🗡 * parasite

© Katherine Wranovich.

a startled gaze snaps up from the book he was reading, to look up at karlach. a small squint, before the gaze slides over to the warming light of dawn, the rising crest of the sun. ah. a pause, while gale deliberates upon the best answer he could in this moment. " well, that would slightly depend upon how exactly one would quantify the 'entire night'. going based off of the most common definition, i would say no, i was not awake the entire night, " a bookmark is plucked up by a mage hand woven with a flare of gale's fingers, and tucked away between the pages before he closes the tome.

the night is a place of horror for her. even when resting, her fists were curled and great axe was not far from her reach. in avernus she had to be aware of her surroundings at all times or else face the consequences of death. last night, she noticed that gale left his bedroll and began reading. she wondered what was so important that couldn't wait until the morning? though, nothing was said aloud. her eyes simply shut and she got as much rest as she could. karlach is almost always the first one up and ready to go. it seemed that their resident wizard beat her to it. ❝ you look like you're going to fall over any second now. i'd offer to throw you over my shoulder and let me carry you to wherever we're off to, but i don't think we need a crispy wizard on our hands. ❞ karlach would give almost anything to be able to actually carry someone and hold them close. there's an ache in her chest that isn't caused by the infernal engine, but due to yearning.

@emfyred asked:

"that was . . . that was incredible." from gale

Beaming with pride, she looked towards the light that danced along her fingers. She always got excited when studying new magics, and this wasn't something her old teacher had taught her. " You should've seen me before the tadpole. " She mused, turning the blue light over in her hand.

" I created my own constructs. My own little gremlin's that I could control ... I could have any undead do what I told them too. " Reaching up, she cupped her palm around one of the bigger sparkles, half expecting it to burn her skin. Tail flicked idly behind her in thought; barely being aware of their linked connection through the weave.

the world, dull grey and gloom, turned into a kaleidoscope of colors. blue and purple light surrounding them. he could feel the way her magic intertwines with his own. their minds, souls and hearts connected through the weave. it was more than just a whisper of it, but showed no threat of becoming a tempest. they were in control for as long as this moment lasted. it wouldn't last nearly as long as he was hoping it would. so, he watches her with a gentle smile on his expression, taking this opportunity to study her expression. so he stares probably longer than he should, but as a very well and studied wizard, he couldn't help himself.

❝ that would certainly be particularly useful for our current predicament. perhaps, when we have gotten rid of our unwanted guests, ❞ he points to his head, ❝ you can show me. i wish to do the same, to show you more of what i can accomplish. though, i do think there is a thing or two that i could also learn from you. if you are willing to teach me.. ❞ gale would never turn down an opportunity to learn, especially through another person's eyes. everyone looked at the world a different way. there could be spells that they both could perform but in different ways. this is why he was so passionate about the weave, not to mention that this was the only way he could feel mystra's embrace.

Kaldar doesn't understand the gods. He's never prayed to them, never thought about them beyond the fact they exist, and that's all there's ever been to it. They weren't there for him, but nobody was, so there's no reason to be angry about what he can't control.

But that's only his experience. Shadowheart's, whatever it is, is different. He wonders up at the statue of Selûne, defaced and destroyed in her desecrated temple. There are things to be said about the whims of gods, about the way so many of them oppose one another and let their followers sort out their squabbles. He's too simple minded to have any sort of coherent thought about it, even if he thinks so hard it seems @emfyred even notices. He must have been glaring up at it for longer than he realizes; it must be time to move on.

the temple, as broken and decayed as it was, still felt like a cage. to step on its grounds was a betrayal of her goddess. mistress of the night, forgive her. it did fill her with glee that the place was overrun by vermin and the lowest of beings. goblins had destroyed the place so it was fitting. still though, she felt something tugging at the back of her mind, something that was starting to make her feel sick. the wound on her hand glows and distracts her mind for a moment. pain took over the bones in her hand and then shot up her arm causing more bones to ache. when would she know relief? ❝ it hurts.. ❞ she proclaims quietly before turning her attention back to kaldar.

❝ i will explain it to the best of my ability. as long as you promise to keep an open mind. that curiosity of yours will be rewarded. ❞ she nods sharply and takes one last peek at the statue. shadowheart swiftly imagines herself in kaldar's shoes. his days were not filled with worship or the eagerness to do some act in order to impress the gods. perhaps that could be a blessing itself, one wouldn't think of themselves as a disappointment. ❝ have you no one to turn to when your faith slips, even faith in yourself? no voice speaks to you from beyond? i imagine that would feel.. lonely.❞

The ambient sounds of the WILDERNESS brought a sense of peace as she strolled along, the flickering of fire bugs lighting her way. Her copper brown hair remained draped in bountiful waves long past her shoulders and down her back. Lost in her own thoughts; some meandered from the parasite in her head to FLEETING thoughts of her companions, many and vastly different from one another, Lark had come to know them all in due time. Just as she was about to take another step, out of the bustling bushes adjacent to her came a prancing deer leaping past her as if being pursued. Only then she did realized the animal was being chased by something. A blurred VISAGE of white curls caught her eye. Had she unknowingly stumbled onto a hunt? " Astarion." She spoke as a way of greeting. Slowly canting her head to the side she peered at her vampiric companion. A pang of guilt swelled in her chest. She must have accidentally interrupted what looked like would be a HEARTY meal for him. " Apologies, I didn't realize you were hunting." she watched him carefully, her face remaining ever taciturn. " Shall we pursue it? " she asked as she stepped forward. " I can shoot it down if it makes it easier? "

the wilds were turning out to be surprisingly fruitful. animals and bandits alike were his for the taking. oh, how his mouth watered with anticipation. he's crouched down with sharp crimson eyes trained on the poor creature before him. the creature had no idea that he was near that he was going to tear it apart. as astarion lunges forward with fangs bared, the smell of someone approaching came to him before noting the noise of her footsteps.

❝ shit! ❞ the curse is said with a rather dramatic whine to it. hunger claws at the inside of his throat. he had been so close! ❝ perhaps next time i will announce it all to the camp so that you do not go stumbling stupidly where you shouldn't. ❞ it sounds as if he was angry at her, but truthfully, her presence was making it harder to concentrate. the beating of her pulse is a rhythm that could lure him in. usually, he will listen to it as he meditates for the night - normally the sound is soothing, but now it just drives him wild.

@emfyred asked: "i'm scared of ending up alone." from gale ( LOST MEME )

⧼ ☾✦ ⸻ his voice echoed inside her mind when he said those words, a sigh from her nose was her reply, as she sat next to the wizard. a silence that wasn't awkward overcame the two of them. she had a lot to say to him, but so little at the same time. ❝ you know, my first love was murdered. ❞ she confessed. ❝ ⸻ he left behind me and our two unborn children who were still growing my womb at the time. that fear you have i understand it. ❞ she looked up to the stars that twinkled in the sky.

isolation had become so easy to him, as he put his head in books and tara brought him magical items to consume. it would have been like that until he died of natural causes or the shard in his chest were to explode. he had not planned on meeting any of his current companions, and caring for them in the way that he does. the confession she gives startles him, creating an icy feeling to run down his spine. ❝ i did not know this. i am sorry. ❞ bastard.. how could he have left his unborn children and wife? if only gale were so lucky to have a family.. ❝ it seems as if you are better off without him.. if you don't mind me saying. ❞ the words left his mouth and he already wanted to shovel them back in. gods, will this awkward feeling ever fade?

Among the things she thinks might happen today, his walking intentionally into a discussion of faith ( or lack thereof ) isn't very high on the list. If the two of them had blundered into this some time ago - say, when they'd been scraping by in the wilds and scarcely had known a thing of one another, much less if they could be trusted with each other's lives - she wouldn't have had more than a sharp tongue for their resident vampire. Here, though, her silence is only her consideration, and the look she wields his way is only to gauge the sentiment, the gravity behind this.

❝ perhaps, you do not need one at all. ❞ he huffs, and states in a matter-of-fact tone, as if it were so plain to see. ❝ shar treated you like garbage and whose to say that the next one won't do the same? gods have little care for their worshippers and abandon them when it suits their agenda. ❞ it had not been his intention to delve too deep into this conversation, but here they were. his tone is bitter and upset as he continues, ❝ i know what good faith can do. it will amount to nothing.. ❞ all those years spent crying out, praying for someone to release him from cazador's hold. he would pray nightly before the sun rise and got nothing in return. not even a stirring response. ❝ the only one you can trust is yourself. oh, and me, of course. i have nothing but the best intentions for you. ❞

These are words spoken by someone with a burden to carry, a wretched tomb made for her by another's disregard. The Harper does not have to summon any great desire to share in the weight. Their resident hellion, so full promise and joy, is an infectious spark - and even were she not, she is still owed no less than her own life.

"Come. Sit. We drink. There are no extracts or essences hidden in the depths of these cups. You have my word."

Already, the older woman tips the kettle, twin servings of tea. Handpicked during calmer days, it is still more water than it is soothing herbs, the sort of arrangement that might keep longer on the road, where supplies have a tendency to stretch thin. With her other hand, she gestures to the chair across from hers, a further invitation if need be.

the weight on her shoulders could be carried by thousands of strong men, and even they would not be enough to hold it back. some days she drowns in it in the memories of being an attack dog for zauriel and her experiment to do whatever she wished with. today is.. one of those days. it feels like she cannot come up for air. the muscles of her chest constricting and making it a little harder to breathe. dammon's words replaying in her head on a loop. her infernal engine heart runs too hot. he was merely able to pull back the flames, to give a moment of respite. touch, she could touch again! also, she's sitting near a bad ass warrior who she admires greatly. this should be cause for celebration, but damn these thoughts! when told to sit, karlach follows the order immediately, and notices that she does not have to sit too far away. next time she saw dammon, she was gonna kiss him!

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

@emfyred asked: "as long as you don't mind dying, sure." from astarion

once, death had its claws dug into him as he lay on blood-soaked floor. it tried to take him but a figure of shadow stole away death's prize and made him immortal. the topic of death is rather touchy with him, even if, technically, his heart no longer beats. he fears death as anyone would - especially since he had bridged to the other side and found nothing but blackness. there was no eternal peace. perhaps, because he was wicked and undeserving or because the religious cultists lie to the public. both were plausible.

Send me "&" for my muse's reaction to yours tracing one of their scars.

@emfyred & astarion

The moment his fingertips came into contact with the scar near her left eye, Feyna flinched but did not pull away. She froze up, furrowing her brow at Astarion beside her, trying to read his expression and failing. That scar so dangerously close to her eye was simply her only visible one whilst clothed. The rest of her scars were hidden, painted across each part of her body from various battles and misadventures. There was no shame in them and yet she could not help her bodily reaction to her scars being touched. It had been quite a long time since she had been subject to it and to be subject to such gentle touch. Too often touch was followed by pain.

Astarion graced his fingertips along the scar, from the tip that started at her temple and down to her cheekbone, following its path slowly.

scars used to be hideous to him.. well his scar was at least. on some others, it may even make them more attractive. though, if he thought about it for too long, astarion could still feel the blade that cazador used in order to carve into his skin. phantom pains run up his spine and causes his expression to contort for one moment. it is a flicker, and there is no telling if she saw it or not. hopefully, she was much too transfixed on his gentle fingertips. he applies no pressure as he follows the jagged edges of her skin. crimson curious eyes wondering what had happened. scars and markings they all told stories. his was that he was taken advantage of and made into a slave. not exactly the most compelling story. it was tragedy more than anything and made the taste in his mouth sour. oh, how the poets would delight over his suffering as they transformed it into song. if that were to happen, he hopes they would not leave out one of the hero of his story feyna.