#shadowedmelodies

How does one exactly kill something "a bit"? If you're going to murder something, you may as well go all in. The elf brandished his trusty dagger with a toothy grin on his face, one that would soon see the sweet, glisten of red. He was practically salivating.

❛ anyone else have any pointless childhood stories to tell? ❜ thunderbolt starters! For Eris from Erelaun thunderbolts starters: accepting!

A pointed laugh had fallen from the bard’s lips; the canteen within her grasp had been filled with some lowly excuse of wine that she’d stolen from their previous endeavors, and brought to crimson tiers in a deliberate chug. The dry viscosity sat atop her tastebuds in a torturously slow draw, sloshing and settling before curling down the valley of her throat.

“This is just fuel and I feel like you may be aware of that,” Eris had spoken rather pointedly despite the chuckle that’d graced the air just moments prior, “Both this bottle and the stories, pieces that could easily be used to burn. This is child’s play– I wanna hear the stories about having to slice up your third sister to claim her place. Though, the crowd up here is boring.”

❛ isn’t that what you want? to be accepted? to be chosen? ❜ From Erelaun ( @shadowedmelodies ) for Gale (if there’s one thing he won’t know it’s peace from the two drow siblings) < 3 thunderbolts starters: accepting!

To a degree that he couldn’t even fathom himself– yes. 

The acceptance, praise, acknowledgement toward his own acclaim; there was a deeply rooted need for himself to be of use, regardless of which context it required. It was a fact of himself that he’d been aware of, albeit in a rather short instance– the subtle vibration within his chest was a firm reminder of such, leaving him to (as it’d been known) live with the consequence of said actions, of said want. 

The desire to be seen, known and chosen. 

Parchment bound within a leather that’d seen better days was shut on its column; the book had quietly sealed itself within the caress of tanned palms, while his eyes remained on the cover of the text. The inquiry was rather forward, if he had to say so for himself– an inquisition that exposed more of himself than he’d ever intended in the first place.

“Is that not what everyone wants, in some form?” To answer a question with a question was never his first choice, but he’d been tied by his tongue. His gaze eventually lifted, settling on the poised visage of the incoming drow, “Let’s take your culture, for example. A matriarch with a set structure, rulings for acceptance. A rather heady conform to a society, and if it’s not followed or seen with reverence from a Matron, then it’s death. So,” he’d tapped a finger against the book, “I feel it’s fair to say that for most, being desirable is common ground.”