#aancunin

[thenetherese]

Starter ⸺ ACT 1, @aancunin

Over the course of about two weeks, their little band had gone about dispatching the Grove's little goblin issue. They had finally rescued Halsin after removing the three leaders from the playing field, with the final fight in the cells being one Gale was privy to participating in. Halsin had conversed with their silently appointed leader, Gale assumed expressing thanks and planning their next steps from what pieces he could hear from where he was. He would be inclined to join the conversation to offer his knowledge in the plan moving forward, but he was distracted by the looming presence that dismissed grace for frustration when it came to looting the goblin bodies around the room. Astarion made his disdain very obvious to their leader about going through the unecessary effort of dealing with these 'cultists,' and Gale supposed he couldn't blame him. Their little group had all the reasons in the world to ignore the plights of those around them, in favor of saving their own lives. But Gale was ever-selfless, and was all too happy when their leader upheld a level of heroics.

In those same two weeks, Astarion and Gale had their night together that ended less-than-ideally for the both of them, which fueled the thick and uncomfortable atmosphere that hung between the two. Gale had refrained from approaching the rogue out of turn, saving conversation for the necessary exchanges that usually boiled down to communication during combat, or a polite greeting in the morning. Ever since that night, Gale had felt impossibly guilty, as if he had used Astarion to some degree. He knew enough about Astarion at the time, and even moreso now, to understand that he sought companionship in others like it was a requirement, a necessity in order to secure his safety. It was something in relation to his master he would overhear, absorbing the minute details he was given as a third party. Gale felt like he had somehow contributed to that, like he had satiated his crippling need for intimacy that he had just let Astarion try his game with him, and he happily played it. Gale had certainly been soft towards Astarion at that point, moreso than he realized given their surface-level differences and moral stances, and now he felt like he burned the bridges that led to anything beyond the palpable silence that cling to the two of them like a vice. Ever since that night in question, Gale had slowly been resigning himself to the shift in dynamics between the two, despite his desire to be at the very least, friends. He just didn't know how to breach the silence.

He was pulled from his thoughts at hearing their leader call to him, the earlier conversation with Halsin seemingly concluded as they were finally ready to head out. Gale began to make his way to join the others, but not before catching a pair of red eyes on him for the briefest of moments.

⸺

With the Grove secured and the goblins handled, the tieflings they had saved eagerly wanted to reward their group and throw them a party. Gale had assisted in the necessary preparations, utilizing a very convenient floating disk spell to transport a lot of the heavier supplies to camp. As soon as the sun began to fall the celebration began, tieflings filling the camp and the sound of laughter, song, and the sharing of drinks filled the air. Everyone seemed happy, or at the very least content with tonight's festivities, Gale included. But as his eyes scanned along his companions, as soon as he saw Astarion he felt something churn and sink in his chest; a feeling he quickly swallowed down. He was immediately drawn away as he heard someone approach, turning his attention to their de facto leader and greeting them with a smile.

The two of them conversed for quite some time, even sharing a moment in the weave together at his companion's insistence. And when their minds mingled together, he was surprised to find just what the other had imagined with him. Gale couldn't help the slight red finding purchase in his cheeks, his puzzled expression melting away into a smile. Their conversation for the evening had ended with appreciation from Gale, a clap of a hand on a shoulder, and the same line the wizard had given the rogue; "I fear any undue excitement may tip me over the edge."

That conversation delivered even more complex emotions straight into Gale's core, his thoughts swirling and as he tried to decipher his problems like any academic would. But his mind wouldn't settle easily, and in an attempt to sequester his growing anxieties, he partook in drink. As the night continued, his mind would eventually return to where it had began.

Gale looked over to Astarion, who had also been helping himself to some of the wine — with each drag of the bottle he recoiled in disgust. Gale found it charming, in a way. Their leader had made the rounds with all of them earlier, and was currently chatting with Wyll about something he didn't really pay much mind to despite how close he was. As he watched the vampire, he would eventually snag the man's gaze, their eyes finally meeting. Gale silently wondered if Astarion had looked at him at all during the celebration — and in that same moment Gale realized he had been making his way to the man's tent. He panicked briefly, not knowing what he would even say, but he was already at the halfway point between their respective tents. And in just a few short moments, Gale was standing a good few feet away from Astarion.

With the clearing of his throat and an awkward but friendly smile, Gale asked, "enjoying your evening?"

[caterva]

@aancunin || plotted

Bezi didn't make a habit of sleeping around strangers, but there were exceptions to most rules and as far as exceptions went, this one was pretty big. He and his traveling companions were each infected by a parasitic little hitch hikers, destined to turn into mind flayers. The possibility had kept him up for the first couple of days, but now? Lulled by exhaustion and the beginnings of trust in his fellow survivors, he was out like a light, sprawled under the open stars. Firelight danced across his tawny skin and his long, blond hair haloed his head in waves. His chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths. One powerful hand lay harmless on his chest. He was the very picture of repose- until something caught his attention. Be it instinct, some heightened sense, or the very puff of Astarion's breath, the result was the same; Bezi's eyes popped open, and the hand on his chest snapped away to press itself to Astarion's own breast, buying room for Bezi's drowsy mind to catch up.

[thenetherese]

@aancunin ACT 1

With the way Astarion paraded about day to day as the weeks went by with very little attempts to hide his true nature, Gale was surprised that he seemed to be the only one who immediately caught on just days into their adventuring as a group. He had begun to suspect the truth the first night Astarion had slinked into the shadows of the night during their rest, and it was simply further confirmation the moment their defacto leader came across the dessicated boar with the two of them in tow.

"We better keep our eyes out then," Gale had said in that moment — eyes focused on Astarion all the while.

When it was apparent their little group only figured it out when Astarion had foolishly tried to snack on one of them did Gale question the mental capabilities of the bunch. In the same vein however, he felt a sense of pride at being the only one to have seen it from the start.

Either way, Gale was content to exist alongside Astarion, as long as he refrained from snacking on him. A similar stance that everyone else upheld, which was pleasant to see. Gale understood the hunger, afterall. Perhaps in a different way though.

What was surprising was that no one seemed to talk to Astarion about what had happened the night prior, but they could simply be ruminating on how to even approach the subject, which was understandable if so. But the air felt thick around their neighboring tents, especially given that they were the only two that remained in camp to watch over the area while the rest of their group set out to handle more issues associated with the Grove.

Gale really couldn't handle the silence — or the meandering eyes that Astarion seemed to cast towards him every now and then. Whether out of frustration, nervousness, or something else, he couldn't quite tell. Whatever it was, it was like a thick wall of ice that the wizard was intent on breaking.

With a sharp breath exhaled out his nose, Gale snapped the spine of the book he had preoccupied himself with shut and set it aside.

"You look like something's on your mind, Astarion. Are you doing alright?"

[thenetherese]

The High Hall of Baldur's Gate was always spectacular, and a palace deserving of the reverance it received all across the Sword Coast. The Dukes typically dressed up the place to the nines depending on the time of year or to fit the theme of why gatherings are hosted, and this time was no different. Every year they hosted a rather luxurious gala in the name of trade with their fellow political powers across the Coast, ranging from small settlements to those the size of Waterdeep. Plenty of Baldur's Gate own high-end traders, aristocrats, and magistrates were present as well, as the event was prime for making connections in more ways than one. Gale Dekarios, the Archmage of Waterdeep, had been chosen to represent his home at this political soiree, which was a task he most graciously accepted. He was adorned in fine deep purple robes, professionally crafted and laced with gorgeous golden filigree. The silhouette of Waterdeep's symbol embroidered on its back. Upon entry, each guest of significant status was announced by name and who they represented before moving on to blend in with the rest of the guests of High Hall. The same was for Dekarios, who bowed upon his announcement as was commonplace, moving deeper into the hall with grace.

There was a sea of both strangers and familiar faces alike, many of them mingling, drinking, and making merry. If he weren't the man he is, he wouldn't have noticed the more shadowed practices going on between some of the guests — only evident in the subtle hand gestures exchanged, and the occasional small pouch traded from sleeve to sleeve. Dekarios, though amused, ignored it. He cared little for the innerworkings of the Gate if it didn't directly involve him. All he was here for was to play the pretty face, uphold the peace, and secure future trade — a task he always did with elegance and pride. He would go on to mingle with a few familiar faces, playing up to his role, before eventually going on to discuss political matters with one of the current Dukes whose name he knew but didn't care to put much weight onto.

The evening progressed, the Archmage completing his duties easily, and eventually falling into a simple casual conversation with a resident of Baldur's Gate. They introduced themselves as Cazador Szarr, apparently a big player in the politics of the city, but Dekarios couldn't care less. He immediately spotted the way the dark haired man carried himself; all pride and wrath and hunger. The mage might've even felt a pang of curiosity if the man didn't make himself so obvious. There was no tangible mystery, nothing to unveil behind a black curtain. Internally, Dekarios rolled his eyes, excusing himself from the man and turning, perhaps a bit to abruptly. In the act, he collided with another patron, only a tad shorter than him, his previously held goblet spilling its half-empty contents onto the poor man.

"Apologies," the mage quickly spoke, "I can clean that up for you, if you would allow."

@aancunin

[thenetherese]

a daily occurance @aancunin

[liltaventures]

Those Who Walk Common Ground

For @aancunin

After a long and grueling tenday, the small group of adventures had successfully cleared the goblin camp, freed the First Druid, and gained more information on the cult surrounding the Absolute. The tieflings who were once faced with numerous challenges on their way to freedom could now safely make the trek to Baulder's Gate, free of the goblin threat that had once loomed over them. All Quillen wanted to do was find something to eat. He had struggled to find the time to feed properly since the journey had first started and now his poor body was facing the consequences. He was tired and his stomach and fangs ached constantly. Whether it was the blood of a squirrel or the blood of a boar. No matter the size of his prey if Quillen didn't listen to his immortal body's needs he would be prone to frenzying and the last he wanted was to go and bite one of his companions.

However, his little feeding fest would have to wait. The tieflings, in an act of gratitude, wanted to host a party at their campsite. There was no telling how long it was going to last but Quillen humored the idea and watched as his newfound companions indulged in good food, wine, music, and conversation.

Alfira had taken it upon herself to play for the party and sneak a few sips of wine in while no one was looking. Halsin and Zevlor had been chatting amongst themselves, trading stories and talking about what was to come next. Wyll had been off by himself drinking as he watched the river flow under the stars. Karlach was by Rolan and his siblings as the sorcerer showed off some of his magic skills. A few children were close by, watching in awe as the colorful aura lit up the space with wide eyes.

The half-elf crossed his arms, a soft smile creeping onto his face though it was hidden by his dark bandana. His companions deserved this after all of their hard work and he was happy to see them letting loose and taking time to rest. Quillen made his rounds, checking in with those he had met along the way to see how they were doing. At some point, a bottle of wine had ended up in his hand and then Karlach was pushing food into his face, begging him to try it. The smell of freshly cooked pork hit his nostrils and while it looked amazing it wouldn't taste like much to his half-undead palette. Quillen tried his best to decline the food but the look on the sweet tiefling's face made his heart drop and without another second to waste he slipped the meat under his bandana and dug into the meat quickly, relaxing as she stopped pouting. The smile on the woman's face was bright enough to light up an entire village and it was contagious. The dhampir couldn't help but smile back at her only to chuckle and shake his head as he hurried off to find Wyll to dance. His mind began to wander, thoughts of where they would end up next on their little journey. Deep red eyes slowly fell onto Astarion and his feet made their way over to the pale elf's tent. As Quillen went to speak his nose was hit with the sweet smell of blood and he did his best to steel his emotions. His head began to pound, his fangs ached, and his stomach felt more empty than ever. The half-elf grunted and held his head. "Apologies, I think I need to take a breather. I will check in with you later." He said softly. Gentle hands left the unopened bottle of wine by Astarion's feet and without another second thought, Quillen turned and made his way into the woods. Once he was out of sight the dhampir broke into a sprint toward the first scent of blood he could track. He managed to find a rather large fox and crouched down to hide from the wild animal. He wasted no time pulling off his bandana and stuffing the fabric into his back pocket before making his attack. The fox was captured in his large hands and the animal kicked and hissed at him only to go silent as sharp fangs sunk into its back. Quillen hummed softly in delight as the warm red substance hit his tongue and he drank from the fox in such desperation it looked like he was worried someone would steal his meal from him. The dhampir dropped the emptied fox and grunted in annoyance. "Shit...it's not enough. I need more. I am still too weak..." He grumbled to himself. The half-elf scanned the area and grinned when he spotted a rabbit in the distance. The furry creature had its back to him as it sniffed around for food of its own. Quillen crouched down and eyed the rabbit waiting for the right time to strike. Slowly, the dhampir inched forward in the shadows. He almost had it now, his prize was just within grasp. The sound of some acorns hitting the ground alerted both the rabbit and Quillen who stood up abruptly as he watched in utter annoyance as his meal scurried off into the night. "Dammit!..." He whined quietly to himself as he crouched back down to try and find something else to track.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

✧ ── Continued from x @aancunin

Bright eyes flutter downward towards the gore when its presented to him in all of its horror, and he finds himself quick to pull his gloves taut; a practiced motion and step that brings the two of them closer. Robin's fingers hesitate for only a moment before they connect with the chilled flesh of the vampire's arm, a scowl on his face. The mage plucked a clump of flower petals and lifted them to Astarion's lips, hovering just before and waiting for him to take them. There's no harsh quip or snarky response, instead his gaze traces over the man's features only to collapse back on the main source of his interest - and how Bel silently chattered that it seemed stale.

"I wouldn't presume to touch you. Here. These will help dull the nerves enough that I can pluck out the gravel and clean it properly... It was well of you the block when you did, any more and it would have struck your ulna." A satisfactory nod angles his head, a sharp movement that is barely caught - one that almost rings of approval, "Come then, shall we sit? It'll be easier for you, and me frankly... I've never liked dealing with twitchy ones, at least down on the grass I don't need to worry about you fainting."

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

6. my muse applying pressure your muses bleeding wound.

✧ ──𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 (TRIGGER   WARNING:   blood,  murder,  death,  violence.    please  do  not  read  forward  if  you  are  easily  squeamish!) ═══ BG3 VERSE ═══

It was like needles stabbing through the threads of his muscles, playing with each tendon and nerve - sharp ivories sliding across and ripping - tearing - at anything they could find. A shrieking melody of pain left the mage's throat as the world turned to night for a moment, the agony nearly unbearable as his body was thrashed back and his pointed ears picked up the panicked shout of one of his companions. The muscles of his shoulders ravaged under the pressure of a tight jaw as the beast seemed to almost hide behind him, a silent threat to use him as a shield against attack they may have. But this thing…this horrid monster had to be put down, the way it chittered and growled only seemed to attract more carnage, what were they to do?

Robin's vision sputtered with dark red while his shoulder tore from its socket and his body was throttled downward, not enough to kill him, but enough to cause his traveling companions to flare up in anger at the abuse his form was suffering through. His eyes caught the rogue approaching, sneaking as if to flank the creature from behind - but a single mistep brought the beast around to face him with pounding breath and curled lips. Sanguine sweetness dripped from its gums and across its mouth as Robin grit his teeth tightly, finally meeting the man's crimson gaze. Instinctually he reached towards him, towards the only hope available to him. That was until the creature crunched down and the searing torture spread across his body, causing his free hand to collapse upon the soil below, feeling…wood?

The visage of his vampiric companion shone within the face of the axe, a blade not sharp enough to pierce the creature's plating but… Another crunch, another rip brought him out of his thoughts as his fingers wrapped around the handle, his eyes flicking up to his companion once more - silently relaying the horrid realization of what was to pass. His white hair pulled on his scalp as he twisted within the creature's grasp, calling outward to another companion of his to begin a spell - something to eradicate this creature permanently. His pulse jumped into his ears as he raised the axehead, feeling the creature tense in preparation for the blow that never came.

Blood poured and bones cracked under the blade's weight, spilling nectared life onto the dirt below as he finally yanked himself free, stumbling backwards into the rogue who helped him back from the slowly heating zone. The mage of their group was quick to set the beast ablaze once Robin was free from it's radius, his adrenaline far too high to notice the way his rosy cheeks had drained. That was until the burning air caught his nerves, bare and nude to the outside world as they never had been before, and his body began to convulse - he could not stop the electrical jolts of misery rocking through him. The bile within his stomach shocked loose and was soon unsettled with his movements, his head swimming with aches and agony.

Usually that would be the end of it, but his shoulder - the sphere had popped out of its holder and it burned like hellfire below. He had been thrown and throttled around so violently that he was surely covered in bruises and scrapes, and the last slap of his form onto the ground surely rattled his brain. He was unable to place together how much of him was leaking, the cut of the axe and adrenaline forcing him to focus on the piercing throb that danced along his collarbone. Had it shattered? Surely that would explain why he felt like a rag doll and why ever single movement was practically unbearable. He heard his name being called, once a delectable voice had turned into one of concern and anger - how could he have done something so reckless?

Bright, teary eyes connect with what once was, seeing his own fingers twich and flick about wildly was enough to spur his stomach forward, lurching and collapsing back onto the ground off of his companion. Misery settled within him, nesting deep in his mind as he realized that his lute and lyre were to never be played again. The one thing that brought joy to his life - ripped away by his own actions, he was alive yes…but, what was left of life when the rest had gone? He barely registered the way he was moved and how his jaw was gripped open, forcing a thick leather belt between his teeth as to not shatter them by how tightly he was wound up.

A quiet numbing sensation fluttered against the wound as he met Astarion's gaze, the man looked beyond what was comfortable - unsure of himself, perhaps disgusted by the bard's actions. A wave of shame crossed Robin's face while their gazes stayed locked, his breath hitched as tears cut clean valleys through the muck and dirt on his face. It meant little though as a cloth was tied and turned around his stump, cinching the arteries and veins shut with a turn and a yank. A sheathed blade was placed within the fabric and turned once, twice…enough times that Robin felt as though he were about to black out from the pain.

Only when the spurts of blood stopped did the fear and terror kick in, lips curling like an injured animal while a vignette of creeping black surrounded Astarion's pretty head. The palm cradling his skull was welcome as his lids grew ever heavier, he wanted to sleep but something in him chided him to keep awake. He had to. Each beat of his heart felt like a clock counting down to the end of his misery and yet he persisted to keep himself awake and stay inside of it. His lips trembled to speak but nothing came, only wheezes and the crinkle of the rubber between his canines. He heard the man shout for a cleric, demanding help from anyone more experienced than himself - his anger sparking the air as a dizzying blur hazed over the injured's frame of vision.

His free hand lifted up slowly, exhaustion causing his very bones to feel like sinking anchors, and yet even now his touch hesitated and stayed far from his companion's cheek. And finally, it fell back down while the world became muddled and dark, save for the pair of sanguineous eyes watching him.