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[chaosandmurder]

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Undisclosed Desire - for infinite1ups

[chaosandmurder]

cont. from here

The Underdark was beautiful, labyrinthine caverns of wondrous beauty that would never know the touch of the sun, but its loveliness was currently lost on the half-drow, despite it being a very real part of his heritage. He was instead hyper-focused on the woman trapped between his body and the cool stone, kissing her with all of the intensity that churned ceaselessly in his blood. She had asked for it, after all.

But he was hardly a mindless monster, bent on ravishing whatever fair maiden deigned give it even a second glance; for all of the passion, there was still grace, gentleness, and sincerity in every stroke of his tongue, tasting her over and over. And also in his hands, killing fingers so lightly but firmly smoothing down Claire's sides to grip her hips, effortlessly lifting her off her feet and coaxing her shapely legs around his waist.

Despite his sometimes-sinister demeanor and his often-intolerance for all species in general, he'd never, while in his own mind, hurt her. Despite his talent at spilling blood and ripping through their enemies with a focus unmatched, here, in this, he was a pilgrim, worshiping her with every slow, sure touch.

[infinite1ups]

Claire was enjoying the Underdark far more than she expected. She missed the sun, but there was a beauty to these depths that was certainly worth appreciating. It, along with her budding friendships among the party, were more than enough to keep her on their shared path.

Growing closer to Tav was equally unexpected, but just as welcome. She thrilled at the juxtaposition of the cool, hard stone at her back, and his warm, softer body at in front of her. There was no resistance, legs wrapping around his waist as he lifted her by the hips.

Those hungry kisses stirred something within her, and she didn't hesitate to give as well as she was getting, a hand on his cheek, lips parted, tongue meeting his. Her other hand ran smooth up his arm, then down again. It was nice just to touch and be touched, kiss and be kissed. At the moment she had no real urgency to escalate, and it felt good to just let themselves have this moment.

TFLN @ Minthara (khaless)

[chaosandmurder]

from here

Yet the Absolute teaches that very sentiment. Not all will reach the pinnacle, no, but the ascendance is in the trying.

[ Gods, Gortash spouts this nonsense so much better than he. ]

[khaless]

Ascendancy is relative.

She deserves far better supplicants than the unruly horde we have amassed thus far. If we returned to the Underdark, the two of us, we could spread Her word and influence among our people. A few months spent underground and no surface city could stand against us.

[chaosandmurder]

A tempting proposition. Though what if history repeats itself? Before the Absolute's touch, you were more than willing to slaughter such interlopers in Lolth's name. Think you we would not encounter such opposition upon returning to Menzoberranzan?

I ask not to criticize the idea, but rather to look at it from all sides. Speak your mind to me.

TFLN @ Barcus (lost_and_foundry)

[chaosandmurder]

from here

THIS DITCH. [ Duh. ] Dunno its name. Jusa ditch. Ditch witch bitch itch hitch fitch litch nitch pitch ritch titch TITS LMAO

[ Please gods someone help this poor drow. ]

[lost_and_foundry]

[Magga cammara.]

I want you to know
if you hadn't saved my life TWICE I would leave you right where you are with no regrets.

But since I rather owe you...just stay where you are for a while and try not to get mugged. I'll find you one way or another.

[What he will do first is find Scratch, and have the dog track his erstwhile master.]

[chaosandmurder]

no ragerets. Haha noooone! So sad no grets. WAT R GRETS HALP BARKY THIS WITCH IS AETING ME

[ Translation: he’s sinking a little deeper in the ditch’s middy bottom. Because he’s so hammered he can’t find his feet. Hopefully he won’t drown. In an inch of ditch water. 🙄 ]

TFLN @ Wanda (littlewitch)

[chaosandmurder]

from here

Maybe a deep red one. That'd be adorable. But...why an ooze?

thank you!

[littlewitch]

Almost black. With just the bare reflection of red

Can you think of a more disgusting creature?

😘

[chaosandmurder]

That sounds pretty as a color scheme, and it suits you, but I wouldn’t call it “disgusting”. Quite the opposite, actually.

And yes, I can think of creatures nastier than that.

TLFN @ Astarion (blooddrive)

[chaosandmurder]

from here

Sure. Only if you promise to wash my back.

[blooddrive]

Just your back?

[chaosandmurder]

To start. But I’m really filthy, so getting clean might…take a while.

Word Association @ Astarion (blooddrive)

[chaosandmurder]

from here

[ He has no memory of this. Of doing anything like this. Holding someone, taking comfort in a shared embrace. It eases some of the tension in his shoulders when Astarion returns it, when the pale elf all but melts into his arms, allowing Tav to at last take a breath. Cool skin against warm. Nose beneath his jaw, and his own resting just beneath the lobe of one pointed ear.

Just...holding each other. Comfort. Solace.

Nevertheless, he feels the slightest quiver in Astarion's muscles, as if he's...waiting for something. Some monster to burst through the trees and yank them apart. Tav's arms tighten at the thought; his brow furrows in silent determination. Not this time, you fucking bastard. Even if Cazador couldn't hear him, he still sent the thought anyway. Not ever again.

He very gently smooths a hand through platinum curls, gentler than he ever believed himself capable of being. ]

You're safe with me, Astarion.

[ It's a whispered promise, one Tav absolutely meant. Master Vampire Cazador Szarr might be, but Tavarian and their companions are powerful forces in their own right, as they'd proven time and time again on their sojourn towards Baldur's Gate. It would be an arrogantly foolish vampire indeed to believe he could simply waltz in and take back what fate had taken from him.

Tav shifts until he can rest his forehead against Astarion's, sharing a soft, profound kiss before adding: ]

...I wish you'd believe me when I say it.

[blooddrive]

I believe you mean it, [he asserts quietly, voice thick with an inelegant tangle of huffy fragility and the sincere desire to do so. He does. He really does. He hadn't at first. Not in the direct aftermath of their illithid kidnapping, nor the wreckage of the ship. Not in those first forays in the wilds. Not after decades of being pressed into proximity with cut-throat social climbers turned unwilling pawns to a master vampire. But little by little, he's come to believe it.

It was there in every spell that burst in the face of some brigand or other just as their murderous intent was turning in the pale elf's direction. It was there in the openings Tav made for his dagger, in the signals for Astarion to take the first shot, the blows that finished an opponent downed. It was there in the quieter moments around the campfire, watching the insufferably boyish light in the drow's eyes whenever Scratch came prancing back with that weathered ball in his mouth. It was there when Tav had let him feed, stood between Astarion and the rest. When that gur--

His arms curl. His throat clenches. His lips still tingling from that kiss.

To lose this, after not having it for so long?

He doesn't move, still resting his forehead against the sorcerers, but his eyes squeeze even tighter shut as the accusation -- the truth -- aches in him, curdles in his stomach and radiates through the whole of him.]

I just don't want to be the death of you. [It all comes out thin, rushed, tied to a high and mirthless laugh. His fingers curl into fabric, clutching.

After all, whatever abuse Astarion had taken, he was always still there at the end of the night. Still lurking in the shadows. But the others...]

[chaosandmurder]

[ Tav silently sighs. That isn't the same, but he lets Astarion have it. He can hear the cracks in the elf's voice, the throat-closing fear that plagues him still, even now. And it makes Tav's hands involuntarily clench, that he can't just fucking dispel that horror from Astarion's mind, from his very soul. Because he absolutely will, he will, if given but the slightest chance.

Cazador Szarr's nights are numbered. The doomed creature doesn't know it, but Death even now makes His way to Baldur's Gate, carried in the brilliant gleam of Tavarian's blades, all too eager to spill ancient undead blood.

Tav doesn't flinch when Astarion clutches tighter; his own arms do the same, the drow forcing his fists open so he can smooth heated palms over a trembling spine, through artfully disheveled curls to finally, so very gently, cup a pale, pale cheek. Tav hears the hurried confession, his heart twisting deep in his chest. It aches so deeply.

He shakes his head, forehead still pressed against the vampire's. Unwilling to move away unless forced. Not again. Not ever again. ]

Hey. [ A roughly tender entreaty. ] Astarion, look at me. [ Tav smooths his thumb beneath one closed sanguine eye, willing them to open and see him; still close, still here. Waiting until Astarion at last complies, Tav gives a small smile, still stroking the elf's pale cheek. ]

...you're not alone, parzdiamo. Not anymore. Not ever again. I'm right here. I've got you. [ Then Tav's smile tilts, rougish and a little cheeky. ] --and the entire Sword Coast knows I'm a tough bastard to kill. [ He steals another kiss, a thousand an hour would never be enough. ] You're not getting rid of me that easily, Astarion Ancunín. That's a promise.

tfln @ shadowsplay

[chaosandmurder]

cont from here

He didn't bother answering further; his attention was better focused on the remaining minutes of the service, lest he be forced to deal with more friction between his grating relatives. As he'd mentioned, it didn't take too long for the final corpse to be drained dry, its blood flowing into the ever-churning pool at the foot of Bhaal's statuesque avatar, glowing a deep, sooty red at the Temple's apex. The gathered moaned as the avatar flickered, pulsed, then slowly faded in approval of the offering.

And almost before the unholy light had faded from his Father's stone eye sockets, Tavarian had vacated his throne and made his way out of the Temple proper, ghosting through the cold, dank corridors with unerring determination. All else was ignored until he reached his private quarters, a gesture and a breath of magic opening the heavy stone doors. An appreciative glint sparked in glacier-colored eyes at the sight which greeted him: his lovely kitten lounging in their bed, adorned only in gold and gleaming jewels, a delectable vision that never failed to quicken his pulse and shorten his breath.

For his part, protocol demanded dark formality for Temple rites; Bhaal's only Son was still streaked with thin rivulets of blood, crisscrossing his bare chest like scarlet ribbons. Black and red trousers tucked into knee-high boots were the only testaments for modesty, yet the solid gold arm bands, wrist cuffs, and heavy torcs resting at his collar bespoke to his murderous eminance within this cavernous abyss. The circlet resting above his brow gleamed with its own unholy radiance, his Father's favor without question.

Yet for all of his earlier snappish pique and ill-temper, there was, now, an amused little lilt playing about his mouth. Tavarian strode into his quarters, heavy doors sliding closed behind him, and he casually tossed one priceless ring after another atop his parchment-littered desk, never taking his gaze from the beauty adorning his bed.

"A pleasant enough surprise, indeed," were his first words, with the lift of a wry eyebrow and a nod to Seridwen's glittering ensemble. "An inspired choice." Leaving no mistake as to what he meant.

[shadowsplay]

It's always a long wait when he has the Temple rites to attend to, but she'd rather not have to sit through them if she doesn't have to. It wasn't just that she'd grow bored and want to do something distracting, but to be honest, his kin send a shiver of dread down her spine. More than just a warning, they set off every alarm bell in her system. Something even when she'd glared at him fresh from the slave ranks, he'd never done. There's intelligence behind his icey gaze, cunning, but with intelligence and cunning is also reason, of a sort. She's not so sure she'd find any of that in the others, and with her loyalty to the man enjoying the look at her, she's not sure they'd even want to do more than bleed her now.

Her own dark eyes, a hint of her silver ringing them, tease along him from bare chest streaked in blood to the pants and boots she already wishes were gone. Even if he does look incredible in them with all the jewelry. He does look delicious set for Temple rites. She hums pleasantly at his words, body arching in a lazy stretch that she knows shows off all of her for him. Her foot stays outstretched toward him, like she might be able to touch him from where she's resting on the bed.

"I wanted to make sure you knew you were welcomed home in perfect style." She smiles coyly at him before she sits up a little and crooks her finger at him. "I can help with all of that."

TFLN @ teyrible

[chaosandmurder]

cont from here

[ There isn't much time for gloating. The moment Magnus steps into Tav's tent, large hands snatch him by the collar and abruptly drag him further in, only to shove him bodily against the stack of chests opposite the entrance. Then a very tall half-drow pins him in place, one of those strong hands yanking his head back by the hair before a forceful, unforgiving mouth silences any verbal protests in a heated, torrid kiss. Tav isn't gentle; he'd meant every word he'd sent, and there had been no leniency in the Urges writhing beneath his skin.

Teeth bite, nails grip, and the drow snarls between locked mouths, prying a knee between his fellow sorcerer's thighs. He presses tightly, insistent, and refuses to relent despite the earlier snark, sarcasm, and sass he'd barely been able to keep in check. It had been hours since their last little tryst, and even that hadn't been nearly enough. He'd growled behind his teeth at the interruption of chores, but had allowed his lover to saunter off without a protest, only to regret doing so almost immediately afterwards.

No more.

He doesn't break skin, but it's a close thing, and after an eternity of plundering Magnus's irreverent, delicious mouth, Tav at last lifts his head, just enough to glower down at the other practioner, an unholy snarl lifting his lip. ]

Took you long enough.

[teyrible]

[ Yes, this is exactly what he'd hoped for -- the swooping feeling in his stomach as he's grabbed, the rush of adrenaline singing in his ears, the bite of pain in his scalp and his lip and the pressure of that thigh between his legs. It's like plunging into a rushing current and not knowing if he'll make it back to the surface as he tries to keep up, tries to kiss the drow back, grasps blindly at the waistband of his trousers. It's fucking thrilling.

Magnus is lightheaded and already feeling the ache of arousal - like it didn't start with those messages that had brought him back here - as they break apart, as he gasps for breath, each exhale verging on a moan. He probably sounds pathetic. Good. He knows that only makes Tav worse. ]

Still waited for me. [ He still manages a smug little grin, panting. ]

For ridofthethrone - texting cont.

[chaosandmurder]

[ cont from here ]

Tav steps closer, blue eyes glowing in the lantern light, a small smile gracing his mouth. "I think so," he agrees, lifting one long-fingered hand to very gently cup Logan's jaw, calloused thumb smoothing over the Prince's cheekbone.

Despite his customary irreverence and nonchalance, the drow searches Logan's gaze with serious intent, seeking... reassurance, perhaps. He's hardly unaware of the human's trepidatious anxiety; it might as well be a signal fire on a mountaintop.

Thus, his light touch, and quiet murmur of, "Logan...you're sure?"

Thanks for moving!

[ridofthethrone]

How many times has Tav approached him before? And yet this time feels so different. Now that Logan knows what he's thinking, what he wants.

He's so sure the drow can feel the heat his touch causes.

"Yes," he answers before he stops to think. Retroactively justifying the answer.

Why not? What could happen? That Logan could be assassinated? That would be overdue. That he could be blackmailed? Also overdue, and something he would handle ruthlessly. The most difficult consequence to handle would be being made a fool of. For Tav to turn around in the morning and laugh.

A notch in his bedpost.

Albion need not be slighted. Logan was expected to be a disappointment.

In this moment, that seems like an acceptable risk for a moment of company.

for gortash

[chaosandmurder]

[ cont from here ]

There is...an intruding guest in Lord Enver Gortash's Upper City townhouse. A guest because, well, an invitation was issued, but "intruding" applies because this particular guest didn't arrive announced, by way of the front door, nor made any effort at all to make his presence known. Rather, this particular ghost had slipped in through the third-floor windows after carefully navigating the veritable minefield of traps and alarms quite strategically placed at every entrance and exit, moving soundlessly through the hallways, silent as moonlight on water, and had taken an unnoticed perch in the dark rafters high above the main stairwell, perfectly situated to observe most activity on the open floors below.

Tavarian has been lurking in the same spot for almost four hours. Since well before sunset. He's been watching, silent as a specter, motionless as the grave, and taking no end of amusement in the goings-on below. The staff seem oblivious, tending to their duties with efficient grace (he'd expect nothing less in the Upper City) and Gortash himself has even passed below a time or two, not even flicking an eyelash skyward as he rattled on about this or that to whatever patriar or flunky he'd deigned to grace with an audience.

The sun has now set, dusk's blanket slowly quieting the marketplace's customary noises. Still the drow remains, idly wondering if he might perch here all night, or if some intrepid soul will chance a glance towards the ceiling. Though human eyes would have to be keen indeed to penetrate this darkness; as amusing as his little experiment is, Tavarian is hardly a novice. Neverthless, a chillingly amused smile gleams in the shadows; sometimes, it's simply too easy.

hope this works for you!

[aquickeasysmile]

As the evening winds down and business begins to thin, a familiar sensation prickles at the back of Enver Gortash's neck: the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Quite unsettling, given that he had recently tightened security, adding fresh traps to every point of entry. No one should be able to get in. He'd seen to that personally.

No one, save for perhaps a very skilled assassin.

His pulse quickens at the thought. Paranoia flares first, quick and sharp--but close behind comes the sweet swell of anticipation. The oppressive awareness of eyes on him. The thrill of being singled out, marked by a predator observing prey. The way it always feels when the Bhaalspawn is near.

He cannot tell where Tavarian is, only that he is there. How long as he been there, Gortash wonders--simply watching with no one, not even Gortash himself, any the wiser?

When the last of his business concludes, and all but essential staff are dismissed for the night, Gortash passes through once more, still feigning ignorance. He slips into a side room, the doorway of which is the only thing visible from the rafters.

After several moments, his voice carries out from within.

"Planning to become part of the décor, my friend?"