#killspwn

[sanguinir]

❝      𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝚃𝙰𝙳𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙰   𝙵𝚄𝙽𝙽𝚈   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶,   𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆.      ❞      Trust   didn’t   come   easily   to   jaded   creatures   like   Astarion,   with   every   word   and   every   action   judged   and   dissected   for   ulterior   motives   and   the   possibility   of   duplicity.   He’d   waited   there,   in   his   unsuspecting   companion’s   tent,   waiting   for   the   tell-tale   shortening   of   breath   and   the   flutter   of   the   heart   to   signal   wakefulness.   The   elf   sat   with   his   legs   crossed,   looking   up   through   pale   lashes   as   the   Sussur   dagger   was   wielded   delicately   to   remove   dirt   from   underneath   his   nails.   A   threat,   a   warning,   a   𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆.

❝      You   would   think   that   just   because   I   can   now   walk   in   the   sun,   I   would   be   free   from   the   vampire’s   preference   for   being   awake   at   night,   but   alas   .   .   .Here   we   are.      ❞

It’s   a   wan,   humorless   smile   that   he   gifts   to   Zeyris,   as   he   continued   to   manicure   his   nails.   One   didn’t   survive   as   long   as   the   vampire   had   under   the   tender,   loving   care   of   his   former   master   without   becoming   proficient   in   reading   people.   Something   was   eating   at   the   tiefling   and   there   were   certain   .   .   .   moments   that   had   proved   alarming   for   a   self-serving,   recently   freed   thing   like   Astarion.

❝      Now,   are   you   planning   on   telling   me   what’s   been   making   you   as   fidgety   as   a   kobold   on   Black   Lotus   or   shall   I   just   continue   to   sleep   with   poisoned   daggers   under   my   pillow?   Because   it’s   starting   to   interrupt   my   beauty   sleep.      ❞

@killspwn s.c.

[ospraey]

👀

꒰ა @killspwn. type bingo. status : accepting.

GODDAMN THAT’S A LOT OF BINGOS.

[griefology]

the companion sits on her knees at campground. she'd been deep in thought, some kind of loss gathering in the base of her belly that she does not yet know how to name.

she knows she is no stranger to bloodshed, but something to this mission [ . . . ] it doesn't sit well with her.

❝ you look like you've got something to say. ❞ @killspwn gives, and she realizes she's been staring, lost in memory. forgive her slow raise of her brow. ❝ some things are better left unsaid, do you think ? ❞ the dark orchid asks, the smallest tip up of her mouth. it feels like a test.

[emberbled]

@killspwn // “Use your words.”

enya might have snarled — the scratches though, with nails dragging where skin meets scales, immediately make that would-be snarl turn into a purr, grip on zeyris' shoulders slackening. sneaky bastard. "you know what I want." enya finally argues once her mind and mouth are back in working order. left hand trails upwards, fingers running playfully along the length of one of the tiefling's horns. there's a moment of quiet, internal debate, wondering if those horns are sensitive to heat, before the sorcerer pulls him closer, mouths brushing as she speaks. "touch me."

[weavewilled]

a flirtatious kiss on the back of the hand .

��� kiss & tell ( accepting ) / @killspwn

WHAT IS GALE BUT GRANDIOSE? Fingers twine 'round the hand, an old gesture steeped in formality but given a certain flair of his own. A delicate touch, deft fingers — a smile that's effortless, charming, haunted just under the surface by something desperately self-aware, something old, something a little sardonic. And the evening has been —— flirtatious, or something dancing terribly close to it.

( It frightens you, the concept of being with another. Your whole being has been wrapped up in your goddess who left you, and now who are you, Gale of Waterdeep? )

And so he bends, scruff of beard brief upon the backs of fingers as he kisses the back of the hand —— a brush of his thumb across the backs of knuckles and a swift wink before he withdraws, preparing to take his leave. ❝ Certainly an evening most appreciated. So often do we forget to take moments outside of the dire and ever-pressing crush of our ever-growing dilemma. ❞ The smile fades, and there's a —— flicker, briefly, or something softer, something briefly more vulnerable. ❝ Thank you. For this. Truly. ❞

[herspawn]

you're someone who can get things done. i like that.

She wipes off the dagger in her hand against the pant leg as she turns her attention to Zeyris. " Am i? I was just doing what I know. " She eventually sheath the blade back into it's slot. " You as well. You fought well back there. " A pause and a hum leave her. " It's a good thing we are on the same side. I would've been worried. "

[ prompt / not accepting ]

[fatewoven]

sit . / @killspwn

The city carries on with a certain rhythm; a slow steady crescendo that makes it seem it remembers and rejoices in the return of one of its wayward children. Blood recognizes blood, and Enver could guess most of the viscera that drenches the foundation beneath the Gate was personally exsanguinated by the Urge over the many, many years. Yet, this is not the one he knew. The facial scar is new. The demeanor odd. Reduced. Holding off judgement, Enver circles his desk, gold-clawed hands dragging across the polished surface, before sitting proper in his own office — as requested by a guest most honored. His once nearest and dearest. Polite, he offers a faint smile, the flicker-dance of candle shadows casting deep, warped shadows across both their features in the dead of night. [The setting aches familiar, they've been here before.] "I assume you've come here for answers, alone as you are. Go on. Sit. We can discuss matters properly. You can ask any question you desire."

[ospraey]

[ wounded ] sender patches up receiver's wounds

꒰ა @killspwn. non-verbal angst prompts. status : accepting.

maverick doesn’t know why zeyris is fussing over him. it’s really not a serious injury — a simple gash on his left forearm from a goblin’s blade. there is blood, yes, but the rogue has suffered far worse wounds in his time. he doesn’t even think this one will leave a scar once it heals over. and yet, zeyris seems determined to ... patch him up. for some unknown reason. baffled and embarrassed, mav allows himself to be coerced into sitting beside the campfire with the bard, gingerly tugging off his glove to allow zey access to his arm.

it’s ... awkward is not strong enough a word for the discomfort maverick feels upon baring skin to the other. his hand is stained a deep, ashen black up to the wrist, the color growing steadily lighter until it fades out just below his elbow. some old scarring can be seen around his wrist, stark white against his skin. mav doesn’t even like looking at it.

❝ well? go on, ❞ says the osprey through gritted teeth. there’s a challenge in his tone. poor little bird, unable to curb his defensiveness even in the face of someone just trying to help him. ❝ just — be quick about it. ❞

[weavewilled]

licking the spider is the one urge zey will embrace

.... i think he might be able to look past the spider thing. we all have our flaws. like destructive all-consuming orbs ——

overall, though: brow waggles.

[weavewilled]

❛IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE GLOWING LIKE THAT?❜ ↳ magic worlds prompts ( accepting ) / @killspwn

HE DOESN’T ANSWER RIGHT AWAY — not aside from deeply pinched brows and an almost imperceptible look of alarm. It’s a parchment, and holds some valuable information that they were looking for. A sickly green burns bright 'round the words, and he’s swift to snatch it up and examine it swiftly. 

Just looking at it makes his head spin, but he’s well versed in such matters; he doesn’t take time to explain, but a quick word of a dispel curse tames the glow and makes it fizzle back into nothing. 

❝ Cursed, ❞ he explains, succinctly. ❝ With what, I don’t know, but I’d prefer not to find out. ❞ A pause; he slants a studious squint up. ❝ It didn’t get into your head, did it? No funny feelings? Dizziness? Compelled to do something you wouldn’t? ❞

[sanguinir]

𝙳𝙾𝙳𝙶𝙴.   𝙳𝙴𝙵𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃.   𝙳𝙴𝙴𝚂𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴.   It’s   a   dance   with   all   too   familiar   steps   and   patterns,   ones   in   which   Astarion   likes   to   think   himself   a   master.   If   not   for   the   heightened   paranoia   and   anxiety   that   accompanied   being   kidnapped   and   released   from   his   master’s   control,   he   might   have   let   Zeyris   be   and   ignored   the   stench   of   rotted   corpses   and   sulfur   that   seemed   to   linger   around   wherever   they   made   camp.   But   the   threat   of   sprouting   tentacles   and   being   dragged   back   to   the   palace   had   set   him   on   edge   and   everything   was   a   potential   threat.  

And   that   stink   of   sulfur   made   his   teeth   ache,   so   it   was   really   the   tiefling’s   own   fault.   And   who’s   footprints   were   those?   Too   large   to   be   a   kobold,   too   small   to   be   anyone   else   in   their   little   ragtag   group,   almost   always   on   the   outskirts   of   the   camp.

It   was   a   bedeviling   puzzle,   a   curious   mix   of   different   events   and   coincidences   that   captured   his   attention   and   held   it.   All   of   it   was   twisted   and   turned   over   and   over   again   in   his   mind,   broken   down   and   dissected   from   all   angles.   Puzzles   were   a   favored   pastime,   having   used   various   mental   puzzles   to   keep   his   sanity   and   to   keep   him   sharp      —      Baldur’s   Gate   had   a   habit   of   chewing   up   and   spitting   out   those   who   didn’t   keep   their   wits   about   them,   never   mind   the   Palace.  

❝      Oh   yes,   our   travel   companions   are   most   worrying,   of   course.      ❞      The   pointed   words   were   drawled   out   in   a   dry   and   woefully   unamused,   dagger   stilling   just   underneath   his   nail.   Cerise   eye   remained   trained   on   Zeyris,   looking   for   any   difference   in   his   affect.   That   moment   when   someone   was   blinking   away   sleep   had   a   curious   way   of   disarming   those   who   wear   masks   and   Astarion   was   not   going   to   miss   the   chance   to   glean   useful   information   for   all   the   banter   in   the   world.

❝      Trust   me,   darling,   the   rumors   of   my   domesticity   are   highly   exaggerated.      ❞      Learning   that   toothy   smiles   are   disconcerting   is   one   of   the   very   first   lessons   a   young   vampire   spawn   learns   but   he   throws   centuries   of   conditioning   out   the   window   now   to   bare   them   in   a   mocking   grin.   The   rogue   lazily   points   the   dagger   in   the   other’s   direction,   head   cocking   to   the   side   in   a   way   they   he   had   seen   alley   cats   size   up   oblivious   rats   back   in   the   Lower   City.   ❝      Feeling   threatened,   are   you?   Hiding   something   absolutely   wicked,   hm?         ❞

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃  was one zeyris was becoming increasingly familiar with since waking up on that damned nautiloid ship. with only his name and the muscle memory on how to utilize the weapons and violin he'd awoken with strapped to his body , he'd been sure to cover up any holes with bluffs ━ quick little lies that slipped off his tongue like silk. still , the feeling of always being watched continued , even when he was sure he'd wandered far away enough from the group to be alone. it usually was followed by the sweet siren-like song that called , yearned for even , blood and carnage. from the outright urge to enjoy or even stoke the flames of a raging war between goblin and fellow tieflings , all the way to the poor squirrel that'd gotten a little too close to his foot within the grove.

wherever he went , death loomed like a familiar friend.

resisting the urge that made his fingers itch for the familiar feeling of the weighted steel of his scimitars sinking into flesh had proved difficult , his body feeling as if it'd been carved down to the bone. it made him shake with unearned adrenaline and his muscles ache for the familiar feeling of battle ━ his mouth parched for the taste of blood.

so perhaps it shouldn't be too much of a surprise for him to awaken to someone actually watching over him in comparison to the invisible eyes that seemed to find him in every nook and cranny he fit himself into. in the past days , it'd been increasingly obvious that those in his camp had been becoming more aware of the slip-ups in his normal laid-back demeanor so perhaps it'd been inevitable to happen.

❝ honestly , with the company we keep it may be wise to keep them close by anyway. ❞ though his voice is still thick with sleep his tone is in jest , sulfur-hued irises seeming to glow even in the dim lighting of their camp that seeped into his tent. zeyris is cautious as he pulls himself to sit upright , a light-colored eyebrow raising smoothly once he has himself situated , a subtle smirk pulling at his lips.

❝ you know i always thought you to have more manners than this , astarion. ❞ his tone is still light , with no true accusation or defensiveness immediately noticeable within it. he was sure it was obvious how he dodged the initial question thrown at him , but he had no plans on revealing the way his body ached for carnage , sometimes that of his own traveling companions. short on memories and past lived experiences he may have been but even zeyris knew it was stupid to admit aloud that senseless violence came easier than breathing to him ━ that death and destruction were all he truly ever craved. ❝ sneaking into people's tents to threaten them seems beneath you. ❞