#underdarken

“ Darling, you know I love your little menagerie of… pets, ” he begins, emphasizing the word pets with such disdain it’s clear that he doesn’t think they’re that at all. Astarion is certain that Ark has caught him on more than one occasion daydreaming about how an owl bear’s blood would taste (or what petting all those glorious feathers would feel like, but he’s not ready to admit that yet), and he’s made his dislike of the dog known as well. 

He’s very much a cat person–respects them, really. When they’ve had enough affection they simply slink away into the shadows. They’re not demanding or clingy or anything the flea bitten mutt is. Why couldn’t they pick up one of those over all of this?

Then there’s the spider. The spider that looks at him like he’s the meal every time he so much as touches Arkezet with his pinky. It’s intolerable. And creepy. Astarion fully expects to come too from his nightly meditations to being mauled by the wretched thing. 

arcana ! — dnd 5e skills ( accepting enthusiastically ) / @underdarken

roll result: 22 (14 + 3 int modifier + 5 proficiency bonus)

HE’S  ALMOST  TOO  EAGER;  he  gestures  with  some  mild  impatience  for  the  book,  strapped  with  intricate  clasps  that  are  engraved  with  beautiful  glyphs  —  it  looks  almost  mechanical  in  nature,  and  is  clasped  'round  so  tight  that  there’s  no  hope  in  forcing  it  open.  ❝  Here,  let  me  see  it, I've seen something like this before.  ❞  

He  takes  it  with  care,  letting  the  spine  rest  in  his  splayed  palm.  Years  spent  with  little  but  a  tressym  and  books  for  company  —  of  the  magical  sort  and  mundane  —  make  this  a  familiar  extension  of  his  knowledge,  but  more  than  that,  it  tickles  some  old  memory  of  something  he  had  dealt  with  years  ago.  

A  knowing  snaps  into  place — usually these things have some kind of magical key, created and ensorcelled originally to prevent casually prying eyes.  ❝  There  should  be  a  crystal  here  with  it.  Small,  usually,  oh,  this  big  ——  ❞  And  he  snaps  to  it,  tucking  the  book  under  his  arm  and  moving  to  start  rifling  through  drawers,  through  the  bookshelves.  ❝  Yes!  Here  we  go.  ❞  It  was  tucked  near where  the  book  lay,  and  it’s  slim  and  glowing  a  pale  blue.  ❝  Now  ——  it  should  go  right  ——  yes!  Hah!  Clever.  ❞

“ Enjoying yourself, are you? ”

Astarion raises a hand to tangle into their braid. He’s hedging his bets that if he touseles it just right, Arkezet will take down their hair and he can run his fingers through it in earnest. He understands, he really does, why they keep it away from the flames they favor, but that doesn’t mean he can’t press his luck.

Play with fire, some may say. 

The quiet nights of the camp still remain a novelty to Astarion. The gentle hum of almost-summer insects and the fresh blooms are at odds with the brine and other pungent odors of Baldur’s Gate. Even the moon and stars are more pristine without either fog or the smog of industry to obscure them. 

The cold, however, remains something that doesn’t touch Astarion. And why would it? He’s been a corpse for longer than he was ever alive. 

So when Arkezet, the furnace that they are, comes to curl up next to him, something stirs in his chest. Not his heart, of course. That still hasn’t restarted, even with the tadpole molding him into some semblance of a living thing. It seems almost instinctive, the need to curl an arm around them and pull them closer. 

“ Funny, that. It’s almost like we live together. ”

Except there’s nothing funny about it at all. He can still recall the moment Arkezet decided their end goals were more important than self-immolation. And, of course, the many dissonant hours afterwards where he grappled with losing them, the sun, and potentially everything in between. It feels like a bruise, and if pressed upon still causes aftershocks of pain. 

He lounges across a chaise he pilfered in the aftermath of the Elder Brain’s destruction. While the sun burns high, there’s little for him to do but wait for nightfall. Books spread out in front of him, a veritable feast of research notes on vampirism, inter-dimensional travel, and even a torrid romance novel. 

TWILIGHT PRINCESS SENTENCE STARTERS

“city is a bit mad lately,  isn't it?”   the dragon mage asked with some weariness.  when he came to baldur's gate with his husband,  mal had been hoping that it would be a little more peaceful than their own home.  he finished up bottling the potion he'd crafted for them and corked it,  then rested his chin on the backs of his hands.

“ I’ve already read you like a book, my sweet little arsonist, ” Astarion says, over exaggerating the purr in his voice. It’s true that most people are the same–they have the same wants, same needs, and he has learned over the centuries the exact way to meet them. Arkezet is… different. In many regards. But that doesn’t mean that they’re immune to his cunning.