread, he flew across the land. He was a mighty predator, a being of magic and fire. None could stand before him, none could deny him what he wanted.
As he flew across the land, he would stop in various places. Rarely did he have to take what he wanted. Instead his magic warped the minds of others, made them want to give it to him.
He ate well. Women came forth, disrobed, and were devoured;
his powerful jaws crushing them, his mighty teeth tearing them - the succulent blood trickling down his throat, the bones snapping with a delightful crunch. The women thanked him as he destroyed them.

The women were familiar. He knew them - or had known them - in another life, another body;
a body not so grand, but still powerful and still with the same magic.
They wanted it, right? He made sure of that. They wanted it whether they wanted to want it or not. They offered themselves, he just enjoyed what was given freely, right?
Surely, there's no harm in that?

The men... he did not devour them. Their flesh was not to his liking - he preferred soft, warm, yielding. Instead, he toyed with them. They would come at him with sword or axe, and he would take his pleasure by running them through or slicing them apart with his steel claw. Some were his friends, others his enemies - one, a man with a large and fancy hammer, seemed to be both. It didn't matter though. They all ended the same way. They gave him everything or he took it, then the steel claw gave them what they wanted and ended them.

A sharp pain in his back. He plummets to the ground. His wings! They've been... they're gone! Another dragon, looking just like him but older, fiercer, dominant with a casualness that bordered on disdain. No - it WAS disdain. The dragon held a pair of bloody wings which dissolve into thick, black, oily smoke. His wings - but no longer. The dragon above him is a man, like looking in a mirror, silver hair and amethyst eyes. The man spits on him. "
You are no dragon. No son of mine. You really think you deserve to be anything like me? You happen to look like me so I use you. Don't let it go to your head. You were just some brat. 0h, I enjoyed your mother sure enough, before I killed her, but you were already there. Some Lyseni's spawn, no doubt. I gave you my father's name as a way of hurting my brother, who had given his dead son the same name. That's all you are, a weapon. All you do is hurt others. That's all you can do. You are nothing else, and can do nothing else. You were a fun little weapon for a while. You should have never left Bloodstone though. Some idiot followers of mine got it into their heads that they should treat you like you were really my son. What a bother. And you tarnished THEM too. You should have never been near them. You should have died before they were even born, but no. You lived. For that you will suffer."
The man raises his sword, dark and slender, and strikes downward. The sword pierces his chest and transfixes him to the ground. His all-too-human arms and legs splay out as if he had been racked for flaying. His throat seizes up, not capable of even of speech;
flames would be inconceivable - but he's not a dragon anyway, just a broken man.

Two young girls - twins of silver hair and amethyst eyes - appear before him. One is hunched down, knees pulled in tight and face buried in them, crying. The other is possessed by a bold fury that belies her diminutive stature. "
You LIED to us. A brother? You're barely fit to be called human."
She kicks him in the jaw, his head snaps away from her. When he looks back the crying one is staring at him accusingly, tears streaming down her face. The bold one steps on him with more force than a child her age could possible muster, the heel of her foot on his groin, pressing, crushing, destroying. She reaches up to the laces of her dress just as the the devoured women did, and starts to disrobe. As each layer of cloth is removed, she ages, such that when her chemise drops it reveals the naked body of a maiden, not a child. "
Were you going to devour us as well? Just waiting for us to ripen, were you?"
She eyes him seductively, then reaches down a with a dragon-clawed hand emasculates him, laughing. The crying girl, still a child, laughs with her now much older twin sister. The two of them reach out to his face together, and plunge fingers into his eyes, driving the world black.

The blackness is no respite, though. The pain continues endless and infinite, and then, slowly, light returns to the world. His limbs are still bound by invisible bonds, and the dragon-steel blade still pins him. A crowd surrounds him. Women, some he devoured and others he did not, and men, some he slew and some he did not. Each stared down at him, disgust and disdain obvious. They parade around, taking turns addressing him.

A tavern girl he devoured a week ago: "
I gave myself to you, but it wasn't worth the price of admission."
She dangles his detached parts in front of him. "
With your reputation I expected a bit more from you. You nearly put me to sleep. I'd have had a better time if you hadn't 'saved' me. You should have saved my friend instead, but where were you for that? Off chasing some high-born tail that won't know how bad you are. How many of your 'conquests' go one to become Septas because they think they know what they'd be missing, but won't miss it much?"


A man with an axe and one eye: "
It was better to lose an eye than to spend even a few more minutes with you."


A mother: "
Marry my daughter? Please. I knew the best way to keep her from you was to be the one pushing you at her. Take my niece and go. Good riddance to you both."


The man with the large and fancy hammer: "
My story is over but yours is just beginning? Sure. Whatever. I have a song, you'll be lucky to have as much as a scrawled note in the margins of a footnote of a history book that even Maester's won't bother to read. I'll live forever, but you're already being forgotten."


The parade of faces and voices continues, with no end in sight...

[OOC: I deliberately didn't use any current PCs - feel free to post your own parts (and/or more NC parts) of my dream. The general theme and tone should be about the same though. For stylistic reasons, please avoid using names. Note too that nothing in here should be taken as saying anything truthful about his - it is the most self-loathing parts of Baelon's mind presenting the worst possible interpretation of his life. It's more than a little skewed from reality. Which of course means that you can be just as skewed... also, please limit this to just dream content. Waking stuff should be handled elsewhere]

[Reader]

A stout Northern knight, a merman on his surcoat:

"
IF you are who they claim, you are but a pale shadow of your father. I say your showing in the lists gives the lie to their claims."

[Septon Arlyn]

Baelon turns quickly from the Northman. Shame in his eyes as he spies a fat jolly fool. The fool turns slowly, necktie from harrens justice causing him to fly in the breathless wind without wings, grey horse behind him, chewing on some grass. Suddenly his mouth opens as if to speak. Bloody tears staring from icy blue eyes.

you could have saved him a rattly whisper pounds directly into his head. Sending shivers down Baelons back, causing gooseflesh to creep over his arms.

Looking down at his arms, trying to avoid the gruesome site he sees black and white fur emerge in a striped pattern. Baelon feels powerful muscles rippling beneath his fur. Leaping he tastes hemp, wanting to free the fat man.

"
You're too late again, foolish beast,"
says the giant, and with one smooth motion picks up baelon and skins him like a pocher would skin a rodent, then laying Baelons hide he left him naked and broken. Then the giant set the hide out before his chair, lit a pipe, and proceeded to set his feet on the baelon rug, with baelon feeling every sting of his heavy feet. A disk as spark falls from the giant pipe, lighting the giants rug on fire.

"
Oh bother,"
says the giant. "
looks like I need to get a new rug "
with that the giant picks up Baelons hide and discards it into the hearth, with baelon silently screaming in pain as he feels the fire burn across his hide, watching as his skin disappears in the flame

[Loreia]

A red-haired lass with a snout and mane, digitigrade legs ending in hoofs holding her upright: "
Such cruelty, the first sight of you made me wretch! You're no closer to a true knight than the east is to the west."

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