#mageister

[relentlessgrief]

@mageister

"What do you call a skeleton with no friends?"

"Bonely."

[vigilant-cleric]

@mageister

___

There was little that delighted Ashen more than seeing new faces. Granted, most of these foreign visitors to the Tabernacle tended to ask him for help with their map rather than being interested in worship, but that did not matter. He was all but judgemental when it came to the lack of religious enquiry - his own god was only concerned with soldiers, after all. It was simply pleasant to change one's routine from time to time, as much as he held affection for the frequent visitors of the city's altars.

Delight doubled, of course, when the visitor had a moustache that could easily rival with his. No, perhaps it beat him on that field, in fact. But he would never admit to it. Not today. Not ever.

"Welcome to the Stormshore Tabernacle, my son," Ashen greeted the stranger before setting down his book. As he walked towards the visitor, he slightly tilted his head in an attempt for recognition.

"A magic user... but you don't seem to be a follower of Mystra, am I right? Nothing wrong with that, of course. I'm always curious about newcomers."

And, to be fair, he would be glad if the other man weren't a follower of Mystra. But he could not say that outloud. ... Not today, not ever.

"I am Watchknight Highcliff. How may I help you today?"

[rubistella]

@mageister || continued

“Oh, no, darling. It’s not just my teeth I’d be willing to push inside of you.” Astarion was quick to correct him, the innuendo heavy on his tongue, aimed directly at Dorian’s hazel eyes. Crimson on amber, rivers of blood streaking the dawn. His head tilted, a predatory lean that flirted with wit and danger, just far enough to let Dorian win the round. A sly fold.

“But,” he continued, drawling, “I honestly should find something, or someone, to sink these fangs into. Testing the boundaries of my accord de deux rarely ends well.” A faint chuckle ensued, a little mad and plenty indulgent. “Last time it– all went to hell in a handbasket, as they say.”

Not that there had been much care put into his words, even less so could be found in his voice. There was no one among the dead that particularly struck the pale elf’s fancy at the time… They meant nothing to him. 

Still… 

To lose oneself to hunger was no different than surrendering to the tide. It was both final and inevitable. Quiet obliteration disguised as instinct.

“Are you coming with?” Astarion hovered by the door, seizing its frame with head tipped sideways just enough for an askew glance. “Not– to feast along so much as scout the premises. And if we happen upon some of our enemies...” Trailing off left murderous intent implied.

[circlefled]

continuing for @mageister

That was... truly the last thing he wanted to hear, despite the fact that he'd expected to hear it.

Hearing it from Dorian at least made it feel a little bit less like a scolding, and the longer he listens to the other mage describing the breach above them like a misbehaving child chucking pebbles at templars he almost starts to feel... encouraged.

Almost.

Being pelted with demons was still a distressing statement, especially when it was followed up with a comment about home. Makes breath everything Maxwell heard about Minrathous was terrifying. Blissfully unaware of the journey of emotions his face had gone through at those descriptors and mental imagery, Maxwell lifts both hands once again to try and rub the sleep from his eyes so he could actually look at his companion with steady unblurred sight.

" Some of the things you say Dorian. Maker knows I can't follow-- Am I supposed to know what dowager smells like? Does everyone know what dowager smells like? I'm -- Yes? Yes. That sounds very nice. "

Whatever it was. Scented soap alone still felt like a luxury.

" I'm going to fall asleep in the bath. I will. "