#avernach

[anquenin-archive]

i can't wear things like that anyway.

the city brings forth so many things. things to see, things to do. it also brings the dread, eyes, cazador looms over astarion's momentary happiness, his fleeting freedom. their little adventuring party were invited to a coronation, trap or not it astarion cares little. he wishes nothing more than to show off, the type of action that would certainly be a slap to the face to cazador. he's almost gleeful.

karlach towers over him, and astarions moves gracefully, ears flickers. he's in high alert his imagination does not compare the machinations of cazador's twisted mind. karlach does bring him some sense of comfort and safety. they are side by side, when they past the stores, dresses. the expensive kind.

they fall into a conversation.

and then. i can't wear things like that anyway.

astarion looks offended. eyes karlach, a once over. fingers on his chest. "nonesense." sure karlach's fashion sense isn't refined or delicate, she is all leather, weaved into functionality more than anything else but that does not mean that karlach isn't deserving of some finer things. if she wants them. "all there would need to be done is a good fitting." and astarion smirks then "and it appears you are incredibly lucky, my dear, a good fitting is within my wide set of abilities. you'd just have to ask." this is perhaps, a little bit self indulgent. karlach is not only funny and nice, she's breathtakingly beautiful. a dress she does not need, but astarion can't help his mind wonder. a slit, she looks best in black. makes the red pop.

[zalimbane]

                              𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝐅𝐎𝐑  @avernach

money  was  no  worry  to  him  ,        not  for  now  .  swindling  and  weapons  dealing  had  gifted  a  bountiful  resource  ,  and  there  was  need  to  protection  .  growing  shadows  and  enemies  ,  threat  could  stab  the  back  at  any  time  .  that  is  why  the  brute  was  hired  .  a  second  set  of  eyes  ,  and  a  second  set  of  fists  .

"  -----  all  i  ask  is  that  you  watch  my  back  ,  and  if  that  is  too  much  work  ,  the  pay  will  balance  that  scale  .  i  see  your  potential  ,  there  is  pure  talent  in  there  ,  i  swear  to  you  i  will  only  care  for  it  ,  grow  it  ,  not  exploit  it  .  "

[bha3ls]

belated starters. / @avernach

        failure  follows  like  a  shadow .  thorm  had  fallen    you  told  gortash  that  you  didn't  care  /  you  have  his  army  now ,  what  could  you  need  him  for ?  a  general  to  lead  the  absolutes  forces  on  the  city  would  have  helped ,  but  a  faceless  leader  had  proven  just  as  effective .  the  plan  WORKED ,  gortash  was  the  city's  saviour ,  and  all  of  it  was  overshadowed  by  failure .  you  didn't  need  thorm ,  just  his  netherstone  and  the  prism  ;  he  lost  both .

         it's  worse ,  somehow,  that  you  cannot  appreciate  how  he'll  be  suffering  in  the  beyond .  too  busy  to  even  enjoy  the  plans  many  successes ,  the  weight  of  his  failure  was  SO  HEAVY  it  still  tried  to  suck  you  down .  if  you  were  a  little  more  self-centred  then  it  might  seem  like  one  final  insult  from  a  dead  man ,  revenge  for  your  many  transgressions  at  moonrise .

         ( you  ARE  that  self-centred .  just  a  few  days  ago  you  snatched  a ,  frankly  poor ,  drawing  of  the  elf  from  a  true  soul  so  you  could  stab  it .  repeatedly .  it  hadn't  calmed  your  nerves  or  the  rage . )

         his  killers  are  in  your  city .  your  territory .  the  initiates ,  cultists  with  only  some  promise  and  therefore  of  no  loss  if  they  die ,  had  been  trailing  them  since  wyrms  rock .  some  have  probably  gotten  too  close  /  been  too  foolish ,  tried  to  take  a  kill  they  didn't  deserve ,  and  perished  for  it .  NO  LOSS .  you  only  hope  their  ends  were  bloody  and  savage    if  the  thieves  were  capable  of  pretty  bloodshed  then  they  have  promise .

         in  truth ,  you  don't  know  HOW  you  managed  to  get  any  of  them  alone .  you've  wanted  to ,  quite  badly  in  fact ,  watching  and  wondering  if  they  spot  you  in  the  crowds ,  but  luck  had  struck .  one  well  timed  report  from  an  initiate .  the  tiefling  ALONE  in  a  tavern ,  the  only  protection  armour  and  the  unaware  crowd ,  and  you  slide  into  a  seat  across  from  her .

        " a  strange  ambiance  here ,  isn't  there ? "  quiet  murmur ,  lean  closer  as  if  there's  a  familiarity  between  you .  skin  feels  hotter  for  it .   " first  time  i  threatened  to  kill  my  sister  was  in  that  seat  right  by  there  ...  what  a  place  for  memories .  give  it  an  hour  and  we  could  make  some . "

[anquenin-archive]

i'm with you.

the words do little to settle the inner dread that settles deep within astarion's bones. being in this place again (it reeks of decay, of death, in the not fun way) the fear of never making it back out again. it's a fleeting moment, the thrist for revenge never quite leaves him. and then @avernach speaks, and he turns to look at her. (ignoring everything else, everyone else) she lights up the room, the shadows don't seem so cold, it's a quick reminder, that astarion made it out before. and now. well now he'll be able to make it back out again, hopefully with unspeakable powers under his control. astarion does not do well with manners. "right." he clears his throat. "well, thank the gods for that." if he squinted, he could see it there, karlach being almost as determined as he is to deal with cazador. (he considers very secretly then, just how in love he is.)

[anquenin-archive]

[ COMPANY ] for one muse to sit with the other so they don’t have to be alone while they’re upset.

astarion is hesitant. he's never been at the other end of a situation like this. in the sense that he's always been the upset one. and he doesn't do comfort (you cannot quite give something you have never gotten.) yet. he sits, the warmth @avernach radiates is quite literal. he swears he can feel it grow stronger, everyday. whether the heightened sense is a vampire thing or...an elf thing he wouldn't know. red eyes settle on her. he hates to be touched in moments like this, but karlach is not him. his hand settles on her back.

"you do not have to say anything if you do not want to. in fact i'd rather prefer if you do not put me in a position where i have to say something. i am postively terrible at it." voice soft, he rather not dwell on the fact that they are on borrowed time. he gets angry at the mere prospect that all of this could be for nothing, that karlach could go up in flames. just because. because the world is cruel and astarion knew this, he had hoped that karlach would not need to be reminded of the fact.

[azzagrazt]

@avernach liked for a starter

The Elfsong was uncharacteristically rowdy that evening, its usual haunting melody drowned beneath the din of patrons swapping stories, barmaids dodging clumsy advances, and mugs clinking in spirited toasts. Tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air and mingled with the acrid tang of spilled ale, and shadows gathered thick in the corners, untouched by ever-burning lanterns.

            She entered like a storm, and it did not go unnoticed. Nothing Karlach and her new acquaintances did had gone without his notice since Archduke Gortash’s coronation. It was rather difficult to miss them when news of troublemaking adventurers was spreading ‘round the city like untamed wildfire, in no small part thanks to the machinations of the Absolute’s dark-eyed architect. Still, most of the Elfsong’s patrons glanced away as quickly as they glanced up. The little cleric’s frigid, forbidding gaze kept unwelcome eyes from lingering long, and if she was not enough to dissuade onlookers, the sharp grin of the vampire spawn and more or less everything about Karlach hanging over her shoulder promised trouble twice over.

            From his vantage point at a shaded corner table, Luz watched as her party made their way hastily upstairs and out of sight. But she did not join them; she lingered near the bar, shoulders tense. 

            He stood and took his place just a few seats down, then did a double-take.

          She had changed much in the last several years—not that this was a surprise. He knew where she had been, and even if he had not, the engine burning in her chest gave it away in an instant. Luz, for his part, had not changed much at all: he was smartly dressed in a rich, dark jacket, and he was holding a half-full glass of something dark and expensive. His expression was one of mild surprise but just warm enough to suggest that he was not about to make her night any worse.

            “Karlach? By the gods, is that you?” 

[se1unite]

@avernach hit the ❤️‍🔥

"It's impressive, the way you fight. Like a beast. But, what's more is how you seem to bounce back." Levity is something that has been growing more difficult to come by each day, if not each hour. Karlach seems to have it in spades, truly bringing light to Last Light in a way that Isobel envied. "How do you keep all of that rage from swallowing you whole?"

[demonwebs-a]

’ i’m sensing a story here. ’

DRAGON AGE 2 SETNENCE MEME

oh , fuck him . he can hear amused laughter rumbling through the hollow insides of his skull . at least his discontentment greatly pleases somebody . the drow tugs at his semi transparent robe , tugging it over his slim shoulders , the ripple of white settling over the porcelain of his skin smoothly , effortlessly , the faded scars on the low of his hip still visible without disguise - streaks , the kind leather can make if whipped repeatedly and with precision . ❝ must there always be a story with you people ? ❞ the chip on his shoulder suggests there might , in fact , be - but not necessarily one he will be share without digging his heels every step of the way . then again , when does he ever share anything ? ever so often a casual 'lighthearted' story about menzoberranzan will slip during campfire nights , but far as sharing goes , he's battling the sharran for secrecy .

it's a fair enough question - he does plenty inquiring of his own , but seldom offered any answers in return . pushing his palm against the log , the drow stretches his delicate legs into the cold water of the lake , making the still surface ripple ; he shields his face from the sun , wincing a little still - never quite used to the brightness nor the heat the surface brings . ❝ it's just scars , not a book . or - well , a ritual , i guess , ❞ he thinks he's funny . ❝ c'mon ... i'm kidding ! ❞ he's keenly aware of the barbarian's presence , and not just because she's infuriatingly hot . ❝ it kind of looks like a tramp stamp if you look at it from the right angle ... so i've heard . ❞ he's good at it , isn't he ? - deflecting .