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What—
[To say that Godfrey never initiated such things was not entirely true, but he certainly never did so when they might risk having an audience, and never so boldly. Gale finds himself haphazardly in the larger man's lap and quickly puts his arms around his neck to anchor and adjust himself, letting out a startled laugh as he finds himself pulled flush against Godfrey's broad chest. It's a welcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.
He knows that weight in Godfrey's eyes, the slight hitch in his breath, and he feels his own pulse quicken even knowing the rest of the camp is only a few yards off behind his back, their figures only barely obscured by being just beyond the edge of the circle of firelight. Exhaling, he leans in to press his forehead against the paladin's own, laying a hand against the side of his face.]
You are very drunk, I'm afraid.
[It doesn't give him pause the way it once might have— but it certainly does seem to be bringing out a new side of his chosen companion.]
Perhaps, my love, if this is the sort of mood you're in, we ought to go somewhere more private.
[To say that Godfrey never initiated such things was not entirely true, but he certainly never did so when they might risk having an audience, and never so boldly. Gale finds himself haphazardly in the larger man's lap and quickly puts his arms around his neck to anchor and adjust himself, letting out a startled laugh as he finds himself pulled flush against Godfrey's broad chest. It's a welcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless.
He knows that weight in Godfrey's eyes, the slight hitch in his breath, and he feels his own pulse quicken even knowing the rest of the camp is only a few yards off behind his back, their figures only barely obscured by being just beyond the edge of the circle of firelight. Exhaling, he leans in to press his forehead against the paladin's own, laying a hand against the side of his face.]
You are very drunk, I'm afraid.
[It doesn't give him pause the way it once might have— but it certainly does seem to be bringing out a new side of his chosen companion.]
Perhaps, my love, if this is the sort of mood you're in, we ought to go somewhere more private.
[ And here is what he's wanted; he pulls Gale's weight into his lap with happy ease and a satisfied sigh to feel the warm weight of him in his lap. Godfrey's thick arms pull around him immediately and pulls him snug against his broad chest.
Here is what he's wanted. Here is a place he would not trade for any other; sitting beneath him, his throat resting along the length of his chest, his jaw's underside against his collarbone. Thrumming with that startled peal of laughter as he drinks it in, luxuriates in it. The brief and unguarded delight, bright in his eyes.
It houses him in such warmth and such comfort that the accusation nearly passes him by entirely.
It passes over his easy face in a slow sort of twinge; a tugging on his lip as he looks at Gale above him. Gale's near enough that he can likely see the thoughts moving behind his eyes in the moments that ensue, trying to cobble together an understanding and a response, which rumbles as slowly as anything else he's said this evening: ]
I'm very happy.
[ There is a joyous cloud of things he could have voiced in this moment - this is, for the moment, the most succinct of everything swimming through his booze-addled thoughts.
And with that, Godfrey sees some more productive uses of his mouth; peppering Gale's chest and the tender nape of his throat with kisses until he earns another laugh, while his fingers skirt dangerously down his back and beneath the waistband of his trousers. ]
Here is what he's wanted. Here is a place he would not trade for any other; sitting beneath him, his throat resting along the length of his chest, his jaw's underside against his collarbone. Thrumming with that startled peal of laughter as he drinks it in, luxuriates in it. The brief and unguarded delight, bright in his eyes.
It houses him in such warmth and such comfort that the accusation nearly passes him by entirely.
It passes over his easy face in a slow sort of twinge; a tugging on his lip as he looks at Gale above him. Gale's near enough that he can likely see the thoughts moving behind his eyes in the moments that ensue, trying to cobble together an understanding and a response, which rumbles as slowly as anything else he's said this evening: ]
I'm very happy.
[ There is a joyous cloud of things he could have voiced in this moment - this is, for the moment, the most succinct of everything swimming through his booze-addled thoughts.
And with that, Godfrey sees some more productive uses of his mouth; peppering Gale's chest and the tender nape of his throat with kisses until he earns another laugh, while his fingers skirt dangerously down his back and beneath the waistband of his trousers. ]
Edited 2024-10-25 20:12 (UTC)
[A simple statement, perhaps, but the sentiment behind it resonates in the soft rumbling of his voice, the warm determination in his gaze, and it is all too easy for Gale to lose himself in the moment as Godfrey presses a series of kisses against his throat and makes something in his stomach pull tight, the heated press of their bodies tight and promising even as they remain fully dressed— though clearly not for long, given the direction Godfrey's fingers are skirting in.
The wizard clears his throat as he regains himself, though a soft noise of approval does escape him just before he manages it, carding his fingers through Godfrey's hair and drawing in a deep, steadying breathe.]
I'm beginning to find myself in a merry mood, as well.
[To say the least. His face has become flushed even in the dim light of the fire, and resistant as he is to remove himself from Godfrey's inviting lap, he slides back enough to let his feet touch the ground, grabbing hold of his partner's wrist with one hand and his waist with the other. Godfrey is significantly larger them him, despite the fact that Gale himself is not a small man by any means, but he manages to guide the paladin to his feet and gently steer him towards his own tent, suddenly finding himself quite eager to escape the wandering gazes of their companions and guests, due in no small part to the significantly tight pull of his trousers.
The distance is short, and they make it without incident, Gale letting out a sigh of relief when the flap closes behind them, and he turns to face Godfrey with a knowing smile full of intention once he's certain they have privacy. The larger man must be drunk indeed to be so forward, but Gale can't say he minds in the least.]
Now, where were we... [He steps forward, reaching up to put a hand behind Godfrey's neck, curling his fingers against the nape as he draws him downwards for a kiss, which he is able to offer far more freely now, lips parted and tasting of the wine he had been indulging in not long before.] You were telling me just how happy you are.
The wizard clears his throat as he regains himself, though a soft noise of approval does escape him just before he manages it, carding his fingers through Godfrey's hair and drawing in a deep, steadying breathe.]
I'm beginning to find myself in a merry mood, as well.
[To say the least. His face has become flushed even in the dim light of the fire, and resistant as he is to remove himself from Godfrey's inviting lap, he slides back enough to let his feet touch the ground, grabbing hold of his partner's wrist with one hand and his waist with the other. Godfrey is significantly larger them him, despite the fact that Gale himself is not a small man by any means, but he manages to guide the paladin to his feet and gently steer him towards his own tent, suddenly finding himself quite eager to escape the wandering gazes of their companions and guests, due in no small part to the significantly tight pull of his trousers.
The distance is short, and they make it without incident, Gale letting out a sigh of relief when the flap closes behind them, and he turns to face Godfrey with a knowing smile full of intention once he's certain they have privacy. The larger man must be drunk indeed to be so forward, but Gale can't say he minds in the least.]
Now, where were we... [He steps forward, reaching up to put a hand behind Godfrey's neck, curling his fingers against the nape as he draws him downwards for a kiss, which he is able to offer far more freely now, lips parted and tasting of the wine he had been indulging in not long before.] You were telling me just how happy you are.
[ It can't be said that Godfrey is a man of no appetites.
Not that one would know. If there's one impression Godfrey has cultivated over his years of life, it is that there's nothing more to be seen below his smooth codpiece - that, though his heart remained in that golden shell, that was all to him that was warm and beating. Something golden and all-encompassing shining brightly enough to iron away shadow. In the absence of unseemly desire, a whole and uncompromising love. He certainly acts like it, if nothing else.
Of course, this was not so. Try as he might, and though the priestly nature springs naturally from him, Godfrey is merely a man. Physically reticent and shy though he may be, warm and firm flesh still lived beneath his armor. He needed only to be shelled of it.
Gale becomes cold and weightless air in his lap, and before he realizes it, he's standing in cloth walls, the sounds of the campfire distant and unclear. He's in his arms. There's something daring in his eyes, and all Godfrey knows is that he wants never again to feel cold emptiness.
He doesn't know where his hands are on Gale when those seconds of delayed quiet pass and he falls into him, kissing him with a hard, greedy sigh. Only that he feels below his hand Gale's clothing twisting, the warm blush of his skin, muscle moving and twitching as it reacts to his hungry touch, fueled by nothing more than a hard and ravenous need for closeness. He knows the powerful throb in the press between them, something that threatens to bring him to his knees.
He knows that his hands, in their fervour to keep up with his lips, push something down the curve of him. He doesn't know that those are his trousers, shoved down as an afterthought against the sharp angle of his pronounced knuckles as his hands press downward, feeling the curve of his ass against his palms. ]
Not that one would know. If there's one impression Godfrey has cultivated over his years of life, it is that there's nothing more to be seen below his smooth codpiece - that, though his heart remained in that golden shell, that was all to him that was warm and beating. Something golden and all-encompassing shining brightly enough to iron away shadow. In the absence of unseemly desire, a whole and uncompromising love. He certainly acts like it, if nothing else.
Of course, this was not so. Try as he might, and though the priestly nature springs naturally from him, Godfrey is merely a man. Physically reticent and shy though he may be, warm and firm flesh still lived beneath his armor. He needed only to be shelled of it.
Gale becomes cold and weightless air in his lap, and before he realizes it, he's standing in cloth walls, the sounds of the campfire distant and unclear. He's in his arms. There's something daring in his eyes, and all Godfrey knows is that he wants never again to feel cold emptiness.
He doesn't know where his hands are on Gale when those seconds of delayed quiet pass and he falls into him, kissing him with a hard, greedy sigh. Only that he feels below his hand Gale's clothing twisting, the warm blush of his skin, muscle moving and twitching as it reacts to his hungry touch, fueled by nothing more than a hard and ravenous need for closeness. He knows the powerful throb in the press between them, something that threatens to bring him to his knees.
He knows that his hands, in their fervour to keep up with his lips, push something down the curve of him. He doesn't know that those are his trousers, shoved down as an afterthought against the sharp angle of his pronounced knuckles as his hands press downward, feeling the curve of his ass against his palms. ]
Edited 2024-11-06 05:31 (UTC)
[It's all happening so much faster than Gale is accustomed to— he has no complaints, of course, now or any other time, but it is quite unusual for Godfrey to be so aggressive about what he wants. Gale has never felt slighted for it, never doubted that his love desired him once they had stumbled across the truth of what they felt for one another, but to have it thrust upon him so plainly, to be so openly wanted— it sets his blood hot and racing, just a bit lightheaded from both wine and giddy anticipation.
He moans wantonly into that hungry, devouring kiss; Godfrey's hands are on him and making short work of his clothing, breaking every record that they might have set together before now, and though a conjured mage hand is doing its part to tug at and loosen Godfrey's belt, the wizard himself is barely able to draw breath as he meets each needful kiss with one of his own, and he finds himself incredibly grateful that Godfrey had not chosen to remain in armor as they celebrated this evening.]
My love—
[He lets out a breathless laugh between kisses, untucking Godfrey's shirt and proceeding to pull it up and over his head as best he can without pulling away from him, because oh, that is the absolute last thing he wants.]
I believe I quite like this side of you—
[He's not felt anything in their lovemaking to be wanting, happy for the slow and steady pace they so often set, but this— this is something new and thrilling, a Godfrey he has not yet had the pleasure to meet.]
He moans wantonly into that hungry, devouring kiss; Godfrey's hands are on him and making short work of his clothing, breaking every record that they might have set together before now, and though a conjured mage hand is doing its part to tug at and loosen Godfrey's belt, the wizard himself is barely able to draw breath as he meets each needful kiss with one of his own, and he finds himself incredibly grateful that Godfrey had not chosen to remain in armor as they celebrated this evening.]
My love—
[He lets out a breathless laugh between kisses, untucking Godfrey's shirt and proceeding to pull it up and over his head as best he can without pulling away from him, because oh, that is the absolute last thing he wants.]
I believe I quite like this side of you—
[He's not felt anything in their lovemaking to be wanting, happy for the slow and steady pace they so often set, but this— this is something new and thrilling, a Godfrey he has not yet had the pleasure to meet.]
[Every twitch, every sound, every breath sets Gale on edge; the consequences of fumbling this task are unthinkable, something he does not want to entertain for even a moment. For all the subjects that he has studied over the years, for every book he had read on medicine while following his alchemical pursuits, he had never thought about what it would be like to actually be in such a situation. It was easy to remain disconnected when it was but words on a page, easy to be matter-of-fact and decide that one understood the procedure, but the reality of it was not so neatly resolved. Far from it.
He exhales and remains steady, even as Godfrey's efforts to repress any show of pain beneath him make his stomach turn in on itself, twisted, and though it seems to take near an eternity, at last his blade makes it through to the other side and the shaft comes free.
Mystra's tits. He doesn't allow himself to feel even a moment of relief. Pull the arrowhead out only if you cut an artery. Blessedly, they had not, though he hates the idea of leaving them in place— he knows in practice, that may well save Godfrey's life.]
Splinting next.
[He works quickly, unable to ignore how pale the man beneath him appears, the wax-like pallor he has taken on as he bleeds.
No. No you don't, not tonight.
Gritting his teeth, he presses some of the cut padding to the open wound to stem the bleeding before he sets to immobilizing Godfrey's shoulders. Would that he had even a single healing spell at his disposal. After this, when the man was stable, he could take the time to brew something— but right now, they have minutes, at best. Perhaps even less than that.]
Speak to let me know that you remain with me.
He exhales and remains steady, even as Godfrey's efforts to repress any show of pain beneath him make his stomach turn in on itself, twisted, and though it seems to take near an eternity, at last his blade makes it through to the other side and the shaft comes free.
Mystra's tits. He doesn't allow himself to feel even a moment of relief. Pull the arrowhead out only if you cut an artery. Blessedly, they had not, though he hates the idea of leaving them in place— he knows in practice, that may well save Godfrey's life.]
Splinting next.
[He works quickly, unable to ignore how pale the man beneath him appears, the wax-like pallor he has taken on as he bleeds.
No. No you don't, not tonight.
Gritting his teeth, he presses some of the cut padding to the open wound to stem the bleeding before he sets to immobilizing Godfrey's shoulders. Would that he had even a single healing spell at his disposal. After this, when the man was stable, he could take the time to brew something— but right now, they have minutes, at best. Perhaps even less than that.]
Speak to let me know that you remain with me.
[ The moment rushes through him - and for once, Godfrey doesn't stand in its way.
No need for respectability governs him. No internal monologue in the world can keep him contained within himself. The quiet privacy of the tent rampages through him - whatever greedy remnants that might have clung to those self-imposed borders between nobility and indecency after the wine-wash are seared away by what this moment ignites in him.
He tastes his tongue and the buzz of his voice and that hot wanting roars through him, undeniable. There is hot flesh in his hands, but it's suddenly not enough; Godfrey wants to hold all of him.
He wants to kiss him slowly and passionately, and he's unable to slow the roar of his pulse, the kisses that come again and again. He wants to keep squeezing his ass and feeling the muscle twinge and shift in his hands, and he wants to cup his face as they join lips. He wants to taste his breath and the salt of his skin. He wants him breathless and moaning, deep inside of him, beneath him--
There will be cracks in the inebriation for him to peer down, come morning. None of them will give him any insight as to how he was finally separated from his shirt and the need to keep himself upright on two legs. None of it matters. Godfrey pants through gently parted lips and watches his hands move over his bare skin. ]
No need for respectability governs him. No internal monologue in the world can keep him contained within himself. The quiet privacy of the tent rampages through him - whatever greedy remnants that might have clung to those self-imposed borders between nobility and indecency after the wine-wash are seared away by what this moment ignites in him.
He tastes his tongue and the buzz of his voice and that hot wanting roars through him, undeniable. There is hot flesh in his hands, but it's suddenly not enough; Godfrey wants to hold all of him.
He wants to kiss him slowly and passionately, and he's unable to slow the roar of his pulse, the kisses that come again and again. He wants to keep squeezing his ass and feeling the muscle twinge and shift in his hands, and he wants to cup his face as they join lips. He wants to taste his breath and the salt of his skin. He wants him breathless and moaning, deep inside of him, beneath him--
There will be cracks in the inebriation for him to peer down, come morning. None of them will give him any insight as to how he was finally separated from his shirt and the need to keep himself upright on two legs. None of it matters. Godfrey pants through gently parted lips and watches his hands move over his bare skin. ]
[ Godfrey Gwilym had seen mornings beyond count. Few have felt as impossible to imagine as this one, for he was a creature of habit.
Long had his sunrises been humble and predictable; he woke before the sun, he prayed before an eastward window as it followed him, he prepared food, he broke his fast. The particulars might change occasionally – a spire of rose quartz and a chained dawn-symbol for an altar, extra mouths to feed, his husband’s sleeping form below his cheek - but all had been fundamentally the same, all had been humble. He had started none between silk sheets, nor within such gorgeously appointed walls.
The warm weight against his chest, too, is new.
Such luxuries can’t be a novel thing to him, for it was Gale who had convinced him to allow this private room be paid for, separate of their arrangement with the Elfsong. The luxuries that still Godfrey from toes to tongue with awestruck gratitude are surely a simple fact of life to Gale Dekarios and his impressive family name – he certainly acted like it, with impressive nonchalance. Often has Godfrey marveled at this; the simple grace with which Gale receives these things, never once questioning whether they’ve been earned as Godfrey finds himself doing. How different their upbringings must have been, that Gale knows innately what he deserves while Godfrey is left paralyzed by its offering.
In the heart of such a conundrum is where Godfrey lies now, his thumb traveling thoughtfully over the round cup of Gale’s shoulder, watching the slow rise and fall of his back in the pale morning light. Feeling fully against his skin the warmth of their coupling blushing in the sheets, the heavy and trusting weight of his love against his body – more than strong enough to support it. Feeling the sleeping tangle of his limbs around him, anything to keep him in bed.
He can only feel these things for so long, of course. The sun already begins its divine ascent outside; Gale had thoughtfully considered his morning rituals and politely demanded a room with an eastbound window. Godfrey presses a slow kiss into his forehead and, carefully, begins the daily challenge of untangling himself from his embrace, rubbing his back until he settles back against the bed in sleep.
There had been some obvious concessions, naturally; Godfrey knew that Gale would not sleep without the windows covered, despite his protestations to the contrary, and so were the windows covered in thick curtains to shadow the room, his eastern dawn-portal included. A thin shaft of infant dawnlight falls against the desk he’s adopted for a makeshift altar, and on it stands his divine tools; a censure with sand and incense prearranged, a smooth disc of rose quartz, his Holy Book, the dawn amulet atop a pool of molten gold chain. Godfrey takes his seat and begins as he always does; he reaches to bathe his hands in the light.
He nearly doesn’t register the silvery pain flashing in his eyes. Godfrey pulls his hands back, suddenly too aware of the smell of burning flesh. A sound like the very mountains grinding fills his ears, and after that, a livid boom:
YOU.
It’s a voice he knows he is not meant to contain, but which thrashes against the boundaries of him all the same. Searing agony wells in the pit of his skull. Godfrey buckles and pulls his throat around the scream that would erupt from him.
YOU, WHO CONSORTS WITH HERETICS.
Its sonic force threatens to topple him, and he latches himself to the desk. White burning coils through him, seizing his heart. The very air evaporates from his lungs. They scream their starvation.
YOU, WHO WOULD NAME THE VILE DEAD FRIEND.
It all begins to coalesce into something he can’t suppress. Nausea rampages through him. His skin flashes cold as sweat overwhelms him. Bile splashes the floorboards below his feet.
YOU, WHO WALKS SHOULDER TO SHOULDER ALONGSIDE DEVIL-WORSHIPPERS AND THE DARK LADY’S MINERS. ]
Gale--
[ The wretched vise tightens around his heart. Godfrey feels himself crushed beneath something immense and impossible to bear. His head smashes the desk.
YOU WOULD CLAIM TO KNOW WHAT MY LIGHT MAY TOUCH.
His breathing is the gasps of a drowned man.
HE WHO IS UNDESERVING OF ITS CARESS.
The tears are molten gold on his face. His heart struggles in his ears, thumping madly.
HE WHO WILL LEARN.
All thought is scorched from his mind, and as the white-hot glow overwhelms his vision, his name erupts from him, his voice pulled tight by the mad panic. ]
Long had his sunrises been humble and predictable; he woke before the sun, he prayed before an eastward window as it followed him, he prepared food, he broke his fast. The particulars might change occasionally – a spire of rose quartz and a chained dawn-symbol for an altar, extra mouths to feed, his husband’s sleeping form below his cheek - but all had been fundamentally the same, all had been humble. He had started none between silk sheets, nor within such gorgeously appointed walls.
The warm weight against his chest, too, is new.
Such luxuries can’t be a novel thing to him, for it was Gale who had convinced him to allow this private room be paid for, separate of their arrangement with the Elfsong. The luxuries that still Godfrey from toes to tongue with awestruck gratitude are surely a simple fact of life to Gale Dekarios and his impressive family name – he certainly acted like it, with impressive nonchalance. Often has Godfrey marveled at this; the simple grace with which Gale receives these things, never once questioning whether they’ve been earned as Godfrey finds himself doing. How different their upbringings must have been, that Gale knows innately what he deserves while Godfrey is left paralyzed by its offering.
In the heart of such a conundrum is where Godfrey lies now, his thumb traveling thoughtfully over the round cup of Gale’s shoulder, watching the slow rise and fall of his back in the pale morning light. Feeling fully against his skin the warmth of their coupling blushing in the sheets, the heavy and trusting weight of his love against his body – more than strong enough to support it. Feeling the sleeping tangle of his limbs around him, anything to keep him in bed.
He can only feel these things for so long, of course. The sun already begins its divine ascent outside; Gale had thoughtfully considered his morning rituals and politely demanded a room with an eastbound window. Godfrey presses a slow kiss into his forehead and, carefully, begins the daily challenge of untangling himself from his embrace, rubbing his back until he settles back against the bed in sleep.
There had been some obvious concessions, naturally; Godfrey knew that Gale would not sleep without the windows covered, despite his protestations to the contrary, and so were the windows covered in thick curtains to shadow the room, his eastern dawn-portal included. A thin shaft of infant dawnlight falls against the desk he’s adopted for a makeshift altar, and on it stands his divine tools; a censure with sand and incense prearranged, a smooth disc of rose quartz, his Holy Book, the dawn amulet atop a pool of molten gold chain. Godfrey takes his seat and begins as he always does; he reaches to bathe his hands in the light.
He nearly doesn’t register the silvery pain flashing in his eyes. Godfrey pulls his hands back, suddenly too aware of the smell of burning flesh. A sound like the very mountains grinding fills his ears, and after that, a livid boom:
It’s a voice he knows he is not meant to contain, but which thrashes against the boundaries of him all the same. Searing agony wells in the pit of his skull. Godfrey buckles and pulls his throat around the scream that would erupt from him.
Its sonic force threatens to topple him, and he latches himself to the desk. White burning coils through him, seizing his heart. The very air evaporates from his lungs. They scream their starvation.
It all begins to coalesce into something he can’t suppress. Nausea rampages through him. His skin flashes cold as sweat overwhelms him. Bile splashes the floorboards below his feet.
Gale--
[ The wretched vise tightens around his heart. Godfrey feels himself crushed beneath something immense and impossible to bear. His head smashes the desk.
His breathing is the gasps of a drowned man.
The tears are molten gold on his face. His heart struggles in his ears, thumping madly.
All thought is scorched from his mind, and as the white-hot glow overwhelms his vision, his name erupts from him, his voice pulled tight by the mad panic. ]
Edited 2024-12-02 21:30 (UTC)
It's not you I mean to stop.
[Gale's interjection is low, hard-edged; he does not look back at the man behind him, never letting his gaze stray, unwilling to turn a blind eye to Mystra for even the barest fraction of a second. In this moment, Godfrey could do anything he liked to her and he would hardly bat an eye; any affection he had once held for the creature before them had faded decades past, and in its place there is only resentment, reproach, anger that now wells up within him, boiling-hot rage that fuels the flame at his command.
It burns fiercely before him, but he does not unleash it— the temptation is strong, but he is not so far lost to his own anger that he does not know what risks remain. Mystra herself is but one woman, but there is an entire clan waiting to descend on them should things get out of hand.
Mystra's lip curls upwards, wearing her disdain plainly as she shifts her weight to her back foot— not retreating, not in full, but her gaze has narrowed harshly as she appraises the pair of them, lingering on their prisoner. Even free from shackles, he was still that— one hunter against an entire compound of their kind.
He could hurt her, perhaps even slay several others in his efforts to escape, but she is confident that he could only get so far should he try. Some of the Tremere were expendable, surely.]
"I'm almost curious to see how much you can manage before you're shackled once more, hunter."
[Gale clenches his jaw. The man in this room is not the Godfrey he had known, and certainly will have no appreciation for any effort he makes to see him spared, but he will not see Mystra bait Godfrey into an even more impossible situation than they have already found themselves in. Not when he had fought so hard to keep Godfrey from such a fate.]
Mystra—
[She cuts Gale off sharply, her hand dropping away to show where her flesh has begun to mend, slowly knitting itself together even as the searing marks from Godfrey's grasp remain.]
"You would truly let him kill me where I stand, wouldn't you? Perhaps I should give you exactly what you wish for— let you keep your little pet."
[It's enough to bait him into a snarl of his own; even without her stating her terms, he can imagine exactly what sort of thing she has in mind.]
You will not make him one of us!
[Gale's interjection is low, hard-edged; he does not look back at the man behind him, never letting his gaze stray, unwilling to turn a blind eye to Mystra for even the barest fraction of a second. In this moment, Godfrey could do anything he liked to her and he would hardly bat an eye; any affection he had once held for the creature before them had faded decades past, and in its place there is only resentment, reproach, anger that now wells up within him, boiling-hot rage that fuels the flame at his command.
It burns fiercely before him, but he does not unleash it— the temptation is strong, but he is not so far lost to his own anger that he does not know what risks remain. Mystra herself is but one woman, but there is an entire clan waiting to descend on them should things get out of hand.
Mystra's lip curls upwards, wearing her disdain plainly as she shifts her weight to her back foot— not retreating, not in full, but her gaze has narrowed harshly as she appraises the pair of them, lingering on their prisoner. Even free from shackles, he was still that— one hunter against an entire compound of their kind.
He could hurt her, perhaps even slay several others in his efforts to escape, but she is confident that he could only get so far should he try. Some of the Tremere were expendable, surely.]
"I'm almost curious to see how much you can manage before you're shackled once more, hunter."
[Gale clenches his jaw. The man in this room is not the Godfrey he had known, and certainly will have no appreciation for any effort he makes to see him spared, but he will not see Mystra bait Godfrey into an even more impossible situation than they have already found themselves in. Not when he had fought so hard to keep Godfrey from such a fate.]
Mystra—
[She cuts Gale off sharply, her hand dropping away to show where her flesh has begun to mend, slowly knitting itself together even as the searing marks from Godfrey's grasp remain.]
"You would truly let him kill me where I stand, wouldn't you? Perhaps I should give you exactly what you wish for— let you keep your little pet."
[It's enough to bait him into a snarl of his own; even without her stating her terms, he can imagine exactly what sort of thing she has in mind.]
You will not make him one of us!
( from here )
That name is vaguely familiar, but I don't recall one named among Mystra's Chosen.
[He's too caught up in this to realize when he's being made fun of, it would seem.]
There certainly have been lessons learned, but I'm afraid it's been too little, too late. I've always been of the opinion that it was never too late to learn anything at all, but I'm soon to be proven wrong in that regard, I think.
That name is vaguely familiar, but I don't recall one named among Mystra's Chosen.
[He's too caught up in this to realize when he's being made fun of, it would seem.]
There certainly have been lessons learned, but I'm afraid it's been too little, too late. I've always been of the opinion that it was never too late to learn anything at all, but I'm soon to be proven wrong in that regard, I think.
( from here )
[There's a long pause before Gale at last messages back:]
Well, that's terribly disappointing. Here I thought the lot of us were becoming good friends, shared tribulations and all. I suppose I ought to have known better. She is rather... prickly, at times.
[There's a long pause before Gale at last messages back:]
Well, that's terribly disappointing. Here I thought the lot of us were becoming good friends, shared tribulations and all. I suppose I ought to have known better. She is rather... prickly, at times.
At the very least, if it was a joke, it was made at your expense. I don't really know the dynamics at play here.
Did you do something to upset her recently, perhaps?
Did you do something to upset her recently, perhaps?
[ The urge to apologize, to wave it off, dies in his throat. This guy wants him to infodump. ] I'm a biotic. I can create mass effect fields with my body. It lets me lift and throw objects and people, create gravitational vortices and protective barriers too. But it makes me staticky because you create mass effect fields through dark energy, eezo—sorry, element zero—and electrical currents.
No amount of anti-static protection gets rid of it completely. So don't bother with the fabric softener. And umm sorry if I messed up your hair. Or beard.
No amount of anti-static protection gets rid of it completely. So don't bother with the fabric softener. And umm sorry if I messed up your hair. Or beard.
Edited 2025-02-03 04:54 (UTC)
sense of humour i got
what i dont got is a sense for whatever the hell that was
what i dont got is a sense for whatever the hell that was
From my experience with nobles, it's a common trait to not like the word no. Like it's hereditary.
I've had half a mind to shave her bald when she sleeps for that remark...but drow don't really sleep so I'd find myself missing a head.
And my head is so pretty, second only to Astarion....well maybe third.
I've had half a mind to shave her bald when she sleeps for that remark...but drow don't really sleep so I'd find myself missing a head.
And my head is so pretty, second only to Astarion....well maybe third.
Probably for the best, given what I've heard.
[ the guy is so hopeless, it's like she can hear the flailing through text. ]
Unless you're being thrown into a lifelong prison or risking the loss of close friendships, I would think lessons could still be learned.
So, which one is it?
[ the guy is so hopeless, it's like she can hear the flailing through text. ]
Unless you're being thrown into a lifelong prison or risking the loss of close friendships, I would think lessons could still be learned.
So, which one is it?
( from here )
[By the time Arthur gets to him, Gale has emerged from his hiding place and mostly put himself back together, though he looks a touch spooked and still quite out of his element, his hair slightly mussed and his tie crooked after all of the excitement.
He clears his throat to compose himself, making an effort to veil any further embarrassment that might threaten to surface. Hiding wasn't exactly dignified, but this place is a world apart from the way things are back home.]
I see you made a friend or two on your way through.
[Arthur seems to do that most places. His gaze follows the edge of Arthur's knife as he straightens his tie, landing on the bottle.]
I've seen you shoot, but never after you've had something to drink. A nickel if you can hit that straight on, then.
[By the time Arthur gets to him, Gale has emerged from his hiding place and mostly put himself back together, though he looks a touch spooked and still quite out of his element, his hair slightly mussed and his tie crooked after all of the excitement.
He clears his throat to compose himself, making an effort to veil any further embarrassment that might threaten to surface. Hiding wasn't exactly dignified, but this place is a world apart from the way things are back home.]
I see you made a friend or two on your way through.
[Arthur seems to do that most places. His gaze follows the edge of Arthur's knife as he straightens his tie, landing on the bottle.]
I've seen you shoot, but never after you've had something to drink. A nickel if you can hit that straight on, then.
Neither, though I suppose if I were to liken it to one of those options, it would be nearest to the first. Not prison, but regardless of what lessons I may have learned, I don't believe there's any avoiding what's ahead.
The consequences of my own actions, mind you. Hardly deserving of pity, but regrettable all the same.
The consequences of my own actions, mind you. Hardly deserving of pity, but regrettable all the same.
I suppose that's always possible. I'm still learning about my travel companions, myself, so it could be that I unintentionally said something that offended her sensibilities despite my efforts to be polite.
Perhaps it's the efforts themselves? She is rather a direct sort, but I've never known anyone to be offended by good manners!
Perhaps it's the efforts themselves? She is rather a direct sort, but I've never known anyone to be offended by good manners!
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