#masqueradingfauna (c; donovan)

[thosewhohunger]

"It's not about the taste," she murmured quietly, as if what he'd said was utter nonsense. Not quite willing to speak out or disagree, too unsure of herself and others who seemed incomprehensible. The ingredients in the stew didn't matter, it was the brutality of it all. The way flesh reddened and swelled, blisters popping and skin hardening as nerves sang. Screamed before dying, serving as but a toy towards the ecstasy of murder.

Brightening up with the clear goal and something she actually could answer. Shaky fingers fumbled with her pack, extracting a map pressed carefully between the pages of an empty book she'd been using as a journal. Keeping track of things was difficult enough as it was, and writing it down helped.

"Here, at the edge of the forest. She marked it for me," There was a heart lovingly marked onto the map where they'd find Ethel's teahouse. The old woman had been a flirt, leaving Alya's cheeks burning. "Can we go there first?" We. Already she was including him, familiar in his unfamiliarity. Everyone else seemed content to let her pick and choose where they went next. It was a relief to find someone else to make the final choice.

A question lingered in his thoughts. The feral hound developed into a puppy with eyes that pleaded for a belly scratch. It would take him off guard for a few seconds when she was alongside him, his gaze fixed on her as he listened to her talk. Prioritizing her remarks above others' suggestions—but not in the sense of leadership, but rather of attention. Sure, he elevated the feminine, but he still felt as if he had more power deep within the swamp of thinking.

Names were simple to learn. Playing kind was a norm, despite the fact that he lacked the desire to push it ahead. He wondered whether anyone else was alive—perhaps Cyrillus, who was like a bug and could withstand anything thrown at him despite his foolish behavior. Alya seems to have bombarded him with inquiries, leaving him hungry for the answers.

" Auntie's? She's probably wearing a glamour, you know that, right? I don't typically trust potion makers, but if you insist....If there's any blood shed along the way, I don't mind getting my hands dirty. "

Oh, he knew as soon as he saw the elderly woman. It was written all over her face, smelling like sour milk and growing like mildew. Bad people and things were always the same, and Dhaunafein took delight in being the blackest sheep in the flock. Self-righteousness sprang from the fact that certain things had lost their purity. He wouldn't be shocked if 'Auntie' had the same desire for chaotic devastation as the others.

𓆩♱𓆪

Flicking back out of his thought process, he'd listen to her next hushed words. He let out a short snicker of delight at the slide of old personality qualities he had always appreciated. " Yeah? How strongly do you feel that way? Something tells me she might not make the stew taste the best. But we all have our special ingredients, you cheeky pup. " He'd mock the extras, playing around with it whether she realised or not.

Clearly, he was not rejecting her because of her idealistic beliefs. Softer with her, even in his monotone-drenched voice, as if he did not care or did not want to cope with anything.

" Did she give you directions? " Posing a query. He was brilliant at tracing down people and understanding the ins and outs of unfamiliar locales because of his line of work.

[thosewhohunger]

Grumbling from the part of the 'strays'. It's a battle of egos, forceful personalities all jostling for control of the little group. For now Alya was the nominal leader only because she was the one most willing to talk to people. She liked talking to people, even if she was left off-kilter and reeling.

They hadn't yet quite figured out how to manage her, though they'd noticed how easily she could be swayed. Her mind was only barely her own, still developing a personality. Re-devoloping, really. When she was young she'd had a murderous butler to help guide her budding monstrosity.

Now she had Dhaunafein.

Ignoring their snark Alya hurried to catch up, falling in to step beside him and looking up sweetly. Behind those eyes murder stirred, each breath constrained violence waiting to be unleashed. Even though she instinctively trusted Dhaunafein, that didn't mean she wasn't imagining carving out his heart. But Astarion had cautioned her that such thoughts were better kept to oneself, and Lae'zel had told her to direct such impulses towards their enemies.

"We can also try Auntie's?" everything came out a question, a far cry from the self-assured assassin she'd once been. "She sells lotions and potions and invited me to her teahouse.

"I told her I wanted to drown her in a boiling stew," Alya admitted, raspy voice going to even more of a whisper. Confessing a dirty dark deed, knowing she wasn't supposed to say that to Ethel and probably shouldn't be telling Dhaunafein either, "and she called me a cheeky pup!"

Fondness laced her tone. As far as she was concerned, that was a more appropriate way to respond to such promises. Everyone's insistence on stifling herself felt so very wrong. Red eyes searched his, seeking condemnation or approval. Like a puppy, seeking any scrap from any hand.

A mental note was taken of her reaction to his name. No comment would be made in this respect, with his attention scrutinizing everything he could to conceal any signs of dissatisfaction. The quivering in the details caused him to sigh quietly.

And then he would realize in his analytic condition. He chuckled softly, a faint smile curving at the corner of his lips. He felt almost proud that a trace of murder remained. " I see. "

Pausing for a second, he'd speak again before turning to walk away from her in a direction exiting the grove, figuring she'd get the hint.

" It won't be hard to find. Goblins are easy to track inconsideration they smell like piss and cheap wine..." To wonder about the voyage ahead, the misfortune to reflect as he knew obstacles would arise in his hunt for a remedy. Something warned him it would be a long time before the aim was precisely realized. But he did not mind since he was glad she was alive, even if it appeared she had bits of her mind lost to her.

𓆩♱𓆪

For the time being, he would keep his thoughts in the shadows, thinking his own questions without purposefully putting the desire for answers on his tongue forward. " You've got a camp, right? You seem to have quite a few stray animals. I doubt they can go for lengthy periods without rest, let alone function properly at night since they aren't drow. "

No hope for the others.

The sight of other men flocking in for a collective effort was already bothering him; he would at least abstain from slitting anyone's throat until necessary. Not that he was concerned about his tiny dark urge being unable to handle herself even with the spell of sorrow wrapped around her—but he did tend to keep an eye out to ensure that such an event did not occur.

[thosewhohunger]

"Dhaunafein," she repeated, committing the name to memory. The syllables were familiar, easy to form. The name fit him, made sense in a way little else had. Her brow furrowed, thinking and slow to release the grip. Fingers trembling against her will. Not something she could control, nerve damage from an injury she didn't even know existed. "We were actually just leaving," she was quick to take the out when it was offered. Eventually someone would figure out Nettie was missing and suspicion would surely turn to the group. Alya was wearing evidence of their misdeeds, the little leaf circlet that controlled the great stone door. Leaving the corpse hidden sat ill with some part of her. She longed to leave it on display; this was as close as she could get for now. The others had recommended caution and secrecy, and she was all too easy to sway in the direction of whoever spoke loudest. "The healer didn't know anything so we're going to look for someone named Halsin? At the goblin camp, wherever that is." Looking at him openly, as though maybe he had more answers. Everything about him triggered the strangest sense of deja vu, like a word on the tip of the tongue she couldn't quite recall.

Maintaining his deathly eyes on her as if he were exorcising a cadaver. A glance back, noting the gathering of stray animals who shared a tribal connection in the form of slime and fangs. It would quickly return to her as if it had not departed at all.

Pits formed in his gut, despite the steel barricade that kept any actual feeling hidden. The head would tilt in inquiry, the eye contact lingering in an unpleasant air despite the lack of any desire to frighten her. Even if she had forgotten everything about him—perhaps deep down she hadn't—he would maintain his tone. It wasn't exactly pleasant, lingering in the lines of cold and stone. Despite this, he would still see her as an equal since he clutched his memories so strongly. It was not uncommon in the underground to demonstrate such respect for the opposing gender.

The name caused his eyes to squint. Going back to square one was not something he wanted to cope with, and meetings and greets were bothersome. But if this was what was going to happen, he could not dispute it immediately. When her hand was extended, the underworld-like colors would slide down, his arms relaxing in position before unraveling the bonds in posture. He would gently put his hand beneath hers.

Aside from the callouses that had formed on his fingertips as a result of duties on lists, his touch was softened. Even if it had never been admitted in the past, it was clear that it was not the touch of someone who had just met another, but rather someone they had known for years.

Someone unwilling to forget.

How could you possibly have forgotten? He never forgot much, as if every small thing preserved the novel Life and After as your least favorite book. But couldn't help but keep going back to reread each line in the pages as the new script was written.

Poetic at most; he'd bring the back of her hand to his lips before pressing a gentle kiss.

The predator's sight moves in subtle rhythms.

𓆩♱𓆪

" Dhaunafein. "

He would let go of her hand and revert to his previous stature before continuing to speak.

" Yeah. Alright. If you're looking for something here, the healer is a cunt and I don't recommend it. Unless you want to support the racist bastards and cope with slander that makes you want to slaughter everyone, I recommend moving on. "

At the very least, he provided an option. Wondering what she would do and if the residual bloodlust had not been extinguished.

[thosewhohunger]

She may not have died, but it would have been preferable to this half state she existed in. Not at all there, and not fully aware of this either. Eyes like pools of blood - easy to pass off as a gift of Lolth if one didn't know better. They reflected the world back, uncomprehending and struggling to make sense of things.

Her heart thudded in her chest, something shifting behind her eyes. Not quite recognition still. The name he spoke didn't mean anything to her. It may as well have been a foreign language, the way Lae'zel sometimes slipped into her own. She didn't know what it might mean, but there was a great deal she was ignorant of. Whoever she'd been before was wiped clean. The drow before him only shared the face of the once vibrant and vivacious killer, the clever thing that that sought to bring the world to heel in the name of her Father.

"Oh," she nodded. That made sense. A silly question really, one that had hardly been worth asking. A pink tongue wet try lips, eyes rolling a bit to the heavens as she contemplated what was to happen next. He hadn't given her much to work with. May as well be direct about things then. At least he wasn't threatening her with a knife to the neck, or talking down to her. Not the same way some of the others had, flinching for no reason she could figure out.

She stuck out her hand, "I'm the Dark Urge. Would you like to travel together? Since we're in the same situation."

It was the same name she'd given to him the first time they'd met. The name of the one Chosen to slaughter the world, to leave carnage in her wake. Nothing more than what her Father wanted, a proxy for his own bloodlust. Her own name was something only shared among those she trusted. Even those that knew it in the cult tended to defer to the title. A constant reminder of her purpose.

They persuaded themselves it was preferable to avoid the monsters born from the darkness, but it did not stop the unnecessary remark. At the very least, they were too preoccupied with their own skins to concentrate on a topic that never really mattered.

However, frustrating.

Slaughtering in herds was never particularly interesting. The romanticism of ruby puddles overflowing the gaps and crevices to beautify DEATH styles stuck in thoughts.

More vital issues.

Hobbies could wait; he was not foolish enough to create a pointless scene and had priorities. A cross of his arms as he spoke, useless wares to sell to get where needed. Baldur's Gate would gripe and bitch about so many lives, particularly those of the demons. What happened here did not immediately affect him, thus the offer of aid was most likely flattering. If they are intended to survive, they will.

𓆩♱𓆪

Then he heard familiarity, a perfume that was almost nostalgic as it entered his nose. He paused mid-sentence to swivel his head, menacing blue colors revealing stories of terror. Something that would make even the faint of hearts shudder in fear. Nauseated pits in the stomach from intimidation had nothing to do with race but more with the engraving on his spirit.

A scitter in his cranium, as if swimming in a glass vial of uranium green, jerking against the skull in a desire to communicate. They recognized their own, as did the dark assassin.

It appears like fate intended for him to cross paths with her instead. He remained silent for a minute, a hint of perplexity creeping in as his head twisted. When attention was diverted, it appeared that the trader swiftly sealed his mouth, most likely due to the eerie atmosphere of malevolent spirits illuminating a spark that formerly danced among bodies. An impulse to reach out and check the fading hair that was strewn out haphazardly, but a feeling not to.

" Alya...What the fuck did they do to you, are you alright? I thought you were dead. "

Sure, he might have answered her inquiry, but was he also there? He certainly was. Clearly, the small fiend scratching at the walls could corroborate this in an instant. Was she unable to recognize him? It was not like he would change much since their previous encounter... Did he?

Fuckin' nonsense. Something was wrong. He'd bite back his queries, her eyes almost seemed dull, transparent in matters of recognition. Posture would return to a more serious tone; he was never known to make such demonstrations in public.

Just seeing her and hearing her in such a state triggered a peculiar stirring sensation inside him. For once, someone he cared about did not end up in a coffin six feet underground, with a forgotten gravestone serving as the only reminder of their existence.

Finally, he would answer the question.

" Yes. Yes, I was. Given you are making the little fucker in my mind do a jig. "

Even though his gaze never leaves her face, he maintains a frigid demeanor. You could never read the drow, the towering barriers that appeared to shatter in an instant with her presence.

A companion in crime,

Lost in mind,

Something awry,

Slivers in gray.

[thosewhohunger]

Faces swam past, each bleeding into the other. The pounding in her head a wardrum in time with each beat of her heart. The Dark Urge wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing there. They’d come for a healer whose blood now soaked into old stone. It’d been so vibrant amidst the greenery. Felt so right. Same as the little girl, though her corpse was no doubt bloating and twisting due to the death adder’s poisonous kiss. 

Neither deaths were her fault, and yet she was still at the heart of them. Point and look at the denominator, at the outsider who walked among them. 

Truthfully she wasn’t entirely certain what the source of the conflict was. Both sides wore branches at their crowns, the only discernible differences as far as she was concerned was the colors - warm tones pitted against greens and browns, but even that wasn’t completely reliable. She left it to her companions, following them around like a lost puppy. Teeth gritted, bared even. Rabid and not even fit for speaking to children. 

She’d thought her call to be unafraid had been rallying, why were they crying?

Twitching fingers at the ends of crossed arms, lest she give into temptation. 

They talked like they were alive, when all she could see was potential. Or the end of it. That one there hacking away at the practice dummy could become one himself, strung up and left out as each hack left more and more of him dripping to the grounds oh how he’d scream let her cut into that flesh, the teacher’s voice grating he’d sound much better throat raw and bleeding from screaming 

The other stranger to the Grove was nearly impossible for her to miss, speaking with one of the shorter beings near the entrance. Other eyes may have ghosted over the moving shadow, unconsciously moving from the danger threat. Another lost traveler, looking for a healer already a day dead, getting their bearings. Something about the way they move, a coiled trap ready to spring at a moment’s notice, tugged at the writhing mess of her brain, spiders dancing in her stomach and crawling up her throat. Mind touching mind so briefly – 

Beautiful. No other word for it, body after body. The reasons mattered less to her - everyone had their excuses, falsehoods clung too to justify their favorites. All that mattered was the wash of red that left her gaping. She half expected to see him physically coated, some visible sign of the filth that clung to his soul and yet he wore only the smallest bits, dust from the trail. 

The afflicted should stay together. It was as Shadowheart had said, safety in numbers. 

“Excuse me? Sorry, I think – “ voice breathy and raspy, a lurid still-healing scar on her throat and temple. Damaged and repaired by unknown hands, taken apart and put back together in a fumbled jigsaw with parts still missing or bent. Confidence lost as soon as she opened her mouth, glancing at her companions and hoping one of them would take the lead. They didn’t, leaving her to flounder under the anxieties of social interaction when she already didn’t understand what she was supposed to say. “Were you… on the ship too?”

@thosewhohunger

• ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴏᴏɴ 》 ᴅᴏɴɴʏ & ᴀʟʏᴀ

Nothing like having an unexpected visitor make a huge fuckin' hole in your mind. You could have passed for a defenseless animal splayed down on rocks, your guts ringing out like a party. Maggots slithering through the crevices in some weird form of creative vision. But, of course, doing some things might occasionally lead to the opposite outcome.

At the very least, he was alive.

Why wouldn't he be? Even if the heavens came tumbling down because the Gods commanded it to, he would be able to pull himself out like a necrotic creature coming back to life over and over. A respected and favored assassin who consistently completes tasks while exceeding expectations. Sure, most of his explanations were rubbish, but he didn't want to let anybody down.

And yet, as he made his way across the vast new wilderness, sun pounding down on blueish-grey skin like the subterranean, he could not help but respond in some sections of his psyche. One way in front of him, another swirling about in his head.

To be more intricate, you might say "squirming." It's best to clear your mind before embarking on a probable hallucination of someone you used to know but had not seen in years. A memory mirage?

Probably.

Perhaps it was the adverse effects.

STILL.

He couldn't get her face out of his head. That small part of him linked with her and may have missed her. He had always wanted someone to murder alongside, and who better than a bloodthirsty cultist? Never worry, entanglements can wait; he will figure it out later.

Track her down later.

It'd be no good, nor his....Oh, how cozy he would be if he developed some tentacles and turned into someone worth loathing. No, he would revert to his default and swim in the shadows, even if the light enveloped him.

𓆩♱𓆪

Why the fuck do people live up here? It smells bad, it feels horrible, but whatever, get the job done and quit thinking about it. At least the fearful ones were not complaining about his being, and he ended up looking for aid, which he never did, but the kids kept him busy. Tieflings, however, always transported him back to thoughts of the Kabrich siblings. By God's he fucking missed them, but he missed so many people after all. Death clung to him like the odor and stain of tobacco or blood on your boots.

Thinking if assisting them was a good idea or if it would merely drag his doom clock further into submission. Head out tomorrow to see what you can discover and pick if you want to be a nice person or an evil guy, as the ladder usually comes naturally.