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The Crew ; // Birvor (half human/half orc), Kiimkaline (deep gnome), Vez (half human/half drow), and Ren (high elf).

#//this is our theme song gang and i won't hear any lip about it #yes our theme song is the lego song ok #main party;// the wizard #main party;// the cleric #main party;// the rogue #long post #photoset #bg3 multiplayer #bg3 squad #kiimkaline #ehrendiil #illithidtouched

@ehrendiil @elkenbulwark

"Oh Ren, your brother has escaped from his cage again. He's issuing threats. Do discuss. This one is rather unique."

#ehrendiil #elkenbulwark #// Astarion the professional shit stirrer.#suggestive

// which bro wore it better? comment below - 👇 Bonus stretching side by side for comparison:

#//so they picked the same camp outfit...but they have vastly different ideas of color coordination-#//ASTARION DONT @ ME ISTG #//just having a fashion show in a grave yard mind ya own business-#apalestar #ehrendiil #wildskissed #main party;//the wizard #crack:// a lute in half #birvor ; // shiny side down #photoset

@ehrendiil

Has he arrived in time for the weekly cult meeting?

#ehrendiil #crack: chipping my fangs #the cult of corellon

@wildskissed cont.

It had been all her idea-...well, mostly her idea- getting to know one another better, that was. Ever since he'd found himself an unwilling participant in her camp following the fall from the Nautiloid that saw both he and the last surviving member (that he knew of) of house Cragdew, Birvor had been less than forthcoming of where exactly he'd come from. For all anyone knew, he was a half-orc who showed up in the half- tattered gear of an elvish fighter's training gear, frantic at first as he was furious, dropping an occasional elven curse and making no attempt to hide his displeasure with her and the other pointy-eared inhabitants of camp despite the fact. The only thing that seemed to matter to him (which conversely was the only thing that he shared) was that his brother and he were on the illithid's ship, and that now they were no longer together after the monstrous vessel crashed itself into the rocky shoreline of the Sword Coast.

So of course it was still with some hesitation that he took her bluff, coaxed into the task of letting her know more about just who's lips she had been ghosting hers against with the faintest of fury inducing fortitudes in the face of his claims that he would sooner lock tusks with a wild boar than entertain an elf so. Though by the time he felt it less hackle raising to do so, she'd already found that the spaces between his knuckles were the chips in his bulwark that simply rubbing between her hands could coerce more than a few offhanded remarks about how she infuriated him on that particular morning. This one, in particular with its dawn dipped breeze and light fog trailing across the entrance way of the doorless, roofless and otherwise dilapidated and nameless building they had emerged from warm-cheeked and faint of smiles both knew the taste of well before the rest of camp rose to join them by the fire's side, was different. Unusual even, for it was all he could do to keep from musing quietly as she massaged his knuckles and wondered just where exactly he'd come from to think that kissing and cuddling after the warmth of day faded between them was far too scandalous an affair to be spotted outside a ruined building. So he told her. He was from house Cragdew of the upper city in Baldur's Gate, and he was looking for his brother, Ehrendiil. The look on her face after the fact and the sudden withdrawal confirmed his suspicions that staying quiet previously had been a wise decision. Now it was too late.

Her interruption was met with a jutted jaw- tusks flashing on display in the low light of the fire's dying embers as he clicked his tongue testily. Of course she would find a way to interrupt him...to find some convenient nook of an opening to nettle him with nuances. Except -... he found, with guarded gaze softening in a show of sobering surprise, she merely peeled back a layer that (while true) he had no reason to make mention of. Though as she tugged back, stood and explained to the fire with wrung hands, he was beginning to understand why. The drawbridge he'd lowered halfway for her in the night slowly began it's creaking ascent back up.

"And that matt'rs... exactly?" He began, having fixed a firm, unwavering gaze at the plight of her hands. "Not a fan of the pre-ranged hitchin'?" It wasn't his business of course. Well, not in the sense that he had to judge for himself if it was ethical or if Ren even wanted to go through with it. But it was his business in the sense that it was his responsibility to see that his brother remained safe until the day he'd transfer over to a new house- another family who he would no doubt serve along with a continued attendance to his brother's affairs. So to find himself in the company of half that equation and so unknowingly of the fact that he'd just spent the evening letting her pepper him with kisses, caressing his knuckles...sucking his tusks- gods. Gods, it couldn't be? But the scalded look on her expression bid him to believe it without her even having to speak the words that surely were a Corellon sent curse.

His heart felt heavy...harder. But that hardness was only visible in the lines that dragged his face down into the frown that now perched forbodingly in the shadow cast along half a face fallen. She was - ... to be wed to another. To Ren-...his brother.

Right, he thought, all former ideas of softness set aside as he rose quite suddenly and claimed a hand she seemed not to notice how hard she'd been wringing with a snatch firm enough to startle, but careful enough to avoid bruising- it was an art really. One he knew too well when it came to keeping his brother under lock and key without causing him harm that would no doubt earn a punishment for his carelessness. Wordless for the moment, he turned her hand about in his coldly, searching for any indication she may have scratched herself...then when he found nothing, he let the palm drop with a disgruntled snort. "...I have to get you to him. You're..." He did not meet her eyes. "...all he has left." And now - he was truly all Birvor had left.

#//:') this is fine-#verse ; // separation of the fallen #wildskissed #long post #//tags ren to assert my dominance in angst tbh 😅#ehrendiil #//and yes this is just a fun story line idea for solo biv~

There was a brief moment where he didn't know what Ren would do-...perhaps he had been having many of those moments as of late. Their connection...however strained was beginning to succumb to the fraying. Much as he tried to keep a frantic grip on the splitting that singed his hand. Painted the white stain of his pigments a bloody red. He saw the tadpole offered to his brother and felt little concern compared to anything Vesz gave him. He wasn't sure why... perhaps the tadpoles he'd consumed had calmed him into thinking it was a perfectly acceptable gift-

[This will make you stronger... this will help.] The sentiment wasn't spoken, but he felt it in his head from the mind flayer before them. He believed it. Believed it like he wanted to believe that his services still mattered to the Cragdew-... still had the capability of keeping him safe. Even though deep down he knew that for all the recent battles they'd been thrown into, he had done the least damage. He had been the most work for the rest of them to watch over. He'd encumbered them. Like the tadpoles weighing them all down now. He felt...heavy.

When Ren flung the offered tadpole away into the craggy recesses of the astronaut they all stood upon in the Astral plain, he felt a knife sink into his chest. Something trying its best to protect what it had burrowed into-... screaming out like he did in his rages, and thrashing when held down with nothing but a word. He waited until the rest of the party had begun to trot off without him- ... yet again. His eyes firmly squeezed shut could not detangle the worm's screeches for help below his feet.

He stooped...collected it in his glove. And in his open palm where it thrashed he saw- the last remnants of Ren's smile when he'd last earned it as a child. He wanted it so badly-...to the point where, with a tilt of his hand, he popped the tadpole inside his mouth and swallowed heavily, eyes burning with a prick of something warm and wet. If he'd been a better brother-...a better friend, then maybe it wouldn't have come to this.

#//he had a breaking point ok #ehrendiil #illithidtouched #burtai #hc ; // roll history check #//he'll get a nicer route than this on his solo but ksdlf;sd he's a lil broken on this 1 #//-w- feel free to ask for a starter w/ half squid boy btw im jst gonna ignore it otherwise LD;SFKL #verse ; // periscope

I envy you...living without a collar. Bound to no one. ´ ･ . ✶ ━━ Free to roam wherever you please...

#//on a side note-...ren @ vez to my favorite octopath 2 song yes #ehrendiil #burtaii #illithidtouched #main party;// the rogue #main party;// the wizard #main party;// the cleric #bg3 multiplayer

@illithidtouched cont

elkenbulwark said: ❛Ask me how I am and I’ll scream.❜

"Believe me. I want to know how you are about as much as I want to be at this inane dinner."

She doesn't care much for Birvor, or the majority of the Cragdews for that matter. But their families are close, and that means that Veraia is expected to attend these events. It isn't all bad - since her social debut, she has found a friend in Ehrendil, whom she has rescued from many a suitor and vice versa. But where there is Ehrendil, Birvor is just around the corner.

"I take it you know where he is. You always do, for some reason. Or are you actually loosening the reigns for once?"

It was not his prerogative to entertain the nobles that traipsed through the home like cattle grazing on all manner of gossip more than they indulged in hors o d'oeuvres. No, his only concern for such affairs was following the very simple instructions stamped across his brow- delicate as they were haughty strokes of elvish glyphs that would glow if activated by the right set of lips. Simple instructions: keep an eye on his brother, though Birvor knew from experience that hands were also expected when corralling said brother away from perceived threats were concerned, followed by fists that might need applying to said threat. As his gaze found the fire harpy's across the way, hazel eyes narrowed at her approach. She was no doubt looking for Ren... though the half-orc knew her as not so much a threat as much as a pest, as she'd proven to be a thorn in his side on many prior visits. And he wasn't about to drop his guard around her again lest he end up magically locked in another gods damned closet-

"I'd be more... inclined at believin' what you're on 'bout, yet here you are. Badgerin' me of all people?" Not that he could give a god's crooked toe what she thought of him- a half-orc hastily dressed in formal attire both black and gold to suite the colors of the family's crest: House Cragdew - the snake that bound to a dagger, wrapped round to become a part of its hilt.

When the roots of why she'd wandered over came to light via her own admission, he gave her a dismissive snort. "Oh yeah- some reason. Some odd bloody reason, that- knowin' what he's up to and all. 'Ev think it's 'cause it's MY JOB TO-??" Fingers drummed impatiently along his arms where he'd crossed them. "And I can't bloody letcha take credit for my work, can I? Bugger off and go find'im yourself, wouldja-"

Just then a loud bang on the door behind which Birvor was resting exploded behind him along with a muffled elvish curse that sounded suspiciously like Ren complaining about how he'd already changed fifteen minutes ago followed by a furious doorknob wriggle.

Birvor's eyes briefly flicked to hers, assessing her reaction before he leaned back a bit more heavily against the door to casually block it from opening. "...he'll be ready inna minute."