Written Wonderland

Philip let out a heavy sigh as he exited the infirmary tent. He knew Nathan was one of his more sensitive soldiers, but he really didn't think the kid had been doing that badly, all things considered. To be muttering incomprehensibly like that now, and completely unresponsive... the lieutenant couldn't say that the thought didn't cross his mind of something other than the boy's own psyche being in play, which admittedly sent a chill down his spine.

He noticed his captain approaching - likely coming to check in on the fallen soldier herself. Philip’s expression shifted just slightly as he met eyes with Blake’s, and Blake nodded solemnly in response. Both of them were soldiers of few words, which they both very much appreciated about each other. Blake didn’t need anything more than Philip’s expression to know what she was going to find in the infirmary tent, but she continued on regardless, ever determined to see for herself.

Philip carried on silently back towards his tent. It was a bit early to turn in, but then again, it had been a fairly taxing day of keeping the soldiers under him occupied and reassured. The last thing he needed was Nathan’s condition destabilizing the morale of his unit, which was already tenuous. Mizu was going to speak with the Shel’ti soon, he assured himself and his troops. They’d make allies, and be able to regain ground. All their sacrifices in this war weren’t for naught.

He found himself pausing as he passed by the tent of one of his other soldiers. He heard humming inside, which caught his attention. It’d probably be a good idea to check in on that particular soldier before turning in, anyhow.

“Chloe,” he said softly by her tent flap, his hand just barely cracking it but without gazing inside. “Do you mind if I join you a moment?”

The girl stopped her humming and gave a cheery “Mm-hm!” from within. Philip went ahead and slipped quietly inside, and saw Chloe gazing up at him curiously from beside a small display of objects she had laid out on the floor. Philip examined them curiously as he took a seat across from her; there was a beat-up braided leather bracelet with the clasp torn off, a small glossy black rock, and a tarnished silver necklace Philip had seen Chloe wear many a time, among other things. They were arranged artfully, clearly serving more of a purpose to Chloe than simply being laid out to be taken stock of. Philip felt like he had a decent sense of what the soldier might have been up to, especially as he registered that the bracelet was one he’d seen on Nathan’s wrist some time ago.

“Are you holding up alright? I know you and Nathan were close.”

“Mm. We are,” the girl responded calmly as she reached out to pick up the bracelet and run her thumb over the braiding.

Philip’s stoic expression turned up just a subtle hint of a smile. He appreciated Chloe correcting his tense.

“I’m worried about him,” Chloe continued, “but I’m okay. A little bit scared, but all we can really do is keep up hope, yeah?”

Actually… there was an elephant in the room, and they both knew it. Something everyone had been avoiding giving voice to all day, but…

“Mostly, it’s just that… I don’t believe that Nathan just... broke. Not all on his own.”

Chloe’s big dark blue eyes were hopeful and expectant as they looked up to meet Philip’s gaze. The lieutenant had mixed feelings about what the soldier was getting at. He reached up to rub at his neck a little bit nervously, contemplating how to handle it. The thought had certainly crossed his mind as well, and he didn’t want to invalidate Chloe’s instincts; generally speaking, they tended to be spot-on, and quite frankly, this was likely no exception. But, he also wanted to discourage rumors from circulating, to whatever extent he could.

“I don’t believe that either,” he finally confessed, “but some of the soldiers might need to believe that he did, for their own sakes. Until we know more, we need to avoid panic.”

Chloe nodded thoughtfully, and turned her eyes back down to the bracelet in her hand. Philip worried momentarily whether she felt disheartened by his reply, but she returned her gaze to him fairly quickly, accompanied by a smile.

“Will you pray with me?”

Philip nodded, and relaxed slightly. They had prayed together before, many a time, and he realized that it’d be incredibly calming. Truthfully, that might have been what had really drawn him to Chloe’s tent tonight in the first place, was the hope of a shared prayer.

Chloe gently placed the bracelet back down in the spread of objects, and shifted to get re-settled. She and Philip both bowed their heads, and she began humming again. Philip softly joined in after a time, and stayed with Chloe until he grew restless to move on. He bid her farewell, and she sent him off with a warm smile. Surely… surely she’d be fine.

He let out another heavy sigh once he was back to his own tent and settling in for the night. He appreciated Chloe’s optimism and calming presence deeply, but he supposed felt a little sheepish sometimes, worried he was relying on her more than she could rely on him. Had he done enough for his troops that day? Had he done enough for Nathan before last night? His mind started to play through interactions with Nathan from the previous few days, wondering if he should have known that something was wrong with the boy. Or whether nothing had been wrong with him, and this truly was some external influence… Philip oscillated on whether he even wanted to believe that. He supposed either way, he wanted to believe that Nathan would eventually be able to overcome whatever had happened to him, regardless of the source of his condition. That’s what he’d prayed for. He finally drifted off to sleep clinging on to that hope, that no matter how dark their surroundings, they would all eventually find a path through.

---

Philip watched happily as oil bubbled and jumped from the pan over the fire. He and his father were making a special treat today, which he was terribly excited for. He could feel salivation pooling beneath his tongue as he watched his father lay out the thick strips of bacon and the crisp sizzle of the cooking meat hit his ears. His little brother clung softly to his side, watching the oil and bacon in similar savory fascination. He wondered why he hadn’t been able to hold onto this feeling forever. What had he done wrong?

He felt himself falling. Tumbling, really, through a blackness that was full of rocks and lumps and mud and brush, poking at and bashing against him. A cold, black hand saved him - tugged him roughly off of that path, into a small clearing in this pitch-black dangerous wood. He and Blake simply looked at each other for some time, gazing directly at the grief mirrored in both their stoic expressions. Philip had never felt so seen. And yet, he was angry. Somehow, he was sure it was her fault he had been tumbling in the first place - or at least, he suspected it might have been. Or maybe he was unjustly projecting onto her. He’d forgotten what was the case, and felt guilty. He reached out for her hand again, almost involuntarily. She recoiled visibly and left, sending a stabbing pain through his heart. Of course, he shouldn’t have done that. He felt deeply ashamed and embarrassed, and curled up into a rock.

Humming nearby awoke him, and a voice beckoned him to look at the stars. Philip rolled over onto his back, human again, and cast his gaze towards the sky. It was indeed beautiful. But he couldn’t shake feeling like he didn’t deserve this. A sorrow filled him, for all the people who couldn’t see this- who would never have the opportunity to see it ever again.

The voice beside him spoke up again, saying not to worry - that everyone could see this, they just had to look up, no matter where they were. That put many of Philip’s worries to rest, and he was able for a time to simply enjoy the sight.

---

((OOC: Anyway, in case it needs to be said, the voice is Chloe’s. I guess she’s beside him in the clearing. But like also dream logic and she might not be and is just talking to him all disembodied-like idk. Feel free to sexualize Chloe or Blake (or Nathan for that matter) in the dream as desired; Philip’s brain has definitely sexualized both Chloe and Blake at different points in time (and Philip felt super ashamed about it bc of course). Undetermined if he's ever had such thoughts about Nathan. Philip is bi, but prettttyyyyyy extra dang repressed about his attraction to men.

Lemme know if you want any other meta-data to get started.))

The goddess lay down in the center of a circle of carefully inlaid black and white stones with one hand between her breasts and one hand over her lower belly and closed her eyes. She was completely nude and alone, and the purple flames that burned from the 12 torches around her made her skin appear to glow, and maybe, around where her hands touched her skin, it was. Her dark hair was splayed out around her, and she couldn’t help but smirk thinking about how many of the beings in her realm (not to mention beyond it), would kill to get a sight of her this way. But, no, she was incredibly and certainly alone. Her protection spells were actively making sure of that.

In the years since the king’s spells had trapped her in her realm, she had gotten exceptionally creative about her methods of travel, and if she focused all her attention, she could access and move through the electricity in the air, especially during the night when the land dewed with moisture, to move her awareness out and into the human realm, at least in a limited and connected area that, in some ways, mirrored her realm, and though she had no corporeal form, she still had enormous access to dreams—the king couldn’t ever tear her from that part of her nature. They appeared to her in the in-between state she traveled in, allowing her to watch the flow of events and manipulate their strangenesses. She saw more bizarre creatures in human dreams than she had ever created, and occasionally, she would give birth to what she saw in dreams in her realm to keep them alive. Many of her demons had appeared in this way.

She had been doing this with the Shel’ti for some time, but the information she received from those journeys was limited and scattered. Nothing like the network of relationships present in the army hierarchy camping right next to her forest. Despite accessing a boy who was far too weak to sustain her presence for long—her lips curled up slightly, though her eyes were still closed, at the thought—he had been a wellspring of information.

Which had led her to attempting access to his lieutenant’s dreams. From what she had seen of Nathan’s memories, the man was stoic and, from what she could tell, repressed, which meant that, even if he couldn’t subsist long enough to get her what she needed, it would be a good time. The smirk on her lips deepened. Still, she hoped she would be able to stabilize her presence long enough in the man’s body to either turn the army toward her own end or make the man defect such that she could seek the king out herself. At the thought, she unconsciously dug her nails into her own skin before slowly releasing them.

Focusing on the man from Nathan’s memories, Dehaljadrun travelled through the current in the air toward the part of the forest the army camped near. She could see the dreams of many sleeping soldiers, and the opalescent visions of them caressed her awareness with their gentle pull, begging to be led. Each one was more tempting than the last, but the goddess had an intention and was determined to follow it.

When she found Phillip, he was dreaming of looking at the stars while one of his soldier’s voices told him not to worry. It was sweet, really, and it made Dehaljadrun irritated in a way she didn’t understand. To give herself more fodder, she began sorting through Phillip’s memories, not worried about whether pulling them up would impact the active dream. In fact, if they did, that would give her more information about what would be effective against him.

There was clearly a lot about his family, but she didn’t necessarily want to get into that tonight. Another night perhaps. Then there was some obvious residual anger and confusion toward his captain and commander for leaving the king’s army. Ugh, a loyalist, great. And she became ever more irritated. Although…

Having gotten enough of a sense of this man, Dehaljadrun began actively manipulating the dream, the tendrils of it licking her and dancing across the surface of her incorporeal fingers. She enjoyed how much the dreams enjoyed being touched, as though they themselves were sentient beings.

Inside the dream, Chloe’s voice became much more urgent and less expansive, and once Phillip turned his head to look toward the sound, the scenery around him would give way to the inside of a castle, specifically, a poorly lit chamber with few candles where a man lay on a large chaise. He was awake but trembling terribly and periodically increasing in intensity such that the man was in near-seizure convulsions. Chloe was holding one of his hand in both of hers and kneeling on the floor with her head down.

“It’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay, your majesty.” Her voice was significantly more distraught than how it had been under the stars, but all that was hazy in the background now. Not paying any attention to Chloe, the man yelled as though he was in incredible pain and began writhing intensely.

Chloe looked at Phillip, her face desperate for reassurance. “Phillip, we have to do something. The demon inside him is taking over!”

((OOC: Let me know if you need to know anything else about the scene in the dream. Dehaljadrun has plans about where the dream will lead, but we wanted to give Phillip a chance to attempt something or just get his footing before we continue.))

Philip’s mind wandered while he gazed at the stars, his thoughts sifting through memories from before the war - of when his relationship with Blake was easier and less complicated; of when he had regular contact with his fiancee; of when he wasn’t so haunted by doubt about whether he was making correct decisions, or how he could have done better for those around him. It was comforting to think that everyone he’d failed was looking up at the same beautiful sky as he was, but gods, that could only go so far to assuage the man’s heavy - if nebulous - sense of guilt.

His attention was immediately pulled towards Chloe when he heard her voice grow more urgent. If Chloe of all people was conveying a sense of urgency, Philip trusted implicitly that it required immediate attention.

He hurriedly pushed himself up and rushed over to the man on the chaise to cast his gaze over him and assess the situation. No visible injuries, at least that Philip was immediately able to identify. Chloe mentioned a demon, and Philip shifted his gaze to her in alarm. Normally he trusted her assessment of situations, deeply, but a demon?

Philip looked back down to the man as he writhed in pain, and then back to Chloe, her eyes wide and uneasy. He desperately wanted to comfort her. Doubt about the situation dissipated; he accepted the premise that the man was possessed by a demon without any further friction, and nodded solemnly to his soldier.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Now here was hoping that was a promise he could keep. He turned his attention outward, assessing the rest of the room to see what tools were at his disposal. He supposed he hoped for something holy - a book, a charm, a robe; any trinket of ceremony he recognized and could put to use. The thought also crossed his mind that his fiancee would know what to do if she were here, and with that thought came a small glimmer of hope that, in fact, she might be.

((OOC: His fiancee’s name being Miranda if that ends up being needed. She is not a super fleshed-out character; mostly just a very soft sunny sweet lady who smile enough for both of 'em. Probably long voluminous blonde hair, but I'm not attached to that lol. I think I’m deciding that she’s alive (as far as Philip knows?) but he had to leave her without explanation when Blake defected, which of course he feels hella guilty about - and, intermittently, angry at Blake for.

We’re also thinking that Miranda was on track to have some sort of official position at a temple/church/whatever in whatever faith Philip practices. Leaving the details of that faith super nebulous for now to be solidified as needed lol. I think whatever faith Chloe practices is slightly different from Philip’s native faith, but compatible. Lemme know if you need anything else there.

And I imagine Dehaljadrun has much more control over the dream at this point than Philip does, so all of his subconscious desires/expectations about it she is totally welcome to ignore or override - or go along with - as desired))

As Phillip looked around the room, the dream solidified in such a way that a small shrine appeared against one wall. There were several large black crystals and some even larger pieces of obsidian around the edges of the elevated shrine, and there was a small bowl of salt and small bowl of ground bone meal opposite it. Beyond the crystals and rocks, there were large pillar candles, three on each side of the shrine, the center candle on both sides made out of a nefarious-looking black wax. In the center of the shrine, there was a small but ornate decanter filled with a clear fluid, a goblet of deeply blood red wine, and a vial of some cloudy white substance that was unlabeled arranged in a triangle. In the center of that triangle was a small but exceptionally sharp white stone knife with a purple leather handle.

Before Phillip had a chance to act, the king bowed his back deeply, both of his hands reaching up to his chest and scratching at it as though attempting to let something out. Chloe stood and attempted to hold the king's hands down to the bed but was clearly struggling with the effort. Desperately, she looked at Phillip and said, "Phillip, there's no time! You have to act now!"

Some aspects of the shrine made Philip feel nervous, but he chose to trust in its holiness. His long legs carried him quickly over to it and he fixed his eyes upon the decanter. He would have liked to use several of the items and substances here to set something up and go through a careful ceremony, but it was abundantly clear that there was time for one action, and one action only. He had to go for the most direct route he could take, and the clear liquid struck Philip as the most likely to be both potent and purifying without need for preparation or direction - though he certainly acknowledged that any action he would take this hastily would necessarily be coming with risk.

He sent thoughts towards the shrine of 'I'm sorry; I need this; I'll make it up to you; please help' as he lifted the decanter, and then he turned around and nearly lunged back towards the man, intending to send the liquid in the decanter in a wave over the man's body. In the same moment, his own voice boomed, "Demon, I cast you out!"

As the liquid hit the man's face and body, it did seem to make him more lucid--if only for the fact that it brought him back to his senses--though the trembling was still very apparent. A light, airy smell of lemon and after-rain filled the chamber. The scent had a very palpable effect on the king. It brought memories to mind he could not shut out, memories of being in close proximity to her. Even just her scent was intoxicating and made the king desire anything and everything. Despite, or maybe because of, his current seizure-like state, the bulge in his pants began to increase in size and strain uncomfortably. They were already tight pants, and it was quickly becoming unbearable.

The king gently pulled out of Chloe's grip, hoping to assure her that he was at least a little better now, and reached gingerly for Phillip's free hand, pulling it down to where the king had been scratching at his own chest. The king looked at Phillip pleadingly, and the water on his face and chest mixed with the sweat from the shaking, and the glow from the strange candles accentuated all the definition on the king's body, which was in impeccable shape as the king still appeared to be in his early 30s. With Phillip's hand on his chest, the king reached down with his other hand and undid the top button on his pants in a way that suggested he was practiced in doing it one-handed, if only to relieve some of the pressure that was building there.

"You're going to need to follow my instructions closely if I'm going to make it through this," the king said with complete and utter seriousness. "Take one of the black candles and drip a line leading from between my hips up to this place on my chest. Make a pool of wax here, and combine some bone meal and salt together to make a circle around the pool. Place a piece of obsidian in the center of my chest and drink half of the glass of wine. Then, mix the vial into the rest of the wine and pick up the knife."

((OOC: Once Phillip gets close to dripping wax on the king, the king's going to unbutton the other two buttons on his pants and slide them down slightly so that his hips and the very beginning of his shaft are visible. His hips obviously having some nice definition. Mmm.))

A spike of a different kind of alarm shot down through Philip's heart and into his gut as the king pulled the lieutenant's hand to his chest. The situation had rapidly changed from one of Philip panicking over his ability to save his king to Philip panicking over propriety, which - perhaps absurdly - was a significantly more difficult panic for him to think through. Touch was already a deeply sensitive area for Philip, and it only got more complicated when authority differentials were mixed in, not to mention... Philip closed his eyes briefly, needing to interrupt their gaze over the king's body and the ways that the moisture and sweat and light played over his skin. It was beyond inappropriate to touch the king, but... the king was touching him, so... it'd be inappropriate to pull away-- right? Philip opened his eyes again in short order and focused them on the king's face, and the king's pleading expression tied a knot in Philip's chest. On top of that, despite his effort to avoid certain visual information, Philip could make out the king's hand in his periphery... trailing down towards his pants... and a light shade of pink blossomed on the lieutenant's cheeks.

He was grateful when the king spoke, as it gave him something else to focus on. He took in the king's instructions diligently. He felt... odd about them, in a way he really couldn't put his finger on, but there wasn't any time to dwell on it. He nodded solemnly, aiming to silently convey his intention to follow instructions to a T, before gently pulling his hand away to go collect the necessary candle.

He set the decanter back down where it had been sitting before, and reached for the black candle on the right. He stalled just before touching it, having to battle with feelings of disgust and unease. There was just something about that wax... but his king had given him an instruction. The king's life depended on it. Philip would follow through; he had to. His fingers finally gripped the candle firmly, and he started making his way back to the king to begin the first step.

No sooner had he started raising the candle into position than he noticed the king sliding his pants downward, and significantly more color settled on Philip's face as his gaze was drawn towards the movement just in time to see-- something one really ought to never see of one's king. Philip's very first instinct was to respond admonishingly - if this were anyone else (or, well, very nearly, anyway), he might well have, especially given Chloe's presence as well. But, again this was his king, which put him in a predicament. Besides, perhaps Philip was the one responding to the situation inappropriately. This was an extreme circumstance, and even Philip had to acknowledge that to some extent propriety did have to take a back seat. Perhaps the king was experiencing discomfort, or perhaps clothing interfered with casting the demon out. Philip clung onto those thoughts desperately as he swallowed and refocused on the candle, and finally began dripping the wax as the king had instructed.

Uranel watched, holding his breath, as Philip held the black candle over him, grateful that the man was willing to follow orders without question. When the first drip of the wax fell, Uranel bucked and involuntarily grabbed at his chest, the heat between his hips and the pressure of the demon's presence almost unbearable, making him slip out of his pants just the smallest bit more. As the hot wax started to trail up the king's chest, he winced and gasped but allowed his hands again to fall to his sides. When Philip began creating a pool of wax in the center of his chest where Philip's hand had been moments before, the king looked at Philip, wishing he could tell him to stop, all the agony of the experience plain on his face as he gripped one of Chloe's hands as if letting go would mean death. 

However, when the pool of wax on his chest began to cool, Uranel found himself relieved to a certain degree. His head was becoming somewhat unclouded, at least momentarily, but maybe that was just the after effects of the pain. Still, the relief began to wash across his face as he let his muscles relax again, lying flat against the chaise and smiling with satiation. It was the relief of someone who had just ejaculated, and, indeed, relaxing his muscles had moved his pants another centimeter down his legs. Uranel waited patiently for Philip to continue, gazing almost longingly at him before Philip moved to gather more supplies. 

Philip's brow was deeply furrowed as he watched the king's responses to the wax hitting his skin. It felt... deeply wrong, to be causing pain to- well, anyone, but especially his king. Despite all of the clear signs of agony playing over the king's body and expression, though, he wasn't telling Philip to stop. As uncomfortable as this was, it would be weak and cowardly to stop for the sake of Philip's sensibilities, so he dutifully pressed on.

And absolutely stubbornly ignored the part of him that was... oddly fascinated by the experience. No, he dare not even look at that line of thought.

He himself felt a great deal of relief when he could stop pouring the wax, and the king was finally able to start relaxing. A smile even graced the king's face, and Philip couldn't help warming his own expression. He felt like he'd done well, despite the unnerving nature of the task. A part of him yearned to touch the king again - perhaps a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder, or a calming hand in his hair. But he dare not, even if the king's gaze seemed to convey to Philip longing for that very thing. It wouldn't be appropriate, especially considering the king's state of dress. The situation was already precarious enough, and Philip dare not tip the balance in the direction of impropriety. To that end, the lieutenant swallowed and turned hastily back towards the shrine to go exchange the candle for the next items he'd need.

He gently dipped his fingers into the bowl of salt to collect a few pinches into his left palm, and then gently brushed his fingers off on his pants to ensure no salt crystals were lingering. He didn't want to upset this shrine's balance any more than he strictly needed to. Once his fingers felt sufficiently clean, he dipped them into the bowl of bone meal to collect some pinches of that to add to his palm as well, and then began very gently mixing the substances together as he walked back over to the king. Without a word and while admittedly somewhat stubbornly avoiding eye contact with either Chloe or the king, Philip held his hand over the king's chest and curled and tilted his hand to pool the mixture and very carefully start pouring it in a circle around the cooling wax.

((OOC: Feeling called to pause again just in case there are any notable reactions, but feel free to prompt me to move on to the last set of tasks if there's not much to convey here))

As the wax continued to cool, the king began to feel immense gratitude for Philip and what he was doing. This man really was trying to save him. That gratitude was exceptionally plain on the king's face when Philip returned with the salt and bone meal mixture, and when Philip began methodically pouring it in a circle just as the king had instructed, an enormous and nearly uncontrollable desire to touch Philip mounted in the king's breast. Philip had not even completed the circle yet when Uranel reached out to Philip's free arm and delicately wrapped his fingers around Philip's wrist, squeezing the flesh there lightly a few times as if to reassure him. Maybe if he could just hold on to this man who cared about his life, Uranel would make it through this.

But Uranel could feel the demon rising up again within him, and he winced and scrunched his face up with effort as the urge to shake and seize began to enter his body again. It was everything the king could do to hold still so that the wax would not break and the salt mixture would not fall out of shape. The king let out a loud groan of pain and squeezed Philip's wrist a little tighter before releasing it and balling his fists on the chaise. 

"Hurry, I can't hold it back much longer," Uranel said in a breathy whisper.