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Phillip Wolfe | Phobos (inclinedfear) wrote in paxletalelogs,
@ 2011-09-20 16:50:00

Entry tags:

ares, phobos

The Harder the Battle
Who: Samuel and Rylee / Ares and Phobos
What: Samuel and Rylee dream of their deity counterparts.
Where: Some battlefield of course
When: Tonight!
Warnings: Two war deities running around... I'm sure there will be something to watch out for.

After speaking to Samuel about the oddities of the apartment complex, Rylee had nearly pushed it all from his mind. But after Charlie visited Rylee, raising the question of whether or not he had dreamt their far too real dream and realizing they had shared the dream, his interest had been fully caught on.

So for the evening Rylee spent hours pouring himself over Greek mythology. He didn't quite realize how many deities were tied to Ares until he began to look over the information. It had never been something that really caught his interest but still, it was history and it was a deity of war, so Rylee was happy enough.

Much like when he had been a child, and later on when he was a student in college, Rylee fell asleep ontop of his books. It was quick and the sleep was deep. But much like the dream he had with Charlie, a new reality took form, and he found himself to be on the edge of a battlefield beside a chariot.

Turning, he saw Samuel there. Rylee went to call out to Samuel, to tell him that he believed they had both fallen prey to these dreams as well, but suddenly he was pushed from the control of his own mind. Now he was an observer as someone else took command of his body. And this someone went to stand next to his friends side and grinned at him with flashing fanged teeth.

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miaiphonos
2011-09-21 12:21 am UTC (link)

Samuel had long since relinquished his control; in this dream-world Ares easily took the reins, with no complaint from his mortal vessel. It was brighter here, bolder, painted with all the colors of blood and rust and bone, lit with the glint of shields and arms and armor. It was no place for a mortal, however suitable a host he had proven to be. As the year had waxed, and Ares' influence over his human skin had strengthened, he had found himself walking these fields more and more. It was rare, though, that he had found himself with company. His first glance toward the newcomer had been one of open mistrust and even judgment; his second glance showed him the truth.

His answering grin was broad and wolfish, sharp even though it lacked the pointed fangs of his son. Before the gleaming chariot four stallions stamped their bloodstained hooves, tongues of flame spouting from their lips as they trumpeted their welcome. Konabos and Aithôn strained at their traces, the chariot kept in place only by Ares' iron grip.

"At last," he said, extending one broad, bronze-tanned arm. "Phobos. I wondered how long you would keep me waiting."

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inclinedfear
2011-09-21 01:54 am UTC (link)

The grin Phobos had only grew upon the recognition of Ares. "I apologize to keep you so long," Phobos replied with complete sincerity. "I did not mean to, I trust you believe this."

Without his father's acknowledgement or waiting his command, Phobos stepped onto the chariot and clapped his father on the shoulder. More times than not, Ares wanted respect. No one just came up on his chariot and Phobos knew he should ask. But the daring danger to do something that wasn't aloud always propelled Phobos forward and for this instance, although Phobos would never admit to it, he may have been slightly excited to see his father again. All of this was evident simply by the smile on Phobos' face and the near purr his lion-like throat issued out.

"You have been busy while I've been gone," Phobos commented, looking at the blood covered horses with his fire filled eyes. "I hope you didn't have too much fun and leave me with nothing."

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miaiphonos
2011-09-21 11:52 pm UTC (link)

"If I did you'd have no-one to blame but yourself."

Ares did not shift within the chariot's narrow space, made no adjustments to render it more inviting to his guest. This was his space, and no other's; those few granted the honor and privilege of setting foot on this mobile hallowed ground would always give way to its rightful owner. There was one luxury allowed Phobos that no other could claim, however, but now was not the time, and this meeting-ground was not the place. Still, Ares glanced to his son, lost to him for long and lonely years, and could not help but feel an almost youthful surge of joy at finally, belatedly, having him back. Grin deepening, brazen eyes flashing, he urged his horses forward with a sharp snap of the reins. They started with a jolt to unseat any untrained driver, but father and son remained firmly in place.

"Soon we'll reach the field," he said, his dark smile bleeding into his voice. "The soldiers are tiring, but not routed, and the fighting has reached a lull. We must wake them up. Bring them back to themselves."

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inclinedfear
2011-09-22 12:58 am UTC (link)

"The body is young," Phobos commented, unflinching to the sudden jolt of speed that the chariot provided. "It has taken him some time to let me through."

But secretly, Phobos was all right with this. The mortal shell was so much better than the previous ones he had. Those vessels were pathetic and boring, his current one was more like his immortal form. At least the closest Phobos had come to since their world had been forgotten. But not yet, it still lived, it always was there on the very edge of the waking world.

Hearing news of soldiers made Phobos' powers prickle along his skin. He let out a rumbling laugh and scanned over the landscape. "How boring of them to sit and wait. I think we deserve a good battle. It cane be a celebration of sorts." He smiled, snapping his fanged teeth, and looked to his father. His powers were building, the familiarity of them so good on his skin; he couldn't wait to lash out on the soldiers and hear them scream in fear.

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miaiphonos
2011-09-22 03:09 am UTC (link)

Ares nodded at the mention of their mortal avatars. He knew his son's well, and was unsurprised at Phobos' dawdling; that body was stronger than it sometimes seemed, more resilient by far, and clung terribly to those tendrils of 'reality' that grounded it. So many times that mortal shell had come so close to guessing the truth; so many times he had pulled away, fearful of what he might learn.

"Soon," Ares said, one word to answer all. Soon they would join the battle; soon their hosts would learn the power they possessed. He felt on the cusp of something grand, pushed to the very edge, his body taut as a wire and humming with the kind of energy and pleasure so few pursuits granted him. Again he snapped the reins, raising welts on the stallions' backs. They bucked wildly - but only once - and leapt forward, bloodlust renewed. Their golden hooves beat the ground, a wild gallop whose brutal drumbeats reverberated through the earth, announcing their arrival to those who would be today's blood sacrifice.

They came hard and fast upon the battleground, its beaten dust pockmarked by far fewer bodies than any of them would like. The warriors seemed weary, their armor dull from countless half-hearted strikes, their movements listless and formations sloppy. But between them they would fix this, and make of it something worthy of song.

"Make me proud," Ares said, and left the first strike to his son.

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inclinedfear
2011-09-22 03:21 pm UTC (link)

"Gladly, Father," Phobos said with a laugh. He turned to the battlefield and the soldiers who scattered the lines. They were lazy, boring, who went to a battlefield and sat around? He wanted to stir them up, make them active and moving. Spark fear, give courage, make them move so that his father would be proud and bring on the full force of war which was obviously needed.

His powers reached out and snapped at the warriors like a whip. Half grew frightened, panicked that the battle would return, while others had their weariness and worry disappear and the need to lift their weapons become overwhelming.

Joy spread through Phobos as he watched a man wearily lift his weapon but falter and fail as his neighbor brought down his own weapon onto the weary man. Yes, yes, yes. Phobos was thrilled to have his powers back. The mortal counterpart was slowly developing his gift but was completely oblivious to it. Without knowing he had such gifts Phobos wasn't able to feel any form of release. But now, in this realm, he could let himself and the built up aggression go. In turn, panic erupted amongst the men to Phobos' glee. "What say you, Father? Do you want more or would you like to spread your powers? It's been so long since I have witnessed them," Phobos cried out as he turned to his father.

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miaiphonos
2011-09-23 12:37 am UTC (link)

Whatever else he may be, Ares could be called neither timid nor humble. Gladly he gave the reins to his son, loosing them in midair, expecting they would be caught. He reached down, grasping the spear driven hard into the floor; a wrench of his wrist pulled it free from the chariot's gilded floor, the point of the spear gleaming murderously in the evening light. All around him Ares felt the rising rush of battle, that crushing din that broke so many upon its violent wheel. Courage he spread, and cowardice as well, sowing both equally among the fighting sides. He cared nothing for their causes, their schemes, their meaningless plans. All that mattered now was blood and steel and death, all to the glory and honor of the gods who rode, unseen, in the midst of it all.

As they swept through the field, the evidence of his son's work was plain to his eyes. It was endlessly pleasing, this blessed reassurance that even sleeping, his son had not been wholly cowed. Ares was certain he owed at least a portion of this gift to his sister's intervention; even through veiled eyes he had seen Eris' influence at work, calling to those parts of Phobos that had not been fully hidden in his host. He would thank her, he decided - whether upon waking or in some other, more fitting time, he would show his appreciation in whatever way best presented itself. But these were thoughts for another time, for waking hours, when the copper scent of blood did not captivate him so.

"On," he cried, raising the spear above his head. All around them the clamor of destruction rose, until at last it was a deafening roar. With Phobos at the reins they rode down one would-be deserter, his flesh and bone pounded into pulp beneath Phlogios' and Aithôn's burning hooves. His shoulder snapped forward, his spear flying from his hand. Its impact threw backward a surging group of soldiers, striking home in the bodies of three; together they slumped to the ground, joined in death by that single brutal shaft, their bodies a shattered jumble of limbs and battered flesh.

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inclinedfear
2011-09-23 01:15 pm UTC (link)

The time spent burrowed in the mortals body had not lessened Phobos' knowledge of driving his father's chariot. It came back, all that he learned, and he forced Phlogios and Aithôn onward with ease. Watching his father at work brought another roaring laugh spilling forth from his fanged mouth. It was the perfect reunion for father and son. To be together in the area they declared their most natural state. Blood and death hanging thickly over the land with the confusion and fear of battle so heavy it could crush a lesser god.

It reminded him of the brief experiences his mortal counterpart already had with his father's mortal suit. They were drawn to each other, enjoying one another's company, but they still hadn't experienced the full pleasure of fights and chaos that would allow Ares and Phobos to come through more. If that were to occur, then surely their mortal counterparts would understand their full potential. But already his father's mortal half seemed knowledgable of this, it was Phobos' own mortal who was struggling to believe.

Snapping the reigns Phobos pushed on, pushing out his powers as they rode forward to take away the courage of many man, replacing it with panic, and forcing other's to grow more daring and excited. He ate the fear of those soldiers and grinned at the taste. "Where to, Father?" Phobos cried out, he had drawn close to the edge of the battle and was already turning his father's chariot back towards the battle.

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miaiphonos
2011-09-26 11:32 pm UTC (link)

"There."

His arm stretched out, his bronzed skin the color of hammered armor, of the dust beneath their feet, of the searing sky closest to the sun; he was the battlefield, born and formed of the flesh torn over it, of the blood spilled there. His gesture was broad and sweeping, indicating at first the whole of the killing ground. Soon it narrowed to a single point, the place where the mass of soldiers gathered most thickly. Already vultures circled the teeming throng, casting long shadows over those doomed to die. Together the four stallions turned as one beast, their nostrils flaring, glowing with the light of banked flame as they caught the scent of blood yet unshed.

"Don't give them their heads," Ares said, throwing a sidelong glance to his son. He tipped his head toward the horses, knowing too well their deeply ingrained bloodlust; after all, they were born to this as well as he. "They'll run the men down." He flashed a feral, white grin, very much the mirror of his child's, if lacking its sharply filed points. "And we'd hate for the fun to end too soon."

From the sheath at his side Ares drew his sword, its leaf-shaped blade battle-scarred, bloodstained, and thirsty for death. Into the chaos they rode, countless warriors falling to blade and wheel and hoof alike. "Show me what you've learned," Ares said, reaching for the reins as he pulled his sword from the gaping wound where a man's chest used to be. "Show them what you can do."

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inclinedfear
2011-09-27 12:04 pm UTC (link)

Phobos was good at taking directions when he actually felt like following them. But it was a rarity for Phobos not to follow his father's orders. Especially when it came to the battlefield and all the joys it had to offer. If his father directed him towards a location, he took it, because his father (although Phobos hated to admit it) had so much more knowledge of where the excitement was and more experience than Phobos ever previously had gained.

He didn't allow his father's horses to grow too excited nor kill too many men but allowed him to circle the cluster of men. "They're so proud," Phobos yelled. This group of strong men, fighting amongst each other and not allowing the other to get any advancement. What Phobos wanted was to see blood, to smell death, and to feel the twinge of panic that was always so arousing. "This fighting back and forth will go on until all of them die from exhaustion! I want them to die by the blade!"

Phobos reached for his own sword. He wasn't as skilled with the blade as his father but he did know how to wield it properly. The sword sunk into the back of one strong man, forcing him forward into the crowd with a scream, and Phobos pulled back with a laugh. The men didn't know who had killed the one warrior but it caused a frenzy, and as was suspected, the scent of panic grew in the air. Phobos' eyes rolled to the heavens as he took the scent in. "Wonderful."

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miaiphonos
2011-09-27 11:54 pm UTC (link)

Ares heartily agreed, as did his mortal counterpart; even in sleep his vessel stirred, his frail human heart racing at the memory of blood. This was familiar to him, known, a sort of thrill his civilian life had all but left behind. Ares, who felt little enough of fear, drew happily from his human host's memories of it. Somehow it sweetened the fury around him, gave him a wholly new appreciation for the work his son could do. This, then, was the fullness of war, the whole experience for so long kept from him. He all but trembled with the beauty of it, the culmination of raw human experience so few could ever know - save, perhaps, his own consort, he thought with a deviant grin.

His grip on the reins was not so tight as his son's, having taught his violent steeds his ways long centuries ago. They obeyed him, as all on the field now did by one means or another. With thundering hooves they encircled the warriors, drawing nearer to them as they reached a clutch of huddling, almost wholly uninjured men. "Their fear overwhelms them," Ares noted. Inwardly he took partial credit for this: After all, inasmuch as bravery was his purview, so, too, was cowardice. Still, in their chosen course of action they were being abominably boring; with such chaos around them, there was more that they could do.

"Make them act," he said, flashing eyes turning to meet his progeny's. "Else these will sooner die from age than steel."

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inclinedfear
2011-09-28 11:52 am UTC (link)

Phobos gave a deep nod of his head before turning his fire filled eyes to the group of soldiers. The scent of their terror was strong and made Phobos' head spin. However, that didn't cause him pause as he lifted a hand towards the men, gripping the fear of some and ripping it away. He took the panic into himself, filling his gut and warming his body, and let out a breath of satisfaction.

It was only a momentary pause before Phobos was fully concentrating on the men at hand. He had pulled the terror from half of the men while the other half still cowered in fear. The soldiers who had the newly developed interest in the battle raised their swords and quickly turned on one another, or the weaker more frightened soldiers, whichever was closer. Still, despite enjoying the fray, Phobos took note that the battle would end too quickly for the remaining warriors who were frightened.

Reaching out once more he gathered their panic and took it into himself. He was gluttonous with it all but could always give the fear back at the appropriate time. Give and take for his and his father's pleasure. Now the group was in a full riot. The clanging of their swords sounded sweet to Phobos' ears as he turned to his father and sought his approval.

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miaiphonos
2011-09-29 03:07 am UTC (link)

He had it in spades. Ares watched the writhing crowd, basking in all the raw and bloody emotion their influence brought to the surface. Those primal urges, those base desires, all welled beneath their skin as dark and bloody as any tangible bruise. Ares was pleased with how easily his son deepened those wounds, manipulating them to his own ends; he knew, too, that Aphrodite herself would have been proud, being herself quite fond of manipulation in all its shades, subtle and otherwise.

"Well done," Ares said, his voice booming across the fields. His burnished gaze swept over the battle ground, surveying the carnage already created, envisioning that yet to come. In the wake of his son's influence, he felt the seeds of cowardice he'd planted growing, bearing sweet fruit. Steel flashed, gouts of blood glowing bright in the wake of every slash and thrust. The sounds of death were like a hymn, a prayer to the gods who walked unseen among the faithful.

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inclinedfear
2011-09-29 03:05 pm UTC (link)

Phobos beamed with pride at his father's approval but shortly after his smile faltered. He looked at his father with a worried, fearful expression that seemed almost twinged with sadness. "Father," Phobos called. He reached out a hand for his powerful, impressive parent but stopped short of actually touching him.

"Father, I think the mortal is waking. He's regaining control," Phobos continued. The booming voice he had previously, filled with pride from his success on the battlefield, was now quieter. A mere child speaking of his own fears to his father which he adored. "I can't... he has the upper hand now, that damned mortal."

And indeed, Rylee was pushing through, regaining control and feeling more so like he himself was the one standing in the moving chariot. He was no longer a witness to this dream but a part of it and Rylee was growing uncomfortable in the position he slept in. Waking up was drawing near which meant Phobos had very little time remaining with his father. "I'll return, Father. It's taken this long and we are so close to one another. I'll find you and we will cause havoc where ever we please!"

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miaiphonos
2011-10-02 01:24 am UTC (link)

"It's alright," Ares said, nodding with certainty. He looked back to his son, a comforting brand of pride burning in his gaze. He was proud of their work here; they two could leave on the best of terms, knowing that their will had been done. "You're appeased by these sacrifices and ready to go. When we meet again, we will be all the stronger for this." Ares stretched out a bronzed arm, clasping Phobos', one bloodstained arm pressing to another. Pulling him close, he clapped the younger god on the back, a gesture of fond farewell. When they drew apart, a dark smile played across his lips, echoed in the shadows of his eyes.

"Take care, Phobos," he said. "And find me when you return."

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inclinedfear
2011-10-03 12:34 pm UTC (link)

Phobos frowned but immediately accepted the embrace of his father. He didn't want to go but the longer he remained the more the mortal vessel saw. "I promise, Father," Phobos said with a serious nod. "I promise I'll find you, no matter where you are. We'll be together soon."

He smiled at his father, although it was ridden with sadness, and quickly faded from sight. All that remained for a brief moment was the glow of his fire-filled eyes but shortly after Phobos vanished completely; returning to the lonely darkness that was the back of Rylee's mind, his home until he could take control again.

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