#faerunsings

"Ah, yes, the so-called freedoms of the Underdark. If you think this is beautiful, I think you would love Menzoberranzan." He looks back at his home with rose-tinted glasses, for the thrum of homesickness will continue to be ever-present. "And as much as I tolerate the fare when we make camp, the food is unlike anything you have ever tasted. I miss the spices."

@faerunsings liked for a small starter. not accepting.

the air carries even more riotousness, clinging along the columns which overlook wyrms rock fortress. the city that will soon be his, once his former partner retrieves the netherstone from her sister's corpse. shoulders rise and fall, breath staggering a moment as he thinks of her. a fragment of him felt anxious from their last meeting; seeing her with these new companions of hers set his mind on edge, how they could easily distract and persuade her away from their cause - take advantage of her memory loss and time away from him, to convince her to keep the stones, and at the very worst, fight him for it. of course, he had no qualms if that was to be such an outcome, as he had already premeditated a plan for that exact thing. if it should arise. yet, still. . . gortash held more faith in wren than that. he saw that gleam in her eyes, those gorgeous kaleidoscope eyes that he would so often look into when they were devising their plans. how much he would never admit out loud that he missed them. perhaps, all would come to pass if she were to —

'ah.'

❝ you know, i really do love nature. . . but walking out here for so long, with all of these rocks, and the cliffs, and all these. . . ❞ the half elf gestures her arms around in dramatic fashion. ❝. . . mountains, i just. . . wish it would end. ❞ with a lengthy sigh, evayaneth treks reluctantly up the slanted path, trying her best to balance the heavy backpack and her staff so she doesn't tip over from yet another gaping crag that they inevitably come across.

a weight from her shoulders briefly lifts when wren offers to go first, staring at the bhaalspawn as she catapults across to the other side with grace and ease.❝ i can do this. . . ❞ she braces herself with a running jump, almost falling short, stumbling into the other woman as she attempts to regain her balance. she could feel the warmth of fingertips around the mid of waist as they help hoist her upright, ocean blue eyes peering ahead to see that it was wren herself. who could have easily just pushed her if she wanted to.

raiding the vault of mephistopheles had been no easy task. the great master of hellfire did seem to enjoy his annoying magical contraptions and weaponry, and while gortash was exceptionally adept in detecting and cracking them, it did not save the bhaalspawn from being scorched with a nasty burn by the steel that would threaten to lash the tyrant lord's own skin.

they had done well to make it back to helsik, and securing a safehouse down in the undercity to ward off any lingering suspicions. it was. . . as hot as the hells they had come from, stinging each time she moved the larger muscle of her right hand. when he offers to look at it, she visibly flinches.

❝ it's alright. . .❞ plum stained lips bear down to suppress the searing pain. but he had already taken it, dousing a supreme healing potion on her wound that he must have had ready. there was no thought of anger. no feelings to even want to maim or kill. there was no urge at all as he kept hold of her hand and left his lips to linger tenderly on the back of it. such an effortless moment blurred her mind as she stares, wide-eyed and petrified.

❝ DON'T - ❞

the slightest pull of a singular brow, obsidian lids brooding to scrutinize him underneath thick lashes, making no other effort of movement as they stand close, still adjacent from each other. ❝ hm? so you wish to sweeten our deal? ❞ more to his favour, no less. such cunning that does not surprise her. although, it mattered not to the offspring of the murder lord, as in the end, all would perish in most delightful agony. including bane's chosen.

it is tiring, this fallacious revering she displays. stygian shade lips indicate such a detestation as it falls from a playful smirk to an insufferable scowl with one bending knee. oh, how she can't wait for the fall. for the chosen to be abandoned and she to take His favour. to be loved. to be admired. to be respected, at last. the time and the place was nearing, and she - both string master and puppet, unbeknownst - could not wait. but she had to - to slink, and crawl, and bow and pierce her denticles into her soft, fleshy insides until she tasted nothing but blood and contempt.

𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬: no longer accepting.

"It's a look I'd thought you've acclimated yourself to. I should wonder what inspired you to inquire about it now."

Gale turns. Those nails of his—bitten, raw and thin to the quick of them—stills, lingering upon the drag of his bottom lip. There's a furrow to his brow, some tell-tale knotting belying his stress, and it carves him out sterner, punches in severity. And a worrying pinch of wonder. A troubling look of need. Gale, ever sharp of eyes, actively yearns for the Karsus crown. He imagines its power, the Weave that'd sing his bones, and there's the taste of tempests in the back of his molars. Down the river of his arteries, he needs its sting.

It can be his. He can be more. And as Wren, cursed with purpose, pulls him from his reverie, she more than anyone would know his plight.

Right?

A DARKER SHADE OF MAGIC / A GATHERING OF SHADOWS 

“spoken from experience,  it sounds,”   the ranger observed.  his curiosity was piqued,  he would not lie.  sol'rys been wondering for days what secrets were locked away in such a curious creature's mind,   one who seemed to flitter sometimes between recognition and absence.  he couldn't believe it at first,  for one to simply not know where they came from or what they were.  but those tadpoles   ...   nothing natural came from them,   to be able to prod into others' heads and for others to prod into his,   to make demands be obeyed.  it filled him with a shameful,   petrifying sort of fear.  

at ease in the dark and with his back turned to the campfire,   sol'rys removed the shortswords he carried and the dagger hidden in a boot.  he drew back his hood and loosed his hair,  running his hands back through it to comb out any tangles.  “if you want to forget again,   there should be some more beer we scavenged from that village.”   he shrugged.