#cambius

"i do not think them removed."

there is beauty to be found in terror. fear is, to lae'zel's mind, a prey instinct: necessary for survival in whatever degree governs sense and doubly a source of shame. yet to feel the hair on her neck rise and her skin prickle with awe — the sensation is not so distant from enjoyment.

the line of her neck stretches as she nods skyward. "ascended githyanki ride the red dragons gifted to my people by the goddess tiamat. there is beauty in such an immaculate predator; the twofold brutality of steed and rider is awe-striking to behold."

inara gives an untamed laugh. they lay together, naked as the day they were born, and unashamed –– two powerful women, heavy-winged and with a deep desire for more than their shitty lot in life. ❝ you flatter me, ❞ she replies lowly, reaching out to smooth her palm along nepharia's hips, along the ridged skin which her lips and tongue had long-savored before her descent between the succubus' slender legs.

for whatever reason, nepharia's words stir something familiar within her gut. they twist there, digging at lost memories. she's heard such sentiments before, once upon a time. inara is sure of it. but where, but when?

❝ I could say the same about you, dearest. watching you in battle is like staring into the sun. you're radiant in the fiercest ways. ❞ and though it's only been some handful of minutes, her appetite knows no bounds. inara shuffles onto her knees, straddling her lover firmly, dragging her fingers through nepharia's long, beautiful hair. ❝ I think I understand why you devour, my lovely. I would eat you up, if I could. I think you'd do well inside me. ❞ the aasimar leans in, nose brushing her own. ❝ though I much prefer being inside you. ❞

“trace” ( she thinks the scarred cracks are really fucking pretty and she’s kind of obsessed with them )

Her gaze is focused on the blade within her lap, carefully cleaning it over with a rag in night attire that reveals further of the scars that adventuring gear tended to hide. The same scars along her features are seen at her arms, the one's at her neck traveling further down her body until beneath her attire there's a central part at her chest, the largest scar still covered.

The touch is featherlight from behind, feeling it along the crook of her neck that has her swiftly stiffening, flinching away from the touch as gaze is swift to focus away from the sword, turn to the source of it to find Neph behind her.

The faintest hint of cerulean ignites in the scars, a dormant, dull coloration seeming to grow brighter in color, a dim glow in the darkness of the night as though it was reacting itself to the touch - the brightest point of it all at her chest.

"Fuck - sorry. . . scared the shit out of me." if only that were true.

@cambius inquired: ‘ maybe i just like the sound of your voice. ’ / daredevil

" An' maybe I've decided to sprout wings and fly to Baldur's Gate, " he drawls, skepticism laced in every fiber of his being. They've been walking for —— he's lost count. Days. It drags ever onward, the journey as it's always been — horrible violence and brutal fights interspersed with numbing travel.

He is, of course, used to it. These kinds of journeys have been part of who he is and what he does for more of his days than not, but it doesn't mean that some days don't stretch.

And Nephara--well, appears a touch more stirred. Her back is to the entrance, wounds bared, face turned toward the shimmering night beyond. They appear like rubies, angry bolts of red pulled thin across her bones, two ghastly fissures where there once sprung wings. Defiled again, she feels leagues off from merry, and Gale, gaze set, comes slowly behind her. Her long hair shimmers, but a beam off moons. "It's all rather loud for my taste," he broaches carefully, as though she may very well spook. His eyes crinkle in turn, steps slowing before he reaches the steps to the inn. "Even back in the lavish balls at home, I was admittedly eager to leave as soon as decorum allowed. I fare better with some wine and the comfort of a well written book--and if the mood so strikes me, all beneath the canvas of our celestial guests. I cordially invite you to one such night with Gale of Waterdeep should you be so amenable. No worries--we shouldn't face any fear of stumbling, I'm sure. For all the shadow here lately, the stars gleam all the brighter."

He takes a step down toward the river, silently requesting her company. The breeze turns his earring, and his blighted mark glows. They're better company than their own sour thoughts, no?