exigencism

[exigencism]

Perhaps if he was just a slight bit more clever, he would've backed off. But if the gods have willed him to be alive for this long, to go poking at wasp nests with barely just his finger, then he finds no reason not to keep poking. One calls it a misplaced confidence, but Volo would say he has an unmatched bravery. Diligently does his quill scratch upon paper. He scribbled notes on the top half, and then a crude thumbnail of a fey creature feasting on the head of a bhaalspawn in its slayer form. Not a most accurate retelling of events, but it would make for a great illustration once he started writing properly of this in his book.

"And can you remember, what these callings were? Did he speak to you in words, or was it more like..." Hallucinations was not the right word. And as naive as Volo was, he was not stupid. He knew ( sometimes ) when he should tread lightly and when he should step hard. "Was it comparable to a gust of wind carrying past the echo of a whisper?"

His hand provided additional flourish, mimicking the wind. He can see it now, in his next bestseller; The Hero of Baldur's Gate. Volothamp Geddarm, travelling in the peculiar party led by a bhaalspawn. His daring curiosity, bringing truth to light. Yes, oh how great it would be. He considers giving the right to the foreword to his bhaalspawn friend, but he'll hold off on mentioning so until Baldur's Gate was actually saved ( thanks in part, of course, to Volo! )

"Oh-- And your mother! Was she privy to these callings? Any sagely advice from her?" It is a good thing his dear friend Elminster must be preoccupied by now. Volo had a sneaking suspicion that he'd be whacked across the head with his staff or turned into a frog for daring to ask the questions that he had to in order to write a good book!

And he didn't answer hers. Tit for tat one could say. The audacity he has in practically telling her to go read his book! Honestly...

<Roll: 6 + 5 = 11; you recall his book after a few minutes of hard contemplation. However, you remember that you only flipped through it, admiring the pictures mostly. The words had failed to hold your attention and without a second thought, it had been shelved to collect dust....or burned.>

But she has to hand it to him, if anything he's got what seems like an endless well of determination.

Despite the foul mood that's lingered, she finds his imitation entertaining — so much so she wants to laugh. But she doesn't. Not outwardly. Or tries not to yet fails. Though she's not sure what's more hilarious, his performance the fact he finds her trustworthy enough to ask such thorny inquiries.

"I am very intimately aware of what the Slayer is." Almost as if on cue, she feels the beast within stir deep in her entrails. There's the consideration if he pushes her buttons too much, she can give him a bit of a sneak peek; scare the blood right out of him. Would certainly be material for whatever damned book he's seeking to put out. Alas, such would not be wise in broad daylight of the city. "I have the brutal bloodlust of a bhaalspawn and all the charming trickery of a fey. Although, you know fey can be just as cruel as any bhaalspawn. In fact, I believe if I recall the story correctly, it was a wayward bhaalspawn that caught my mother's eye once. It could only be once because when their tryst was done, she ate him head first like a praying mantis."

For a moment she gets lost in her memories of the very far off past, down the rabbit hole like Alice after a rabbit. "I spent my childhood in the Wilds. And even when I was just a tiny nymph, I heard Bhaal's calling."

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"Thank you, thank you!" Volo bows politely, <DC5 SUCCESS!> reaching a hand to steady his hat before it fell off his head. "I truly am an arcane marvel, aren't I? Hard to come across these days, I gather... I just can't seem to understand what everyone means when they say it's so hard to cast spells around these gorgeous flowers!"

     Wow   !     Amazing   !   Not even Gale could pull that off  ( and he was the greatest wizard Babette knew ) .

      ❝ Mister Geddarm   !   You are so full of surprises, I can barely keep myself from falling into awe   !   Right next to the anti-wizard-flower, too. ❞     The hexblood offers a one-man-applause. That made her day.

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"That is precisely correct!" His hands gesticulate as part of his presentation; it is the whimsy of life that keeps him from collapsing with all this doom and gloom surrounding him. Of course, to lose pragmatism wouldn't do any favors, but sometimes it's the small things. "You may remember, however, the... unusual predicament of our escape?"

He flashes a charming grin, as though to make his point with more emphasis. "It's not every day you hear of a few lucky adventurers managing to make their way off a nautiloid with barely a knife in their pockets, yes? And in the Hells, too, not so common an occurrence I'd say." It's a desperate theory he's made up for himself, rather than born of true wit, but it was better something than nothing. "Would it be too hard to believe that these tadpoles may be... a touch infernal in nature, from the journey?"

Almost pathetically, Gale raises an eyebrow, gauging the reaction of the other at his ( admittedly, almost asinine ) theory. There's very few leads they have going for them, and Gale isn't particularly 'excited' to be finding out what lies at the creche ahead ( even if his curiosity is piqued, he's fairly certain the other Gith there wouldn't take all too kindly at Lae'zel having friends like him around ).

"Besides, not to put a damper on the ... Zaith'isk you offered, but would it account for the possibility?" <DC15 FAILURE!> It was difficult for him to hide: he was, perhaps, a little bit afraid of the Zaith'isk. She hadn't exactly a straight answer when he poked around, asking her about it earlier. Did Lae'zel even know what it was? ( Probably; he really shouldn't be asking her questions like that if he wanted to keep his head where it belonged ).

standing here discussing it is a waste of time. why they've made camp, when they should instead be fleeing with every last ounce of energy towards the creche, is idiocy. lesser beings must need more rest than a githyanki, she can accept that. but inane chitchat is almost more than her (already very short) patience can take. lae'zel folds her arms, willing gale to skip the pleasantries and get to the point. at first, she'd thought this the way that all members of fay-run communicate to each other, with flowery language and slow, meandering steps to the point. she's quickly amending that impression to a more accurate one: this is just the way of gale.

"familiar enough to know when to cut my losses and gut you," she responds. despite her harsh way of putting it, to lae'zel, it's less threat and simple promise. a kindness all gith offer one another, and one she plans to give to her companions if they show the signs. better to die free and unclaimed than to become ghaik. one of the few things githyanki and their inferior counterparts can agree on. "i doubt we are gifted, in any case. perhaps the tadpole will take a more agonizing, drawn out path to turn us."

but even as she says it, she knows that's likely not the case, even if it is a terrifying thought. tadpoles are base creatures, driven by one directive: to achieve and complete ceremorphosis. if there's a direct way, an illithid worm will take it. it will not take a longer path simply to torment its host. despite lae'zel's annoyance at the party stopping to postulate on irrelevant topics of discussion, gale of waterdeep may have a point.

"i detected nothing special about the ghaik who infected us," she says, brows pulled down in what looks like annoyance, but is mostly thought, "nor its tadpole. i suppose you are hoping to enlighten me to some theory you have come up with." lae'zel sighs. she's hostile as ever, but she is listening.

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@cyberpawn​ said: "Hey Johnny?" Their voice is gentle, deliberate as they tried to think through their words before speaking, not caring if Johnny would know their thoughts before they were said. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like a fuckin', uh, freak in our body. I know it's not fair 'cause this isn't your fault. This life is, uh, it's our's. And I want to make it a good one. I promise I won't make you feel like that ever again, choom."

When first waking up in Vale’s body, the fact it wasn’t his hadn’t crossed his mind. The realization hadn’t hit him, not until after making some semblance of amends at the diner. V was much shorter than him, both hands unlike his own. But he had never felt like a freak; always just out of reach, suspended sensations. At first as if the body didn’t want him, rejecting him, fighting against the machinery within the relic that forced Vale to transform into an empty vessel fit to contain a long-dead rockerboy that didn’t deserve it. The apologetic nature comes through before the words do, like seeing lights through a fog before making out it’s an oncoming car on the road. Johnny keeps his gaze away from them head turned with his knee bouncing. It all betrays the notion that he isn’t really there.

“Never did. Not like it’s your fault either . . .” he manages to respond a little all too melancholic. The situation was less than preem, a bit fucked up even, that Vale was no longer ever, truly, alone. But some part of Johnny felt as if they liked the company, and so did he. It was nice to be in the head of a petty merc rather than some fucking corpo drilling him for facts. What a selfish thought, he tells himself, to force someone out of their partial autonomy just to be a little less lonely. “I kind of like the sound of that, though,” comes after contemplative thought, nodding his head and still avoiding eye contact, as if he still has trouble confronting the fact himself. “Our body. Even if it was mostly yours to begin with, really . . . Sorry about that, V. But of all the heads I could’ve ended up in, I got hardly any complaints being in this one.” 

Then does he cheer up a bit, facing Vale with a bittersweet smile. There’s a feeling in his stomach, a little pit of apology; they're starting to blur a bit too much, the line between V and Johnny. He wants to say sorry. He wants to say I ain't got the right. Because, really, when does he ever? It was never his body to begin with, and yet now as he sits across from them in their shared psyche, he's never felt more at home with it. Vale is built of proportions that he's not supposed to fit in, and yet when he wakes in the morning and feels their thoughts stir, he always thinks to himself: man, I would never choose to get stuck with anybody else.

"You don't gotta apologize. For anything." A lesser man would say it was the desperation of being stuck in Mikoshi. A lesser man would tell Vale yeah, I'm freaked out being outside of my own body. But this was one of the rarer instances where Johnny was being genuine. He took his sunglasses, staring into their metaphysical reflections. He can't even remember what it's like to be in his body anymore... but he doesn't find that he misses it all too much. Maybe he should be freaked out by that ( but even then: being stuck with V, shared body and mind, didn't sound half bad at all ). "Thanks. For letting me stay."

It wasn't like V had much of a choice. But he could feel it, deep down; if they could, they'd let him stay forever. And that sounded pretty nice.

[exigencism]

"Oh, wonderful!" This merry band of his was growing bigger, and Gale was all the better for it ( in truth, he wasn't entirely sure just how well he'd do if he'd had to do this entirely alone ). Having already consulted Nettie had given him some sense of direction; now all he's got to do is follow the breadcrumbs...

"Perhaps you could enlighten us about these... goblin attacks? It's our only lead for now." He's hoping she may have some additional information. The First Druid would be a priority once they got there, but these were very peculiar goblins as well. One couldn't be cautious enough.

@exigencism asked: ❝ destiny is at your door; won’t you at least twitch the curtain? ❞ - gale

Well... what else was there for her to do? Stay at the grove indefinitely? She would outstay her welcome soon enough, regardless of her helpfulness-- they had their own resident healer in Nettie. Standing from her spot, she gave a smile to the wizard.

"I suppose I could join you and your friends. I might not be able to do anything about your tadpoles but... well, you'll no doubt be in need of a healer on the road, if your shenanigans at the gate are anything to go by."

[exigencism]

get to know the mun.

what's your phone wallpaper: misai, my dearest son, my baby boy, my cat

last song listened to: P3T by femtanyl

currently reading: And Away... by Bob Mortimer / Contacts by Mark Watson

last movie: Blink Twice

last show: Fallout (finished !) / Interview with the Vampire (still watching)

what are you wearing right now: Samurai band shirt

how tall are you: I think about 160cm

piercings/tattoos: four piercings on each ear

glasses/contacts: really big square-ish glasses

last thing you ate: ROTI BAKAR SPECIAL <33

favorite color: red

current obsession: DAO, Forgotten Realms

do you have a crush right now: this one DJ I saw at a club during a birthday outing.. queen if you're out there....

favorite fictional characters: Gale & Wyll (bg3), Maccready(f3&4), Johnny (cbp77), polyblank(jazzpunk), Shinada & Tanimura(LaD4&5), Tsukumo(Judgement), Hugo(DDADDS), Harvey(SDV), a million more

last place you traveled: KLCC (they have some crazy ass bard hidden in the light fountain)

tagged by: I don't even know anymore, this has apparently been sitting in my drafts for 3 years ?!%^!@$$^&@!(&#

tagging: you !! whoever wants to do this <3

[exigencism]

He shakes his head in defeat, pulling on the jacket over his shoulders, his limbs curling in to keep whatever warmth was left. Cold-blooded; what an odd thing to be. The pain medication is swallowed quickly, no hesitation, seeking for instant relief. What a nightmare he's conjured for himself. "I think..." He looks off distantly, over his shoulder, in attempt to listen closely. "Sometimes I think it talks to me- when I'm like this. Or it's trying to, at least."

"It doesn't use words. At least, none that I can really make out..." Curt stares down at his fingertips, as though to concentrate on what's going on in his mind. A flurry of thoughts, of feelings, only half of them his own. Half of them human. The other half... "How would I even know if it's listening? If it can listen?" A deep huff of his chest, before he takes a few more sips of water. Deep in thought. Surely this thing could understand him, if it so willingly obeys ( even if only half the time ).

"Can I stay here a while?" He lifts his head, weary and exhausted. To make the trip back to his underground lab would prove challenging, but he didn't want to burden Marie with the trouble of babysitting the lizard that smashed right into her clinic mere minutes ago ( if it decided to rear its head up again ). Not to mention, a part of him already knows the answer.

It was the commotion of someone entering that has her heading towards the entryway of the clinic, a hand rising to wipe away at the light sleep that had built up in her gaze. Kate night at the clinic nearly had her falling asleep within the comforts of the kitchen, stealing up a rather cold mug of tea as she makes her way towards the source.

The sight before her isn’t an unfamiliar one, but one that surprised her nonetheless. It’s been some time since she’s really seen Curt within the clinic, seeing mostly what the Daily Bugle wanted to say about the Lizard.

“Curt - you don’t need to apologize, you know that.” Gaze however does flicker towards where he had entered from. Might need to get a new door soon… “Let me help you up; usual headache coming on?”mug of tea is placed down on a nearby table, carefully approaching and reaching a hand out towards him.

He so easily accepts, taking her hand ( fingertips cold to the touch; warm rock needed ) and being guided to the next available- elevated- seat. Then wastes no time in pressing the fragile fingers of his still-growing arm to his forehead. Shivers run down his spine, and soon enough the rest of his body follows; its lingering effects are starting to stretch on longer the quicker he can regain his control, almost as if it was retroactively punishing him ( if this lizard creature was capable of such a thing ). "Ah- yeah. Have a spare jacket I could borrow?"

Low temperature. Headache. Dizziness. A subtle urge to stick his tongue out and catch the stray fly buzzing past ( which he aptly squashes in his mind ). It's as if the Lizard still has hold of him, even now, in his more reverted state. "I don't know what to do, Marie. It's like... the closer I think I am to ridding myself of it, the more damage it does to me in the long run."

He shakes his head. This thing had become much more than just a part of him. It was starting to separate itself from him, claiming parts of him for itself, evolving even. "I think it's trying to communicate something with me. But I just don't understand what... I let it take over, and it starts smashing walls and breaking into places. I keep it locked in, and I start to slowly lose myself."

[exigencism]

[[ i think i'm going to trim my muse list a little bit right now and have to toss out any starters i owe at the moment 😅😅 worried about overwhelming myself AJSHFBKJHDB ]]

[exigencism]

[[ i'm gonna start using a thread tracker then get to the stuff i owe in a little bit :) ]]

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"Why, whatever do you mean? Magic works perfectly fine here! Just you watch-" Volo casts dancing lights-- right next to a Sussur bloom. "See?"

[exigencism]

Put ☎ in my ask for your muses info in my muses phone:

NAME:

RINGTONE: 

PICTURE: 

LAST TEXT RECEIVED: 

LAST TEXT SENT: 

[exigencism]

FAEBHAAL

The victory of finally reaching Baldur's Gate had soured so quickly upon her tongue. The excitement for the climax of their journey, turned to ashes the second she stepped foot into Wyrm's Rock Fortress. Just about all the puzzle pieces fell into place. And after the visit with now Archduke Enver Gortash, the trickle of memories had become much more steady. Word, of course, had spread quickly through camp. That was truly disheartening. Though she supposes the reactions earned were understandable. But it still hurt. Because ontop of dealing with her companions, now she had to deal with some existential identity crisis as well as the volatile emotions that came with it.

For the time being, she's put some space between her and the rest of her sore party. Silently she's lost in thought, plucking the petals from a couple of wild flowers idly. Better them than sating the urge to pluck eyeballs from skulls. Her meditation is shattered, which causes her to pause. Yet she need not look up to see who has done such a thing. No, she knows that voice well enough. That and the scratching of quill on paper. "Do you really think it wise to be kicking the metaphorical wasp nest, Volo?" Ithaca asks. There's a flare of anger at thought that she's being observed, questioned, like some creature to dissect. The blossoms in her hands are so easily crushed. Not as satisfying as crushing bone. There's a sigh but at least she finally makes eye contact with him. "And what exactly do you know of bhaalspawn or even fey, hm? Surely you know well enough that neither are to lightly be trifled with."

"I find, sometimes, wasp nests are home to some of the most blessed gems inside!" ( not a metaphor; Volo is victim more than once to wasp stings- and worse ). While off-put slightly by the withering blossoms, he is far from deterred. Mustache twitching in curiosity, he pushes his beret up just slightly, and grins. "Why, most of anything I know about fey has been published in my guide! Volo's Guide to Monsters! And bhaalspawn, well, I do have a book by-"

"Ah, but I get ahead of myself. I find myself in the company of a very trustable fey and bhaalspawn! Not an event so easily reproduced-" his quill-occupied hand waves dismissively. "You've yet to answer my question, however!" So insistent; one could mistaken him as Tymora's chosen ( even he, on many occasions ). "Are you aware, my friend, of the Slayer form? A most terrifyingly grotesque creature- the pure form of murder, one may even say!"

<DC10 SUCCESS!> Volo imitates the form, his arms lifting large and wide, hands in claw-like formations. He even imitates the sound of roaring, just for good measure. "Truly a force to be reckoned with. I shiver at the thought!"

[exigencism]

⤏ send me “plots please”

… and I’ll respond with  3  (or more)  interesting  plots / relationships / connections  I can think of for our muses!   There is  no pressure  for us to write any of them,   but it’s a great starting point for you to get a sense of how I think our muses might interact and what sorts of plots I’m most interested in happening between them  -  so don’t be shy!

for multimuse blogs make sure to specify who you’re looking to plot with

[exigencism]

<3 for a starter from a random muse!

[exigencism]

Just like prayer; the sounds coming out of her a sweet symphony to his ears. Oh he knows ( and he knows it extremely well ) just what he's doing to her. He should've unbuttoned his fly beforehand as just the notion of her pleasure makes him impossibly hard. He doesn't stray from duty, pushing his face in further, gripping her tighter just as she's gripping him.

There it is again, his name, so beautiful coming from her. He could listen to it for hours, just her calling his name in every way possible. Curt wants this night to be unforgettable, just like every night they're together like this, his hands moving from thighs to lower back as if to pull her in closer. As if to say- to beg; go on, let go.

He will take all she will give, he will give all that he has. With her, all time slows and yet passes too fast. There's nowhere else he'd rather be.

The deeper he goes, the more her hand grips at golden locks - not enough to cause any discomfort, just enough to get him know further her thoughts on just what he was doing to her. Every thought in that moment was all about him. The world around them could be in that growing familiarity of chaos, and all she wanted to focus on was him, in this moment.

Breaths become more labored the more that know in her lower abdomen tightens, a sharp gasp stolen when he suddenly moves her other leg onto his shoulders, supported by both him and the tree behind her. He's stronger than she expected, even if she has seen it in battle before, or in the times she's had to bandage him up.

It's enough to fuel her further, gaze fluttering close as her back lightly arches from the tree, words escaping in a near breathless moan. "Curt - I'm-"

[exigencism]

She is his compass, his north, his midnight. She's the song in a mixtape he'd put on loop. She drives him just as mad as she does keep him sane, the weight of her leg a grounding element in a life that threatens to whisk him away in the wind. He'd apologize for the cool breeze against her skin if it wasn't for his mouth being full, tongue in her folds like a dog to water, taking in every scent of her.

His hand grips her thigh, ensuring her balance ( she'll need it ). He used to believe that it was beneath him to do such a thing outdoors, but in this moment he knows: there is nothing more divine than just being in her presence, let alone the trust she gives so easily to someone like him. Hearing his name on her lips; he echoes the sentiment with an occupied mouth, tongue sinking deeper, wetting his nose.

Say it again, he thinks distantly in his mind. Again, and again, and again. He'll never tire of it, her voice. The way she chastises him in the infirmary, how soft it goes in comfort, how sharp it gets in anger, how beautiful it is when she moans. Pushing his head further against her, he impulsively lifts her other leg to rest on his other shoulder, holding her weight and leveraging the tree for support. He needs to get closer, to get more of her.

Emerald gaze flutters open when his lips withdraw from her own just to catch sight of where his hand had been within her pants, a soft moan escaping her at the sight of him tasting her. This was far from a circumstance to find adoration in someone else in - & yet she's somehow found it in a fellow soldier with golden locks that shined like the rays of the sun.

His lips at her collarbone has her breath hitching for a moment, watching as he withdraws his jacket, placing it onto the ground beneath him enough of an indicator of what was coming next. She barely needs the encouragement for her hand to go into his hair, revealing in the softness of it between her fingers. For a moment, she can't help but let them roam through his hair, the light chill to her skin of her pants nearly sending a chill up her spine-

Until he's suddenly on her like she were his last meal on this earth. Head swiftly leans back against the bark of the tree, not caring if it put her hair into a rough tossle, carefully shifting a foot out of the pants to set a leg on his shoulder, granting further access with a moan of his name escaping her lips.

[exigencism]

⤵️

AS MUCH AS SHE RATHER a smaller party like this compared to the larger, more crowded one's she had attended back in university, this one had her nearly wanting to fall asleep at the table. Especially nowadays, when time off was something that felt few and far between the chaos of their lives. She was near ready to get out of the formal attire; some parties wanted them all in uniform, other's in more civilian attire- especially for one that was nearly kissing the rear ends of those ranked higher than them. It's what fueled her to walk past him and grasp at his arm, the whisper low yet swift. The party is still busy enough she knows they're not going to take time to try and find them if they sneak off for a bit; in truth, they might not even care so much or notice their absence at first. The backyard runs into a light forest; nothing of heavy foliage, but enough to go just deep enough in to still hear the muffled music and away from any wandering eyes, her back against the aged bark and her hands lightly cupping his features, deepening the kiss between them. The grind against her leg is enough of an inidcator, his foot nudging hers enough to have her spreading out further to accomodate him. It's certainly better than the party inside.

Nothing else compared to this. The warmth of her breath, her gentle skin; he didn't care anymore if anyone saw ( even if the sergeant were to chew him out for it the next morning ). He'd tread through hell and high water for her- hell he'd go to war for her. Just for moments like these, in the dim moonlight, just for moments to truly feel alive. On his fingers he can already feel her desire, coating his index and middle. He withdraws his fingers for a taste; there is no sweeter honey.

As his kisses trail lower ( lower, lower, from cheek, to neck, to collarbone ), he quickly withdraws his hand from his mouth to shrug off his jacket, tossing it to the ground beneath him so that the inside of the coat protects his knees from the dirt.

"Here-" A hand reaches to her wrist, placing her hand in his hair. With little hesitation, he undoes her pants and gets down on both knees, the fabric pooling at her ankles. He looks up, eyes highlighted by the sun's reflection off the moon, wide cheeky grin across his face as he kisses her inner thigh. And then he dives into the deep end of the ocean, lost in her, sucking on her like she's his only supply of oxygen.