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@oblitusmortuus
“It’s part of the privilege of being human that we have our moment when we have to say goodbye.”
INDEPENDENT and SEMI-SELECTIVE Baldur's Gate 3 OC: Vexen, as written and loved by Lyrieux. Slow Activity.
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There was something... odd and uncanny about the young man's (was he a young man?) appearance, something that made Tav think there may be trouble and yet... he clearly needed help. He moved closer, tucking the water skin back into his belt to make it a little easier to offer support to this stranger.
"Here," he offered, holding out his arm to the young man. Was it a mistake? Maybe, but the stranger could get into some real trouble without help. "I've got you. Lean on me... I've got a camp nearby." Not remembering anything... seeming so... lost in his own body seemed bad.
"What's the last thing you do remember?" Tav asked gently.
Remembering anything wasn't easy in the slightest. Each time Vexen reached for what he knew should be there, he only found... emptiness. The hollow where recollections had once rested was a weighty burden, one in which he found to be pressing upon him more with each attempt;
"Nothing--- absence." He uttered, his cold hand accepting the arm offered to him, his posture showing appreciation through relenting some of the tension that had rested within his shoulders. "Cold... the dark... pain... " The feelings he could remember weren't exactly comforting, either - but 't was clear what whatever had caused Vexen's amnesia was strong enough to nigh erase everything as far as memory went.
"Vexen-" He then offered; "My name--"
Tavrayn had thought it wise to go collect firewood, along with any other supplies he could along the trail. Once he had a sizeable amount strapped to his back, he stopped by a seemingly abandoned graveyard; that was the best place to find plants for potions... and perhaps mushrooms for suppers.
The half-drow's ears shifted as he heard something in the distance, though. He looked up from a particularly plump whitecap to see something– someone?– approach. Oh, gods... not another ghoul. He couldn't take another surprise ghoul. He stood, a dagger in hand.
But the alleged ghoul moved... surprisingly smoothly, its gait entirely unlike the typical undead. The dagger slid back into its sheath, and he approached cautiously to what looked like... a deathly pale young elf?
"Hello? Do- do you need help?" he asked. Then the elf spoke. Tav swallowed, quickly approaching and fumbling to pull his water skin off his belt.
"Here," he offered, holding it out to him. At the elf's question, Tav shook his head. "No... I don't know. I'm traveling through and needed some alchemy supplies." He paused. "Really, are you alright? What happened?"
What happened? What had happened-? Vexen's entirely void eyes of pure white stares toward newfound company, just as much a question as the one poised to him. He doesn't respond for what feels like a moment stretched, but he does eye new company closely; silly details retained. Eye colour. Hair colour. Height.
"I do not... remember." Vexen didn't know how he got there, didn't remember why he might have been there - out in the middle of nowhere, with barely another soul around. He looks down at his own hands, notes how foreign they feel - as if there is some kind of disconnect betwixt himself and his body.
"I am... just here." Stood, somehow; no memory, no sense of self. "Lost-?"
@luna-mxth || LIKED for a STARTER
He's quiet, lost - the world around his person unrecognised and unusual. How long had he lay in the depths of a crypt not his own after being tossed there by a vicious order? How long had he wandered since he had been dragged from the peace of death and released, without memory or sense of self, back into the wider world?
Familiarity lay nowhere, not even in the reflection of himself of which he espied within the surface of a puddle; those white, seemingly endless eyes staring straight back at him. Void. Lifeless. Blank.
When company is witnessed nearby, those colourless glows for eyes follows movement as best as he could. The daylight bleached out every detail, leaving him only vague silhouettes. His vision, he feels, is not normal - not how everyone else sees the world but he has little choice, and little knowledge, in the matter at hand.
Legs strain, pull him slowly to stand from the rock he had made himself comfortable upon for a while to rest his aching feet - and instead, he made his way toward the figure.
"Do you.... know...." It hurt to speak, felt disjointed and distant; difficult to articulate words but he struggled quietly through the sentence he knew he needed to force through; "...what this... place is called-?"
what a curious fellow. foreboding in the way a black cat is when yowling past carts to cross the road, or in the way red ink glides like blood across a page. &, yet, when the dejected little storm cloud personified approaches her, it's only to ask the most mundane question, such that it takes a moment for her mind to comprehend. then, she scoffs.
( leave it to the simple folk to ignore a simple request & instead saddle her with the burden. )
❝ no, but it's nigh impossible to know the name of every blemish that's popped up outside baldur's gate. ❞ like freckles, though she doesn't imagine this answer is much help. alas, she's almost as much a tourist as he, albeit a touch less lost. ❝ just when you think there's no more room, another one crops up; do yourself a favour & don't bother with trying to remember them all. ❞
an exercise in futility. there's only one place that really matters, the big city marked on every map of the coast for all to see, the beating heart at the centre of it all: baldur's gate.
❝ wouldn't have stopped, myself, if it weren't for rushing to some poor farmer's rescue. but, then, everyone needs a hobby, i suppose. ❞
or a job, in her case. for minimal effort, it paid well enough.
she sighs, surveying the sagging houses, & farmsteads beyond, hunching into the heavy wool of her travel cloak. perhaps the view would be charming dappled with a little sun, but as the light of day slips away, there is nothing to stave off the wet chill settling into her clothes, weighting them, & her pack. the cold bites, straight to the bone, in a way alara can say she's never grown accustomed to.
she won't be sorry to leave this place behind, though her departure may be delayed a day, now – dawn makes for a better backdrop than dusk.
❝ heading to the gate i take it ? ❞
as if there were anywhere else to be headed.
Blemish? Those white eyes, filled with echoes of endlessness, glanced briefly around surroundings - at the people passing by, at others working, at the streets themselves. It appeared to be a functional town, for the most part and by what he could understand and thus he had to assume that the apparent nickname given was out of a personal dislike.
"Hobby---" Vexen repeats, eyes briefly narrowing in the final light of the day, the dusk bleaching out many details and denying them sight to his evidently bizarre eyes. He couldn't make out many features of his newfound company - only her silhouette, the vague shape of her eyes, the movement of her lips - - but he knew not the colour of her iris, nor the colour of her hair. How was he supposed to recognise anything while in such a state? Perhaps he would have a greater chance once the sun had fully set.
"The... the gate?" It hurts to force out words, to give voice to the yet defrosting confines of his cadaver. He has to ask questions, however, if he wants to find his way forwards, to rediscover memories long forgotten through the unfortunate circumstances of his death. "I don't... remember. I'm... trying to ... remember."
A hand raises, brushes hair from the side of his expression to behind an ear, the agitating feeling of it brushing against this face suggesting that perhaps he had shorter hair when he was alive - but he could only assume. He had yet to run into anyone that may have once known him, they would have been able to tell him.
"I have... no memory." He explained, though it was entirely lax in detail. Not for wont of offering it, but because it was so physically exhausting and painful for him to speak - disjointed as it was. "I'm trying... to find where I belonged.... who I was."
The cast of his ghostly eyes once more return to her, curious. One person, she, had thought to speak to him in turn and for that he was thankful - - though he found himself only further confused and most certainly no closer to his goal of discovering anything about himself prior to his death.
"You are... from this... gate?-"
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@chaostides || LIKED for a STARTER
'T was beginning to darken, the sights of noctilucent clouds 'pon the horizon a sight to behold, even for he. Even as the oranges and blues of the sky slowly gave way to deep purples and greys, folk carried on with their intentions - passing by the male where he stood to the side in the street, likely heading home after a long days work.
He, however, does naught but watch - the sky, the people, the odd dog that trots past, keen on the heels of their owners; the colourless glow of sheer white eyes jarring in the growing low light. 'T is clear, just as he is, that he is not a normal being simply going by their business - - - the way he stands, the way he holds himself; 't is as if he is stiff and lifeless, but moves regardless.
'T is no wonder none have stopped to ask after his wellbeing.
Summarily does his piercing gaze turn toward the moon and a curiosity settles for the expanse of a moment, no more - - ere it is lost in the void of his consciousness, once more leaving him to the unfamiliarity of streets and the faces that pass; some uncaring, some judgemental. He cares little for either, finds that his emotions are too distant to offer genuine reaction.
He's lost - it's clear and he knows, despite all memories being absent and the entirety of his person feeling strange that it means he may gain unwanted attention because of it. He has nothing to steal, naught of any worth upon him and yet he knows the threat of possibility lingers regardless.
Thus, he soon makes the decision to begin to move - booted feet pacing slowly down streets, no name of any establishment nor recognition striking him along the way. Eventually, he takes pause once more - this time out of defeat and thinks to ask those that passed a question or two, but none stop to answer. In fact, none stop to even listen in the slightest and often does the remainder of his sentence perish 'pon the tip of his tongue.
"What.... is this place called...?" The question perishes again, figure some many paces ahead ere he has even struggled to get the sentence out - every word pronounced somehow feeling detached. "I don't..---" Ignored. "Do you---" Walked past.
He sits upon a low wall and stares out at the street, feeling overcome. Wherever he found himself, he evidently did not belong - but he could remember naught. His head drops to his hands, shoulders slouched, wondering what he ought to do next. This... it was the closest place he had found since his awakening and he had hopes to get some variety of information on it. But 't would seem otherwise.
When he lifts his head once more, he notes another individual and wonders if it was worth trying just once more; so he stands, lets his unusual gaze rest upon the ground and utters in broken sentences;
"Do you... know what this...place is called-?"
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@magioffire || LIKED for a STARTER
Recollections didn't exist - - the greenery of surrounding areas spark no recognition within his mind yet confused by the discomfort of being reanimated. Booted feet paced in a chosen direction and yet no intelligence was pinned to it; Vexen knew not where he was nor where it was he was heading, but he continued to walk until aught of interest came into view.
Beating sunlight obscured his vision, difficulty in seeing forever present when in broad daylight - the alteration to his very person since it's unnatural and unwanted return having affected much of him, his eyes perhaps more than all else. His struggle continues, slower pace adopted in favour of carefully traversing some rockier terrain, the smell of burning nearby indicating a camp or even a simple fire and thus he turns himself toward it.
When he arrives, mercifully beneath the shade of a large tree, does he find the camp but very recently abandoned; there yet rises smoke from the snuffed fire, scuffed boot prints within the earth surrounding suggesting that the figure had perhaps moved with haste. He doesn't sense any threat in his surrounds, but his lingering disorientation could likely throw off the accuracy of his assumption.
"Hello-?" His voice feels disconnected to use, the staff resting 'pon his back currently forgotten and unwanted. Death yet consumed him, draped over him like a silent cloak - - he didn't fear it. If he was to be attacked, he knew not would happen to him - - but he feared not. "I... mean no harm."
WAITING WAS NOT HER FORTE. But she could see the logic in his argument, even if she sighed dramatically about it. After all, logic was boring. Sitting around waiting was boring. She was more of a ' fight first, ask questions later ' kinda gal.
But wait she did, stretching her arms and hands out, flexing her claws, itching for a fight, wanting desperately to sink them into something. He was worried about them being dangerous - and possibly dying again, but it was a pointless thing to worry about. Especially with Katya around.
Her ears perked upon hearing that one of them was familiar.
"Ohhh, sounds fun - surprise he's still alive then. People in that sorta field don't usually make it too long. Touchin' things they shouldn't, and all," Katya cackled, leaning over the balcony a little from where they sat next to it.
"Wanna watch him for a bit and then follow him out? Or should we stay on the original guy?"
"I think... we should follow him out... when he leaves." While the first male he had spotted had been promising, the second having actually triggered some variety of recognition was the greater prize. If he recognised him now, even in his bizarre state of un-death, then his living self must have known him rather well - - which meant he likely knew who he was, for good or otherwise.
"Are you... ready for a fight... in case he doesn't like me?" He turns to company, eyes claws with no small amount of vague nervousness. He had quite the bad feeling about it all, frankly - - but if this man had any information about him then he would do anything to get it - - even if it meant threatening him. "I... don't remember if I know how... to fight." He carried a staff but he knew not if it was his. He simply found it when he had come to after being dragged back from death.
"OOOOH! Maybe he had a hand in killin' ya the first time 'round!" Katya said excitedly, peeking around to get a better look at where Vexen was gazing.
The man didn't look familiar to her - and yes, perhaps she had responded with a little too much excitement. But she was curious to see where this all led. And if it ended in a fight, even better for her. She was itching to get out her claws.
She also really wanted to see the look someone got when someone they killed was standing right in front of them once more, looking... mostly alive and well.
"Should we go say hello? Or d'ya wanna wait a little longer and stalk him for a bit? See if anythin' comes back to you?" Katya asked, bouncing a little in her seat.
She was obviously favourable to the first option, but she wasn't going to push too hard on it. After all. This was his moment and not hers. She was just here as support and backup if need be.
"Maybe... wait a moment. He might... not have come alone." Pausing just long enough to see if the male had come along with someone or if he was meeting someone else was likely the best course of action. It would be easier to see everyone in one place as opposed to getting accidentally cornered if everything went tits up upon their approach.
"If... he killed me then... he would be dangerous." And if there was more than one of them- they would be best not having them approach from behind. "Resurrection is... not an easy feat." And he didn't particularly want to die again, not just yet.
Vexen watches in momentary silence, eyeing where the male stood at the bar, who he spoke to - - and eventually two others followed; one of which the male absolutely recognised.
"I remember him---" He points to a rather tall fellow with auburn hair. "I remember... he used to sell cursed items... things belonging to the dead... things that shouldn't have been moved. "
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"AW, NOW YOU'RE GETTIN' IT-" she cackled, resisting the urge to clap her hands together like an excited child as they approached the nearest tavern and walked inside.
This place, like all taverns, was filled with noise. Some bard playing a tune while drunks either cheered or booed them off the stage. People in shaded corners talking in rapid whispers as they looked around for any eavesdroppers. The air heavy with a cacophony of laughter, fighting and a melting pot of voices.
"Let's sit somewhere with a good view of the people," she chimed up, loud enough to be heard through the crowd, pointing to the second floor where they could overlook the lower floors and also be seen rather clearly.
That way Vexen could take it all in, but also they could be seen by anyone that might have known him in life.
Vexen finds that he can do naught more than offer an idle nod; the overwhelming nature of the tavern was enough to render him somewhat disorientated - endless layers of sound and endless sights of people - - - it was difficult to adjust his eyes to follow only the company he knew toward the next floor, but after the odd stumble he got there well enough.
Sitting down didn't feel quite as relieving as he might have liked - - the bizarre and yet distant aches and pains within his body never dissipated and the onslaught unto his senses scarcely helped; but such things had to be traversed if he was going to find even a shred of understanding when it came to his past.
"Are... all taverns this... busy?" He wondered aloud, straining his eyes as best as he was able in order to see those below them and distinguish them from one another. As of yet, naught sparked any recognition but they had just arrived. There was time yet - - and no doubt if there was anyone who might recognise him, it would be from somewhere within the business. Patience would be key.
After a short while, Vexen espies a figure he is certain he doesn't know - - but there is something about the fellow that keeps tugging at him, keeps making him return his gaze to his poise. After a moment or so of struggling with gripping any memory, he points at the figure so that his company is made aware;
"I... don't believe I know him but... there is something... about him... that I cannot remember. Something... that makes me feel... uneasy."
Please like this post for a starter! The starters will be of random length and subject and will hopefully come out by tomorrow!
"YEAH YEAH, WE'LL GET THERE, lemme have my fun first. Taverns first and then we can check markets and storehouses or whatever - but it sounds more like you were doin' shady stuff so taverns, maybe even the brothel are probably a better place to start - " she said sternly.
Though really she just wanted to increase the chance of someone recognizing him for her own fun.
Maybe she ought to get out more. But she was itching for a good fight.
"Plus traders and such all love hangin' out at taverns and brothels! It's like an unofficial tradin' meetin' place!" she assured, and she wasn't wrong, but she also was aiming for her own goals of an entertaining afternoon ( and a smidge more gold in her pockets. )
"I shall... defer to your knowledge-" Vexen nods; taverns and markets first. Then storehouses and such - - whatever was along the way, he supposed, quietly to himself while booted feet paced along the uneven cobbles. If he was doing strange and potentially shady things, then he couldn't help but wonder why, what he gained from being that sort of person when he was alive. Perhaps... it was just a case of survival. Perhaps he was an asshole. He couldn't remember either way.
"To the closest tavern, then-?" He would keep his eyes out for anything that even remotely felt familiar. There was something niggling at the back of his mind but as of yet it had not come to the forefront to form an entire recognition, but there was something in the air that felt... like he knew the place. "Maybe... sitting there a while would... be a good idea?"
Please like this post for a starter! The starters will be of random length and subject and will hopefully come out by tomorrow!
THAT THOUGHT BROUGHT A BRIGHT GRIN to Katya's face. Ah, she would love to see the face of someone who had thought they had killed her currently companion only to discover he had come back to life. That would be the highlight of her entire week. She'd want to capture that moment forever.
She clapped her hands together, looking far too cheerful now at that thought and grabbed his wrist so they could get walking again. She was more eager than ever to bring him to the local pubs and taverns in case anyone did recognize him.
Someone that killed him. Someone that worked with him. Or someone that had a bone to pick.
Either way, the dramatics of it all gave an extra pep to her step that hadn't been there before while she was playing tour-guide throughout the city.
"Well, let's hope that you recognize somethin' or that someone recognizes you - for a few extra pieces of gold I even promise to make sure you don't get shanked again!" she cackled, joking around.
Sure, maybe her sense of humor was rather morbid, but it was that way for a reason, and this guy didn't seem to strike her as someone that would be too emotionally moved by her dark jokes.
It seemed that his company had become rather excited at the prospect that there was a possibility someone had killed him, for one reason or another, and could very much still be around. Vexen couldn't remember how long it had been since he had died, but he knew he had only been back up and walking for some few weeks. Perhaps... the timeline would allow for recognition.
"I'm... not sure I can die again but... it might be ... a good idea." A few extra gold to not get stabbed or something much worse was a good idea. Vexen wasn't certain he could be permanently put down again, in his current state, but he still felt pain - - and he'd rather avoid it if he could.
He manages a smile, distant as it was and never quite reaching his eyes. He gladly begins to walk, appreciates the fact that their little mission just got a smite more interesting due to the complications of his return. He could appreciate the humour of it, even if he couldn't quite laugh or aught akin to it - - feelings felt as if they were on the other side of a thick fog, but he got the idea well enough.
"Maybe... I was a trader of some kind... Perhaps markets or... or storehouses would be ... a good place to look?"
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Please like this post for a starter! The starters will be of random length and subject and will hopefully come out by tomorrow!
Please like this post for a starter! The starters will be of random length and subject and will hopefully come out by tomorrow!
