#sanguisstella

[sinistercall]

        『 ... 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧 … —              ...   𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄 … 』

―  𝐀  𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘  𝐈𝐍  :     ... ʙᴇɪɴɢ  ᴍᴏʀᴇ  ᴛʜᴀɴ  ʏᴏᴜ  ᴡᴇʀᴇ  𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃  ᴛᴏ  ʙᴇ  ,  ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ  𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒  ᴛʜᴀᴛ  ʙɪɴᴅ  ʏᴏᴜ  ,  ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠɪɴɢ  ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ  ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ  ʏᴏᴜʀ  𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒  ,  ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ  ʟɪꜰᴇ  ɪꜱ  ɴᴏᴛ  ꜰᴀɪʀ  ᴀɴᴅ  ᴘᴇʀꜱɪꜱᴛɪɴɢ  ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ  &  ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ  𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄  ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ  ᴛʜᴇ  𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏  ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇꜱ  ᴏꜰ  ʏᴏᴜʀ  ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ  ꜱᴇʟꜰ  …

@𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀 @𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋   ―   selective  and  private  blogs  featuring  Astarion  and  Ithuriel  :  Baldur's  Gate  3 . ᴄʜᴇʀɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴄʏɴ & ᴇɢɢ / ©

        『 … 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 - 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞              𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 … 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 … 』

[moonmaidened]

❝ Soooo, ❞ he chimes, gesturing flippantly, already determined to be the thorn in at least ONE person's side today, ❝ in the spirit of... comaderie. What do you say to me and you slipping away for a few moments. And if a few goblins and their newfound possessions go missing, what's the harm? ❞

The well-practiced smirk he wears on his features has never failed him before, and he HOPES it's equally effective on the cleric. He'd lay the charm on thicker, drape an arm around her shoulders, or lean into her space closer if he wasn't convinced she'd snap him in two.

|| @sanguisstella

@sanguisstella | unprompted asks

the moment upon hearing his voice shadowheart is quick to force back an annoyed lift of her brow, forced to avert her attention from the artifact in her hands to whatever it is astarion has approached her for. though it seems as he continues to speak ( so much for waiting for her to prod ), his idea doesn't seem half bad.

" what, did ithuriel turn you down? " okay, so perhaps she has a bit of bark today. she's half ready then and there to turn, granting him a cold soldier, yet something compels her to listen. to contemplate. she shakes away the whys before she further loses herself in thought, soon returning to the now.

soon a scoff comes to, pocketing the artifact and glancing about. everyone else is seemingly busy after all -- lucky her for being the chosen fodder for his amusement. " haven't you had enough goblin business? i've rather not return to that camp should our paths will it. my lady is not so pleased to have me squandering about an old selunite temple, ruined or not. "

that's a lie, she just doesn't want to admit the tug she feels. the one that desires her to glance upon the statues a bit longer than any sharran should.

" and before you ask anything else: no. "

[sinistercall]

『 "𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓" 』

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯; 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘮, 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘯-𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

Such a thing graced Ithuriel's eyes as she cut back into reality once more, finding herself laying down within her tent atop her bedroll - it smells sweet, like cinnamon ; how had she gotten here? Cinnamon ... Kettle ... Tea - Her gaze flicked over to spy that fluttering imp, right, she remembers now. The group had settled down for the evening after finishing up various chores, and she had thought it better for the night to read that 𝐆𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐘 romance novel Astarion had lent her. Something to clear her " 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 " and hopefully lead to ... " 𝘦𝘹𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 ". The comment racked a shudder across her being. Fel (   𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦?   ) had arrived shortly after, happy enough in her presence to speak with her plainly; his voice - despite all of the horrid vocabulary - somehow was a comfort. She'd managed to convince him to settle down in his chatter beside her, but ever diligent to work he kept twitching - so she had given him laundry to fold while she ‘studied up on runic symbols’. A lie, but one he didn't seem displeased by despite her confidence that he knew what she was actually up to. 

"Ahh you always were 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 for knowledge Master! You should really rest though, my Lady, you must be tired from all of the sorocide from today. However, if you insist, I will stay here to watch over you and make sure you complete your studies."

Like a parent guiding their child. Had it always been that way? Had there been a point where the Scleritas held her 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐡𝐚𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐞 hand? Much to her chagrin, it brings a soft grin to her lips - a fleeting one as she peeks over to her gentlegoblin. She had no memory of being a child, no memory before waking up on the Nautiloid ... Surely she was 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓, once? He had mentioned being a "   𝘋𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘩𝘢𝘢𝘭   '' himself, something made to aid and protect Bhaal's most beloved child - Perhaps if there was any good within the 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑, he had placed it into Fel to keep her company and guide her along the way ... If not just to puppet her back into the Dread Lord's sticky and crimson embrace. The Butler began to hum as her cerise gaze trailed downward to her - well, 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 - book once more.

"𝘖𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘎𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳, 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘌𝘰𝘸𝘺𝘯, 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦?’ 

Surely he'd given her the wrong novel, this was far from some cheap romantic smut fest she had expected to open into, and she was unsure if she was disappointed or not. It was a fabulous book, one she had almost instantly bonded with; a traveler on a long journey fighting against his own corruption. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 - 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. Instinctually her stare lifts to the rest of camp, alone in her tent but never truly lonely; someone was always out and about. The Sharran and Blade of Frontiers seemed locked in wicked debate, though their voices were soft their bodies told a new tale. Yes ... That was it, she concludes - the book she was so fond of; it reminded her of 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. Introduced crudely but swiftly found to be resourceful and, well, a joy. She should speak to her soon ... maybe the two could step aside from their differences. Although the woman’s piercing expression did little to ease any doubts dancing about Ithuriel’s mind.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘌𝘰𝘸𝘺𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳.

Ithuriel observes over the camp once more before white moon-kissed locks greet her, eyes angling lower to watch Astarion mumble and pace about while holding a book that seemed much too heavy for his nimble statue. Her lips part with a tilt of her head, her own wintry hair spilling over her shoulder as she finds fuzzy moss growing in her. It's warm and fluffy and invades every part of her form, the garden inside of her chest feels like it's going to sprout from her mouth - and her ears flutter as though she were a butterfly prancing about from petal to petal. A blushing flush ran across her cheeks, she is safe in her small den ; and Astarion is far too preoccupied. She tries to further indulge in those 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘 feelings, and in the selenic glow, soft rays of silver and blue - he's as beautiful as glistening dew and the call of bird song. To her own reluctance, Ithuriel's mind begins to twist herself into the visage before her, next to him and listening to his murmurs of frustration and amusement. Her steady intelligent gaze studied him closely, noting the strength in his forearms that bore every inch of his determination and longing for freedom. 

Insurrection. Spite. 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ... 𝘠𝘦𝘴 ... 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴.

That is when those sanguineous eyes meet hers and lock in, her tadpole twitches - longing to reach out - but the shuddering of her skin gives her the strength to break the look between them. Ithuriel had never been looked at so 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘, within a moment he had undressed her soul - even buried under blanketed layers of wool she'd never felt so naked. The tiefling dares to look back at him; her veins turning to ice at the stark realization that he has not broken away yet. Not once.  Those eyes are full of a deep understanding and calm indifference. It is a crimson sea she wishes she could pour herself in to become the foam atop each wave of his iris. She is a person and he, as another person acknowledges that. 

                                               ... 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ...  

How long ... How 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 had it been since she had felt like one? Not a monster, not a 𝐆𝐨𝐝, not a 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐍 -

" - Master, I have finished! -- Ohhh! Oh my Lady, did I startle you? It still pains me so to see my little liege in distress." The Sceleritas comforted quickly, soothing Ithuriel back from her skittish yip. "You appear to be on the same page as before! Are you troubled, Master?"

" ... No. I - Thank you, Fel. I - I," her hand fidgets forward to free the clasp of her tent, closing off herself from the outside world. From Warmth. From Friends. From Love. She doesn't dare look at any of their companions. Not now. "I think I will be turning in for the night, I ... Will you stay? I ... I think even with my loss of memory I have missed you."

"Ah ... Master, you make a butler 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐇! I'll carve that compliment into my heart! Worry not, my demiurge, these feelings of distraction will wane soon enough and you will be back on your feet by the next moon! A person of your fine 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 is never down for long, I know the unholy guarantee of your Father's legacy will spur you on. It is woven into you."

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.

✧ ── 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 ۞ 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ɪᴛʜᴜʀɪᴇʟ ʟɪꜰ - ʙᴀʟᴅᴜʀ'ꜱ ɢᴀᴛᴇ 3: ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴜʀɢᴇ - @burntscars

[sinistercall]

𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ━━━ @sanguisstella

She could not 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 the last time she'd acted so quickly; the instinct surged through her veins like 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 as she hurled herself into the path of the glinting lone arrow that had sang through the verdant lush growth around them. With a swift and powerful motion, she swung the blunt of her sword, the impact sending shards of wood and sharpened metal into the air to mingle among the freshly shaken pollen before vanishing into the forest's underbrush. The suddenness of her movement left the world around her in a 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑, and she barely registered the soft thud of the freshly slain deer as it tumbled from her shoulders to the ground. Sweet perfume wafted off its pooling lifeblood — once a radiant force to keep the beast alive, now just a darkened 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 upon the path's trodden soil, but she found herself unaffected by it; 𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 had its hold on her, demanding her attention.

Pointed ears zipped forward in shock and with a racing heart, the tiefling raised her shield just in time to catch the next incoming threat; he force reverberating through the metal and sending a tremor up her arm when the spear pointed tip of the arrow head halted its movement only a few inches from her left eye. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. Ithuriel's arm curled 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 towards Astarion, and with teeth bared in a primal snarl she began to scan across the tree line in search of the next home for her axe's edge.  ... 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

"Astarion! What do your elf eyes see?" She asked quickly, an uneasiness settling in her stomach when she realized just how 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 she could actually see within the thick woodland; and the fact that they were being hunted only served to amplify her said sense of 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃. The tiefling felt tense — to say the least; her posture defensively tightened, muscles coiling like a spring ready to unleash whatever 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 filled fantasy she'd had last night. She could almost taste the heat of that fevered dream on her lips, feel it gripping her heart — and it was swiftly becoming something rather difficult to ignore.

"Filius caniculae!" She spat, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 actually, infernal blazing across her tongue quick enough to set flame readied to burst forth in a blaze should her grinding teeth grant it 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄. Ithuriel deftly sheathed her short sword, the metallic whisper of steel sliding into its scabbard with a bellish 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬! before her shield clattered to the ground, forgotten. Oh she was 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐅𝐅 now. Her weapons were practically ripped from their hold, and her pale fingers nocked an arrow to her bowstring; the supple wood creaking in protest under the pressure as she drew the string back enough so the arrow's quill brushed along the curve of her ear. Her hackles rose.

" — Show yourself, you 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 welp!" The words nearly erupted from her, tone infused with a primal ferocity that surged within her like a tidal wave. It was a feeling she hadn't tasted in some time, and the thrill of it both terrified and exhilarated her. It made her feel 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄. It made her feel 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄. But regardless of whatever inner drama her worm was being entertained by, there were much more pressing matters in the real world. With eyes ever searching, the tiefling hissed lowly, her keen ears folding sideways as they 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 to capture any sound that might betray their unseen foe. But another sound caught her ear instead. His 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 voice. There was something 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐋𝐘 reckless in her trust of Astarion and as she let his smooth tone instruct her, she felt the weight of his confidence 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 her own. With a deep breath, she freed the tension in her bowstring and released the arrow with his command. By some divine intervention, Lathander’s guiding hand seemed to steer her aim, as the arrow soared through the air — swift, unwavering, and true — finding its mark with a satisfying 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐀𝐋 of pain.

An overwhelming impulse surged through her 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐒​​​​​​​, urging her to lunge into the thicket, to tear apart and feast upon the intruder threatening their safety, bathe in their blood, drink their fluids — the 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 Bhaalist agenda. Every nerve ending in her body screamed for action, yet her feet felt anchored to the ground by heavy lead weights that defied her desire to flee or fight. It was only when the familiar, intoxicating scent of Astarion’s cologne enveloped her in 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒 and 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 that she felt the tension 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄​​​​​​​. Instantly, the bow slipped from her fingers, falling to the forest floor beside her shield with a muted thud, as she whirled around to meet his cherry eyes.

“Oh, thank the Gods — ” she exhaled, her worry melting away as she examined him with frantic eyes, the relief she felt upon seeing his skin, unmarred and radiant, soothed her frayed nerves like cool summer rain. Without even a second thought, her hands reached forward and pulled him against her chest in a warm 𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 that made the world, at least for her, nearly fade away. Ithuriel squeezed him firmly; the jabs and teasing that would surely come later were but a distant thought. Everything seemed eclipsed by the sheer 𝐉𝐎𝐘 of his safety. 

“The Lord of Light smiles upon us today, Astarion,” she whispered into his neck, not much caring — or perhaps not 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 — about the intense fluttering of her heart. With a subtle shift, her gaze drifted back to the bushes that framed their path, where moans and whimpers echoed eerily. A mischievous 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 sparked in her cerise eyes as she mused and faced him with a laugh, “And look! We've found you breakfast!” 

[moonmaidened]

❝ Shadowheart.... Shadow.... heart.... ❞ What an abysmal name; no material to work with here at all. How DEMENTED must your parents be to name a child such a thing. But what if— he gasp, the epiphany lighting up his brain in a way he rarely experiences— what if she picked her name HERSELF? ❝ A perfectly dreary name to go with her dark and unpleasant attitude. We all go through phases, I suppose. ❞

His little REVELATION does nothing to aid him in his endeavor of simply talking to the woman without both of them resorting to throwing verbal barbs back and forth. Oh, well. ❝ Darling, ❞ a safer nickname than comparing her to anything as DELICATE as a flower, certainly. Or perhaps she'd like it? He'd have to test that theory later. ❝ Do slow down. Surely there's no rush to dive headfirst into goblins again, hmm? ❞

He puts on what he knows in his undead heart to be his most CHARMING smile; handsome, disarming, and not at all a threat to anyone he's flashed it to. ❝ I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Why don't we take some time to get to know one another? Perhaps.... tonight over a bottle of wine? ❞

The vampire can feel his smile slipping into something a little too wide, too HUNGRY. Still, he's entirely sure he's the most beautiful creature in a hundred mile radius— there's absolutely no chance in the hells the half-elf would turn him down. She'd be a fool to; does she know how just how COVETED he is back in Baldur's Gate? A thousand maidens have fallen for his charms, and she's undoubtedly just one more.

love, @sanguisstella <3

On the contrary, Shadowheart had thought her name to be fine.

Not that it even mattered -- whatever her true name is long gone. Not by choice, the Sharran cleric thinks, but by will to accomplish Lady Shar's mission. That, above all else, comes first. What irks her, is how common others are to poke and prod where their noses clearly don't belong -- and Astarion is no different.

Time and time again now, all these new ... no, she wouldn't call her companions 'friends' -- not that Lady Shar would even allow such a title -- poking at her name. Her desire to get this over with so she can get back to what she's meant to do. Who she believes in ; it only frustrates her further. Why bother with the idle chit chat, truly, if by the end of the night and these parasites are gone so too, will they.

" What? Do you not want to rid yourself of our little problem? " Spoken through thin lips, and narrower eyes. Tense she stands, gloved hands anxiously treading over the foreign artifact in her hands. It had saved them once already -- why did Lady Shar want it? " Personally, the sooner we make way to the Underdark, the better. If we have to beat a few more goblins, so be it. "

Ah, there it is.

Is everyone so keen on getting to know one another? Don't others know when to drop a subject? Frankly, she's been more than content not knowing what his -- or anyone else's -- past contains, and sincerely wishes the same feelings to be placed towards her. Apparently, that is not so simple. Perhaps she needs to brood more, cast a harder stare at him in particular.

However ... a bottle of wine also never hurt anyone. One night of relaxation surely wouldn't kill them -- they all should have been well dead by now. Is it Lady Shar protecting her? Or is it this object she retains in her hands? Her brows tremble at the thought, not entirely wishing to dwell on it further.

' Forgive me, Lady Shar ' she idly thinks to herself, a quiver to her lip before she finally raises her head to meet his gaze. " Fine, if you so desperately wish to talk, I'll listen. " A part of her wonders just how much of a mistake this could be ; the curve of his lips being far too daunting -- inviting for casual chit chat.

" Meet me by the waterfall later. " Shadowheart says, ill attempts of being aloof. " I must attend to my prayers first. "