#encumberment

[elizabethrobertajones]

Last night playing bg3 with my brother, he had Gale like, DIE die in some lava instead of spatula-ing him off the floor in a panic before he's done death saving throws, and I'd never seen what happens before, because I protect my wizard.

Have to say bg3 is not just the game of the year but maybe one of the games of all time.

[krawkpaladin]

Have you ever read through a TTRPG that combines its setting and rules in a way you find really neat but you literally can't talk about it with anyone because anything more than a cursory overview will make having that person play the game impossible from the meta knowledge they will now have?

Wireless Soul Transmission is living rent free in my head and I guess it's going to stay there.

[kaznaths-thoughts]

A Backpack Encumberance

Reading Rothbard & Gazpys really made me put away my “Encumbrance” questions once and for all. Once again, though not systematic in its usage, Rothbard and Gazpus’ backpack and toolbelt suggestion is a sensible philosophy for dealing with encumbrance. 

No one likes encumbrance. Most Dungeon Masters and Storytellers do not use it. They allow their players any weight to carry and as many items as they want. This is because, in Dungeons & Dragons, encumbrance calculations, even for the math disposed, are too encumbering in and of themselves to justify. Rothbard and Gazpus come to our rescue by the mandatory backpack usage and the suggested toolbelt. 

The Backpack is a simple way of tracking encumbrance and having too many items. How much can you fit in your character backpack? Characters are charged with drawing a literal backpack and sorting their things to scale into it or otherwise creating slots for the backpack within the Almanac. Players must DIY their backpack to fit all of their junk and get good at packing it up to fit all of their junk. When there is too much, they chuck it. It is that simple. But is it really? What about the player who hoards junk? How do we know how much things weigh? 

These questions highlight that the problem of encumbrance is not really a problem with the mechanic of encumbrance or how much a character can manage to carry; but with jerk players. The rule of simple reason that Gazpus and Rothbard employ gives a physical and simple way of managing supplies - and for those players who want more, they supply the tool belt, which can carry smaller items as necessary. The question of "how much is too much" is a space question, rather than a weight question - and people pushing those barriers is an honest conversation to have with a player, not a feature requiring mechanics. 

It IS just a game, the people and their feelings are the important thing; and other players should respect each other enough to respect the fiction.

[cherryblossomshadow]

They really have given Obi-Wan a lot of handicaps. Like, it makes sense that he’s getting older, and probably hasn’t been practicing the martial arts. But he has two or three people out for his head specifically. He falls into traps tailored to his personal history and compassion. And he’s also trying to protect a headstrong ten-year-old (who has no reason to trust him) in a very dangerous market . 

I guess because General Kenobi, without all of those encumbrances, would curbstomp any obstacles in his path, which would make for a boring story?

[helixsnake]

Thinking about an Oblivion bug that is the perfect demonstration of how that game was a disaster

There is a quest where an evil person in the mages guild instructs you to go into a well to retrieve a ring. When you go there the ring is on a corpse (the previous receiver of this quest) and it is a ring of encumberment, which leaves you unable to move and makes you drown if you pick it up without the inventory space for it. Upon most people getting the ring they will be encumbered and forced to drop it. One of the two obvious things to do here is put the ring back on the corpse and go do something else until you have enough inventory space to try the quest again. You can not complete the quest by knowing what is going on, you have to actually have the ring.

In a few days the corpse will disappear with the ring and the quest will be uncompletable, softlocking the entire mages guild progression (one of the game's bigger sidequests).

Here is a list of things that had to go wrong for this bug to occur.

The quest programmer had to not think of this happening and program in an exception for this corpse.

The QA had to not test one of the most obvious things a player would do in that situation and would be obvious may occur knowing how corpses work.

The programming design team had to not have created a system in which important quest items would stop corpses from disappearing if they're carrying them.

The programming design team had to not have created a system where manually placed corpses, as opposed to those of NPCs you've killed, do not despawn.

The programming design team had to have not created some other system for acquiring important quest items that the player has, by some unpredicted manner, fucked up and lost permanently.

I can only say this about Bethesda games I played (I stopped at Fallout 3) but these games have a special level of fucked in their development in order for bugs like this to happen, in my opinion.

[melancholicwriteaholic]

You find an old man lying on a bed. He beckons to you.

>Approach him

You approach the old man. He reaches toward you with one hand, like a gangling pale branch. You grasp it firm. He whispers to you.

"Help me, young one. I am not long for this world. Just once I want to live free from the encumberance of... of these."

>"These? What do you mean by 'These,"?

At your question he looks at his own hands, then his gaze drops down his entire body from beneath the sheets, resentfully scanning every part of himself from chest to toe.

"These! These things that make me up, make me move, make me eat, make me nourish them. Like a slave I've worked for this loathsome union of cells, and now that they are dying they are taking me with them... Long ago, within my mother's womb, a few lone cells, mitochondria, nuclei... they plotted on a way to propogate and survive. Combining their powers and multiplying, the union of thousands, then millions, then billions, and then TRILLIONS of cells came together and formed their lifelong servant... For years I've lived under their dictation. Worked to earn food to keep them content and propogating, medicine to stave off their deaths, and feared the punishment of their discontent... I've lived in fear of my cells' cruelty and treachery. Their threats on my livelihood in the form of pains, illnesses, tumors, hunger..."

The old man's grey eyes look at yours, beseeching.

"Just once, please, for only a few seconds, I want to live unchained by them. To truly be my own kind."

>"I'm sorry. It is impossible to remove a plurality from its individuals."

>Give the old man your Shrooms and teach him how to Astral Project

[therpgconnoisseur]

Has anyone ever enjoyed tracking exact weight of items in any rpg ever right down to the small stuff? ive never seen it be engaging, and im the kind of weirdo that doesnt mind tracking ammunition

Now that is not to say that tracking inventory cant be engaging, in my experience the second you switch to any sort of slot based encumberance players suddenly get very interested in it

Im just surprised as a community we havent ditched out exact weight tracking as a concept decades ago

[princeshilo]

encumberment is the most evil fucking mechanic NOBODY uses it in actual dnd campaigns the fact that it exists in bg3 is a curse from god

[editorbit]

"I make Karlach carry everything"

I make my weak little bard do it. They’ve been on the verge of encumberment since the start of the game while everyone else carries the weapon they use and the clothes they wear

[thessalian]

Thess vs Devs' Intentions

I read an article yesterday (I think it was GameRant) about a whole bunch of stuff that was cut out of Baldur's Gate 3 before official release. I don't remember all of them, but that's probably because they weren't very important to me one way or the other. However, there were a few that, for better or for worse, caught my attention. And ... well, I'm me. Before I start liveblogging the ridiculous cuteness that is the start of the Shadowheart romance (because whatever multiverse she lives in, Alisaie apparently goes for the dark-haired, mostly-serious, adorkable-when-allowing-herself-to-be-vulnerable godly ones), I wanted to talk about a few of them.

Exhaustion Mechanic: Oh dear sweet fucking gods, I'm glad they scrapped that one. Apparently that whole bit where the companions remark how tired they are is a holdover from that, but it used to come with a decrease to stats, just like the exhaustion mechanic in the PHB. Except ... I'm not sure they could have implemented that without it being ridiculously punishing. Encumberance is bad enough; don't hit my stats because I want to keep playing without taking a long rest, okay?

More Crafting Than Just Potions: Apparently at one point they were looking at allowing people to make and enchant their own weapons and armour. This is why you tend to find gems and metal ingots all over the place. While I'm a little sad about the lack of a crafting mechanic, I can see why they left it out - having a herbalism kit in the TTRPG version is one thing, but carrying around a fucking forge is something else again. And at least now I know this, so I can actually sell off the stupid metal ingots (except the infernal iron, obviously) because I don't actually need them.

Minsc: Apparently he should have been introduced earlier in the game, with a much more comprehensive character arc. I'm not sure why they went with the "rushed in Act 3" introduction to him in party, mostly because I haven't got that far yet, but I would imagine it has something to do with party management.

The Entire Upper Level of Baldur's Gate: Apparently there's an entire section of Baldur's Gate the city that was just ... excised from the game. Maybe they didn't have enough time to finish it, or maybe it just made the game too unwieldy, but apparently data mining indicates that there were a few things tied to the upper city that ... well, were really, really important to varoius characters' endgame states. So if you're dissatisfied with some characters' endings? It's probably to do with that. (And I won't go any further because spoilers.)

The Dark Urge: Now, here's the one I look at and really think, "Larian learned some lessons from Divinity: Original Sin 2" as regards player agency and going too far on the grimdark. Because apparently? Originally, the only way you could have an original character was to take the Dark Urge. There was no Tav / Dark Urge divide; if you wanted your own character instead of playing one of the origin characters? You were stuck with the Dark Urge, whether you wanted it or not. Now, don't get me wrong; if someone wants to play that, more power to them. Just, from what I've read about it, it does involve a certain loss of agency dependent on your stats. If you have to resist that Dark Urge, you're going to need saving throws, and if that's your dump stat because you wanted to play a strength-based character, that's just ... yeah. I don't mind the option being there; it's interesting on the conceptual level. I just wouldn't want that to be my only option. So I'm glad that Larian pried themselves out of Grimdark Valley long enough to go, "Okay, some people might not want to spend all their time fighting blind murderfrenzy just to play a good character", and make a separate, non-Dark Urge Tav. I also figure it has something to do with the issues in Divinity: Original Sin 2 where you'd want to take a specific course of action only to have one of your companions slaughter the quest objective before you could talk to them. (Still never forgiving them for that.)

So ... yeah, some things I'm really glad they stripped out. Others I wonder why? And some, while I enjoy them as mechanics (look, I am a crafting fiend, okay?), I can accept that they wouldn't have added much. I guess I wonder the thought processes that were going on in dev meetings where they came to those conclusions. I imagine the Dark Urge thing and the exhaustion mechanic thing both got, "Look, we can't stick them with this; they will riot", but ... what happened to that whole section of Baldur's Gate?

Maybe I've been dealing with too much bullshit from various AAA game companies*, but if they sell that shit as DLC I am going to set something on fire.

* - YES I AM LOOKING AT YOU, BIOWARE, WITH YOUR SELLING OFF THE ACTUAL ENDING AND/OR KEY ELEMENTS REQUIRED TO UNDERSTAND THE NEXT GAME IN THE SERIES AS DLC. I AM NOT FORGIVING YOU FOR LEGACY, AND I AM CERTAINLY NOT FORGIVING YOU FOR TRESPASSER. DLC IS SUPPOSED TO BE FUN ADDED EXTRAS, LIKE SOLDIER'S PEAK! YOU USED TO UNDERSTAND THIS, EVEN IF YOU DID STICK A FUCKING AD FOR IT IN CAMP.

[cellard0ors]

Fic: The Hand That I Hold (10/?)

Fandom: The Quarry

Series: A Full Deck

Pairing: Travis Hackett/Laura Kearney

Rating: EXPLICIT

Warnings: Age difference, time travel, mention of drugs and alcohol abuse, angst, horror, magic, mentions of child abuse, the 80s (a warning into itself 🤣), trauma, mentions of suicide attempt, sexual content

Summary: A retelling of ‘The Cards We Are Dealt’, but exclusively from Travis POV. While some of this story will reuse dialogue and scenes from ‘The Cards We Are Dealt’, there will also be some new content focused solely on Travis’s youth as well as unwritten moments he shared with Laura in the 80s.

Notes: Image by @spookyscaryscully. Now we're into my interpretation of the events of Chapter 7 of the actual video game through the lens of the Cards verse. AKA, if you replay The Quarry and think of Travis's POV with my fic as the basis of his background/motivation it makes a lot of things more tragic.

Preview:

Travis has a lot of work ahead of him.

And just when tonight was going so well.

It’s a sarcastic thought but quite fitting overall, considering he now has to lug around two unconscious young adults. He loads La –  the girl – into his car first. He tucks her into the passenger seat, even putting her seatbelt on. Her head droops forward and he when pushing it back, he finally loses his patience with the damned baseball cap.

If she is, in fact, somehow connected to his Laura – it would be nice to finally see her without this encumberment. He removes the hat as best he can (how exactly is it stuck around her ponytail?) and once it’s off, with her out like a light, he realizes he can take his time looking at her.

…she really does look familiar.

And her name is Laura…

AO3 Link

[steeb-stn]

This is a follow up of sorts to this post, but the gist is some bad guys somehow find out about the Queen’s Lair and kidnap Cee and take her back to the Green to make her show them where it is. hopefully this will go up on AO3 as a whole fic at some point. Enjoy! (Warnings for mild kidnap peril happening to a minor)

——-

She’s right where they said she would be, stowed away on their transport, thank Kevva. He breathes a sigh of relief to see his girl alive, despite the bruises he can see behind the blindfold, the way the cuffs have her shoulders wrenched painfully up and behind her. 

The last few days have been hell, the images of her tiny body, broken and discarded out in the unforgiving green, following him from his rare moments of sleep to his waking hours and back again. But she is here, safe and breathing and not blue with Dust, and Ezra can take care of anything else so long as that is true.

“It’s me, birdie, ” he says, rushing towards her, almost dizzy with relief. “It’s me, it’s Ezra.” He sees her body sag at the sound of his voice and hears his name in acknowledgement, muffled behind the gag, but she still startles violently when he touches her blindfold to remove it. He jerks back, hating himself for scaring her more than she already has been. “Shhh, it’s just me, now, little bird.” He ghosts his hands over her shoulders. “It’s just Ezra. Allow me to rid you of these encumberments, yes? There now, there’s my girl.”

He pulls the old rag from over her eyes, leaning back away from her face to let her orient herself.  She coughs once the cloth is out of her mouth, her voice only a rasp. “Four of them. There are four of them, Ezra.” 

He shushes her as he unlocks the cuffs with the key he appropriated from her new friends. “I know, birdie. I saw to them all.” One of them is not yet dead, just in case they had not been as truthful about her location as they swore. But even that one won’t be bothering them any time soon, all the same.

He runs his hands down her arms, massaging her cold fingers before reaching up to cup her cheeks, flesh and metal ghosting over bruised skin, one of her eyes swollen shut. “Oh, birdie. Oh, dearest.”

Her face crumples , and she’s falling into his chest, and he’s finally, FINALLY able to put his arms around her, his flesh hand cupping her head and his prosthetic smoothing over her back, which is now shaking with sobs. “It’s all right, little bird. I’m here now, I’ve got you, Ezra’s got you. No one can hurt you now. It’s over, my love.” 

How long they sit like this he can’t say. He only soaks in the feeling of her safe in his arms, rocking them back and forth and saying who knows what in his clumsy attempts at comfort. Eventually she moves her hands from where they clutch the front of his suit to bring her arms around his back, and he brings her body even closer to his, into the circle of his protection. His embrace must become a little too earnest at some point, because he feels her flinch slightly where his arm presses around her side. 

He hesitantly takes her shoulders and pulls her face gently away from his neck so he can see her, loathe as he is to deny her comfort for even a second. “Where else are you hurt, birdie?” He has business to discuss with her surviving friend outside, but it will have to be postponed if her injuries will not keep.  

She wipes her face, wincing when she hits the swelling around her eye. “I’m fine.” She leans into the thumb he rubs gently over her cheekbone, as if he could magically erase the damage done to her. Waits her out. “My ribs, a little.” 

“Can I see?” He keeps eye contact with her, walking her through his movements, as he gently palpates her ribs, her spleen, her liver. She has cracked ribs for sure, but her breathing’s steady and even, and nothing in her abdomen feels tense. His bird will heal. 

He rummages around the cabin, finds a hydration pack, cracks it open and holds it to her lips. “There now,” he says, cupping the back of her neck to steady her as she drinks. “Easy. Small sips.” He pulls it back reluctantly from her grasping hands. “Not too much too soon, birdie. Sicking up would be none too kind to those ribs of yours.” She nods, eyes drooping and clearly exhausted. 

He finds the med kit and pulls out the emergency blanket, gently helps her to a seat and wraps it around her thin shoulders. She is still in only the light shirt she was wearing when they took her days ago. He grabs the painkillers that won’t leave her woozy; she will have to wait for the stronger ones for a bit longer. He brings her the half-drunk hydration pack and another one for good measure and wraps her fingers around them, watches her take the pills he sets into her palm. “Now you stay right here.” He says. “Drink some more, remember small sips, birdie. I have some business to attend to, and then we’ll be on our way.” 

“No!” She grabs his wrist as he moves to stand up. “Ezra, no, please, let’s just go. It’s not worth it.” 

He leans down again to sooth her, pushing a lock of limp hair behind her ear. “I won’t be but a minute, birdie. I know you’re itching to put this place behind you, but this is important. We’re leaving as soon as I have what we need, I promise.”

“Ezra, please.” He can see tears in her eyes now, her distress only rising. “It’s not worth it, we already have plenty of points, we don’t need more. Please, can we just go?” She tugs on his hand in a childlike gesture, her composure cracking. “I just want to go home, please.”

She thinks I want to go mine for aurelac, his brain calmly supplies to him, amidst the heartbreak threatening to do him in . She thinks I’d keep her on this blasted moon one minute more than I absolutely must, after what she’s just been through, to get another go at the Queen’s Lair.

It’s what her father would have done. 

He sinks to his knees in front of her, taking both her hands in his. “Birdie, I need to go learn how these people knew about the Queen’s Lair, more specifically about your knowledge of it, so that nothing like this ever happens again, you understand?” He brings her hands up to his face to kiss her knuckles. “I promise, I will be right back, and as soon as I get the information I need, we’ll have this ship in the black, and we’ll go home. Not one moment later. Clear?”

She takes a deep breath and squeezes his hands, before giving a nod. “Clear.” He cups her cheek then, giving a solemn kiss on her forehead before he can tear himself away from her.

[obscurusgoore]

Vessel

A/N - First actual post! Hope it all goes over well :) Warnings - Descriptions of pain, loneliness Summary - Being a vessel to an ancient deity comes with pain and immense suffering, but after finding companions in unlikely places, perhaps it is more bearable for a set of four beings condemned to damnation at the hands of Sleep. Word Count - 769

The pain is a heavy chaser to the solitude. 

Like a set of a thousand hands, it grips onto each individual rib and splays him open like some sick display of a captured prey, leaving his heart to beat into the open air. He did not know pain like this before It was discovered. This creature visited him in his deepest of rests. This creature that, with a taunting and twisted smile, calls itself a God. The man is convinced that this thing is no God, but some evil and yet divine punishment that he must gnash teeth with for all eternity. There is no escape; he found that out very early on, when he tried to run. It was as if the God had a leash on him, or rather some rudimentary shock collar that lit his very being alight with the fire of a hundred suns, burning every nerve ending to a crisp. He was left hollow, down to his knees, and dragging himself back to the God when he gave up. 

When the God found him, It spoke to him in tongues – ancient whispers that bygones long since passed would only understand. The man didn’t comprehend these words until he accepted It, then he heard all the nasty, ruthless snarls this God had forsaken him to. In the beginning, these hisses were the only company he had. They were quiet, always on the very edges of his consciousness. He was alone, that much he knew. He only had the God to turn to; he was sure that was intentional. The God did not want him to have solace, only worship. 

And worship, he did. So much so that he was no longer a man, but a vessel; a simple mouthpiece for some greater being with a greater purpose that not even he could wrap his mind around. Then the God made his mind more flexible and this vessel saw all the monstrosities humanity commits. The God ceased to call Its vessel by name. The vessel lost his identity, swept away to make way for the Greater Being. There was no need for identity when he was the sole communicator for this Being. 

But then more were found – more were taken in by the gracious Being. Away was their past life, filled to some degree with suffering and plight. The Original did not know how long he had been alone. Time had started to blur when all his waking hours were spent trying to please the Being. These newcomers were seen as competition, a new subject that the Being would focus on. The Original could not handle this. Again, he tried to leave. And again, he was brought back by the scruff of his neck. But this time it was by the Newcomers themselves. 

The three of them grabbed him, like hands dragging a damned soul to Hell, and pulled him straight back to the God he had come to hate. The God claimed to love him; claimed to care. He found himself drawn back to the God on some false promise of affection and intimacy. The God whispered to him in the latest hours of the night, swearing pleasure and comfort. The Original had been denied both luxuries in the years he had dedicated to the Being. And so the Original sought out these promises, only to be left empty-handed and weighed down with the knowledge of a lost deity. 

But when the Original was kicked to the ground and left aching, breaking at the feet of the God, the other vessels were there to pick him up. 

They raised him from the ground, one on each arm while one stood before him, one he had come to call the Third. The Third held his face and with the softest of eyes, lifted him to his feet. It was then that he realized these vessels were not against him, nor were they enemies. They were companions.

They were comfort.

They were pleasure. 

The Original’s days of solitude and secluded encumberment were left in the past. While the four of them knew that they could not escape the God, they knew they could hold strong together. They had operated so closely that the four of them seemed to meld into one unanimous being. They could not sleep separated; could not eat, work, breathe, nor exist apart. Their souls, like pieces to a puzzle, fit together and completed each part they could not find in themselves. While dependent, they aided each other in a journey to peace in a world that burned at their feet. 

They were completed. 

[shootingst4rpress]

last night in caves of qud i found about 50 books in a forgotten ruin and managed to carry 60 pounds of books around. this is big bc im usually just barely going under encumberance limits. excited to take this shit back to grit gate and upgrade all my stuff and get a lot of EXP. i’ve basically got two little stashes, one in joppa, one in grit gate. good shit

i also ate the bananas i found in that banana grave & gained enough psychometry to learn to build some cool stuff. trash divining is not very useful but it is kind of delightful

i like how my character is becoming some sort of roving wastes librarian and tinkerer.

[reginrokkr]

@apocryphis asked: "this is the place." neuvillette announces, as the creek reveals itself before their eyes; entirely isolated from civilisation, bordered and shielded by high cliffs and illuminated only by night skies above and colourful banks of tidalga glowing below the water. the iudex turns to the bough keeper, a content (pleased, even) smile etched at the corner of lips that seldom unseal to profess anything other than the law itself. perhaps it is capricious on his part, to abandon palais mermonia and the possible emergencies that may arise through the night, for this short expedition with dainsleif, but -- after well over four hundred years serving the land as the iudex, perhaps he is permitted a small moment of selfishness.

besides, it is the first time that he goes swimming since focalors restituted his authority to him. sooner or later, the dragon was bound to return to the water. it is only fitting that he would do so with dainsleif as his witness and companion.

the mantle of the iudex had already been discarded and left at the palais. now that they find themselves in this isolated creek, neuvillette rids himself of the rest of his clothing - boots left to the side, trousers, waistcoat, and shirt pooling at his feet, gloves abandoned with the rest. under moonlight sheen, the glow of hinted dragon skin draws lines along the curvature of bone structure and stretched human skin, highlights vishap discoloration the sovereign wears with pride under the gaze of dearest companion. "my appearance has not changed, and yet - even this body feels different." he ushers to the waves, to his witness. witness to whom he turns, unabashed (it is dainsleif, after all - he has seen him in this state before). "i'll understand if you prefer to keep your clothes on, but if you'll lend any credit to my experience -- swimming is infinitely more pleasant without all this encumberment." (perhaps he should consider that there is an in-between between his own cumbersome style and stark nudity. he doesn't.)

(did i remember you mentioning them going skinny dipping and did i run with the idea? yes, yes i did)

Stellar pupils fail to miss primordial depths' resplendence as they gaze upon tranquil waters blanketed by moonlight. The kind of quivering brilliance that denotes melancholia to return whence the dragon of life and all waters came from, or at least, where his natural habitat should be weren't for divine's mockery to allow his rebirth in human form alone. Dáinsleif watches in solemn quiescence as Neuvillette discards every piece of clothing with patient elegance that characterizes him so and poorly contained excitement to become one with the water that he presides over, if only to remember what it feels like to be back home— perhaps to engrave in his memory a life that was never his in this new samsara.

Under lunar sheen, Leviathan looks more breathtaking if possible than he does in the man-made palais that serves as his home. Luminescent waves reflecting on pearlescent skin, tidalga blues coloring the canvas of his body and the reminisce of prolongation of filaments protruding from his head alongside larger fins from the sides make a spectacular image that Twilight commits to memory to revisit in future times when he finds himself thinking back about his beloved when distance separates them.

Dáinsleif snaps out of his reverie at draconic voice calling softly for him, inviting to join him in the water and, while he knew this was bound to happen when Neuvillette expressed his wish to bathe somewhere together that isn't the confines of the palais, he hesitates. For this whole scenery, now complete with its sovereign enjoying his return to his true home, feels too sacred for him to intrude and taint with his presence, abominable as it is. And yet, for every negative sentiment lunarescent seraph harbors within, the light that Leviathan sheds upon him in the form of a premise too simple that is strange for him to not realize sooner than reassuring a greater experience in the state of undress and Dáinsleif's own yearning to meet him, bodies joining together like two perfectly matching puzzle pieces are bigger.

Somewhere in his mind, in a bout of positivity that seldom makes room in his heart, Dáinsleif guesses that Neuvillette is aware of the importance behind making himself been seen in this state, in utmost privacy and intimacy entrusted to him alone.

Ultimately does Dáinsleif huff a chuckle as his head moves gently from one side to another in quiet amusement before he begins to strip himself from the entirety of his clothes up to the mask that covers half of his face, unabashed like the rex was to undress under his watchful gaze. Thus he walks towards the water until he decides that it is sufficient for him to jump and swim towards Neuvillette, to his patiently waiting arms and bright smile that reaches his iridescent eyes as they meet at long last in the water.

Twilight Sword's own arms coil around the dragon's shoulders, sapphire irises quivering with the enormity of emotions that long has it been since they earned an owner. ◜Have you considered that there are in-between terms too?◞ Dáinsleif dares to jest, the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement and affection in equal parts seemingly mirrored by the other. This. This is how he wants to see Neuvillette. Happy and unfettered by mundane obligations, free to do as he pleases even if for a brief moment. Devotion for his beloved makes itself manifest through a gentle caress to the side of his face, tender and amorous, teller of one thousand sentiments that needn't be verbalised.

Within shared tranquility, the weight of Neuvillette's body sinks them both underwater, Dáinsleif at the bottom. Despite the initial jump of his heart, the Bough Keeper remains unaffected by this turn of events, not an ounce of fear in his body as their lips join in a heartfelt kiss. Regardless if he's a mortal or not, he knows that the Iudex wouldn't jeopardize his life on purpose, let alone without a plan in mind to prevent it from happening. Just as soon as this comforting sliver of thought crosses his mind, he could swear that he doesn't lack oxygen in his lungs— as if it is sufficient to breathe him in to keep himself from asphyxia, and so albescent lashes flutter to a definite close to enjoy one of the many expressions of love shared in their limited time, with only moonlight, water and aquatic creatures as their witnesses for this preposterous love born from two beings that by imposed principles ought to be mortal enemies.