#falsexshadow

  One would think a VAMPIRE wouldn’t feel the cold, or maybe Skyrim was just that cold. North, south, east or west it was uncomfortably chill; Laurant wrapped himself in layers of robes and still swore he felt the cold bite.  A huff releases from his lips in the form of a faint mist as he peers up at a sign, the wood partially rotted and words faint. WINDHELM... he took a wrong turn. He quietly cursed under his breath. He didn’t want to touch that city with a ten foot pole both because of the cold and the sheer HATRED that practically radiated from the Hold.

  With a sigh of defeat, the bosmer turns away from the sign and steps off the path. If the nords just fixed their damn signs...

  For the HUNDREDTH time he shrugged his pack from his shoulder and plucked one of several maps tucked haphazardly wherever the elf could get them. Just as he’s about to unfurl the map his eyes glimpse a dark figure approaching and he blinks. Rarely did he meet folk on the road or in the wilderness; aside from the cities and townships the province felt empty... unless you took the DANGERS into account.

  Hesitantly, Laurant rose a hand in greeting and stepped back onto the path, biting his lip.

He feels still the chills, a tingling sensation in the back of his neck — the adrenaline, the sheer joy from performing in front of an audience. He was static as he can be, and he would have continued to be, had he not crossed paths with the drow. He doesn’t grab his attention, at first, save momentarily due to his height, but his words shake him to the core. Involuntarily, Fallahan freezes in place. The corners of his lips are pulled downwards, and his brows into a frown.

MBMBAM MEME, ACCEPTING / for @falsexshadow

as an expert and collector of many complex emotions, strahd knew this. he loosened the belt of his black-gold kaftan before dramatically reclining on the velvet loveseat. the black curtains hung like spiderwebs above the window, perfectly framing his dour disposition in the filtered moonlight. with a lovelorn sigh he looked out the dusty glass panes to the village of barovia below, and its orange, flickering torches.

with an air of nonchalance, responded with: ❛ that much was obvious. ❜ a casual wave of the vampire's hand, and an unseen servant shambled into the room carrying a tray: two glasses, and a bottle of sangovin from the local winery. after emptying a glass, strahd continued.

❛ but ignorance is bliss in that regard. complex emotions are difficult even for the strong of heart. ❜

She doesn’t enjoy being watched, nor followed, let alone by her own kind. Whether he has noticed the pattern of her stroll has changed or not, matters little if he’s still following. There are enough people and guards on the streets, even this late in the evening, working or enjoying the wonders of a summer festival, that nobody in their right mind would dare making a scene. That is hardly her greatest concern — she is deadlier after twilight —, but being followed home is a risk she can’t afford to take.

“I’m here. You’re welcome.”        ♡        @falsexshadow​.

♚ — “INDECISIVENESS can be a terrible habit, you know - but so can swift, surface judgement.”

It is endlessly INTERESTING to him how a mortal feels some deep instinct to discover as much as they can about another creature before they make decisions. Or, to the other extreme, immediately take make a call based on a single action. It’s almost as if the moral quandaries of life, love, death, and hate are merely a pool of grey to most. It is something he neither admires not detests - the tendency for creatures of the Material Plane to seek explanations for anything and everything, as if one always exists.

How foolish to look upon a creature like him an expect something beyond what he presents.

  The sizzling power of unspoken spells hung heavy in the air between them. Every inch of space not inhabited by one of the countless dust particles that had gathered here over the centuries was filled to the brim with arcane energy, a room full of gas waiting for the one who struck the first match.

  Although the tip of the object Nylariel was holding to the stranger’s throat was not a sharpened blade, she had a feeling that the other knew better than to underestimate a wizard and their staff. If their hand so much as twitched, so much as scratched the flawless skin of her pale neck with the glistening steel in their own hand, she would blow off their head and shoot it all the way back to Neverwinter. As it were, none of them were able to move.

  The star elf stared up at the man in silence, irritated about the fact that he seemed almost a little taller than her - a feat which few people in her immediate vicinity had ever accomplished. His skin was dark, his hair as light as the moon and her own. It did not take her long to figure out what he was.