#vigilantcleric

[illithilit]

Lil thing for @vigilant-cleric bc I am rotating them in my mind

          OBSIDIAN HOOVES carried the both of them easily through the magic that opens freedom for each, and for a moment, he thinks the sharpness of the air here is naught but the wind knocked out of him from the ride. ( It's not happened in well over a decade, but.... Then again, it's not as if he's plane-hopped in longer. ) Glowing green from beneath the veil of his helm narrows into slits in the face of the glaring brightness of this new world, and for a long while, he remained still, silent.

          A man transfixed by the sights, sounds, and smell of the -- albeit slightly singed from Larsezu's hooves -- small forested clearing they three had appeared into. Each, it seems as if he'd experienced in another lifetime, maybe, but are so strange to the life he's lead for the majority of his time that they each feel..... Hells, what was the right word? This place is so much more vibrant and alive than the scarred and war-torn face of Avernus that what must surely have been commonplace for his companion is ethereal to him. There's no way this place could be real..... Right....?

          It's as if he's been seduced by a siren, the way he worldlessly dismounts and walks a few feet away, face skyward. He'd been here, once; he'd been reared here, as all Githyanki were. But the memory is so distant, and even the earth beneath his sabatons feels softer somehow. This wasn't the same place. Plated hands reach up to remove his helmet and hold it at his side. Comparatively, the air bites at his skin with an equally foreign chill, and despite himself, despite the shiver it sends through him.... He closes his eyes a moment, relishing in the sensation.

          "This is the proper plane, yes...?" Finally, his eyes reopen and are cast back towards Ashen. "We have not been sent astray somehow?" Surely they had. Surely this realm of plant-life and animal calls was some sort of fever dream; they're no doubt laid low on the ashen ground, bleeding out from wounds they didn't see arriving -- and the thought bleeds through into the uncertainty in his expression.

[avernusfuries]

@vigilant-cleric asked: "touch me." [mayhaps post-engine fix?? who knows]

If someone had told her years ago that she would fall in love with a cleric, of all people, Karlach might've laughed in their faces. It wasn't anything against clerics themselves, but with how vehemently she declared herself atheistic over the years... It was a little funny, still. Now was not really the time for laughter, she knew, when she had daydreamed about all of the less than holy thing she had wanted to do with him when she had retired to her quarters for the evening, and fallen asleep in a breathless giddiness and awoke with a spring in her step the following morning.

Her imagination, in comparison to the real thing was more than a little alarming. Ordinarily, Karlach would've sulked when the rest had gone to bed, but this evening it felt as though they couldn't go quick enough. They loitered and talked endlessly around the campfire about the details of the day, the shadowcurse, what they would find at moonrise towers, whether or not the fucking tadpoles would be evicted when they did. Etcetera, et-fucking-cetera.

It would be hours later when the two came together, and it took a surprisingly short matter of time before their clothes had fallen into a messy pile outside of his lodgings. His were better, and offered far more privacy than her own. She hadn't needed much of that since they'd set out, after all, with the risk of one little sneeze burning what little she owned.

Against her better judgement, Karlach's hands hesitated the same way they had when the upgrade had been completed. Somehow, having him between her thighs and looking at her like she held his entire universe in her hands was thrilling in more ways than she could adequately describe. Not like she'd ever been the sort for flowery words or pretty poetry in the first place.

Karlach's hands hovered, hesitant above his chest.

"Touch me."

Fuck, she'd almost forgotten precisely where she was. She loved everything that she could see. Every slope of him, the softness of his hair spattered over his chest and stomach. Taking him in like this, Karlach felt a bolt of want settle in the pit of her stomach, where it settled, hot aching between her legs. He was scarred in the same way she was, she noted quietly, and her palms moved to spread and splay over his chest, before they started their exploration. His skin was far, far softer than she had imagined.

With a small noise, she dipped her head and captured his mouth with her own.

[selunaris]

@vigilant-cleric asked: ❛  that feels good, doesn't it?  ❜ (fuck it they're going to Shar's temple. i had to. LOOOL)

She was sure she could feel the goddess of loss watching them upon her altar, watching with disdain and perhaps pondering which curses to lay upon them. Most especially her, a cleric of her sister. And yet, that danger only seemed to thrill Luna more.

Folded over the dark altar, her fingers clutched at the far edge of the stone, chest flat against its cold surface, whilst her legs were spread wide for her fellow cleric behind her worshipping her. Hands gripped her hips tightly, bruising in the most delightful of ways, as Ashen's hips repeatedly met her backside with each thrust, each plunge of his cock into her.

Could Shar hear the obscene sounds wet arousal with each thrust? Did she hear Luna's whimpering moans, pathetic and soft as she lost herself to pleasure, or Ashen's groans behind her? Her head tipped back slightly then, catching a glimpse of the giant Shar statue before them and for a moment she was sure she felt that presence there.

Keening under his touch, that was when Ashen's words reached her, inner walls tightening around him briefly.

"Y-yes!" She stuttered out, higher pitched as he filled her once more, fingers reaching to tangle in her loose blonde hair. "F-feels so good, Ashen... please..."

[eritvita]

continued from x ;

@vigilant-cleric

As a stranger to the incomprehensible Paths of all Roads and gilded railings of this World and the Next, is naught Roland the proud, the friendly, the Man Willing to Aide, and as he meanders close to this Knight-- stalwart, gleaming in silver armor-- dost he think of his satchel, that leather purse what hangs always upon his person, and for certain herbs and poultices hidden wonderfully within.

"Thou art welcome," says Roland amiably, and offers his palms in both sects of precious vulnerability. "I fear I am lost upon this dirt-speckled road, and know naught of where I Wander. Wouldst thou require a healing salve to soothe thine old aches and pains?" inquires he, his handsome brow, so, to furrow.

[sanguinespirited]

A, E, K, R for the Valentine's Day alphabet 👀

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Gifts and acts of service, but it's more accurate that he will steal things for you and kill your enemies. Flowers are too common, but jewels around that pretty neck? Absolutely. He will also be more comfortable with touch, often lounging on those he adores.

E : EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

Tentative at first. It's not something he's used to, and he doesn't like the feeling of being confined. But slowly he relaxes, enjoying the warmth and smell of the other person. If it's someone he truly cares about, it's not likely that he'll be the first to let go.

K : KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

So long as you watch the teeth, yes. He enjoys it, and hopes to leave you breathless by the end of it. After all, he doesn't need to breathe.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

A cynic externally, though he finds himself falling easily for those that are truly kind to him.

[illithilit]

@vigilant-cleric continued.

          FOR A LONG WHILE, the only response given was a single, raised brow, and the most dubious expression Mourndax could manage. Why had he let himself be talked into this again? Ah, that was right. He hadn't. He'd been expecting a job, and the damn chaplin was expecting some teary eyed bastard begging for someone to stop the bleeding of his heart. Honestly, the nerve some clients had, setting him up like this. There was money to be made, not.... Not talking about repressed issues.

          "Yes, well.... Perhaps if you'd spent a day in the Underdark, you'd know it to be factual, not relative. The only hands you get are distracting you from a knife to the ribs, pawing at your coin purse, or going to be turned on you sooner or later."

          Further scorn fell silent. Joy.... The word barely held any meaning; was there ever even a time he'd actually felt any? Maybe.... Maybe his time spent training Baljra? No, bit frustrating with her stubborn personality -- although she was still something good in his life. Finally pinpointing the hushed whispers to belong to Vhaeraun...? That was more relief that he wasn't going mad after all, that maybe someone cared, even just a little.... Ugh, why was he considering this in the first place? Burning red eyes had fallen to the wayside and turned distant and hollow. Horrible little disgusting reaction that it was.

          "I'm not usually so daft as to miss a well-formed scheme, but I hardly see what you have to gain from this." Expression snapped back to his previous defiance in a heartbeat, as if to cover up that he'd let anything slip in the first place and erase the sensation that it'd ever happened. "There's far easier ways to cajole money out of people, you know. Like offering me guards or something if I give you a few hundred gold. Or perhaps my name on a new barracks. That might look dashing, don't you think?"

[illithilit]

from this - cuddle with Amis

@vigilant-cleric ; Extremely self indulgent meme

          RAUCOUS MUSIC and laughter and chatting carried on the night wind like a sweet breeze caresses serrated ears, bringing back memories of the taverns he and Ashen had stopped in back before they'd reached Baldur's Gate for the first time. At the time, they'd been beers shared between friends and companions, but now, looking back on it, they were the first dates they'd shared. Of course, the night has only so much to do with either of them -- as two of the heroic party that spared the lives of the Elturelan tieflings -- but the night air makes him sentimental all the same.

          He'd gone to get plates of the food their guests had insisted upon making for the camp with pooled supplies, and had been pleasantly surprised to recognize the dish. Couldn't remember its name for the life of him, but he knew for a fact Ashen's mother had served it to them on at least one Sunday, if not possibly more. ( As he often insisted, all her meals were delicious, though many of the specific names slipped through the cracks. ) Upon his return, Zevlor and a few others had gathered to catch up with Ashen, and Amis' expression turned warm at the sight. It was always lovely, getting to see others happy to see his husband too; he was a delightful man. Everyone should love him.

          Two plates of food he sets within reach of where they were sitting, and only then settles back in next to his husband, leaned against him with his head on his shoulder and their fingers interlocked. Food was always great, after all, but he could sit and listen to Ashen talk all night. And it tasted better when they got to eat together, anyway.

[illithilit]

what if they kissed? (for Amis- they definitely did... :D)

@vigilant-cleric // Send 'what if they kissed' to get a smooch ; accepting.

          LIKE SO MANY OTHERS that day, he had been picked up in the midst of a fervent attempt at shepherding civilians into areas of greater safety -- one in particular, an older woman struggling with her own clear arthritis to hustle in the direction he had pleaded with her to go in. He'd seen the shadow before she had, and knew of her impending fate if he didn't try to do something. Leaping forward in an attempt at severing the slithering limb from his own youthful nightmares was the last thing he remembered, before waking up under the control of a ghaik, moments before its spawn crawled into his ocular cavity. For as heavy as the sense of impending doom, and the grief for the situation he would be leaving Ashen in, he could at least claim a sense of resignation; he would be able to withstand these horrors better than the poor old merchant woman.

          Most of these things, however, he'd stubbornly refused to share with his camp mates; it was his own burden to bear, not theirs. They could know he was married, for he never took off his wedding band, but he wouldn't allow them any attempts at trying to soothe pains they knew little about. He wasn't brazenly trying to fight his way through the hoards to find his husband; that was all they needed to know.

          The name Waukeen's Rest sounded somewhat familiar, but it wasn't vague recollection that drew him in: it had been the sharp scent of an active fire. They were, much to his own growing annoyance, looking for the Githyanki knights seen from the high point of the Emerald Grove to be circling this approximate area; knowing the temperament of his kin, it was a good place to start even if his scans of the skies yielded nothing. Sight of those standing at the gate, however, had him momentarily frozen; he'd know that figure blind in the Underdark.

          In the moment, he hadn't given any thought to explaining to his companions what was going through his mind -- he simply broke into a run to the side of the man praying over a fallen comrade. Even with circumstances what they currently were, though, prayers such as these weren't to be interrupted for the sake of those grieving, and for the sake of the priest offering a man's last rites. To his credit, he'd been silent in his patience, but once it came to its natural close, his own overwhelming relief bled out from him in the form of scooping up his beloved at the waist and hugging him in a tight embrace.

          "Forgive me, Ashen." Love that spurred heightened distress in times like these when one didn't know whether their loved ones had survived or not urged him to close the distance between their lips. Their kiss, lingering as it was, was as good as ever, but most of all, the knowledge of his breath, the sensation of it on his skin, helps chase away many of the shadows that lingered at the edges of his mind. "I cannot apologize enough for how distressed you must have been these past days. Are you well?" Though he could feel it as he had with the rest of the party, the tadpole lodged within his husband's brain -- but rather than express any of the dismay bubbling up from his chest, peppering Ashen's face in affectionate kisses was a far more favorable substitute.

          "I shall rend whatever detestable wretch in quarters and feed their souls to Avernus for what they have done to you, my beloved." A promise, offered through psionics: there would be bloody vengeance from which no soul could return. They would be one last gift to the lords of Avernus: brand new lemures to feast upon or sacrifice, direct from the spiteful blade of his previously-retired hellfire halberd.

[illithilit]

[  spar  ]+ (they're having a training fight and Amis is winning!)

@vigilant-cleric ; Nonverbal Meme. [ spar  ]  sender  pins  receiver  down  in  a  practice  fight

          KEEPING SHARP was second nature, something to be done without thought; if he didn't practice his form at least once a day, he would be rusty, and if he was rusty..... Well. In retrospect it wasn't going to spell his doom like it once would have. This wasn't Avernus, and working the city watch to the same level was akin to bringing a canon to a sword fight. Unnecessary. Overkill. It matters little, though; starting his day outside the house in the practice rings made for a taste of familiarity where he otherwise only has one other, to say nothing of the pleasant feeling exercise brought.

          Today, he hadn't been expecting a sparring partner; for that, he was always at the whims of whether anyone else who wished to hone their talent for battle at the same time as himself. There were some who showed up more regularly than others, but his list of possibles hadn't exactly included his beloved. Not that he had any complaints about it, mind; the moment he recognized Ashen waiting for him in the ring was the moment his gaze softened in that adoring way only his husband could ever bring out of him. A kiss began their greeting, and was followed by typical questions of what spurred the surprise; Ashen asked to be his sparring partner for the day, and the offer was heartily accepted.

          Each began with unsharpened sword in hand. Each circled a moment before Amis took the first lung forward, a move Ashen parried with ease. Blows were traded back and forth in the dance of swordplay for many minutes, though the simple tactic Amis was aiming for had gone seemingly unnoticed 'til Ashen's dodge of a strike put him nearly up against the wall. Amis struck out again, this time to knock the blade from his husband's hand, and before Ashen had the opportunity to react, Amis pressed even further forward to pin him to the wall. Only a beat or two saw him pause, peering deep into Ashen's gaze, before meeting his lips with a tender, loving kiss.