#weavermasked

[tomepact]

“ have you forgotten your station, sir ikkon? ” he yanks himself away from the knight, but finally being forced to turn around and face his own guard. there is no more place to run, except to dimension door away. but that will be more cowardice than loras is willing to show. so he turns and stares back into the other elf's accusatory face. “ then allow me to remind you why we are here. you are a knight and i am your charge, but this is not what we want – you want to be the first knight of avalir, and i a member of the septarion. that's what we want from each other. that's all we want from each other. anything else is just ... ”

he inhales, searches for his words, feeling himself struggling, fighting to pull away. like a wayward adventurer running out of an enchanted forest. away and away from every lingering touches like grasping vines, playful glances the dazzling starlight; from the too close distance, baited breath, and a gambled kiss. it was all –

“ – a distraction . ” loras lets out that breath, and knows he has been betrayed. he trains his heart to be unfaithful, to those around him, and in this moment to himself most of all. a numbness washes over loras' face. he cocks his head as if to pull back any lingering emotions he couldn't tuck away in time. “ ... it's been a fine and refreshing trip, given the circumstances. and i have you to thank for it. but that's just what it is. a trip. ... now it's time to go home. ”

there is speechless anger simmering under ikkon's gaze when loras twists away from him. he has backed the wizard into a corner -- they were of a height with each other, but loras couldn't hope to contest ikkon in a feat of strength.

a distraction. the words turn the anger into a fury roiling under his skin. just a distraction, those weeks of wandering together, of stolen evenings of just the two of them.

his mind pulls at the thought of loras with laughter caught in his teeth and there is a tension that grinds ikkon's teeth.

" might i remind you that this position as sentinel was in lieu of becoming first knight? that you and i have known for far longer than either would be willing to admit that the title i so desperately wished for will never be mine? it was your word that told me becoming your sentinel would replace this far off dream. "

ikkon scoffs as he says it, steps back just an inch or so from being in loras's space, and waves his hand out to the city beyond. how foolish was he to believe in any of this.

there's the briefest flash of hurt across his face before it's swallowed once more by rage.

" i know those around you are loathe to tell as such to your face, but you're a coward, loras. no wonder you hide behind your masks and dangle such things in front of those who would offer you something genuine -- only for you to slap it from their hands and call it a distraction. "

[celestialdetected]

@weavermasked continued from here

They'd been dancing around each other for months now. Arawn wasn't used to being shy in relationships, but the situation Loras and he had found themselves in was a delicate one; Arawn hadn't wanted to make advances while Loras was stuck under his roof, never wanted to make him feel like he had to do anything for a warm place to sleep.

But now they were here, running into the unknown together.

But now they were here and Loras was taking off his mask, just because Arawn asked. He hadn't been sure what was under it; burns he'd assumed. Or perhaps the wearing of a mask was a cultural practice a thousand years dead, fallen with Avalir.

Under it, Loras was old. Ancient. An elf near the end of his life. Arawn raised an eyebrow and carefully kept his face blank. He disentangled his hand from Loras, smoothing a thumb over the wrinkled skin.

So this is what you will look like as an old man. There was a pang of something as Arawn realized he'd never get to see him like this. Not really. He'd be long dead before Loras showed any sign of age.

"I'm sorry." His free hand cupped Loras unblemished cheek. "For your accident," Then to lighten the charged atmosphere between them; "We sort of match. You get yours being stupid as well?"

Arawn stretched up on tiptoe, and pressed their lips together. He had asked to kiss him after all.

[xfindingtrouble]

loras is a 6ft tall elf stalking around the whitestone

i wanted to compare Loras to all Whitestone inhabitants bcs i am insane for height comparison. i am, however, laughing at the visual in my head of Cassandra always having to look up to Loras ( literally )

[magelearncd]

@weavermasked says: “ war is a game of numbers, not magic.” ( for the firbolg! )

"Oh," Sigrid said. Her voice is surprisingly soft, coming from so large a creature. "I don't think war is a game at all."

She supposed, in a way, war could be like a game. There were teams, and objectives, and everyone wanted their own side to win. But in war, when your friends fell around you they didn't get back up. Not unless you had a cleric to spare, and in the heat of a battle there wasn't often enough time to drag one over.

Not that Sigrid hadn't tried. She had. Everytime. Or at least....she thought she had. Her memories from before aren't the most reliable. A flash of steel here, a cry of anguish there, the faintest memory of sunlight warming her fur. But she thought she remembered pressing a gem into someone's hand and protecting them so they had time to use it.

Who had it been?

"I think war's something that happens when something is broken and no one knows how to fix it." Some thing, some place, some people. "But magic never hurts. You can do a lot of good with magic."

[inabsentiiarch]

@weavermasked sent: ❛   i  haven’t  met  all  of  me  yet.   ❜ ( for the circus bodyguard lucan - ) meme

"Is there anyone who has?" The fighter muses lowly, leaning back on his seat. The circus has gone quiet for the evening, now devoid of the vibrant presence of children and curious traveller. Candy wrappers and things alike left as the only signs of them.

Golden eyes turn towards the darkening sky. Shades of oranges and yellows have now begun to turn sky night blue. Leaving room for the stars, and bringing the hint of a smile to Lucan's lips before his attention turns back to Loras.

"Look, the scary truth is you might never get to know all there is to you." There's a shrug of his shoulders. " By the time you think there's nothing else to 'meet' in you, well... there likely will be something new already." The redhead says. And then, a thought crosses his mind.

"One would think that someone like you would know as much..." He hums quietly, a smile showing up on his expression playfully. Out of all of the people Lucan had had to work for, Loras was possibly the most peculiar one. "But if it makes you feel any better, I haven't either... why are you so worried about that anyway?"

[thiefcant]

imagine spawn rixian seeing loras cast wall of light - his version is a shimmering web of pale golden strings that looks like a solid wall because each string is shinning so bright. it's the brightest thing loras knows in barovia not produced by flames. it is radiance, it is sunlight. but loras wouldn't know because he's born in barovia and has never seen clear sky.

radiant magic is absolutely beautiful to rixian. two of his closest friends are a paladin and a divine soul sorcerer -- radiance like this was something of a comfort before, but casting wall of light so close by is enough to send him hissing into the catacombs once more, fleeing from the spell despite how beautiful it is.

it means rixian would hide for a while, tucked in one of his heavy cloaks and refusing to leave the absolute darkness of the depths of the castle when loras came calling for him, because it means loras commands something truly dangerous to him and the other vampires in the castle. being close to it causes twenty damage outright, not counting the damage that might come from touching it inadvertently.

it's a moment of real fear from rixian, and it would take a lot to coax him back from that.

[artaemisia]

@weavermasked:

“ master brontë. ” the voice comes from behind the boulder. the wood elf steps out around to the narrow path to find the genasi perched upon the rock formation. he wears the traditional color and emblem of the wyvernwind family's staff, having worked his way up the hierarchy since the day he showed up to the silken squall. “ curious seeing you here. your parents thought you were still back at the estate. ”

the wind is restless, and so are they. though their lute rests in their lap, fingers poised on the strings, they make no music. their sky blue eyes gaze ahead, seeing nothing, as the wind rustles nervously around them. dorian loses track of how long they are sitting there like this and remember only to breathe as the breeze itself buffets against their lips, bringing with it the sound of a familiar voice. they lift their head, eyes losing their glaze.

"loras," he greets the wizard warmly, despite an undertow of disappointment of having been found. dorian's displeasure isn't with loras, after all. ( though, the second child hesitates to put his real gripes to words. ) "ah, yes, well..." he trails off, chuckling as he remembers the lute in his hands. "i thought i would stretch my legs a little, let them remember what it's like to... uh, walk... on the ground," it's a poor excuse. he's no wordsmith.

"is something the matter?" they ask, though they aren't worried this is actually the case. "have my mother and father sent you?"

[stcrforged]

@weavermasked asked “ i know you, but you don't know me. perhaps there would be a better time for an introduction like this. but again, one can't always wait for the perfect time ... sometimes it is about the necessary time. ” the elf offers the dwarven rogue a mug of ale, sitting down across from him at the tavern table. “ i need a guide to cross the countryside ... inconspicuously. you are discreet, and handy with a blade, so i've heard. i have gold. would you like to make some? ”

eyes that were as blue as the clearest lake gazed upon the stranger, observing EVERY detail, every movement, listening to every word. head tilted as leather boots rested upon the wooden table in front of him, legs crossed. one hand behind his neck while the other rested on one of his legs. it was not unsual - people hiring for jobs like these and he often accepted them (if he didnt have a plan to kill the local nasty nobility or others with too much coin, abusing their power). the rogue was intrigued by the elf. WHO was this man? why did he know him and not the other way around? " you have my interest. "

the job sounded easy enough and he would donate most of the money after the mission. there were others, LESS fortunate souls, that needed them. tristan leaned forward, accepting the ale, taking a heavy gulp. " i accept your offer. " he didn't ask for the stranger's name. it was of NO use for him. he doesn't need to know such things. not for jobs like these. " when do you want to leave? "

[tomepact]

rumor has it, the green knight of the prism sentinels will appear in the arena today. loras of the weaver's mask has been making unexpected moves, and this is just one of his latest. word on the street is that he will make an appearance at the match to cheer on his knight. or perhaps he is looking for a contender? either way, ambitious young fighters whisper among themselves, that whoever can best ikkon the echo knight may just get a shot at earning their own cape.

catching the rumor is the easy part -- fighters like to talk when they know the person they speak about can hear. ikkon nurses a drink quietly and considers the rumor. he hasn't attempted to mask his reentry into this season's arena fights, assuring the advisor that reported to loras that his sentinel duties shall be completed first and foremost, but that he has broken no rule by entering the competition.

loras would be there, would he? was he there because of this rumor that ikkon had bet his cape, or because he wanted to see ikkon fight? would he be there looking with interest or pride or scorn?

he sets the tankard down a little harder than he means to, breaking the whispering with a bolt of silence as he stands from his seat.

(when he finds himself in the arena, the city remembers why someone with no arcane ability to speak of could stand alongside eldritch knights of great standard. when he is victorious, he stands with his echo mirroring the stance, blades crossed in salute.

he cares nothing for the announcer when his eyes trail the stands. when he finds loras, he holds his gaze until he is called to leave the arena for the next match to begin, like a dare unspoken.)

rumor, rumor.

[celestialdetected]

The strangest thing about Arawn waking up was the fact that he....woke up.

The thing was, there wasn't supposed to be a creature. Arawn had been sent to the small village because of reports of memory gaps; young people getting lost in the woods only to be found hours later with vague and confusing memories of where they've been.

But the woods were dark and confusing, with only a few deer paths to follow. And in a village this small gossip was stale. The Take had only seen fit to send one person out for a rumor this dismissable.

Which was how Arawn got caught by a fucking vampire. He'd felt teeth around his throat. His limbs went heavy and his vision went dark, he tried to struggle but there was little he could do with his hands bound and a vampire at his throat. That was supposed to be the end.

Then he woke up, hands still bound, with a vampire staring intently at him from the shadows. "So what then, I tasted that bad? Or are you one of those men who can't finish?"

@weavermasked vampire/vampire hunter.

[xfindingtrouble]

RECALL for sylas if it tickles your fancy!

sylas delights in this in the way a well-fed fat delights in playing with a mouse. he had asked the other to join him on a walk. The night was young & there was much to do, much to discuss. delilah was above this sort of thing, he enjoyed questioning the help anyways. it was fun to poke & prod, peeling away at the person before him. everyone in whitestone was down on their luck, they were compliant, predictable... loras, on the other hand, was full of unknowns. it wasn't every day that a masked man found work in what was quickly becoming a ghost town. thankfully, the ghosts here had left the briarwoods with a considerable amount of gold to work with.

despite any impending unknowns, he knew that loras had access to magic that could prove to be useful. sylas could work with useful. though he had already promised the other work, this was a test. he needed his charges to be unbothered by the gory details, those who wouldn't recoil in the name of their senseless morality. they were working towards something above anyone's self-importance or perceived righteousness.

" The castle is beautiful, isn't it? " though his voice is conversational, there is an authoritative undertone. a subtle reminder that they were playing his game. squeak the wrong way & he would catch the other under his paw, drain the life from him & leave a husk behind.

" It's a shame what happened to the de rolo's, " it's worth noting there wasn't a shred of shame in his voice. In fact, this may be the closest to delighted he's been all night, " but sacrifices had to be made. They were an example to the people of whitestone, encouraging their cooperation. i remember when we strung them up, on the sun tree. my delilah thought it would send the right message. it took weeks before any of the townsfolk had the gall to take them down, though it didn't do much. the fools who buried them took their place. so on & so forth. it was an effective way of keeping them manageable until they understood their new position. "

he doesn't hide the dark pride that pokes through his words, speaking like a man that knows the world is his to take. which would be the case, if all went to plan. he was eager to see what the other was capable of, given that this moral vetting went well. Many had already learned that their survival relied on their worth, what they could do for the briarwoods. underperformance & insubordination were crimes punishable by death. Though he revels in his memories, they also serve as a cautionary tale.

" We'll keep you clothed, fed, paid ... " there is an implication in his words, maybe it's a threat. He's hard to read, despite the way the corners of his mouth lift into a smile. It may have been polite, if not for the looming sharp teeth. It's a gentle reminder, much gentler than he was usually prone to. Sylas wanted to unravel the unknowns Loras dealt in & was eager to see how he would prove his worth. what sort of weapon could he be? " You will be comfortable so long as you remain useful. Do you understand? "

SEND ‘RECALL’ FOR MY MUSE TO BE FORCED TO OPEN UP TO YOURS ABOUT SOMETHING FROM THEIR PAST

[darkblessed]

“ i have no use for you. ” the man – the creature – says with a smile. it is a beautiful smile, and a wrong smile. it goes skin deep. and what swarm underneath are all the things that could bite. he creeps closer to the monster that became the hunter, and the hunter that becomes hunted. “ or maybe i have more use for you than any ... ” he holds up his hand and pulls the same draining magic to his fingertips, a vortex to draw enebish towards him. “ don't run – ” ( scientific inquiry: what happens when you try to steal the time of an undead creature that's technically already out of time? )

he's been running in circles. it's a thing he expects, considering the not-quite-fey-not-quite-undead nature of the creature he deals with -- and yet the exhaustion comes quickly. his hands shake more persistently, makes his movements less sure, and when his boot finds the curve of a hefty root, he tumbles in a loud clatter of heavy armor.

he should feel out of breath, but the only thing that lingers is the feeling of magic pulling at him, dragging him closer to loras as the other smiles and plucks at strings of magic around them.

it would normally be terrible, he's almost certain, to have life and years stolen from you. for enebish, the years taken are part of an endless sea of them stretching ahead of him -- like a bucket out of the ocean, it barely unsettles the tide.

what it does, which frightens him more than anything, is make him feel ravenous. his stomach feels hollow when the spell drains life from him and reminds him that he is a thing built of the bones of other creatures.

he feels loras's fingers curl against his chin, ghostly-light in their pressure, before that smile turns venomous.

it reminds him of his sire in that instant, and his heart nearly beats for the fear in him.

what, indeed, happened if you pulled the years from an endless thing?

[thiefcant]

the hunt goes long. he tries to ease the new spawn into it, this new life of predators and preys. there are warmblooded animals in the woods nearby, below the tall spire of rock and the castle that looms even taller atop it. within the shelter of the trees creature feel hidden from the dark lord's sight. it is a false sense of security when his monsters stalk the night beyond the castle walls.

“ come ... ” blood runs down his chin, drenching the front of loras' robes. he feels invigorated, by the ferocious ability of his new companion, and the rare warmth circulating through his body with each gulp of blood. “ you ought to enjoy the prize of your kill – otherwise it's just slaughter . ”

he pulls rixian in by the front of the rogue's shirt, sealing his lips with a bloody maw. warm, fresh blood pours out of his open mouth, that he pushes into rixian's mouth with his tongue, coaxing open the lips and teeth and feeding it down the other spawn's throat.

rixian is nervous about leaving the castle, but the moment he's outside -- he's fast, bounding into the tree line and mountains at the base of the castle. loras has taken him hunting, and with the clouds over barovia, they need not fear the sun taking them by surprise.

(it is a domain ruled by vampires, after all. the land bends to their will.)

when he kills, it isn't with teeth and claw. he refuses to lower himself to that just yet, but his blade is exceptionally sharp when he digs it in -- and he lets loras have first taste of the catch for no other reason than courtesy to a higher up (and nausea rolling in his gut at the thought.)

loras looks as radiant as the gold he wears at the abundance of blood flushing his face, the warmth that fuels him into moving faster and stronger than before.

otherwise it's just slaughter.

he doesn't turn his head away when he meets a bloodied kiss, when he gets the taste on the back of his teeth and down his throat and he's clinging onto loras to chase the taste even more. it soaks into the leathers of his armor that remains, deep enough to tint like oxblood, and he's chasing a line of blood down loras's jaw before he snaps back and hisses -- though the sound is directed more at himself than at loras.

" -- messy. you've made a mess. "

[artaemisia]

@weavermasked:

“ mr. montilyet. ” walking into the club with a smile already painted on his face is loras of the weaver's mask. he wears a deep purple robe on this night, paired with a green shawl with an iridescent sheen draped over his arms. the smile on his half-masked face widens as he approaches the owner of the club. “ your establishment is as vibrant and exciting as usual. but not too busy i couldn't take you away from it for a moment, i hope. ”

"loras!" laurien greets the other man with a broad smile as he sweeps forward to press a kiss to either of his cheeks. "my, don't you look dashing," he observes with a subtle curve to his grin, stepping back to admire the handsome elf before him. the bard himself is wearing a red and gold silk sherwani and had just been in close conservation with two men at a table toward the back of the current, open room. the atmosphere is a mixture of electric and cozy, which is arguably precisely what laurien is going for.

"me? too busy?" he laughs, cheeks blooming a dark rose. "never for you. shall we talk here or somewhere more private? is this for business, pleasure... both, i hope?" laurien flags down a passing waitstaff and plucks two champagne flutes from their platter, offering one to loras.

[stcrforged]

with dream gone NO ONE could prevent him from taking whoever, whatever, he wanted and in this very moment he wanted the man in front of him. there was something... fascinating about the stranger. as if he was not part of this world, this galaxy, this universe. a peculiar scent which awoke his DEEP hunger. it was a tingling sensation, to think that he, the corinthian, the first nightmare, would taste something, someone, new. how rare and how beautiful wasn't that? " i don't believe i know you. just must be new? " a flashing smile, STARVED eyes hidden behind a pair of black shades.

@weavermasked / the thing we talked about!

[tomepact]

“ you're new. ” ikkon walks into the training ground and someone is already there. sukree, a young looking elvish man in saffron and orange martial garb sits on the bench. his platinum blond hair tied back into a short ponytail. he raises a hand to point at the cloak hanging from ikkon's shoulders. “ i knew the guy who used to wear that cape. bless his soul. one of the best bladesingers i ever met. what've you got? ”

" not bladesinging, if that's your next question. "

while he's not expecting the visitor, he's not phased by the presence in the training circle. the cloak is shrugged and folded aside, careful among his things, as he clears the circle for his own use.

" i have my own skills that i like to keep in my pocket to use as a surprise. are you interested in a showing? "

he makes a gesture to the circle, the offer of a challenge silent but obvious.