#lunyte

When it had come to the delicacies of surface-dwellers' misery, he liked to think he had a sixth sense. He could see it from a mile off, those morose miseries that clouded their eyes like thunderstorms and, more often than not, he chose to give them a wide berth lest they saw his shoulder as one to cry on. Shi'ndra had not been able to avoid it this evening, and with an internal sigh, leant to scoop up one of the bottles that lay scattered in an awkward pile beside him. The drow quickly offered it to her, but right as she reached for it, pulled it sharply out of reach.

pale brows rise, interest immediately at her hushed tone & furtive glances towards the others. ❝ someone's acting suspicious~ ❞ astarion singsongs, leaning back on his elbows, taking extra care not to spill the wine in his goblet. the trek to the shadowlands has been nothing if not a complete bore & astarion was a hair's breadth away from making his own entertainment, most likely at the expense of someone in camp. probably gale.

❝ i'm all pointy ears, darling, what do you need? ❞ the smirk on his face is positively devious & the air around him crackles in anticipation. the fact that shadowheart sought him out & not the leader of their little troupe means whatever she needs him for is something the others probably wouldn't approve of. oh yes, this day certainly got a lot more interesting.

her laugh is a dark, bitter thing. all her usual joy and contentment have vanished without a trace, wiped fully from her along with any trace of the light that used to shine through her. her 'moon glow', as the high priestess used to call it. 'a sign of true devotion and selûne's blessing.' it was a sick joke; curing the cursed lands, at halsin's behest, just to become the one cursed. the black streaks in her hair, the unhealed scar now marring her eye... the signs of her failure, there to remind her every time she catches her reflection.

"i believe you've done quite enough of that already," she growls out, letting her shield fall to rest against her abandoned pack. her tent would need to be erected, and it was her night to cook, but the only thing celeste wanted to do now was find the nearest monster or true soul and unleash some of the pent up emotion inside her. she doesn't let herself look at shadowheart, for fear of what she might do.

Feanor's eyes widen almost imperceptibly, though more than likely she will have noticed. In the next moment he is calm, brows raised as if confused. Feigned innocence. ❝ Ah --- who? Oh, Iliad? Nothing in particular. ❞

He continues to feed the fire, adding pieces of wood and stoking the flames. Not necessarily avoiding her gaze, yet not meeting it either. He had not expected her to approach him though it wasn't unwelcome. While their conversations were few and far between, there was something he couldn't place his finger on about Shadowheart. Something in her presence felt ... murky, as if hiding just underneath the surface. It was difficult for him to place.

Softer Prompts - @lunyte mused: “ you make me feel alive. ”

She wasn't expecting those words to come out of Shadowheart's mouth, but Eve felt so much LIGHTER for them. Whether she knew it or not, Eve cared for Shadowheart a great deal, and she only wanted the best for her. Even when they didn't agree, Eve tried to go out of her way for her.

@lunyte: "this artwork…doesn’t it look like it’s telling some kind of story?" ⟶ accepting prompts! (high fantasy, mature themes, dark)

Daemon's dual gaze shifted from god's favorite princess to the aged canvas, his expression adopting an exaggerated look of scrutiny. He tilted his head to the side, squinting at the strokes of paint as if deciphering some hidden code. After a dramatic pause, his eyes flicked back to dark-haired one, a sly little smirk left revealed at the corners of his lips.

"Well, isn't it a masterpiece of ambiguity," he mused, his voice dripping with absolute sarcasm. "Let me enlighten you, my Sharran friend," he started, gesturing toward the work of art. It's actually a representation of your moment of clarity before Shar, isn't it? The revelation that you've been pouring your devotion into the arms of a deity who thrives on darkness and loss. Quite the revelation, I'd say." His voice was toned to mock as he continued. "The Mistress of the Night, the Lady of Loss. A fitting muse for a painting, capturing the essence of blind faith, don't you think?"

the crimson gore sleek on her dark hair and skin reflected beautifully in the waning sunset, with only a few stars let to stretch the looming night sky. she's already sulking as she drips the soaking sponge against the splattered pattern of skin. the drow's onyx lids drift to a trance-like state with a cavernous inhale, taking in the distinct metallic smell with such fervor. such ecstasy. so inebriated was she that she did not realize she had lifted the sponge to her face, opening her mouth and dousing the remaining blood.

she licks her lips as the moment inevitably passes, eyes flicking to catch the sharran's emerald gaze on her.