westwhere | ( closed ) we are what we make of ourselves

He shivered, eyes scanning the painted landscape as it changed, in small ways to start. The seasonal shift matured the leaves from their spring greens into golden hued summer, the hairs at the back of his neck on end as he crept out the door.

He saw the disruption in the line of salt, frowned and swallowed as he shifted, moving down the hall. The wood ached to creak, and he didn't allow it the luxury of speaking, eyes skimming over the paintings on closed doors. He breathed in, scenting the air, ignoring the touch of acrid fear coming from himself in search of anything familiar.

Izumi's door wasn't the first he came upon that showed a decidedly spring lean, without the seasons touching onto autumn. It was the first where the scent of the one inside was familiar to Licyn. He slid the door open without saying a word, slipping inside and closing it behind him, eyes catching scant light to reflect it much as an animal's eyes would at night when he turned to see if Izumi was indeed there.

Meanwhile, Kanesada slept comfortably enough, unaware of the current situation outside his door. Or perhaps a few doors down. Everything had been quiet enough and so nothing had woken him, not even when Licyn let himself into the room. Maybe it was simply because everything in this little rest stop of theirs was familiar to him, as Japanese as he suspected they were going to get, so it was easy to fall asleep. Maybe his self-appointed task of teaching kendo to any of the inn's boarders left him suitably tired at the end of the day. Maybe Kanesada just liked getting his beauty rest.

Though beauty rest might be a subjective term for Licyn, considering Kanesada wasn't to be found sleeping in a normal position, but rather diagonally across the futon, one of his bare legs sticking out, and his hair an inky mess of tendrils across the floor. Truly, quite a different image from the one he presented to the rest of the waking world.

The man sleeps like a sprawling city, and Licyn doesn't even allow himself a slice of near amusement to snort. He observes, then in silence makes the decision as he watches the painting, reassuringly solid in it's presentation of spring He knew moments before that the line of salt outside the door was unbroken, but he knew that at his own room, only to find something (or someone) had changed that while he'd been inside.

He considers if that could or would happen again. Yes. There's little reason to presume otherwise. Stripping down and folding his clothing with practised ease, silver light floods his form until a wolf, a very large wolf, larger than the ones in the woods outside, stands quietly in their shared space.

Turning in two right circles, he settles down at the sleeping man's side. Where he can claim some of the pallet for himself.

And, at first, nothing really happens when the wolf joins Kanesada. But then the latter slowly curls in toward his new bedfellow, though his mind is certainly in no shape to distinguish what that bedfellow is. Instead, it just recognizes something nice and warm and soft when he throws his arm over it.

All very good things. He sighs contentedly when he gets comfortable again.

Not all good things last forever, though, and Kanesada eventually grows restless. At first he just changes his sleeping position, but soon enough his limbs struggle to escape the bonds of the sheets. Except there's still something really hot and far too close for his slumbering comfort. Maybe the sheets have really gotten tangled around him. That wouldn't be the first time.

He groans and starts to push against the problem (the wolf) and when that doesn't dislodge him, Kanesada adds his feet to the mix, trying to shove the space heater away. In his sleep, he can be heard muttering, "Come on..."

Licyn, lifting his head when the pushing continues, twists one ear toward Izumi, listening to his sleep mutters. He doesn't bother moving, either, since with the other man bracing against his bulk, they're both shifting away from the centre of the sleeping mat. The only one losing is the one without fur, though the prodding is a minor annoyance.

He stretches out his neck, huffing at Izumi's whatever-is-close-enough, then lathing over exposed skin with his tongue.

You have no room for complaint, those are mutters of nightmares, love, and that's all that was stalking after me in the halls.

He thumps his tail against the floor/mat with a thud.

As Kanesada continues trying to shove the hot...thing away from his body, he ends up twisting his yukata around, baring one shoulder amid the whole mess. So, when something still hot, but also very wet, leaves a stripe over his skin, it brings him closer to consciousness. He groans and turns away, except then he rolls off the futon entirely.

Hey, that's not right.

Sluggishly, Kanesada pushes himself to sit up and tries to part the curtains of his hair as he slowly blinks his eyes open. "Huh...?"

Licyn, ever helpful, has his own face further away, but then stretches his neck out to greet the bleary eyed man who'd rolled off his own futon with his tongue so delicately poked out of his teeth and lips. A little blep for the newly awakened. Both his ears tilt forward, listening to Izumi, but beyond that he does nothing but exist.

Do say more, Izuimi. Or shriek, the danger of the Salt Breaker appears passed for the evening, Licyn desperately hopes.

The crack of creatures breaking through the ice echoes sharp as a whip across the lakeside; Licyn turned, already reaching for the sword at his side even before the first of the shrieks reached them.

"Sear it all—" but it wasn't ghosts for once, or creatures that stalked to give nightmares, or being locked in a chest by the bridal celebration party going off hinge. This was physical, tangible, and he had every reason to believe it could bleed.

That wasn't a gamble. It was a target, and Licyn took off at a run, bracing his legs when he leapt toward the ice and skidded toward the first flailing creature attempting to drag a servant with their laundry basket dropped on shore toward the hole it'd come out of.

Kanesada was aware that there was something, or somethings beneath the ice of the lake, but he hadn't been about to try and crack the ice to pick a fight with them for no reason. Sure, the ice was a thin barrier between the creatures and the rest of the world, but a barrier it remained, and sometimes the best thing to do was just wait a situation out.

This day, however, seemed to be when that tenuous peace finally broke. The shuddering crack of the ice gained his attention first, then the horrified screams of the unlucky victim. Where there were screams, there was always trouble, and even though Kanesada had no link to this world, he couldn't just sit by and let people suffer for no reason.

He rushed out to the lake, as well, noting that Licyn had already come onto the scene. Perfect, actually. Even though he'd never seen the other man fight, knowing he was a mercenary was convincing enough. For the moment, he could leave the creature to him. Instead, Kanesada skidded to his knees before the poor servant and grabbed their flailing arms. "Hang on, hang on! I've got you." All Licyn needed to do was hack at the tentacle enough to release this poor person and then that would be one problem solved.

The task complicated by multiple tentacles flailing, trying to catch up himself and reach for Izumi at the same time. He lashes out, scoring deep in the second largest tentacle, the creature flinching and making a wet, warbling sort of sound. It gives him the opening to thrust forward into the tentacle with its firm grasp of the servant, shoved deep and dragged out to the side with sheer brute force, leave a jagged wound behind.

The creature's grip tightened first, then the flailing increased with spasms of both great loosening and sudden tightening, beyond conscious control in that moment. Licyn hopes Izumi has mind enough to drag the servant away, because he's still busy with the creature trying to bash him with its unfairly long reach, as he's moved back and finally managed to cut through one tentacle, the angle and his strength meeting in harmony. He slips away, near literally on the ice, and brings his sword up in time to brace and cut through tentacle yet again, though only a lashing tip trying to pummel him over the head

As the creature in the lake reacts to the attack on its tentacle with unpredictable actions, the servant in its hold understandably panics. Kanesada tightens his own grip, not worrying if it becomes painful at this moment. If he lets go, it's possible they'll be lost forever. He also realizes it would be a waste of breath to try and calm this person down, so he instead focuses on the moments when that tentacle loosens its hold and tugs the servant free when it looks like the best opportunity. With a shout, he all but tosses the servant away and to the side.

With them out of harm's way, Kanesada immediately draws his own blade and rushes toward Licyn. He could help the other man with that bashing tip, or try for something closer to the source, shave off some length. Of course, that would mean more meat (?) to cut through and he has no idea how thick this stuff is. Without thinking on it a second more, Kanesada gets as far onto the ice as he can and swings for that same tentacle Licyn is fighting, blade leaving a deep gash where it connects. But it's just a gash and just on one tentacle out of...well, who's counting? If he were to keep this up, it'll take some time to maim the whole creature, if it doesn't retreat first.

"Oi, how long you think you can keep at it?"

The second blade scoring deep has the creature careening backward, lashing out at them with less precision but more speed, hoping to bat them away or off balance enough to get a hold on either one. It slides backward, toward the hole in the water, even as other servants are racing out with baskets of snow and starting to pack at the spidering cracks to either side. They're barely out of range of the lashing tentacles, and dark shadows flash by in the waters below, scraping against the still intact ice.

"Drive it back, don't worry about stalling," he calls out, slick ice taking him down to a knee hard when he brings his blade up to slash into and nearly through the same tentacle from before. His angle was disadvantageous enough he can only wrench his sword free as he stands and shifts sideways, blood flecking him from another pass and block of the injured tentacle.

Two other ones lash at his back, and he knocks one aside, while struck across the shoulder ty the other. He holds his ground, pushed back on the ice, but not brought to his knees again for the moment.

( closed ) we are what we make of ourselves

salt the night

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

dec 21st | fight on ice

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject