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YOU HAVE SUCH A FEBRUARY FACE, SO FULL OF FROST, OF STORM AND CLOUDINESS...

HIGHLY PRIVATE ORIGINAL CHARACTER SET IN THE WITCHER UNIVERSE, BY SAM 21+.

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hi friends, to get this blog up and moving again i've made the decision to drop all current threads unless i've expressly reached out & requested to continue! looking forward to getting some plotting going to start some new threads :)

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❛  look  at  me .  ❜ :)

THE ENORMITY OF MY DESIRE

MORNING LIGHT TRICKLES IN, finding its way through gaps in the shutters, painting streaks of gentle sunlight in the room. illuminating the dance of fine dust particles, its hue is warm, as though there were not still the chill of early spring in the air. the two women on the bed would hardly notice, for the larger one's body temperature is ever slightly above average. besides, she feels even warmer now, stretched out on her back with her lover atop her, and a hand between her legs drawing gasps from her throat.

open-mouthed, lazy kisses are pressed against arlis' collarbone, breast, the side of her neck, blindly tasting salt, enveloped in the smell of her. brynn has one arm wrapped around the other's back, keeping her close even when she shivers, breathes an elven curse. she wants many things, yet they all tumble over each other, too scattered to form coherent thoughts, all in the shadow of the promise of release brought upon by arlis' skilled fingers. so the witcher merely presses her forehead to her shoulder to focus on the feeling and the pleasant weight of the other half-elf against her chest.

arlis' command rings gently through their silence, parting the hazy curtains of pleasure draped over her mind. obligingly, brynn lifts her head and opens her eyes to look up at her. when a beam of sunlight hits her eyes, her pupils contract until they are but fine slits, shielding her from it. still, it makes her blink, until her vision adjusts and she wonders why she'd ever closed her eyes to begin with. their gazes meet and arlis' warm, dark eyes seem to lock her in place, full of words she does not know yet somehow thinks to understand. unwittingly, brynn parts her lips as if to speak, yet offers only a soft sigh, the corners of her lips curling upward slightly in the wake of it. in this very moment, arlis might have asked anything of her, she would have given it.

a whole new wave of want crashes over her, set ablaze by the tying of their gazes, kept steady even when arlis shifts, withdrawing her hand and moving downward. and she keeps it even when the other has settled between her thighs, and the first ghosting of breath and graze of tongue against her tender flesh has brynn draw in breath and tighten her fingers in her lover's hair. no, she could not avert her eyes, even if she wanted to.

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𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 him from skirting away from an answer, mind already ablaze with no small measure of devices or mechanisms or tools crafted with intent that's devious at best and horrendous at worst, but then something changes. it's something in his gaze, as well as his posture, full-bodied and unfamiliar, and it takes her a full moment to realize that enver gortash has chosen to be honest. arlis' gaze follows his hand and a quick flash of surprise registers on her face before she tempers it. whatever she might have expected, it had not been the gleam of metal where flesh and bone should rest.

there is the unexpected instinct to turn her gaze, as if she is looking upon something she should not be seeing, but the recognition that this glimpse is being offered to her, rather than stolen by her, steadies her. ❝ how? ❞ there's craftsmanship there, fine and practiced. as with all things he surrounds himself with, there is intricacy, perfection. finally, her gaze lifts to meet his. ❝ when? ❞

her cup is set aside gently. if karlach had known, such a thing is hardly recent, though arlis considers the occasional shift to his gait that she'd long explained by way of injury. she has long had her own, and he his, and from the first day there had been the silent understanding between them both not to ask. ❝ back in the lower city, i really thought that i knew you, enver. ❞ her eyes trace over his features, over too clever eyes and faint scars and the curve of his jaw. it feels sometimes, now, like she is seeing him for the very first time. her next words are quieter. ❝ but no one really knows you, do they? you wouldn't allow that. ❞

once again, her ruminations go unacknowledged, at least outwardly. Of course there are no half measures: the world is devoid of them, and to simply come to a stop halfway through is simply folly. Enver is reminded of the Tyrran symbol, the scales upon a warhammer, and though they may be depicted balanced, there is no such thing as scales in equilibrium. It's either yes or no, it's finished or imperfect: there is room around the halfway point, and certainly so for weakness. For the exploitable. Gortash reached such a conclusion long ago; that others have yet to avail themselves of that knowledge is hardly his mistake to rectify. [ It is lonely. But that loneliness serves a purpose. That loneliness is armor. ]

her alertness and sudden demand - slash - accusation draws surprise out of him, and Enver meets her eyes with his best attempt at innocence. He adjusts his posture, too, and lounges, leaning back on an elbow and flexing one of his knees. His right knee. “ Were — ” Which then clicks, loudly, in some approximate imitation of the joint popping. [ Arlis' gaze snaps to him in wordless but significant demand, and the understanding is immediate. ] “ It's nothing you ought to worry about, I assure you. ”

but she doesn't let it go. Silently, emphatically, Arlis wants the truth, the truth she's owed as the leader of their little retinue. She doesn't trust him, and that in itself is admirable if inconvenient. It takes a very long moment for Enver to break eye contact, though not of his own volition: he sits up wearing a semblance of resignation. “ Three people know about this. One of them is Karlach. ”

the more he hesitates, the likelier the truth is to run away from him. [ It changes nothing. It is part of who he is. Enver has endured and survived and risen — ] And so he lifts up the right leg of his trousers to just below the knee, the brass plates of his mechanical limb catching under the moonlight and torchfire. All the while, he waits ⸻ for a meaningful look, for a word, for anything that he might have to put out before it even catches fire.

waiting is always the worst part.

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hello

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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓, 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ⸻ [ #MeetSorcery ] a private, mutuals-only multimuse rp blog. featuring GALE DEKARIOS of larian's baldur's gate 3

exploring the concept of gale as the duality of the man and god, how he is at once a man teetering on the scale of greatness and ruin, how he was separated from any ability to have an average life from the start. an icarus figure, a retelling of karsus' folly, how he is and has always been one man on a singular track and the only deviation can be found at the very end of his story, his entire life culminating to one point between mortality and divinity.

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the vampire smiled ⸻ and because they were alone, he did not hide his fangs.

emiel regis of andrzej sapkowski's the witcher and cd projekt red's blood &. wine expansion for the witcher 3. book &. game based, crossover friendly. by poet, 29. independent &. private.

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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓, 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 ⸻ [ #MeetSorcery ] a private, mutuals-only multimuse rp blog. featuring GALE DEKARIOS of larian's baldur's gate 3

exploring the concept of gale as the duality of the man and god, how he is at once a man teetering on the scale of greatness and ruin, how he was separated from any ability to have an average life from the start. an icarus figure, a retelling of karsus' folly, how he is and has always been one man on a singular track and the only deviation can be found at the very end of his story, his entire life culminating to one point between mortality and divinity.

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those rings sure do look elden'd!!!

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oh so you're a real baldur's gate 3 fan? then tell me how the game ends

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popping in for a hot second to say i love wyll ravengard

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arlis jordayne : act 3 + post game

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“broken builds” this. “use the orb” that. you fools. the true best strategy to beat honour mode is to encourage safer and smarter decisions throughout your adventure by roleplaying as none other than faerun’s central authority on occupational safety and workplace accident prevention legislation

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pls tell me about your characters food preferences (what they learned to cook, what they like to cook, what memories are associated w food for them) while i finish up some work pls xoxo

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forgot i had an entire meta about this in my drafts i need to finish up but anyway arlis' armor like if u agree

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𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 not to say anything. regardless of whether his words would form gratitude or that disdain he manages to craft so easily, silence allows her the chance to not regret even this faint, easy measure of consideration. her eyes trace the module once held aloft, move over the care and precision required for and of its workings, before her gaze flicks back to the man before her. arlis lifts the tea to her lips, blows on it briefly while forming her words. she finally decides that the only thing worse than telling him the truth is the victory of allowing him to discern a lie. ❝ no, i'm not. ❞ she shifts her weight, works her jaw silent for a moment. ❝ whatever, whoever, i was before moonrise, i'm something different now. i can't be satisfied until i've determined what that is. ❞

all that power, a thunderstorm after a lifetime of drought. even now the thought of it has her head swim. had it felt the same for him, the first rush of something more, something older and stronger and fiercer? had it felt right? ❝ nothing's ever a half measure with you, is it, enver? ❞ she speaks it as an observation rather than a verdict, sits back and allows her posture to ease. ❝ it must be exhausting to always see flaws, to refuse to ever be fully sated. ❞ for a moment, she very nearly pities him. a dangerous thing, pity, prone to appearing when she least desires it. arlis then takes a sip of her tea. ❝ must be awfully lonely. ❞

she hears it once more, that quiet tick, and her spine straightens. ❝ what is that? ❞ dark eyes trace around his tent, over tools and neatly ordered pieces whose compilation she can't even guess at. her lips purse together as she sets down her cup. ❝ listen, i try to not pry in what goes on in anyone's tent, but if you're building something that's likely to go off, i think i deserve to know. ❞

he watches her, curiously and then carefully, as Arlis inspects the component, asks her questions with little desire to hold them back, and finds himself about to answer them when she lifts her finger and disappears into her tent. Enver can only wonder what she's up to, but gives it all less than an instant's consideration before his attention returns to the module. Satisfaction, he thinks, is a hard - won victory, and one that an engineer's mind is always in chase of. In the minutes Arlis is gone, he's put the targeting module back together: there is no change, no improvement, simply movement. The pleasing of a quicksilver mind.

when she returns with steaming cups of tea, only a smidge of surprise makes itself known in the form of a light raise of his brow and an owlish blink at the one she offers him. An olive branch of sorts. Enver's preference lies with the stronger stimulants, but the hybrid of serenity and alertness brought only about by tea is something that, at this time of night, sounds very appealing. He holds up the reassembled module by way of saying there's nothing else to continue with, reaches for the cup with near intentional care, and watches the steam curl every which way and disappear.

Enver latches onto her last question, finding a thread to follow. “ Are you? Satisfied, that is. With what you've done, with what you are. ” Quietly, he blows air onto his tea. “ I've learned to never settle, even ... ” Even when as a child back in Heapside. He lets the thought trail into nothingness, just like tea's steam, and finally takes a sip from his cup. “ Settling leads to stagnation, and stagnation is something I have no use for. I won't abide it. ”