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Name of Nightmare: Pan

Fear: Forests

Home: Bestia

Pan's Personality:

Pan is the embodiment of the fear of the forest and has as many faces as the forest itself. On the outside he is civil and noble, his form elegant and as beautiful as the forest can appear in its most picturesque forms. This is a mask, however, for the only time the forest is truly gentle and tame is when it is captured in pictures or paintings – a mere illusion for what lies underneath. His heart is primal, feral, and savage just as the forest ecosystem is brutal. Bones lie hidden under the leaves and in the dark recesses the tattered remnants of some struggle for survival can be found. Broken bodies, bits of fur, decay and rot tucked away in the heart of the trees – a lingering, slow death. This is Pan at his core, a carefully hidden brutal disdain that will reveal itself as the horror it is.

As a Guardian, Pan is also exceedingly arrogant. He prides himself on his ability to induce fear in the human he keeps and on his powers over Bestia. If these are challenged – in any way – he will react unfavorably towards the person in question. However, his pride also sets certain constraints upon his behavior. He will not lose control until the situation permits it. This can be very irritating to him as it means he must be civil, even when he would much rather do otherwise.

Pan’s tactics for creating fear are subtle. He enjoys the lingering aura of terror that nibbles at the back of the subconscious, a gentle unease that something isn’t right over the blatant terror that is plainly visible. That isn’t to say that he won’t use brutality – it just means he does so on rare occasions when it will have the most impact.

Name of Human: Lydia

Lydia's History:

Lydia is a 15-year old girl that lives in a small town that seems to have just been dropped into a forest, only removing what trees are necessary. She started out unafraid of the forest and what it contained, but after finding the rot inside a hollow tree she started to see more of the darker side of the forest. This was when she first started having bad dreams and was unwilling to enter the forest after dark. As time progressed she grew more and more fearful until finally she found a name for the source of her terror: Pan.

Lydia clings to the idea that the forest is a gentle place but when she is in Bestia this is only an illusion. She senses the malevolence of her surroundings and it seems to follow her back into even the waking world. It’s caused a change in her personality – she’s jumpy, only comfortable indoors or at school, and is very withdrawn. Her parents have written it off to part of being a teenager.

Name: Kelsey
Alias: Kiddo
Past Aliases: child_dragon
Age: 22
What I do for a living: IT! Aka, that computer geek over there sucking down caffeine to stay awake while coding.
Music I like: Metal. Symphonic metal, to be more specific. Nightwish, Blind Guardian, Epica, etc. Stuff like that.
What I do for fun:

I'm part of the Society for Creative Anachronism, a medieval reeactment group. I'm interested in early-century Irish-Gaelic and go as the persona Brihid O'Seanchain. I do bardic, heavy fighting, and illuminations. I am learning to sew and play the Irish lap harp and hope to add even more to that list eventually. I love storytelling most of all and research it as much as I can. Fairytales are my particular favorite.

Other hobbies include writing. Oh my, the writing. I run an online story called Langley's Ark which has a very quirky world and is just a good mix of fantasy, humor, fire, and undead penguins. I also draw and read a lot. I play D&D and really enjoy roleplaying. My passion is for interesting characters above all.

On Gaia I run shops. I have two right now, my main interest being the adoptable one as it has roleplay.

Avatar Editing Shop
Dragon-Bound: Adoptable Shop

Territorial

Pan was nearly indistinguishable from the tree. He crouched in the shadows of the ancient fig tree, his cracked skin blending into the bark while the streams of golden light split between the branches and landed anywhere but on him. The guardian was very still and appeared to not even be alive. He was listening.

The forest spoke of its unease, the wind telling him of strange currents, the roots of the trees speaking of strange footfalls. There was a stranger in this forest. Someone who did not belong here. And Pan considered all of this, sitting beneath the old fig tree, and decided that this intruder was not welcome here. There had been no plea for admittance, no due respect paid to his person and to the ancient legacy of the forest itself.

He allowed himself to move, a smile splitting across his lips before he unfolded from the tree, his joints creaking like branches in the wind as he stood to his full height. From the pouch looped over one shoulder he took a dagger, a long steel blade with a bronze hilt. His long fingers curled around it, stroking the edge of the blade like a promise. This one was not welcome here.

The Nightmare was near the borders of the forest, skulking in the shadows where the trees grow thick, avoiding the golden beams of light that lanced through. Pan stayed low to the ground, watching with unblinking blue eyes, and considered. The creature was definitely not one of his own. An emaciated figure, roughly humanoid, with empty eye sockets and flesh that seemed to fit poorly on the bones. It skin was a tainted gray and Pan wrinkled his nose to block out the smell. It wasn’t even the stench of honest decay. That he could stand – it was part of the forest.

Pan was not one for patience. However, he could be very still indeed if it came to deliberating a kill or waiting for a creature to fall into his snare. This, in his mind, was action. It was anticipation. It was watching until just the right moment to strike. And hunched near the base of a dying tree he waited as the Nightmare shuffled closer. Its head jerked back at a strange sound and it stood there, watching for any sign of danger. It knew it wasn’t supposed to be here.

That was when Pan stood. He did not strike like a hunting animal would, merely stood to his full height, brought the dagger before him, cross his chest, and smiled as the Nightmare turned and quailed for a moment. Let it contemplate for a moment the death that stood before it. Let it ponder for a heartbeat what it would be to die in this moment, and then give it one last hope that it had a chance to escape. That was always the sweetest taste – the last second when Pan’s victim realized that there was no hope left and it had all been a bitter dream of surviving.

The Nightmare whirled and ran. Pan snapped into movement, the hooves digging into the soft earth and throwing him forwards like an unstoppable avalanche, his free hand reaching the tendriled fingers out and closing around the Nightmare’s ankle. A sound like ice being crushed underfoot broke the relative quiet of the forest and the Nightmare screamed in pain and terror. Pan hoisted it off the ground and threw, flinging the creature through the air to impact against a tree. A wet sound this time, and it crumpled to the ground, struggling to rise and discovering the damage done to it’s ankle. The bones were crushed utterly, the muscles convulsing to cooperate even on their broken frame. Pan could see the Nightmare’s ribcage heaving.

“My forest,” Pan said quietly, “And I do not tolerate interlopers.”

The Nightmare’s plea died before it could be spoken. There was something in the guardian’s voice that spoke of finality. It could only watch as Pan advanced, slowly, the dagger glistening, and Pan’s smile only grew wider, showing the sharp teeth beneath, as the last bit of hope died in the Nightmare’s eyes.

A hand went around the Nightmare’s neck, forcing its body back and arcing the spine. Then the dagger was brought in, one sharp snap of the wrist and it was buried into the hilt. The Nightmare screamed as it died, the sound quivering and then drowned out by the snap of ribs and rending of flesh as Pan twisted it sharply in the ribcage, wrenched it down, and then pulled it free to let the Nightmare’s heart fall free and onto the forest ground.

He stood and held the dagger up to his chin, inhaling the scent of blood. After a moment he slid it through his fingers, the blood streaming off onto his hand and onto the forest below, little patters of slowly clotting matter that would serve to grow the trees strong. Quietly, without another look at the dead creature at his feet, he put the dagger away and licked his fingers clean of all blood. In another few days there would be only bones left and even then they would be covered up by the leaves the tree dropped. Pan walked away and left the silence of the forest behind him in his wake, a cloak draping over the scene like nothing had ever happened here.

Blood Eagle

This entry is quite unpleasant as far as violence and gore. Consider yourself warned.


Falling asleep was more of waking up now. It was like her days were spent in a haze, replaying the events of the previous night. Logically, she understood that the things that happened to her were not real and had no impact on her waking life. Logically. But they were just too horrific to be ignored – things that could never happen – would never happen – in reality left a lasting impact on her so that she sat in class, day after day, replaying what had happened. It hung over her like a pall. And every now and then, she couldn’t help but feel her cheeks, carefully touching the skin around her eyes to assure herself that it had indeed been a dream.

Blinded, crawling through a hostile forest, desperate for the one creature that tormented her unceasingly simply because he was familiar and safe in some obscene way.

Lydia went to bed with even more reluctance than she usually did. Some deep little part of her mind told her she should loathe herself for wanting the relative safety that Pan represented. What was familiar wasn’t necessarily good. She knew this. Logically.

Still, sleep was bound to claim her at some point. It had reached a point where she mentally steeled herself just to get it over with. She had tried staying awake to stay away at first and that had not ended well. Lydia knew better than to try it again. So she slipped into bed and woke to her nightmare.

It was always the same place and each time she was jolted by how similar it looked to the forest that bordered her house. It took a few moment to adjust to how real everything felt and the taste of malice that the forest held. It was like this place reflected its master and in every branch of the forest she felt his spite and malice and the disgust he held for her. She was starting to believe that disgust was warranted – weak, pathetic Lydia. Afraid of forests. But the forest despised her in return. Why shouldn’t she fear it?

Usually Pan was nearby, waiting for her, and he’d bid her follow with a slight smile and a nod. And she would comply, for she had learned that he was not one you trifled with or one you tested. His temper was short and his will was absolute. However, this time, she could not see him and her stomach twisted into a knot. Had he abandoned her for good? Was she bound to appear in this realm at the mercy of the forest and the monsters it contained? It was something he’d do. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her and started walking, hoping she could find the old fig tree that was his throne. Before something else found her. The memory of that fox that had mauled her at Pan’s permission sprang into her mind and she jumped at the shadows. No. He couldn’t have her again. He couldn’t.

A noise made her jump and she spun about, trying to locate the source. A crack – footstep on a branch? Something? Her throat was dry as stone and her chest felt tight. The shadows seemed to be holding something, or perhaps it was her over-active imagination. Either way… Lydia broke and ran.

Two hands caught her. One on each wrist, the creature stepping out from behind her, pulling her out of her sprint and lifting her briefly off the ground before setting her down again. Her knees gave way and she whimpered at the sudden jolt of pain through her elbows at such a sudden stop to her momentum.

“Calm yourself,” Pan said softly and as she gulped down tears he let go of her wrists. She let them fall limply in her lap.

“I grow weary of you,” the Nightmare said, walking past her and continuing to whatever destination he had in mind. Lydia stood and followed, not wanting to be left alone again, as loathsome as his company may be. She feared the unknown terrors of the forest only slightly more than the torment that Pan inflicted.

“Then let me go,” she said softly.

“No. Your fear and pain… well.” He paused and slowly blinked, contemplating. “It is a welcome substitute when there is none other available. But I have plenty for tonight.”

She considered her words and it made her heart speed up like a rabbit who has just seen the hawk’s shadow. A substitute? Then what was it that he had found already?

“You want to see?” he asked. He sounded rather pleased with himself. Lydia did not reply and he sniffed, like an animal, and grabbed the back of her shirt. When she had first started to dream she saw herself as she was when she went to bed. But the first time Pan had manhandled her in such a way the nightgown had torn and she was left hurt and humiliated. It had taken some will to fix into her head an image of how she dressed during the day – hoodie and jeans – before she would appear in the forest that way.

He led her through the forest and she had no way to tell where they were going. Everything appeared the same – broken underbrush, the trees hanging low over her head, and no sky visible. But the smell of blood registered as they neared their destination and she quailed in fear. She didn’t want to see. She didn’t want to know what it was he was taking her to.

“Blood attracts predators,” Pan said, sensing her reluctance, “You either follow or leave my protection and fend for yourself. I do not care.”

So she followed. It was perverse, sick and wrong to be clinging to him like this – desperate for what little safety was offered in his cruelty. She hated herself for it and thought that perhaps if she were just a little bit stronger it wouldn’t be this way.

On a small patch of dirt, swept free from leaves, was a creature bound to a tree, back facing away from the trunk. She couldn’t distinguish if it were male or female but it was roughly humanoid, the legs jointed backwards at the knee, and a whip-like tail hung limp from the base of its spine. She could see a sharp angle halfway down, where it had been recently broken. Its arms were pulled around and tied with rough cord to the trunk of the tree, its legs were similarly bound, and she could see a stab-wound in the shoulder from which the smell of blood came from. The skin was sickly gray and she had a brief, momentary impression of something that would live in the deep ocean. After a moment she glanced over at Pan.

“It doesn’t belong her,” he said mildly, “There are a handful of creatures that have no home among us and they wander from land to land. They are not to enter my realm. The trees tell me of intruders. I know. I hunt them down and leave their bodies to be eaten by the forest. But this one has angered me…”

The captured Nightmare shuddered and Lydia looked at Pan closer for the first time this night. There were three long stripes on his abdomen and a dark liquid glistened along them, far too dark to be blood, but Lydia had no doubt that he was injured in some way. This was interesting. She had no idea that he could be harmed.

“Do you know what a blood eagle is?” Pan asked and Lydia was unsure who he was addressing so she mutely shook her head. “It’s an invention of the humans,” he explained, “Supposedly a method of torture and execution but it kills far too fast and there is debate on whether it actually existed. Still, the fear and horror it creates makes it worthwhile and of interest to me.”

“You’re going to kill him,” she said blankly.

“Of course…”

The Nightmare gave a strange, despairing, cry and writhed in his bonds. Lydia felt like she was going to be sick and she sat down, carefully, her hands pressed against her stomach and the muscles along her back were taunt with fear.

“The forest does not kill cleanly. That is a human thing – the concept of mercy-killing, or a good death. The forest has no such thing as a right or wrong way to end the life of another. It has only death and it often takes on brutal and violent forms. Infant creatures still blind are torn to shreds because they represent competition for another creature. Wolves pull down prey and start tearing into it while it still lives, its heart beating away its lifeblood while its muscles are torn off as sustenance. We do not have easy deaths here and I do not grant easy deaths. I do not care to.”

“It’s horrible,” Lydia said, watching with horrid fascination as the captured Nightmare continued to struggle, uttering low, pitiful cries as it tried to escape its fate.

“Would you prefer it be spared?” Pan asked and his voice was low and dangerous, “Someone must die in this place before I am satisfied. Would you take its place?”

Lydia found she could barely speak. The creature grew still, panting, and she watched Pan walk closer to it, drawing his knife. It whined again, an animal’s noise.

“No,” she finally said, “I wouldn’t. But-”

“Then it dies,” he interrupted, his voice flat with finality, “Watch then, human, and don’t look away. I will know.”

He dug his knife into the Nightmares back and it went rigid with a scream that Lydia echoed before biting into her knuckles a second later, trying to distract herself from what was happening with pain. Pan drew the knife through the creature’s back, cutting a pattern of wings on each side, over where the lungs were, cutting through both skin and muscle. He took his time, almost caressing the creature’s back with the blade, and by the time he was done the creature hung limp in its bonds, bleeding from the wrists where it had struggled to free itself, blood soaking the ground around it from the ugly wounds in its back. Its cries of pain had died to guttural gasps as shock started to settle in.

Pan paused for just a moment before driving the knife in again and Lydia could see his muscles tighten in anticipation beneath his textured skin for just a second before he drug it down in one steady line, like cutting through bread, and as he did there was a snap as the blade broke through each rib, close to the spine. The Nightmare’s screams were horrific and Lydia was sure they had to be echoing through the forest, a testimony to Pan’s brutality. She tasted copper in her mouth from where she had bitten through the skin of her knuckles. Every part of her screamed to look away but she could not. Besides, even then the creature’s screams would haunt her. So she watched in silent anguish and cried.

He stabbed the knife into the ground. The creature was no longer screaming but it was breathing far too fast and Lydia had no doubt that it couldn’t survive this much longer. It would die. Far too late to be merciful, it would die. But Pan was not done. He reached into the gaping cut on either side of the back he had formed and with his long branch-like fingers he grasped the ribs and pulled, snapping them free and drawing them off to either side of the creature’s body like obscene wings made of blood, broken bone, and held together by what skin and sinew was left. The creature’s body shuddered once, on the very tip of death, and Pan finally let it die by reaching into the cavity and ripping free the lungs, letting them fall in bloody heaps onto the ground.

Lydia doubled over and turned aside, her stomach giving out and she retched, unable to bring up anything other than bitter bile. She huddled there, her insides twisted with revulsion and terror, trying to control her wild gasps and sobs. It was a wasted effort.

Pan didn’t tell her to get up or even try to pull her to her feet. He simply picked her up with one hand, leaving swaths of blood on her shirt where he touched her, and threw her over his shoulder. She hung there, nearly unconscious, as he carried her away and through the forest, leaving the mutilated body of the Nightmare behind to be scavenged by the creatures of the forest. When he reached the fig tree he carelessly threw her onto the wide roots and then settled himself in his typical spot close to the trunk, his legs stretched out before him and his back resting on the tree itself. Lydia tried to move, found her muscles trembling from the stress and horror at what she had witnessed.

His brutality had to be vented on something. Lydia shuddered and curled in on herself, not caring about the dirt she lay in or how the roots of the tree seemed to want to embrace and drag her into their midst. She desperately hoped that he would always have something else to expend that sort of torture on, that he would never do such a thing to her. What had been done in the past was plenty bad but that… let anyone else suffer that. Not her. And she hated herself all the more for wishing for such a thing.

Ancient Times

It was a quiet evening and Lydia could hear insects, somewhere in the distance. There was almost no light and Lydia could only make out the edges of objects, Pan almost not at all. Just the faint glow of his orb-like eyes betrayed his presence, for he had been unnaturally still this night. He had not talked to her. Had done nothing. She arrived in the Nightscape and he had just remained stationary by the old tree fig tree and she sat not too far away, watching their surroundings and wondering if this was some new trick of his.

Whatever it was, the waiting itself was almost as maddening as his torture.

“Pan?” she ventured, her mouth dry. She’d never approached him like this before. “Why..?”

“You wish for my attention?” he asked but did not move. Lydia shuddered.

“Well – ah – can I ask a question?”

He shifted and she felt his gaze on her. She turned away, staring at the shadow of the roots. Then looked up at him again, somehow feeling that if she did not at least meet his eyes, he would not grant her request. Or worse.

“Very well,” he said and his tone held a touch of amusement to it, callous amusement.

“What are you thinking about?”

And he laughed. Chuckled softly, darkly, and turned his head away from her, the mane of hair shifting over his horns, dark like wet wood. Lydia’s heart beat faster, fearing that she’d just asked the wrong question. That she’d done something wrong. That he was going to hurt her.

“And so the human finally thinks that perhaps, just maybe, there is something underneath this Demon that torments her,” he said, his voice stronger and grand in the clearing, “You really wish to know what I’m thinking of?”

“I-I guess so…”

He held up one hand and gestured for her to come closer. She complied, sliding off the fig tree and walking over to where he crouched on the dry earth. After a moment he gestured again and she moved in front of him, sitting down cross-legged so that his form towered over hers. He looked over her head, off into the forest and as always; his expression was unreadable.

“Death,” he finally said, “Yours. Possibly mine.”

“What?” The bewilderment in her voice caused Pan’s thin lips to crease into a smile. He nodded, softly, not looking down at her.

“This too, has never crossed your mind, has it? That you shall die one day or that perhaps even I should die? Have you not thought that perhaps, as ancient as I am, I have seen many other humans die while they remain slaved to me?”

Lydia couldn’t find enough moisture in her mouth to reply. So she just listened.

“I have told you I am ancient, human, almost as old as Bestia itself. How old do you think this land is, girl?”

“I-I don’t know, I thought this was all…”

“Recent. Because you are a human and all you can focus on is your pain and your suffering.” His voice was sharp but for once, Lydia did not tremble in fear. This was not anger directed at her but at something larger.

“This world is old,” he continued, “I am not sure how old it is because I came into existence after it, when Bestia was growing across this land. It was larger then, much larger, and I could shape it so easily… there was so much power. Humans feared the forests in ways they do not anymore. There were the Celts, who refused to dig beneath the ground lest they disturb those that dwelt below the earth. The Celts that feared encountering a bloody raven in the forest lest it be the aspect of their dread war goddesses and their doom would be at hand. There was the Norse, who believed monsters came from the forest – Grendal – and believed the world would end when poison sank into the earth and killed all plant life.”

He hesitated. Lydia thought back to the rite of the Blood Eagle. He was old. Very old. Her stomach twisted oddly as she realized this for the first time. She had been… very self-centered. But honestly, how could she not be? Pan was…

“I could venture into other traditions. I’ll leave you with the ones you may find familiar. But Bestia was a stronghold of sorts – a bastion of the human fear of the unknown and what lurked from the forest or what could come from the forest. And I found myself being made of this fear, twisted together out of raw experience. You think you’ve experienced pain? Be born of it. Be born of every human that was torn apart by wolves or died lost and alone in the midst of a vast wilderness from which there was no escape.”

“Not that I lament my birth. Brutality made me and brutality is what I live by – Bestia arose in much the same manner I did. But now you understand that I am ancient and you also understand that I have had humans before you… something had to provide me with… sustenance all this time.”

He looked at her now, eyes narrowed and the expression on his face curious, watching her reaction. She swallowed hard and nodded her acceptance of this fact. There had been others. She wondered how they all died.

“And so time has passed,” he said, “I become more ancient and as each human dies, I find another. Yet… it becomes harder. You are an oddity in your time, are you not? Your friends have normal fears. They are afraid of rejection. They are afraid of heights. So many other things. But you fear the forest – and not a specific aspect of it – but the forest as a whole.”

“That’s less common?”

“Time passes.” He chuckled darkly. “Things change. Operis exists.”

“What?”

“Oh! I have not told you of the other regions, have I??” he exclaimed, standing and clapping his hands together. “Well then. Let’s remedy this. You are aware, of course, of how I hate intruders?”

“Y-yes.” He’d murdered them before her eyes before.

“Because our regions compete with each other. We all embody different fears of humanity – collective fears – and as humanity changes so does what they value and fear. I told you that Bestia was extremely powerful once? But Grendal does not lurk in the shadows like it used to.”

“Operis is?”

“The City.”

He started walking away from her and she scrambled to her feet to follow.

“And as the cities on your world grow the fears that come with dense human population – human fears – grow as well. And the forests dwindle.”

“Bestia dwindles.”

Pan stopped walking and turned, quickly, moving with speed she had rarely seen him use. His hand was around her neck and she was pinned to a tree, gasping for breath as the limber fingers dug into the sinew.

“False hope, I assure you,” he snarled, “You won’t be free of me. It has dwindled from what it was but it will not disappear. Humanity will never be free of me.”

“Y-you said your own death,” Lydia managed to gasp, fingers scrambling uselessly at those that held her, “Operis will cause it?”

“I hate Operis,” Pan hissed, “I despise it. It is a teeming mass of human-spawned fears that are as convoluted and two-faced as the humans they claim to be masters of. And as humans flock to the city they forget the forest and forget how to fear it. And if they destroy the forests entirely… then yes, I may perhaps dwindle and die.”

His grip relaxed on her neck and he let her go, a soft smile forming on his lips. She had seen it before – when he scented blood.

“But the city can be… useful,” he said, “Under certain conditions. A human that lives in the city and discovers the forest for the first time… well. It is easy to trap them. So very easy, for the forest is even more of an unknown terror for those who have not grown up listening to the winter wolves.”

“It makes them weak, is all.” His voice was soft. It would be dawn in her world soon, surely. “And I despise weakness.”

Pan slowly turned and walked away, his eyes breaking contact with hers far before his back was even turned. She did not follow. She did not dare to.