#grimdarkfables

He sits there like a beacon in the inky underdark, bright red, his mane threaded through with fire and his eyes two burning pools of hatred. But he is anything but. Out of place and conspicuously avoided by even the fauna of the underdark, Skarbrand sits and listens.

And the more one watches, the more one gets the feeling the great red monster cannot actually see anything in this dark place... But his other senses work just fine, as he makes clear.

↪     𝑖𝑡'𝑠 ᵗʰᵉ 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝑴𝑰𝑫𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 . ( accepting !! )

There he stood; skin almost soaked in blood, some of it was his, the rest was from the enemies that they fought. ( You feel calm, oddly calm and centred. Blood is on your skin. It soaks into your pores. You feel sated for now. You do eventually deny the feeling of satisfaction: This isn't who you are. You are no butcherer lusting for innocent blood. Then again, your enemies weren't innocent. But blood is blood ... )

@grimdarkfables asked:

❛ keep it. it looks better on you. ❜ toward reaper’s embrace 😭

The tiefling blinked at the spawn, this was a shocking turn of events really. She seemed rather upset that he had well COMMANDEERED the armor from the late ketheric thorm.

Question Starters - Open

@grimdarkfables asked: ‘ do you feel alright? being stuck in a purgatory like this, relentlessly? ’ adds on a bit hehe

     "I am not stuck, child of Kelemvor." Whatever concern or sympathy Bethanne was trying to offer to the skeletal creature was seemingly brushed away and discarded. He remained unbothered; his disembodied voice holding no contempt nor approval towards the notion put forth.

@grimdarkfables asked: BREAK-IN : for one muse to discover the other robbing their place.

     Mania, clearly, was not as well versed in thieving as she used to believe. Perhaps it was due to the pact she had made with the fiend; the thing that had given her her arcane abilities. A taste at power and strength. That pursuit had taken time and energy from mastering her slippery fingers, which seemingly doomed her now.

     She had managed to get the strings drawn on her companion's bag, had even gotten it open and grabbed the item she wanted, but it was when she moved to pull it from the bag she faltered. Crouched down in the dark and dirt, with nothing but the camp's night atmosphere to fill the silent sky, when the necromantic book tumbled from her grasp and hit the ground, it echoed out loudly.

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃   "  𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐇   𝐎𝐑   𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒  “   𝐅𝐎𝐑   𝐌𝐘   𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄   𝐓𝐎   𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑   𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘   𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒.   𝐍𝐎   𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐃

( nonverbal prompts. )

　　　　　　　　　*

　　　fingers coil around a thin, pale wrist to guide them forward instead of back. at first, ozus remains oddly silent, simply following along with wherever they'd be taken. moments later, however, does the warlock finally speak up.

　　　❝ are we there yet? ❞ they don't even know where 'there' is! ❝ i hope so. ❞

The sky’s blue fell to a blushing purple upon evening, and later still, velvety darkness swathed overhead. Little light were to be blessed from the stars, however many they were, and the low crackle of the campfire was simultaneously soothing and humbling. Embers danced with uncertain pirouettes, spinning and twirling, high and low, narrowly escaping becoming one with the hungry flame once again.

They’d set up camp. They’d been run ragged by their last encounter, and the air was pregnant with the sorrows of those pained and hurt. No souls of their own were pried from their fleshy forms—the same could not be said for their foes.

Most had subsided for the night. All, aside from Bethanne and Astarion.

Their stations were directly adjacent to one another. He’d been attempting to indulge in some light reading, but seeing her in his periphery stalking about, flexing her bestial muscles and grunting and snorting … well, let’s just say it soured the mood a little. It was distracting.

Red eyes peered over. A soundless sigh, a thud of his book clamping close.

“Dear,” he began as he sauntered on over, a light chuckle tinging the air, a smile curling his lips, “must you insist on retaining this form? Surely it’s more—comfortable otherwise.”