#thornedlamb

[murderreign]

@thornedlamb | Cont from here

The look the cleric wears is nothing short of bitchy, even as legs wrap around his waist. He scoffs at the words, but makes no effort to move away nor to cast a spell. "Don't mistake malice for incompetence, dear."

Blank white eyes flick down to his hand, watching as Sirius presses his fingers in deeper, making the wound deeper in the process. It sends a shiver through him, eyes locked onto the blood spilling from the wound. He finds himself imagining what it would be like to replace his fingers with his tongue. To lap at the inards of the wound, blood dripping down his chin as the smell of copper--

Sirius' idea is just fine as well, but Serkan has something of an oral fixation. Always needing to taste, bite, whatever holds his attention.

But if he ripped him open, took him apart... there would be so much more to taste. He wonders how much different he'd taste to a real tiefling, or to another bhaalspawn--

And then the other is leaning up into his space, whispering softly into his ear and suddenly the alterative is just as appealing. The feeling of a tongue licking along his ribs, fingers caressing his liver or whatever Sirius felt so inclined to touch.

All hostility had long since drained from his form, replaced instead with an overstimulating sense of want.

"Both, both." He sounds breathless, manic, a grin threatening to split his face. "Want to take you apart first, want to taste you. If you take me apart first, I might not get to."

His free hand moves to reach for the dagger attached to his hip. Not his preferred weapon, but far better for something so up close and intimate.

[whomuses]

@thornedlamb liked for an angst starter. "Get… away… from me…" Caedes' voice was a low growl; they were half hunched over, although their face twisted towards the other. Illithid darkened eyes hid just how minute their pupils were. Lost in some other world; not able to really make out who they were looking at, convinced it was a threat, nothing more. Jaw hung open, fangs on display, drool spattering onto the floor as they panted. Claws flexed, digging into the ground, leaving deep furrows. "Get - back -!" they snapped his jaw in midair, growling deep in his chest.

[demonwebs-a]

🍺 what is your issue with Wyll? You glare a lot at him…

Send 🍺+ a question and my muse will answer drunk!

❝ tch ... ❞ all this time spent grumbling next to lae'zel is rubbing off on him , clearly . ❝ - i don't have a problem with - with wyll ... why would i - why would anyone have a problem with perfect wyll and his perfect doe eyes and his perfect sword ... skills ... and his ... unflinching moral code , ❞ there's venom practically dribbling off the corner of his mouth ; there's a thousand reasons why , how would sirius like to stare into a reflection of everything he could be - should be , dressed in an impenetrable armor of moral superiority ? - if that wasn't enough , he isn't blind to the lingering looks the tiefling gives him whenever he walks by . he's perfect , isn't he ? not an illusion of it - but truly , honestly so . how could he compete with that ? he couldn't even blame him . ❝ he went that way ... if you were wondering . ❞ it's for the better , really - he's best suited to drink and sulk alone , in the dark .

[fellbless]

@thornedlamb | Cont from here

Lithos watches him quietly as he laughs. His nerves buzzed warning signals under his skin, instincts honed from years of living in constant danger. Yet he ignored them. He was quick, had good reflexes and could teleport out of the way if he needed to. Plus, if he did die... well if would be little more than an inconvenience.

So he does as he was requested of him, sitting down next to the sorcerer.

"Tell me what's going through your mind. Even if it doesn't make sense." He's not sure how much he can help, but he's learned some people feel better just speaking things out loud. It's not like anything the other said could disturb him anyhow.

[murdermade]

@thornedlamb sent  20﹕ sender  lifts  receiver's  chin ,  invoking  eye  contact .

So entranced in the kill, she forgets that he is there. Her body and hands stained in such wonderful sticky warm liquid. She watches the blood as it falls between the cracks of her fingers, blood stains her face from the kill. It is a messy kill but one that she has made art out of. She enjoys the way her dagger carves into skin like it is a canvas to paint.

It seems as if she is so focused on her work she forgets he is even here, long after the kill is done. The hand that grips her chin is almost yanked away from before she remembers that he's here with her.

He forces her to lift her gaze and her white eyes locks onto his own gaze, lips curling into a wicked and teasing smirk. "Are you admiring me? You should. It is a beautiful sight. Covered in this sticky sweet liquid, do I appeal to you, bloodkin?"

[murderreign]

"Rumor has it you don't hate me as much as you say~"

An unamused look crosses the clerics face. "And who told you that? Just who am I going to have to display on a pike?" He hisses, but it's... not exactly a denial? Defensive much?

[draelith]

@thornedlamb / starter from thrall

The Grove had actually been in the process of resolving the difficulties with Khaga and her troops, allowing the tieflings to remain until the roads were safe, but then the unimaginable happened: the goblins found the grove. The worst part was that they climbed over the walls. Thrall grabbed his war axe and let out a deafening roar.

A battle yell, a cheer. A call to arms. He raised his axe and, despite his massive body, ran towards the first opponent to sink his axe into their flesh. It was unfair, really, since he towered over the goblin at least three times over and it had no chance against the orc, but that's how it was. Other enemies were bigger, and he eventually turned his attention to them. That was much more fun for the green-skinned orc.

Thrall hadn't been with this group of adventurers for long. He was different from the others… he didn't have a larva in his head that could trigger a transformation at any moment. Nevertheless, he traveled with them and helped as best he could. Because he didn't know where else to go anyway. Because he didn't know any place like the one he had come back to. And he had to learn.

The last enemy fell to the ground. His gaze wandered around. Some of the tieflings had been injured or killed, but the druids had also suffered damage. As far as Thrall could tell, no children had been hurt. At least that was something. His gaze fell on Siruis, who was behaving strangely. He was hacking away at someone lying on the ground. Long dead. Literally dismembering the dead enemy. Thrall placed his powerful hand on his shoulder. “He's…” But he flinched as the other man swung at him. Thrall barely felt the cut. His skin was so thick that knives and daggers rarely caused any damage. At least not the first time. A spell amplified the next attack, and Thrall felt his blood seeping through his skin.

“Sirius!” he shouted, his paw grabbing the other man’s arm, holding him tight, squeezing his skin. The dagger fell noisily to the floor. “Stop it!” Curious eyes looked over at them, uncertain. Thrall heard Wyll beside him talking soothingly to the other man. Thrall's arms grabbed the other man, and Karlach helped him hold Sirius down. But it took a while for the other man to calm down. Thrall grunted. Someone had cast a spell of silence over them, so he only moved his mouth silently. Only when everyone was sure that the other man was really calm did the spell lift. However, Thrall's arms did not relax. “Are you all right?” The expression on the other's face… Thrall knew that expression. Bloodlust. He would have thought that only the old orcs were afflicted with it. And it worried him that he now saw that expression on someone he wanted to accompany.

[fellbless]

@thornedlamb | Cont from here

There's a sense of familiarity in their nightly spars. One routine that could in some way anchor him to his previous lives. Each swing of a blade, each parry, each dodge, brought with it a rush and that rush had always been what kept him alive.

Sirius fought a lot more viciously than most of his previous combatants, who treated the act as almost a chore, a necessity. A small cut there, a bruise there. Enough to feel pain, enough to feel something. Not enough, never enough. Sensation, feeling, such a rarity could never be enough.

So perhaps there was some self indulgence laced in-between his offers to indulge the tiefling. Sirius didn't need to know that, and he felt he'd done so well at hiding that little fact.

Until now.

It wasn't the first time he'd been pinned in a fight, but it was the first time being pinned like this. Pressed against the shabby wooden building close to camp, knee pressed into his back and forearm against the back of his throat. He could feel his head swim, already out of breath from their fight. He doesn't have the capacity to bite back to half-choked moan that forces it's way past his lips.

He can feel how his companion stills behind him, his grip loosening enough to where it's a bit easier to breathe and as soon as he has that breath he can feel the mortification set in.

Yet almost as though he could sense it, Sirius is telling him to do it again. flipping him around and pinning him again. Where Lithos has to face him now, his usually deathly skin now flushing ever so slightly.

Somehow, seeing the mans face so lit up, it quickly buries any bubbling shame. As fingers gently caress his throat, he'd let himself melt slightly under the touch. He would let himself Sirius have this, for now.

Eyes slip shut as lips press against his own, wrists instinctively straining against their hold as the urge to hold onto the other man take hold, but only for a moment. The urge to touch isn't enough for him to truly struggle. Not now, at least.

Sirius is rewarded with a sharp gasp, fingers curling into fists in the others grasp. The pain is sharp, unexpected and he thinks he likes the thrill of it. Enough to where another tiny, almost embarrassing sound leaves him as the other pulls back.

He can feel the blood bubbling from his lips, dripping down his chin. He wonders if the tiefling likes the sight of it.

"I suppose I can indulge you a little more." There's an underlying fondness to the words, amidst the breathlessness. Then he's licking the blood from his lips, quite uselessly as it's almost immediately replaced.

"Tell me what you want."